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The Rock Shop Express had never hauled as quickly as it did along the YVR causeway back into downtown Vancouver. “What’s going on, Tones? Why’d they kidnap the girl?” Bax flared in near-rage as the truck weaved in and out of airport traffic at dangerous speeds.

“How come it’s not safe to give a stranger a lift anymore? Or walk in Stanley Park? The world’s full of crazy people, Bax – hoodlums!” Toni looked as though he wanted to pass out in alarm.

“That girl back at the airport I was macking on seemed to know something was up.”

“Stay away from her, Bax…she’s nuts too. She’s a lawyer.”

Toni was cautious in asking for Bax Burton’s help. “They have this sort of clubhouse thing where they all hang out.”

“Sharpen their knives?”

“Bax, I can’t ask you…”

“Where is it?”

“Thank you, Bax,” and Toni continued to scan the road ahead of them. The 1977 VW van with the foggy windows that flew out of the airport parkade was nowhere to be seen.

How they arrived back in Chinatown so quickly without killing anyone on the way was beyond Bax’s realm of understanding, but there was no way the Wyld Stallyns were going to get away with this. The Rock Shop Express crawled along Pender, then down and onto Keefer until Toni practically convulsed and yelled “Wyld Stallyns – go right down that alley!”

“What alley?” Bax panicked.

“GO RIGHT – NOW!”

Bax Burton’s truck jolted in anger at the sudden cranking of the steering wheel, but was soon forgiving and straightened itself out as Bax and Toni crept into the narrow alleyway. A few small, dark shops lined the sides, but none appeared to be open. Last night’s rain left puddles filled with debris, and the scent of fish in the air was strong. An elderly woman was attempting to disassemble a duck carcass with a butcher’s knife, and aside from an equally as elder man down a ways, she was the only sign of human life in the alley.

Bax rolled down his window, tipped his stained trucker’s cap and gave it a go at conversation with the woman. “Excuse me, ma’am…I don’t suppose you’ve seen a…” and before he could finish his question, she’d scurried inside her apartment and shut the balcony door in his face.

The truck inched forward still and came to another standstill. A few paces down the alley, a procession of men in white robes carrying a coffin were walking in the direction of Bax’s truck. Above the coffin was a poster-sized image of a man with Chinese writing down either side that Bax could, quite obviously, not read. “Ah, Toni?” Bax was a little concerned.

Based on what was scribed on the poster, Toni (who, though Italian, could read, speak and write in every Chinese dialect) concluded that it was a funeral and those in the procession were known as the Chang Sing. “It’s okay, Bax. They’re good guys.”

No closer to finding the Wyld Stallyns, Bax suggested “Why don’t we try a different alley, Toni – what do you s…” And again before Bax could finish asking his question, he was distracted. A flash of metal caught his eye in the side view mirror. A menacing looking man with a long mustache, bald head, an attire of all black with red bands was wielding a blade sharper than Bax’s tongue and was fast approaching the truck from behind.

Now Bax was worried. “Hey Toni, these Sing Dings…”

“The Chang Sing?”

“They got enemies?” Bax asked.

“Wing Kong,” Toni confirmed.

“Who wear red turbans?”

It was at that moment that the truck was then surrounded by 20 men in black with the red turbans, in full view of both men in the cab. “Holy shit!” Toni exclaimed. “These guys are animals, Bax.”

The Wing Kong, however, were not interested in either Toni or Bax. Before either man could comprehend what was happening, several of the super evil dudes had machine guns in hand and were firing aimlessly at the Chang Sing. It was all over in a matter of seconds. All the men in white robes were lying lifelessly on the ground, the coffin and poster bullet-riddled. Everything was quiet. Bax, ever the hero, reached down and pulled a five-inch knife from his strappy brown boot, ready to defend himself and Toni.

And then it began again. More Wing Kong men emerged from behind the Rock Shop Express. At the other end of the alley, men in black but with yellow turbans were emerging from even smaller side alleys, doorways, windows and from behind dumpsters. It was almost as though this was orchestrated. No one was attacking anyone else; no one was yelling. They were all simply standing in solidarity on either end of the alley. It was silent. Bax was confused.

