A Fine Kettle of Fish

Title This Post and WIN BIG! -Contest Closes Aug. 29-

2006-08-30T03:29:00.000-06:00

Well, it's been a while since I've posted anything. I'd love for you all to think I've just been too gosh-darn busy with my wonderfully exciting life, but no. I've had tons of time to update this blog...hours and hours of nothing to do except update this blog. That'd be fun, eh? Reading about how I'm writing this very post? 90% of my life is too boring to put into words, and the other 10% is too personal. Actually, there's probably a 5% chunk of good reading in there too, but most of it would be in WingDings.

So why am I writing this, if I've got nothing to say? A better question would be "Why are you reading this after I've told you I've got nothing to say?" Still a better question would be "Why do so many people accept it when someone answers their question with another question?"

I hate hearing talk show hosts and newsanchors jack themselves off with crap like "We ask the tough questions", "We get to the heart of the matter", and "CNN: The Most Trusted Name in News".

First off, you don't want to ask the tough questions. The tougher a question is, the more likely it is the overpaid bureaucrat with the shit-eating grin you're asking will compliment you on what a good question it was and then throw a completely irrelevant question back at you. If they're any good at their job, their reply question won't just be completely off-topic, but rhetorical, and filled with so many unnecessary adjectives and buzzwords that you'll totally forget what you were talking about. Keep it simple. Be unnervingly sarcastic. Use "finger quotes" around inappropriate "words". And for fuck's sake, when you ask a yes or no question, and haven't gotten either answer after 15 seconds of "complicated issue this" and "enemies of democracy that", cut their mic and move on.

The "heart of the matter" gripe falls under the general cynical umbrella of Cheesy Buzzwords. The word "heart", though by no means alone in this category, has been "torn out and stepped on" more than any other, with the possible exception of "freedom". Now we can't just blame the newsanchors here. Virtually all of us have glorified that organ at one time or another, in corny poetry or cliches. But there's a certain sickness you get, if not properly jaded, when you see a rich man in a commercial put on his "serious" face, and cordially invite you to "get to the heart of the matter" with him for that one half-hour block that matters to his boat payments. "Get to the heart" of the Mideast turmoil. Watch the "heart" of those "brave, fighting men and women" who have done billions of dollars in damage to Iraq and murdered over 100,000 of its people. Bid your "heartfelt goodbye" to that one single "American hero" you "met" through a "special report". And God forbid, never stop worrying about the "Axis of Evil" striking in America's "heartland". A heart doesn't give you courage. It doesn't stand for determination, or love. And there sure isn't a giant one buried in the Midwest that keeps 300 million people fed and clothed. No, the heart simply pumps blood, while the "heart" simply pimps blood.

As for CNN now, the "most trusted name in news", there's almost too much to rant about this early in the morning, so I'll just stick to that slogan. First off, it's arrogant and patronizing to the viewers. Sure, if you've got a brain in your head, you know they're not talking to YOU directly. YOU don't have to trust CNN. But for every whole brain out there, there are two halfs nearby. THEY have to trust CNN because, well, it said they should. And if more people trust it than any other station, then it must be infallible. And THEY turn to it in times of crisis (real or unduly propogated), and prostrate themselves before the omnipotent voice of Anderson Cooper. But that's more a gripe with half-brained people than with the slogan. The real problem I have with that tagline is that it puts more importance on being trusted than accurate. I'm not saying Paula Zahn is a deceitful bitch or anything, or that Lou Dobbs is a smug bigot prick (OK, I am saying that), but I don't think it bothers Ted Turner or any of the other execs a bit when they watch the neverending stream of American propoganda flow across their monitors and into millions of living rooms across the world, or when one of their drinking buddies from the Senate takes a huge shit directly in the ears of his constituents. No, as long as their key demographic still trusts them, and allows them to charge their advertisers increasingly abhorent amounts of cash, they'll just keep spewing it. Lastly, CNN may very well be telling the truth in their slogan, if you equate ratings with trust, but they fail to admit that they won that fight by default. CNN has been around longer than any 24-hour news channel. The letters CNN are as interchangeable with the word "news", in many eyes, as Kleenex is with facial tissue. Why? What are the options? Sure, Canada has the CBC, the U.S. has FOX, the UK has the BBC, and a hundred or so other countries have their own channels. But CNN is right there with all of them. Not only the sole news channel readily available anywhere on the planet, but the only channel of any kind. You don't need to be a mathematician; common sense alone should tell you that with that kind of global exposure, you're definitely going to get viewers. But so does WWE. That doesn't mean millions of people believe in The Undertaker. That just means at least a small chunk of the population of every country you broadcast in are more interested in listening to people who knew someone who lived next to John Karr's high school science teacher for three straight days, than in seeing what's happening to the world surrounding the United Bubble of America.

Huh...this thing turned out to be pretty long. By the time I finished the first paragraph, I thought for sure that was it, and there was no point. But lo and behold, I asked myself a stupid question, and had to respond with another.

Anyway, fuck Lou Dobbs!

Why Do I Always Need A Damn Title?!

2006-07-26T20:18:00.000-06:00

Either I think of a title, and then have to tailor my post to fit it, or I write the post and then completely forget to add a title after I'm done. It's enough to drive me to drink...as are most things, to be fair. Nothing moreso than my lack of beer money recently...cruel poetic injustices.

So I've decided to buckle down, swallow my pride for the moment, and attempt to grow a beard. The first couple of weeks or so were rough, and I tried to stay out of the public eye as much as possible. If you've ever seen Team America: World Police, and the main character's (I could probably think of his name, if I wanted to) Arab disguise, you can imagine the hell of a patchwork on my face. You'd think that part of me in my brain that manages hair would consider all the parts of my face pretty much identical and do its work accordingly, but nope. At least two seemingly random sections have apparently been designated as "bald zones", while two other comparatively sized sections are growing at double speed. Lousy genetics. But I'm starting to look a lot better, at least in my somewhat biased opinion. I'm looking "rugged" without so much "ragged", and look older, in a refined and mature way, not in a homeless and hopeless way. If I still had my digital camera, I'd post a picture. Without checking, though, I can't even remember if I have a picture in my profile already to compare it to. Just take my word for it. I'm looking good.

I've been getting an alarming amount of junk e-mail lately. It used to be I'd be offered Viagra, free diapers, or "horny gurlz 4 U" about once a day. Now I have about 20 new messages in the morning, and 20 more at night, with about one every two days coming from someone I know, or give two shits about. I'm no expert on spam or how they get their mailing lists, but something seems strange about this sudden jump after years of relative peace and quiet.

And finally, tomorrow marks the beginning of the 2006 Voyageur Days festival here in Mattawa. Sure, I'm broke as fuck, but it still should be a good time. Hard to blow up the population of the town by four or five times and add drugs, alcohol, and music to the mix without coming out of the weekend without at least a few good, hazy memories. Wherever you're from, and whoever you are, you're welcome to get your asses up (or down) here for a few days if you can spare the time. Check out www.voyageurdays.com for more info.

Oh yeah, I meant to apologize. Sarah, I've gotten totally behind on reading your blog, and haven't posted a comment in a dog's age. Part of it I can blame on my slow computer, and other stuff keeping me busy, but mainly, I've got nobody to blame but myself and my forgetfulness/laziness. I do really like the way you write, and even the boring stuff seems interesting enough when you say it. I'll put it off for at least a few more days, but on Monday I'll get to everything I've missed and throw in a few good comments where needed. Although I'm sure the future of your blog doesn't hinge on my "subscription" to it, I'd ask you keep up the good work nonetheless. And get on Messenger sometime, you're getting to be disturbingly conspicous by your absence...

State of Emergency

2006-07-23T21:39:00.000-06:00

So, this was a week out of the ordinary.

This past Monday seemed like any other craptacular hot and humid day here in Mattawa. I figured the highlight of my night would involve me sitting on the couch, watching RAW, and trying to justify being a wrestling fan to myself as the show continues to fight for air from the toilet. But there would be no RAW that night in this house.

It was around 5:30 when I got off the phone with my unfairly institutionalized ex-girlfriend. If I knew it would be the last time we talked for a while, I probably would have said more. But, like I said, Monday seemed like a Monday, so I basically just said hello and goodbye, then hung up the unusually static-filled line just as the sky went black.

Within minutes, it was obvious some serious shit was hitting the fan, weatherwise. Almost as soon as the rain started pouring down, it suddenly changed course and fell sideways instead. I literally couldn't see ten feet ahead of me out the window through the massive flying waterfall. Every now and then I'd see a flash of brown or green when a twig or branch rocketed by, but other than that, it basically looked like I was at the bottom of a dark and raging river. The power lines didn't stand a chance, and that heart-dropping cessation of the fridge's humming happened almost before I knew what was going on.

And then, almost as suddenly as it started, it was over, and the sun was out again in full bloom. Having no electricity, I figured I may as well go outside and have a look around. It was not a pretty sight, but it did look pretty cool at the time. Basically the entire forest behind my house was leaning over, with at least half of the trees snapped, branchless, or twisted around the one next to it. My yard was littered with the missing pieces. Dog bowls and deck furniture were further away from where they'd been than I'd have thought possible. My house was missing shingles, eaves, and siding. Looking down a ways, I could see trees, power lines, and phone lines strewn across the road. Within minutes, sightseers were getting out of their trucks with chainsaws to clear a path so they could get on seeing more.

