As longtime readers know, we at the ol’ raincoaster blog are nothing but a big softie, however much we way threaten you with our tentacles and fangs and use the first-person plural at times; we are just trying to be inclusive of our alter personalities, that’s all. And as an expression of this innner softie-tude, we present the following announcement, from regular commenter Lydia:
This is my youngest brother who, when he was born with Downs, was not expected to live for more than 6 months. He just turned 47! So there! Lydia
Chris is supporting the fight against childhood cancer by shaving his head in the 2008 Shave for a Cure event on January 25th. Chris considers himself very lucky as he has enjoyed good health and the support of friends and family throughout his life. As an added bonus we all know how much he would love to have his head shaved! Please help him raise funds for childhood cancer research. It’s easy to do. Just follow the link and you can make your pledge online. Thanks for helping Chris “give something back”!
After ten at night, downtown in the boondocks is filled with attractive, well-dressed young couples strolling and chatting to one another and greeting friends.
After ten at night, downtown in Vancouver is filled with staggering drunks, beggars, dopey hipsters wearing secondhand clothing they haven’t even brushed the dead owner’s dandruff off, and those so outrageously obnoxious that their own mothers out in said boondocks threw them out of their basement apartments and told them to go “get some fresh air.” This is much like the tourist effect, to whit: the reason most tourists are so obnoxious is that they are not traveling because they wish to, but rather because they have been thrown out by their homes.
When I have that nagging feeling that I’m forgetting something in my apartment, that thing invariably turns out to be the keys to the place where I’m headed.
When I forget the keys to the boondock-ridden locale where I am supposed to be house-sitting, it will be on a night when I decide to take the Skytrain to the very farthest station in said boondock and walk to the house via the “scenic route” which, of course, takes place in the foothills of the Coastal Mountain range.
I must be getting fitter because, although the walk wiped me out, I no longer smell like wet pennies when I sweat, so this is an improvement.
Conrad Black has two sons, in addition to the daughter who’s been doing the “faithful supporter” thing at the trial. Funny, I read his whole autobiography and he didn’t mention them. Nor getting married, if memory serves. What a family guy!
Those graveyards that have the small, flat stones set flush into the ground? When you pass them at speed on the Skytrain on a dark and stormy night, they sparkle. Almost worth forgoing the weeping angels. Somewhere in Boondock, Ontario, my mother is sparkling. Unless it snowed; then she’s twinkling.
It is indeed possible to live off nothing but meat, cheese, caffeine and scotch for a week, but when you do
you will crave, I mean actively crave, multivitamins.
Whoa, check it out: yet another medium (oh, look it up if you’re so pedantic!) falls to the raincoaster Operation Global Media Domination behemoth. We be all up in yo airwaves now! Preeeee-senting the inaugural broadcast of Shebeen Club Radio, recorded live (and subsequently edited to death) November 20th, 2007. This is a recording of our book launch for Shebeen Club regular Colleen O’Connor‘s book Cry of the Phoenix. Pour yourself something companionable and heckle along! It’ll be almost like being there, just without the trays of appetizers or the screams from Blood Alley!
As longtime readers know, we at the ol’ raincoaster blog are nothing but a big softie, however much we way threaten you with our tentacles and fangs and use the first-person plural at times; we are just trying to be inclusive of our alter personalities, that’s all. And as an expression of this innner softie-tude, we present the following announcement, from regular commenter Lydia:
raincoaster 