I'm busy learning Japanese. I need more fuel, I need more time, and I need a drink.
F.Y.I Anyone with a name that rhymes with mine should have a good time introducing themselves in Japanese.
Hajimemashite, Tess desu
Pronounciation: Ha-ji-may-mah-shee-tay Tess dess
Ja mata!
Thursday, September 21, 2006
Monday, September 11, 2006
Happy September Eleventh.
I wish I had kept this picture a secret until now, but sadly it has already made it's debut elsewhere.
Thank Rahul for finding this little gem.
Tuesday, September 05, 2006
Dolly Parton and Folliculitis.
Even though I left Tennessee weeks ago and many other notable things have happened to me since, I still think it's worth mentioning a few highlights from this particular trip. Because the bible belt is a scary and uncertain place for skinny alcoholic who trusts hot tubs a little too much, this was a confusing and oddly enlightening visit to a place I'm not sure I ever want to go to again. FUCK DOLLY PARTON.
First, I would like to note that everyone there has an ass the size of a trailor. I'm not even exaggerating when I say me and everyone I was travelling with were the skinniest (if not most attractive) people that I saw the whole time. In fact, when we went shopping at an outlet mall that included American Eagle, The Gap, Old Navy, and other common names, I was a size one or two.
Now I'm not exactly a blimp, but here in Canada my average size is more like a five or six in Europe as high as a nine, no where near the minute size of a one or two. So it's evident that not only does Southern society realize that everyone there is the size of gigantic sea mammals, but in fact they also reinforce the idea that it's acceptable to be this huge by making the sizes large enough to accomodate obese bodies while still keeping the self esteem of a normal sized human being.
In Tennessee according to this size standard my sister Leni does not exist. When she complained and made fun of the bedsheet sized clothing after trying on the seventh pair of pants that made her look like an extra from Schindler's List, she attracted so much negative attention that I heard a few short troll-like girls mutter "Theyah shud go bay-ack to Canduh." After hearing this and nearly laughing above their stunted heads, I ran over to warn her that she was probably going to be stomped by Gimli and a few of his buddies. She asked me why they would want to do this then continued to talk about the overweight woman who was eating a cheeseburger outside.
Apart from that, there were also sweet things to be seen. This included the so called "cabin" we were staying in which was more like a palace. I only have a picture of the outside, but the inside was much more impressive. It's lower floor included a pool table, deck, and arcade machine that played Pac-Woman, Space Invaders, Frogger, and that old Donkey Kong game that makes incredibly irritating sound effects. Needless to say I came away with renewed arcade game skill and learned how not to suck at pool.
Oh did I mention the hot tub? Well the hot tub seemed to be the icing on the cake for me. Having to walk all the way down the hill to the pool which wasn't deeper than the one at my house just didn't seem worth the treacherous and, more often than not, intoxicated walk, but there was something about the hot tub I didn't know. Something that lurked inside the pond-like smelling inner workings of the two jets that functioned only after I fixed them.
The medical term is folliculitis and it can be caused by bacteria on razors, soaps, contact with bacteria on surfaces, and contact with HOT TUBS. Needless to say after finding out that this was the culprit I mentally wrote down hot tubs on my shit list of seemingly innocent, things that in reality are trying to get me and proceeded to stare at the hot tub menacingly while trying to think of a plausible way to throw it off the deck. I eventually gave up on this idea and threw some pebbles into it hoping that it would clog the jets, which of course ended up being just another disappointment for me.
Anyways, I was never an overly zitty person when I was a teenager (wow I feel old saying that) which was nice, but it left me incredibly unprepared for growing bumps on my neck shoulders and boobs. It scared the hell out me. Anyone who knows me well should know that I am possibly the most neurotic person when it comes to my health. Even though I live a life of hypocrisy by eating terribly, drinking way too much, never excercising, and smoking cigerettes, I still freak out and think I have basal cell carcinoma every time I get a rash.
So to say the least I was unimpressed with this disorder, but not even half as upset as Leni became when she suddenly broke out in the same thing. To those of you that haven't met my sister, it could be said that she has the highest standard for beauty that anyone could ever possess, and in her mind by breaking out in bumps that resemble acne, she was essentially becoming the equivalent of John Merrick the elephant man. She said she wouldn't leave the house. I eventually found this to be so hilarious that the episode of tit zits ceased to bother me.
