Not all Alexisonfire, despite Billy's Talent

Boa Tarde.
I'd love to tell you all what's what today, but I'm too fatigued.
Turkey. You all know how it is.
I thought I'd make a little post for deceased Canadian punk bands, though.
Because it makes me seem hip.
Here's The Fullblast, which was a group from...Burlington? Wherever.
I saw them play in Banff. I sang onstage with a bunch of other tight-panted fans while they played their closer.
Sorry about the shitty quality of this particular video. I couldn't find anything better.
This is Choke*, a band from Edmonton.
The ass fell out of 'er for them in...2005? Something. They're probably my favourite punk band.
Lemme ask ya something, fanbase: Do you guys actually check out these music links and gear? Do you listen to them? Are you attracted to me, would you say, in a sexual nature?
Just curious...

*'the hardest things to see...' is the best track (second one).

"Jon Sobol!"

I work with Jon Sobol's cousin.
That doesn't mean much to a lot of you ingrates, but this is significant Banffery material.
Girls always wanted to have sex with him.
He was very burly.
He cooked food.
We competed for the attention of Becky White Clogs, the undisputed vixen of pastries.
TJ (I think it was TJ) once discovered a potato that bore a mystifying resemblence to a vagina.
Striking. Strikingly like a vagina.
Jon Sobol gave it arms and legs using toothpicks.
I think a baby tomato was involved somehow as well.
She's not nearly as large as he is.
I can't wait to tell Antoine.
He'll recommend I sleep with her.
But, in my experience, I find it's best not to mix sexual exploits with the workplace.
Jon Sobol mixed.
But that guy was unstoppable.
He would shout his full name, sometimes, matter-of-factly.
"Jon Sobol!"
Twan and I almost got it on shirts.

Vaudeville

I want to start wearing suspenders.
I'm at that point in my life, I think.
And for foraml events; all of the best galas and funerals, I want to start wearing bowties.
Proper ones that require tying.
I wonder how long it would take me to figure that out...

Unearthed

Seriously.
Are you a budding student? Write this down:
Don't skip multiple consecutive classes in an unfamiliar course.
This might happen:
I walk into my historical archaeology class a few hours ago.
Now, I'm late. This is fine. The professor is often late for this class.
I enter the room.
The following things become immediately apparent:

• There is an assignment due today, as I see a pileup of them on the professor's desk. As students walk in (also late), they add to this pile.
• We are to be examining artifacts, as there are wee plastic cases containing various clay and stone ceramics.
• This class is an important one. Though I am, at this point, unsure of why.

I act natural.
There are these aforementioned plastic cases in front of each seat.
People are studying little chips of material, or sherds, if you will, closely and meticulously.
People are jotting things down.
People are taking pictures of clay pipe bowls with digital cameras.
People are examining worn coins with the assistance of some sort of magnifying tool, and a UV light.
Everyone is very quiet.
I have no idea what is going on.
I am sweating.
I pick up the sherds of gear in front of me and start writing random tidbits.
"Smooth. Porous. Shitty-looking quality."
My head is reeling: is this an exam of some sort? Am I allowed to look at my notes? Should I have brought a camera of my own?
People speak in quiet murmurs.
I'm trying to read what the person sitting next to me is writing.
It was terrifying.
Even now I don't know what just happened.
Read your syllabi, people.
Write that down, too.

I Mentioned "Later..." Earlier...

I finally figured out the deal with the show that I've linked a few times.
It's British.
I couldn't figure out who the host was before.
His name is Jools Holland. Apparently he plays the piano.
I played the piano once.
His show is simply called 'Later...'
Since we're on the subject, here.
More Radiohead.

Nothing's Sacred

To continue the last post, this is the message that I just sent to Spencer on facefuck, after gaffing his picture:

spencer!
how's this for a random message? what's up buddy? how've you been the past...six years? seven?
you look happy enough in the pictures. so that's something.
are you on boats? i get nausious. i'm also afraid of going near the rails. i'd be the one to fall overboard. there's no questioning it.

here: http://www.acadiascreech.blogspot.com/

i started up a blog about...eight months ago.
some people say it's entertaining.
i'm letting you know about it because you're mentioned in it as of today.
and i have a rule about informing people about it after they're mentioned in it.
so there you go.
i'm about the same as i was.
i've had sex with a wider variety of girls, and i grew a mustache once or twice.
that's about it.

