FUKKK ShitBANNNGgerRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR

Shitbanger crapped out on me again.
This time - my exhaust clean fell off.
So my car sounds like fuckin'...i don't know...hurricane katrina going down the street.
i've abandoned it - in my drive way.
I don't even want to drive it again. I hate cars.
So I borrow life partner's car to go to my radio show last night.
And I lost his keys.
This is a sign.
The God of Automobiles (isn't that like....athena or something? oh no. Athena is the Godess of War - which is who i am currently trying to incarnate as I wage war on FUCKING SHITBANGER) but whoever the fuck the god of automobiles is - he or she or IT has something against me and hates my guts.
Fine i admit.
I have a wee little chunk of outer space floating around inside my head at times and I tend to zone out while I'm walking and imagine myself in movies or music videos or pretend i'm yelling at a professor who stops me in the hall on my way to CJAM so they can harass me -but other than that - I THOUGHT i kinda have my shit together.
Apparently not.
My keys - gone.
Sorry - Life Partner's Keys - Gone.
And not just locked in the car.
They are GONE.
Like "Land of OG" gone.
Another dimension.
In one second - I had them in my hand - the next - not in my hands and the door was locked.
I had to call Jeff and Life Partner to come to my rescue while I sat out surrounded by mean and intimidating University kids with my back pack full of girlie so groovie rock and roll paraphenalia. I tried to fit in but I felt like a forty five year old pervert eyeing up the frat boys and sorority bitches with my bag of faggoty CDs on my shoulder.
Hopefully, the kids just assumed it was books I was carrying, and I was merely one of them - a humble 21 year old student, just trying to get buy.
"Poor guy," I was hoping they would think. "Just a student and locked his keys in his car..."
Maybe they'd come over and offer me help - or some hunky frat boy would have a slim jim and knew how to break into the car. Or some diesle dyke would know a trick to opening doors to 1995 Cavaliers. Maybe I'd be accepted by the sorority bitches and could have them all on my show to talk about Kathleen Hanna's nails.
Instead, they all stared at me.
Their eyes were cold on me.
I felt like they peered into the deepest darkest pit of my soul and saw right into my demise as a city driver.
My face went flush and I saw black spots.
Everywhere I looked, philosophy students, Visual Arts majors and English T.A.'s!! IT could have been me! It could have been me, so help me JESUS it could have been me!
I felt like a sponge, and academia engulfed me - like a piece of dogshit rubbed in my face by a big bully.
Twenty eight years old. Locked out of his car. At the university on a Monday night. 8 p.m. To do his all-girl-rock show. Six credits AWAY from having a B.A.:
That's me.
"Oh for shame...FOR SHAME!!" I felt like bellowing at the glaring and condescending moon, as it bore down on me like the scalding professor I normally conquer in my daydreams.
In reality - I bowed before it.
Beaten.
Destroyed.
Taken.
Anyway.
Life Partner came in Jeff's van-and we all just assumed i locked the keys in the car.
Nope.
We opened the car with a spare pair - no keys.
ANywhere.
Under the seat, in the glove box (which, until the year 2001 I thought was pronounced "GLUB Box") under miscellaneous papers.
GONE.
We searched the perimeter of the car.
Nothing.
I don't know how it's possible that I lost the keys - not only lost them - but TOTALLY evaporated them in like - a two second period, inside of a ten foot radius.
I didn't even get on the sidewalk yet - after shutting the car door and realizing the keys were gone.
We looked under the car, around the car - i even checked my fucking underwear in case somehow I ate the keys without knowing and then crapped them out when I wasn't paying attention.
In fact - if someone said: "Dan. I'm going to give you ONE MILLION DOLLARS if you can hide Life Partner's keys in two seconds in a place where NO ONE will find them."
- THere would be NO WAY I could do it.
But apparently - I did it.
Minus the one million dollars of course.
All I ended up going home with was a Tilly and the Wall poster I took from CJAM's bin-o-free-stuff and a sadly bruised ego and pride.
I'm sure my dignity has a skinned knee as well.
Fucking University kids. Fucking professors.
Fucking condescending moon.
Fucking Shitbanger.

So that does it for me, dear diary.
I said it once - but now I mean it:

I AM GETTING A FUCKING BIKE.

hearts and farts,

dan.

ps - i heart bloodpigs.