“A Chinese stand-off…” Toni tried to inform.

“A what? ”

In the firmest whisper Toni could muster, “Don’t make a sound…”

The alley, now filled with easily 100 men and a balance between each side, was silent. The Chang Sing and the Wing Kong stared at each other, nostrils flaring, temples pulsing, lips sneering.

Everything was completely silent. Bax’s heart was beating quickly. Toni was surprisingly the picture of calm.

The sound was louder and more dreadful than anything either man had heard before. The same bald-headed man that Bax first spotted yelled at the top of his lungs. As quickly as the previous gunfire had began, all the men started running towards each other from either end of the alley, meeting in the middle in a bloody clash.

Safe in the truck’s cab, Toni and Bax watched incredulously as arms broke, legs snapped, faces sliced open. It was next to impossible to tell who was winning because what they saw was a dark sea of men demolishing each other. There were blades, clubs, guns and, of course, throwing stars. Some men were being thrown through windows, others being smashed up against brick walls. The fighting seemed to go on endlessly. When a handful of men were down and out, more would emerge from seemingly out of nowhere.

Nothing could prepare Bax, Toni, the Chang Sing or the Wing Kong for what was to happen next. A large ball of blue electric light exploded in the alley, sending anyone within a 20-foot radius flying through the air. Three mysterious and dark-faced figures descended, quite literally, from the sky. All were dressed in intimidating attire with chest plates, leather and unusual metal weapons of mass destruction strapped to their hips. And quite interestingly, all three were covered with large straw hats, shielding their faces if they so desired.

The first figure lifted his head, and instantly Toni recognized the face he saw. It was the elusive ABC4, and he looked ready for a fight.

In perfect synchronicity, the second large straw hat lifted to reveal the face of the Greeper. Her slight grin flashed within her thunderous presence.

And finally the third’s identity was exposed. With eyes alive with lightning and a smile equally deceptive and charming, Miss604 produced a ball of lightning within her hands.

Bax and Toni were stunned. The Wing Kong’s henchmen were stunned. The Chang Sing were stunned. The three mystifying characters moved like liquid, always staying equidistant to each other in perfect formation. The Wing Kong and the Chang Sing were united by fear, though only for a moment. Guns from both sides started blasting with only ABC4, the Greeper and Miss604 as their targets. All three merely stood in place, taking each bullet in stride without the batting of a single eyelash.

The puzzle only became more puzzling. Being showered with bullets was apparently somewhat upsetting to the three, and in unison they each produced a blade, flinging the blades toward the crowd, bringing three men to their knees and, ultimately, their instant deaths.

Fear set in and Bax simply turned to Toni but was speechless. “Just get out of here, Bax – get out of here!” Toni yelled.

A procession of loud, obnoxious honks groaned from inside of Bax’s truck as he began to drive through the crowd and in the direction of the three hat-covered ones. They had now formed a single line and were unflinching as the Rock Shop Express rolled directly towards them. Panic set in the moment the men realized they were about to drive over all three. Before Bax had time to react, the three instead flew directly upwards, over the truck and out of sight. It was simply such a shock that neither Toni nor Bax realized that another figure had appeared.

But it was too late.

The Rock Shop Express hit the man dead-on, quite literally. His forehead bounced off the grill as his body slid underneath the truck. Bax felt suddenly ill. Both he and Toni jumped out, knife and throwing stars ready.
It was unbelievable. The man had not only survived, but stood up. He was incredibly tall, adorned in silk robes layered over each other and cinched at the waist with silk obis. His headdress was ornate and lined in gold. Bax was in astonishment. The man’s eyes grew wide, his mouth opened and blue light emerged from all openings.

The light penetrated Bax’s eyes for only a second but it was more than enough. Bax was completely blind. At this moment, Toni came running from around the truck and pulled Bax away, out of the light. “It was LoJohn!”

“I can’t see! I can’t see!” Bax’s day continued to get worse and worse.