Besides the infectious illness, the trip continued to be surprisingly fun, well...surprisingly interesting. I was forced by my father to attend the Dixie Stampe or as I like to call it "The Stunted Chicken Holocaust" where you are forced to eat a three course meal that includes a side of pork and a full chicken without the use of utensils. It was quite possibly the most shockingly terrrifying thing I've ever seen. The North and the South battle on horseback. Really fat people stomp on the ground of a second floor building. There was alot of singing. Think Medieval restaurant gone terribly wrong.
After that we went to DollyWood, which impressed me even less than the stampede because it involved me having to be in the sun. I have to be honest on here so dad if you're reading this I'm sorry, but I'd rather let someone chop off part of my finger than go to another amusement park. The place was terrible. They actually told me I couldn't roll up my shirt because it was "a family establishment" and God forbid I get to do anything that would make me feel more comfortable in that hell hole.
After hearing this from the third hideous aged DollyWood staff member, I told my dad's girlfriend about this and she whipped off her shirt and flashed in their general direction. This could have been a very funny story, but the senile old workers were too busy talking about the pros and cons of burning gay interracial couples or whatever the fuck old Southerners talk about to notice that her breasts were flopping around the park. A little disappointing if I do say so myself.
Speaking of disappointment. No one told me before I got into the car and drove five hours to Tennessee that we were going to be in a dry town. For those of you that aren't aware of this meaning of "dry" it means no booze. The only thing sold anywhere in that town was really shitty American beer and low percentage coolers. (I drank seven of them and got nothing but a headache.) My dad howeever, still being in touch with his Newfoundland roots, anticipated this problem and brought a stock pile of rum, vodka, and tequila, so there ended up being more alcohol in our house than the rest of the town combined.
The last night of the trip we decided to go and get one of those old Western, black and white pictures done. Talis and I were the only ones who did anything interesting in the gag photo and the result makes both of us look like assholes, but that's ok. After the picture I went to a shop that made spray picture t-shirts. I asked if I could have one with myself and Jesus mud-wrestling and the man told me he could only spray what was on the wall. I then proceeded to ask for one of Spiderman mud-wrestling Jesus, but he gave me a look that made me feel like he was beginning to get a little irritated with this line of questioning so I felt uncomfortable suddenly and impulsively bought a green Zippo instead.
Even though this turned out to be a pretty wacked out place, I did in fact have alot of fun. Apart from catching a hair follicle infection, not being able to drink in restaurants, having to listen to stupid old assholes, having to listen to Dolly Parton's music, being forced to eat at the Dixie Stampede, not being allowed to have a really sweet shirt made, and generally not being allowed to behave in my normal fashion, this trip was a total blast and my only regret is that I didn't find a way to destroy that fucking hot tub.
*Note: Folliculitis can cause scabbing, scarring, and HAIR LOSS. I thought that I had a bad case but mine was in fact very minor. Check out this picture. Yeah this isn't just another episode of hypochondria. Don't get in the water mother fuckers.
First, I would like to note that everyone there has an ass the size of a trailor. I'm not even exaggerating when I say me and everyone I was travelling with were the skinniest (if not most attractive) people that I saw the whole time. In fact, when we went shopping at an outlet mall that included American Eagle, The Gap, Old Navy, and other common names, I was a size one or two.
Now I'm not exactly a blimp, but here in Canada my average size is more like a five or six in Europe as high as a nine, no where near the minute size of a one or two. So it's evident that not only does Southern society realize that everyone there is the size of gigantic sea mammals, but in fact they also reinforce the idea that it's acceptable to be this huge by making the sizes large enough to accomodate obese bodies while still keeping the self esteem of a normal sized human being.
In Tennessee according to this size standard my sister Leni does not exist. When she complained and made fun of the bedsheet sized clothing after trying on the seventh pair of pants that made her look like an extra from Schindler's List, she attracted so much negative attention that I heard a few short troll-like girls mutter "Theyah shud go bay-ack to Canduh." After hearing this and nearly laughing above their stunted heads, I ran over to warn her that she was probably going to be stomped by Gimli and a few of his buddies. She asked me why they would want to do this then continued to talk about the overweight woman who was eating a cheeseburger outside.
Apart from that, there were also sweet things to be seen. This included the so called "cabin" we were staying in which was more like a palace. I only have a picture of the outside, but the inside was much more impressive. It's lower floor included a pool table, deck, and arcade machine that played Pac-Woman, Space Invaders, Frogger, and that old Donkey Kong game that makes incredibly irritating sound effects. Needless to say I came away with renewed arcade game skill and learned how not to suck at pool.
