Category Archives: Fans

The Shebeen Club Presents: Edgar Allan Poe’s 170th Wedding Anniversary!

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Shebeen For immediate release: post/forward at will!

Who: The Shebeen Club, Vancouver's monthly literary gathering

What: Edgar Allan Poe's 170th Wedding Anniversary!

When: 7-9pm Tuesday, May 16th, 2006 (3rd Tuesday ea month)

Where: The Shebeen, behind the Irish Heather, 217 Carrall

Why:  To honour the master of horrors, on this, the day of his ultimate horror. Although I'm sure the bride could say the same.

How (much)? $20 before May 12th, $25 thereafter; reservations and media inquiries: lorraine DOT murphy AT gmail DOT com.

Admission includes a Poe-tastic dinner/drink combo specially selected for appropriate thrills, plus door prizes embodying the grandeur of fallen gentility, a Poe-themed presentation, and a horribly good time!

Dress: Anything antique, anything Goth, anything shabby-genteel.
Bonus prize for anyone who turns up with an actual raven, dead or alive. That is to say that one or more of "the raven and the guest" must be alive.

Background: The Shebeen Club, a History in Press Releases

Come with us, our clothes all tatty, we're Vancouver's literati,
Writing many a quaint and curious volume of best-selling(?) lore,

As we celebrate Poe's wedding, you can join us; they're both deading,
As they both croaked long ago, long ago, in days of yore.

"Bride and Groom, long dead," Sean mutters, "long ago, in days of yore;
Missed the party, ever more."

And two ravens, never flitting, still are sitting, still are sitting
On the old Blood Alley railings just beyond the Shebeen's door;

And their eyes have all the seeming of some ghostlings that are dreaming.
And the streetlamp o'er them streaming shows their shadows on the floor;

And the Shebeen Club, under their gaze that steals in from outdoors
Shall be uplifted—evermore!

Meet & Mingle 7-7:30
Listen & Learn 7:30-8
Whispered tales of undying madness and horror, like the mortifying time you confused August Derleth with Lord Dunsany 8-whenever Berenice comes for us.

Carry your stick high, carry your stick proud

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Forget Kiefer. We've got Mike! Mike Myers is Canada's cultural ambassador to the world. As Gawker has come to realize:

One stalker sighting we keep receiving and deleting usually looks like this:

9:30 PM: Mike Myers, Barrio Chino, carrying a hockey stick.

Why do we keep tossing Shrek aside? Because every single sighting we get of Mike Myers involves him carrying a hockey stick. Sunday morning mass? Hockey stick. Black-tie fundraiser at Cipriani? Hockey stick. It’s just absurd, we thought, and it seemed like a well-organized prank, a la Clooney, to flood the site with fake sightings.

Until we saw him last night, walking into Max Fish, carrying a hockey stick.

We’re so sorry we didn’t believe you.

Mike Myers, Canuckistanian terrorist

Why don’t I ever get any fan letters?

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Well, I get a fair few from people who want me to check out their websites for All Best Ambien Viagra Love Pillz. But I certainly don't get any like this one. From ElleGirl, of all places, via Gawker. Apparently, while the envelope is on the letterhead of a hospital (let me guess what kind of wards they have…) the return address is an Alaskan homeless shelter called the Glory Hole.

Of course it is. Isn't this where Don Simpson came from?

Letter to Ellegirl

Operation Global Media Domination: Hit me again, I can take it, I’m Irish

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TIABehold, the chart which means more to me than an ECG, more than a roundel of feed stats, more than a breakdown of paycheque deductions (I think that's what it's called…paycheque… so hard to remember).

The Blog Hits Chart:

Blog Stats May 4 2006

Should I worry that the original size of this chart was 1040x666? Naaaaaaaaaaah.

In unrelated news, a friend of mine set me an intriguing test a couple of years ago. Can you name the seven deadly sins, WITHOUT consulting so much as your cat, much less Google or an actual Bible? Bet you can't, and I bet I know the one you leave off…everyone does. But not as completely or as well as I do.

Where was I? Ah yes, blog stats.

I have to say, when I went to bed last night things were looking good. I had already hit my "feel smug" baseline, which is 200. Now, you readers and I know quite well that if it weren't for a certain pair of nesting bald eagles and another pair of nesting bald eagles and my tendency to post the URL of relevant blog passages on the Guardian newsblogs (which are otherwise starved both of relevance and passagity, or is that passagassity?) I'd never see 200 hits in a day even if I caught Stephen Harper eating a baby on YouTube and you and I both know he's too smart for that: he has them brought to him pureed, in smoothies. Well, he must; he's never been photographed eating a baby, but who can tell what's in those cups eh? EH? Answer me that, me lad!

Where was I? Oh yeah, smug.

And when I got to the compy in the late PM, just before the statcounter clicked over from Today to Tomorrow, I was dumbfounded, for lo, I had done almost double the hits of my previous best day ever.

All because of bald eagles, ball-chasing Boris, and Beautiful Agonies.

And I, consumed in the glow of the ascendant short-tailer or is that bodian as opposed to long-tailer, clicked away for a moment, beaming with the irreproducable joy of having seen that graph approach the very top of the box.

FOOL THAT I WAS! FOOL, I SAY!

For lo, when I clicked back WordPress had analyzed the hit trend and decided to bump me back to the bottom of the graph; they have put the top bar at Eight Fucking Hundred and Ten Goddam Hits!

You know, in Fisherman's Wharf there are barrels and barrels of crabs and the fishmongers don't put any lids on them; they don't need to. When a crab makes a break for it and tries to crawl out, the others reach out and pull him back to the bottom.

Not that I'm bitter. Continue reading →

Boris uses his head

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Image heartlessly stolen from Guido

image heartlessly stolen from Guido

A story has come out that could mean a big change for Boris Johnson, Tory MP for Henley and Shadow Minister for Higher Jinks. In fact, the truth is incredibly dirty. If this gets out, it could be the end of his career. But he'll do all right; from all reports, the man really knows how to use his head. Using the skills taught me by the inimitable (perhaps) Mirror, I have pieced together parts of a stunning whole. Below are actual quotes from Johnson himself, a pseudonymous poster on his blog, and some excerpts from an article on the whole sorry affair in the Telegraph.

BoJo works it, yo!

— —– was chanting "We want Boris" as he limbered up, waving his arms like a slightly rusty blond helicopter. The cheers grew and the cry of "Boris, Boris" became irresistible.

"I haven't p—-d since I was 18."

On he bounced, to raucous celebration.

The sight of the mop-haired MP for Henley's head powering into ——————'s groin brought a roar…

After…Boris, lager in hand, said: "I was going for the ball with my head, which I understand is a legitimate move."

"I felt an enormous sense of achievement every time I actually touched the ball."

He insists that his m———s are in good working order but his chances of getting the call from Carole Caplin are slim.

"That was a lot of fun," said Boris. "I rather fancy doing it all over again. Do you think they will let me?"

Online sources tell raincoaster chances are good. One remark from a grateful fan:

your tackle last night made my life…Thanks Boris!!

This was followed quickly by fears of tabloid coverage:

Oh lord, I'm inadvertently giving the News of the World about all they need for a Bozza cover story.

I'll be more careful when analysing Johnson's tackle in future.

So perhaps his career as MP for Henley and Shadow Minister for Higher Jinks is over, but could this be the start of a new one? Say, Minister of State for Health Services?

Read on for a lovely shot of Johnson's tackle. Continue reading →