Every Halloween when I was a kid, my mom would make me these awesome costumes from scratch. I'd simply tell her what I wanted to be, and she'd slay it every time: "Mom! I wanna be a shark!" "No problem there, Eric. How about working jaws that can crush a full keg?" "What about the car from Back To The Future?!" "Hitting 88mph should be no problem at all!" "I wanna be an amino acid!" "Looks like I'll only need one hand to complete this costume. I'll use the other one to build you a robot." I can assure you, if anything, I'm downplaying how it really went down. The amount of candy, fame and babes I got with these costumes was unfathomable.
Here's me as Egon from Ghostbusters, and a boxing champ. The Proton pack on my Ghostbusters costume was fully functional, but unfortunately my brother (Who was dressed as Winston) and I got carried away and ending up crossing the streams. That ended Halloween pretty quick for us that year... (Note: The robe on my boxing champ costume was also fully functional.)
As you can see by the amount of girls surrounding me in this picture, my Sonic the Hedgehog costume did not disappoint. I couldn't seem to find a picture of me running loops at subsonic speeds (probably too fast to catch on film) but let me assure you, it happened.
So what's in store for this year's amazing costume, you might ask? Is it a jet?! Is it Cuba?! Is it the wind from "The Happening"?! Or perhaps a ZOMBIE CYBORG SOLID GOLD SEAN CONNERY?!....
.....mmm nope. I'm just going to wear that elf costume again..
Last night we had planned to attend Canada's Wonderland "Halloween Haunt". For those of you that don't know what that is, allow me to bring you up to speed: Halloween Haunt is an annual event wherein which Canada's Wonderland (A theme park just outside of Toronto) transforms itself into one big haunted house, which includes - but is not limited to - lots of dry ice, spooky music playing throughout the park, complete darkness, mazes, haunted houses, funnel cakes, and actors dressed up in scary costumes making people uncomfortable. Got all that? Great. Let's move on, shall we?
The weather yesterday was anything but okay. The day had been chock full of freezing cold rain, thunder, lightning, and HAIL THE SIZE OF YOUR HEAD. It couldn't have looked like a worse night to go, but our lovely friends Katrina and Steph (As seen in the photo above) called us yellow, and told us that "God ain't got no use for no 180lb bags of sugar!" (Whatever that meant..) for even doubting going. So we really had no say in the matter. But let me tell you, I'm very glad they made us.
Have you ever had a theme park to yourself? We have. It turns out the weather scared off just about everyone else, so lines were almost non-existent. We must've rode the Behemoth...hmmm...oh gee, I dunno...let's me think... 3 TIMES IN 2 HOURS!
All in all it was a splendid night, full of lovely memories to last the rest of our lives, and everyone had a wonderful time.
(Oh, uh, except for Ken, who got food poisoning or something, threw up 7 times, then passed out...he didn't really share the same experience..)
It's getting really cold again here in Canada. Most people are dusting off their winter jackets, putting their skateboards in the closet till next season, and getting that fireplace a roarin'. But if you think that we at Pause are doing the same, I have have something that may shock you. Something that may turn your entire life as you now know it completely upside down. You're wrong. DEAD wrong. You see, here at Pause we don't succumb to nature's "rules". We'd rather get on a 1650 horsepower boat and blast through the freezing Niagara River (Yep, the one with the Falls) at 120km per hour, than put on a sweater.
And sure, the waves felt like an icy fat man just did a belly flop into your lap. (And up your nose..) and they gave me two right shoes, and Mel got hypothermia from being so cold, and Ken drowned, and Andrew was struck by lighting on the way back to the car, But at least we're not cuddled under a blanket sipping hot chocolate like a bunch of suckers!
