Thursday, July 26, 2007

Paltry Excuses for my Recent Non-Blogginess

1. Discovered a dormant addiction to guacamole.

2. Saw Travis at Kool Haus; was inspired by Doug Payne to die and come back as a bass guitar.

3. Carried around Homer Simpson's head on a wooden stick for the better part of a day.

4. Wasn't terribly surprised to hear that Patty the transvestite prostitute would be spending another night in jail.

5. Was enticed to eat overpriced ice cream pellets; forced to concede that they were good.

6. Realized that donating my crap clothes was a bad idea since ill-fitting clothes are still better than having my naked ass touch the grimy plastic of a subway seat.

7. Listened to a man cuss out his wife, loudly, via cell phone, on a jazz bar patio, for more than 30 minutes, while he pretended to be at the office and I polished off 3 drinks but not the whole plate of nachos because it was bigger than my head.

8. Did I mention the guacamole?

Tuesday, July 17, 2007

Cat-Sitting 101

1. Do not actually try to sit on, or ride the cat. As funny as it is, they don't really like it and it's not technically what their owner meant whey they asked you to catsit.

2. Don't bother making friends with the cat. If the cat wants to hide under the sofa for 3 days straight, let him. It's better than contracting cat-scratch fever the old fashioned me.

3. If the cat insists on being served its wet food in your shoe, comply. There are grosser things the cat could be doing in your shoe. Again, trust me.

4. If the cat appears to dislike the movie you are watching, trust it's opinion and shut the damn thing off. The ensuing cat showdown just isn't worth another 20 minutes of Sandra Bullock. As cats are not allowed in Blockbuster, be prepared to leave the remote control wherever little paws can reach and watch cable at the cat's mercy - if the cat shows a preference for late night latino talk show hosts who appear to have traded sex for money or blow for the past 60 years or so, then so be it.

5. Do not do yoga in front of the cat. Don't even wear yoga pants in front of the cat.

6. Don't fall for the "but I'm still hungry" look - it's a dirty trick that all cats play. The cat is NOT still hungry. However, when you overfeed it, the cat will overeat, until it's little belly is extended in bloated, resulting in explosive cat diarrhea the next day. Not only will you spend the next 3 hours scrubbing your friend's carpet, couch, drapes, and improbably, the top shelf of a very large book case, but you'll also have to kiss goodbye your favourite pair of Chucks (but for hygienic reasons, don't actually kiss them goodbye, don a double pair of latex gloves before incinerating them at your nearest toxic waste dump).

7. When you give the cat its shot of insulin (yes, the cat is diabetic) and suddenly the cat goes all crazy-eyed and starts acting like a donkey who just finished drinking a bucket of beer, call the vet immediately. Don't stop to take hilarious-but-insensitive video of the cat with your cell phone, then post it to Youtube, then call 3 of your easiest-amused friends to come over to see "the diabetic cat who's shit-faced on insulin". And when you finally do get to calling the vet, who says to come immediately, do not stop of slurpees, or to buy a new pair of Chucks.

8. When you get to the vet's office and she asks what kind of cat this is, don't say "um, orange?" and don't guess that his name "might be Charles", because the cat will turn out to be a girl, and you'll look like a dumbass. Remember that little note on the fridge back at your friend's apartment? The one with all the cat's details, that says something about what to do when the diabetic cat reacts badly to its insulin? Turns out, you should have brought it with you, or at least read the damn thing instead of mocking it, and your anal friends who wrote it - both sides, front and back! - about an effing cat, christ it's just a cat, do they think I can't sit and watch their dumb cat?

9. Also, it turns out that vets politely require you to have cats in some sort of carrying case when you go to their office, and frown upon just throwing the cat in the trunk of your car, and then trying to coax it into the office via an intoxicating trail of fruit loops (as a matter of fact, fruit loops don't go over well with diabetics in general).

10. Never catsit for people you actually like and expect to remain friends with. When they get home, receive the vet bill (and the bill to replace your Chucks, naturally), see that their heirloom turkish carpet is harbouring telling stains, and that you went through a 25 bag of cat food in 36 hours, and that their beloved Mrs. Fudge (Mrs. Fudge? Seriously? You named your cat Mrs. Fudge?) is recovering from diabetic coma and deals with the emotional trauma of having the 2058th highest-rated cat-related Youtube video by shredding random pieces of furniture....well, let's just say that you probably won't be receiving a thank you card in the mail anytime soon. Cat people can be such snobs.

