Ways I’m Good To You

Something I don’t normally do…

… is post something short, sweet, non-dyspeptic and by someone else.

But, goldarnnit, the someone else here is J Walter Thompson, the venerable ad agency, the original “Mad Men” blue-suited dinosaur that’s updated its DNA and partnered with Tourism Toronto to create a soul-stirring 60-second promotional video (actually, an entire campaign) about my hometown that brought tears to my old-man eyes and gratitude to my aching, feckless heart.

I’ll be updating with an authentic slowpainful post very shortly. In the meantime, enjoy:-

“The Views Are Different Here”


T♥ronto, Canada / last days of 2017.



“Just Go Friggin’ Shoot Yourself! : Mastering the Art of the Selfie in These Troubled Times”, by guest blogger David Delaroddis +PLUS+ Regular Dave Be Back!

David RoddisPhew! It’s Dave.  Remember me?   I hope you won’t think too badly of this, but I’ve been taking a little break from the all the frenzied activity here.

You know.

Counting the tsunami of “hits” and “follows”; thanking you, crystalline teardrops a-glistening on my cheeks, for the veritable avalanche of “likes”, which in number are, and stop me if you’d heard this before, like stars in the infinite vault of the heavens; and, betimes, answering each admiring comment in perfect calligraphy, painstakingly rendered with my goose quill in lavender-tinted ink on deckle-edged washi which I’ve sprinkled with my last remaining drops of Eau Sauvage.

Yep, it’s just been scritchy-scritch-scritch, morning, noon and night.

A special call-out for the Taylor family; and though in all humility I must refuse the generous offer of your first-born, you may certainly have him text me when he reaches 18 (21 in certain U.S. states).

You guys!  Keep a blogger on his toes or what!  I love you guys!  Sigh!

But, selfless candidate for beatification that I am, I realize my going temporarily AWOL is an act that affects more than just me.  I’m particularly concerned that those of you with suicidal ideation might just be pushed right over the edge unless I handle this carefully.

So to distract you, as with a cheap, shiny object, I have invited world-renowned Canadian photographer, author, pundit and irrepressible adulte terrible David Delaroddis to guest blog for me.

Let me pause for a moment while you let that sink in.

Let me…. let me…. pausssssse ‘sdlkalsds\;jlk;sdlkd kkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkk

Sorry, nodded off!

Anywho, Delaroddis, you will recall, is author of the of New York Times #1 Best-Seller, “Photography is Friggin’ Hard Unless Of Course You’re Me™”, and its soon-to-be-published, sure-contender-for-New-York-Times-#1-Best-Seller sequel, “Gee, Willikers But Photography Is Hard! Don’t You Wish You Were Me? HA HA!  I Thought So! But You’re Not!!???™“.

Best known for his shameless self-promotion and unrelenting 24/7 visibility, Delaroddis has ruffled more than a few fine feathers with his controversial opinions on contemporary photography.

On Cindy Sherman:  “Oh puh-leeease!  Any loser can roll out of bed, kit up like Nancy Reagan and lie in a pile of vomit, but without a forty-thousand dollar Hasselblad body with digital back and a ten thousand dollar 85mm Zeiss lens, you might as well drink your Blix bath!  Cindy, darling, enough with the cant already! Your Kodak® Instamatic® awaits!”

On Nan Goldin:  “Well, far be it from me to spoil the illusion.  But honestly, that needy bitch PAID me to smack her in the eyes with her Louboutin pumps so she could stop taking pictures of squirrels in the Champs Élysées and cash in on the whole “women’s lib” flash-in-the-pan.  Look for her operating the passport photo concession at your local Walgreen’s, if she ever figures out which way to point the lens.  Unbelievable???!!!!

On photography:  “Photography is hard!  Friggin’ hard!  Unless you’re me!  Just ask Joe McNally about that little incident involving a certain world-renowned Canadian photographer wearing a frayed security harness, a certain person’s less-than-firm grip on someone’s ankle and the observation deck of the Empire State Building!  Joe, baby, you are so friggin’ busted!”

