The Last Pitch.

The man I called the Hyper-Active Megaphone died Sunday. Billy Mays was a pitchman for various, direct response products. He was loud, annoying, obnoxious and became rich by using a 'Yell and Sell' tactic to push near useless/novelty/fringe products to millions of gullible, late night TV watching folks. I mean come on, Mighty Putty...wtf? I never finished my psych degree but man, what makes people buy into this, I still don't understand.

To quote Aristotle " Nature abhors a vacuum". We will see another Billy Mays soon enough.

Lost Icons.

Unless you're a member of a forgotten hunter-gatherer tribe from Australasia, you know that the King of Pop and the Hair Queen have died. Michael Jackson passed away on thursday from an apparent heart failure, he was 50 years old. Farah Fawcett also passed away after a battle with cancer. She was 62.

Truth be told, I'm not a real Farah fan because I never watched Charlie's Angels as a kid. I will say this though; she was a beautiful woman who made a generation of young boys (and their dads) drool and shift uncomfortably in their seats. I'll keep with Jackson from here.

The early 80's were dominated by several music acts, most notably: Duran Duran, Madonna and Michael Jackson. The man known later as the king of pop was already a veteran artist when the album Thriller was released. BOOM, off it went and it never came back down. I remember watching the Thriller video and thinking Michael wasn't that bad of an entertainer. He helped forge the Music Video era and put fancy dance moves on the map. God, how many wannabees invaded my high school dances with their own interpretation of the "Moonwalk"? How many times have I heard Billie Jean or Beat it or Vincent Price's laugh track at the end of Thriller? As much as it was a musical style, a new form of entertainment (the video clip) was fined tuned and marketed towards a new generation of hungry, avid viewers. My generation may be the "X'ers" but they should have called us the FNV'ers. Ed. I couldn't watch MTV...we didn't have cable at home.

How many hairdos, sequined/zippered jackets, white gloves, fedoras et al. have been sold or passed off as 'Oh, you gotta have this 'cause Michael wears it' schemes, we'll never know. Jackson was ubiquitous and bigger then ever. Then things started getting weird. The character that became the King of Pop was a creation; an invention that was taken too far and it became very detrimental to the man. Bubbles the chimp, John Merrick's remains, Neverland, the hyperbaric chamber, extensive facial surgeries and other eccentric behaviors begat Wacko Jacko. This moniker made Jackson's name rime with neuroses of all sorts. He became an oddball, the loony at the center of many strange displays and it betrayed his painful life.

Jackson was a man who never truly lived. His father managed his life but never loved the boy, only the money his son racked in. He was performing in clubs at an age when kids are supposed to be in bed by 8 o’clock! This went on for years…how can you ever be sane after that kind of abuse and pressure to perform? He experienced more things in his life than most of us will ever know or imagine. He was a Star; loved/hated by millions, rich, successful, influential but emotionally detached and mentally unstable. Many people crack under this kind of pressure and decide to end their lives. They booze and drug themselves into a stupor and just waited for the inevitable. I’m actually surprised Michael never took that route.

I’m hoping that the cockroaches won't feast on his remains but it’s probably wishful thinking on my part. He was, is and will be a cash cow and the vulture are already circling and fending each other off. The books, the made-for-tv movies, countless remixes of his music and all the court cases because everybody will be suing the Jackson Estate now. Everything is set up in such a way that he will outlive us all and bring fortune to someone who probably doesn't deserve it.

I'm actually waiting for the conspiracy theory retards out there to start blogging that Jackson was really an alien from Alioth. He was silenced by Elvis and the CIA because his music made Brussels Sprouts edible, making suppertime peaceful for millions of parents and that, Gerber couldn't afford!

I was not a fan of Michael Jackson but his influence was felt worldwide and that, I can't deny. Here's hoping he can rest in peace now.

Right of Way.

To all the arrogant Merc and Beemer drivers out there (males & females, I don't discriminate). Stop acting as if we, Society, should go down on our collective knees to blow you, simply because you drive a penis car. The Highway Safety Code makes no mention that compensating retards, such as yourselves, live in an alternate reality or that you own the roads. Those pretty blue xenon headlamps that you're flashing will never make me change lanes on city streets.