Tyra

Tales from a Sixteen Year Old Closet Case: Getting a Boner in an Adult Video Store and Being Saved By Butch Lesbians.

I was sixteen the first time I ever went into an adult video store. I went with my friend Christine on my lunch break in highschool. Our highschool had one just across the street.
Nice, eh?
So yeah, I go in expecting to see lots of tits and ass and pussy, maybe some bondage video tapes - if I was lucky MAYBE a shot of a guy screwing a girl - but nothing I hadn't seen in my friend's porno mags.
So we go in and what is the first section we see?
The fucking homo section.
I had NEVER seen gay porn in my life - nor did I even think it existed in Windsor!
It sounds naive to say that - but seriously! I thought gay porn was sold in like, San Francisco or somewhere "Gay" at a gay novelty store or something - a store specifically for gay people.
I didn't think it would be sold in a "Straight" Adult video store.
Not that there is such a thing, really.
The closest thing to gay porn for me up to that point - was Playgirl Magazine - and that was geared towards women.
Although I'm sure many a gay man (and a few closeted husbands) have jerked off to a copy of good ole Playgirl - quite possibly the shittiest looking rag in all of porndom - proper gay porn it does not make.
Keep in mind - this is before the gay pornocopia "horn of porn-plenty" that we call the internet was even around.
Nowadays - you can't even type in the word "male" on the internet without getting at least fifty five pictures of queer circuit boys doing the nasty.
So - back to 1993.
There I was caught like a deer in headlights staring at two California surfer dudes 69-ing on a tropical beach.
Up until this point - the only gay people I had ever seen were in Madonna's Truth or Dare movie - or on Donahue. I was NOT attracted to them.
There were never beefy, muscular, man-meat hunks who were gay.
Hell no!
Gay people were either into ballet or they had AIDS.
That was the ONLY portrayal of gay people I was really offered, growing up.
Times certainly have changed, even in my own lifetime.
Okay - back on track.
These guys were like....HOT. Chisled features, bodies that reminded me of greek gods and a tan that almost made me faint.
I'm seeing black spots just thinking about it.
So I tried not to make it obvious that I was staring at all these graphic sex pictures of man-on-man action. I tried to casually glance over it - raise an eyebrow to my friend Christine - and pass by, pretending I didn't give a shit.
Meanwhile - HUGE HARD ON.
Raging.
And yeah - I was wearing thin cords at the time - and the result looked like I stuffed a fucking potato in my pants.
Okay - too much info.
So anyway, we're wandering around this place and of course - like a creepy old pervert, my eyes are continuously being drawn back to the gay section.
Except, I can't see that well.
So not only was I trying to "casually" glance over in that direction, but I had to SQUINT also, to try and make out what the hotties were doing to each other.
Luckily there were lots of tall shelves in the store and Christine disappeared behind an entire row of dildos and lubricants - so I made my way back to the the orgy of muscle and frat boys that so desperately called for my undivided attention.
I immediately started to devise a plan of how I could get one of these magazines or videos home.
Stuff it down my pants? SHove it in my jacket pocket? Come back after school after I ditch Christine and flat-out buy one?
I glanced at the check out girl.
She was staring at me.
"Highschool faggot," I heard her saying in her head.
Buying it was out of the question.
I did a quick boner check:
Worse than ever.
I glanced back at the check out girl.
Still staring at me. And now, staring at my painfully obvious boner as well.
I felt my face go crimson.
Any minute Christine would be coming back from her trip into the world of sadomasochism videos to find me sporting wood that would make Ron Jeremy jealous.
I had to lose it - and fast.
So I jerked off in the store.
Just kidding. Fooled you for a minute eh?
I tried the subtle "pretend you're shifting your pants but really you're shifting your weiner to a better position" move - but it only made it worse.
My forehead immediately dampened and my cheeks were flushed.
I had to do something - fast.
"Think of dead cats," I began telling myself. "Think of buildings burning down and little babies being chainsawed to death."
Wasn't working.
"Think of mugging an old lady and throwing her on the ground and kicking her in the stomach then shooting her in the head," I screamed inside my head.
No use.
Everytime I started imagining some horrific anti-boner scene, the California dudes would be in the background, blowing each other and winking at me with sexy "come hither and feast on my muscle body" looks on their faces.
I had to face it. I was going to be busted in seconds.
Then - I had a brilliant, innovative thought.
Directly next to the gay-boy section was the lesbian section.
Nothing but girl-on-girl action, obviously heterosexual chicks with tits the size of basketballs going cootch to cootch.
Tongues, labias, sillicone tits and big clunky high heel shoes.
Then I found the "butch lesbian" tapes and that did it.
No offence to butch lesbians - in fact - ya'll are my favorite musicians - but you don't make good porn for gay men.
I felt my stomach do flip-flops and my mouth go dry.
Deflated. De-railed. Depleted. Decipated.
Hurricane Erectus was over. I survived.
Christine turned the corner just as I was putting a copy of "Butch Dyke Beaver Hunt" back on the shelf.
"Typical guy," she said. "In the lesbian section."
"I can't help myself!" I said, whiping the last drops of my cold, panic sweat from my brow.
Had she been on her toes - she would have seen that this "typical guy" didn' thave a boner even though he was surrounded by images of naked women engaged in rumpy bumpy with each other.
On our way out of the building, three nuns were walking by the doorway and made eye contact with me.
"Great," I thought to myself as I lowered my eyes to the ground.
"Now I'm going to hell."
"God sees everything, FAGGOT!" I heard one of the nuns hiss at me in her head.
I had a long, LONG way to go.
But at least I now had some nice visual images to keep my lonely life as a gay highschool student company.

