As faithful readers of this site are aware, the Shark Guys occupy separate time zones, as a way to, like a 24-hour car wash for organized crime, somehow provide better service. Speaking of which—in the interest of service journalism, and in hopes of one day being able to drink there gratis, we’d like to point out what we think is possibly the best bar in the city: The Dakota Tavern.

Now, certainly there are other contenders. Who among us hasn’t ordered what looks suspiciously like Mexican food from Sneaky Dee’s at 3:30AM? And many a college student has scoured a vending machine coin return for enough to be able to wolf down a $4 sandwich at Last Temptation while playing billiards on a table with duct tape patching a hole in the felt.

And at Parkdale’s venerable Cadillac Lounge, the Shark Guys participated in what was supposed to be a Guinness chug-off—the outcome of which was hotly contested as we were bested by someone drinking a lager—or as we refer to it, ’breakfast beer’. Disqualification, we say—trophy to us.

Anyway, the rec room basement Dakota bar features some of the best musical talent the city has to offer and for a price that won’t set you back what you might’ve tipped a busker if you didn’t have your iPod cranked to oblivious oblivion.

On any given night, K-OS, Ron Sexsmith, Broken Social Scene, Barenaked Ladies, Serena Ryder or Toronto’s other famous blogger will show up; as will the band showcased here: The Beauties. These guys, who really put the Dakota on the map and gave all of us something to do on a Sunday that made calling into the office Monday with a vague stomach complaint a necessity —sound a bit like the Velvet Underground’s brief foray into country.

Check it out if you’re ever in the city.

Dubbed the Stupidest Invention of 2010 by Gawker, the TV Hat is either a technophile’s dunce-cap or something that would make David Cronenber wet his bed.  The chapeau—-it needn’t be said here, but not recommended for driving, love-making, light dinner conversation, the opera, walking the dog, mixed martial arts or most activities one can engage in— features “an exceptionally long brim with a magnifying glass inside it so that you can actually see the screen on your iPod, iPhone, or other video-playing devices.”

As we noted elsewhere, we thought the notion of television being responsible for killing brain cells had never been so graphically rendered as in the movie Henry, Portrait of a Serial Killer wherein Hank and a redneck buddy, dispatch some poor sod with the one-two punch soldering iron / TV smashed over the top of the head. Though we have no definitive proof, just being in the presence of this device is a kind of neuro-degeneration by proxy.   

These ads work on some sort of mysterious computer-language voodoo and seems to base what ads are displayed on the text that appears on a given page. Thus, when we posted a blog in tribute to the drinking prowess of a certain young prince among drinkers (we will withhold his name for fear of those irrelevant ads popping up again), all sorts of advertisements began to pop up that were somehow based on his name and title – gossip sites, genealogy services offering to trace your heritage back to the big cahunas of various medieval fiefdoms, and travel offers to places with royal sounding names.

However, given the drunk-compendium that spawned this site, occasionally ads more related to drinking, drunkenness, and the various accoutrements that can spruce up this lifestyle do appear.

Can we see some ID young man?

Of these, our absolute favourite thus far is from the Frankfurt-based “Rocket Packs Getränke-Rucksack-Systeme”, a company that sells “Beer rocket-packs”. This is a huge step up from the beer drinking hat popularized by fans of American sporting events who don’t want to get up to get a drink (and who presumably wear diapers to deal with the natural corollary of that kind of beer consumption).

Getranke’s website itself is not text-heavy, and most of it is in German, however the pictures tell the story: the company sells packs that can keep a two or three liter tower of beer cool so that drinkers can be served on the move. A serving person straps on the jetpack-looking like device (at times while wearing a ball gown, which may or may not be offset by a pair of gigantic, devil-swooping-in-on-a-bad-dream pair of black wings) and offers freshly-tapped beer for thirsty patrons. In terms of venues where this sort of thing might be popular, it seems from their publicity material (see above photo) that no place is too toney to have a lady in high-heels squirt beer into your glass from a hose attached to a backpack.

