Merry Christmas and Happy Birthday, Jesus and Shane McGowan

Happy Birthday Jesus from Camden Town

Yes, they have the same birthday; it just seems so right, once you know it, doesn’t it?

And I was thinking of them both today, when I went out in this podunk town for a two-hour walk and, of all the people I passed, including the church group that was loudly praying to the empty downtown sidewalks, not one said, “Merry Christmas.”

Not one.

Now, I may live in a pretty ratfuck part of the big city, but we always hear that small towns are frendlier. It’s a certain fact I couldn’t walk around the Downtown Eastside for two hours without hearing Merry Christmas repeatedly, and sometimes even from sober persons. Whichever PR firm small towns are hiring to spread this myth around, they’ve earned their money, cuz not one word of that claim is true. Hell, the only one who even looked me in the eye was the chocolate lab whose owner yanked him roughly away because for a second I looked like I might pet the doggy. Oh, perish the thought.

So, the following pair of videos and the following classic Christmas story (which I post every year, and you should read every time I post it, you’ll thank me) go out to those three men I saw sitting on the bar stools at the pub, staring into space with one carefully calibrated empty seat between each of them, presumably for Clarence. Or Harvey.

Happy Birthday, Jesus:

Happy Birthday, Shane:

And Merry Christmas, Everyone!

This is simply the finest, most moving and remarkable Christmas story I have ever encountered, and I have, as I happened to have remarked recently, well over two dozen books of Christmas stories. Moving as it does from England to Saudi Arabia to the far eastern tip of Russia, it qualifies as multiculti, too! It is a unique jewel by an author who emerged from nowhere, left this small masterpiece for us, and vanished again into a swirling blizzard of obscurity. I’ll post it using the MORE tag, so that if you enjoy it you can read the rest. If you don’t enjoy it, I suggest you seek medical assistance promptly, for your brain matter must be leaking out your ears or something. Merry Christmas!

A Christmas Story
By Sarban (John W. Wall)

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Christmas on Acid, revisited

A Christmas classic which gets heavy airplay around the ol’ raincoaster blog is that beloved oldie, Christmas on Acid by the Vestibules. Not only is the tune catchy and the lyrics accurate (um, from what I hear) but the video is a winter wonderland of the wonky and weird. But don’t take my word for it: check it out for yourself:

You can find the lyrics here.

Indeed, as I said in my old post, the only thing it’s missing is an outtake from Davey & Goliath, and has been reposted here by request (if “Why in God’s name haven’t you re-posted Christmas on Acid yet this year” is a request rather than an admonishment).

And now, may we present for the first time on this website, an authentic, original tale of Christmas Eve on Acid or At Least Giving Every Appearance of Being Under The Influence of Something Hallucinogenicish?

Well, it was the Drive. For those of you who don’t know, the Drive is Commerical Drive, or rather a section of it extending from about Venables to maybe 2nd or at a stretch Broadway, although that really IS stretching it. It has many nifty shops for artsies and hippies old and new, particularly those with a fondness for plants and produce. And yeah, they’re big on altered states there, whether you alter your consciousness by reading Sartre or by ingesting something.

obamas audACIDy of dope

The audACIDy of Dope

So my conclusion that the young man in the following story may have been under the influence of influencers is not without foundation, however shaky, particularly after the fifth eggnog. NEVER let your foundation get into the eggnog ahead of you, or you don’t know where you’ll end up.

Where he and his overcoated companion ended up one snowy Christmas Eve was directly in front of a butcher store window.

Now, the Drive, I should explain, is the old Italian part of town, or used to be before the dirty hippies moved in. Now it’s full of old, stubborn Italians (do I repeat myself?) and dirty old hippies, dirty young hippies and a fair sprinkling of hipsters, who have begun going over the wall of their reservation along Main and infecting the rest of the city, wherever they can buy clove cigarettes and ironic tees.

Now these two? They were none of the above. One was a sturdy-looking, dark-haired (and possibly Italianate)  twentysomething in, as explained above, an overcoat. A really quite snazzy overcoat of camel, though that’s probably just a euphemism for beige, as camels are not known for cold resistance now that I think of it.

The other, our befuddled protagonist, was equally twentysomething, and clad equally in an overcoat, although this was of the navy rather than camel persuasion and now that I think of it, it probably contained no fibres that had ever served in a military capacity at all.

