Tour of Doody

Melsydpermelhotmel

doody — Mon, 17 Aug 2009 05:55:48 +0000

I’m currently in a transient phase of my trip where I’m waiting out the last little bit of time in Melbourne before I head back home. I’m actually typing this from a Starbucks for the cheap wi-fi, people watching, and avoiding my hostel at all costs. I also happen to be sitting by the door on a cool day and directly under an air conditioning vent, and over the past couple hours I’ve felt my vital signs slowly wane, although that could be due to the crap coffee. I will now attempt to sum up my recent travels in as succinct, yet entertaining a way as possible.

Me in front of a green screen (in Sydney).

Sydney:
As predicted, it was lovely with all of its opera-housed and bridge-spanned splendour. I managed a walk along the harbour, a trip to Bondi Beach (which everyone will inform you is the world’s most overrated), a ferry out to Manly where I sat on a similar but less crowded beach, sunset on the harbour, and three nights out. All that action in so little time would be enough to make many travellers plotz, but I had no time to recuperate and it was off on a 0600 flight to Perth.

Beer on a wine tour?! Highly unorthodox.

Perth:
Visiting any city after being in Sydney is the geographical equivalent of having the most amazing sex dream with your favourite hot celebrity and then waking up next to Ernest Borgnine. Perth is quite pretty though and we managed to pack a lot of fun into that leg of the trip. I visited the picturesque botanical gardens, took a ferry to Rotnest Island and rented bikes for a day, road-tripped to wine country, canoed on the (crocodile free) Margaret River, went on a cave tour, went on a wine tour, and had a couple big nights out. Then back to Melbourne and off to Mount Hotham this weekend.

To you, the charming and intelligent reader, this would appear as one long post but the above was written several days ago. The following written today, you clod.

Mt. Hotham:
What does a sexual deviant do when he loves bacon? Mount Hot ham. This past weekend, a rag-tag group of friends (myself included) headed out on a road-tripped, snow-capped, alcohol-sipped, energy-sapped, hot-tub-dipped weekend to Mount Hotham. Rub a dub dub five men in a tub. That is all.

In conclusion, my intra-Australian travels are now complete and I’m enjoying my last few days of Melbourne with as much friend-face-time and hyper-hyphenating as I can. I am also pleased to announce that I am no longer staying in a hostel as friends have offered to put me up for the duration! I will try to muster up another post before I fly home.

~doody

A Toast to Coast to Coast to Coast

doody — Tue, 28 Jul 2009 04:48:55 +0000

After soaking up city life in Melbourne for five months now, I’ll be doing a bit of traveling in the coming weeks. Here’s a breakdown of my impending travels:

Sydney July30-August4
Recognized internationally for its pointy white thing and old bridge, Sydney is nothing if not aesthetically pleasing. It is the municipal equivalent of always having fresh flowers in your kitchen. My friend Justin is joining me in Sydney for some tourist shenanigans, and Nick will be making a brief cameo as well.
Predicted Pros: Iconic photos (with me in them), fun night out with hotties (with me in them?)
Predicted Cons: Staying in a hostel with unwashed travelers, Getting bitten by a Sydney funnel web spider and dying before knowing the touch of a woman

Perth August4-10
Little is known about Perth. It is on the West coast of Australia so I will be flying with Justin across the country which may yield some sweet arial views. We have tentatively decided to rent a car and do some road trippin’ in the area which will potentially include winery tours. Wine!
Predicted Pros: Peeing into the Indian Ocean (you’re next Atlantic!)
Predicted Cons: Getting arrested for public urination

Mount Hotham August14-16
Known in Australia for its pointy landscape and snowy winters, Mount Hotham is the place to go for some good Australian skiing. Now this sounds a bit counter-intuitive but after living my entire life a short drive from a number of ski hills, I’ll be skiing for the second time ever in Australia of all places. Regardless of my lack of ability on the slopes, I do love snow and cold more than most people and I’ll be happy just to leave Melbourne’s rainy winter for Hotham’s snowy one. Nick is along on this trip too as a motley crew of loosely acquainted folks head for the hills.
Predicted Pros: Snow, snowing, snow angels, snow balls, peeing my name in the snow
Predicted Cons: I’m challenged to a race by a semi-pro skier and I’m obligated to accept the challenge in order to win the girl and save the youth centre from demolition