We thank all of our inadvertent advertisers and commend Getranke especially for coming up with a product that makes shameless shilling fun.

Thankfully, SJP's snare drum failed to take off as a fashion accessory.

With Robin Hood, Ridley Scott and Russell Crowe transplanted the grim, grimy misery of their Gladiator film to Sherwood Forest and made an addition to the folk hero franchise that nobody wanted to see, but that still did better business than the inexplicable Clash of the Titans remake.  And right from that same mill where originality is set upon daily with knives and acid comes the latest in the Sex and the City franchise – one more visit to that Bizarro world where someone like Carrie Bradshaw is able to maintain a daily newspaper column for more editions of the paper than one.

Sex and the City 2 will be dug up by historians and pointed to as writing on the wall evidence for where it all went wrong with this civilization, but it did give birth to what for us has been the most enjoyable trend in cinema this year: the absolute hilarious evisceration of this movie in several reviews. The very best of these was written by Lindy West, in Seattle’s The Stranger:

But very quickly, the SATC brain trust notices that it’s not all swarthy man-slaves and flying carpets in Abu Dhabi! In fact, Abu Dhabi is crawling with Muslim women—and not one of them is dressed like a super-liberated diamond-encrusted fucking clown!!! Oppression! OPPRESSION!!!

And here we have some taglines that might have been more suitable for Sex and The City 2:

“Like the TV show, only minus any hope of decent writing and costing you $20 bucks.”

“It’ll enhance your appreciation of the scathing reviews.”

“Win a chance to shag Samantha in the next installment. Only several dozen will be contacted, plus their brothers if they look enough like gigolos.”"

“Drink cocktails and hoot every time a lady part is mentioned.”

“Through Charlotte, a glimpse into the notoriously prudish life of a big city downtown art scenester.”

“Because children impede the unhindered pursuit of designer labels, and unapologetic self absorption.”

“Like Entourage, except a decade and a half into the future, triple the number of sexual conquests, with people physically incapable of ever relocating who are the opposite sex.”

“For Mr Big: An appellation that could easily be bestowed for his ego or a strangely wedge-shaped cranium.”

“Because someone annoying would like to convince you they’re a composite of every female you’ve ever met.”

“If non-syndicated single newspaper advice columnists who live in the Upper East Side can afford $850 stilettos, so can you.”

“When nothing says a getaway to a cabin in the woods like Diane von Fürstenberg.”

“Paving the way for Cougar Town.”

“Remember that, ultimately, HBO is responsible for this.”

“Confusing sass for wit for more than a decade.”

“Because only the very best TV shows have voiceovers.”

“Get ready for Part 4: ‘Vulgar, emotionally-crippled Golden Girls.’”

“May you encounter people like this only on the big screen.”

“You’ll finally appreciate what the religious fundamentalists have been going on about for so long.”

However, even if such precautions were taken it would not have stopped the horticultural heist here.

As a special public service announcement, we’d like to help get the word out about this theft (assuming the botanical brigand has long since abandoned this particular alley in favor of other, more flora-filled backyards and is a fan of the site) and ask that the thief please return said flowers to this particular west Toronto address.

We ask simply that this gesture be done promptly and if possible, for a local newscast to profile us in one of their ‘local heroes’ segments.  

While we are on the subject of PSAs, and on a more serious note, we ask that that people also watch out for, or more threateningly, to beware of, KILLER KIDS.  

Why is it that we as a society are so afraid to open our doors for fear of being handed wacky religious pamphlets rather than having them slipped through a mail slot?

It’s because of the theory of evolution!

It’s not violent video games, brutal images from movies or as it was in our respective cases growing up, well-executed tomahawk chops by grappler Ricky ‘the Dragon’ Steamboat; As it states in the Epistle of Jude 10 (shortly after something about “taking a sad song and making it better”) ”as brute beasts in those things they corrupt themselves”.

