Photo by Robin M.

Xmas Day, 2003.

I was just at a party at LaRue’s, and Claudette was getting a drink and I grabbed her and tried to lift her up to stuff her in the freezer. We started rasslin’ and she bonked her head on the freezer door. I just laughed at her and tried to close the freezer door on her head. Claudette proceeded to make a grab for my nut-sack so I took a chunk of ice out of the freezer and chased her around and finally managed to get it down her back. She had a jacket on and couldn’t get at the ice to remove it. I took off out the back door and came home to write this. In a minute I’m going back over to the party. It’s 1:30 in the morning and I’m leaving for Saint John at 8am. Somebody feed my cat, hey Dexter, feed my cat while I’m gone. This post brought to you by Appleton Rum.

My little brother turned 30 today. He has a wife and a kid and a house and a car. What do I got? A hangover and a camera full of pictures of naked breasts and penises.

I feel like I’ve drank more in the past week than I have in the past twelve months combined. That’s the lure of free booze for you. Seems like a wave of debauchery has swept over Halifax. I’ve watched a lot of shit going up people’s noses this week, people are getting naked and girls are making out with each other all over the place.

In three days I go back to my parents’ place in Saint John. I’m going to relax and clear my head and probably watch a bunch of television or whatever it is that normal people do at night.

Some funny stories came out of it all but I can’t write right now. I haven’t even eaten yet today so to hell with this computer-webpage-email shit, I’m just going to dump a few photos onto the server and you can sort it out yourself. Ciao.

~ friday night party pics

Looking for something to do tonight? I will be performing tonight at The Attic with two different bands, Colour TV and A/V.

Colour TV is a four-piece rock band with electric guitars and lots of jumping up to the sky.

A/V is a one-man new-wave band with synthesizers and lots of falling down on the ground.

Whether or not I perform in my long johns will depend upon the temperature in The Attic, which is part of Halifax’s infamous Liquor Dome complex.

Hi, click the image to open the webcam link in a new window. It should refresh automatically every few seconds. If you’re lucky you might get to see some drunk people in their underwear tonight.

UPDATE: it’s all done so don’t bother clicking on the picture, we’ll do it again soon, bye!

Listen to that wind.

The power adapter to my iBook died on the weekend. As I type this I’m watching the computer’s battery level draining. Two more hours and it’s all over.

I suppose I won’t get a chance to email all the blogspotters in town and tell them about the party we’re having tomorrow night, Tuesday Dec. 16. Please help me out by spreading the word.

Claudette suggested we make it a long johns party. “I look hot in long johns,” she said.

So the plan is, we’re all going to sit around in our long johns and get drunk. I have to admit, girls do look cute in long johns, in a “Bugs-Bunny-dressed-up-as-a-girl” kind of way.

(On the weekend I had two people tell me they didn’t own a pair of long johns. Would you care to look out the window, and tell me what country you thought you were living in? Borrow a pair from your dad.)

The goal of the party is to get as many bloggers in one room as possible and get them all drunk. Then we’ll stagger up Gottingen Street to Hell’s Kitchen. Then we’ll all write about it the next day. So if you have a website, you’ll want to be here.

As an added bonus, this will be an art-giveaway party. My roommate Jane is moving away and she can’t take all her paintings with her. This is your chance to acquire a Jane Corrigan original before she goes off to Toronto and becomes a big famous art star.

I expect this party to feature a fistfight between two randomly-selected girls. Also, one lucky winner gets to walk in on me while I’m trying to have a threesome.

The whole thing goes down right here at Bloomfield House. If you don’t know you better axe somebody.

These are the last days, my friends.

I went on an art date with LaRue earlier this week. We went to an opening at the Banana Leonowens Gallery, and then we saw a video showing at Salvation, and then hit the Bella Muse for the Audio Deviance event.

Somewhere between the Gallery and Salvation I picked up a bottle of Fireball at the LC. LaRue and I filled a teacup with hooch and passed it back and forth during the video screening.

Halfway through this black-and-white zombie video, I went to fill up the teacup and realized the bottle was done. “Hey what time is it?”

“Twelve minutes to ten.”

