at least she was pleased the trike was a fixie
Did you ever see that brilliant Steve Martin movie The Jerk? Yeah, it needs a sequel.
and yes, I know I’m all about the YouTubes lately. Maybe on days I don’t get cc’d on 300 emails demanding replies I will have some words left for the blog.
Today it isn’t so much what I’ve done as what I’m going to do; I’m going to give the keynote speech tonight at the AGM for the Federation of BC Writers. I’m also going to take the opportunity to pimp out my intensive, 10-week online Blogging for Writers course that starts next week, and my June 19th Social Media Self-Promotion for Writers half-day workshop.
Dud my nails for the occasion, too! Sparkly!
Posted an announcement about my new linkblogging service for celebrity/gossip or fashion blogs:
$100 a month gets you a list of links three times a week, minimum 10 links to different blogs. More links, or more frequently, more money, obviously. Every blog that buys into the monthly link service is automatically included in the links, of course, and the more blogs that buy the service the more powerful in terms of Googlejuice and visibility each link will be. Completely custom link lists are also available, but if I’m going to spend two hours looking for links already day in and day out, you’re gonna hafta make it worth my while. Send Viggo with cash.
I also blogged:
Dropped a couple of quite pointed comments, even for me:
Answered about 20 questions in the Support forum.
Threw about 12 items on the Tumblr for possible later use.
Outlined the Vancouver Social Media Club event on the 27th, for which I hope not to be in town, actually, and emailed several places to arrange a venue. And roughed out the announcement, which cannot go out until I get the nod from the venue, UGH, even though the Straight deadline is tomorrow.
Applied to be a speaker at 140 Character Conference, a Twitter conference run by the very cool Jeff Pulver. My proposed topic is using Twitter to initiate offline action in your readers.
Took the exit survey from Northern Voice.
Grocery shopped like a fiend. The shelves at London Drugs will never be the same; seriously, if you’re flexible, buying food from drugstores in the middle of the night can save you shitloads, because they’ve always got SOMETHING they’re trying desperately to get rid of, less than half-price. I’m eating packaged, microwaveable Indian vegetarian meals and canned fish for the next three weeks, it would seem.
Realized the Shebeen Club is NEXT FREAKING MONDAY which means all the invites have to go out via social media tomorrow, and we’ll miss the papers. This is what I get for booking a speaker who promptly takes off for Malaysia. “Pull a topic out your ass” night it is then! Thank god it’s Zombie Awareness month.
Noted that my first post on Sami Salo’s testicles has 666 hits. Hmmm. Does that mean he’s cursed? Or that the devil loves to read interviews with social media gonads?
Bitched endlessly on Twitter about the two drunken hipster chicks who sat in our doorway so they could loudly conduct a “private” conversation. If it had been more interesting than “Oh my god I totally don’t wanna be your friend when you’re like this! I’m not like this? I mean, I’m like this now, but I’m totally not, like, LIKE this, you know?” I’d have liveblogged it. Must. Get. Webcam. “ZOMBIE HIPSTERS OF VANGROOVER” sure to be a Youtube smash!
Neglected (once again) to blog the fantastic Bombay Sapphire event I went to Monday. Oh well, so far I’ve posted it on Twitter 12 times and that’s 12×5500 readers, so I’m sure they’re okay with me taking my sweet time.
Somewhere in all this I went for an hour-long walk around my neighborhood, which is always a rewarding experience, particularly when I run into the kitten I rescued on Christmas Eve a few years ago, all grown up and haughty. And get to chat with the cute guy who works at Union Market. Suddenly, yeah, I LOVE talking about the weather.
Decided on the spur of the moment to do the Shebeen Club press release right now…see ya l8r!
The NYC visit of the President of Iran is as good an excuse as we need to re-post this video. View it quick, before Lorne Michael’s little trolls pry it from the internet’s sadly un-tenacious grasp.