If that phrase was too ambiguous for you, it’s spelled out below: “man has evolved from animals and if you teach children they come from animals, do not be surprised when they begin to act like them!”

Does this mean not signing off on those zoo waiver forms for school trips?

His book is being translated into German, Korean, Chinese. Cockney rhyming slang and is also being dropped by helicopter into the remotest jungles of Papua New Guinea so that locals will momentarily reconsider cannibalism—or take a moment to consider how awesome it is to have a food source that’s so readily available.

Below the author holds court with Canada’s book baroness Heather Reisman at her flagship Chapters Indigo location in front of an appreciative crowd.

Participants were asked to fill out cards of their own examples of awesome things that would fit alongside book entries like “slicing open a taped up box with a set of keys or a pen”, (we usually resort to the deranged psychopath stabby method) “sleeping with one leg under the covers and one out” and “driving by your old neighborhood to check out the house you grew up in”.

In a touching moment, Neil’s third grade teacher, warmly remembered as an inspiration to him growing up joined him on stage.  We are thinking of doing the same for our next book launch so if Neil’s teacher is free…

Congratulations on his success.   

Unless you’re a member of a professional sports franchise, a pilot, or part of some sort of “water of life” cult, you’d probably think it odd if you were handed a jar and told, “Here, Skippy, pee in this.”

“subjecting all employees to random drug testing…simply cannot be reconciled with the well established, predominant Canadian arbitral jurisprudence which holds that, in a safety sensitive working environment, drug and alcohol testing can be required of an individual employee by his or her employer only where there is a reasonable and probable cause to do so, or where there has been an accident or incident which would justify such a measure.”

[Editors' note: Neither author has been asked to pee anywhere, at least not in the context of seeking or holding employment]

While the Shark Guys are known to seed a cloud if a parade is happening by, Neil at www.1000awesomethings.com is all about acknowledging the simple pleasures of everyday living, which, for all we know, he might soon abandon if this new-found success gets to his head. We kid.

However, there are similarities.

Like ourselves, Neil is a Torontonian (well, the top half of the Shark Guys, hemispherically-speaking, is one too. The other, a former Toronto resident, weathers repeated threats to the established social order in Bangkok). Neil is also a contributor to the excellent website FARK, who’ve been extremely good to us Shark Guys;  In addition, he is part of our extended family that is the multinational publishing empire, Penguin Group.

His new book, based on his very popular website, is called The Book of Awesome and chronicles everyday awesome things such as orange slices at soccer game half-time (to which he might’ve added, watered down Gatorade mix to wash it all down), high-fiving babies, universal fry-sharing, ugly actors and the other, non drool-filled side of a pillow.

As kids whose school attendance rivaled opposition parties in legislatures of totalitarian states, we really appreciated his ‘awesome’ designation of ‘Snow days’, fortuitous bits of precipitation that kept us comfortably snacking in front of the television. Ditto his lauding ‘the smell of books’. By all accounts, his new book—favorably reviewed in the New Yorker, Wired, the Guardian and Toronto Star just to name a few— is worth a whiff.

A big congratulations to Neil Pasricha. It’s a great concept and looks like a helluva lot of fun.

Pick up a copy at your better bookstores, your poorly-stocked soon-to-be-going-belly-up bookstores, or online.

Anvil: the heartstrings and flying V-plucking documentary of the Canadian metal legends

“I can answer that in 1, 2 uh 3 words:  We haven’t got good management”.

That sums up sadsack metal pioneers Anvil, whose post Shark Sandwich Spinal Tap career went south while their contemporaries Guns ‘N’ Roses, Scorpions, Whitesnake, Bon Jovi and Metallica (about whom another sad, yet good rock ‘n’ roll movie, Some Kind of Monster was made) sold millions and “toured the world and elsewhere” to quote David St Hubbins.

