The Lifespan of a Fly


We Meet Again… Netflix
October 21, 2011, 1:17 PM
Filed under: Generalizations | Tags: , , , , , , ,

So we finally got ourselves Netflix. Actually, we didn’t. My mom gave me her account and password and insisted that we try it out and see how we like it. After years of deciding which torrents to download, and planning their download time around your regular life. iI’s sort of neat to be able to browse through hundreds of titles, most of which were movies you wanted to see but not badly enough to pay for them of their own accord.

Which has led us to a new dilemma. The Wii remote blinks schizophrenically at us while we’re trying to make a decision. It blinks like that because we’re always out of batteries and are left instead to scrounge them from other remote controls, alarm clocks, smoke detectors and other valuable life-saving necessities. We could go buy more, but it’s probably not going to happen any time soon.

So now it’s October, and October is the month where I watch a year’s worth of horror movies and serial killer flicks in tandem.

So I watch one serial killer movie! One! Now it keeps recommending “Ed’s Top Ten” filled with brutal violence. Which is cool, cause I like brutal violence in movies and all, but it’s my parents’ account! And I don’t live with them!

I can just see it now, Ma and Pa, sitting at home about to watch some sort of culturally shocking, or heartwarming movie. Ma moves in for the cuddle and Pa’s big arm rests on her shoulder as she nestles into him.

AND THEN BLAM! In their face is flashed movies where dudes pop out girls’ eyes, or some mad German (why are they always German?) scientist is sticking three people together to make a fecal-fuelled centipede. Which, by the way, probably wouldn’t work with the whole e-coli thing.

So now poor old Ma and Pa must face the cruel reality of their daughter’s interests. No, no. It wasn’t anything to do with the way you raised me! I swear! No, no. It wasn’t because you sent me to overnight summer camp and I got lice! I… I…. I just like it.

A system had to be created. A system that was unbreakable, and convinced my parents that my emotional hard wiring was A-OK. It’s devious, it’s clever and it’s all mine. My secret to defeating Netflix is simple:

All Dogs Go To Heaven.

Clears up those genius suggestions in no time.

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Mike on The Rise of the Planet of the Apes
August 31, 2011, 7:10 AM
Filed under: Bad Movies For Everyone, Generalizations | Tags: , , , , ,

Hey, did I tell you we finally got married? Just as a side note, best part of being married? Having a team name. That’s right, every time Mike and I leave a party we prepare our friends for our departure by declaring “Arts Roll Out!” Apparently our friends are very un-clever because they seem to ignore the hilarity of the situation.

So, back to the blog post. The big movie fans we are, and the big sci-fi fan I am, there was no way I wasn’t going to see The Rise of the Planet of the Apes. We purchased our tickets and browsed around West Edmonton Mall until our showtime. During this idle browsing period, Mike informed me that he had never actually seen Planet of the Apes. Who hasn’t ever seen Planet of the Apes? Like, seriously? What is wrong with your upbringing? Are you broken? But the tickets were bought, and even though he was now going to wreck the original for himself, I didn’t think we could easily sneak into Fright Night due to the 3D and us not having appropriately stolen 3D glasses in the past and saved them up for last-minute movie-ditching. So we were going.

This isn’t a review blog, so I’m not going to review The Rise of the Planet of the Apes, but I will state that I quite enjoyed it. James Franco is a wonderful actor and since I don’t find him attractive, I must actually believe that. So the credits are rolling and the Artses are rolling out of the theatre when the following occurs:

Mike: That was really good. I like how they left it open for a sequel. They are gonna have a sequel right?
Tannis: Yes, and we can watch it tomorrow if you’d like. It’s called Planet of the Apes.

Totally should have snuck into Fright Night and just squinted a lot. When we have children, you can count of me pumping them full of essential cultural influences. Seriously though, who hasn’t seen Planet of the Apes? Oh the tragedy.



You Have Been Un-Friended
August 30, 2011, 2:42 PM
Filed under: Generalizations | Tags: , , , , , , , , ,

Normally I’ll do a substantive Facebook clean up where people from elementary school and people you meet at parties and have pictures of you get erased. However, this all-encompassing attitude towards a Facebook cleanse isn’t working out for me. Therefore, I am now setting guidelines which will determine on an individual basis who I will be deleting from Facebook. Since this blog is linked to my profile, I expect that those who read this will either delete me first, or follow my new rules.

1. If you update your status more than 5 times a day, you shall be un-friended. If your life is that interesting I beg you to please start keeping a journal, use Twitter or go on reality TV and get paid for it.

2. If you post pictures of what you’re eating/will eat/have eaten. It looks yummy to you, to me it looks like a 1975 Company’s Coming cookbook. If you’re not inviting me for dinner, stop inviting me to look at what I’m not invited to eat.

3. OMG!!!. If I see this I assume there must be something so goddamn awesome you can’t even finish your sentence involved. If awesomeness isn’t involved, please stop using this to explain how your cat, Mr. Muffins, ate mothballs yesterday.