“It’s okay – it’s only temporary,” Toni reassured as he bent over to splash sick, nasty puddle water into Bax’s face. His vision quickly returned and reality sank back in. “I ran straight through him, Tones…”

“You didn’t – it only appeared that way…”

“Hey Toni Chi! Lookin’ for us?” a voice called out from a darkened garage.

Suddenly a pair of headlights flipped on, and there they were.

Bax and Toni had found The Wyld Stallyns.

To be continued…

Photo © Twentieth Century Fox

It’s 11:35 p.m. Why am I blogging?

Is it because I want to? No.

Is it because I have something I want to share? No.

Is it because something exciting happened today? No.

Is it because I have Part 2 of “Crackerjack Timing” to post? Well, technicall yes, but truth be told, I feel terribly unmotivated to share Part 2 with all of you.

In all actuality, I just put a clear coat of polish on my fingernails and I can’t go to bed until they’re dry.

Do you want to see a picture of me? Okay, here.

Boo urns.

Seriously, I’m so unmotivated. Things are shit right now. However, I feel somewhat of a responsibility to write seeing as you haven’t had anything new to read in like two days. Today I went to HMV at lunch. I haven’t bought a new record in a long time, even though I love buying new records. Today’s purchase? Anything, Anytime, Anywhere…a collection of Bruce Cockburn’s singles from 1979 to 2002. I’ve listened to it I think three times through already and love it even more every single time. I suppose the record lives up to its title.

I’m heading to the Island tomorrow for my “uncle”/godfather’s 60th birthday. He’s not technically related to me in any way, but he’s been a part of our family since the early 70s. In fact, he and my father were friends before my dad even met my mother. Hopefully I’ll have a lot of pictures to share when I’m back. Pretty much, more than anything, I just need to get out of the city to avoid sitting in my apartment all weekend.

Bye.

P.S. Only two weeks from tomorrow until I get to viddy something real horrorshow at the cinny.

Oh and another P.S. Becky and I snagged Craig’s tickets for the ‘Nucks and Ducks pre-season game on September 17th. A girls’ night out is so necessary for us both.

Yesterday I mentioned that perhaps I’d write a narrative “in homage to the greatest 80s movie ever made.” My new buddy Baxter and I recently discovered our mutual deep love for Big Trouble In Little China, and before long were quoting lines to each other in a flurry of geekiness. From this, I had the idea of writing a narrative, but giving it a personal twist and involving some people we know. If I know you, and you read this blog on a regular basis, you may end up in an upcoming segment.

Image © Twentieth Century Fox

Keep in mind that I’ve completely ripped off the movie and take no credit for the most excellent writers of the most excellent 80s movies.

So, without further adieu, may I present to you:

CRACKERJACK TIMING
Part I

The rain poured down in sheets thick as lead as Bax Burton’s 18-wheeler rumbled over the spanning bridge with the city lights in the distance. It was a trip that his faithful Rock Shop Express had made many times over, so much so he could do it with his eyes closed. Well, either that or with his hands wrapped around a meatball sub.

Within minutes the truck’s brakes came to a shaking halt in the alley between Keefer and Pender streets in Vancouver’s Chinatown. Bax’s next job wasn’t due to start until the following afternoon, and since it was only midnight, Bax figured the night was young. He passed up on getting forty winks in hopes of striking it rich with a game of fan tan with his boys instead. And if all else failed, at least the sweet comfort of a cold beer was enough to give up sleep for.

Several hours and nine cans of Pacific Pilsner later, all the stakes had come down between Bax and his longtime Canadian friend, racial differences notwithstanding, Toni Chi. Toni had stellar fast moves that made even the most stealth of ninjas go “woah!”

“Nothing or double. My karate chop smashes this can into a pancake,” Toni tempted.

“C’mon, Tones…I got near a thousand bucks here.”

“One thousand, one hundred forty-eight, Bax.”

“Alright,” Bax shrugged as he took his final sip. “But not that can…*burp*…this can.”

It was over in 30 seconds. Toni owed Bax over two thousand smackers and was expected to pay up right away.

“I gotta go somewhere first. Meet me at my studio in a couple hours – I’ll pay the money then,” Toni offered, hoping Bax would trust him enough to show up at Toni Chi’s House of Photographi.