It's been awhile since I've posted any of my flawless life advice, but I've been kind of distracted, you see, I've just found www.youporn.com and have been very busy with....research. With any luck, there are a couple people still living to read this. Though I'm sure we've lost a couple to murder/suicides, unicycle accidents and the like. Here's one from Amanda, who seems to be rather distressed (23 emails in one week? You need a pet with a life threatening illness.... or a hobby, whatevs.): "Heys guys, LOL!, I'm just writing because I need some advice from a man's perspective, and I figured who better to go to than THE man. I just can't seem to find myself a good guy, whenever I like a guy, it never works out, they always come up with crazy excuses not to hang out with me. The last guy actually tried to convince me that he was a bubble boy! Are there any special things that I should be doing or not doing to make guys like me?" Before I address your problem, I just want to clear something up...I am THE man, but not the one responsible for all the racial injustices, just government conspiracies, world hunger, crib death, and general keeping-you-downedness. Now, there are many things that you should do to make guys like you, and there's really nothing more important in life. There are also likely a lot of things you shouldn't be doing. First thing's first, make sure your clothes fit you(I assume that all your clothes are pause apparel, if not, there's no point in reading any further, you'll never stand a chance), and that includes the style of the clothing, for example: skinny jeans, believe it or not, only suit skinny people. I don't know who the asshole is that decided to manufacture them in large sizes, but it doesn't take a rocket surgeon to understand why this is wrong. The most important thing you can do is put out, HARD! Nothing says "hey guys! I'm worth getting to know" quite like a slutty reputation. Actually, we're done here (god I'm good), just dress well and put out, and I'm sure you'll do fine. Once you've done all that, come see me and maybe we can hang out, but only if you're a ten, cause that's how I roll. Keep it real, Kyle
¶ 3:34 PM
Monday, October 13, 2008
KAREN IWACHOW
I've known Karen since forever. I can remember hanging out with her back when she was only three feet tall. (She was very short in high school, you see.) And ever since I've known her, she's always taken fantastic photos. I remember before she started doing photography as a career, she used to vacation around Europe quite frequently. I'd go through her photos when she got back and just be blown away every time. Every shot was beautiful. So in exchange for the ones I liked, I'd do her art homework..
Whenever you're looking through Karen's photos she has a way of always making you feel as though you're there. The best way I can explain it is that her photos seem to have a dream-like quality to them. It feels less like you're staring at a photograph and more like you're remembering someplace you once were. Or looking at someone you once knew, or might've liked to know. Whether you actually were or not, it doesn't matter.
Here's a small taste of some more of her work, but do yourself a favour and check out her portfolio at Kareniwachow.com. (Click on the 'Places' section, it's my favourite.)
Now if you'll excuse me, I have to go finish a painting for Karen's art class, or she's never going to send me my new set.
When Ken and I first stared down at our completed chainsaw panda illustration we knew exactly what we had accomplished. Some artists spend their entire lifetime trying to come up with a masterpiece so perfect and so beautiful, and they never come close. But we had done it. We had created something that nothing else will ever top, because it is visual artistic perfection. It IS the very definition of art. We felt like the way God must feel when he's drawing pandas with chainsaws for arms..
We knew that this angelic piece would become ridiculously popular. People would no longer remember what the ceilings of the Sistine Chapel looked like. A Campbell's soup can would go back to just being food. They'd stop viewing "Chocolate Rain" on Youtube. And everyone would continue to not care about Yoko Ono. And who could blame them? Everything else that had been done in the past was now obsolete. You've got a panda bear with chainsaws instead of arms in front of you, why look at anything else ever again?
Well, with anything that is popular comes imitation. Some chump trying to make a buck of your genius. We anticipated this. Having first graders finger painting it during art time is okay I suppose. But when we typed in "Chainsaw panda" into google yesterday it was quite a different story. (Take that poster up above for instance, we didn't make it!) You see, one of the first links that popped up on google read "Chainsaw panda tee at Zazzle.com!" What are the odds that someone else had come up with a chainsaw panda on their own? So I give it a click, and sure enough, there's our masterpiece scrawled across a AQUA (yes, you read that.) t-shirt for $25. When I regained consciousness, I called up the company and shouted as many curse words and racial slurs as I could remember. Not surprisingly that did the trick. The now sobbing man on the other end of the line explained to me that users could submit any artwork they wanted and they'd sell it through the site. He immediately removed the shirt and provided me with the culprit's email: camalex@gmail.com
Now, we could have went off on this guy like it was our job (Wait a sec...). But, we thought it would be much funnier if YOU did it instead. Get creative! Don't be afraid to let it all out. And when you're done forward it to us so we can have a good laugh too. Have fun!