Oh yeah.
Two nights later - I made my way back to that shop and bought myself a copy of "FRATERNITY GANG BANG".

The coming-out process can be a long and painful one for some people, so I just figured:
"Hey - you gotta start somewhere right?"

Dresden Sky

I know this should be limited to my website - but a great band is playing at Phog tonight.
Dresden Sky - a boy-girl duo - acoustic, but pretty, sparkly - really cool, energetic music.
It's an early show - so if anyone is going - be there around 8 p.m. It'll be over before 11 p.m.
Should be a fun night.
It's their EP release party. They were on my show last week (the CD player FUCKED UP during a part of the on air interview, which pissed me off to no end) and their performance in the studio blew me out of the water.
Not that I was in water.
But if I was - I would have easily been blown out of it.
So yeah.
Dresden Sky - tonight at Phog.
It's cool to see TRUE musicians - who are not only GOOD at what they play - but like...passionate about the sounds they make.
It's really cool seeing them live.
I'm sick as heck - but I'm gonna go regardless because they are SOOO good.
laters,
dan

Past life? or just a dream?

Okay - I had a WEIRDIE last night.
I don't know WHAT I was watching to make me think of stuff like this - but here goes.
I dreamed it was January - of 1977.
(I was born in May of 1977 - so technically, I wasn't born yet).
It was like, a few days after the new year (in my dream) - and I was sitting around with all these people who I didn't know....but I DID know.
They were faceless. But when I saw them, I was hugging them and just flat-out ECSTATIC that I was reunited with all of them after SOOOO long.
It was like - uncontrollable happiness. I was happy and "knew them" but in truth - I was still me and didn't "Quite" know them....hard to explain. I was just hugging them and they were all happy to see me and it felt SOOO good. Like when you dream of a "Friend" but you can't put a finger on who the "friend" is...it's like, a faceless person...
In the dream I had a girlfriend named Amy - yeah for real - and I was all happy to see her and she was happy to see me. A girlfriend.
"But Dan," you may find yourself asking me - "You're gay."
I know. But I had a girlfriend in the dream and was like - MADLY in love. And I was kissing her and stuff - it was fucked up. And the whole time I was like "OH my GOD - i Can't BELIEVE I forgot about HER!!!!!!"
(don't worry - i'm still gay - it was just a dream!)
So we (me and my ...seventies friends) are all (there were probably about six of us) sitting around in this weird room with a fire place and drinking drinks.
And one of the guys (who was playing a guitar) said that they (my group of friends) were trying to "contact me" and knew I would respond.
??????
"Respond from what?" I asked and they kinda just didn't answer. Like - they skipped the question and were just all over me - asking me a bunch of things and I couldn't even get in an anwer because they were firing things away at me, talking about people I didn't know..etc..and BEGGING me to live with them and not leave "again". And they said "there isn't much time" and that if I am gonna stay - I have to choose to NOW or that's my last chance.
For real.
So I was kinda sitting there like "I can't stay...I don't even know where this is..."
And in my head (in the dream) I was like "Oh my god - I can't leave mom or life Partner or anyone back home!"
So the guy who was talking to me the most (he had a black moustache and wore a blue t-shirt with an alligator on it and his name was Jimmy (!!?!)) asked me why I couldn't just stay and continue on working in the "Met hospital cafeteria!!!" like old times?
Before Windsor Regional was Windsor Regional - it was called Metropolitan hosptial.
Anyway, I was like "I can't...I don't even really know you guys anymore..."
and they were like "Listen - you can stay. You think you can't - but you CAN. If you stay - none of the people you know now will even miss you because they will just never end up knowing you. You can stay. You can totally stay and have everything the way it was, just like before you left. It'll be like you never left and no one will even remember you - because the life you live now will have NEVER EVEN EXISTED."
Then, I woke up.
And Life Partner was getting out of the shower asking if I was getting up soon.
What the FUCK is that all about?
Was it a messed up dream I got from watching Peggy Sue Got Married one too many times?
Have Shirley McLaine and Sylvia Browne been rubbing off on me?
Have I been smoking too much pot or watching one too many episodes of That Seventies Show?
I have no idea.
Was it some snippet of a past life where I worked at Met Hospital Cafeteria before I died in early 1977 - only to be reborn in May as - Me???
Doubt it. I never really believed in reincarnation.
And - it's not some "unhappy with my present life" subtle-thing because in all honesty - those seventies people kind of annoyed me.
But fuck - it was weird. I was "not me" but I "was me" in the dream and the whole time I had this weird feeling of deja vu, or like - a repeated dream - only I never dreamed it before.
Like, I kept thinking "Oh my GOD! How could I have forgotten about this person!!?!?!?"
And even as we speak - it's kinda fading from my memory - what they look like, etc.
I just remember that main guy - Jimmy - and that my girlfriend - who had brown, permed hair and was chubby - was in it. and i was like "What the fuck??? Why do i like her?"
You know - after I re-read this whole thing - I think maybe I have just been smoking too much pot.

hearts and farts,
dan

Too Old to be Green?

