May I Present to You A Brand New Latch Out Loud Blog Series presented by the latches of Latch Out Loud Blog.

“On the Issue Of…”

This is a little series which will be a series of pithy remarks on a variety of topics. You’ll get the idea…

On the issue of: Late Night Hook-Up Etiquette.

You get a call late in the evening and end result is you showing up so extremely intoxicated that you look like you’ve been drinking liquid morphine all night. You find yourself, at 4am in the morning, trying to walk and talk like a normal functioning human being and it’s not even remotely working. She asks “What the hell took so long to get here you idiot” and you slur “Alex Kovalev’s aunt Beatrice made me a delicious French onion soup” or some sort of gibberish and in some bizarre turn of events, she laughs.  It’s a miracle anyone (let alone a rocket) would open the door for you in this state, but alas this is the nature of the game and you rush to get to the victim’s bedroom to commence what you think will be the worst performance of shibbity-bibbity or/and hoppity-boppity of your meaningless existence.

You try your damn damned damnedest to get her clothes off, thinking this should be fairly easy, because why the hell else would you be let in at 4am in the morning? I’m not here to talk about your co-workers lady. I have one thing on the mind and it certainly isn’t democracy in Libya or the impending crisis of hurricane Irene. I’m here to get to the bone yard, like a sex-deprived mongoose in mating season.

Next thing you know, you wake up in a familiar state of confusion, disorientated, wondering how the hell you biked 20 minutes to get to the other side of town. And who is this person next to me? Why am I still wearing my jeans.

Moral of the Story: Have sex with me please.

On the issue of: Really Drunk Friends.

We’ve all been here, one of your pals gets so drunk on liquid morphine that he can’t stand up or tell the difference between a hot rocket and an officer of the law. He’ll probably start mouthing off old ladies, hell – any lady that is in the direct vicinity because his drunken, maniacal mind can’t process social decency.

Sometimes this phenomena deters from your ability to pursue the woman your night revolves around because, let’s face it, if you don’t come to the aid of your brother-in-arms, he’s definitely going to get arrested, savagely beat up, or hit by a car on the long bike ride home on your expensively priced road bike. So, needless to say, he’s insulted everyone (including yourself) and you try the hail-mary attempt to get one last gin and tonic at the bar. Obviously, the bartender takes one look at this disheveled mess as he falters in his effort to sit in a bar-stool. There is zero chance this guy will get another drink at any establishment, save the Dom, but you can’t take him there, he’ll be eaten alive by the local patrons.  

The only thing left to do is to let your friend run crazy on Elgin Street and laugh ferociously as he comments on anything/anyone/everyone who walks down the street. At this point in the night it is highly encouraged that you get a couple of dawgs-into-ya and call it an evening.

Moral of the Story: Everyone likes a good breakfast. 

Fat Cats Fever

The Ottawa Fat Cats are headed to the Intercounty Baseball League Finals. With last night’s 8-5 win over the Barrie Baycats, the Fatties completed a four game sweep of the hapless Baycats and now await their next victim in the championship series.

Fat Cats second baseman and Birthday Lad Chris Latimer paced the attack for the home side, collecting a couple hits and two huge RBIs which came off a clutch, based-loaded, two out hit early in the game. Following Latimer’s knock, both dugouts emptied over an alleged spitting incident. Despite a lot of tremendously tough talking from the Baycats, cooler heads prevailed and Ottawa cruised to victory.

In-game entertainment was top notch as always, with Grape delighting the 3,400 fans in attendance. The tax-man took a tennis ball directly off the neck and can-of-pop won the Concession Stand Race. And in perhaps the highlight of the afternoon, the team’s GM attempted to snag a foul ball hit into the stands but instead spiked it off the head of an unsuspecting elderly gentleman seated in front of him. LOLs were had by all.

With a 26-9 record, The Baycats were the league’s top team over the course of the regular season but had no answer for the hard-hitting Cats. This post was extremely difficult to write considering both teams are called the Cats. I’d like to propose that Barrie change their name to the Barry's Bay Baseballs or the Fat Cats become the Latches. Either way.