I live out about 15 minutes from town, and my brother had the car, so my sightseeing was limited to where my lazy feet would carry me that first night. I didn't think much of what Mattawa looked like, anyway. I'd figured the worst happened here. It didn't really even cross my mind till I turned on the portable radio and realized the music stations weren't playing music, but the DJs were in "breaking news" mode. After hearing updates that would eventually go on for days about the damage done in not just Mattawa, but the entire North Bay area for about 160 km either way, it struck me that this was not just another big storm. Trees down everywhere, debris blanketing the ground, roofs torn up, cars, trucks, and even one plane tipped over; an entire lighthouse in Callander had been levelled. Apparently, Mattawa's theatre and bar lost their roofs.

The next day, I got into town. It wasn't the same place. Nobody had power, people were lined up for blocks waiting for gas, food, and supplies. Trees were everywhere; on the roads, tangled up in power lines, on buildings, in buildings, through buildings. Nearly every inch of the town was damaged in some way.

The town (along with two others in the area) declared its first ever state of emergency, and finally got nationwide attention on the CBC. Until Saturday evening, anyone without a generator was living in the dark, and without air conditioning, perishable food, or clean water. Opportunistic merchants got right in on it, selling batteries, water, and generators for a good chunk of profit, and got the prices they were asking. Helicopters were constantly flying overhead with trees hanging from their winches, and the radio just kept on with the new updates on damages. Luckily (I guess) only two deaths and two serious injuries were reported. It looked like it could have been worse.

So I've got a newfound respect for weather, and a regained love for my TV, fan, and food. Mattawa is getting cleaner each day, and soon we'll just have this storm in our memories.

There's so much I'm forgetting to mention, but I need to seize this opportunity to leave the computer. Pot beckons. More later.

2006-07-10T02:08:00.000-06:00

Let me start this one off with a disclaimer: If you're reading this, and you're not completely sure I'm talking directly (semi-directly, I guess...OK, not nearly as direct as you'd like) to you, that means I'm not. For the most part, this blog is a public service, and every post is for everyone who cares to take something from it to share. However, this one post, and this one only, is inspired by, and written for, one particular black magic woman out there in the Prairies (I'll assume). For the rest of you, you don't necessarily have to avoid this post, but I suggest if you must read it, you skim over it quickly and pay as little attention as possible to anything.

...

Ok, so that was pointless. It became increasingly apparent that a blog isn't a good place to say anything to one specific person, especially when you have that person's e-mail address and phone number. Part of me reasoned for a minute or two that this made sense, and I actually got a pretty lengthy post going before I couldn't help but delete it. If you happen to be the girl I was writing this for, how about some props for not going ahead and publishing personal shit (albeit with fake names, and in a near-indecipherable metaphorical rambling style)? If you can't give me credit for the things I did, at least give me some for the things I didn't do.

So as to not make this the most pointless thing I've ever wasted time writing, I'll leave everyone with a bit of advice, which I can't stress the importance of enough.

When someone amazing falls into your life unexpectedly, it's crucial to not overthink things, or think much at all, but it's far more important that you don't give them any indication, however slight, that you're going to kill them in their sleep.

That's all for now.

Oh Canada! My Home and Waterlogged Land

2006-07-01T20:15:00.000-06:00

Before I start, I'd just like to momentarily whine about how it took about two minutes to get this "New Post" screen loaded from the "Dashboard". I'd also like to reiterate my view on how the Dashboard in no way resembles or has anything to do with an actual dashboard.

Now that that's out of the way, I can get to bitching and moaning about Canada's 139th birthday party, or lack thereof. I'm sure it went down, and is still going down, great in other places across the country, and I raise one of the four lonely beers I have to my fellow hosers who are actually enjoying the day. Consider yourselves lucky not to live in Mattawa.

For the sixth straight year, July 1 has happened to be a great day for torrential rain in this town. So, yet again, spitting in the face of the gambler's logic that we're due for a break, there will be no live music, beer gardens, or fireworks on Canada Day. I guess what they say about birthdays seeming less important as you age is true, and that we'll never be able to throw this country a decent bash again.

Sure, I have a few extra dollars that I could spend getting loaded at some indoor party with a bunch of highschool kids, or just tossing some back at the bar, or at one of what I'm assuming are inevitable get togethers with people my own age, but I don't think I'll bother. It just wouldn't be the same. Actually it would be the same...as any other Saturday. That's the problem. Once a year, I'd like to be able to get plastered and feel like I'm supporting the country by doing so. Sure, since alcohol is federally taxed, I guess I'm always supporting the country, but never feel very patriotic doing it that way. And sure, I've still got Remembrance Day, IIHF tournaments, and Steven Harper's birthday (I guess, if I knew what day that was...and didn't consider Harper an American), but those are far away (I think), and just don't have the same flavour.

So instead, I stay home alone, dry and virtually sober, and play season after season of NHL 2K6 until I finally find out how long Franchise Mode lasts. I get some escape from seeming to continually lose to the Atlanta Thrashers by writing this here blog, and having conversations no guy should ever have to have with my girlfriend's mother (or ex-girlfriend's mother...I really have no idea anymore).

On the plus side, as of today, Canadians get a much-anticipated tax break with the GST going from 7% to 6%. Of course, to you Yanks, we're still getting the shit end of the stick with any federal sales tax at all, and that one percentage point doesn't mean all that much unless I'm buying a car or a house or something else I still can't afford. Nonetheless, I look forward to buying a bag of chips for $1.13 instead of $1.14. Benjamin Franklin once said a penny saved is a penny earned, and although in his days a penny was worth something, I still feel slightly better about saving a penny than spending one. What else am I going to flick at unsuspecting people? A dime? Hah! Not on my budget.

I was just notified that I'd received an e-mail from "Get-A-Bigger-...". Unless that last word is anything but what I think it is, that's just the last slap in the face I'm taking from this computer tonight.

Regardless, I'm done anyway. Figure I'll find something to eat, and hopefully something to do other than play video games and sleep.

Yet Another Mildly Triumphant Return

2006-06-30T23:40:00.000-06:00

After a brief 18-month hiatus, it would seem that I'm back in Blogland. Not that I particularly missed wasting time with a blog. As much as I'm for wasting time, I've been finding other ways of doing it that better suit me. But hey, I like to write, and I don't necessarily hate talking about my boring life, so why not get back to it? And apparently at least one person out there gets some kind of sick pleasure from reading this thing. You know who you are.

So anyway, I'd love to say that since I last slipped back into the real world, I've really turned my life around and I'm on top of the world, and enjoying each day to the fullest. But nope. Still living at home, just older now. Still wasting my days on the couch or lounging around Main Street, high as a kite and more cynical than ever. Still meeting crazy chicks and getting some sort of masochistic pleasure from helping them carry their baggage. On the plus side, I'm out of a dead-end job. On the minus side, I'm still in a dead-end town, only without a paycheck each week. Still wasting each dollar I scrape up by putting it in my stomach, lungs, or liver. If I had a piggy bank, I'd have PETA storming the place to rescue and feed the poor neglected thing. Every day, it seems, another of my old buddies is leaving town for greener pastures, and the kids I'm left to hang out with are just getting perpetually shorter and stupider. My back aches, I have constant heartburn, and I can't grow a decent beard if my life depended on it. Not that I want a beard, but it would be nice to know I could if I changed my mind. No formal education, no car, no real reason to get out of bed. And to top it all off, my computer is slowing down so much that I'm getting actual lag just from typing this.

On the bright side, I'm full of hope. False hope, probably, but it's better than none. I have a good looking, creative, fairly intelligent girlfriend, and try to ignore the fact that she's been locked up away from me miles away in a psychiatric hospital for the last 24 days. I have a semi-new miniature goat that was raised half by dogs and half by cats, making it a rather unusual and amusing pet. If only I could get the shit machine to wear a diaper. I've still got most of my brain, and even more of my body. I live in a very laid-back and friendly town where I don't have to worry about being robbed or shot. I've found a guy who sells cigarettes dirt cheap, so I don't have to worry about shelling out almost 10 bucks just to stay sane for a day. After years of playing guitar and keyboards, I'm starting to finally sound half-talented. And best of all, I have my bar set so low that the shortcomings of my life seem tolerable, and any minor accomplishment makes me feel like I flew above and beyond my wildest dreams.

Anyway, I'm damn tired at the moment. I know I can't sleep, but I'd rather play some hockey on the PS2 than get off on a rant or story of any significance tonight. Maybe I'll have a memorable Canada Day tomorrow, and there'll be something worthwhile to write about. If nothing else, I'll get you fine folks a true-life public service announcement about the dangers of taking in paranoid seductive hitchhiker chicks, how to enjoy a fire with them atop a powderkeg, and what you can do to get their claws out of you in an emergency.

So get going now, it's the end of the post. Grab some summer air, enjoy good company, and do whatever it is you do while there. Just get off the damn computer already. You're going to go blind.

Another Christmas Come and Gone

2004-12-26T22:00:00.000-06:00

Wasn't quite as disappointing as I'd expected. Even got some things I actually like. But I'm really not into writing right now, so I'll save anything I thought I'd say today for another time.

What a great post, eh?

All In One Here, Bear With Me

2004-12-22T06:48:00.000-06:00

Today it occured to me that I haven't posted anything in a week or two. Then, when I got on Blogger, it further occured to me that I have no sense of time, and I actually hadn't posted anything in about two months. I'd like to take this time to apologize to my fans, taunt my enemies, and, mainly. leave the vast majority of people who have never heard of me completely unaffected.

If it were up to me, I'd fill you in on a little of what's been going on during the hiatus. Unfortunately, whoever made me left work early and didn't quite finish up on the memory banks. From what I recall, though, nothing really happened.