(Insert sobbing sounds here).
Sunday, September 11th, A day of Infamy.
Julie, Danielle, Life Partner and I headed "North of the border" to Detroit Michigan to see Green Day.
Again.
Now don't get me wrong. I really love Green Day. In fact - their album was among my favorites of last year. As political or radical as anything that Le Tigre or Sleater-Kinney have ever put out - this newest release was a bunch of punk-rock-opera songs with a HUGE brain to cap their super catchy guitar riffs.
But - after seeing them three times in the last year...it does get a bit old.
But hell - they are Julie's favorite band - and I know she'd accompany me to 100 Liz Phair shows - so I will ALWAYS go to Green Day with her.
What sucks: I'm 28 years old and I was treated like a fifteen year old punk-ass at the Palace of Auburn Hills.
I'm not even going to get into how the Palace charges FIFTEEN ($15) AMERICAN (U.S.) dollars - TO PARK!!!
Fifteen American is like...the price of a fucking concert ticket!!!!
Hell - it only cost me $8 U.S. to check out the Gossip - and that was one of the best shows of my LIFE!!
But this is almost DOUBLE that - just so my car gets a good view of the stadium from the parking lot!!!!
Why the fuck isn't this price just included in the already ridiculously priced concert ticket??? Fifteen fucking dollars?!?!!?!?!?
Jesus Christ.
I promised I wouldnt' get into it, so i'll stop now.
This is where it gets crazy.
We get there (we had floor seats because that was all that was left) and we immediately had to sign a "waiver".
For real.
A fucking waiver. You would not be permitted onto the floor if you didn't sign this "waiver".
I was like "Um...what is this all about?"
And the slut-bag running the "waiver booth" was like "It's so you can't sue us if you get hurt."
"Oh yeah, that's LEGAL," I said under my breath, as I signed my name and address:
Name: Charlie Buckets
Address: The Great Glass Elevator c/o Willy Wonka
Phone Number - 555-55555555555 (I even added a few).
So she took my waiver - and gave me my wrist band (which meant I was okay to go on the floor, since Charlie Buckets could not sue them).
What a joke.
FIrst of all - if some DORK throws a beer bottle and blinds me - you bet your fucking ASS I am sueing and no stupid little typed "flyer" that I signed a fake name to is going to bind me to fucking ANYTHING.
It's not a legal binding document.
Fucking stupid idiots.
Keep in mind - I was annoyed already because we were like, among the oldest in the crowd and all the fifteen year old boys had WAAAAY better hair than me.
But, I was trying to remain calm and not have an "old man attack" amidst a group of teenage punk rockers and Avril Lavigne girls.
Next - the food stands.
I opted for a GIGANTIC HUMONGOUS beer. Probably about two pints in one glass.
Life Partner nabbed a big Coke, and a basket of chicken fingers and fries.
Yeah, we smoked pot before we came so we had the munchies.
Julie and Danielle each had pops as well. I planned to get WAST-ED.
I evnvisioned myself going up two or three times - the length of stairs from the floor to the beer stand saying "Fill her up, hon!" to the cute chick behind the bar - and then tipping her a nice cool American One Dollah bill.
So we make our way to the floor - Julie and Danielle give their ticket and are let in.
Next is LIfe Partner and I.
"Um - I don't think so," the girl quipped. "You can't bring your drinks or food in there."
"But..you just let our two friends in with drinks."
"Well," she snorted. "You're not allowed in there with drinks. I didn't see that they had drinks."
Life Partner and I looked at each other, Julie and Danielle were already lost in the crowd.
I stared at my beer.
I felt betrayed by it.
So - Life Parter began scarfing down his chicken fingers like a bulimic on a binge and I began power drinking my beer the way I usually do at the Loop when I'm trying to get drunk enough to dance to a good song.
While we were scarfing our beverages and snacks down like it was going out of style - we noticed the same girl let in a few groups of people - all holding drinks.
"Um...Wayne...do you fucking see this shit?" I said, nearly chokoing on my beer, loud enough for the girl to hear.
"Don't," he said. "It's not even worth it. She'll kick us out. The fuckin' bitch."
For some reason - I was absolutely LIVID.
Now anyone who knows me - KNOWS I never get mad at ANYONE.
A waitress can serve me cat shit in my stew and I'll politely say I wasn't hungry - and still pay the bill and tip her.
I just RARELY get angry - especially at people who are just following rules and doing their job.
But - the simple fact that she was such a cold bitch to us - and then proceeds to let in people OBVIOUSLY carrying drinks - several of them... and to do it in plain view of us just fucking got under my skin like you wouldn't even believe.
