Archive for December, 2006

Happy New Years bitches…

And to 2006, I say…

I can’t remember the last time I turned a movie off before it ended, but I just cut Brian De Palma’s latest piece of cinematic excrement short. A shrieking mother came out of a bedroom and started to reveal the mystery a-la-Scoobie Doo and I said fuckit. I haven’t seen such an incoherant, senseless plot since Pauly Shore joined the Army.

I don’t know why I rented it. Seems everyone who’s seen it has called it a stinker. Faith in De Palm I guess. But jeez, I want my afternoon back. Or at least my $4.50.

Maybe the film would have been better in Russian. At least this crap would have been spoken with a humorous language.

Black Dahlia

“If you voted for Haper you can’t shit here… your asshole is in 0ttawa.”

— Oasis Lounge, Halifax, N.S.

I should be surprised and disappointed that someone was gunned down two blocks from my house early Christmas morning, but I’m not. After spending the past week telling anyone who asked about what a shit hole (two words?) of a neighbourhood I moved to over the summer, it’s nice to see that I wasen’t exaggerating.

I use that CIBC sometimes. Now I’m wishing that there was some size XL kevlar under the tree for me to take home. Cuzzy says The Gate — the pub next door — serves up a mean breakfast, but I’m guessing there’s nothing going over easy there right now.

And his momma sighed…

It’s been fun Halifax, but I have beer to drink and ass to kick back in the big city.

Some highlights from the trip:

+ Brewtenders and pizza with cuzzy and katie.
+ Donair
+ Catching up on Chester St.
+ Sight seeing
+ Seeing old friends at MacFarlane’s
+ Unlimited supply of Oland’s, Alpine, Schooner and Ten Penny beer


+ Realizing the Seahorse sucks
+ Donair
+ Still no PS3

Here’s a pic of me visiting one of my favourite spots — the Halifax Grain Elevators. We used to drink here when we were teens. We’d also climb up on them and do a bunch of other dumb shit until we moved on to the train tracks further down the road.
Halifax, Nova Scotia
Anyway, it’s been fun. Stay tuned for my best and worst of 2006. Should be complete by Friday, hangover permitting.

The Seahorse sucks

The Seahorse tavern, Halifax, Nova Scotia

Here I am on the steps leading down to the former heavyweight best bar in the world. It used to be dark, with a heavy fog of cigarette smoke and some combination of AC-DC, Zeppelin or Guns N’ Roses blaring on the speakers. You’d walk in on a Friday night and know everyone in the room. Pints were $2.50 until 11 pm and they’d let you buy enough to cover the long, carved-up tables and church pews that made for seating.

Now it’s prettied up with plush booths, fancy lighting and a new kitchen. No more loud metal, because they’re trying to make it into a live music venue. It’s even got a dance floor dug into the floor where our table used to be. The City of Halifax’s clean air bylaw killed the smoking, but Victor Syperek did the rest. His attempt to recreate downtown nightlife according to his version of cool was alright in the ’90s, but he should have stopped with the Economy Shoe Shop.

Now I’ve got to find a new favourite pub, or stop coming to Halifax altogether. Maybe I’ll give Tom’s Little Havana a shot.

I’ll miss you Seahorse. RIP good buddy.

I wouldn’t normally recommend making the trip to Halifax in February when it’s as unpleasant as a sheep at a Cape Breton stag party, but this world record attempt sounds like a great opportunity.

It’s going to take 3800 brave souls to topple the Aussie record-holders and I feel I have the stamina and wisdom needed to help lead us to victory.  Plus I hate Australia.

Let me know if there are any other takers out there.

Bright lights, big beer

Enjoyed a night on the town with cuzoogle last night. We went through at least two brewtenders and bunch of pints before it was all over. Here’s how it went down:

+ Keith’s a la brewtender chez cuzzy

+ Propeller Horsepower Ale at the Sea Horse

+ Brewtender of beer — forgot which kind, but it was delicious — at Maxwell’s Plum

+ Chicken wings

Thanks for the pics cuzzy.

East Side torchdown

Got in to Hafilax yesterday and now I’m just saving up my mana for a night on the town. Starting off chez cuzoogle where we will enjoy a brewtender or two, and then a raid on downtown. Maybe some Fireside, Tom’s, Shoe Shop, Seahorse, Maxwell’s. Who knows. The only certainty is shitfaced. woot.

This could be ground zero later tonight. You’ll have to imaging the “Woots” and “WTF?!s” as my mom does not have photoshop and I’m too lazy to break out my pirate skills.

Above the rim

When it comes to ice creams, I’ve been an Adidas guy ever since I tried on my first pair of Gazelles 14 years ago. But as a teenager, I was all about the Nikes. My room was covered in Bo Knows, MARS and Air Force 1 posters while the closet was packed with all the Air Max, ACG Cross-trainers and Air Jordan’s my summer jobs let me afford.

And I wasen’t frontin’ either. This was before beer, so I was actually pretty athletic back then. In fact, my only addiction was to kicking ass on the courts or the soccer pitch. And yes, I could touch rim.

Aw crap, I’m starting to sound like one of those “this is your brain on” anti-fun ads.

Anyway, GQ’s slideshow on the history of Nike Air brings back memories I thought had been lost to boozin’. Remains to be seen if that is a good thing. woot?