On fame:  “World-renowned Canadian?  Oh, honey!  Just consign me to oblivion and be done with it!”

So you see.

And now, without further ado, here is David Delaroddis to present an excerpt from Chapter Three of  “Gee Wilikers?”, entitled: “Just Go Friggin’ Shoot Yourself! : Mastering the Art of the Selfie in these Troubled Times”.

Oh, brother. You had better not ever forget how good I am to you. Alrighty?

Just Go Friggin’ Shoot Yourself! : Mastering the Art of the Selfie in These Troubled Times

with guest blogger David Delaroddis

Delaroddis:  Thanks, Dave!  You know, with its heady combination of crude exhibitionism and technical incompetence, the selfie is the quintessential art form of the Internet age.

Today’s tip:  Create a little mystery!  Take a look at these two examples I knocked off during the limousine ride here:

selfie1Number One

Check. It. Out!

I know what you’re thinking: This screams “creativity” so friggin’ loud you can hear it all the way to Des Moines!

Fun Factz:  Think different!  Everyone and their cockapoo photographs eyes, lips and cheeks- but you know better!  You know Photography is Hard!  HAHA!

I promise you, once you learn to think bridge of nose and upload this baby to Facebook, you might as well quit your day job so you can sit by your land line telephone all day waiting for National Geographic to call.

When to use:  Try using this baby as your profile photo on Grindr!  It’s a no-brainer choice to complement your kinky profile fantasies about bad cops, public nudity and extreme anal penetration with objects, and take it from me—if you remember to stay logged in while clearing U.S. Customs, you’re well on your way to making at least two of those come true!

How To Get The Shot:  Using your most grating, petulant tone, order one of your assistants to autofocus on the moist, red bit where your cheap Shopper’s Drug Mart reading specs bite into your tear ducts, then do a big snort of blow.

You heard it first here!

selfie2Number Two

You know, and I just want to say: I hope this isn’t getting too intimidating for you.  The way I always “nail it”.  Put down those razor blades, baby!  Help is at hand!

Anyhoo, this one is using negative space to tell a story. A negative space story.  About me.  David Delaroddis, in case you missed that bit.

I just hope it’s not that story about the 16-year-old high school cheerleaders and the missing bottle of baby oil, which is a pack of filthy lies and if mentioned in your “comments” may just result in— well.  I’d watch it if I were you, wannabe me’s, and just be aware that my international team of brand-protection lawyers is on speed dial.

And if you do decide to be reckless… Don’t answer your front door after 5pm to anyone calling himself “Vinny”, especially if he claims to be delivering a ‘luxury concrete overcoat from GAP’. Nuff said?

This one uses the “Rule of Thirds” to create its magical mystery.

Just spend one-third of your income on camera equipment, read one-third of the manual, which means you will be forever whining,”Can anyone tell me what this little doohickey is for?”

And of course, miss one-third of your loan payments on the Hasselblad body and Zeiss lens, leaving them repossessed and you posting “really  fun and groovy-artistic” shots with your fake vintage Lomo then ruining them with HDR  filters.

Next greatest thing?  HDR???  Oh, honey! Excuse the tears pouring down my face as I point at the monitor and laugh!

Your portrait sitters look like they’ve been thirty-years coal-mining and your landscapes like rejects from a velvet painting correspondence course, but never you mind. Those animated GIF awards from the moderator of the “Really Fun and Awesome Fun Shots, Just Make Sure They’re Not as Good as Mine Or You’ll Be Banned for Harassment!” Group on Flickr will assuage your heartache at the death in darkness of your pathetic career goals.

I mean, I’m sorry to make you cry and I could probably soften the blow.  On the other hand, but hey.