“Shit!” So I ran out the door of Salvation halfway through the movie, and ran two or three blocks up Agricola Street to the liquor store so I could get another bottle of Fireball.

That bottle didn’t last too long either. Now, I’m not normally much of a drinker but it was my night off and I must have been feeling a little ebullient.

I don’t recall being really drunk, however I can remember two things I did that I probably would not have done if I hadn’t been under the influence of alcohol.

1) After the video screenings were over, a few people started moving the couches around at Salvation and putting the place back in order. I stood in the middle of the room and gave mock interior-designer directions: “No, I really think this would look better over there. Oh, on second thought, put this couch against that far wall.”

At one point, two people were carrying a couch, and they set it down at a weird angle in the middle of the room while they adjusted their grip.

I put my hands up to my cheeks and said, “Perfect! Oh that’s just perfect.”

The people moving the furniture, whom I did not know, did their best to ignore me.

2) There’s an old pinball machine at the front of the Bella Muse. LaRue and I were hanging out up there and just goofing around.

First I pulled back the plunger of the pinball machine and let it go and started flipping the flippers. Then I put both hands on the plunger and held it in front of my crotch.

A bunch of people I don’t know came into the front part of the Muse. I proceeded to ride the plunger in and out of the pinball machine while singing “Welcome to the juuun-gle!”

That Fireball is scary stuff.

“I don’t like Paul Martin. He’s boring.”

“I know what you mean. He’s so boring, you don’t even know what he really is. He could be anything.”

“At least Chrétien was funny.”

“Paul Martin scares me.”

Paul Martin was sworn in yesterday as Canada’s 21st Prime Minister. A big day for Canada. Also a big day in the blog world. If you visit Dear Jean, you’ll notice that it now says “Dear Paul” across the top.

Chris Lloyd has been writing to the Prime Minister almost daily for ages now. I sort of wondered what Chris would do when Chrétien finally retired–if he would try to keep writing to Jean as a private citizen, in the hopes that Jean might finally have the time to write back. But no, it looks like Paul Martin will now be the recipient of these messages detailing the minutiae of Chris’s life.

It almost makes me want to write to the PM myself, just so I can say, “C’mon dude, drop Chris a line whydontcha.”

“One of the key elements of a successful photograph,” I was saying, “is careful composition.”

Then I held the camera down in front of my crotch, aimed it up at her, and pressed the button.

…Choosing a worthwhile subject is also very important. xo!

xo!

<3 <3 <3

It’s been a long week but a good one. Tonight will be my fourth consecutive night working at the club until 4AM and the pace is starting to wear me out a bit.

My favourite image from the past week is from Wednesday night. It was below freezing as I biked up Maynard Street–I was definitely not in the mood to be going to work. Walked in the side door of the Marquee and headed for the stairs.

I was just starting to head down the stairs when I caught a glimpse of the bottom half of a familiar ski jacket and below it a familiar leg coming up to kick someone in the ass. From that little glimpse of ski jacket, I knew right away it was Claudette.

When I got to the bottom of the stairs, there she was. She was laughing so hard she was stumbling around, after just having booted one of the bouncers in the rear. I have no idea what it was all about.

I grabbed her by the arm and said, “Is this woman giving you a hard time?”

“Get her out of here!” said Rob, the bouncer. I pretended to give Claudette the “chicken wing” towards the back door.

So I arrived at work and almost immediately found myself sitting at a table with Claudette and Larue, two of my favourite women in the North End, if not the world. It definitely put me at ease about being at the Marquee.

Every time I looked at Claudette all night, she was either smiling or laughing her head off (I almost suspect she might have been drunk).

And Larue is so beautiful that I just want to crawl inside one of her hugs and stay there for the rest of the year.

Two guys in ski jackets stopped to look at the computer monitor that someone had left on the sidewalk in front of my house. Leaves blew around in a big whirlpool on the street behind them.

One of the guys tipped the monitor forward, rocked it back, then they walked on and left it. A Tim Hortons coffee cup rolled back and forth in its little arc in the middle of the street.

I stood frozen to the upstairs window with a blanket wrapped around my shoulders. The streetlights were coming on in the middle of the afternoon.