I guess the biggest thing to go down here would be a bump in the road with Lynn. Turns out I dumped her, and honestly, I don't know how I did it. I know I was absolutely shitfaced, and I'd been pissed at the world for a few days. I don't think I was mad at her for anything, and to the best of my knowledge, I'd been happy with how things were going, which was why I was a little confused when I woke up the next morning at my friend Mel's house and was being congratulated on one of the most brutal dumpings ever seen by those in company. Apparently, it was hilariously harsh. When I hadn't heard from Lynn in a couple of days and couldn't get her on the phone, I became convinced that what I heard was true, and felt like shit. About a week passed, and I was shitfaced again, but to a slightly lesser extent, at a house party when I bump into my now ex-girlfriend. Ironically enough, I barely remember what I said to her again, but this time, it seemed to pan out better for me this time around, and I ended up at her house. I'm still a little fuzzy on the whole incident, but I've decided not to try to hard to remember it, and just enjoy this till I fuck it up again.

It seems I'm not the only one with alcohol problems though, as somehow that beady-eyed moron with the shit-eating grin was re-elected down south. I'm not going to go off on a rant here, I'm sure you've all heard enough amongst yourselves. I'll just say that if anyone wants to move up here, we've got a few million acres of land up north that we're doing absolutely nothing with. Feel free to pitch a tent, or build an igloo, and chill out for the next four years.

If, by some chance, those Irish bank robbers are reading this, I would like to congratulate, commend, and humbly bow down to you. In a world full of criminals who waste their time on murders, rapes, and petty thefts, it's good to know we have people like you out there who are willing to go that extra mile. To those held hostage, with all due respect and empathy, you must realize you were victimized as part of a greater good. Some very ambitious people are basking in the joy of the world's biggest payoff to a well-organized scam, and they couldn't be where they are without your help and support. If there is a God, I'm sure he's holding a special place for all of you. This Christmas, I raise my glass to the real heroes of the criminal world; you are a beacon of hope and encouragement for us all.

Speaking of Christmas, it appears Santa won't be coming to my house this year. Not only are we lacking money, we're further lacking spirit. Last year, we didn't have a tree, but there were a few candles and cookies out. This year, I don't believe anyone is even going to vacuum. Nonetheless, it's a week off work, and it probably won't be a complete zero, present-wise. I know I'm getting the Rise and Fall of ECW DVD, but even that is only coming once the stores re-order it. There'll most likely be more food than usual, at least. And who knows, maybe I'll actually wake up with a renewed lust for life and spread cheer among my fellow men. And at least I've got my health, in a nice part of the world. Maybe it won't totally suck. Let's hope.

I'm sure I've got more to ramble about, but it's late (or early, however you spell it) here, and I've got a busy day of looking for stuff to keep me awake tomorrow, so I'll be off. Might post more frequently now, but not promising anything.

Merry Christmas. Happy New Year. Decent Boxing Day. Valentine's Day, too. May all your Saturday's be bright.

Still Hopeful...

2004-11-02T22:37:00.000-06:00

Well, the numbers are looking a little better than the last time I looked for this election thing. I don't really have anything for Kerry, I'm more "anyone but Bush", but he seems to be the only anyone worth anything, as far as American voters are concerned.

I still find it sad just how narrow-minded these elections are though. If you're not running for the Republicans or Democrats, you're pretty much screwed. I sometimes wonder if the American people even could vote if the candidates were running solely under their own names. Too many people are believing that either party is their party, and voting for the colour they've always voted for, instead of actually looking at the actual living breathing person they're putting in charge of the country they live in. If Kerry believed in the same things he does now, but had a stupid little elephant pinned to him, I'm starting to think he'd get the same votes that Bush is getting.

The same states (as opposed to people, but that's a rant for another day) that voted for Bush 4 years ago are voting for him again, despite the jobs he's lost, the young citizens he's killed, and the further blackening of the American image he's responsible for. I can't believe there are that many millionaires and trailer park boys in America, so I'm assuming these votes mainly are coming from staunch blind Republicans voting on auto-pilot.

I'd like to think that even within the two-party mentality in the States, there will be enough undecided or new voters, as well as former Republicans who, from these last four years, have a bad enough taste in their mouth to leave "their party", to elect John Kerry.

If America was on the other side of the world physically, or kept to themselves politically, I wouldn't give a shit either way who won this election. But that's not how it is. America is a self-appointed global police service geographically attached to Canada. And in the minds of many radical terrorists from across the globe, Canada is one of its states. George Bush brings to mind a stupid kid who continually pokes a stick through the fence into a mean dog's yard, even more frequently after a the "Beware of Dog" sign is put up, and doesn't even quit when the dog mauls it. Not exactly the neighbour you want, especially when, in real terms, the dog has potentially nuclear explosive and radioactive power and looks forward to dying.

Does anyone not expect Bush to "look" for the alleged "missing weapons of mass distraction" in other oil-rich, non-democratic Middle Eastern countries over the next four years? After all, Iraq definitely had them, and since they're not there, they must be hidden in say, Iran or Syria, right? When did everyone most of the developed world's actual nuclear weapons suddenly become a non-factor? Oh right, they're in the hands of good, God-fearing Christian folk, so they're as harmless as kittens.

Sometimes watching CNN just pisses me off to no end. Damn you Americans and your hyped up, ratings-grabbing spoof of the news. How's the CBC supposed to compete with it's drab facts, utterly boring relevance, and plain confusing multiple views?

Anyway, I'm done complaining for now, I suppose.

P.S. You gotta love those Alaskans. I knew they were Canadian at heart. Best wishes to them, but come, on...Alaska? When I think plentiful legal weed, I think of sun, sex, and surf, but I guess it could work just as well for ice, sleet, and polar bears.

Back from Reality

2004-11-02T01:09:00.000-06:00

Hello, boys and girls.

As some of of you may have noticed, and one of you has taken credit for, I haven't been in Blogland for a while. Turns out that one of the worst things a simple man like me can do to a broken computer is try to fix it. It started with some annoying Trojans and Spyware, and ended up with blue screen after blue screen and then finally just a black one. Lesson learned. Somebody hacks me, I'm letting them win without a fight.

So, $90 and a few weeks later, here I am.

Not much to say though. Well, I'm sure there is, but it's late, and I'm kinda worn out from another cyberbattle, this time trying to set up the internet with Sympatico, quite possibly the most annoying ISP on the face of the earth. Some of you may remember it from chatting with me on MSN and continually waiting for me to re-connect.

Had a birthday last Wednesday. So regardless of what my profile says till I fix it, I'm 22 now. Seems the same as 21 so far. Probably for the best, considering I already feel 80 most mornings.

I'll say more tomorrow, probably, but for tonight, I'm spent.

Just a reminder - tomorrow's the U.S. election, and I want everyone out there to get together, work as a country and tie it. I heard Al Franken the other day say he was the first one to predict or hope for an exact popular tie, but thanks to Blogger, I can prove him wrong. I've been hoping for it for months. Of course, that's not TOO likely...better off in the long run just to vote to secede to Canada. Or not. I just hope the majority of you remember the last four years, and fight the urge to vote for your current moron just for the sake of funny TV, and go for Kerry. And for the love of all that's good, ignore Nader completely. It's too close a race to piss away your Kerry vote on him.

Anyway, goodnight for now, and hopefully all you southern folk do the right thing tomorrow.

Happy Thanksgiving...I think.

2004-10-12T01:22:00.000-06:00

Yeah, I'm sure some of you southern boys and girls may contest that Thanksgiving belongs in November, not October. But you're wrong. By November it's too cold to truly be thankful for anything, and the whole occasion goes down with fake smiles and forced turkey, much like the "Joy" of Christmas, or all of those "Happy" New Years.

I guess that's why alcohol is such an important of these festivities.

Speaking of which, on Friday night, beer reminded me of two things I'm NOT thankful for, those being my high centre of gravity and my general lack of grace.

I was drinking Molson Canadian Cold Shots. I don't know if these exist down there in Canada's basement, but if not, here's the idea. They're these cans, smaller than your usual can, but with 6% alcohol instead of 5%. This increase on it's own isn't much of a deal, but when you consider the logistics of getting drunk off them, you see their true beauty. First there's the obvious psychological ramifications of drinking small beers. They're tiny, so your brain and belly say drink them fast. Not a problem, as they come with push-in tabs for shotgunning. So, after you'd have normally finished one or two bottles, you've got 6-8 empty cans or so. And then you realize you're drunk.

With that in mind, back to the story.

I'd been partying at my buddy Paco's, when, for some blurry reason, most of us decide to go downtown. I think some people wanted food. Anyway, I'm sitting on the green box on Main Street (the one where I was attacked by a dog, see earlier post), enjoying my 13th or 14th Cold Shot, when I heard my name and turned my head. Now, as anyone who's been quite drunk and pivoting while sitting on a smooth surface can tell you, there's a certain momentum that catches you. Said momentum took me off the box and onto the sidewalk with mind-boggling speed. In that one clumsy instant, I'd broken my wrist, scraped up both knees, split my lip and chipped a tooth. I'm sure that's a new personal record.

Of course, I don't feel it at the time, or very little of it, and go about my night as best I could, with quite a few odd looks from people. Didn't know what they were seeing till we got back to the house and I checked a mirror. But it was a great night, aside from this.

The next morning, I'm supposed to help my uncle cut, chop, and pile wood. When I wake up, I spend about 10 minutes trying to put on a shirt while avoiding passing out from the pain, and realize that I'm going to miss a day's wages. Little did I know that I'd also be missing out on doing anything at all that involved lifting my arm or closing my fingers. Never broke a wrist before, and wouldn't recommend it.

