In Other News, the Sun is Sunny.


Pearls of wisdom this week, from Toronto’s own Rock Star: Supernova contestant, the perpetually-overaccessorized, skunk-haired, high-school-rocker-cliché Lukas Rossi:

“Songs that you overthink, usually they turn out to be overthought.”

And I’ve been so good about reducing the stupid in my life, too — no more morning television “news”, absolutely no entertainment “news”, no reality television and no free subway tabloids. Not even the overearnest, brain-corroding Letters pages of gay magazines and newspapers (my guiltiest pleasure). No broadcast radio.

I swear, I was removing a DVD from my player, the tuner signal kicked in and Lukas delivered the piping-hot stupid.

Thanks to you, Lukas, and through some sort of voodoo, televisual osmosis, my I.Q. dropped 40 points. I really need to configure my audio-visual home entertainment system so that I don’t accidentally catch any of that shit again.

2 Responses to “In Other News, the Sun is Sunny.”

  1. 1 John A

    and who is that Tim Devlin guy that spends all his time writing to Xtra? ever notice he’s in every issue? true though, i always stumble out of my chair when i get up after reading that section.

  2. 2 bstewart23

    Seriously, the Letters section of Xtra is by far the best — and, frankly, most depressing — barometer of the state of Toronto’s gay community population (and I say that as a former columnist from that paper’s early-90s salad days). The Letters section of fab is more often than not merely a collection of fan-scribbles to whichever trannie hag is most ubiquitous/infectious at that moment.

    It’s been a while, as I stated in my post, above, since I even picked up either of those rags, mainly because whatever the average Toronto homosexualist finds interesting could not be of less interest to me these days. I certainly am uninterested in whatever justifications for bad and/or stupid and/or criminal behaviour that undertalented, washed-up, former playwrights care to spew. And their fan clubs. Especially that about which they’re so motivated that they can’t resist letting the entire world be privy to their overearnest, tragically-personal windbaggery in print for, like, eternity.

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