Maybe it was the energy of the young punk ass kids around me - but I just wanted to walk up to her and throw my beer at her and ask: "Now that my beer is gone, can i go down and watch all the OTHER people you let in who HAVE beers drink theirs?"
But I didn't.
Three seconds later, my beer was done and Life Parter threw away the remainder of his food. He had one chicken finger left, which he nibbled on as we made our way to the floor.
The first girl eyed his chicken finger suspiciously - but let us by.
The second, stopped us.
"You can't take that down there," she began.
"GOOD GOD!" I moaned. "It's a CHICKEN FINGER!"
What, were they afraid Life Partner was going to attach the piece of dead chicken flesh to a chain and start "busting some heads" with it???
Thank God everyone signed that waiver! What - with chicken fingers floating around - these darn Green Day fans in their late twenties are true dangers.
"You have to finish it right here," she said, pursing her lips.
I rolled my eyes and made eye contact with the bitch, staring her deadpan in the face, DARING her to say something.
So help me god - I woulda went "Flamey Mad Faggot" on her ass.
Something I haven't done since I was 19.
Life Partner shoved the chicken finger down his throat - ("Wonder if the fucking waiver covers choking to death on a force fed chicken finger," I pondered) and she let us go.
"Wait a minute," I said and didn't budge.
Life Partner and the girl looked at me.
"Wayne.." I began.."Why don't you open your mouth so she can check to see if you swallowed it yet, before we go? Just to make sure."
I glared at her.
The girl gasped at me, just as LIfe Partner turned to her and opened his mouth - giving her a front row centre view into the chewed processed chicken guts that were hanging from his teeth, tongue and roof of his mouth.
Her face turned gray with disgust and the satisfaction I felt tasted so delicious, I think I gained a love handle right then and there. But it was worth it.
I was going to then say "Are you sure you don't want him to digest it, and shit it out for you before we go down? cuz heaven forbid - he just at a chicken finger! He could explode any minute and be a severe danger to the very mellow, calm and tame and mature audience here tonight."
But I chose not to.
Both of us BURST out laughing and we continued on down to our seats.
The show itself was great - Green Day always blows my mind - there was an annoying drunk sweaty guy who kept flashing me the "rock and roll satan symbol" with his index, thumb and pinky fingers and he got on my last nerve after a while - but other than that - it was cool.
Near the end Julie and Danielle walked up to get some flyers that the band sprayed out at us and the bouncer girl gave me a dirty look (while I waited for them) and yelled at me to "MOVE IT!"
So help me I almost punched her in the face.
In my head I was like "Fuck this. It'll be WORTH getting thrown out of here."
But, I didn't. That's about as rowdy as I get - but GOOD GOD - those fuckers there know how to play my nerves.
I hate being talked down to - that's my BIGGEST fucking pet peave.
that's why I could never join the army. I'd end up slitting my captain or general's throat in his sleep, just out of pure hatred.
While i'm on this whole "hate theme" - I might as well let another one out of the bag:
I don't want to generalize or discriminate against something that can't be helped - but I'm gonna be REALLY shallow for a minute here and just say - I FUCKING HATE HATE HATE the Michigan accent..
HATE IT.
I have tons of friends and family and people I love who are cursed with this affliction - people I love so much - that if i were a millionaire - I would buy them a speech trainer to teach them how to fucking get their vowels straight.
Or at least sound like a dumb Canuck, rather than a dumb Michigander.
I know we have accents too...but fuck - watch ANY movie that represents what your average born-in-North America person sounds like.
They sound like US. People from Windsor, Toronto, Chicago, L.A.
Not fucking Michigan.
I won't even get into Ohio.
Anyway, we made it home safe and sound. No terrorist attacks while we crossed the border.
I think the customs girl on the Canadian side was drunk.
She kinda had to focus in on us with a shakey glare and slurred "How-longyabeen inthe cuntry?"
We barely got the words out of our mouth and she was swiping us along with a careless swish of her hand.
It felt like a warm welcome back hug from my favorite country in the world: HOME.
"Good god," I thought to myself as we pulled into the drive. "Am I getting too old for this shit - or am I just becoming an old fart?"