Melbourne August10-13, 16-21
Melbourne is known for its cool winters, endless cafes, and seething jealousy of the attention received by Sydney. I have called this city home for many months now but the last two short stints in the city will seem like a vacation. I will no longer have my own place and will be living out of a suitcase again. These dates will likely be packed with some last-minute tourism and desperate attempts to hang out with friends while I still can.
Predicted Pros: Seeing everybody one last time
Predicted Cons: Seeing everybody one last time

Alberta August21-?
Home of the beautiful Rocky Mountains, delicious Taber corn, environment-raping oil industry, and me! I will be whisked away from the airport by my mom (presumably in a baby carriage) for some catch-up time before driving The Red Menace back to Lethbridge which has the highest concentration of my blog readers than any other city in the world. Fact.
Predicted Pros: Seeing all my friends and family again, eating the following foods: Tim Horton’s donuts, Red Dog Diner Poutine, Hawkins Cheezies, Maple Leaf Top Dogs, Kraft peanut butter, Kraft dinner, coffee cream, perogies, Canadian Slurpees, Claresholm 7-11 chicken
Predicted Cons: Obesity, the inevitable spiral of depression caused by the cold grip of reality slowly squeezing my heart and mind until there’s nothing left of me but a dried up husk of a former man (aka the post vacation blues)

~doody

The Shame Game

doody — Mon, 20 Jul 2009 06:42:39 +0000

I used to have standards. When I went out to a fine drinking establishment I would only pursue or even make eye contact with the most attractive of attendees. I would put up a velvet rope around myself and only let the cream of the crop into my personal space, and I mean cream! Now call it economics, call it desperation, call it holidays, but lately I’ve been going more for quantity than quality, the velvet rope with a bouncer has been replaced by a broken screen door with a sign that reads ‘You must be 18 to enter’ (and even that may not be enforced, luckily it hasn’t been tested).
This past weekend I hit rock bottom.
There were two friends out together. I could tell they were just friends because they were actually enjoying each other’s company and not touching each other inappropriately. One of these friends was a particularly comely specimen; a tall drink of icy water on a hot summer day. The other was rather unkempt and disproportionate; a tepid puddle of rainwater caught in a dusty plastic bag in the gutter, maybe with some gum in it, on an overcast autumn day. The trap was set and the game began. I initially meant well; gunning for the hot one, I employed all the usual maneuvers: initial eye contact, repositioning to near by on the dance floor, then a little nudge and a casual greeting. The only issue was that due to the friends’ proximity to each other, my advances had the desired effects but on the wrong person. Then the hot one disappeared somewhere leaving me and Fuggo alone. At this exact moment I had to make a decision: bail on Fuggo and start from scratch pursuing someone else, or settle for the willing.
I did some bar math which takes into account some important factors:
time left before bar closes, people remaining in bar, money remaining in my pocket, distance to my home, distance to (Fuggo’s) home, cost of a cab, and (on the internationally recognized scale of 0-10) the hotness of (Fuggo) and the average hotness of the remaining bar patrons.
The quick, free stroll to Fuggo’s house along with the mass exodous form the bar clinched it: I settled for the willing.
That quick stroll became the coldest, longest, most sobering hike of my life, and there is nothing worse than when the morning-after regret sets in on the night-of. Yada yada yada, I bolted from Fuggo’s house the next morning like it was on fire.
On the shame-ride back home, covered in various, unfamiliar odours and textures, I had plenty of time to recheck my math from the night before, turns out I forgot to factor in the moral cost of spending the night just to avoid paying for a cab home. When it comes down to it though I have no major regrets; the yada yada wasn’t bad at all and hell, Fuggos need lovin’ too! What can I say? I’m a philanthropist. I give and I give until I have nothing left. Then I give some more.