Double white lines on the road are not a special invitation for you to weave across lanes at will. Also, the white-hashed triangle that extends from merging lanes is not a speed-up, butt-in, brake hard test track! Don't be such a tease next time...just crash into the concrete divider already. It will provide terrific, free entertainment while the rest of us wait our turns to merge!

If you are unwilling to give us that satisfaction, I have another suggestion. As you race by a construction zone and if you can spot him, try to hit my brother-in-law dead on and make sure you kill him. For several reasons:
1.) Our family would much rather have the insurance money than his presence.
2.) I have an eye on several of his pneumatic tools.
3.) The insurance companies hardly compensate if you've only been mangled.

You might think very highly of yourself, believing in the old 'Look at the glory that is I' mantra. Your mother also thought you were special but it doesn't give you the right to put our lives in danger.

A parting gift.

We've been preparing to move from our Downtown apartment. D-Day was Saturday, the 6th of June.

Now, for those of you who know me and/or follow this blog y'all know of my "special" gift. For those who don't, I suffer from acute MurphysLawtinitis. It's an aggressive, viral form of that old adage, so I know something will come up at some point during the move.

All the crap we've been hoarding in that cramped apartment was staggering so I took the day off on Friday to speed things along. This was not a rest day, no sir. Up at the crack o' dawn, we kept on packing boxes and taking down picture frames and shelving when an air horn blasted. Two minutes later, city employees were using diamond saw blades and pneumatic hammers to break up the sidewalk....along a stretch of 10 blocks...WTF! Figured something would happen but this...Damn! From the front door to the street including the first lane, nothing left but a pit.

Being the realist albeit cynical fcuk that I am, this is just another chapter in my book of misgivings with M. Murphy. Nothing to do but breathe and accept the inevitability, I mentally started preparing alternate routes for the movers to use. My better half, on the other hand, panicked and grabbed the phone. It just so happens that somebody left us locals a "please call us for information" leaflet in the mailbox...uhmm, side story time.

To me, this information leaflet is akin to the 'People's Opium'. A fast acting anesthetic whose mere view proclaims that there is nothing a humble citizen can do but watch. Should he call the emergency number, said citizen will be directed to an Oh-So sympathetic, looser-cruiser driving bureaucrat and told that the entire operation is confusing and regrettable (bait) but a necessary and vital (switch) aspect of urban planning that will enrich his life in the years to come. The White Collar type will inveigle the citizen to believe that all is good in the Land and that progress has a price that all have to share. Textbook Pencil Pusher propaganda.

The call was placed and the friendly interlocutor proceeded to inform us this was an unusual circumstance and that steps would be taken to find a solution. We were to call him back if nothing was done before 16h00 EST. that day then promptly hung-up. Here we go...propaganda in action. I was told to calm down and that everything would be fine. Dammit, they got to her.

30 minutes later, a dump truck carrying a full load of gravel empties itself between the downstairs porch and the street. A front loader quickly follow and taps the gravel to an even level upon which a walking plank was laid! Holy Shyte Batman!....who were those masked men?

Picture a man standing on a 2nd floor balcony, watching a mysterious event unfold: below him, city employees working to solve a problem. Trick of the light or a wink....from the twilight zone?

I cannot, dear readers, put into words the absolute breadth of the pride swollen, nyah-nyah-see-I-told-you-so smile than the one that the missus beamed back to me when the workers finished up. I think my retinas are still scorched by all that self-indulgence! Should I have been the one to call, nothing would've moved....including us! Ah, the power of female persuasion. Some would say that there's a lesson to be had here but talk is cheap and they don't know the Power of the Dark Murphy!!

I guess I was wrong. Thank you, Mr. White Collar, good job. Now, teach that to the rest of your colleagues and boy, Montreal would become a Great Lady once again.

We moved out of Montreal, the next morning, without a hitch. Exit the city, Montérégie, here we come! Onward, to the unknown, for an adventure of a lifetime. Well, that's the romantic version...more like 30 years of mortgage payments and work around the house!

You're doing it wrong.

Special shout out to the dude in the red Ford Focus I saw in the Tim Horton's parking lot this morning. Head-a-bobbin' while the sound system's blasting away, (it's 6:40am, mind!) he made his way towards the drive-through and zealously believed in his own magnificence.

Buddy, no amount of time, effort or money you spend on those low profile tires, CNC-machined mags, spoilers, superstar sunglasses and do-rag will EVER, make you or that car, look cool.