October 17, 2009

This probably falls under the heading of 'things that are only funny to me'.

I randomly did a Google image search for "New Zealand wild animals" (I was bored) and this is what came up:

Oh yeah, it's a possum. And they're not even native, folks! WILD.

October 15, 2009

Look at all the deliciously ghoulish, ghastly, and otherwise glorious Halloween-y events happening in my home Crypt of dEdmonton this month!

I know we must adapt to our foreign homes, the homes we adopt like wayward kittens along the roadside of life, and the ones in which new traditions are forged and new epiphanies are had. That is the beauty of moving through this big small world and exploring all the wonderful wild places there are to see. I know my adopted home is delicious in many ways. And I love it here.

But every October and every December I die a little bit inside because if there are three ways in which New Zealand can never compare, ever, to my adored homeland of Canada, it is in these:
1. No central heating.
2. No Halloween.
3. No winter Christmas.

They don't do Halloween here. They just don't. They call it "an American thing". The 31st of October passes with nary a blip on anyone's radar. The occasional drunken reveler will turn up in a costume on the street and the odd bar will have a skeleton in the window and 'Thriller' will be played more often than not but that's it. And then it's over. And then they turn their collective attention to gearing up for a swimsuit-and-beach BBQ Christmas. And I die - I DIE - a little more inside every October and every December.

I want the ghoul-infested, costume-choked, fog-enshrouded, squeal-inducing, door-to-door trick-or-treating, cobweb-strung, dead-raising, creepy kooky mysterious spooky glory that Halloween is intended to be. And then I want boatloads of fucking snow - I mean dump it down - and a Christmas with frosted window panes and roaring fires and Christmas carols and towering pine trees and snowmen and Santa in a goddamn reindeer sleigh zipping through the icy night from chimney to chimney.

I'm not asking for the world. I just want my Jack-O-Lanterns followed by my Jack Frost. That's it. (And central heating.) And then happily ever after. The end.

October 12, 2009

At one of my (four? five?) jobs they are hosting an event wherein you can listen to talks given by directors and editors of local films. It's called 'Cinezoo'. Somebody called today for information and concluded the conversation by asking why it's called Cinezoo. So I said "Um, because there are a menagerie of films represented?".

I know that still doesn't top the time I told some halfwit hooplehead in line at the movie theatre that Steven Seagal's Fire Down Below was about gonorrhea.

Though a close second would be when I informed a woman who wanted her year-long gift certificates renewed for another year because "you weren't showing anything I wanted to watch all year" that her lack of taste wasn't really my problem so no, I wouldn't renew them.

If there was an Olympian goddess of customer service, I would so be her.