Meanwhile, in Melbourne…

doody — Thu, 16 Jul 2009 10:54:44 +0000

Oh hi there! I know I haven’t posted much lately; the week of 1000 laughs pummeled my ‘will to blog’ mercilessly with a sock full of pennies. After purposely taking a rest from the blog, a few days turned into a week, then one week into two, and then I forgot I even had a blog altogether. Only now am I finally feeling up to the task of spewing half-assed anecdotes like a mother bird into my hungry chicks’ gaping mouths (I guess that makes you a hungry chick, and I’m spewing text into your eyes). The nice thing that has come out of my blog avoision is that any time and effort that would have gone into writing posts went into playing guitar and writing new songs instead, so I now have a more respectable repertoire ready to record. Radical!

Here’s a couple of the blogworthy things Ive been up to lately:

The National Gallery of Victoria is exhibiting a collection of Salvador Dali‘s works right now and I went to check it out. The show itself was incredible; I went into it loving Dali, but I came out in love with Dali. I definitely exceeded my Dali dose of art. Now I won’t describe the art itself because I wouldn’t do it justice, I will however describe the throngs of other people who were at the show. The gallery was literally packed with people and I witnessed every art gallery faux pas:
The Parent/Child Tag-Team: A parent (usually mother) desperate for some form of culture drags her too-young-for-school child(ren) to the gallery to appreciate art. This usually results in the child whining, running around, or crying. On this particular occasion, there was a baby crying immediately upon entry.
The Aggressor: This jackass loves art but hates being patient. He walks at a predetermined pace and zig-zags all over the gallery to catch quick glimpses of works by shoving in front of you and then quickly moving on.
The Brick Wall: Opposite to the aggressor, this animal takes far too much time at each work and hogs the prime realestate in front of a piece even if he’s just reading the placard. The equivalent of getting the best parking spot at the mall and then sitting there listening to the radio.
The Field Trippers: Dozens of disinterested tweens with clipboards at the gallery under the guise of learning something. They don’t really give a shit and they move in small annoying packs. They either smell like Axe or BO.

A couple weeks ago there was a bit of a swine flu scare in my house. My roommate returned home one evening feeling under the weather and went to bed early. From the next room that night, I heard him make several hurried trips to the washroom where he performed some very violent, very audible barfing. Now I typically believe that germs are unavoidable and so there’s no point in changing your lifestyle to avoid a new disease, but the next morning I was mortified to leave my bedroom lest I end up doing the technicolour yawn too. I spent the day handling things around the house with tissues and washing my hands once an hour. I didn’t realize how much I touch my face until I made a conscious decision to stop doing so since every touch would transfer countless flu viruses to my fertile head holes. I also kept jars of my own urine, put up aluminum foil in all the windows, and arranged some spilled grains of salt in reverse alphabetical order (by surname). Turns out my roommate just had food poisoning. Ironically, food poisoning is probably more dangerous than the swine flu.

Let’s see… Art gallery and swine flu… Ya, that pretty much gets you up to speed on a month’s worth of events.

One Flu Over The Swine’s Nest

doody — Mon, 15 Jun 2009 02:51:26 +0000

Well I’ve just caught it; I’ve caught word that Melbourne is not only the epicentre of Australia’s swine flu outbreak, but that Melbourne is officially the worst city in the world for cases per capita. That means that if you were a betting (wo)man and you wanted to get the disease, you would fly from your home in, say, Lethbridge Alberta Canada all the way to Melbourne. Once you were here you would do every thing you could to increase your risk: ride public transit, attend sporting events, and go to the bar. In other words, do everything I’m doing! Fucking fuck! I have to change my entire lifestyle now if I don’t want this flu. What am I supposed to do now? Sit at home and watch PVR’d TV shows all day? Read a book in a quiet park? Sit at my computer all day and write streams of consciousness that include bawdy jokes and needless swearing just for shock value? Fuck that noise! Just like the prostitute with the weird, seeping rash on her back, I’m not going to take this lying down! If I change my lifestyle then the flu wins, and I’m not about to let that happen; I’m going to ride public transit and lick the handles, attend sporting events and drink other people’s unattended beer, and go to the bar and share cigarettes and needles. I’m going to get this potentially fatal disease if it’s the last thing I do!