Bax Burton laughed and asked where he had to go. “The airport,” was Toni’s reply.

“Ha! Over my dead body. I’ll follow you!”

“You don’t trust me after all these years, Bax – that makes me sad.”

“Save it, I’ll give you a lift.”

“You were gonna follow me, Bax…?”

“I know! Then I came to my senses.”

With YVR only minutes away, it finally occurred to Bax to find out just who they were picking up. “A girl,” Toni very coyly said. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“A girl, huh?” Bax said with arched eyebrows and a wink. “Is she cute?”

Toni produced a tattered photograph from in between his throwing stars and passed it to Bax.

“Holy shit! That’s the hottest fuckin’ girl I ever saw! Where’s she from? ”

“Far away…Port Hardy. She’s gonna put my whole career in order. I’ve slept on the floor and worked my camera clicking fingers until they’ve bled just to have the opportunity to take her picture.”

“You’re soundin’ a little nervous there, buddy,” Bax noted.

Toni’s fingers reached up in the air and snapped in true Italian style. “That’s why the can didn’t crush! I’m totally drunk! That and my mind and my spirit are going north and south, or something like that.”

The airport was packed full of people, all hoping to catch a glimpse of their loved ones as arriving passengers emerged through the gates. Short people, tall people; big people, small people. Bax noticed a girl waiting there…a cute girl. She had a little bit of leftover sushi smudged on the side of her lip, and struck him as a little bit feisty, but he thought she was cute anyways. A few sly moves later, Gracie Awe denied Bax – for now. Apparently beer breath isn’t too sexy.

Suddenly the entire arrivals area filled with a bright light. There she was. As the crowds parted with dropped jaws, Kay Yin emerged from Gate 5F. With golden hair cascading over her shoulders and a radiant smile causing maddening blindness within a 10-foot radius, all eyes were on her. Within moments she spotted Toni and Bax and started making her way through the crowd.

At the same time, only paces to the left of Toni and Bax, a trio of some evil looking dudes started walking in Kay Yin’s direction. These were the same three that, only moments earlier, Gracie warned Bax about. “The Wyld Stallyns…a street gang. Punks from Chinatown. This isn’t good – what are they doing here?” she worried.

And now Bax and Toni were worried. In the blink of an eye, two of the Wyld Stallyns, Bill and Ted, had flanked Kay Yin. Meanwhile, their accomplice (going by the mysterious pseudonym of Spicoli) had rendered her helpless with her hands behind her back. Bill and Ted weilded killer guitars and two pairs of gnarly cool sunglasses. If anyone tried to stop them from kidnapping Kay Yin, they’d melt faces.

And then they were gone, leaving Bax, Toni, Gracie and an airport full of stunned people completely helpless in their wake.

Bax and Toni looked at each other and ran…

To be continued…

Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls…welcome to my Smorgasblog. Tonight you will find a delectable array of information, tid bits, one-liners and other tasty treats to feast your eyes on.

Let’s begin with the appetizer…

While discussing the upcoming Canucks season with Craig and Becky on Saturday, I mentioned that I’d really like a jersey to wear to a game or two this season. Sadly, womens’ jerseys are not available. Is it that difficult to get something a little fitted, a little low cut, a little cinched? Apparently so. I went to the Canucks official website store, and this was the best I could come up with:

It’s fitted and it sparkles. I suppose it’ll suffice.

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As I mentioned in my last post, Becky, Corinna and I went to a midnight showing of Rush Hour 3 last week. While the movie was a stinker (with a few incredibly distasteful scenes), there was one fairly hot scene. While in Paris, a cabaret is the setting of a rescue and the cabaret girls were dancing to a song that I couldn’t get out of my head after seeing it. If you can find it, grab “Bonnie and Clyde” by Serge Gainsbourg. It’s sexy. Trust me.

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Both myself and a friend have been looking forward to Rob Zombie’s upcoming remake of Halloween in ridiculous proportions. A month or two ago I had posted the trailer as this movie gave me two reasons to feel excitement. Not only is a classic horror flick being remade by one of my favourite directors, it’s also starring my all-time favourite actor.

