If I was on Twitter, this post wouldn't exist

Just to let you know -- I have a feeling that the next time I get drunk, I'm gonna try to make out with you.

You've been warned.

Oooh, watch out for sunburn

So, I don't know what this says about me, but apparently I have become your official source of news when it comes to events promising randomly harmless nekkidity. Thanks to NOW Magazine's calendar of upcoming events, I am possessed of the knowledge that Saturday June 12th is World Naked Bike Ride Day, and now, you know it too. I felt compelled to check their website, and I think my favourite part is when they say, "the Crown has acknowledged that participating in an orderly event naked is not illegal, so long as you are wearing something, such as shoes."  Seriously? Shoes are the limiting factor in how naked you are? Man, was I playing doctor wrong. It reminds me of years ago, when I was trying to figure out exactly what kind of documentation you needed to cross the border into the states, and I discovered that it was forbidden to transport a switchblade knife internationally, unless of course you only had one arm, in which case you were good to go.

I'm out of town for the next couple of days, and it's entirely likely I won't be back in the city on Saturday at all -- but if anybody was to make plans that just happened to involve being, oh, say, on a patio on Queen Street or a table in Dundas Square early Saturday afternoon, keep me posted. Of all the spectacles I should see before I die, 100 or so naked people on bikes is probably on the list.

What's that Ashley MacIsaac song again?

So, not too long ago, I went through this weird stretch of about a week where I kept hearing songs that I hadn't heard in ages. Like, "She Ain't Pretty" by the Northern Pikes and "Anna is a Speed Freak" by Pure, that sort of thing. It was kinda cool, really, and I suppose I should thank CBC Radio for x-raying my brain and finding out what was on the stereo back when I lived in residence. You may see where I'm going with this -- one of the songs I heard was that Ashley MacIsaac song, but as luck would have it, I didn't catch it when the DJ told us the name of that particular ditty. No biggie, I usually have pretty decent recall when it comes to that sort of thing, I was pretty sure it would come to me eventually.

But then, it didn't. I wasn't wracking my brain or anything, but usually if I just let my mind wander something will come to me. Fairly easily, I knew that the song was off the album "hi how are you today?", with the incidental realization that the follow up album was titled "fine thank you very much." I also could remember that the woman who sang the Gaelic verses over top of Mr. MacIsaac's fiddlin' noises was Mary Jane Lamond, and I even remembered that her name was pronounced LAMM-und, as opposed to la-MOND -- but even with all this peripheral info crowding around, the name of the song just was not coming.

I let this percolate for about a week and a half, and nothing came to me. It wasn't particularly irksome, more kinda fascinating. I know I could easily have Googled the info, but that didn't seem like the point. For instance, I happened to catch some of Ashley doin' his thing at the opening ceremonies of the Vancouver Olympics, which leads me to believe that it's assumed the majority of Canadians should at least have some sort of idea who this guy is and what he does. Which sort of means that for me, a guy who was in his prime music-paying-attention-to years when Ashley MacIsaac was popular, I should have had a pretty decent handle on his career, but I couldn't have named one song for you. Weird. It made me wonder -- am I the only one, or is Ashley that much of a riddle wrapped in an enigma? Did he really just fill that niche so completely that he can be the fiddle playin', possibly scandalously bisexual guy and just be famous for being famous for the rest of his Canadian life?

So -- I took the question to the people. I sent out the email question, "Hey -- what's the name of that Ashley MacIsaac song?" to about 30 of my friends, with no other context, and with everybody in the BCC field. I deliberately kept it super-vague, partly to encourage any and all responses, and also partly because I enjoy a slight tendency towards jerkitude, and thought providing some minor frustration to my friends would be a hoot. I got about a 35% response rate, which I'm pretty happy with (although I am surprised that of all the crazy emails of mine that he has responded to, this music-related one is the one that the guy who compiles Top 1000 Song Lists lets slide by). The fun thing is that the first three guesses were "Devil in the Kitchen," which left me with a sort of ambivalent feeling -- it sounded not wrong, but somehow not right either. Then, since I'm sure the suspense is killing you, the winner rolled in, and it's "Sleepy Maggie." I'm sure you'll all sleep better tonight.

Thanks to all who responded, and thanks for all those who refrained from responding with a sarcastic, "What, is the Google key on your computer broken?" Special thanks to the three possibly facetious but definitely humorous responses: "The Devil's Laundry", "My Boyfriend's Back", and "Stroke That Scrotum Gently."

Oh, and if anybody knows the name of the other well-known Pure song that isn't "Anna is a Speed Freak," feel free to send that info my way. For some reason, I think it starts with D.