When I walk into my school I always see all of the kids pointing at me and waving with smiles on their faces. I pull out my ears and puff up my cheeks and they laugh while they cover their little teeth with their hands. Waiting for class to begin is one of the most nervous feelings I have ever experienced. Two kids come screaming into the teacher’s lounge as they try and drag me up to their classroom. I enter a room with pullout bed on the walls that can comfortably fit forty students for nap time. Paintings and pictures are put too high for the children to pull down and tear them to pieces, a good idea. I now stand in front of thirty-five Asian kids that don’t speak English and begin trying to teach them red, blue, yellow, fish, cat, dog, hippo, and happy, sad, and angry. We play a lot of games and there are a few bloody noses and a couple of tears, but by the end of it all they are overjoyed and are telling me not to go. I have three classes a day and then my fun for the day is over.
The streets are busy with people selling jade jewelry, sweeping sidewalks, and playing mahjong. I really begin to wonder how old people make it through their day-to-day lives in this incredibly busy society, and the truth is that the city moves around them; the young make sure that they give the old people time to make their decisions and avoid yelling at them as they walk into oncoming traffic at a snail’s-pace. I gain the utmost respect for the people that are able to age within this predominantly youthful world and can’t help but smile when I see them putter about their tasks. A woman, who looks like her skin is tree-bark, shuffle-steps her way down the street towards me. Her cane is clenched within a dirty claw for a hand and her back is curved from the weight of the world. The wind doesn’t toss her hair because each strand is too heavy from grit and grime that has accumulated from the thick, polluted air. She looks up and sees me stepping beside her. Her eyes widen as much as age will let them, and I am used to the surprised look that people get when they see me here in China. She turns and starts to speak with gummy teeth, and even though I can’t understand her I try my best to give her my full attention. After all, I believe she has earned it by surviving the gauntlet of China. She finishes speaking and I can’t really tell what her facial expression means. So, I smile and try my best to take in yet another moment of human interaction without understood words. It is amazing how much you can actually communicate without either of you speaking the same language. It dawns on me that what she is trying to communicate is that she thinks that the shoes I’m wearing would look better if there was someone’s spit on them. But, Oh! Where to find such a person who would be willing to adorn my shoes with such a blessing? If only there was a bitter old woman in front of me who could be so kind as to lean back and muster all of the strength she has into a immaculate ball of spit and snot, and then she would truly have to be saint like to expel this creation onto my shoes—wouldn’t she? She mutters something under her breath and continues walking down the street without a care in the world. If I were in Canada, I don’t care how old a person is, if they spit on my effing shoes, for no effing reason, they’re going to get an enormous fist to their jelly little face! Let that be a warning to those of you with old people that you care about. If they are known as spitters and you have any regard for their safety, you will keep them as far from me as you can. I will admit that I will most likely run into problems with my new found philosophy on life, but the consequences will be well worth it and none will be given pity when my shoes are addressed in such a manner!
Such random occurrences are just some of the amazing experiences I have had here in China. I don’t think any words will actually do it justice, but at least you will have some idea what you will encounter if you try to teach little kids in a country that holds your race in such esteem and disgust.
“Why is almost every robust, healthy boy with a robust, healthy soul in him, at some time or other, crazy to go to sea? Why, upon your first voyage as a passenger, did you feel such a mystical vibration, when first told that you and your ship were now out of sight of land?”
-Herman Melville, "Moby Dick"
On Monday, October 6th Andrew will board a plane for Boston, MA. There He will meet Captain William Babner, John Durden and Skylark (1981 Tartan 37). The next morning, Bill, John and Andrew will set sail for Florida and onto the Bahamas. Once they reach this destination and when the time is right, He will continue alone and on land onto Albuquerque, NM. Here He will join friend Kristian Rose and continue on. Past this last entry, details of his journey become hard to grasp but, he assures us he plans to return by December 1st, 2008.
As a young boy, I remember vividly the feelings of freedom accompanied by joy and adventure on the water as I had sailed the Niagara River, and LakeOntario. These remnants of joy and adventure have never left me.
Recently our good friend Mike D (No, unfortunately not the one from the Beastie Boys) spent a year teaching English over in the happiest country on earth: China. Not only did he come back with a small fortune in counterfeit designer bags, he also came back with enough strange, funny, and sometimes scary stories to last a lifetime. So I sez to 'em I sez "Hey D, why don't you write down some of these stories and we'll post them on Pausedesigns.com? They're really interesting, and it's not like you've got anything better to do." He agreed, and here we are. Enjoy.