Malcolm McDowell captured my heart, my mind and, oddly enough, my libido when I first saw A Clockwork Orange. He’s simply a fantastic actor who is far too underrated. Unfortunately, I think Malcolm himself is largely to blame because, save for a handful of memorable roles (ie. Caligula, O Lucky Man! and Time After Time), he’s picked some weiners for himself. Most will know him from Clockwork - that is, if you managed to sit through it.

This is one movie where you really should watch it, then read the book and then watch the movie again. Much of the script is in nadsat, which is a form of Russian slang. It helps to read the story to understand the context. Anyways, enough blabbering. I picked this scene because it’s one of Malcom’s most memorable and most definitely showcases his acting talent.

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Today I went to Tony’s blog and saw a sweet-ass picture of Raymi being all sexywrithy and an idea hit me. Why not do a Blogging Babes in Bikinis 2008 calendar? I e-mailed the Minx who seemed to be pretty much on board.

So the question is…

How many of you would buy a calendar of your favourite blog hotties in next to nothing?

And more importantly, are there any photographers out there (*ahem*cough*cough*DuaneStorey*cough*cough*ahem) that would want to shoot some local hotties…namely at least three I can think of?

Okay but seriously…who wouldn’t want to spend every day of 2008 with us? C’mon, geeks - I know you’re out there.

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And last but not least, in speaking of Tony, when he was in Vancouver, we had an ultra-important discussion over the necessity of using exceptional chocolate chips when baking chocolate chip cookies. I only ever use Nestle Tollhouse Morsels, so I am required to stock up when I go south of the border (I will, however, use Chipits if desperate times call). Tony disagreed that they make the best chocolate chip cookies and, in a round-about way, challenged me. I am patiently awaiting a package from the U.S. of Eh! containing four different kinds of chocolate chips, all unmarked.

Becky and I will then proceed to conduct our scientific baking experiment, maintaining equal variables and only changing the chips each batch. Stay tuned for our painstaking, labourious analysis in the coming days or weeks.

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I’m pretty sure that’s it for tonight, kids. I figured I owed you all something since I haven’t blogged since Saturday. Goodnight, and don’t forget to tip your scantily clad waitress (that’d be me) on your way out.

P.S. Oh! I almost forgot…pretty sure I’m going to do a narrative post in the next few days in homage to the greatest 80s movie ever made. No, not Karate Kid, you jackasses.

I woke fairly early this morning in anticipation of the West End Block Party and 25-cent hot dogs. I bathed, I showered, I dressed. Yes, I had a shower and a bath. I even put on a special t-shirt just for the day.

I went down the elevator in my building, skipped outside and walked towards my brother’s safely parked truck to check on it as I always do. “That’s odd - I’m pretty sure I locked the door after the movies with Becky and Corinna the other night…” I thought to myself as I noticed the door ever-so-slightly ajar. “Geez, I even left it unlocked too!” I said outloud as I approached the vehicle.

As I looked in the window, I saw the glove box open, the centre console open and Hanson and the Scissor Sisters scattered across the front passenger seat. It just didn’t dawn on me.

“OH! I’ve been broken into!”

There it is.

Thankfully, nothing was taken. Unfortunately some big dumb jerks were probably just looking for change. I feel gross and violated by it, but at the same time, it’s really sad to think the desperate and brazen measures someone would go to for $1.50. Drugs are disgusting.

My landlord used to be the general manager of a car dealership, so he snapped the jacked lock back into place in a flash, and there was no denting, scratching or broken glass. In fact, under the circumstances, it couldn’t have gone better. However, I spoke up and asked for an underground spot until my brother retrieves the truck next Friday.

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In other happenings, Becky and I managed to hit the West End Block Party on Broughton street for the carnival games, garage sales, free Sweet & Salty peanut bars and 25-cent hot dogs. I’m going to venture to guess that all the food and prizes were donated by the local Safeway, so it was a great way to raise funds for World Vision and the local community centre. My friend Craig was there on behalf of the West End’s MLA, Lorne Mayencourt, so we chilled with him for a bit too.

So now I pretty much have nothing to do. Anyone got any ideas? Someone come play with me, please!