Ears Open

I've only slept for three hours in the past...while.
So bear with me.

Spencer Gulliver was a friend of mine in Acadia.
Good guy. Liked to pedal bikes.
I can also safely say he was the first American friend I ever had.
Maine. They have a lot of lobster.
Anyway.
When I was in my first year, Spencer Gulliver introduced me to something that I had never seen before.
He called it 'sharing,' and it really changed my life.
Just kidding.
He'd put on his headphones, lay on his bed with his hands behind his head, he'd close his eyes, and just...listen to music.
No nap. No homework. No acid.
I always thought it was the oddest thing.

Years passed...

Then several important things happened:
I developed a taste in music.
I moved into a closet. A dark one.
Nowadays I listen to music the way that ol' Spencer used to.
Sometimes.
It's hard to get around to because there are so many flashy screens in this apartment.
But I always do it if i'm reviewing music.
I can't play instruments. I find the process helps me seperate and determine which instruments are doing what.
So, let me ask ya this: Have you ever tried it?
No? Good.
Do it now.
Come on blog fans. I never ask anything of you people.
I'm calling in a favour.
Wait until you're in private, so that you don't feel stupid about it. If you must.
Use headphones. Headphones are important.
Don't open your eyes for the whole song.
I even picked one out for you.
This is Idioteque performed by Radiohead. It's live, and it's wicked.
Two things to notice: one, how quiet the audience is during the song, and two, how long their applause goes on for afterwards.
Even if you're a fan, and you know Idioteque inside-out.
Do it anyway.
For your ol' pal Warford.
And Spence.
Do it for Spence.

eDit: i'll be satisfied if i can get one quarter of you to actually do this.
spence had this picture trio on his facefuck, so i gaffed it.
it took me a minute to realize that the top two pictures were taken in my room.

X (Three Times)

I just finished organizing the adult room.
And the list of oddities that I have completed in the workplace just continues to grow.
I have to vacuum the popcorn.
On a Friday, there's enough of it mashed into the carpet to make a circus clown have a conniption.
But you know who I do it for?
The children.
Telling them that, "Sorry, there's no copies of Snow Buddies left," makes all the difference for me.

Wardrobe Malfunction

They're saying that Gene Simmons has a sex tape in circulation now.
'Bout time.
I'm not sure why he would leak it now; he already has a show.
The female is a spokeswoman for one of these speedball drinks.
Mega-something. Something-Rush.
Which would suggest that their sex was vigorous, and an excellent source of energy.
I guess she's a Kiss fan.
I like AC/DC, personally.
He's married to a Newfoundlander, you know. Shannon Tweed. Playboy bunny.
Dad taught her in high school.
It's his claim to fame.
I don't have a claim to fame, but if I ever did, I'd have sex with someone, record it, and put it on the internet.
Anyway, there's only one question in the aftermath of all of this. The media attention. The embarassment. The humiliated children.
In the video...is the makeup on, or off?

Refuse

I originally started this post with the statement: "I have a dorsal fin," but decided to cut it out in case people thought I was high while I wrote this.
Then I thought about how I didn't like to exclude it either.
Don't worry; I worked out a contingency.
If garbage men collect the garbage once every two weeks, what do they do on the other days?
Contemplate Nietzsche.
Turpin told me earlier today that orange is universally unflattering.
I disagree.
'Cause I'm wearing orange right now.
And I think I look pretty good.
There's a war on.
Better construct this* in your spare time.
You should also put a crib board in there.
Because in the case of nuclear fallout, you're going to want something to pass the time.
Don't forget the cards!
While your vault-mate warms up the geiger counter, listen to this.


They meditate, too, of course.
The garbage men.