4. Pictures of your pedicure. Don’t care, they’re toenails and your feet are callused. Yuck

5. Repeated status updates relating to your job. You’re employed, I’m employed, we don’t do it cause it’s fun. Got it. I don’t care. I don’t know how else to explain it, but I can guarantee no one else cares either. Except for maybe your boss, who would be happy to relieve you of your consistent complaining about your job. He calls it “unemployment”.

This is the beginning of the end. Please continue posting pictures of your vacation, so that I can compare its awesomeness to the awesomeness of my own holiday. Please continue misspelling everything so that my snobbish friends and I can mock your idiocy. Please continue updating your relationship status, bad and good, so that I can currently track who is dating out of their league.

Go forth and create Facebook goodness.

*Note: Sure I can block you on my Newsfeed, but if I don’t want to see your shit, I might as well un-friend you.



An Amicable Conversation with a Drunk and No Pants
June 27, 2011, 7:23 AM
Filed under: Generalizations | Tags: , , , , , , , , ,

I still remember the first apartment Mike and I lived in together. It had peeling laminate and windows that could maybe save 1.5 legs if a fire occurred, which they did regularly. That would have to be due to The Gas Pump, a bar from the early seventies located at the bottom of our apartment building. It hasn’t changed since the seventies, including the patrons who have since grown harsher as the years have passed. Every night the shouts and screams of middle-aged drunks in the midst of their mating rituals floated up and into our bedroom, lulling us to sleep. The sounds of sirens would wake us up as yet another fire was started, either by the drunks of by the homeless people who would sleep in our stairwells and light fires to stay warm. Mike and I would look at each other, debate how much we wanted to stand outside in January weather, at 2 a.m., in our pajamas and instead decide to just go back to sleep. Six months later we moved.

That was seven years ago, and finally, the patrons of the Gas Pump have found us. Actually, it was the ghetto that found us. Sure, it’s unlikely you’re going to be pumped full of ammunition in my neighbourhood (although it has happened), but try to cross the street without meeting a gangster (15 years old and pissed off that Mom took his PS3 away), or having your bottles stolen by the multitudes of bottle people.

I have a bat, and it has pointy edges, and I practiced hitting intruders with it. I don’t want to kill someone, just maim them.

So anyhow, we’ve got new neighbours. That’s right, the Crackheads next door moved out (and by moved out I mean trashed the place and abandoned it), but it’s all good because they’ve been replaced by drunks. I sorta miss the Crackheads though. At least they hid out in their condo and smoked crack and I could only hear them yelling and screaming through the vents. The drunks have taken this to a whole new level.

I have to give them some credit though, they are more apt at yard work then the prisoners on day release whose only job it is to cut our lawn, when they come, which is next to never. The drunks are all about keeping a nice and tidy lawn. So much so that they’ve decided that 4 a.m. is a wonderful time to mow their 8’x10′ lawn with one of those push mowers from before electricity became a household item.

Granted it is nice and cool out at 4 a.m., but none the less, we needed to have a chat. I explained to one of the drunks (and I believe I’ll have to explain it to the other 10 that seems to sort of live there) that 4 a.m. isn’t exactly a “neighbourly” time to be shouting and boozing it up. I think our chat went very well, it definitely progressed after I asked him “You are drunk right now, aren’t you?” A question he could not deny, only confirm with a sad nod of his head.

Regardless, I think he and I may have reached an understanding: He shuts up after midnight, we get along wonderfully. He makes noise after midnight, I phone the police, his landlord and the condo board until they eventually remove him and he’s got to move back into his mother’s nursing home.

I think we’ve reached an agreement, but I wasn’t wearing any pants during this heart-to-heart. That may have had something to do with it.



The Anti-Bucket List
June 10, 2011, 7:39 AM
Filed under: Generalizations | Tags: , , , , , , , , , ,

A few years ago, on our flight home from Italy, Mike and I watched the Bucket List. Not together, cause that would be sort of weird with those little headphones they used to supply you with (Air Canada is a bunch of pricks) and you just know the person before you had some contagious ear disease and for three hours all you can think of is “I can feel it crawling into my brains… oh God my brains”. Anyhow, we took bets on who among our fellow passengers would start crying. Mike cried, proving he has the soul of a lamb. I didn’t, proving I have the soul of the lion who would destroy that lamb.

AHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! Wait, shit, where was I? Ah yes, the spawning of the Anti-Bucket List. Since I’m never going to die (and if by some change I do, it will be in a fiery spectacular form which will awe all the little children out of their candy), having a bucket list seems pretty pointless. So I’ve created a list of thing I never want to do before my inevitable immortal reign (with Skynet’s help of course).