Does anyone want to hang out with me this weekend? I’m hitting up the West End’s block party with Becky tomorrow, but other than that, it’s wide open. E-mail me.

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Today held a little ray of sunshine. Krista and I have known each other since were were CITs at Qwanoes in 1997. For reasons most likely due to teenage pettiness, we were never friends at that time. In late 2000, following a Qwanoes weekend retreat, Krista and I were plunked next to each other on the camp bus and the rest was history. We never stopped talking.

I’ve stated this before, but as youth, our friendships are often formed through circumstances rather than based on genuine rapport. High school is the perfect example - you have no choice but to connect through a shared experience. Krista and I finally connected when the time was right for us, and many years (and men) later, we still have a tight bond, profound understanding and deep love for each other. She’s beautiful and she’s genuine.

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Last night I went to see Rush Hour 3 at the Rio Theatre in east Vancouver with Becky and Corinna, but since both girls have already posted about it, go read their blogs.

or·gan·ic (ôr-gān’ĭk) adj.

3. a) Of, marked by, or involving the use of fertilizers or pesticides that are strictly of animal or vegetable origin: organic vegetables; an organic farm.

b) Raised or conducted without the use of drugs, hormones, or synthetic chemicals: organic chicken; organic cattle farming.

c) Serving organic food: an organic restaurant.

d) Simple, healthful, and close to nature: an organic lifestyle.

e) Having properties associated with living organisms.

f) Resembling a living organism in organization or development; interconnected: society as an organic whole.

© Getty Images

Call me cliché. My time spent on both Vancouver Island and Hornby Island quite obviously affected me reflectively. My entire purpose for the extended time out of the city was to return to my roots, take time for myself, gain insight and to think but not overthink. What I experienced while away was very much what both my heart and my mind needed. I said to Susan this morning that it’s somewhat interesting how making one’s intangible insides healthy causes a huge desire to become organically healthy.

This to me means, among other things, that I want what I project and what I do to be sound and to be simple. To me it means to protect the resources I have in my environment, in my own home and in my heart. Rather than doing things because they’re becoming socially expected, I have an instinctive desire to defend precious commodities. Bringing reusable bags to the grocery store is the only thing that makes sense. Purchasing and cooking foods that are constructive to my body makes sense.

Rather naturally, the word that comes back to mind is “balance.” This is all part of achieving balance in my life. The proverbial teeter totter will never be perfectly level, but it’s a constant labour of love to get it that way. It’s not about “zenning out” or “finding my chi” or “lining up my chakras.” It doesn’t mean I’m going to start wearing Birkenstocks in December or smelling like patchouli either.

My life, the things I do, the words I say, the things I eat or drink will all be very active choices. It doesn’t mean I won’t indulge in beer from time to time or gobble up a gooey cinnamon bun. Truth be told, I’m not entirely sure what it specifically means or how it will look. Time will tell I suppose.

What does living an organic lifestyle mean to you?

Yesterday I returned to the city from the Island. My entire time there was nothing short of perfection. It was actually a little unnerving - I was almost somewhat holding my breath and waiting for something to go wrong. The only thing about the trip really causing me any chagrin was, of course, BC Ferries. There’s something so inefficient about monopolizing, private corporations.

After a several hour wait in Nanaimo, I finally got on a sailing, only to be turned back to Departure Bay for yet another hour due to, in my opinion, a hypochondriac passenger. Thanks…thanks for wasting my time. I’m not bitter though…only at BC Ferries for the predictable waits and mishaps. They’re completely unreliable and in desperate need of a functioning overhaul…forget the vessels.

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And lastly, last night my friend Greg sent me the link to this video I’d long forgotten about but it’s a beauty. Kinda brings tears to my eyes actually. So thanks, Greg.

The days spent here have been precisely what I have needed. Going back to Vancouver tomorrow is slightly upsetting, but at the very least, I get to bring my brother’s truck back with me. It’ll be nice to have a little bit of stick shift around when I need it. I think I need to figure out some sort of living I can make while living at home (writer, maybe?) and still pay the bills. If I could do that, I think I’d move to Hornby.