The great myths about white people in China are so powerful and persuasive, when living within the culturally diverse confines the whispering country, that I half-expected to walk into my first Chinese bar and see foreigners doing fourteen pounds of blow off of sweaty Asian prostitutes that were dying to move to a different country. We are greeted with such an amazing out pour of disgust and worship that it is hard to believe that we are even from the same planet. We are rock stars. We are disease ridden. We are lose-moralled and sex dominates our very existence. We bring the powers of convulsion, jealousy, and idolatry to this culture. We are the same people that you walk by every day. We are the average, white foreigners that come from countries that have mixed reviews, and we have all come here for one purpose—to experience the miracle of being born in a different world.
I have always noticed the contrast in people’s reactions to great and small things. If there is something that people love intensely, you can be guaranteed that it will be met with an immense disdain from opposing characters. Whether it is a musician or an artist that is greatly loved, there will always be an equal hatred from the other side. Things are no different here in China. We are mysterious, and some of the Chinese people have only seen us on television or posters. For the past year, I have been living in China and every day has started off the same way; I wake with a feeling that this is all a dream because I have no familiar faces to prove that this is reality. I go through my daily routine of scrubbing, brushing, combing, and eating before I start my perilous journey to work at a kindergarten. I walk passed the guards at my building-gate and we exchange a good-morning nod as we don’t speak the same language and it is rather useless for me to try and start a conversation, because I am about as good at speaking Chinese as a Pygmy Hippo is at not looking like a giant turd when it’s floating in its bacteria infested aqua enclosure at the Toronto Zoo.
I keep my head down and just listen to my music selection as I walk for about ten minutes until I get to my bus stop. I don’t know why but I always walk up to the sign that has all the bus numbers and destinations written on it and try to read it. Every character looks the same and I couldn't’t tell you if one said ‘Yes’ or the others said ‘Exciting, but tasteful, donkey show this way.’ As I wait for my bus to arrive I watch as more and more people gather around the stop and continually stare at me. In Canada, if someone thinks I look interesting they will take a quick glance and then avert their eyes once they see that I have noticed them watching me. In China people stare and don’t care if you know that they’re doing it. The bus picks me up and I stand in a crowded tube with about eighty people giving me smiles and frowns. I know a little bit of Chinese and can pick out certain things like, “So tall!” or, “Where’s he from?” If I understand a question, I do my best to give a response, but most of the time I can’t understand a thing. A lady in a crimson t-shirt that says “This is happy place time,” gets on the bus with eight live chickens that are hung upside down and held together at the feet by a big rubber band. I try not to think of the market where she is probably taking them to be decapitated and de-feathered because I will never forget the smell of that place. Most of the people don’t even give her a second look, because I’m on the bus. The bus driver is on acid or something and apparently doesn’t know how to use the breaks properly. We nearly get whiplash every time he stops about three inches from an old man who is crossing the street and doesn’t give a shit if he lives or dies. Suddenly we come to a complete stop too quickly and a girl loses her grip and falls into the chicken-woman. The sudden knock finds one of the chickens free from its rubbery confines. It takes one look around and decides that any place is better than this and starts a frenzy of trying to fly and weaving through the passenger’s legs. I nearly fall over as the crowded bus begins to pulse as one solid mass of panic and comedic relief. The chicken-lady starts screaming at the chicken as though it is supposed to come when it is called. She keeps saying, “Chicken!” in Chinese with an overtly scolding tone in her voice. This chicken is probably going to catch one hell of a beating for its unrefined display of disregard for the safety of eighty people on this bus. The bus driver is distracted and keeps coming closer and closer to crashing into various people, cars, and bicycles. Finally he decides that he can’t drive while this chicken promotes anarchy in the back of his communist bus and literally brings the bus to a screeching halt. He announces that everyone has to get off the bus so that they can catch the renegade chicken and bring order back to the world. It takes about twenty minutes to get everyone off, catch the chicken, load everyone back on, and settle any squabbles about who was seated where. When all this is said and done, no one is staring at the lady with the chickens: all eyes are on me.
