The demon barber of butcher street

Most people hate the dentist. Well, maybe not the actual dentist but more the whole dentist experience. You would think I would be one of those, with my irrational fear of losing teeth, but obviously I’m not otherwise I wouldn’t have lead in with the whole “hating dentists thing”. I actually enjoy going to the dentist. Their chair is pretty much the most comfortable chair I have ever sat in. So much so that I have almost fallen asleep several times while the hygenist jabbed away at my mouth with their assortment of fun happy rainbow tools. It probably has something to do with the 17 years (actually about 3) years I had braces. The orthadontist appointments were no where near as pleasant.

Teeth are boring though, so I won’t ramble on anymore about them. What I really wanted to talk about was hair. Hair is much less boring than teeth. I’d say it is about 6 times more popular (using the number of different colours available for colouring). Not only is hair more popular, but people go out of their way to schedule frequent hair “sytling” appointments. Personally, I hate going to the barber. I pay for pretty much one haircut a year and I still don’t like it. The barber to me is like the dentist to most people. Forcibly socializing with people who akwardly shove your head around while wielding sharpened death tools is not my idea of fun. Thankfully I found one barber who is pretty good; me.

In fact, I’m so good at cutting my hair that I was thinking of setting up a secondary career. I am going to open Steve’s Barber Shoppe. It’s going to be pretty much the best barber shop every (for people named Steve… Who are me). So for all you people who are not me, you are out of luck.

Also, what’s the deal with (random word)? It’s like, can people get enough of (random word)? Seriously. I was at the grocery store, just minding my own business when this guy beihind me was all liike “do you PVR sci-fi shows?” It’s not just some gut either, it’s some 40 year old guy who probably doesn’t get out much, not that there’s anything wrong with that. He actually downloads so many shows that he ripped apart his box to jam in a bigger hard drive. He seemed like a nice enough guy. We got ice cream and went back to his place and watched sci-fi shows and fingerpainted.

Your pal,

My Life: The Movie

Sometimes, it’s like my life feels like a bad Stephen Baldwin movie (the bad part is given). Specifically, it’s like Dead Awake. Baldwin plays a brilliant advertising executive, naturally, who wanders the streets all night and sleeps all day at work. He constantly talks about his life being weird because he doesn’t sleep. Obviously he did get plenty of sleep, but that’s ignored. The main conflict in the movie kicks off when he witnesses a murder, except he isn’t sure he didn’t just halucinate it. I had one of those moments today.

I woke up on the couch at 1:30am on the couch after falling asleep watching hockey. I then slept a few hours before getting up at my usual time just after 6am. We’ll just pretend that means I never sleep. I get on the bus, which is usually a pretty tame ride full of sleepy students and industrious adults. I sit down and start listening to my music and that’s when I notice it. There’s singing that isn’t part of my music. Now, buses are generally known for crazy people doing strange things but in this case it was the driver singing. Granted, he was a good singer; you could tell he had been classically trained. Each stop he would pause his singing to let some passengers on, then he’d pick up where he left off when the bus started moving again. The pinnacle of this strange experience was the single passenger who clapped loudly at the completion of one of his songs.

I half think I dreamed the whole thing. It was just too bizarre seeing a lone bus rider, half way to the back clapping vigorously for the song sung by a classicly trained bus driver. Come to think of it, I don’t think I could dream something that odd. I may have dreamed about The Count from Sesame Street making a murderous dragon out of origami, but I this would never have crossed my mind.

In case you are reading, Stephen Baldwin, I am not claiming you are a bad actor. I think you’re a pretty cool guy. In fact, I would cast you in the movie of my life made only with actors named Steve, Steven, Stephen, and Stephanie… Maybe Stefan too. I’m not sure you’d be the best to play me, although it could be like that Bob Dylan movie where a bunch of people play the lead. If I went that way, I could have you, Steve Buscemi, Steven Dorff, and clips of Steve McQueen play me. Now that would be a movie I’d totally watch.

Your pal,

The Truth Hurts

What is truth? Can you touch it? Can you see it? Are we truth? Is truth truth? Seriously folks, this is an important issue that has been plaguing talentless hacks since the dawn of mooching off their parents. Before you get your panties (or scented g-strings) in a bind, yes, I took a philosophy course in university, so I’m pretty much an expert on the subject. I’m not really concerned with the overall concept of truth or knowledge or any of that other jazz; no, I’m concern with a more clear cut truth. What is the true Bob Loblaw Law Blog? Is it The Bob Loblaw Law Blog? Robert Loblaw’s blog about law? Or is it

Yeah I know, 2004 called and they want their partially functional, yet still entertainingly awesome, Dick Clark back. Still, just because something happened in the past doesn’t mean it isn’t worth talking about now. That’s why there are still arguments over the best Playboy Playmate ever (I’m partial to Miss May 1967). The point is that I wanted to link to the Bob Loblaw Law Blog and my two main choices were someone who pinched the name and put it one some popular blog site or some guy with a conveniently appropriate name writing about actual law topics (albeit under a different blog name).