Stay tuned for more information on the IBL Championship Series as it becomes available.

Fat Cats Fever. Catch it!

Notes From The Road

Last I checked in I was scheduled to depart for the west coast by way of the thumb. Well, the plan was to use a sign, but you get the point. Anyways, a lot has happened since now and then. I’ve taken in a concert. I’ve participated in loud, unruly acoustic guitar jams at all hours of the night. I’ve slept at a lovely cottage in a remote area of Ontario, where I drank more beer than I would have ever expected. I’ve sunk my teeth into a generous helping of LOLs. I’ve lit off fireworks, and struggled to scrub the smell of campfire from my body. I’ve had no trouble finding rides. I’ve even run into some old friends. It’s been truly awesome.

Sounds like an unbelievable weekend of hitchhiking, doesn’t it? Well, it is indeed unbelievable, as I haven’t made any forward progress in three days. I’m in Ottawa. And I’m sorry blogosphere, as I know that I’ve let you down. There will be no wild tales from the road. There will be no photo essays. There will be no highly descriptive narratives of my heroic escape from the lad-napping attempt of a backwoods gap-toothed human trafficker in the British Columbia interior. Yes, my friends, the gig is up, and I’m left feeling a little gloomy. I had a great weekend, but it’s over, and I’m firmly planted at square one.

I now sit at the computer in my apartment, hastily attempting to plan my escape. I don’t have time to hitchhike to the coast and still visit all the people I intended to see. So I’ll have to fly. I made the (faulty) assumption that standby flying existed in such wondrous lands as the real world. I assumed that I’d have an easy time acquiring a last minute ticket to Vancouver at a fraction of the cost that every other customer pays. Alas, such fantasy lands exist only on television, and in the minds of pie-eyed travelers who are more content to live in the moment than to carry out months-old plans concocted to satisfy the appetite of a man dazed by his own wanderlust. Of course standby flying doesn’t exist. Why in this god-forsaken world would any self-respecting business reward its most reckless and self-indulgent customers for being lazy and complacent, and for showing flagrant disrespect toward the highly ritualized customs of air travel? Barring a minor miracle, I’ll be charging an arm and a leg to my MasterCard sometime late tonight or early tomorrow, accepting defeat, and boarding a flight to Vancouver. This is depressing…

Board Meeting- In Photos

Tickled to Death

Ok, hi,

Where are my manners? To think, I didn't even introduce myself! Holy fucking Christ. How un-latchly of me.

Skeet is the handle.

Few can handle Skeet.

I'm gonna bring the el oh el

You in the Market? Sell oh sell

Boss man Max keeps it hot on the road

Packin' more knives than one you ever know'd

Ok, I got that off on your chest. My chest, rather. Off my chest.

Black out blogs - featuring The Latchies

See you in a couple hours,

Lots of love,

Freddy.

P.S. Photo blog to come...

A Hitchhiker's Guide To The Country

Tomorrow promises to be mostly another ordinary day. Outside of the fact that Friday is many people’s favourite day of the week, there’s really not much to get excited about. I plan to wake up, go through my normal morning routine, and walk to the bus. Many people will be taking the bus to work tomorrow. I will take the bus to Kanata. When I get to Kanata I’m going to get off the bus. I plan to stand by the side of the road. I will hold up a small cardboard sign with the word “Vancouver” scrawled on it. Yes, tomorrow I hitchhike to Vancouver.

Pretty well everyone that I’ve shared this plan with has expressed some sort of disappointment in me. Most think I’m weird; a few are envious of my spirit of adventure; just about everyone thinks I’m going to get abducted. Let them think what they want.

Sure, I could fly there. I’m flying home, so why not make it a round trip? It would probably end up costing the same amount. I’m certain it would be a more comfortable way to travel. I’d probably encounter less conspiracy theorist crack pot types dying to spill the beans to an innocent hitchhiker on why Apple and Google are responsible for everything from the famine in East Africa to the fly in my soup at lunch (“It’s all connected man!”). It would certainly give me more time at my destination. What it wouldn’t provide is ridiculous situations and, by extension, things to write about. (The fat lad with the nose whistle sitting next to you on the plane doesn’t count – try to get out of the house more).