~doody

To view public record of me putting my foot in my mouth, see my post “Mask Task” where I describe at great length people being overly paranoid about swine flu coming to melbourne.

Life Lessons

doody — Fri, 12 Jun 2009 16:20:46 +0000

*Week of 1000 Laughs, Post 5/5

#1) What’s the deal with diarrhea?! You would think that after millions of years of mammalian evolution (or through the glory of God’s wisdom and divine creation) there would be a way for all liquids to be taken care of through urination; but there isn’t! Feces and urine just had a love child and guess who’s the surrogate mother? Your ass!

#2) I am finishing my week like I started it: partially drunk with a stomach full of whopper (I think that makes four whoppers this week [if you include the whopper jr. {and I do}]). I was out at a bar relatively close to my house. Upon leaving I really had to pee but would have missed the tram back home if I went back inside, so I held it in. The epic struggle began. The longer one holds it, the closer one gets to a toilet, the harder it becomes to hold it. On the wait for home I was listening to New Order on my iPod (the New Order), it took Blue Monday, Ceremony, The Village, Age of Consent, and Bizarre Love Triangle to get home. At about the start of Age of Consent, I left the tram, bought my whopper and realized I then had to walk the rest of the way home. Look, we’re all adults here; long story short: I pissed on the front step of a local business, and New Order is awesome.

#3) A guy just walked past my house yell-singing “Macho Man” but with “cock” inserted in various places for comedic purposes. Not only was it amusing, but I just said “cock inserted”.

#4) I’m never shaving again! On Monday, I decided to bring some semblance of sophistication to my life by shaving regularly. After two days I had more acne than that acne guy. Is it because I’m not shaving properly? Is it because I’m not using good aftershave? Is it because I’m eating gum off the sidewalk? No; it’s from shaving.

#5) I don’t quite know how to say this… Today I saw a man of Asian ancestry who also happened to be a little person. He also happened to be sprinting to meet his friend. I have found meaning.

#6) Before I left Canada, I called my phone company, Telus, and had them put my phone on “vacation stop” so I wouldn’t have to pay full rates for not using my phone (like an induced coma, but for electronics). Now guess what? Telus fucked up! I never thought I would see the day when a cell phone company would make a mistake, but that day has come. They designed and constructed a 15000km long wang and have been vigorously raping me with it since I left. Anyway, I skyped Telus and was like, “WTF” and they were all like, “Just a moment please” and then ABBA was all like, “Gimme! Gimmie! Gimme!” and then Telus was like, “My bad” and then I was like, “Sweet”. I beat Telus!

#8) There is no #7.

#9) I’m off to bed now (fingers crossed for fucked-up dreams), and off to the beach house tomorrow. Thank you for joining me for my week of a thousand laughs and stay tuned (to the internet?) for tales of the always scandalous beach house day-trip!

~doody

Shit. That’s only 999 laughs. Hmmm… Luckily I’ve got an ace up my sleeve: Pubes!

The Avenue

doody — Thu, 11 Jun 2009 15:06:05 +0000

*Week of 1000 Laughs, Post 4/5

I live on a road called “The Avenue” which is cause for some confusion when giving directions but is worth it for the false sense of importance I get while saying “The Avenue”. To better illustrate this I have included an excerpt from my much anticipated pretentious novel: Bridge The Pacific.