Oh did I mention the hot tub? Well the hot tub seemed to be the icing on the cake for me. Having to walk all the way down the hill to the pool which wasn't deeper than the one at my house just didn't seem worth the treacherous and, more often than not, intoxicated walk, but there was something about the hot tub I didn't know. Something that lurked inside the pond-like smelling inner workings of the two jets that functioned only after I fixed them.
The medical term is folliculitis and it can be caused by bacteria on razors, soaps, contact with bacteria on surfaces, and contact with HOT TUBS. Needless to say after finding out that this was the culprit I mentally wrote down hot tubs on my shit list of seemingly innocent, things that in reality are trying to get me and proceeded to stare at the hot tub menacingly while trying to think of a plausible way to throw it off the deck. I eventually gave up on this idea and threw some pebbles into it hoping that it would clog the jets, which of course ended up being just another disappointment for me.
Anyways, I was never an overly zitty person when I was a teenager (wow I feel old saying that) which was nice, but it left me incredibly unprepared for growing bumps on my neck shoulders and boobs. It scared the hell out me. Anyone who knows me well should know that I am possibly the most neurotic person when it comes to my health. Even though I live a life of hypocrisy by eating terribly, drinking way too much, never excercising, and smoking cigerettes, I still freak out and think I have basal cell carcinoma every time I get a rash.
So to say the least I was unimpressed with this disorder, but not even half as upset as Leni became when she suddenly broke out in the same thing. To those of you that haven't met my sister, it could be said that she has the highest standard for beauty that anyone could ever possess, and in her mind by breaking out in bumps that resemble acne, she was essentially becoming the equivalent of John Merrick the elephant man. She said she wouldn't leave the house. I eventually found this to be so hilarious that the episode of tit zits ceased to bother me.
Besides the infectious illness, the trip continued to be surprisingly fun, well...surprisingly interesting. I was forced by my father to attend the Dixie Stampe or as I like to call it "The Stunted Chicken Holocaust" where you are forced to eat a three course meal that includes a side of pork and a full chicken without the use of utensils. It was quite possibly the most shockingly terrrifying thing I've ever seen. The North and the South battle on horseback. Really fat people stomp on the ground of a second floor building. There was alot of singing. Think Medieval restaurant gone terribly wrong.
After that we went to DollyWood, which impressed me even less than the stampede because it involved me having to be in the sun. I have to be honest on here so dad if you're reading this I'm sorry, but I'd rather let someone chop off part of my finger than go to another amusement park. The place was terrible. They actually told me I couldn't roll up my shirt because it was "a family establishment" and God forbid I get to do anything that would make me feel more comfortable in that hell hole.
After hearing this from the third hideous aged DollyWood staff member, I told my dad's girlfriend about this and she whipped off her shirt and flashed in their general direction. This could have been a very funny story, but the senile old workers were too busy talking about the pros and cons of burning gay interracial couples or whatever the fuck old Southerners talk about to notice that her breasts were flopping around the park. A little disappointing if I do say so myself.
Speaking of disappointment. No one told me before I got into the car and drove five hours to Tennessee that we were going to be in a dry town. For those of you that aren't aware of this meaning of "dry" it means no booze. The only thing sold anywhere in that town was really shitty American beer and low percentage coolers. (I drank seven of them and got nothing but a headache.) My dad howeever, still being in touch with his Newfoundland roots, anticipated this problem and brought a stock pile of rum, vodka, and tequila, so there ended up being more alcohol in our house than the rest of the town combined.
The last night of the trip we decided to go and get one of those old Western, black and white pictures done. Talis and I were the only ones who did anything interesting in the gag photo and the result makes both of us look like assholes, but that's ok. After the picture I went to a shop that made spray picture t-shirts. I asked if I could have one with myself and Jesus mud-wrestling and the man told me he could only spray what was on the wall. I then proceeded to ask for one of Spiderman mud-wrestling Jesus, but he gave me a look that made me feel like he was beginning to get a little irritated with this line of questioning so I felt uncomfortable suddenly and impulsively bought a green Zippo instead.
Even though this turned out to be a pretty wacked out place, I did in fact have alot of fun. Apart from catching a hair follicle infection, not being able to drink in restaurants, having to listen to stupid old assholes, having to listen to Dolly Parton's music, being forced to eat at the Dixie Stampede, not being allowed to have a really sweet shirt made, and generally not being allowed to behave in my normal fashion, this trip was a total blast and my only regret is that I didn't find a way to destroy that fucking hot tub.
*Note: Folliculitis can cause scabbing, scarring, and HAIR LOSS. I thought that I had a bad case but mine was in fact very minor. Check out this picture. Yeah this isn't just another episode of hypochondria. Don't get in the water mother fuckers.
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