You see, dear reader, I like to write. That is – in part – why Latch Out Loud exists. And I find that the best time to write is when you travel. And the best fodder for travel writing is the ridiculous and the inane. Sometimes the smallest, most inconsequential things make for a funny or memorable read. Often the things that don’t make for a great image on your digital camera do play out nicely on the pages of a pocket-sized notebook.

And so I shall hitchhike to the west coast of our sprawling, expansive country. And I’ll write as I go. I’ll write about the people who pick me up. I’ll write about the strange places I sleep. I’ll write about getting stranded in Wawa for two days. I’ll write about the vastness of the Great Lakes, the never-ending plains of the Prairies, and the daunting peaks of the western mountains. Given access to the Internet, I might even post some of my thoughts here; just maybe.

In the meantime, I’m going to leave you with an excerpt of a travel diary that I wrote this past spring on a trip through the USA and Europe. I scrawled nearly 400 (small) pages of largely incomprehensible, occasionally twisted, often funny, and always bizarre thoughts over the course of six weeks. I called it the Ron Diary. This particular passage was inspired by an experience that I had on an overnight Greyhound bus from Washington to Nashville. I hope you enjoy it.

May 4th, 2011

10:10pm

The Loud Talker

The loud talker is brash and inconsiderate, unreserved and unapologetic. The loud talker speaks at volumes and in tones reserved for the great orators of our time, though the loud talker speaks nothing of importance, merely of trifle. The loud talker knows not of her intrusion, for she lacks the clairvoyance to understand even the most basic plight of those around her. The loud talker is ignorant and unrepentant, lowly and contemptible.

The loud talker is your father or sister, classmate or colleague, enemy or best friend. The loud talker is in line at the grocery store or waiting at the bus stop. She roams the hallways of hospitals and university campuses. She is seated in restaurants and rides the elevators of skyscrapers. The loud talker walks among us.

The loud talker is seated across from you on the southbound Greyhound bus. The loud talker can -- absolutely and without haste -- go fuck herself.

Tweet Tweet

Don't miss a beat folks...follow @latchoutloud on twitter, new followers report receiving large raises, reverse hair loss and an increase of self worth immediately upon following. What have you got to lose?

CC On Ice

No, unfortunately, this isn't going to be an introductory post outlining the details of my forthcoming interpretative dance performance on skates (tentatively titled 'My Cycles, On Ice"), but instead is strictly an introductory post.

Evenin', the name's CC. I also go by Johnathan J. Mackleroy. And nothing else. And I consider myself a latch.

My contribution to this beautiful bitch of a behemoth of a blog will consist of restaurant news, woefully ignorant MLB playoff predictions, horoscopes typed out backwards and the occasional poem. The fact that I am writing this at a bar is appropriate for two main reasons: I spend a lot of time at them and I don't have the internet at my apartment. Apparently the riser cable is fucked (obviously).

I am not a fan of absolutist terms. I find them constricting, and not the good kind of constricting like skinny jeans. Dealing in absolutist terms is like incestuous relations with a cousin, sure it's easy, but it is illegal for effs sakes, and just plain wrong. But as it turns out there are two that I do in fact subscribe to, and I will lay them out for you people using the most helpful of layout tools, bullet points:

• You can never have enough ice. I'm not talking about bitter, Moscow-esque Ottawan winters here, I mean when it comes to drinking, one can never, ever have enough ice.
  
• Being a latch means being on point, on toes and on whatever ball might happen to be around at any given time. It means not giving a fuck but also giving a lot of fuck. It is a contradiction and a hell of a lot of fun. It has a literal definition, one might even say an absolutist definition, which is something that holds two disparate pieces of opening together. That's what we do. We hold things together in a way that non-latches will non-always understand.

If you have a problem with either of these two points, then you are probably a teetotaler. That's okay. I don't meant to offend or discourage, I don't think any of the crew here do. What we aim to do is enlighten and hilarify. Heighten and energize. And cry maybe, a little bit.