And he was freaked out. Deeply, deeply freaked out. Like, screaming in the street, grabbing his head and running in circles Freaked The Fuck Right Out.

He’d probably have been running in a straight line, away from The Drive and back to Kerrisdale or the West End or whatever strange land from whence he came, but Camel Coat had a hold of his naval elbow and wasn’t letting go, cooing, “it’s okay, it’s okay, it can’t hurt you,” and causing his friend to zoom around in circles like a Jack Russell on speed.

And what Merry Christmas sight had caused a hitherto passing for sober young man to lose it right there on the Drive on a snowy Christmas Eve? Only a simple, homey, Old World holiday tradition, sitting right there in the window of the old-timey Italian butcher shop. Just this: click on if you DARE!

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Economic Theory 101: the raincoaster index

If only I could afford the barrel

If you’re an economist, you’ve probably heard about all kinds of bizarre and no doubt three-letter-acronymed thingies that measure vitality of the economy. If you’re not an economist (demographically speaking, it is indeed likely that people reading my blog are not economists, as surprising as that may seem) you may have heard of things like the GDP, SET index, and similiar TLA‘s, but have you heard of:

The Hotness Index

The hotter the waitresses, the weaker the economy. In flush times, there is a robust market for hotness. Selling everything from condos to premium vodka is enhanced by proximity to pretty young people (of both sexes) who get paid for providing this service. That leaves more-punishing work, like waiting tables, to those with less striking genetic gifts. But not anymore.

A waitress at one Lower East Side club described to me what happened there: “They slowly let the boys go, then the less attractive girls, and then these hot girls appeared out of nowhere. All in the hope of bringing in more business. The managers even admitted it. These hot girls that once thrived on the generosity of their friends in the scene for hookups—hosting events, marketing brands, modeling—are now hunting for work.” A Soho restaurateur I know recently received applications from “a couple of classic Eastern European fembots. Once upon a time, these ladies must’ve made $1,500 a night lap dancing. At my place, they’re not going to make that in a week.”

In the same vein, and somewhat more directly relevant, at least to MY life and probably to yours, too, since who can afford to eat out anymore, I’d like to present:

The raincoaster Index

Image of raincoaster raincoaster
12/14/09

I was invited to fourteen corporate holiday parties last year, all within walking distance of one another, all with open bars. This year, NONE! And I didn’t suddenly become more obnoxious, companies have really cut back.

Okay, gripe over. Fucking cheapskates.

@raincoaster: I’m convinced that your drinking binges are a better measure of the economy than the number of advance durable goods shipments.

Questions? Challenges? Drink offers?

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Open House: BOB Coworking Space Saves Digital Nomad from Homicidal Rage

come to the dark side we have cookies

We also have an Open House this coming Friday, December 18th, from noon onwards
163 East Pender Street, Vangroover, BC
and yes, we DO have cookies. Or at least apple tarts.

Speaking of which:

Donations to the Food Bank encouraged.
There are some great suggestions for practical, welcome donations in my post at Miss604.
If I do say so myself.

Here’s Muskie’s much-more-dignified article on the new coworking space at BOB. If you prefer your news with a side of funky, read on here.

After months of digital nomadism (entirely overrated, thanks for the brainwashing, Fast Company!) bravely trekking my gear from web cafe to web cafe, always seeking that elusive chair with a view, a plug, free wifi, decent coffee, and at least one sturdy wall between me and any obviously dangerous lunatics, I’ve finally found a home.

And no, I won’t get Dooced this time. We already worked that out. “We don’t really care if you say anything nasty about us” is sort of a precondition of working with me, as some of you may have noticed.

I’ve found my new home just down the street from my house; in fact, it’s between my house and the Irish Heather, which pretty much guarantees I’ll drop in from time to time and get some work done. It’s on the ground floor of the offices of BOB, Building Opportunities for Business, which basically exists to attract and support business on the Downtown Eastside without displacing, well, the people who live here.

Like me.