*other useful sites:

• Duck and Cover (this video was actually shown to school children during the sixties. Kennedy administration, I think. Who do you suppose the monkey represents?)
• Build your own geiger counter

Damp Spot

I am at work.
Earlier, I spilled coffee on my penis.
It wasn't hot, though.
The coffee, I mean.

*ping*

I'm going to buy a spitoon, I've decided.
I don't know why they went out of style.
Everyone that I know enjoys dull brass or copper.
And this way, the tobacco chewer always feels comfortable in your home.

Little Buttons

Alright.
So, I'm single now, then.
And that's all I'm going to say.
You think you're doing alright, until you go to pour coffee into the draedle mug that she brought you, and then you're reminded that these things take time.
I'll be back in a little bit.
But most of my posts will likely be comprised of poetry lamenting how jaded the world is.
Just kidding.
They should be funny.

Helluva Guy

The Warford family ate its meals in front of a television.
We're that kinda generation.
When we were kids, supper involved a lot of noises; the emittence of various gasses, arguing, shouting, and occaisonal crying.
Which our parents tried to tune out, best they could.
But when Ray Guy came on the CBC news, we all had to shut up.
Yesterday, Elling said my writing is comparable to his.
This is almost better than the Woody Allen comments of late.
Because he's from Newfoundland.
And because my parents found him entertaining.
I haven't read any of his material*, really. But I may start.
We already have this in common: we both share names with jerkoff football players.


*I haven't listened to this because my computer's sound is on the blink. So, I don't know if it's funny or not.

The Offspring

I have no idea how we came out of the same womb.
Colin: You know what I'd really like to try, sometime? Boloney Stew.

eDit: i know how to spell bologna. in this case it doesn't have the same effect when written properly.

1up

In a moment of spontenaity, as most my moments are, I bought a Super Nintendo on Valentine's Day.
I had Donkey Kong Country set aside to purchase, but it was a little too much money.
To spend all at once, that is.
I'll probably buy the same game a few days from now. I'll tell you when I do.
It was a smart purchase.
Even hooking it up felt good.
It's hard to explain what it is like to play this system again.
People are really into ROMs these days, which are computer translations of video games that you can play through on what's called an 'emulator.'
It doesn't make sense to me either. But when in Greece...
It's not the same, though. It lacks the tactile effects.
You know the nostalgia you feel when you see shit from your childhood?
Key words will do it, even:
Pog.
Slap bracelettes.
Chip 'N Peppa clothing. Vaurnet.
Popples.
You feel that little tinge of nostalgia?
It's like that.
Multiplied by a few dozen polynomials.
Even the music will do it.
Some of that music was wicked, by the way. Considering they were using MIDI to produce it.
If you're curious, try this on for size.
Now the hunt for games begins.
Any of you have Super Nintendo games you're using as doorstops?
Let me know.
Meantime, if you want to see some creme de la creme, check this out. Mute it. I especially recommend this for anyone who inhaled games as a kid like I did (Shandera, I'm looking at you).

Boys' Light Out

Cause we've got the ol' ball 'n chains these days.
The ol' brick 'n manacles.
Colin and I have played video games side by side since I was four.
Colin enjoys movies with Kevin Costner. Colin believes that all forms of philosophy (all of 'em) are 'foolishness.'
But games. We'll always agree on those.
Wasserface was off somewhere last night, getting wasted with her friends or whatever.
Im-oh-gen said something about meeting up with some of Hope's (roommate) 'heroine buddies.'
I believe in personal space in a relationship, so I don't ask questions.
Anyway, Colin and I are set for a boy's night of video games.
It's 8:30 on a Saturday, and I'm in my pajamas. And I'm excited about it.
We set up a second TV. I just bought a super nintendo recently, which I'll tell you about in a seperate post momentarily.
Colin is just beginning to go through the tutorial for his game, while I explore the ghost house on Donut Island in Super Mario World.
I want to interject into my own utterings to point out that Colin worked a double on this particular day.
So, that's a games night, with Colin having worked for approximately twelve hours on a Saturday.
Can you picture it?
The power goes out.
And doesn't come back on until 2:30 the following morning.
Only in our cul-de-sac, and other select areas of St. John's. The houses at the bottom of Kildare still had power.
My Warford luck will see me in a Tunisian prison one day, I'd wager.