The redundantly titled Anvil: the Story of Anvil, follows “Lips” Kudlow and Robb Reiner (not to be confused with the Tap director—clearly not the only Tap-esque element of this film), two Chosen People head-bangers who out-rock KISS’ Simmons and Stanley yet haven’t sold enough albums to be able to abandon side-jobs at a children’s catering company in the industrial hinterlands of east Toronto.

Under the rudderless helm of their foul-mouthed ‘porco dio’-spouting Italian manager, the band’s forays into Eastern Europe are considerably less lucrative there than Russian organized crime as Anvil rocks half-empty nightclubs, only to get into a physical spat with an owner that results in a paltry 100 Euro payout for the band and offers of complimentary goulash instead. And this, while being ferried about in less than deluxe transportation to gigs that aren’t too dissimilar from the west-end sports bars the band rocked back in Toronto.

In a bid to finance their new release, Lips takes out another mortgage on his home and is hired on as a telemarketer by one of his band’s diehard fans and accurately bemoans (as anyone who’s ever had one of these gigs can attest): “You’ve gotta go against everything you’ve learned as a kid.” After only lasting a few hours and realizing chunky down-picked metal riffing is the only thing he’s qualified to do other than delivering meals to elementary schools, he turns to his older sister. Then, in a touching scene, she helps keep the dream alive of her indefatigable half century-plus musician brother and percussionist childhood buddy by financing their comeback.

With testimonials from GNR guitarist Slash, Motorhead’s Lemmy and Metallica drummer Lars Ulrich, each of whom citing the band as an early influence, Lips is barely recognized by contemporaries on the has-been rock circuit. This, as they ply their fortunes in the US and Japan looking for an elusive record deal, eventually returning to the Great White North and pinning their hopes on a disinterested EMI—another record company swamped with demo albums, or as they put it, “other entries in the lottery of rock ‘n’ roll”.

Against all odds, their numbers did come up though as upon release of this doc, the movie was hailed by the Times (UK) as “possibly the greatest film yet made about rock and roll” and, The Last Waltz and This is Spinal Tap notwithstanding, a pretty accurate claim.

***1/2 (out of 4)

If your crystal ball is as opaque as your last urine sample, fear not. The Shark Guys, in collaboration with our friends at Bad Psychics—the only kind—will gaze into the future by looking at the past, skyward at those luminous balls of thermonuclear plasma to tell you exactly what their relative positions mean (and this, without mass spectroscopy or a discount telescope from Radio Shack).

This week we bring you Episode 4 of The BadCast, a weekly podcast from Bad Psychics that examines psychic phenomena, astrology and other aspects of the paranormal that should not be brought up during a job interview.    

In this week’s podcast, Derek Bartholomaus discusses the Independent Investigations Group (IIG) and their $50,000 Challenge, a prize given to anyone who can show, under proper observing conditions, evidence of any paranormal, supernatural, or occult power or event. Suffice it to say, up until now they’ve not had to cut any checks. In February 2010, playing card telepathic prognosticator (try fitting that on your business card) Regen Traynor took up the challenge, perhaps not as ideally prepared as he might’ve been—- certainly not for the World Poker Tour. We’ll let Derek take it from there.

Also, Aaron Lewis shows off the art of ‘Skeptical Letter Writing’. He spotted an ad in his local newspaper (a publication usually as he put it, “full of stories not exactly overflowing with veracity”) and discusses wacky medical claims relating to dermatology made therein.

Comedian Iszi Lawrence, of Oxford Skeptic in the Pub discusses rational belief systems at Birmingham Skeptics (It takes place in a pub as well. Note the odd squeaky door—-not a poltergeist—but someone recycling their beer).  She talks about her fear of velocoraptors and her Christian upbringing (these two are presumably not related).

Finally, Shark Guy Noel Boivin discusses  serial killers in a segment we might’ve called, Born Under a Bad Sign. Here, he examines the link between astrology and serial killers and whether Ted Bundy, a Sagittarian, according to his astrlogical profile, “teaches the rest of us a little more about what it means to be human.”