Now, on Monday night, I'm feeling almost good. My face still looks like complete shit (a great look when spending the weekend with family who you haven't seen in a while), and I'm in a cast, but I'm not in that much pain. Add codeine to the list of things I give thanks for this season.

The other minor downside to the weekend happened early this morning. I woke up to my mom crying in the kitchen. Apparently, her ex had called her expressing sympathy for the loss of her brother, my uncle Bob. This was the first she, and I, had heard of it. Her ex had heard it from my cousin. About an hour later, my mom calls my aunt (cousin's mom, not uncle's wife) and learns that Bob is alive and well. Or at least not reported dead. However, HER uncle Bob had indeed died on Sunday. Turns out my cousin told my mom's ex (his boss) that he needed to come back to Mattawa because his uncle Bob died. He didn't clarify GREAT uncle, so Leo (the ex) jumped to conclusions. All in all, pretty irresponsible reporting, but I'm thankful that my uncle's still kicking. He's a great guy. Kinda sorry for my aunt, but her uncle (the truly dead one) was in his 90's, so it's not as sad.

So, aside from those two things, I had a great Thanksgiving. Plenty of food, beer, music, and family, and of course, the best girlfriend a dude could ask for. At least for now.

P.S. Kinda disheartening when you're raised you're whole life believing that the world was safe, so long as Superman was around, and that nothing could kill him but Kryptonite, a rare substance to say the least, and then you find out that his other Achille's heel happens to be infected bedsores. Somewhere Gene Hackman is celebrating in his secret fortress, and plotting the downfall of our earth.

R.I.P. Christopher Reeve.

My First Official Title

2004-10-04T02:45:00.000-06:00

I've always been told that the best looking thing on a resume is a fancy sounding title. For most of my life, I've always been employed, at best, simply as an employee, or at worst, as an "unreliable fuck-up of a kid".

I've also been told not to look a gift horse in the mouth.

I adhered to both scraps of wisdom when being sworn in as the new Manager of Efficient Waste Disposal at the Mattawa Recorder.

OK, so I wasn't much "sworn in" as I was notified by my boss during a smoke break. Seconds later, it was made official by unanimous decision by the "Board of Directors" (Technically, they are, but realistically, they're 2 people - my aunt and uncle). It was such an informal thing that I was surprised I actually had to sign something in the minutebook, giving me my newfound power. I even got a 75 cent/hour raise.

So I'm a manager now. I'm figuring this means my own office, complete with secretary and dictating parakeet, and my own parking space. Turns out an office isn't exactly available or even relevant to my job, and there's no parking space. We don't even have a parking lot at work. Or parking meters.

It wasn't long before I was struck with the grim realization that my promotion wasn't all it was cracked up to be, in my own mind.

Recently, the Town of Mattawa has implemented a strict recycling policy, trying to reduce the amount of crap in our ever-growing landfill site. My job, it turns out, comprises entirely of sorting the huge amount of garbage that the three stores in the business generate. Glass here, plastic there, cans here, paper there, and plants outside. Everything else goes normally.

Unfortunately, I'm the only one taking my job half-assed seriously. On two Thursdays now, I've been forced to dig through 12 garbage containers, picking whatever from whichever. This isn't too fun, considering that a good chunk of that crap is either from the kitchen, or residue from the presses. Pretty messy.

After the last time, I had no choice but to post several signs around the place:

Notice to Employers: Due to a lack of co-operation in the recycling program, severe mental and emotional trauma has been suffered by certain employees. We encourage you to actively seperate all recyclable materials and remind you that failure to do so will result in penalty of death. We regret any
inconveniences caused by this decision.
Thank You.

Customers always do a double take when they see that.
And I can't get off blockquotes. Fuck Blogger!

Multiple Orgasms...Not Just For Chicks Anymore!

2004-10-04T02:00:00.000-06:00

I'll keep this short and simple, as this is probably one of those things that most people fit into their TMI file, but I feel it needs to be said, as a message of hope for the male population of the world.

Last night, during sex, something incredible happened. I've finally found a woman who likes being on top, or at the very least, doesn't dislike it. That's not the incredible thing, though it is pretty out-of-the-ordinary, at least for me. The cool thing is, after I was done, she wasn't quite, and apparently neither was I. Now I've gone a second or third round before, but always after a few minutes of a break and it was always starting back at square one, but that night no break was needed, or even allowed. It may have been that this was our first time together, or that I was stoned, but within 20 seconds of coming, I came again. Not even a bit diluted. I'd love to say I went for the tri-fecta, but needless to say, I was spent. Maybe next time.

So guys, though you may think that one is all you need, that's just because most of you probably don't know any better. Find yourself someone you could spend the rest of your life fucking, preferably with kegel muscles that could tie your shoes, lay back knowing that nothing's impossible, and try for three.

Oh Yeah...Almost Forgot...

2004-10-04T01:40:00.000-06:00

HOW DOES THAT TASTE, YA CRAZY ASS-BACKWARD FINNS!?!

OK, so they're not all that crazy and ass-backwards. They may even be good dudes. But they lost. So I'm obligated to ask them how it tastes.

A belated congratulations to Team Canada, picking up another World Cup, as only they know how...totally undefeated throughout!

Their victory marked not only another milestone in Canadian hockey, but also the first time in a long time that I remember seeing new faces in our bar here, as well as a seventh Team Canada commemorative Pepsi can to collect in the series.

Of course, we won't be seeing as much of these outstanding players this year, what with the lockout and all...it just goes to show you that money is the root of all evil. Well, greed, technically. And Satan. Can't forget him. But I'm sure he played a hand in all of this.

I don't know how it's going to go for me, without a hockey season, but I'm going to try to put on a brave face and tough it out. I'm sure if I were to search my memory banks, this may not be the worst thing to ever happen to me. Of course, any diversion from the diversion of TV has the potential for positive side-effects, so here's hoping something cool happens while I would've been home watching the playoffs.

RIP Boss Man

2004-10-04T01:03:00.000-06:00

Shitty, shitty Blogger...

I'd just finished typing up a nice long, well-written tribute to Ray Traylor, AKA The Big Boss Man, who recently became the latest in a long line of my boyhood heroes and villains of the ring to pass away relatively young.

Unfortunately, when I went to publish it, the "page couldn't be displayed", and when I went back to the Create-A-Post page, I had a title, but no text. For some reason, Blogger thinks it's better that way, I guess.

So, rather than type it all up again, just to lose it, I'll sacrifice sentimentalism for brevity, as I'm sure all the "It's stupid cuz it's fake" crowd will appreciate.

Shortly put, The Big Boss Man was never meant to be liked. He was portrayed from the beginnings of his career in the NWA to his last match in IWA Japan as a vicious, sadistic prison guard. The kind of guy who would kick your ass after raping your grandmother. But that's what makes a good heel.

I tuned in every Saturday afternoon for the first half of my life (Monday, and later Thursday nights after that) to see this guy serve up an ass-whipping for some of the biggest of the squeaky-clean babyfaces. Hogan, Savage, Austin, Undertaker, they all felt the wrath of the Bossman and his nightstick.

He never won the World title of any of the promotions he wrestled for, but in each incarnation of his character, he was basically the same huge psycho with the same merciless ways. He wasn't one to go for fancy moves that took away from the realism of the match. In my little kid mind, Ray Traylor really was the Big Boss Man who bloodied countless helpless foes while they were handcuffed to the ringpost. I was genuinely afraid of the dude.

Unfortunately, he met his match last Wednesday at his home in Georgia, when he met a massive heart attack in an impromptu Loser-Leaves-Town showdown. The 300-pounder went down for the count, forever, in mere seconds. He was 42.

Sure I still have the tapes, and the action figures, and the ever-cool (at that age) authentic WWF Big Bossman Nightstick®, it would have been nice to see him once again come down that ramp and smash up another batch of shiny, happy heroes.

Rest in Peace, ya scary bastard.

The Easiest "Hard Time"

2004-10-04T00:03:00.000-06:00

In keeping with the Nat theme (or would be, if these were in chronological order, instead of reverse), thanks to that silly filly, I spent a Wednesday a few weeks back behind bars. I still can't decide whether I was punished or not.

For about two weeks before, I'd been hearing left and right, "Marc, did you hear Nat's going to college? You can come back to the Quikmart, I guess." I guessed so, too. So the Friday before I was arrested, I decided to rent myself a game for the night from the store. And yes, I do spend the odd Friday night playing video games alone. Anyway, I couldn't complain about the game. Spiderman 2 is definitely one you can get into. It's also the first game to ever give me vertigo.

Moving on to Tuesday night...I was just getting ready to get to bed, when I hear a knock at my door, followed by the usual high-pitched warning system that came built into my mom's dog. Wasn't really expecting the police, but then again, they weren't expecting a dumb kid like Nat to waste their time either. Turns out that although Nat DID move to Sudbury, she still worked every second weekend. Even though I went on a Friday, and NOT on her weekend, technically I'd broken the peace bond, saying not to go to her workplace.

Nat had apparently been talking to a co-worker on the phone, and my name came up, innocently enough. She took it upon herself to call the Mattawa OPP from Sudbury, 4 hours away. The cops honestly seemed as dumbfounded as I was. They decided not to take me in that night, because "this is really nothing anybody should be hassled about", and I had to agree to come into the station to be arrested the next morning, "preferably around 10 o'clock, but whenever before 2 in the afternoon". I got there at around 11:30 and shot the shit with a few of the cops in a far more comfortable manner than I'm sure Nat hoped.

