Allons enfants de la Patrie, le jour de glorie est arrivé!

So, children, it is time for the World Cup. I'm sure there's a billion and a half bloggers out there spouting garbage about this or that or the other thing to do with their teams, so I won't get too into the fanaticism. Well, not my fanaticism; my problem is with others' fanaticism.

First you have the Italian fans. Not necessarily the Italian fans, but Canadians of Italian Descent. I'm talking multiple generations. People called Jeff who find one tiny shred of their heritage ("Hey, that's a spicy-a-meat-a-ball-ah!") and holy shit, watch the fuck out, here comes Il Duce. Suddenly their clothing becomes a certain Pantone which is invisible to dogs and their cars have flags and stickers and people honking and hollering "IIIITALLLLIIIIAAAA" out the windows of their cars upon days which no game occurs. Consider this, majority of Italy fans: You are not on the pitch; you are not in Germany; you are not in Rome, for that matter; you are not going to acquire more fans for your team by honking your Civic's horn like an autistic goose. Seriously, calm the fuck down.

Next you have the Brazilian fans. We know you had Pele. We know you have a monopoly on people whose names are prefaced with Ronald-. We are aware you have nice beaches and sun and decent beer. And yes, you're pretty flipping good at soccer. What drives me nuts about you is that you're trying to be nonchalant about this superority complex you have, and won't admit it. Basically, you're the Italian fans - unplugged. You also speak Portuguese. Five points lost for that.

Mexican, Argentinean and Spanish fans: I hold no quarrel with you. Yet.

Finally, you have the English fans. Everyone who is not covered in the above classifications are English fans. Everyone needs someone, right? Not necessarily bandwagoners, but at times just as rowdy as the Italian fans, the English fans love their Beckhams and Lampards and Chelseas and Manchester Uniteds (but not both, good God) blindly. Fair enough though, as what most of them exhibit is what I call the Leafs Effect. You know your team will make it far, then choke. Once they do, you will quickly scramble for another team to latch on to and claim that you were always a supporter of them from day one. Then, when the whole thing is over, you're back to cheering your original favourite. Never mind that no player on England was alive when they last won the Cup...

Keep in mind, all of these are horrible generalisations. I'm sure there are fans that break the mold: mellow Italian fans; loudmouthed Brazilian fans; Mexian, Argentinean and Spanish fans who are huge dicks; and English fans who stick to their team no matter what.

Oh, and what about the French fans? Well, I can't tell you flat out, but it rhymes with "mawesome".

Moment of Zen: Aux armes citoyens, Formez vos bataillons, Marchons, marchons, Qu'un sang impur, Abreuve nos sillons!

She is an angel in a polyester uniform

Hello there.

I was digging through my old posts, and was feeling nostalgic...to a point. Consider this:

14 April 2005

...The Tea Party, however, are coming to town. This is a fantastic thing. I likely wouldn't have thought of going, as no one around here seems to like or appreciate them. However! A girl came to our house bearing cookies, red hair, respect for Akira Kurosawa, and decent taste in music. So, she comes over to visit Eric and we started talking about music, and I think we're going to see the Tea Party at the Moose and Goose next month. It shall rock, and it shall rock hard....

Two years and two months and a few days later - the redhead whose (admittedly terrible) cookies I ate almost all of - and I will be getting married. Currently the countdown is something like 363 days...there you have it.

Next on my clip show is my dissertation (dessert-ation?) on melons.

19 April 2005
So, I just ate some melon. I promised myself that I would never talk about what I've eaten in this blog to make filler, this melon is something else. Shit if I even know what breed of melon it is, although my money is on delicious. It is as if the finest melon in the world entered my very kitchen, laid itself upon my counter, and said unto me "lo, I am melon incomparable. You will verily eat me and be happy beyond description. Your euphoria will be equaled only by beating like level 15 in Tetris or something."

I was reminded of this post by, as luck would have it, melon. My thoughts on melon, any variety, remain the same.

Actaully, I've grown somewhat bored of the recap episode. Here, enjoy this and this.

For the time being I've lost the drive to write...I'm going to go read for a bit and see where that gets me.

Moment of Zen: La-la-la-linoleum!