Public Service Announcement

So, recently a strange confluence of events led to me catching up with an old acquaintance of mine, late night TV. (Of course, by 'acquaintance', I more likely mean 'near-all-consuming-passion-of-yore', but we'll let that slide.) I've known enough artsy-type folks in my day that occasionally, I'll see some commercial and realize, "Hey, I used to work with her," or, "Isn't that the guy who drywalled my basement?" Once, I actually saw a guy I went to high school with win a chugging contest on some sort of low budget CityTV Beer-lympics, which was a bizarre blast from the past. However, it appears I'm making a demographic switch, as this time my little jolt of familiarity happened as I swung by some Kwality Reality Programming.

Now, it was a show on the W network, and I only caught the last few seconds, and I didn't know the person in question all that well, so I wasn't really sure if it was who I thought it was. It was kind of intriguing, though, so a little bit of internet research was called for, at which point I could confirm that yes, I have met someone (and I'm not naming names, but someone I know might have dated her) who is featured on this season of Stuck on the women's network.

However -- all that is kinda irrelevant, it's just the roundabout way of telling you that when you Google stuck womens network, the second link that pops up starts off with the words "How to Look Good Naked." I don't know about you, but I usually click on links like that, and in this case it led me to info about a show where:

In each episode our host will teach women how to embrace their curves, love their lives and learn how to best show off the figures they have. We will guide them through their negative body issues and help them demystify their ideas of perfection. Each week through styling, beauty tips, and direction from our style experts, we will lead a woman on an extraordinary journey to loving herself again.

Not only that, the pooh-bahs who make this fine telly-vision show are looking for participants! "Well, ho-lee smokes," I thinks to meself, "They're looking for women. I know some women. That's like synergy! I need to tell people about this!"

So, uh, yeah. If anybody here has a latent desire to use the power of semi-scripted television to work out some self-esteem issues, I fully support you in that endeavour. Obviously, the chance to see my friends in their pixelated birthday suits is completely beside the point.


W Network, How To Look Good Naked

Application

Jerkitude

Well, I understand from the current literature on the subject that blogs are supposed to be a fairly of-the-moment sort of endeavour, that is, I should kinda be trying to record what's on my mind as of now. However, whilst I'm fairly new to this blogging thang, I do have a few old screeds kicking around on my computer, and rather than let them fade into obscurity, I figger I'll pop a few of 'em on here, as the mood strikes me.

This one stems from March of 2009, I think, should posterity be one of those things you're concerned with.

So, I played lacrosse last night, and the game has been rolling around in my head ever since. Through no fault of my own, I play on a team that can be pretty good if everything clicks, and this was one of those games. Nobody felt like they had to score a million goals all by themselves, everybody was passing the ball to the open man, and our goalie was fixing any mistakes we did make. On top of that, the goalie on the other team wasn't having a great game, so we were out to a 5-nuthin' lead pretty quick.

Then, early in the second period, when the score was probably 6-1 or so, a guy on my team had the ball in our own end, and one of their players was chasing him a bit. I was in the area, so I decided to help my guy out a bit by setting a pick. Now, if you're not the sporty type and you're not sure what a pick is, don't worry, that puts you in the same category as at least half my team. Basically, all it is, is when I stand still, and the guy on my team runs by me as close as he can, so the guy chasing him either runs into me or loses time by trying to go around me. Of course, the pick I set here was more of a token than anything, my teammate was pretty much getting free anyway. Also, it wasn't like this pick was going to clear my guy for a scoring chance or anything, it was just to try to gain a second or two. To further lessen the effectiveness, my teammate didn't have a chance to run right beside me, and the guy on the other team saw me standing there about four feet before he got to me, so the element of surprise was pretty much nil. Since all of these factors had combined to make this one of the lamest picks ever, the obvious play in my mind was for the other guy to run around me, which would have taken a fraction of a second longer than if I hadn't been there at all, and then he would still been part of his team's defense. However, this guy takes the other accepted approach of what to do when faced with a pick, and that is to run right through it. It wasn't like he lowered his shoulder and drilled me or anything, but his decision was to run into me.

Now, again, I get that this is what you're taught to do when you're a kid learning the game, but we're in a non-contact league, and it actually took him out of the play to do it. On top of that, if he was trying to teach me a lesson about not setting any more picks, well, geez, don't be such a pansy about it, actually hit me, don't just bump me. Really, I think he was just ticked that his team was losing, and didn't feel like playing nice anymore. God knows, I've been there myself, so I understand the impulse -- but my team was winning at the time, so I was in a totally different mental state. If somebody on the other team wants to be angry, well, I'm gonna do my best to help him out. I kinda chuckled, and turned around and started running to catch up to the play. Here, strangely, is where I turned into the most hated guy on my team.