The Anti-Bucket List
1. I never want to go to Australia – There are spiders that eat birds, which are the size of your face. Therefore, able to eat your face.
2. I never want to watch an episode of The Big Bang Theory and laugh.
3. Play hide-n-seek with God (that bastard cheats).
4. Be the middleman in the Human Centipede.
5. Own a cat.
6. Eat real Chinese food – not this ginger beef shit.
7. Move back to Ontario.
8. Admit that I know how to fix almost any photocopier.
9. Listen to WSPA people who stand on corners and try to convince me hunting is bad – at least that’s what I think they want.
10. Plummet to the Earth at top speed and hope my parachute opens – commonly known as Sky Diving.
11. Buy a Coach purse.
12. Pretend that golf, tennis or bowling is an actual sport.
13. Watch golf, tennis or bowling on television and be interested.
14. Stop brushing my teeth.
15. Cheer for a hockey team just because they’re “Canadian”, although most of their players are European. Yes Vancouver, I’m looking at you.
16. Go camping with the Donner Party.
17. Watch another Pirates of the Caribbean movie.
18. Be a “Furry” – whatever the fuck that is, it sounds pretty weird.
19. Pretend CSI is deeply insightful and actually has a legitimate story line.
20. Give up on finding the Island in LOST – it exists, and I will find it.
21. Care about MSG and how much water I’m drinking in a day.
22. Take myself too seriously.
23. Spend more time worrying about the people who will never like me then I do with the ones who love me.
24. Give up the belief that magic is real and so is Harry Potter.
25. Stop dancing like I don’t care who is watching.



Confessions of an App Addict
May 17, 2011, 10:52 AM
Filed under: Generalizations | Tags: , , , , , , , , ,

As I typed in the title of this post bzzzzip! a notification popped up on my iPod, informing me that my breadfruit is ready to harvest. I managed, this time, to restrain myself from ecstatically clicking “Harvest”. Whoo. That was a close one.

Last year, I had a problem. A problem called FarmVille. I had to quit cold turkey. You know you have a problem when you’re looking at your crops and debating whether or not you’ll be able to harvest your coffee in time, or if that little thing called “sleep” is gonna get in the way. The real problem was that I’m a closet farmer. I’d wait until Mike was in the shower, or preparing dinner and quickly plant new rows of cotton.

Then I got busted and ridiculed, like, a lot. So I quit cold turkey and never looked back.

Until I found ZombieFarm. It’s cooler than FarmVille because this one has zombies… right?

At least that’s what I tell myself until I click on it’s funny little icon to check on my farm and it asks me (every single time), if I’d like to connect to Facebook so I can share my progress with my friends. Why would I want to do that!?!?! Then they’d know I play ZombieFarm! I can’t have that happen! I don’t want them to know I’m a loser with a fake little farm which I routinely plant, water, and love, while my dogs stare at me with their big dopey eyes and hope that I’ll take them outside in the sunshine. Get lost dogs! My zombies need to battle the Easter Bunny to feed!

I felt so alone. That is, until J’s mother inadvertently posted a photo of her own ZombieFarm. I’M NOT A COMPLETE LAME-O! I triumphantly thought (there’s no way I’d vocalize this and be forced to explain my outburst to anyone around me).

But that’s just me grasping at rotting body parts isn’t it? I’ve been zombified by ZombieFarm.



The Perils of Public Transit – Part Trois
January 27, 2011, 5:16 PM
Filed under: Generalizations | Tags: , , , , , , , , , ,

So there are times in my life where I actually surprise myself. I’m not a meek person, hell I wish I was sometimes. It would save me a lot of fights with friends and a lot of headaches professionally. My face is highly readable, and when I’m pissed off, you know I’m pissed off. There’s no grey area, it’s quite clear. If my face doesn’t tell you, just wait a few more moments and my mouth will. Ah, how my mouth gets me in shit (although to be fair, it often gets me out of it too).

You know those stories about little old ladies lifting 2-ton cars up off the ground to save their cat? A couple of years ago I managed a feat quite similar. We were walking at our favorite spot and some pit bull came tearing up at my dog. He had him pinned, and while the guys were frozen with shock, I lifted this bloody thing up off my dog and held him back. So that was pretty cool.

But that doesn’t happen to me often, especially when I’m on the bus or the train. In a world where refusing to give someone a cigarette can cause them to stab you in the neck, pretty much everyone turns a blind eye. Except this girl right here.

So I was waiting underground for my train today, as were many other professional-type people (not me, I just pretend to be professional). As well as a group of about 6 teenagers. I try not to judge teenagers on their teenager-ness, I just remind myself that most of them grow out of being inconsiderate little pricks; most of them. So here I am, all happy to be leaving work and stuff when I catch the smell of a cigarette. One of these little shits is smoking a cigarette in the train station. I look around me and everyone else just has this look of disgust on their faces.

But remember, I’m a psycho. So I go, well, psycho at him.
“YOU CAN’T SMOKE IN HERE!” I yell at this kid. He gives me this blank stare, so I thought maybe I should raise the volume a bit.

“YOU CAN’T SMOKE IN HERE! PUT YOUR F***ING CIGARETTE OUT!” It must have been the shock of actually being yelled at, instead of being on the receiving end of some passive glare.

“No one has ever said that to me before,” he says, to which I reply:

“PUT YOUR CIGARETTE OUT!” And then he does.

The other patrons gazed at me with awe in their eyes. Yes, I am mighty and tough and not scared of being stabbed in the neck. Which is nothing but a complete piece of bullshit. I was so scared that when I sat down I was shaking.

But hey, if they were sharks equipped with heat sensing lasers, or bears with boom-boxes pumping slaughter tunes, I probably would have shit my pants too.