From the Archives

Hey i was pulling out some old notebooks from YEARS gone by - literally - YEARS - we're talking talking end of higshchool - first year university and i found some semi-hilarious poems in there that are so ridiculousl, I had to be high as a kite when I wrote them. Here's a few:

oh yeah - and please - NO ONE think that i am posting these horrific things in hope that someone will write back saying "DAn! NO!! They are SOO good! Don't be so hard on yourself! You're a great poet!"

Not these poems - These poems are just flat out....stupid
Like - I read them now and don't even remember what i was thinking.
I do know - i wrote these after a little drunken "discussion" with Nancy, Ian (the three-way call friends) and Ian's boyfriend, Jason.
The subject of our discussion: Art.
The location: The Complex - over four pitchers of Walkerville Blonde.
I scratched these poems out on a card that was a promo for walkerville breweries, while the rest of my table fought. I didn't say much this night - because i was hammered. So you know when you have a friend, who has had too much to drink, and they don't say much and you wonder what they are thinking:
I was that friend that night. And here is what i was thinking.
my drunkness progresses with each piece.

and so begins the horror:

From The Walkerville Brewery pt 1
- by Dan MacDonald, 1998

What if all this drunken slur
is simply an excuse,
and we're all becoming
dumb?
(maybe that's how
it's supposed to happen)
We scar our minds,
and become dumb.
Slowly. Painfully slow.
But we trick ourselves
into believing we are having
a festive good time.
Meanwhile we're putting toilets
in our head, little toilets whose
only mission is to find our brain
cells, capture them, and swallow them.
Gone.
(What are we doing? Why are we yelling?)
You are affecting me as you talk
piercing,
stupid.
Great word. "Stupid."
What if we are becoming Stupid Losers?
"Walkerville, or O.V.?"
WOW!
(what a deep fucking decision)
What if we...
no wait.
What if "I",
am just a
Beer.Drinking.Loser.
?
-------------------end-----------------

Nice eh? But wait. There's more. And this was apparently after I had a few more drinks, and the arguments got heated. I scartched this down on yet another card:

From The Walkerville Breweries, Pt 2
by Dan MacDonald 1998

Totally subjective.
Yeah right.
My fucking eyebrow!
What is it
with you
So many beers
more than I knew
more than we knew.
What's up?
I thought you knew,
and yeah - whatever -
I thought I knew,
but no:
"You're all cut off. You've all just been cut off."
Oh god.
We've all just been cut off.
Kill me. Life can't go on now, can it?
What can we do, if we can't get violently drunk
and scream at each other about things we know
nothing about?
I'm cut off.
Fuck you. You were supposed to be my friend.
It's fine saying it to me. I can take it.
But who has the guts to say it to the man
at this table?
(cut him off. Someone. Please)
WE're all so cut off from everyone.
From everything.
We scoff at the notion that life exists
outside this tiny table
of beer drinking dorks in a trashy
bar.
Think.
Drink.
We're cut off.
More think.
More drink.
But we're cut off.
And now, as the conversation escalates,
we have apparently become
enlightened art history majors as well,
funny what beer will do.
But now, we're cut off.
Fuck you.
Cut off.
(need more money. bank machine says i'm cut off.)
Got some?

==========the end------

And yeah. I wrote a trilogy. THe perspective changed a bit in this one:

From The Walkerville Breweries pt 3
By Dan MacDonald

Drunk people are cool,
There should be more of them.
Hammred into oblivion until we're left
with three types of people:
Happy, Fighting or Catatonic.
Catatonics are cool.
There should be more of them.
Hypnotized by their own egos
with their heads arched over their notebooks
while they scratch meaningless drivel
on paper that no one will ever read (including themselves).
I guess we know where I fit in.
Then - the Happy.
Happy people are cool. There should be more of them.
All they do is smile and keep the piece,
even if they don't have anything honest to say.
And fighting.
Fighting people are great.
They entertain me. When no one has
anything better to say -
when no one has anything to share -
or no one is interested in partaking
in what someone is offering to share -
when people really don't know each other
we fight.
and hopefully, the fighting people
will fight till
they kill each other.
and then there will be no more fighting
because they are all dead.
And that's why drunk people
are cool and that's why
there should be more of them.
I for one,
plan to do my part.
I love Walkerville.

------end---

if anyone who reads this blog attended that "fight" - Zion - i know you were there - do you remember anything at all you'd care to shed your perspective on? this is all i have about the evening. i remember everyone yelling about "eras" of art and i had no fucking idea how it started and i was trying to play devil's advocate but i had no idea what i was talking about, and so i just shut up and wrote that.

bye for now!!
dan

Violent Femmes

Like, 11 years ago (oh my god!) my friend gave me a Violent Femmes tape called Add It Up: The Best of the Violent Femmes - and it contains live stuff, rarities, b-sides, live tracks - cool shit. So I popped it in my car and have been listening to it for the last month -and MY GOD - this band is absolutely incredible!!! Seriously.
I mean - yeah - I was always kinda into the Violent Femmes in a "Blister in the Sun" sort of way - but their back catalogue is SOOO fucking good - I can't even get into it right now.
I think everyone should rediscover the Violent Femmes.
Download Black Girls, Jesus Walking on the Water, I Held Her in My Arms, and Gimme The Car.
SOOOOO great.
I'm just so sad that I missed the bus on this band and didn't get into them sooner. They were just sooo cool for an eighties band - totally doing their own thing - pretty much TRUE alternative music, before the idea of what "alternative" was, was purchased by the media and turned into a fashion trend filled with zillions of "clones" all putting out the same cookie cutter music, all wearing the same cookie cutter hair cuts, cookie cutter uniform and claiming to be doing something "Alternative".
Talk about losing your definition over time. Alternative is now a "genre".
It is totally the opposite of what "alternative" stood for in the first place. I always assumed you browsed the alternative section when you were looking for something different, a brake from the norm- something you haven't heard before.
*sigh*
The Violent Femmes were it. I love driving to work with them every morning.
Had to share!