The guy who'd bumped me asks, "What are you laughing at?" I don't really know what to say -- I've been known to be reasonably funny on the page, but when I'm on the spot to say something witty, I tend to be less so. I think I wanted to say something like, If you wanted to hurt somebody you have to hit a bit harder than that, Nancy -- but what came out was, "Intent to injure...," in as sardonic a tone as I could muster while running. Very lame, but he didn't seem to pick up on that, I believe he may have had his own agenda. He says something about how that's lacrosse, buddy, it's part of the game, and then the play evolves a bit and we don't have time to continue our repartée. Not much later in the same shift, however, I end up guarding him again, he's got the ball in the corner. This is where I have a chance to take the high road -- but instead, I put my stick as close to his face as I can, and say a couple of times, "Come on, you better beat me, you're better than me! You're better than me!" You'd think denigrating your own abilities wouldn't annoy the opposition, but no, I have found it to be highly effective. He ignored me as best he could and made a pass that a teammate of his dropped. This pretty much marked the end of my shift, and I headed for the bench. He stayed on the floor, and it's possible he was a little tired, because it wasn't much longer after that that my team scored again.

Again, I'm on the bench and totally removed from the play, so I had the chance to take the high road and keep quiet, or even just to loudly congratulate my teammate, which would have been insulting but not necessarily confrontational. However, as you may have guessed, I'm a bit of a jerk. I try to keep it under wraps, but when push comes to shove, what comes out of my mouth is, "I bet that pisses you off, huh." Those seemed to be the magic words, and he started yelling at me, "Look buddy, there's no need for you to chirp, you're winning and you have no skill, so shut the hell up!" I wasn't all that upset about the crack about my skill level -- really, he'd been batting a thousand on how do things wrong thus far this shift, but even a blind squirrel finds a nut every now and then -- so I just kind of smiled and saluted, aye aye cap'n, I'll follow orders, at which point the referees told us both to knock it off.

I generally do what the authority figure tells me to, so I shut up, and I didn't say anything to the other team the rest of the game. I yelled encouragement at my own teammates a lot, but that's no different than any other game I play. I actually played pretty passive, I didn't feel like stirring anything up. I had the ball a few times, and it definitely felt like people were whacking me a little harder than was absolutely necessary, but again, if it doesn't really hurt, no big deal. On one particularly crap shift, I managed to pass the ball directly to the guy I'd been jawing at, and he got a pretty good scoring chance out of it. The guy who was guarding me, sensing a prime heckling opportunity, told me it was a nice pass. Short, simple, should have been effective -- but really, if I know somebody's trying to piss me off, why give him the satisfaction? I replied with, "Yeah, those are my specialty," (which, unfortunately, they are, I wasn't kidding about the lack of skill thing), and just kept on running.

Then, with just over three minutes left in the game, when we're winning about 11-4, a loose ball rolls my way, and I have to run towards the boards to get it. The guy on the other team who's chasing me (a guy who has cut the sleeves off of his jersey, either to lessen wind resistance or to make it easier for people to admire his triceps, I'm not sure) has apparently also taken offense to my transgressions from half an hour ago, and decides to teach me a lesson, whacking hell out of me and saying, "Laughin', huh?" as I'm turned around running for the ball. He does actually hit my stick harder than he hits me, but even when he knocks my stick out of my hand, he doesn't seem to actually want the ball, just to hit me. Again -- if that's your goal, then geez, hit hard enough to hurt, for cryin' out loud. He seemed genuinely nostril-snorting angry, but all he did was get called for it, and then after the whistle he just stared me down until the ref told him to go to the penalty box. I didn't say a word, I wasn't angry or banged up, I was mostly just kinda bemused that I'd inspired this level of animosity in an only-sorta-competitive league. I mean, I suck. If you want to get angry at somebody on my team, get angry at the guys who scored all those goals.

So the game ends, and the post-game handshake goes without incident, and I go home and the whole thing rolls around in my head on crazy loop, like it always does when you think of all those things you should have said. Like, when it's pointed out that I have no skill, I could helpfully suggest that pissing people off and drawing penalties seems to be a pretty valid skill. Like, when somebody asks you, "What are you laughing at?" the best answer is probably, "Scoreboard." I've had some great conversations in my head, saving all the best lines for myself, all designed to inflict maximum jerkitude. What I keep coming back to is this -- those guys play on a bad team, they've been looking to get angry for a while now, and I was just the guy who happened to be in the right place at the right time. I'm usually not so into the trash talk -- but if you're gonna start something, I'm totally allowed to finish it, and I'm okay with that.

But you know what really pisses me off?

I'm starting to feel guilty about the whole thing.

Geez.