So, BOB is my homeboy, and he could be your homeboy too, since there are 20 19 18 spaces left for people looking for a great place to work on their own stuff. In the tradition of the late, lamented Workspace, the BOB co-working space (which really needs a snappier name and I’ll get on that as soon as I’ve settled in) offers a variety of free-range desk space, a kitchen, a lounge area up front with a window seat (DIBS! DIBS!), some funky local art on the walls, secure bike storage, and all that a young genius might require in the way of whiteboards, projectors, inspirational company, etc. It’s fully accessible for the handicapped, and the ceiling is lofty enough that you could, without inconveniencing anyone on the ground level, comfortably house a family of tented Bedouin nomads on the ceiling, camels and all, provided they didn’t mind being upside-down.

I guess they’d have to be Australian Bedouins, then. But anyway…

The amenities, etcetera:

cat
Access to the coworking space at all hours from 9am up until I decide it’s time for me to go home (and we all know that normally happens around sunrise) with a desk, wifi, and use of common areas like kitchen, bike parking and lounge: $200 per month. The layout was designed by grad students from Stanford, if memory serves, for maximum Satori-nosity and efficient use of space, which means basically if somebody sneezes no-one ELSE has to shower knowwhatimean?

It’s also available for meetings and special events, which is I believe $300 a day standard rate, or $200 for nonprofits, or if you’ve got a compelling reason for BOB to want your event in their space, pitch them. Or me. Because they are me and I am he and we are all together.

John Lennon i am the lolrus

We’re looking at installing lockers, which would be available for a small extra fee. There are no assigned desks; you move around to where you feel comfortable and there’s room on any particular day. And a coffeemaker is on the way, although buying the coffee is up to the coworkers: shall we collectivise? or shall I just take that over and call up Guido the Collections officer to make sure everyone puts some coins in the tin?

An espresso machine is being discussed, but no guarantees yet.

BUT…here’s the best part. Which is sort of the worst part, but bear with me.

The entire space is going to be taken over for an art project during the Cultural Olympiad. This means that working there will not be possible. So, why should you sign up now if you’ll have to go back to that crappy coffee shop for the entire month of February?

Because if you do sign up, you won’t be charged until March. And if there’s room for you upstairs during February, you can work at a spare desk in the BOB offices, just like a real BOBie. And if you do sign up for a 6-month stint, raincoaster here gets a small donation to the “anger management pharmacopia” and becomes, ever so slightly, more Sandra Bullock and less Joan Crawford.

So come by on Friday and say hi and eat all the free food and drop off your own donation to the Food Bank; cash or noms accepted.

funny pictures of cats with captions

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what did you do today, raincoaster?

Dorothy Parker, who really looks more Doloresy here

Oh, not much. Just

  • pulled the second all-nighter in a week
  • emailed a deadbeat client’s boss’s boss’s boss
  • had a wicked good strategy and venting meeting with Mike Yurechko
  • had a wicked good strategy and venting meeting with April Smith of AHA Media
  • locked down another two fabulous speakers for WordCamp Okanagan, due sometime in late January or February, depending on what the tourism board suggests
  • invited all and sundry and their exes to the launch of Reading is Sexy this Thursday
  • Pestered Vanity Fair magazine on Twitter till they showed me where the story I was bitching about not being online was posted…online
  • did a nice, thorough grocery shop
  • paid my housing charges
  • made a strategic plan for the rest of the week
  • did 30 45 or so affiliate links, GAH
  • fixed one of the blogs on the network that was broken
  • lined up an aweber tutorial, thanks again to Mike
  • lined up four really solid leads on community management/blogging gigs
  • dropped a reminder to that book client that we’ve gotta get cracking and I’m waiting for the stuff he’s gotta send me, including the greenbacks

Posted:

  1. multiple snarky comments on Gawker, of course
  2. a meaningless time-filling quiz
  3. a filthy Christmas post featuring Katy Perry to go with the filthy Thanksgiving one featuring Adam Lambert
  4. a heartfelt request to Buffy the Vampire Slayer
  5. stickied my Twitter Tips class this Saturday
  6. a Not So Silent Night benefit for Pivot Legal Society
  7. the Reading is Sexy calendar launch info cross-posted from the Shebeen Club
  8. managed to promise to write a post about Homelessness is Over for Boris Johnson’s site
  9. The unbearable gravity of celebrity ie celebrity pratfalls
  10. the very raincoaster-worthy Who Wore It Best: The Seafood Chapeau
  11. rough draft of a new post for MY NEWEST BLOG! Yay for paid gigs!

You?