Late On Latching, but working hard,

CCUL8R

Well That's a Relief

After what turned out to be a very poorly timed get away, Mayor of London Boris Johnson has made the decision to return home due to the unrest in the city the last few days.

Good move, Boris.

The Dustiest

The grizzled veteran of the blog scene. Think George Foreman before he got all hung up on grills for some reason. I was bloggin' before most people even knew what a blog was. There is a good chance I invented blogs and just haven't got around to taking proper credit. To think, this could have been called a Dale.

But enough about me, let me tell you a little bit about myself.

I'm here to keep everyone up to speed on the city's 2nd most popular sports franchise, the Ottawa Senators. Despite the departure of key cogs like Jarkko Ruutu and Alex Kovalev, the Senators are scheduled to ice a team this coming fall. Stay tuned.

In order to properly prepare to participate in this blog, I spent the majority of the afternoon googlin' the word latch I think I'm pretty much up to speed. Latchford is a small town on the shores of Bay Lake and the Montreal River. They recently lifted the boil water advisory which is great news. Twitter tells me there is a Big Latch-On this weekend. Probably gonna sit that one out.

My contributions will be limited to times when I am hungover. I find that's when I do my best work.

Think you're having a rough day? Beers for none, LOLz for all.

Purel..ol

Disclaimer: Long time lol’r, first time blogger... The intention of this post, other than the obvious; laughs, is to encourage lads and latches alike to post memorable tales from their struggle. Events that are both funny and memorable that have in some way shaped the person sitting behind their computer contributing to this blog. Think of posts of this nature as if they were frozen moments in time; stories so offside and inappropriate, the only thing one can do is share them with their buddies in hopes of brightening the day of their fellow man.

In addition I should probably warn you that this post is of a sexual nature, so, if you don’t have a raunchy sense of humour and don’t revel in the misfortunes of others, please, go no further...

Spring of 2008

At the age of 22 I found myself with a girlfriend. No, not my first girlfriend (second actually!) but a girlfriend none the less. Although the relationship as a whole was not very memorable, there were a few unfortunate occurrences I will never forget...

We had only been dating a little while when it became time to do the sex (also my second time...jk/lol). An easy enough task for a young couple, simply do what young people do right? Well ...not so fast. When it came time to...how do I phrase this...get it in, things weren’t so simple. There was an apparent size discrepancy that made this action a little difficult. The young lady I was dating, smart as she was, came up with a “working solution”. Before we would engage in the sex, we would simply apply lubricant to the relevant areas and boom! The sex. As luke warm as I was to this idea at first you cannot argue with results. Applying lubricant became another step in the process and after a short while it was not a big deal at all.

Fast forward a few weeks and where does the young couple find themselves, about to manipulate the sex. At this point we were becoming custom to one another and the lubricant was no longer mandatory, instead it served as an aid. Kind of like the remote control to your television set, you don’t NEED it, it just makes things easier (I’m getting off topic here). Anyways here we are, almost in the sex when it was suggested by one party that we apply the lubricant. No problem at all, I simply reach into the drawer, grab it, apply and away we go. Shortly thereafter the female participant reacts with concern;”Hey! Stop a second that doesn’t feel quite right”. After a short break and a visual inspection the sex reiterates and seems to be fine until a slightly more concerned reaction; “Ok stop, it’s really burning”. As the female participant flicks on the lights and rushes to the bathroom for a more in-depth inspection I found myself wondering; what did I get drunk and do that caused this? Will I die if I jump out the window on the 17^th floor? Is she going to come back with a gun? Already accepting the worst I lean over and look into the drawer and see the lubricant. Funny I don’t remember putting the lubricant back into the drawer. I spin around and look at the bedside table, to where I thought I put the lubricant bottle only to see a bottle of hand sanitizer; Purel to be exact, pure...lol.

Exxxclusive.