Friday, July 13, 2007

Things That Amuse Me

One of my favourite offshoots of blogging is that people not only write me great comments (and let's face it - the comments are what make this blog worthwhile) but they write me vastly amusing emails as well. And so, with margarita swimming stealthily in my stomach, I share with you the gems that made me smile this week:

Mr. Unedited Meat wrote to me that he too has been enthralled with the Feeling Droopy? soup campaign on Dufferin Street. Sadly, the sign has since been replaced and seems to now focus on some sort of deli meat, and is far less witty. Okay, so soup is a tough sell in 40 degree heat, but corned beef is even tougher on aesthetics alone, and frankly it makes me like the mustachioed, safari-hat spokesman that much less. Mr. Meat was also gaying it up at the pride parade recently, and was astute enough to note that being crushed by fat men in leather thongs is far less exciting when you're sober.

Anthony thought I might need some beer money, and sent me a link to sell my DNA for the low, low price of $5000. Now, I don't know about you, but $5000 sounds good to me. That's a lot of martinis (well, with taxes and tip, about 275 of them, which, frankly, is like, what?, 3 decent benders?). The part that doesn't sound good to me is that some company will actually own the patent to my DNA. So, conversely, the website also encourages me to sell my friends' DNA instead - once it leaves their bodies, it isn't theirs anymore. So potentially the fact that I only wash my sheets once a week means I am sleeping on a goldmine here! Let's start the bidding!

Boris, meanwhile, was kind enough to take my self-confessed shitty poem and tell me how to make it better. Granted, it's called a shitty poem for a reason ( a very good, very cliche-riddled reason), but it's always nice to hear from readers, especially ones that call me "pleasing to the ear", when it did not involve my tongue.

Mike sent me a newspaper clipping involving the sad demise of my own siblings. A big rig tipped over, and more than 240 goats, stacked 4 deep in the back, were killed. Obviously, I don't like to read about so many nice goats meeting their makers, but I was also dismayed to read that the goats were worth $150 each. Frankly, when my time comes, I hope my retail price is not listed in my obituary. And in the meantime, I'm damn glad that as bad as "economy class" is, cramming us in shoulder to shoulder, at least there's not someone prone to nervous shitting stacked over my head. Plus, the peanuts. Those poor goats died without peanuts.

Finally, Sandra gave me a huge reason to smile when she confessed that she landed on my page by actually googling how to kill a goat. That rocks! Of course, I don't really know how to kill a goat, so let me refer you to the 4-H club of Cornell University, who suggests first finding someone who "is used to killing goats." Sounds good to me. Then you stun the goat with a sharp blow to the head, and then cut his jugular. Of course, if by goat you mean me, I would prefer to be sent a case or two of fine Canadian whiskey and a few slabs of bacon. No, that's not enough to kill me, but don't worry, I've had a head start. :)

Wednesday, July 11, 2007


Greetings Goat readers!

This is Rod and Chris and we have hijacked Jay's blog in honour of her [cough]th birthday!

We apologize in advance for the fact that we both suck at writing. In fact, Rod can barely read - but he makes an exception for Kill the Goat, because this is an exceptional blog, I think we can all agree.

Party hat or no, never ask a lady her age.

If you've been reading here for a while, then you know that Jamie is almost certainly Canada's next great writer, probably the best friend any of us could hope to have, and a prolific curser of seamen proportions. She's a doll, and we all love her.

But she's been going through a rough time lately. I think she's kept it purposely vague on the blog, but I think I can tell you that she's lost someone very close to her, been violently attacked, suffered more health setbacks, and continues to live through various repercussions of all these things. But she's so strong that she just keeps going, through more than any one person should have to live through, and she's only [cough] years old for heck's sake! Any one of us might easily have folded by now, but this girl doesn't know how to give up. She's still making us laugh, asking how we are, shaking her thing like there's no tomorrow (not that we were looking, Jason...well, okay, maybe Rod was a little), and as you read this she is literally helping the homeless. Can you believe that shit?

So, to make sure that this year is a better one for her, we've gone directly to the source (by which we mean her blog, as Jamie would never agree to having us "dumb down" her blog if we actually had asked permission) (by the way, Jay, your passwords are ABSURDLY easy to figure out) and we have it on the authority of a previous post that Jay wants nothing more in life than a new tattoo, and a lot more sex.


Please do not send pictures of your penis to her email account. As per her own rather loud admission in a crowded bar, Jay is currently having "the best sex of her life."

Today we are focusing on the new tattoo, and we're taking up a collection to make sure she gets it. If you would like to make a birthday contribution, click on the paypal donation button in the sidebar to your right. Also feel free to inundate her with birthday wishes and spread the word via your own blogs, and if you live in the GTA and know of a great place to have a tattoo, or could contribute original artwork, be sure to send those details along too.