I guess when it comes down to it, I’m not really interested in other people’s non-celebrity blogs so neither is really link worthy. It is much better use of my time reading Bill Shatner’s blog. You may not think the text medium could truely capture his essence but it does remarkably well. And that is probably the most important truth of all.

Oh, and this is an Arrested Development reference, doofus, look it up.

Cocka! Cocka! Cocka!

Your pal,


Posty McPosterson the 3rd Esquire

Wow! Another Steveblog in less than a week! That has to be some sort of record. In fact, I think you all should get this record up on The Universal Record Database. Or not, you’re probably lazy like I am and will either forget about it or not care enough to create an account. That’s sort of how I was able to write two Steveblogs in two days. It’s because technically, I cheated. I actually wrote this blog yesterday (for me, it’s still today for you don’t worry) and set it up to publish tomorrow (that’s still today for you, but don’t worry, I understand what’s happening so you don’t need to). The best part is that I didn’t even need to write about anything in particular to fill a paragraph. It’s like high school English (for you) again! My high school English papers were actually filled with quite meaty penetrating intellectual subject matter.

…The Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles would totally win a fight between them, excluding Splinter, and the Mighty Morphin Power Rangers, American season one rangers. First of all, the Turtles are trained ninjas, not a bunch of pastel coloured ragamuffins taking tai kwan do after school. The Power Rangers may have their super powered spandex suits to help them out, but lets face it, the Turtles kill robots all the time. Why do I mention robots? It’s obvious that the Power Rangers suits are derived from a super advanced power armour that is also extremely lightweight and unrestricting. Seriously, what did you think, it was a magic suit? Get real..

That was just a quick excerpt from Grade 3 essay titled “The Supreme Awesomeness of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles Or How I Learned to forget about Anchovies and Eat Pizza in the Sewer”. I’m pretty sure I got an F on that essay and had to stay after class. I’m pretty sure it was because my teacher was a closet Power Rangers fan and just couldn’t take the truth.

That also reminds me of another fond memory of elementary school. The same year that we had a project to make musical instruments, we also had an air band competition. Thankfully most kids left their homemade instrument at home, although my coffee can drum was outstandingly awesome. The competition itself was a pretty standard little kid competition, where the crowd is young enough to politely watch the entire act just to get out of class. In later years, they’d just skip. Getting back to the competition, my friend and I chose Weird Al’s ‘Fat’. This being the 80s, we put in the effort to make our own fat suits and come up with fat suit comedy choreography. When it came to show time, we nailed it. We nailed it so hard that it was worth almost worth getting kneed in the nuts at the fat belly bump finale. We nailed it so hard that we made old people cry (the good crying, not the painful awkward crying).

The judging rolled around and first prize went to a kid who did Phantom of the Opera. I can’t remember which song but he had a mask, a cape, and a cardboard boat, so he was pretty much unbeatable. For some reason we were given an honourary mention instead of second or third place. Our prize was a ribbon saying “Participant”. That was the day I learned what it felt like to be bitch slapped and I vowed from them on never to be bitch slapped again! (editor’s note: Steve failed at that vow)

Come to think of it, my elementary days were all about screwing me over. Thanks a lot for bringing up those horrible memories, you jerks.

Your pal,


The Ark

Liveblogging is all the rage on a bunch of those fancy established blogs that write about events that are important to them. Things like the American election, the Oscars, the last episode of Battlestar Galactica, and to a lesser extent, the Miss America pagent. Since none of those events are important to me, except maybe the Miss America pagent (Miss Kentucky was robbed!), I have chosen to “live-ish” blog about an important event in my life. I say live-ish because I am writing about while still experiencing it. That event is; eating a McArk.


Artist’s rendition of the McArk.

Scientists may not be entirely in agreement on what constitutes a McArk, but one thing is for certain, it is not an experience for the faint of stomach. I went with the Bacon Cheeseburger, McChicken (or MacPoulet for coolness), and a Filet au Fish. Each bite of the McArk is a strange experience. Some bites are dominated by a single meat, while others are like the taste equivalent of brown. For you special students, brown is basically the colour you get when you mix all the paints together trying to make super-aqua-rainbow. Sorry kids, but that colour only exists in your cracked out dreams.