Let's be serious here folks. This blog is exclusive. If you're reading this, you're the hippest of the hip, the coolest of cool, the cat's pajamas, the bee's knees, the fucking cock of the walk, a lad, a latch, or any combination of such things

If you haven't heard about the latchblog, I'm not surprised. The only people who don't know about this blog are mainstream yuppies who listen to radio top-forty-spit-in-my-sock-pop-garbage. These Morley Abbott's of the world probably don't even wear skinny jeans, and you most definitely voted for Stephen Harper in the last election - not your local MP, but Stephen Harper because you really have no idea how our parliamentary system of government works. And most of all, you definitely cannot expound an acronym.

If you have any of these aforementioned traits, you are lost in the caverns of the internet. Quickly close your internet browser (probably Microsoft Explorer, you fascist) and return to reading the Ottawa Sun.

I'm going to lay out my raison d'etre in a few short, simple words. 

"Exclusivity and LOLs"

It's more than a mantra, it's a way of life, a code, a sacred religious scripture. I'm going to request that it be included in any and every non-secular testament - because, clearly, any ecclesiastical figure regardless of religious denomination surely agrees with such a statement. I'm going to get it tattooed on my slightly smaller than average penis. 

My contributions to this blog will be varied, focused mainly on themes of exclusivity and LOLz.

If you need me, I'll be busy working on the LOL manifesto and the biography of all members of the LOLz Union. 

Five Things To Do In Ottawa Before Summer's End

There's only a month left in summer, and some of you are likely sunburned, bored, heat-stroked, lazy, and running out of things to do. "What in the Boris are we gonna do on a Wednesday night in August?" you might have asked a friend recently. Well, if you continue reading you're likely to find a solution to your little quagmire.

Ottawa Fat Cats Playoff Baseball

The boyz of summer are in the playoffs. Not only that, but they’ve advanced to the second round, dispatching the favoured (but not favourite) London Majors in game 5 of their first round series. The Fat Cats now face the first-seeded Barrie Baycats, with the winner moving on to the IBL championship series. Games one and two go this weekend in Barrie. Games three through five are in Ottawa, though game times have yet to be announced.

What better way to spend a late-summer’s evening than at the ball park? Get a picture with Grape, taunt the opposing players, drink a blueberry cooler, get a dog into ya, and cheer on the boyz. It’s ‘Cats vs. ‘Cats for the chance to play for the championship.

Piknic Electronik

(far too underground to have any published photos)

I was debating whether or not to include Piknik Electronik in this post, since it’s so damn exclusive and posting about it here is a surefire way to sell the thing out. In the end I decided I shouldn’t hold back, so here you go…

Piknic is an outdoor electro music party that combines DJs from the Captial Region (and beyond), an awesome outdoor venue (the grounds of the Museum of Civilization), and some of the Ottawa area’s quirkiest revelers (think 50-something-year-old lad doing cartwheels). The show runs Sundays from 2-9pm. Those wishing to keep the party going can check out the after-Piknic at Le Petit Chicago for more electro-goodness.

The outdoor set usually showcases three or four DJs for the low, low price of $10. $5 will get you a beer or mixed drink. Just showing up will crank your exclusivity knob to 11.

Take a Bike (Ride)

Urban cycling doesn’t get much better than here in the Capital. With over 220 kilometers of paths in Ottawa and Gatineau, you can get just about anywhere without having to spend much time dodging cars and construction on Carling Avenue. Some of the most scenic roads in the region are opened exclusively to bikes on Sunday mornings, thanks to Sunday Bikedays. And if you’re the take-your-life-in-your-hands type, you can try a little bit of mountain biking in Gatineau Park.

Don’t have a bike? Sorry, that’s not an excuse.

Casino du Lac-Leamy’s Sound of Light

Considering I’ve only been gambling at the Casino for the past 9 years, it’s a bit hard to believe that their fireworks competition is in its 16^th year. In any event, the pyrotechnics kick off tomorrow evening and run through August 20^th (you can see the fireworks every Wednesday and Saturday). The best part about this event is that you don’t actually have to go to the casino to see the show, giving those amongst us with an overly enthusiastic affinity for gambling and/or self-exclusions from Lac-Leamy a fair chance to take in the ‘works without having the show derailed by a quick trip to the blackjack table.