"So charming, you could eat off it."

It's a few weeks ago.
Im-oh-gen and I are visiting Hoskins.
The night is winding down, and then Hoskins recommends we chug some homemade wine.
Which I think is a good idea.
We spent the night.
Anyway, at one point, Luke, who is Hoskins' sister's missus, broke out a massive yule log.
I had a piece while Imogen skimmed off of my plate (a common practice).
I dropped a small dabble of yule onto my pantleg.
Imogen went for my plate again, and I said, "Whoa, eat the stuff off of my pants first."
"I don't want to eat yule log off of your pants," she replied.
"Well, we're going to be eating food off of each other's clothes eventually."
She pondered this, and then ate the cake off of my pants.

I'm More a Saint Than He Was

Yesterday was Valentine's Day.
Did you all have intercourse with your loved ones or hookers?
Good.
Good.
I had to do things for someone this Valentine's Day.
Which was fine.
It's nice to wear something besides pajamas sometimes.
I made a card.
I drew yaks on it.
You can tell it's Valentine's Day when you read the back of my hand and it says:
flowers
shave
deoderant
That means romance is in the air with Paul Warford.
Who is me.

Yesterday was also a big night for me at work.
First porno rental. First two, in fact.
There's a door code that customers need to acquire in order to enter the sex room.
I keep forgetting to ask what the number is.
And I know, I just know that the first time someone asks me for the code, it will be while my co-worker is on a break.
And I'll be forced to say, "I'm not sure. But Ashleigh should be back from her break soon."
Then he (it'll be a guy, let's face it) and I will look blankly at one another.
That's my luck.
Almost.
More true to my form, however, would be the above situation, except the customer is a former high school teacher of mine.
And his wife.

School Daze/"This is Dr. Barnes, are there any calls for me?"/Rest ASherd

Upon attaining the sylabus to my Historical Methods course, some three weeks after the course had started, I came to realize something:
That I had an assignment due in Historical Methods that was four days late.
After a great deal of denial, this disjointed term is now in full swing.
Want some highlights?
And here they are:

I'm taking an historical archaeology class. On certain days I regret registering for it.
We discussed ceramics for over a class and a half.
The professor says "sherd" instead of "shard." This is a word that she must use often in the course of her lectures.
I'm not sure she realizes she's doing it.
I already told you about my Modern Revolutions course to a degree.
The professor I have come to respect more than any that I have encountered since my Acadia reign.
Because she says things like:
"I did not include a chronological section on this exam. I have no idea why, since you certainly don't deserve it."

Alright.
So, I have a midterm in my Twentieth class.
I am terribly unprepared to write this exam.
I receive my official examination booklet (you know the one I'm talking about), and I start to fill it out.
I write 'Dr.' in the section designated 'instructor:' and then quickly cross it out.
Because perhaps he didn't get a doctorate.
Maybe he tried to and came down with a fierce case of mono before he could conclude his thesis.
And if anyone brings up the word 'doctorate' around him he becomes ennraged and marks on a downward curve.
So, I cross it out.
Then I realize that not only do I not know his academic rap sheet, I also do not know his name.
The course has been in session for a month.
The books and questions are out. He's going over how much time we have to write the exam.
And I have to write something in the space for his name.
Because I've already made a mark there. Of course I have.
This is a 'no talking' situation.
I descreetly lean back to a female sitting behind me.
"What's his name?" I ask discreetly. I'm sweating profusely at this point.
"Bernshnuh," I can't pick out what the fuck she's saying.
"What?"
"Bernshnuh!"
"Oh, thanks."
I cannot begin to write this exam until this matter is resolved.
I consider looking over the shoulders of the people in front of me, to see if I can glimpse it.
Then I realize that this will only result in me getting caught for cheating just to fill out my exam information.
Because that's what would happen to me.
So, I make a stab at it.
My professor's name, that is.
I write 'Barnes'.
Not even close to O' Brien. Which is his actual name.