Technical details: Nerd alert!  Forty-thousand dollar Hasselblad body and digital back; ten-thousand dollar Zeiss 85mm prime lens @ f64; resentful crew of twelve unpaid interns; and one limo driver named Wally who can’t keep his hands off me.

Don’t worry, petals.  You can do just as well with iPhone.

HA HA! Kidding!  I love you guys!



Gee, don’t come rushing at me all at once, like a Handel chorus


Veritable smoothie of sophomoric humor. Strawberry = you.

Well! (he spluttered).

This is a fine how-d’you do!

I work myself to the bone getting all sacrilegious, spend literally minutes in Photoshop desecrating the memory of possibly the 10th-greatest plummy English contralto who ever lived, blend it half-heartedly together into a veritable smoothie of sophomoric humor that would make a reader of Harvard Lampoon blush, and what thanks.

Not even a flicker of furious placard-writing activity from the Phelps family; No snooty, outraged editors at Gramophone magazine canceling my remaining issues; No high-minded “disgusted, Tunbridge Wells” complaints, not even a sad little WordPress unsubscribe¹.  Nada. Plenty o’ nuttin’.

A great big world so full of “NO” it could make Dame Janet herself take up a second career in lap dancing.  (Dame Janet Jackin’. Off her high horse and onto yours.  So to speak.)

A great big world so chock-full of “so-what, dude?” it could make a co-pilot take an Airbus filled with over-stimulated adorable teenage choristers on their first trip away and apple-cheeked adorable grannies clutching Tupperware containers of brownies in their lap lest the icing should get dislodged during turbulence, and face-plant it into the nearest Alp.  As if!

When it comes right down to it.  Do you ever think of anyone but yourself?  Like, Hello-o-o-o – ! Over here, darling, other person who exists!  Lips moving that aren’t your own!  I mean really.

But never you mind, Murgatroyd. Your pathetic attempts at making amends by text message come too little and – at 3.37 AM – way too late.  I’m resilient.  I’m a survivor. I’m filled with pluck, grit and spunk.  Or at least I was on Saturday night which I assure you is the last time I’ll try to get laid by a shift-worker in a chicken-processing facility. While on the job!

It’s all the more grist to my application-for-lifetime-and-beyond-PTSD-benefits mill, cause guess what?

You are just the strawberry on my smoothie, babe.  Naked.  Or even better, in your saggy, made-at-home-yet-still-just-as-crappy-as-if-made-by-Third-World-slave-labor American Apparel Y-fronts.

And one more thing since I finally have the floor and will miracles never cease you’ve paused for breath:  Jesus WAS white.

You know how I know?

The Bible tells me so.

¹ Update:  Between starting this post and finishing, someone DID 
unsubscribe.  Which would seem entirely to put the kibosh on the 
already pretty thin premise of the piece. This might flatten 
a lesser man.   But self-esteem, no matter how rooted 
in fantasy it may be, always 
wins the day.  So nice try.  Little Miss Unsubscribe.

Low-paw Entertainment: Never forget how good I am to you

An interim post while I think of something, anything, more interesting to throw your way.   My life is largely absorbed with how to entertain, impress, and otherwise get you to validate me.  So how about a little appreciation.  Well, then, here we go, and it’s probably more impressive than you expected.  Which is a lesson for you.

A short history of the Internet:

As you are probably well aware, the Internet was invented by the Vatican around the time of the Council of Trent.  This is the same bun-fight where they decided Mary was a Virgin, the Pope was infallible, and that celibacy would be mandatory for priests, though as compensation, every priest would have a personal-assistant-type orphaned choirboy allocated to him. Which is the way they carried on back then.

Nowadays, by contrast, celibacy is looked on as quite shocking.

Oh, and another decision at the Council of Trent was that the Pope would always wear Balenciaga, which is why you have those coats of arms and “By appointment to” on everything by Balenciaga that you own.

Anyway, don’t try and tell me you came here for history.  Please.