Happy birthday, sweetie. We love you!

*****Jamie's Edit:

Aw, guys, you're making me all misty.
This has got to be one of the best birthday surprises ever - I don't think I've ever been gifted with hundreds of needles to rip apart my flesh before, and the fact that so many of you are willing to contribute to that pain and torture really means a lot. :)

It's true that my day did involve a crazy lady who chugged hand sanitizer, so my birthday festivities are really only just commencing. I've got a whole week of scoring free lunches planned ahead of me.

Oh, and boys - I am far too young to have to be coughing over my age already. Sheesh.

Thursday, July 05, 2007

I Steal Puppies.

So I was walking down the street, heel-toe, heel-toe, a little bit jaunty because I was humming some Al Green to myself, and I was swinging my purse to and fro (I'm a voracious purse-swinger. Lots of times, the straps on my purses will break mid-swing, flinging my purse and its contents far and wide, sometimes directly into oncoming's funny how the strap never breaks when my purse is calmly sitting on the floor of the car or beside my chair at dinner...not, it only breaks when it's mid-air). At any rate, I was safely ensconced in Jamie-bubble and there isn't normally much that would burst it - I could walk by the world's hairiest man wrestling a llama and I wouldn't notice, I could step over a pile of severed limbs spelling out my initials and I wouldn't look twice, I could walk through a replica of castle Grayskull made entirely of gouda and pretzels and notice little more than a rumbly in my tumbly - but a sweet little puppy trotted out to the sidewalk to greet me, and in mere moments I was all moist-eyed and sugar-tongued.

He was a cutie, which is a fancy way of saying I can't identify breeds. But he had short little legs and an ironic smile, and a coat of fur that looked like it would shed very negligibly. But the best part was that he was unleashed and people-less. And did I mention he was about the size of my purse?

The thing is, I don't have a dog but would like one very much. If God himself happens to put a purse-sized dog in my path, who am I to argue? I need a pet, and this dog seemed in need of some water, and it just so happens that I have a tap or two in my house, which is a pretty astounding coincidence, no? It seemed like the universe was practically forcing this puppy into my purse, and then forcing me to run furtively with the squirmy dog back to my place, ignoring shouts of "Stop, thief!" and "Dog-napper!", which, to be fair, could equally have been "Chop beef!" and "Hog-slapper!" for all I know. There are some pretty sketchy butchers in my neighbourhood. And that being the case, thank goodness I've rescued this poor dog before he followed the fate of the skunk.

All right, so I didn't steal the dog. I just thought about it. A lot. I thought about his little eyes, and the way they seemed to see straight to my soul and say "Hey lady, give me a cheese slice!" and how I don't actually have any cheese slices, but I know where I could get some, and how we'd have a happy, calcium-rich existence together forever, or at least until one of us got run over by an ice cream truck.

And then, a couple of days later, I was again confronted with temptation when a dog boarded the bus I was on. This guy was a golden retriever (which is probably the only breed I know, because one starred on Full House), and I could tell he and I were kindred spirits because he got on the bus, looked around disgustedly at the other riders, and then collapsed in the middle of the aisle, taking up more space than he deserved with a definite air of superiority and I-don't-give-a-shittedness. Unfortunately, his owner boarded right behind him, which confused me because he had protuberant elbows and forest-green corduroy pants, so on the one hand I thought clearly this man does not deserve to be a pet owner, but on the other hand I thought perhaps the dog is his only friend in the whole wide world, and as puppy-free as my life is, at least I have proportionate joints and seasonally appropriate clothes. But the pity was fleeting as I am quite self-centered, and I used the rest of my bus ride to establish eye contact with the dog who remained comfortably stretched out on the floor, looking like it quite expected to be fed peeled grapes at any moment. I felt like if only I could catch his eye, we could silently communicate our intentions. I thought that as we approached my stop, I could pretend like it was just another pole on a long and pitted road, but then at the last minute, having fooled everyone into thinking that I was staying seated, I would leap through the doors just as they were swinging shut, sort of Kill Bill-style (if Kill Bill had been a movie about the seedy underbelly of public transportation) (call me, Quentin!), and the dog, casting a "so long, sucker" glance at his ex-owner, would follow suit, and then we'd both stand on the curb and smirk as the bus pulled away with the bamboozled Mr. Big Elbows staring aghast out the window, helpless and alone.