Then I searched myself, and turned over a pack of cigarettes, 20-some bucks, and my cell phone. Not that I'd really had this stuff confiscated; I had open access to my smokes and phone throughout the day. Had a nice ride up to North Bay in the passenger side of the cruiser, and was then introduced to the precinct jail cell, with a comfort level that made the Hilton look like Oz. OK, not quite that comfy, but a TV, a cushioned cot, a free McDonald's lunch, and a slightly loopy, but nice, homeless lady for conversation.

At 2, I was driven to the courthouse jail. This was kind of a step down. No more TV, no more cushions, and 3 Eminem wannabe kids for company. The kind you hope don't make bail, for no other reason than to make the city streets look more smart and stylish. Sat here till about 4:30, then was called up for a very short bail hearing, where all I had to do was sign myself out under my own recognizance, and post an imaginary, no-deposit $250 bail. After that, another smooth ride back to Mattawa, again in the front, this time in the truck, and complimentary donuts and coffee at Tim Horton's.

As Lynn tells me, Nat was none too pleased about my "punishment". So I was pleased.

I go to court for my slap on the wrist and warning on Nov. 20. Hope she's pleased with the result of that...

The Sweetest of the Sweet Emotions

2004-10-03T23:19:00.000-06:00

There's nothing quite like it. More than a feeling, really, it's what makes the world go round, some say. It can light up the darkest days, and make you feel like you're high as a kite, without spending a dime. For centuries, poets have tried to capture it's essence on the page, for no other reason than to try and share this warm, wonderfu emotion.

What's that? You've been in love too? Good for you. But love doesn't come close to the all-encompassing euphoria of childish spite.

Some of you (read: ONE of you) know of a certain psychotic little French girl who's been trying her best to make my life hell over the past year. And slightly more of you (like, two, maybe) know of another "psycho", the former best friend of the aforementioned wreck, who has been trying to get my attention for the past few weeks (Lynn from a post back or so). Well, she succeeded in her mission, and has been getting all the attention she wants lately.

Sure, the stuff between me and her is decent, but the attention she's been getting from her lonely lunatic pal is the stuff dreams are made of. Of course, I can't hear it straight from the horse's mouth (pun intended), thanks to this little peace bond, but the sweetest words I hear from Lynn's mouth these days are what she tells me Nat says on the phone from college. It's an incredible feeling of knowing that after all the stupid games we played after we broke up, she can't trump me now. I win.

Yeah, it's kinda juvenile to bask in such glory, but in addition to that, it's also good to know that she'll be hearing from Lynn of the best parts of me that she missed out on.

And to add more icing to this selfish cake, I've met her new guy, and let's just say that he's lucky he grabbed the rebound, because guys like this don't get many chances. I'm sure he got a free ride out of spite moreso than Lynn did, but it can't hurt to see her with a sweaty fat dude with horrible skin when I can counter with her sexy, stylish best friend.

Ah, spite...

P.S. Before anyone goes jumping to conclusions, I actually do care a lot about Lynn, may even love her, and of course, positive feelings about her come ahead of negative feelings about Nat, but for the purposes of feeling superior in whatever way, I'm making it my secondary mission, next to having the best time I can with one of the greatest women I've ever met, to use the relationship for "evil" intent.

P.S.S. Before any goes jumping to the other conclusion, that the two girls are in cahoots, and I'm being set up to believe I'm winning, before taking the hugest fall of the game, I'm way ahead of you. Not that I think that's the case, but I've been surprised before. Fortunately, I'm not one to worry about something until it happens.

Back in Blogland

2004-10-03T22:40:00.000-06:00

Well, I'm back. Not a glorious return by any means, I'm sure, and I don't expect a red carpet and fanfare, but it IS kinda special isn't it? I mean, it's ME, after all, right?

Ah, screw it.

Real life was alright. And then it wasn't. But mostly it was.

Guess I'll fill you in, to the extent that I can. Splitting it up into chapters, though. It may seem organized, but that's alright sometimes.

I guess instead of just making this an intro chapter, I'll use this post to bitch about my toothache...or not...complaining just doesn't have the same oomph if you're reading it, and it's tougher to write. Just rest assured that it hurts like a bastard, and WILL NOT go away. I've tried aspirin, cloves, alcohol (rubbing and recreational), anbesol, and chloraseptic. I've even gone as far as brushing and flossing, something my dentist once suggested when I was a kid. If anyone has any surefire way of killing this thing (the ache, not the tooth), it would be greatly appreciated. If not, just throw out random ideas. At this point, I'm kinda beyond caring, and hey, penicillin wasn't invented on purpose...maybe someone out there's sitting on a pile of cash and they don't even know it...by the way, Pepsi and gum didn't help...anyone playing along at home should probably scratch those two.

Uh...

2004-09-14T01:53:00.000-06:00

Vitamins. Are you getting enough? Don't care, do you? Good. I seriously doubt they even exist. Of course, I doubt a lot of things exist. Well, prove me wrong.

Quote of the Day:

"Yeah, since I was promoted, I've been working twice as hard, and not really
thinking as much about the little things. Hopefully this pays off and I'm
collecting compensation in no time."
-My lazy buddy Andre today, on working at the mill.

Makes me think that I've got a pretty tough job in that respect. It's hard to cripple yourself accidentaly working at a newspaper, and even if you plan it, it's going to seem pretty farfetched. Sure, there's a press, and it could easily crush you if you got something stuck between the rollers, but I'm looking for more of a dropped object, or a sprained back. Don't have the balls to be pressed. Yeah, I guess I'm a coward. Of course, there's the upside to working in a smalltown paper in that it's not that hard a job, and it'd be easier not to get hurt. But all the luck to you, Andre. Tembec (the mill) is a tiring job, and not much fun at all. He wouldn't be the first to get himself out this way, but hopefully, and knowing him, it will be the most creative.

With all the money McDonald's has, you'd think they'd know how to write a good commercial. Not like a place like McDonald's even needs commercials, and that just may be the reason that the last two I've seen are among the dumbest currently out there.

The first shows a guy and a girl eating some value "meal", and the dude's looking for the toy. The chick tells him there isn't one, and the voiceover says the new whatever it is is "For grown-ups who still have some kid inside." Which part would appeal to the kid in me, the NOT having a toy, or the salt and grease?

The newest one is not so much illogical as it is highly counter-productive and just creepy. You have the obligatory happy family of blondes, this time they're a family-owned ranch, bragging of how their ranch only produces high quality Canadian beef and it's where McDonald's get their stock. Of course, they're going for a wholesome feel, trying to dispel rumours about mad cow disease, the absence of real meat, or whatever. But in the final shot, the woman (head rancher) lets us know "Yep, the best quality beef in Canada comes from right here"...as she's grinning at the camera and PATTING A FREAKIN' HORSE! I dunno. I was better off just thinking that their cows were kinda malnourished or chemically altered.

And finally, I'm getting a little nervous. Last I heard, Martin Brodeur was nursing his hand, and not sure yet if he would play in the World Cup game on Tuesday. It's one thing letting in the weaker goalie against a weaker team like the Czechs, but even then, the defensive line alone wasn't enough to save it from overtime. Play that way against a team like Finland, and you're going home losers. Of course, you never know how a game will play out till it does, but it's not looking great. Fortunately, I've been kinda fascinated with Finland since I met my first puppy love, who was originally from there. I've always told myself that eventually I'd live there, if only temporarily, so who knows? Maybe on Wednesday, I'll be forced to speed things up just to say that my country's team won.

Anyway, that's enough of this for now. I think. Yeah....I'm done.

Want Some Filler, Do Ya?

2004-09-12T23:33:00.000-06:00

Well, it's Sunday, which should mean I've been bored all day. Let me check...yep.

A little hungover again this morning, but well worth the fun on Saturday night. Had a little shindig at what may soon be my apartment, and is currently my buddy Jacob's. Fun time had by all, and got to see a few old faces too. Good to get a feel of the place, though it probably looks a lot less blurry and wavy in the daytime...

Earlier in the day, watching the World Cup semifinal, I was both disappointed with and proud of Team Canada. Sure, they won, but they went into overtime to do it, and Luongo let in a lot that shouldn't have passed the posts. Hopefully Brodeur's back in the net on Tuesday, and we take another Cup to the Great White North. If not, for some reason, at least we'll give Finland a better game than the penaltyfest over the US.

May be getting a lot more hours at The Recorder, plus a little fieldwork, so that's good, especially considering I was starting to get excited over a $100 paycheck...

And yet again, I have another wrestling title match complaint, this time the WWE World Heavyweight Title, tonight at the Unforgiven PPV. Triple H (almost constant World Champion since 1999) was once again chasing his pride and joy, now worn by Randy Orton (former protege of Triple H, and member of his faction, Evolution). And so we have the same formula that every Triple H title match follows. It needs to move slowly, the ref needs to be knocked out, and Evolution needs to interfere to no end. And so it was, giving Triple H the belt yet again just a month after Orton won it. It was the kind of thing paying customers have every reason to bitch about, and non-paying customers like me have every right to continue not to pay.

And that's about it for this post. Insignificant rambling on trivial subjects, but ALWAYS FREE OF CHARGE.

TV-Land Turmoil

2004-09-08T23:05:00.000-06:00

Today was a very long day, due to being very boring. It was one of those "sit on the couch and watch TV days" for sure. However, my couch, recently being sold, was home to another lazy ass today and I settled for my floor. Still too much TV though.

So, with nothing real to complain about or praise, TVLand will suffice, I guess.

Two main good things and two bad this fine Wednesday. Trivial, but that's to be expected, I should hope.

Starting things off on a postive note, we (or some of us) saw Team Canada absolutely ANNIHILATE Slovakia in the World Cup Quarterfinal game. Scoring as quickly as we did in the second period, Slovakia was panicking and tried switching their goalie, but to no avail. Lemieux, Sakic, and Iginla were on fire and burnt Slovakia to a crisp, 5-0. The Czechs can look forward ot the same slaugthering on Saturday, and whether we're facing Finland or the U.S., we're taking the Cup this year.