Perfect World

I finally did this shit.

You know, I should've had this completed about 6 months ago.

The fun part of the process?

The website had the foresight to put the bowtie on me.

Duck & Cover

I wish Y2K had happened.
Think about it:
A clean slate technologically.
If you were late for class, you had an excuse that you could use every day.
"Sorry I'm late, miss. Y2k wiped out all of my alarm clocks.
Fuckin' rooster slept in."
I would have had a legitimate reason to use an abacus.
And I've always wanted to try hunting with a sharpened stick. I think I'd be good at it.
Cause if Y2K had happened, we wouldn't have been able to continue hunting with computers, like we do today.

Shelf Date

Many people don't realize this about me, but I truly exist on a plane that is seperate from most.
I don't want to say another universe because that's awfully egotistical.
I just don't know what's going on, is all.
Ever.
"So and so doesn't know that there's a war on."
I'm that so and so.
I do know that there's a war on because there is always a war on.
Not to get political or anything.
I believe that discussing politics is like debating whether or not Jesus would beat Superman in a footrace.
Mere mortals cannot answer the underlying questions.
Anyway, rewind.
I don't know what's what.
Here's proof:
Colin: "Don't you eat all of my meatballs and gravy."
Me: "Why not?"
He: "Cause I bought 'em, and you'll have 'em eaten before I get any."
Me: "Yeah, but if I don't eat 'em, you'll leave them in the cupboard until 2008 sometime. ...Oh, that's now, isn't it?"
I was trying to exaggerate.
I could never lease a car.

"Let me ask ya 'dis: is Jesus wearin' his sandals, or a pair of joggers?"

OrangeYaGlad I didn't Say 'Bathroom Fixtures?'

Talk about whipped.
I found myself, to my stupification, in Home Depot yesterday.
Buying shelving. Sort of.
I complained, sure, but it's still nice to wear something besides my pajamas.
Long story short, Imogen and I built a shelf together yesterday.
We're not shelf builders.
"Maybe if we do it in front of Colin he'll get impatient and start helping us," Imogen suggests. "He'll say, 'I tell ya what!' and then he'll start doing things."
It wasn't a bad plan, really.
In the end he didn't interject physically, but he had a lot of verbal insults that primarily suggested that artsy people are useless.
Which isn't completely fraudulent, really.
Me: "Wait, is this the bottom or the top?"
She: "I don't think it matters. If it does, Colin will say something."
I really wish there were pictures. I left the camera that Shandera gave me at Shandera's.

In other goo, I start my new job today at Jumbo Video.
I'm not doing it for the money.
I'm not doing it for the free rentals.
I'm doing it because I really enjoy wearing orange.
But then, who doesn't.

Canadian History Moment

Twenty-six years.
Twenty-six years ago from this day I was birthed.
Lain on hay and straw in an isolated manger, amongst the donkeys braying, and the cattle a-lowing.
I'm not too down about it.
Nowadays it's just another year closer to my Canadian pension.
How was my birthday?
Well..I slept late and skipped my classes.
My parents brought me cake and wine, and (legitimate) cheques.
I ate at Swiss Chalet.
No one sang to me.
Shandera came by afterwards and played all of the classic Metalica hits.
Im-Oh-Gen gave me a gift rain cheque that made me feel like I'm making smart choices.
But in the end, your birthday can only be anti-climactic if Peter Russell isn't around to get loaded with you, all pantsless and red-faced.
But I've had far worse years.

In other tributaries, I had a wicked set last night that felt good in my bones.
I received the greatest number of compliments this week, I believe.
Plus, George was there, after my not seeing him for over a month.
Tim offended a veagan, and wasserface saw me do what I strive to be best at.
People kept comparing me to Woody Allen.
I have not seen an entire Woody Allen film.
And the more I hear this, the more I want to avoid them.
Otherwise I may end up mimicking him.
Which would ruin everything.
I'm happy teaching snot-nosed punks about Africa. Don't get me wrong.
But if I could die as a 'modern' version of such a man.
Well...I'd be alright with that.