But it turns out that I didn't do that one, either.
I guess I'm just a softie at heart.
Or, you know, a pussy.

One of those two.

Tuesday, July 03, 2007

Video Killed the Radio Star

I was born in an MTV world and grew up obsessed with channel 29, which featured Canada's equivalent, Much Music. But while I couldn't live without it during high school, I haven't seen it since, and I wondered why...except not really, because even very brief channel-surfing reveals the stark truth. I remember the glory days of music videos - when real musicians who played real instruments made miniatures movies that actually meant something in terms of the music they were set to. Today videos feature short shorts, bouncy cars, and not much else. The days of the 'concept video' are clearly over, and the stuff that I remember are relics of the past.

1991 Nirvana, Smells Like Teen Spirit

The opening chords to this song served to incite an entire generation, and the video defined it. It was later called an anthem for apathetic kids, but as the video aptly shows, if the kids are apathetic, it's only until they found a suitable outlet. The video captures not what high school is like, but what high school feels like - dark, angry, and teeming with anarchy. I have never heard another song where the distortion is so fucking appropriate.

1992 Guns N Roses, November Rain

It's hard to believe that Axl Rose was ever cool, but nothing lasts forever, and we both know hearts can change. However, for a brief time (well, not that brief, this sucker clocks in at nearly 9 minutes) Guns N Roses ruled, and this song and its video were nothing short of iconic (and set the standard for mini skirts and tongue-kissing in church). The video is epic, and leaves no doubt as to the true rock godliness of Slash, who features prominently, not just atop the piano, but in the church yard playing his face-melting solo.

1993 Aerosmith, Livin on the Edge

This video is a time capsule of social ills - school violence, unprotected sex, theft, vandalism, the wrecklessness of youth - and it turns out that much of what was wrong with the world then is still wrong with the world today, only by now, we do know what it is. Combining lyrics inspired by the L.A. race riots (If you can judge a wise man\By the color of his skin\Then mister you're a better man that I) and unexpected, theatrical imagery, this video was a mainstay then and a treat to come across now. Nearly 15 years later, my heart still races every time Joe Perry just barely misses getting pulverized by the train.

1994 Live, Lightning Crashes

Birth, death, forces of nature, the whole damn circle of life for those of us who were too old to go see the Lion King. This song made me realize that not only could lyrics could be poetry, but so could video.

1995 Radiohead, Fake Plastic Trees

This is probably the only Radiohead video that's anything less than subtle and obscure, but not to worry, it still has that unassuming Radiohead essence that we all expect. The song comes down hard on the artificiality of the life we've constructed, and the video draws parallels to mass consumerism, and both call attention to the vast, empty voids that result. Lonely and desperate, it's no wonder this song has sunk into the consciousness of so many people.

1996 Smashing Pumpkins, Tonight, Tonight

Somehow, the video, which features a zeppelin to the moon, manages to capture both the urgency and the longing of the song's lyrics while painting a dreamscape which contrasted dramatically to the usual Pumpkins fare.

1997 Green Day Good Riddance (Time of Your Life)

Releasing an "adult" sounding acoustic song is often considered the most punk thing these boys could do. Lyrically about a breakup, the video highlights the crossroads at which we often find ourselves, and is surprisingly introspective for a single off an album titled nimrod. But no matter how much it was overplayed (it even made it into the final episode of Seinfeld), it made us all hope that one day we'd grow up to be half as mature as Billie Joe - for what it's worth\ it was worth all the while.

1998 Fatboy Slim, Praise You

Most excellent video EVAH. It has nothing to do with anything, and that's probably why it was so stand-out-able. It was novel, but the strange thing was, the novelty never wore off, and I find that even 10 years later, this one still makes me smile.

1999 Our Lady Peace, Thief

It's hard for me to pick just one OLP video because I doubt even Raine Maida's mother is as big a fan as I am. I even have a scar on my body from rushing down the stairs when I heard the opening strains to a newly released song (fittingly, the song is called clumsy). And though the band has many honourable mentions in terms of video, I chose this one for its simplicity and the fact that it's hard to watch and not be moved. The song's lyrics grapple with a little girl's cancer and I think the video is just plain grief.

And finally, the only video I find worthy of mention since 2000, brought to us by a man who's career spanned many pre-MTV decades - Mr. Johnny Cash. Originally this was a Trent Reznor song, but with this video, JR brings new meaning to it (and proves that radio stars can adapt). It's emotional and raw, and especially poignant because his wife, who appears in the video, died unexpectedly as it was released (and Cash followed soon afterward). This is Hurt.

Which ones meant the most to you?