Things weren't so bright on That 70's Show, however. Despite an alright season opener, it just wasn't the same, the show having lost one of it's star players, the fiery redhead Donna. She was replaced, though, by a watered-down version of the character, the new BLONDE Donna...yeah, trivial to a point, unless you're a fan of redheads...then it's downright painful to watch.

And to further the grief to this fan of not only redheads, but also wrestling, I watched the final weekly NWA-TNA show tonight. It was once the perfect fix between WWE's RAW on Monday and Smackdown on Thursday, but now it's gone, and Wednesday nights will never be the same. Sure, they're still around on Impact for free, they say, but not for us Canadians and our programming. As far as PPV (which is a total misnomer on my TV) they're running one damn show a month. And to add insult to injury, the NWA Title match between Jeff Jarrett and Jeff Hardy absolutely sucked. I knew it would, but I figured the way they'd been hyping it for months now, they'd at least TRY their hardest to put on a little something extra. A short, 11-minute match, much of that filled by crowdbrawling, a screwjob guitarshot finish, and we're done. Horrible.

And finally, the second good point of today's haze: That thing that fell from space and landed in the sand. I'm pretty sure that speaks for itself. As a longtime proponent of throwing things off stuff and onto other stuff (live in Mattawa, you'll learn to love it too) I couldn't help but enjoy this. Here I am thinking stuff off of bridges, roofs, and out of cars is good to see, and then this whatever-it-is comes crashing down from freakin' space! That takes the cake and gets a nod of respect from me. God Bless you, falling satellite thingy.

That's all for now. Welcome to my world of today...tune in tomorrow, same blog-time, same blog-channel...and you'll probably see nothing new. Not known for my regularity here.

And I'm out to make some fries.

Blog With A "B"

2004-09-06T12:33:00.000-06:00

Kinda funny how after I say that I'm NOT completely done blogging, I don't post for another week or so. Rest assured, loyal reader, that I'm not done. Just either too busy or not busy enough. A lot of laziness too.

Expecting a kid soon. No, didn't get anyone pregnant, but my mom's fostering some ass-backwards kid that Children's Aid like to give out to people looking for a quick buck. Now, my mom may care, but I'm just looking forward to the money. As far as paying for your own, or getting paid for another's, the choice is pretty obvious. Not like I'd want a genetic copy of myself laying around the house anyway. It'd get pretty messy.

Got a new stalker, and as luck, or the small-town syndrome, would have it, she's the ex-best friend of the girl I was supposedly stalking myself. No relation to my previous stalker, though, and really no resemblance either. For one, I don't mind Lynn (new stalker) following me around. She's a cutie, and not only sane, but intelligent. That could be a ploy, as some people like to play, but I never mind going into a relationship with my eyes shut, as long as I'm liking it till I don't anymore. Secondly, her "stalking" doesn't involve cell phone calls, just house phone, which really saves me time and patience. And lastly, this isn't some out of the blue creepy thing, we've been friends since I was with Nat. It just kinda blossomed into an obsession, and for once, I'm on the good end of it. Not really into getting too commited to her though, so I'll just enjoy the attention while I can. Who knows about later...

And finally, I may be moving to North Bay (city, 45 minutes north) sometime soon. This is still kinda up in the air, but hey, it's newsworthy enough. If I am going, it'll be with my buddy Roland, and we'll both be working crap jobs at Telespectrum (telemarketing hell). It'd be good to be able to go downtown and see new faces each day for a change.

Anyway, there's your post for the next while or so, or who knows.

Till then, all of you Americans try your best to work together and tie the election, if that's possible. Always wondered if they'd go co-president or just finally abolish that silly country and fly the Maple Leaf. Hopefully, we'll soon see.

PS. I don't know how this site chooses a time & date for me, but it's never right, and always off by a random amount. This sucks, Blogspot.

Last Post To French, To German, and Back...Why? Why Not?

2004-08-24T03:53:00.000-06:00

(If you can make sense of this, you're good to go with any ill-written post on the net)

Thus it knows me that I am withdrawn. And I knows the fact that I it not likes, if the people of any public occupation (the evils to refer continuing on blogging in a professional sense BTW and have to make itself equal cannot the meaning of my start not see), from which pension comes out, particularly repeats. Consequently I remain outside of the industry blogging... so far it concern to tell the events of my life on an advertisement sign. This history is from my world and to save which you think that you can return, much without meaning at you are beautiful.

I would like to explain that "you" in the context of this writing you is not real. It is you and everyone different, which read it. This type one does not consider suspended, if you would possibly take somewhat personally and later are insulted vibrated recognizing, or in no other form concerned. Take as cover and not ball.

How I said, the events of my life, over and be reminded by those in my life on, are to be examined and I think that they even cheap first of them cheapen, by one communicated, so that the world sees the pleasure of the compassion or even the general information. Really add to that one the fact, the person the care, which much anyhow and here us are. I AM outside of ' the pension ', of the fact I further the substance will communicate, but mainly of ramblings generally, which comes within my head, not outside. Occasionaly something "protect world" can their way on this place find, but only for means once rhétoriques uses, not instructively.

I stated that much, those are poisoned at the beginning "of the InterNet community" their case, by smearing the lines between their real and virtual lives. In my case an on-line intimate newspaper became, where I make things in my life and regarding her write here, which welds two in a certain kind. While the time run I blogging, I second credit turned out my masts constantly, which concerns it that I would have to say or rather to publish like the facts in order to give a discrete total table from me to, which leaves from which inside and outside of its, which. It is had much there that I ensured that I did not say, and much that I said without appropriate connection said, in order to give him any substance. I considered rotating my writing and organization qualifications more clearly at me but have soon this found, in order to be worthless. In order to know me must you me know, them is also simple, as that and the hour or the words does not have me to transport, which real so more on I TO and for my entrances make than the text.

Thus at the place of setting on a celebrity air and I says what I might have known you you, today want, and in the place this area over outside of the cabinet of my spirit to air, a non concrete kind will use itself of permitting you more perspective what I think less and, what I.

Clarifying the Retirement

2004-08-24T00:22:00.000-06:00

OK, so I know I'm retired. And I know that I don't like it when people of any public profession (finding it hard to continually refer to blogging in a professional sense, BTW, and even I can't see the significance of my departure) come out of retirement, especially repeatedly. So therefore, I remain out of the blogging industry...as far as it pertains to recounting the events of my life on a billboard.

Those stories are from my world and, save what you think you can relate to, are pretty much meaningless to you.

I'd like to point out that "you", in the context of this writing, isn't really you. It's you and anyone else who reads it. This guy will not be held liable in the event that you take anything personally and are subsequently offended, agitated, thankful, or in any other form affected. Take it as a blanket and not a bullet.

As I was saying, the events of my life are meant to be experienced and recalled by those in my life, and I think it would cheapen even the cheapest of them by being posted for the world to see for the purpose of amusement, pity, or even general information. Add to that the fact that nobody really cares that much anyway, and here we are.

I AM out of 'retirement', in that I'll continue to post stuff, but mainly generic ramblings stemming from inside my head, not out. Occasionaly something from the "real world" may find its way onto this site, but only when used for rhetorical means, not informative.

I've noticed that many who become addicted to the "Internet community" start their fall by blurring the lines between their actual and virtual lives. In my case, an online diary where I do things in my life and write about them here would weld the two in a way. During the short time I've been blogging, I've been constantly second-guessing my posts as to what I SHOULD say, or rather, how to edit the facts to give a decent general picture of myself, leaving what in and what out. There's been much that I've done that I've not told, and much of what I have told is told without the proper context to give it any substance. I considered tweaking my writing and organizational skills to more clearly present myself, but soon found this to be futile. To know me, you have to know me, it's as simple as that, and I do not have the time or the words to convey who I really am, and thus make my entries more than text.

So, instead of putting on an air of celebrity, and telling you what I did today like you want to know, I'll instead use this space to air out the closet of my mind, in a non-concrete way, to allow you more perspective on what I think and less on what I do.

And I'm sure you know me well
As I'm sure you don't.
But you just can't tell
Who you'll love and who you won't
-Billy Corgan, Beautiful, 1995

Retirement

2004-08-22T22:47:00.000-06:00

Well, they say all good things must come to an end. This doesn't really apply here, as this blog thing never was all that great, at least for me, but not-so-good things end too, thankfully.

And it's with that that I formally announce my retirement from the blog-writing business. I gave it a shot, but it still feels pretty much as pointless as when I started. I don't have that interesting a life, and to waste space (however inconsequentially) with tales of my days is not only boring, it's just kind of useless. I doubt anyone reads this anyway, and if someone does, it's someone who has no idea what any of the places, people, and things I talk about are, or someone who doesn't know me enough to know how to take these things when they read them.

It also seems a total waste to put the time into writing something that is going to go unread, and lump itself in with the mind-numbingly enormous number of other pointless entries.

To the one (ex?) reader I know I have, sorry, but I'm sure you won't lose any sleep over it.

So, farewell blogworld. Can't say I hated you, by any means, but I just couldn't bring myself to really like you either.

Not much...

2004-08-21T20:02:00.000-06:00

Not much to say today. More than the last few days I didn't post, I guess. But not much more.

Went to the hospital on Thursday to see about my face, and yeah, my cheekbone's cracked. But not too badly. I had the choice of surgery and a scar, or having it reset and trying not to put pressure on it. Naturally, picked the latter. Kinda hard to remember, though, especially when you're the kind to turn over a lot while sleeping. Being asleep totally impairs your judgement. I have a pretty ugly bruise and a little bit of a lump under my eye, but it should clear up. Hurts to chew, though. Nothing a little codeine can't fix though.

