1) I publicly unveiled my new dance last Thursday in Saint John at an A/V show. It’s called the “We’re Number One” dance. You know how you do that thing where you point your index fingers in the air and shake them around when you’re chanting “We’re number one”? Well that’s pretty much the dance. Only you have to put a little bit of funk into it with your hips and make it all sassy.

“We’re number one… We’re number one.”

My favourite song to do the “We’re number one” dance to is a track by LCD Soundsystem called “Daft Punk is playing at my house.” I like it because every time he says “My house” I go, “My house” because it’s my house and I live all by myself in the country. So I put a little extra sass into it. “My house… maahhh house. Show you the ropes kid, show you thaaa ropes.”

2) The local bakery or wherever it is that the Chipman grocery store gets their bagels. Those bakers have something to answer for with the way their automatic slicer machine mutilates these bagels. They think they’re doing you some big fancy service by slicing these bagels for you, well what kind of a service is it if I end up with one thin little useless slice of bagel and one great big fat hunk of bagel that won’t fit into any toaster anywhere in this toasty village?

You gotta calibrate that shit people. Sometimes I get ornery and try to toast the bagel anyway, the skinny part slides ride in but the fat part won’t cram into the toaster slot no matter what, so finally I stuff it in there and then there’s no way it’s coming out and the toaster catches on fire and the house burns down and I have to move into the shed and that’s why I’m typing this on my laptop while sitting on a ride-on lawnmower.

Don’t you understand my need for symmetry? I’m pleading with you. This absurd little slice of bagel, this… this bagel hat, I’m going to wear the skinny part of the bagel on my head and mount the fat part of the bagel on my ’88 Corolla instead of a tire, and I’m going to drive down to the bakery and burst through the doors of the bakery with my bagel hat on yelling “You will pay for what you did” because nobody fucks with me and especially, nobody fucks with my lunch.

3) In the summer of 2000 when I was jamming with Selwyn on the band that would eventually become A/V, we briefly considered calling ourselves “Race Of Doom.” I think there might be a couple of old synthesizer jam tapes floating around with “Race Of Doom” written on them.

“Race Of Doom” is a song by Devo off the New Traditionalists album. It’s one of my favourite Devo songs.

I’ll tell you what the Race Of Doom is. It’s when you’re driving up the highway at a pretty good clip, at least 120km/h, and then another car starts to pass you, or you start to pass someone else.

At some point the two cars will be side-by-side. Even though both vehicles are travelling at high velocity, there’s that moment when you feel like you are sitting still relative to the car beside you. You can look over and make out all sorts of details about the other car and its occupants, despite the fact that the landscape is a blur as it whips by you. At such speed, maneuvers have to be carried out with utmost precision. The slightest miscalculation could result in catastrophe.

Gradually, one car will start to inch past the other.

This is the point where you look out your window at the other car and yell “Raaaace… of… DOOOOOOOOOM!”

4) I eat spinach salads now. How punk rock is that? Fuck you.

“It was a salad disaster. We ran out of cron-tons.”