IRan So Far
Lyrics via JustJared
They say true love comes only once in a lifetime
And even though we’re from opposite ends of the earth
My heart tells me you’re the one for me
Mahmoud, I remember when it started, saw you on the news
You hating gays, I was eating food
I was feeling you, and even though I disagree with almost everything you said
You ain’t wrong to me, so strong to me, you belong to me
Like a very hairy Jake Gyllenhaal to me
Mahmoud, make my heart beating out of my chest
my mind says no but my body says yes
You ain’t no threat, the only threat I see, is the threat of you not coming home to me
Our love for each other is like when atoms collide
Can’t express how I feel, and yo Adam let’s ride
And Iran, Iran so far away is your home, but in my heart you’ll stay
He ran, for the president of Iran
We ran together to a tropical island
My man, Mahmoud is known for violence
Smiling, if he can still do it then I can
They call you weasel, they say your methods are medieval
You can play the Jews, I can be your Jim Caviezel
S&M, (?) when we’re wrestlin’
You can be the port that I put my vessel in
So I try to (?) but you can still see me
With your sleepy brown eyes, butter pecan thighs
And your hairy butt… Yeah.
And Iran, Iran so far away
Come home, and in my arms you’ll stay
Used to look at the stars and dream
Around the world the same stars we’re seeing
And a twinkle in your eyes Mahmoud
Talk smooth to me, in the night sky
With you pants high waisted, damn so fly
We can take a trip to the animal zoo
And laugh at all the funny things that animals do
Like Eugene, you got me straight trippin’ boo
Hope you look at my eyes and say I’m trippin’ too
You say (?) but they already do
You should know by now, it’s you
You crazy for this world Mahmoud
So give us another Holocaust all you want
But you can’t deny that there’s something between us
I know you say there’s no gays in Iran
But you’re in New York now baby
So time to stop hating and start living
As guests of yesterday’s Net Tuesday event or last month’s Social Media Club Vancouver panel will have noted, the gorgeous coworking gallery at BOB is open for business once again and looking for hot-desking cultural creative nomads in search of a home.
The space is enormous, and includes:
And, of course, the fabulous company of your peers. And me.
This is what the coworking gallery looked like during the Cultural Olympiad, when we had an exhibition by the sound sculptor Trimpin.
If you’re a recovering or current civil servant and prefer PDFs to all other forms of communication, here’s our downloadable flyer. In fact, why don’t you print out a couple of dozen and pass them out? No? Okay, maybe just one for the staffroom corkboard?
We’ve also been featured extensively in blogs, other blogs, other blogs, coworking blogs, on Facebook, on Flickr, and the mainstream media.
How much will this glorious work environment set you back? Only $200 a month, less than half of what Workspace used to charge. Half-month trials are also available, for $100. If you’ve got a small company and need multiple desk spaces, we can work something out. And we are available for special event bookings, subject to availability and usage. Talk to us.
We’re looking for do-gooders, writers, tech workers, SOHO ninjas and all variety of interesting, creative people who are looking for something more copacetic than a cafe, more professional than the dining room table. Give us a call at 778-328-7664 or email raincoaster at gmail dot com and we can show you around.
Here we are a few months ago, under construction:
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What are you doing here, when you could be over at my True/Slant blog TheCelebrityIndustrialComplex, watching me rip Peaches Geldof a new one? It’s honestly one of the meanest things I’ve ever written, and I cut quite a LOT of the meanness out before I posted it, because I am such a freaking softie.
Especially when it comes to Eurotrashy, chinless, illiterate junkie whore wannabe failed underwear models. As I said elsewhere:
She’s a classic second-generation-rich fuckup. “Shirtsleeves to shirtsleeves in three generations” they say. She was born rich, has spent her “adult” life trying to get street cred while wearing Balencifuckingaga, and has for no reason other than the irresistible appeal of the trainwreck in progress, been making a half-million a year for the past several years being, essentially, a rich crackwhore wannabe.
And now, she’s failed. At least she got one thing right: if you’re going to have your picture splashed all over the internet for shooting junk with the stranger you bonked senseless and then dragged to the Scientology Celebrity Center hot tub, be sure to be wearing your sponsor’s product. Right above the blood-encrusted bandage on your thigh. Way to stay classy, Miss Ultimo Lingerie!
raincoaster 