…Doody and Spiff heaved the body into the back seat of the cab as the sirens grew louder in the heavy night air. The cabbie craned his neck to see the bloodied corpse of the maestro crumpled awkwardly against the window and he began to panic and reach for his door.
“Sit yo cracka ass down mofucka!” Spiff screamed, pressing his revolver hard into the back of the driver’s head. “We’s jus gettin’ started!”
Their cab pulled out of sight just as the police began pouring into the plaza. They were safe for now. The cabbie was barely able to muster more than a squeak as he began driving, “Wh-where to sirs?”
Doody struck a match on his jaw and lit his cigarette, “The Avenue in Windsor” he muttered.
The cabbie shifted nervously in his seat, beads of sweat forming on his temples. “I’m sorry sir” he choked, “What avenue?”
“Awwww shiiiit!” Spiff screeched, “You’s dunnit now mofucka!”
All the driver saw of Doody in his mirror was the glow of his cigarette as he slouched against the back seat. He took a long drag then grabbed the cabbie by the hair and pulled himself forward into the light. He gritted his teeth and stared directly into the mirror, making eye contact with the cabbie. Doody squinted, raised an eyebrow ever so slightly, and letting smoke roll through his gritted teeth, he growled, “The Avenue”…

The name seems to imply that I’m living on the first avenue constructed in this suburb, maybe the first in Australia, or even the world! You would think there would be a commemorative plaque confirming that though, bullshit like a street being the first of its kind, or a house being the birthplace of some jackass are always plaque-worthy. Then I realized the whole thing is a fraud! Avenues are meant to run East-West and The Avenue (The Avenue) runs North-South like a street! Furthermore, The Avenue is clearly a Boulevard. FML.

That being said, The Avenue Street Blvd is quite lovely; pretty quiet, tree shrouded, and generally tidy. It’s a bit dimly lit at night though, which tends to turn what would be a nice stroll down The Avenue into a perilous death-march down terror lane.

~doody

To reserve a copy of Bridge The Pacific, send me $30.

Lather, Rinse, Defeat.

doody — Wed, 10 Jun 2009 15:03:04 +0000

*Week of 1000 Laughs, Post 3/5
(Hump Day)

In my apartment tour video, I took you into my 90′s bathroom and mentioned the giant mirror that runs nearly the length of the room. When I first moved in I was excited by the large mirror as I had only small mirrors for the past many years. I had somehow equated being able to watch myself shower with the pinnacle of luxury. I was wrong. Every day I go into that shower expecting to see the Hollywood version of a shower; slow-motion cascading water, strategically placed bubbles, sexy shadow silhouettes, and a perfect body, all filmed in soft-focus. Instead I get war documentary footage showers; bright lights, awkward poses, patchy hair, soap in my eye, and that perfect body? I’ve realized that when viewed from behind I’m literally just a rectangle with a line cut half way up the middle. So instead of seeing Mario Lopez on Nip/Tuck (contains full backal nudity) in the mirror, I see Steve Buscemi impersonating an ape under a sewage outflow (video unavailable). The only thing that would be worse is having a mirror over the toilet, which I have seen in a few homes. It would be handy for shaving any coarse hair directly into the toilet for easy, sliver-free disposal, but any other use would probably be an abomination.

So I have great respect for actors and cinematographers who can portray showering in an attractive way, but now that I think about it I have even more respect for good porn stars. It must take remarkable talent to make sex look appealing as opposed to the macabre struggle it really is. If you think you look good during sex, just watch some tortoises doing it; you look the same! The awkward positions, cramping muscles, height differences, climbing around, spraying liquids; it’s revolting.

In conclusion, the human body is disgusting and should never be seen unless it’s in a high budget film. As for me, I’m off to go shower in the dark.

~doody

Watson A. Name

doody — Tue, 09 Jun 2009 13:42:19 +0000

*Week of 1000 Laughs, Post 2/5

What do Gorbachev, Lenin, and Stalin have in common? That’s right; they all have names! Now here are my top three favourite business names from around Melbourne.