hearts and farts,
dan

I got a woodie

how is it - brothers and sisters - i, at the ripe old age of 28 - end up at Woody's Outhouse on a Wednesday Night - which offers a "student special" to alcoholics-in-training?
I feel like i'm back in grade 8 - and heather-thecunt-phalher is calling me "boner" all over again.
I'm the little lost boy standing by the wall at recess wondering why all the other kids my age won't play with me.
Now I know:
It's because I'm 15 years older than all of them.
I almost a had a shit-fit when the bartender said "six bux" after Life Partner and I ordered a Canadian, a Blue and a Vodka+water.
Six bucks.
"Fuck this," I said to LIfe Partner. "We should come here more often."
Except we won't.
Cuz it' s Woody's - and Woody's = Fart Poo.
We bumped into several people from my past. It was Tracy's b-day - an old member of Waitress-Hell (aka Margarita's).
THen we bumped into this hunk of steroid beefcake who i used to work with at Furniture Hell.
Turns out he jacks off on the net for gay dudes. actually - i heard he IS gay - and just totally in the closet by this chick who used to fuck him (or try to) but he could never get it up and he always wanted to go to the gay bar instead.
Go figure.
I think he wanted to Threesome life partner and I tonight. but i could be wrong.
i could be drunk.
we bonded with a few bar-hoes. funny stuff.
this one chick was totally self-depricating, to the point it was hilarious, cuz i thought at first she was one of those Paris=hilton chicks who is too self-absorbed to have an intelligent sense of humour - but she ended up making me piss myself because she made jokes about all her insecurities, and i could totally relate.
but yeah: Woody's.
Been there done that and will never do it again.
Time to pass out.
Love you.
Happy birthday to anyone who reads this. Namely: Tracy, since it is her birthday.
love you all,
danny.

Fergie: I Rest My Case

Apparently, the Black Eyed Peas played some San Diego Street Scene show - and they were extremely late showing up. They claimed to be stuck in traffic - but anyone who saw the show claims the whole band was just wasted out of their minds.
Fergie in particular.
In fact - she was so "piss drunk" - she took a little break to stand over by the speakers and um... piss.
Except, she didnt take her pants off.
And she came back and performed, pissed pants still on.
Nice eh?
So yeah - here's a classy picure of Fergie - after she had her little "whoopsie" moment.
The sad thing: If this was Courtney Love, it would probably be kinda cool.
But it's Fergie.
*shiver*

Free Fall

FREEFALL FOREVER
for lisa.

Our foundations have exploded and we’re thrown and scattered about, shattered in pieces and smeared across the forlorn faces of road maps.
What was once across the city is now five years gone by.
A menacing twitch of antennae flutters just under the sad winds of fall:
They’re on their way.
They whisper in familiar voices all the things I didn’t think I’d ever forget.
Except I did.
The man in the moon and the light in the sky and the eye in the river and our footprints that stamped the city: Still there, but different.
Something’s missing and unbalanced.
Daydreams once technicolour are now faded photographs.
Dance floors wild and pulsing are now lonely and unfamiliar.
They’re taken over by the children we used to be, violently alive and drunk on sensation. Moving forward, faster. Evolving into ourselves. Becoming us.
I forgot we were once them, taking over the lonely bars that belonged to someone else.
Time makes things emptier, spaces and gaps become wider.
We step back years later and realize it wasn’t moving forward at all.
It was an adrenalized free-fall.
We were falling, freely.
Except now we’re trying to slow it down, and slowly realizing, year after year, that we can’t. We’ve built up far too much speed, and the winds are whistling louder than ever.
It’s a free fall, forever.
It reminds me it’s Autumn. It reminds me who we are and where we’ve been.
And how sometimes, having a great friend can be the loneliest thing in the world.

I’m sorry I missed your birthday, Lisa.

I'm making you a CD NOW.
I REALLY MISS YOU!

Dan

(CENSORED) or is it (CENCORED)? No. It's (Censored). I think. jesus i don't know.

i'm drunk again. go figure.
had a crazy afternoon. i can't talk about it though. my producers prohibit me, which is cool. it was a certain art project i took part in - we'll talk on sept 27th when it makes its debut at phog.
for now - i remain bound and gagged to secrecy.
but i love it.
i am SOO making that face right now - that the bound and gagged chick in the picture is making.
so - i partook in some craziness which cannot be discussed this afternoon, went to Shin Shin, went to Avalon, came home and got stoned off my ass.
Can i just say - if i was a hot, straight woman (who looked like Jay-Lo) I would totally have screwed the entire population of downtown windsor by now.
phew. some hotties.
i've been spending WAY too much time withoutmy glasses.
there are some Q-TIES downtown.
enough is enough though.
i want my beddy bye bye.
bound and gagged,
dan