Got pretty chewed last night. Not many beer in me, but mixed with pain pills, they work so much faster, and before you realize it. Not really a party though, just a get together, so it's alright to just space sometimes. Tonight there's a party though, so I'm taking it easy with the pills.

Anyway, probably mean to say more, but bored of writing for now, and should probably shower...

Have a good Saturday.

Happy Belated Friday the 13th...

2004-08-19T00:45:00.000-06:00

Well, it would seem that Friday the 13th caught up with me after all, albeit a few days late, and regardless of the fact that I didn't break any of the black cat, mirror, or ladder rules.

Nonetheless, the powers that be decided it was my time.

Get done swimming with a few friends this afternoon, and I'm sitting on this green box (I think it's full of electrical nonsense for the streetlights, but have never cared enough to check; there are two of them, and whatever they are, they've been adopted as public benches) downtown with my shirt off, eating a rib sub from Subway, minding my own business, mind you. Munching away peacefully, and down to the last few inches of it when I feel something kinda sharp and kinda dull at the same time slam into my bare back. Didn't feel very nice. Anyway, the force slides me off the box and onto my feet, and before I can think about it, this Rottweiler grabs my sub, missing my hand by about a hair's width and takes off to the back of the park (Annie's Park, behind the green box, probably the shittiest park outside of Harlem. There's a bench, kinda, but if you want to sit on it, you have to drag it in from the street, as people prefer not to be in the park). So, I'm kinda dazed, there's a dog with my sandwich in the back, and I can feel the blood trickling down my back, which is burning like mad, and this extremely dumb looking blonde girl walks up to me and asks where her dog went, without even an "Are you OK?". I tell her it jumped me for my grub, so to hell for all I care. Then she assures me, "It's OK, he doesn't bite..." Oh phew...what a relief! Cause I'm really worried about a dog that's long gone after attacking me with his claws and body weight biting me. I figure he's full anyway. I start to lay it on her for not having a psycho like that on a leash, when who should come between us but Cujo himself. I kinda step back, instinctively, but then I kinda recognize the pooch. I ask the bimbo if she'd got him from Ronnie, a buddy of mine who's Rotty pops out pups like clockwork and just had a batch a month or so ago. Sure enough, she did. Feeling a little more at ease with the mutt now, I say hi and go to give him a friendly pat on the head.

And he bites me.

"Your hand probably smells like food," the airhead tells me. "He DOES bite if you smell like food..."

I tell her off to a pretty harsh extent until she leaves with her werewolf, and I go to my buddy Sandy's (the aforementioned shitty dealer, who has since officially cut his losses and quit the business) for some peroxide and a joint.

Later on today, at home, I'm headed out to feed the dogs (my dogs, GOOD dogs) and suddenly I'm in blinding pain and I feel like I've been shot in the face. Turns out I stepped on a garden hoe that somebody left out right in harm's way. I've stepped on a rake once or twice, but rakes usually don't come up that fast (despite what Sideshow Bob would have you think), and they've always hit me in the shoulder, pretty lightly. This hoe, though, moved like greased lightning and had the aim of a trainer sniper. The left side of my face is, as of this writing, still swollen to shit, and though I'm not a doctor, I kinda suspect I have a broken cheekbone, seeing as when I press on it, it moves in and makes a clicking sound. Just glad I wasn't wearing my glasses.

And finally, though it doesn't really involve me directly, I'm looking at the wrestling news sites today (cause I'm a geek that way), and I hear that one of my childhood favourites, John Tenta AKA Earthquake, has terminal lung and bone cancer and was given 12 months tops to live today. Although I don't know the man personally, I grew up watching him stand firmly in the face of Hulkamania, often proudly sporting a Canadian flag (he's from Vancouver) on his attire, to the deafening boos of the "Real American" crowd. I was in the audience at the infamous (to fans) show where he squashed and "killed" Jake "The Snake" Roberts pet python and mascot, Damien. I enjoyed his short-lived return to the WWF, after being horribly booked in WCW, as Golga, the lovable reject who wore a Lecter mask, grunted and gurgled, and carried around his beloved Eric Cartman doll. Of course, as a fan, I'll remember much more than that, but as my audience (of 1, it seems) isn't into wrestling, I'll stop before boring you (I think). Though many of my 'heroes of wrestling' have died fairly young in the past few years, this is the first time that I can expect losing one in the near future.

So just remember, Friday the 13th WILL get you....someday.

So Here's a Bunch of Nothing Again...

2004-08-14T22:14:00.000-06:00

Hey. Sorry for not posting in a while, but I was sick with the flu for a few days, and mainly just worked and slept.

Wednesday was a relief. I've been being bothered for the past year by an ex-girlfriend who decided to play dirty by making a sour breakup into a sour criminal harassment charge, based on me calling her a few times to figure out what the hell went wrong. I'm pretty sure that her and her parents thought they could punish me somehow for it. But other than waking up early a few times for court appearances, the only "punishment" was a peace bond saying I had to stay away from her, her house, and her workplace or I'd have to shell out $500. The weird thing about it, though, is that the peace bond also applies to her parents, and since I only met them once, very briefly, I can't really remember what they look like. So until the police get back to me with a couple of headshots, I've decided not to say hi to anyone I don't know on the street. I recall them being pretty hefty people, but diets happen sometimes, and wouldn't want to lose 5 bills just being randomly courteous.

The good news is, although I couldn't get her workplace (Quikmart, the only place to rent decent movies and games) off the restricted list, I learned that she's off to college in Sudbury in the fall, and I can only assume she can't still be working in Mattawa. It'll be good getting back in there.

Only other point of 'news' in my life is a pretty sweet party I went to last night at my buddy Paco's house. It wasn't the hugest, but that makes it all the better sometimes. More intimate, just people you and everyone else know. I won't get into all the details, because, of course, it's one of those things you just have to be at to know, and besides, nothing really monumental happened. Which was also good, in a way. There's only so much drama a guy can stand while he's trying to get drunk and have a good time.

5 of us drank right through the night and ran out at 8:30 in the morning, still an hour and a half till the Beer Store opened. This part was pretty sweet, since we were all so drunk, and overtired, and we had that unnamed feeling of watching people go to work from the porch in a sun that just seems to be a little too bright, while the birds woke up to patronize our drunk asses. We sat around in the living room, smoking tons of weed just to keep us awake and busy till the Riverview opened (simply the best poutine and burger stand in the country). Two of us went home before breakfast, us three went, got our beer, and had our poutines. It all kinda fuzzed out a little after that. I don't remember heading back to Paco's, but I woke up on his floor, with "The Hot Chick" on TV, kinda half-permeating my dreams, which didn't exactly feel the best at around 1 in the afternoon today. Kinda got up, sorta said goodbye, staggered out, and hitched a ride home with one of the most boring people I've ever met. I was just glad he didn't try to rape or kill me, cause I was in no state to run or fight.

Got home, hit the bed, and woke up again at around 7 tonight.

Quite a memorable Friday the 13th.

Gremlins vs. Cabin Fever

2004-08-09T00:16:00.000-06:00

Lately, I've been thinking about the future. So many possibilities, so many paths to take, and so many ways to leave.

I've come to the conclusion that no matter where I end up careerwise, and whoever I spend the larger portion of my life waking up next to, someday I'll die, and may not care so much anymore.

But those I leave behind will. And knowing my current circle of friends, they'd be pretty upset if I went by way of a heart attack or old age or something bland like that. I'd much rather I left them with something monumental to remember my last days by. And I'd kinda like to take a small town down with me. It wouldn't be that great if I were a part of that town's casualty stats, I'd hate to be just another victim, but to be the catalyst of it all might be nice.

I've narrowed it down to two ways.

I may shop around in Chinatown till I find a Mogwai, take it home, throw it in the river late at night and let the ensuing batch of fuzzballs eat fish and turtles till the wee hours of the morning. Then sit back and watch as my town is horrifically, yet comically shot to hell by more gremlins than you can shake a stick at.

Or go camping in the backwoods of some Deliverance-like town, handle all the dead animals I can, and develop something that turns my skin into cherry cobbler, before spitting up blood anywhere I find appropriate and finally dying in a bottling plant.

I'm kinda leaning toward the Gremlin way, since in case I happen to survive, it'd be a much better story to tell that I had a tussle with a Gremlin and kicked its ass than telling of the time I got real sick and looked like complete crap.

If I were intent on having company where I'm going, though, the Cabin Fever scenario would work better, I think. A virus will keep on working day and night, while Gremlins have been known to be easily distracted. Who's to say they wouldn't just eradicate a part of the town, and then be content with what they've hollowed out for themselves? They'd move slowly, since they can't take the sun.

But I guess there already is a flesh-eating disease, pretty similar to cabin fever. Though it would be a memorable event to have a whole town devoured by it, it may not produce the same buzz that an infestation of big-eared, little green monsters would. And as far as the future of the town goes, although minus the population, I'm sure people would be more apt to spend their money at a place where they could point and laugh at the funny little creatures...for a while. Nobody hears "diseased wasteland" and thinks "family vacation", unless of course, you're a rat or vulture, and we've enough of them here anyway.

So I guess, if life ran my way, it would end by the malicious practical joke of a leathery, bat-looking bastard. Nothing against turning inside out slowly, it did wonders for those kids down south, but it may not fit as well into my plans.

Here's hoping.

Garden Traps and Golf

2004-08-08T23:00:00.000-06:00

Well, had an alright weekend. Not the greatest, but something new at least.