Home of the Whopper

#3 Hungry Jack’s
Hungry Jack’s makes my list for the pure novelty of seeing different words in place of “Burger King”. They may have different names but they have the same menu and the same malignant, depressing attitude. A burger by any other name would smell as sweet. The real issue here is how these two seemingly disparate names came about, and I will now feed you a bullshit story about it. The early society of ‘fast food’ chains was very disorganized and suffered constant attacks from the well-established ‘slow food’ industry. The root beer barons Allan and Wright saw a need for strong leadership in the fast food world, so they decided to throw their support behind the young, wealthy, charismatic Hungry Jack. His only competition was Peckish Lenny but in the end he just wasn’t hungry enough. It came to pass that Hungry Jack would be dubbed the Burger King, and of course he courted the elegant, if a bit frigid, Lady Lactose who would become his Dairy Queen. In some corners of the earth, he is still rejected as the Burger King and is simply called by the informal Hungry Jack.

Home of the homo

#2 manhor
I love how the name of this day spa for men looks worldly and classy at first, but quickly cuts to the chase. I hate all the pretentiously phony names of spas, it’s always “flower, earth, essential, body, spirit, cleanse, herbal” crap. Get to the point, “Messy to Sexy. Slob to Snob. Fat to Phat. Hank’s Happy Endings”. This is the bottom line: You are a man. You have a hairy, gross body. You want to sex people. We remove hair to make that bearable. We do it often. You are a man who is a whore. You are a manwhore. Manhor.

Home of the Pun

#1 New Kum Den
I don’t necessarily think the name of this place is funny, I just think it has a nice ring to it. It happens to be a phenomenal restaurant run by a head chef who graduated summa cum laude! If you have expensive taste you can really blow a huge wad of cash on New Kum Den’s famous Kum of Sum Yungai served of a bed of sticky rice. If a high price for rice is too hard to swallow, there’s always plenty of cheap options too, like their Kum Soup, Kum Noodles, and Kum Balls. Even just heading up their back alley the aroma is amazing from all the sloppy seconds they throw out into the Kum dumpster. Now I’m a real Johnny-come-lately to the whole scene, so I don’t know all the ins and outs, but it’s apparently also a popular dining destination for couples’ 30th wedding anniversaries. Why just the other day I looked in and saw a man giving his wife a beautiful pearl necklace.

~doody

The Morning After Thrill

doody — Mon, 08 Jun 2009 11:21:39 +0000

*Week of 1000 Laughs, Post 1/5

As soon as the cold, cruel wang of reality slapped me awake this [afternoon], I thought one thing, “Oh God, my drunk post!” I fumbled over to my computer preparing to make apologies and retractions for any and all indecencies or war crimes I may have committed. I opened wordpress and saw that not only was my post inoffensive, it was funny and popular. Huzzah! Now all I have to worry about are the years of regret prior to last night. Those poor animals…

Like a sexual deviant with a fetish for racing; my day got off to a great start:
1) I had a terror-free sleep that would rival any of the puberty induced comas I was having on weekends ten years ago.
2) My blog was once again turning in decent numbers thanks to my drunk ranting.
3) My internet connection wasn’t resetting every ten minutes as it had been doing all week long. Which meant I could finally enjoy things on the internet that took more than ten minutes to stream (you know all the best things do).
4) I didn’t even have a hangover!
5) All of the above.

Then, like a different kind of sexual deviant, I started getting shit on:
A) I remembered how much money I had spent the night before on an obscene cover charge and only three overpriced drinks.
2) I got caught in the rain wearing a sweater (Il pluie sur mon chemise).
III) I realized I have no food in the house, including essential condiments (ketchup, peanut butter, ox blood)
4) The only thing on TV was a Will & Grace marathon.
E) All of the above.

So at the end of the day (literally) I broke even. But I did learn an important lesson: don’t let a gay Nazi give you a tattoo (SS stands for “Single and Sassy”) and always blog while drunk.

~doody

Sex Move of the Week:
The Turkey Jerky