I chose to toss everything into the McChicken bun, which left the fish and cheeseburger buns for dessert. I don’t know what they put on that fish bun, but I’m pretty sure it was just butter with a skin around it. I’m also pretty sure that’s what nearly made me puke. Well, not nearly puke, nearly get a puke reflex. Nearly puking is puking in your mouth then disposing of it without violent spewing (ie by swallowing or gingerly spitting into a cup). Thankfully I kept the wonderful blend of unnatural goodness bubbling away in my belly.

In hindsight, a Quarter Pounder with Cheese and bacon would have made for a better burger. Even still, it was a surprisingly good burger. So what does the future hold for burger technology? I don’t know, but I can tell you burger technicians are hard at work developing the next super burger for the restaurant of the future! The restaurant of the future is Taco Bell in case you are scoring at home.

Your Pal,

If Lance can do it, chances are you can’t

This is going to come as a surprise to many of you, but Steveblog is not my first writing work. I know you have been under the impression that I am some sort of idiot savant when it comes to words on a screen, but there was a time when I was not the master wordsmith that I am now. That’s not to say I was book taught, because I wasn’t (books are for chumps!). No, I honed my craft the old fashioned way, through a lot of hard work and from stealing other people’s ideas. The end result of years of practice is the awesomeness you see before you right now.

I have a good reason for being nostalgic; I just finished saving all of my old movie reviews from the big ol’ innernets to my computer. Naturally their formatting is all screwed up courtesy of our friendly red commie neighbours. The point is that I managed to save this hidden gems (and steaming piles of shit) from being lost forever. That’s a bit of a sore point for me because I did lose the best short story I ever wrote. It was a hilarious tale of a wildlife photographer whose plane crashes in the desert where he wanders around and dies a slow, painful death. Good times.

Most artists don’t want to showcase their early work for fear of ridicule (see Viggo Mortenson’s Texas Chainsaw Massacre 3). I disagree with that mentality. I think it paints a richer portrait when you see their beginnings. Sure everyone knows Lance Armstrong from his yellow jersey, Euro-beating, Tour de France days, but wouldn’t you like to have seen his training wheels days? His mother gingerly dabbing his scraped knee after he falls off his baby bicycle. His father teaching him important life lessons like failure is for quiters. Or was it quitting is for failures… As I go through them, I will share my training wheels with my mentally deprived readers.


Brett Whiteley portrait of 3 year old Steve (of Steveblog fame)

We all have to start somewhere, and I started off amazing.

Your pal,


Mayfairathon Returns

I realize I never wrote about possibly my best movie watching experience to date. No, I’m not talking about the time I pulled the old johnson in the popcorn trick, which probably would have been a better experience if I didn’t get it with butter. I’m talking about the 6 movie Mayfairathon. I turns out that I had seen 4 of the 6 and one of the remaining two was a lame rom-com (that’s romantic comedy for us in the biz [that’s showbiz for us cool folk and “the motion picture industry” for you]), even with low expectations.

It turns out April is going to be an especially good month, including a bill that we have pegged for the next Mayfairathon. Since this is the second instalment of our franchise, it needs a good name. Thankfully, I have already invented (read: stole) the best naming scheme of all time. I call it the Batman sequel naming convention. It starts with the first “real” Batman movie; Batman. Shocking, eh? Then we have Batman Returns, Batman Forever, and so on. That sets the following sequel names:


{Name} Returns

{Name} Forever

{Name} and Robin

{Name} Begins

The Dark {Name}

The other great thing about the names is that they accurately describe the stage you’re at with each instalment. The first is awesome and original. The second is exciting because it is coming back. The third completes the trilogy (albeit rarely intended from the start). By the fourth one, they’ve run out of ideas so you might as well toss in a kid wearing tights. The fifth is the reboot back to the roots. The sixth is where you get to go all edgy and extreme. Seriously, just toss in any movie series and it’s gold. Try “The Matrix”, “Friday the 13th”, “The Godfather”, or my personal favourite “The Land Before Time”.

The Mayfairathon Returns on April 25th with Gran Torino, Hardcore Logo, Pontypool, Nosferatu, and Alligator. That bill is totally exciting, especially because I haven’t seen any of those movies full through. With the rate we’re going, Mayfairathon and Robin should be coming up end of summer and you know what that means right? I’m betting on day full of failed Hollywood blockbuster. If we’re really lucky, we might even get Batman and Robin, which by the way, is actually a good movie. Well, not good as in quality good, but entertaining good. I know you hate it but your opinion doesn’t matter.

Your pal,