For years we at Pause Designs have struggled to come up with some way to repay the owner of Golden Horseshoe (St. Paul Street, St. Catharines Ontario), Gord Bouchard for everything he has done for us. His shop is currently the only venue selling Pause Clothing other than our online store, and he has been better to us than we could possibly ever deserve. Thus our dilemma – what do you do for a man whose lifetime joys resides in the simple pleasures of hurling arbitrary, quick witted epithets at passers by, and threats of burning people, places, and things to the ground? The solution: get this man into public office! Grant him the political strength to burn down bigger, more important things and access to the spin-doctors necessary to leverage public support against over-hyped terms like ‘arson’ and ‘hey, that’s my puppy!’ Much of his platform will involve the fact that Gord has better shoes than you – a valuable asset both when greeting the public, spin kicking his opponents in the face, or just dancing the night away. Gord can tell the difference between the colours of M&M’s in a blind taste test. He is a man who knows when to bob and when to weave in a fight and will act accordingly (see also; shuck and jive). Gord cannot be killed by mortal weapons and will own the night for a thousand years. Gord can hold onto a wet watermelon covered in oil like it’s no big deal… ONE HANDED! If you are still not convinced that Gord would make an excellent mayoral candidate then you’re probably too ugly or stupid to vote anyway.
Thanks for everything you’ve done for us Gord. Please remember us when your tyrannical regime starts deciding who lives and who dies.
Have you ever been walking down the sidewalk, minding your own business, only to run into a girl so perfect it ruins your whole day? Does she know the power she possesses? Is life easier for her? Could she take down a rhino on her own? What's it like being so attractive? Well, being the hardcore get-answers-or-die-trying journalists we are here at Pause, we get answers to the questions you were too scared to ask. EVEN if it means tracking out and talking to a perfect 10. After 3 weeks straight of searching for the elusive perfect 10 in the remote village of Toronto, we stumbled upon Stephanie here (As seen in the photo above). She agreed to do the interview on the condition that we don't mention her name or show her face, for she feared her life may be in danger for answering these highly classified perfect 10 questions for a "Normie".
How long have you been a 10?
Haha, um, I'm not sure. 5 years?
What's it like?
It's fun. But you get bothered a lot by strangers.
Kind of like this?
No no. I meant by dirty old men. This is good. I've never been interviewed about being attractive before.
Sure you haven't. So do you still have to pay taxes?
Haha, yeah of course..
What?! This stupid country...Okay, do you nod to other 10's on the street?
No I don't.
Is there some kind of 10 secret society? Is it possible that I could be killed for even asking? Scratch your left ear if the answer is yes.
Haha, no there is no 10 secret society.
C'mon..
I promise you there is not.
Fine, whatever. You don't have to tell me. So overall is it a burden or a blessing?
Blessing. It makes things easier having good looks than not having them.
Have you ever had a job? If so, did you have to show up in order to get paid?
Haha, yes I've had many jobs. And I had to do work in order to get paid.
Bullshiiiiit.
I'm serious! I was a telemarketer before.
Bummer.
What did you have to do to become a 10? Was there any soul selling or deals with the mob or anything like that?
No no, I still have my soul. I guess just being into fashion as well as making myself look good did the trick. Being a 10 wasn't my goal though. I didn't even know I was until you said so. What makes me a 10 anyway?
Are you fishing for compliments? I'm already doing this interview with you to post all over the Internet, isn't that enough?
I'm serious! I really don't know.
Everyone else that we checked out was trying way too hard. Being a 10 is about not caring about being a 10. Whether it was too much make-up, or a silly haircut, or turning out to be a dude in the end...you have this "I'm hotter than everyone you know, but instead of going out let's stay in and watch movies" vibe. So much so that I'm willing to overlook your lame t-shirt and pretend that you're wearing heels instead of flip flops.
Hey!
Someone had to say it..
So how many boyfriends have killed themselves or became drunks trying to stay worthy to you?
Haha, none.
Okay lastly, who would win in a fight: a 10 or a rhino?
What's a rhino?
Uh..what? Are you serious? Y'know, a rhinocesaurus...wait...shit!...that's not what it's called. you just ruined my mind.
As you can see by the amount of girls surrounding me in this picture, my Sonic the Hedgehog costume did not disappoint. I couldn't seem to find a picture of me running loops at subsonic speeds (probably too fast to catch on film) but let me assure you, it happened.
Whenever you're looking through Karen's photos she has a way of always making you feel as though you're there. The best way I can explain it is that her photos seem to have a dream-like quality to them. It feels less like you're staring at a photograph and more like you're remembering someplace you once were. Or looking at someone you once knew, or might've liked to know. Whether you actually were or not, it doesn't matter. 
