crazed monkey

As some of you are probably aware, February is Black History Month. Those of you who are aware of this fact have probably wondered why the shortest, coldest month of the year is devoted to black history. Some of you may have interpreted the choice as yet another example of whitey keeping the black man down. This is far from the truth.

Black History Month was originally Negro History Week, a concept pioneered and brought to fruition in 1926 by Dr. Carter G. Woodson, an American Black historian. Dr. Woodson chose the second week in February as Negro History Week because two persons he felt had dramatically affected the lives of Black Americans were born during that month: Abraham Lincoln and Frederick Douglass. In 1976, this American event was lengthened to include the entire month and was renamed to Black History Month. Canada officially adopted this celebration of black history, sometimes called African Heritage Month, in 1995.

Posted on January 31st, 2003 in culture - No Comments »

Warren Ellis: Buy against humans. One no longer has to wait until the days of Spider Jerusalem before being able to drink Ebola Cola. You can buy Ebola Cola today! Available from Germany, one case is €359,90, but I will settle for a single bottle (€29,95), or an Ebola Cola glass (€59,90). Ideally, I’d like the can, but this will have to do until I recover from my cryogenic sleep and subsequent culture shock.

Posted on January 31st, 2003 in culture - No Comments »

Regular readers of my weblog, of which there are few, know that I rarely post entries of a personal nature. However, this is a truly momentous occasion which takes place as I write. I am as light as a feather, I am as happy as an angel, I am as merry as a schoolboy! I am as giddy as a drunken man! My neighbours are moving out!

Those who have visited my apartment know my neighbours well, or rather they know them well enough. They have heard the almost constant rhythmic hand-clapping, the screams, the shrieks, the chants, the whining, the yelling, the strange high-pitched yelps, the stomping and the running about the apartment, and that was just the lady of the house. When I first moved in just over three and a half years ago, I thought the young couple were entertaining a baby. As the years passed the noises only grew more strange, more infantile. The assumed child was not maturing. My next theory was that there was a cute and cuddly pet involved, like a puppy or a kitten. However, I heard no barks, no mews, and the noises didn’t sound like noises intended for pets. After that, I didn’t want to know.

Do not misunderstand me; the man of the house was no sane one, although he was much more subdued in comparison to his female companion. Come playoff season, however, he would holler at his television set as if his life depended on the outcome of the game, as if the mistakes of just one player caused him considerable disgust or pain. Sometimes it was as if he was stuck in traffic, his veins ready to burst. “Fucking idiot! What the fuck are you doing?! Fucking move asshole! Get up, ya fucking loser!” If he could have dove into the television set and throttle the player he was berating, he most surely would have done so. I had heard of such men, and have seen them parodied in movies or sitcoms, but had never come this close to one.

When I moved in, the couple next door had been living there for some two or three years. You might be thinking that, being able to live in such close quarters (the apartment is under 800 square feet with a single bedroom) for over six years, these two must have got along extraordinarily well. You would be wrong. The male in the relationship, whose name I quickly learned is Darren, seemed to hate and loathe his woman as much as I did, perhaps even more so. Almost every one of her noises, even after three years, was quickly followed by a “Shaddap!” or a “Will you fucking be quiet?”, and that was if he was in a good mood. This only served to strengthen the woman’s resolve, however.

How they managed to live in that apartment for six years is beyond me, especially since neither of them seemed to have a job of any sort. Whenever I happened to be home, either if I took a day off, or was sick, left late for work or came home early, someone was always there, usually both of them. They would leave, certainly, sometimes in the early morning, but they would always be back within hours, stomping up the back steps and slamming doors. Their shut-in lifestyle was such that I began to assume that the couple was independently wealthy.

It should be obvious by now that I will not miss the two freaks who lived next door. I will not miss their strange noises, their conversation or their arguments. In a way, however, they served their purpose, much like the guests of Maury or of Judge Mills Lane serve their purpose. Ultimately, that purpose is to make us feel better about ourselves. Because no matter how odd or strange we may think ourselves to be, there is always someone ready to lower the bar. A toast to those strangers who used to live next door, for they have made me feel exceptionally sane indeed.

Posted on January 30th, 2003 in meta, person - No Comments »

The Globe & Mail: Babying our brains, one adult at a time. I don’t usually agree with Russell Smith, but this time he’s got it right on the money. The culture is becoming infantilized. I’m sure most people know of an adult who has gone ga-ga over Harry Potter, Star Wars, or Lord of the Rings, even going so far as to buy the accessories and to view the movies several times over. Then there are the thirty-somethings who think like children, not understanding, or caring about, the results of their actions, or the twenty-somethings who are fuelled by teen angst. Grow up, people. Stop letting yourself be babied and face the world like men and women.

Furthermore, I’m getting tired of people who think that life is like television or the movies and try to model themselves after their fictional characters. Repeat after me: “I am not, nor ever should I try to be, James Bond, a Vin Diesel character, or Tyler Durden. These men do not exist.”, and for the women: “I am not one of the cast of Sex in the City.” If you want your life to be like the movies, be a movie actor.

Posted on January 29th, 2003 in culture - No Comments »

Photojunkie: Send a kid to camp. If you live in Toronto, New York City or are going to SXSW in Austin, and want some quality shots of yourself, look no further. To fund his trip to SXSW, Rannie is offering some affordable portrait packages. Get pictures for your website, your Christmas cards, your portfolio, or your CD covers if you’re a musician. Where else are you going to find a deal like this? Visit Rannie’s photo gallery for sample shots.

Posted on January 28th, 2003 in computers, internet - No Comments »