Watch the Sunset

If you’re the romantic type you may already be all over this. Then again, if you're the romantic type, you're probably not reading this post. In any case, the shore of the Ottawa River is an underrated spot to catch an all-out, bollocks-to-the-wall, face melting sunset. Just about anywhere you find river, you’ll find a good viewing spot. Behind the War Museum, the locks below Parliament Hill, Nepean Point (at the Champlain Statue behind the National Gallery), the lookout at the Rockliffe Parkway, or even the top of a downtown high-rise all make for great viewing.

Keep in mind that a sunset will undoubtedly act as the best wingman you’ve ever had. I can almost guarantee that if you bring a date you’ll be holding hands by the end of the night. Beyond that I can’t make any promises.

I have more exclusive happenings, but I think I’d prefer to keep them to myself. Plus I’ve put more time into this post than I can possibly justify. Sorry folks.

Swimming In a Sea of Drugs and Bitches

Rick Ross 4 Prez.

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Ten Minutes has passed now since I wrote 'Rick Ross 4 Prez.' Have I peaked? Was this the highlight of my blogging career? Now I know how

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Another ten minutes. Trying to draw a comparison to someone whose career had early success then died off while swimming in a sea of drugs and bitches. But we all know how the internet works, yes? Its very easy to get lost in Wikipedia. A quick click on the featured article and next thing you know you're knee deep in an article about Bud Powell and combined with Youtube you're quickly convinced that 'Birth of the Cool' is the greatest album of all time and critics are correct in calling Bud Powell 'the Charlie Parker of the piano.'

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Another ten minutes. The oldest person who ever lived was Jeanne Calment. She lived to be 122 years, 164 days. 44724 total days.

"In 1965, aged 90 years and with no heirs, Calment signed a deal to sell her former apartment to lawyer André-François Raffray, on a contingency contract. Raffray, then aged 47 years, agreed to pay her a monthly sum of 2,500 francs until she died. Raffray ended up paying Calment the equivalent of more than $180,000, which was more than double the apartment's value. After Raffray's death from cancer at the age of 77, in 1995, his widow continued the payments until Calment's death."

Hustlin'.

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Ok. I dont have the attention span to be one of these highfalutin bloggers who talks about topical, important or hey, even interesting things but what I can provi

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http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qpl5mOAXNl4&feature=aso

Welcome To The Bloggerdome

So this is my super-official plunge into the self-absorbed world of blogging. At least one person urged me to do it, and I figured that was enough of an endorsement to get me going. I’ve now licensed myself to pour hours of potentially-productive time into the pit of wasted human existence that is blogging. I’d love if you’d support this endeavour. Invite your kith and kin to read it. Invite your enemies. Invite those hundreds of Facebook friends you never talk to. Invite strangers on the street. Invite co-workers, professors, unrequited loves, Nigerian princes, and baristas. Invite interlopers – I’ll make them feel right at home. If nothing else, at least read the blog yourself. Please. Ok, you’d like to know a bit about this thing before you dive right in? I understand that…

Although ostensibly a platform to inform the masses on what I ate for dinner; wax incoherently on geopolitical issues; obnoxiously defend Lady Gaga; and shamelessly exploit the thesaurus to create the illusion that I am a learned, erudite individual (see, I just did it right there), this web log will likely assume a completely unrelated form. I may have started the blog, but it's really just a collection of authors who will write about whatever they please. They will also write whenever they please. Anything goes, as it were. You can expect to read about music. You can expect to laugh. You can expect to read semi-serious commentary on current affairs. You might hear a little about sports. You'll probably run into some made up words. You can expect to laugh... again. There may be some pictures. Some of the authors might get edgy. Above all, I guarantee it will be exclusive...likely because nobody will read it.

There will be a few ground rules:
1. No name dropping.
2. No political endorsements.
3. No spamming.
4. No posting (or rolling) on the Sabbath.
5. No obscure movie references.
6. No hip-hop references.
7. No girls.
8. No shirt, no shoes... no LOLs.
9. No ground rules.

Let's do this...