CONFIRMED EXCLUSIVELY BY THE TORONTO SUN:


Oct. 14 & 15, Massey Hall, Toronto

It breaks my heart when the moon cries.

These human vending machines are awesome.

Shaun has 0 friends.

Single. Athiest. Cancer.

Today I Quit My Job

To All Intents And Purposes Unemployed Pizza Diarist is no more. From this moment on (at least until May 29th when I start my new job) I am hereby known as By Definition Unemployed Pizza Diarist. Let's hear it for being "not engaged in a gainful occupation."

Atheists identified as America’s most distrusted minority

"Americans rate atheists below Muslims, recent immigrants, gays and lesbians and other minority groups in “sharing their vision of American society.” Atheists are also the minority group most Americans are least willing to allow their children to marry."

Saturday

As Library Girl boards a plane and heads thousands of miles to the deep south, I get picked up by my aunt and uncle in a Chevrolet Caprice and head 150 miles south to Bridgewater. My grandmother has been in the hospital for 8 weeks and I haven't visited her in 6 months. Today being Mother's Day, probably her last, she's been given special permission to leave the hospital for a few hours. The whole family has a table booked at the local Wandlyn Inn for their annual Mother's Day buffet. I wear my oldest looking old-man cardigan, blue slacks, and brown bowling shoes, yet I'm still the most modern dressed in the room. I accentuate my slouch and complain a lot about the meal. I'm in my element. That is, until they begin eating. Suddenly all flesh melts away and I'm surrounded by a sea of clicking dentures, making that barely audiable popping sound as they seperate from their bald gums. I force down as much overcooked roast beef and pureed potatoes as possible before I make a quick exit.

Sunday

Recently self employed Bish and to all intents and purposes unemployed Pizza Diarist head to Gus' Pub. One of the perks of being self-employed or to all intents and purposes unemployed is the ability to attend shows on Sunday nights and not worry about having to do anything that requires the use of your frontal lobes the next day. The fact that both of us could easily get through the next day without ever putting pants on was enough reason not to second guess yourself when you're tetering towards the bar for your fifth beer of the night. Duchess Says impresses enough for me to pick up their 12" (listen to it here). Bish's ability to make live shows the Best Show Ever by not showing up appears to be weakening.

Monday

Dinner at my parents with my mother's extended family. And by "extended" I mean insane. Dinner consists of wine with a side plate of freshly boiled lobster, salmon, scallops and baked potatoes. And because it's a family dinner with my family, things go weird fast. We head out on the deck and smoke Cuban cigars. Then we play a game of Texas Hold'em (with my mother wearing a Texas Hold'em shirt). I win the pot ($24) which I plan to use on a much needed haircut.

Tuesday

My plan to not wear pants is thwarted by a phone call from Ex-Coworker William. Ex-Coworker William's mother had recently discovered half a dozen old 8mm home movies. Conveniently I had just purchased a projector at the VV eight days ago. Seeing Ex-Coworker William again brings back old times and old bad habits. For the next two hours we sit back and watch the footage he brought, none of which he had ever seen before. I don't know what I enjoyed more, getting a chance to try out my new projector or the look on Ex-Coworker William's face when his divorced parents were seen kissing under the mistletoe on Christmas day in 1983. Later there's a three hour thunderstorm. I got scared.

Wednesday

It's 11:30am and still no pants.

So I'm finding myself becoming increasingly attracted to older women. And by "older" I don't mean a few years older. I mean older, as in: Remembers a time when refrigerators didn't keep ice cold but vice versa. Or could possibly have went to the opening night of any number of the b&w films in my dvd collection.

Let's face it, they have more to offer me than most women my age. Not only can we clothes swap ("Do you mind if I wear your green cardigan tonight, dear?") but we can drink our meals (a longtime dream of mine) and I can toss vintage slang words into everyday conversation without feeling conspicious ("Dinner was boss, daddy-o"). Not only that, but the expiration date on our relationship really involves expiring. The problem with ex-girlfriends fleeing the country is that they can always come back. The great thing about ex-girlfriends fleeing life is that they can't ever email you out of the blue telling you all about their current happy relationship in some far off tropical land.

I guess what has me thinking about getting older lately is the oncoming death of my own grandmother. She's currently in the hospital after some liquid was found around her heart that shouldn't be there. I'm not quite sure just what kind of liquid it was, but for some reason I like to think it's chocolate.

I've never really been all that close to most of my extended family, so it feels strange to be suddenly pressured into playing the role of the grandson, something I must admit to being pretty rusty at. But leave it up to my mother to put it into perspective:

"You're coming to Bridgewater on Sunday whether you want to or not. She's your grandmother, for Christ's sake! Besides, do you want your cousins to get everything in the will?"

The Great Wall
of
Pizza Diarist

Sorry. I've been busy.

Last time I was unemployed I picked up the hobby of beard growing. It lasted three months, both the beard and the lack of a job, and all I had to show for it was a skin rash and a maxed out VISA. And while not technically currently unemployed, I still do damage to my soul at $11.25/hour for 5.5 hours a week answering phone calls from toothless inbreds who can't reach their newspaper that was tossed under the rusting tireless chevette in their driveway, I don't really consider that a job. I consider it paid repetance for the time I kicked the ladder out from under my friend and left him stuck up in a tree so I could play his Commodore 64 back in 1987.

So until I find a cog in the government wheel that needs replacing, for all intents and purposes I'm jobless. I tried the beard thing for a bit, but the patches of grey I could see beginning to sprout put the kabosh on that. So I decided to give painting another try. For those who have seen my bathroom and have played me in badminton, you know that my painting ability is about as good as my badminton skills.

But I must say, it turned out well. As you can see from the photo, the lines are relatively straight. As long as you stand back 15 feet, cross your eyes and hop on one foot you can't even see bleeding between colors or the strips of paint that came off with the tape.

Clap You Hands Say Oh My God What Have I Done

The funny thing is that I'm been busy painting my living room to this album, utilizing much the same method as shown in this video, though not with the same outcome, but with the same level of frustration, wearing a shirt much the same colour that I don't mind getting paint on because I would never wear it in public anyhow. This Saturday will be the great unveiling. Be afraid.