First, I had the shortest workweek in a while, and had the experience of cashing the smallest paycheck I've ever seen, let alone received. $53 dollars and 61 cents. Well, let's see what this can get me. First off, to Subway to waste 8 bucks on a rib sub. Delicious. Next 23 dollars goes to the government and 16 Molson Cold Shots go to me. I decide to pop on by my dealer's house, to see if anyone there knows of any parties. Nobody there, but surprisingly, the guy actually had weed. 10 more bucks gone. I blow the rest on cigarettes and I'm broke, all within an hour. Great.

Sit dowtown for a while, have a few interesting chats, and meet a few really stupid highschool kids. It amazes me how any of them can even stand each other. An old friend bikes by and invites me to a party at his place. On the way there, I'm informed that it's actually more of a potential party, and we need to get some people over. So we're biking down, I borrowed a bike with a seat way too high, hit a patch of sand and get crotched. Not too fun. I walk the rest of the way, honestly about to faint. Get to his house, shotgun 2 beers and sit down for a few minutes till I can breathe normally again, and get phoning around, because there's only 4 people at this "party". A few hours later, we're up to 9. After another hour or so of sitting around the fire, we hear voices from down the road, and decide to investigate. Turns out we're not the only ones with a half-assed party going on, so we join forces and make complete asses of ourselves for the night. Not much memorable happens here, but I vaguely remember a few of us getting stuck in a garden, which was weird. You'd figure once you walk into one, you could walk out by turning around and going back, right? Not always that easy. And the thing didn't even have fences that could support a person. We tried each one, maybe a mistake. Oh well, chances are there wasn't anything great growing there anyway. After who knows how long, a few of us take off to go pick up some more bud, while we still can. But we get there, and he's out already. Shouldn't have been surprised. So off to bed.

Saturday afternoon I'm sitting around downtown, broke, when I get a call from someone I don't recognize. He wants me to come golfing. Since I don't golf, I figure they've mistaken me for someone else. He must have sensed my confusion, because he finally introduced himself. Turns out to be Glen, a preppy kid I knew in ninth grade. Never really friends with him, but we'd talk every now and then. Nonetheless, I've been wondering if I'd be any good at golf, and it's not everyday a free round comes along, so I take him up on it. About a half hour later, a car picks me up with Glen, two other guys I used to know, and one new dude driving. We get to the resort, and apparently the new dude has a membership, so we get golfing. I'm still kinda confused about the whole thing, but my head's still too fuzzy to wonder. Anyway, after a couple holes (from which I learned that I can hit a golf ball either far or straight, but not both), Glen brings up the subject of his sister, who I see from time to time, but never really talk to. He goes off on how she means a lot to him and that he knows how I like to spend most of my day getting high, and how that's not the life he wants for her, etc. It takes a few minutes to clue in that he thinks we're either together, or I'm after her. This kinda strikes me as funny, since she's probably the most boring person I can remember listening to, and has a face like a rubber boot. I kinda let him know this in slightly more polite terms, but he still seems to have his suspicions. Apparently he heard from a friend of a friend or whatever. I stick to my story. He drops it for a bit. A few holes later, he's back on it again, this time drunker and more sure of himself. I'm also kinda buzzed, and not as polite about it this time. I take a poll of the 5 of us as to who would consider her as even a one night stand, get one "possibly" from Jarrett (one of the old acquaintances) and akward silence from the rest, save for Glen, who's looking like he's wondering why he's treating me to free 9 holes. We finish out the day, me and Glen kinda not talking to each other, but enjoying the company of the others, probably on account of the free rye and cokes. After we're done, Dale (the new guy) drives me back downtown, and we part with a casual "See ya later", after which Dale looks at Glen and adds "Or not". I had to laugh.

One of my usual stoner buddies, Andre, asks me a bit later what I was doing with Glen, kinda suspicious that I went preppy. I tell him the story, and he just bursts out laughing. Turns out he's been the one that's been banging Glen's sister, and was more than happy he wasn't invited golfing today. Though I can't for the life of me understand why he'd do that, or how Glen could confuse me with a long-haired blonde dude, I'm still happy it worked out that way, because I got drunk for free and finally found out that I can't golf.

As for today, it was a typical Sunday. Stayed in and played Playstation. Then wrote this.

And realized how little I can say in such a long post.

Up in Smoke...

2004-08-05T22:11:00.000-06:00

It seems that no matter how tragic something is, if it contains a even hint of irony, the utter awfulness of the event will be smokescreened by the interesting way that the aforementioned pile of shit came to be. When people speak of the event down the line sometime, they'll punctuate the recollection with cliched insight to the note of "funny how things work out sometimes" or other nonsense, instead of avoiding bringing it up out of respect for the victims. The hell of it all becomes a joke, and soon we forget why we shouldn't be laughing at all.

That being said, it would seem that my dealer has developed a drug problem. Now, this isn't the well-trodden tragedy of the popular, clean-shaven honour student drawn into the downward spiral of addiction and self-loathing. It's not like my buddy was ever "Most likely to..." do anything at all, let alone sit on his couch, watch TV and smoke a lot of pot. He never was homecoming king material, and had all the charm and civility of a stomach virus. The only time he'd consider helping an old lady across the street would be if her pocketbook was bulging and she needed some help with her glaucoma or arthritis.

But yet, he made the town a better place. Through one guy or the other, my buddy basically kept the population toasted from January to December. When there were no good parties, we'd crash his house and make one. It became such a default in our lives that we'd find ourselves walking through his door without even noticing we were going there.

But then along came the coke. He'd been offered a deal as a middleman, but turned it down, too heatbagged. He didn't want to risk selling it, but couldn't resist snorting the entire sample bag before you could say "freebase". And for the first week or so, all was good. Much-needed energy. For the first time in a long time, people would report sightings of him all over a 2 block radius from his house. Compared to the dude we knew, who actually had (and used) a remote control for his cell phone so he could answer it while it charged on the table 2 feet away, this new walking, talking version was like a whole new person. He became fun-loving, insightful, energetic, revitalized. He could even start a conversation without boring himself to sleep.

But then, as time went on (or so it seemed, actually maybe a week or two) he lost his one talent; he couldn't even sell weed right anymore. People would wait for up to 15 minutes before he'd get around to hooking them up. And I'm not talking 15 minutes of socializing or playing PS2 or finishing up other business first. I'm talking 15 minutes of this guy sitting and watching the Weather Channel, while the supposed customer would sit there, occasionally cough or play with his money, maybe even attempt light conversation. For those bold enough to ask flat out for service, the same treatment was given. And once it was finally acknowledged between both parties that there was, indeed, a deal going on (no matter how small), and all looked hopeful, all activity would inexplicably cease, leaving a very confused customer. I can't even count the times that one of us who spend time up there have had to weigh out a chunk for someone out of impatience alone. Once we realized how quick it was, and that he didn't seem to notice we were in his bag, we started helping ourselves. We'd give him most of the money before we left, but we couldn't help but wonder just how much we could steal before he even happened to blink at it. Damn honesty.

And then it happened. He'd finally emptied his wallet, halfway through a week, and was completely dry. He didn't have a single roach in the place, let alone a bag. The town was devastated. Some trudged on without before the sobriety became too much and they just snapped. Others would try their luck with former dealers who had gone so low-key most thought they were dead. Not quite, but their weed sure was. $15 grams of inferior outdoor bud filled the lungs of our youth, and before you knew it, too many were watching their budgets when the weekend came, opting for quiet nights in instead of getting loaded.

Mattawa, as we knew it, was done.

We're near the beginning of week three now. My dealer has been heard to remark something to the effect of going back into the legit workplace, and leaving it all behind him. He says it like he's making a moral decision, though, not a financial lack of options. Crankiness is at an all-time high, while the people of this once fine mini-nation are at an all-time low. I, among others, are resorting to smoking shake with some of the geekiest high school kids known to man. The streets are dead, save the occasional kid checking back downtown every 20 minutes or so, "just in case". We've lost hope. I'm afraid that the town is doomed. We rely mainly on tourism here, and who wants to come to a dry county for vacation? Not like it's easy to stand tourists when you're not cooked anyway.

We're spinning fast down the spiral of oxygen and work ethic, and we're not high enough to laugh at our misfortune with the rest of you.

Making Something Out of Nothing

2004-08-03T01:53:00.000-06:00

Well, to go on about my day today would make for either a short, insignificant "Woke up, got high, hung out downtown with friends, tried (persistently) in vain to hand over a postdated check at the Beer Store, gave up, came home, watched RAW, and ended my day with a long overdue chat with Sarah, resulting in a new home for my blog after just one day of even being remotely interested in the concept", or an expanded version of the exact same day that would take much longer to read, and be all the more disappointing by the end.

Or I could pull an exciting day out of my ass, and impress everyone with my tales of battling aliens for the good of two grateful supermodels, but that wouldn't be quite right. I'm not that into high-maintenance women and the last I checked, I had trouble battling off an invading nest of hornets.

So, for tonight, I don't think I can go any further with this post. It's been too long already, for so short a thought, but again, I feel compelled to say something. Anything.

So I'll leave now with wishes of good nights for you, the countless bodies and minds I have yet to explore. So, if you read this and do, indeed, have a good night, count among your blessings the fact that someone somewhere cares. You can say I don't, because I don't know you, but in my opinion, up until you meet someone, they can be whoever you want. I can safely assume that you, the anonymous reader, are everything I've ever held dear in humanity, and are worth far more than a polite goodnight. I can put a face on you that matches the voice in my head, and think of a million things we'll do together one day. But only as long as you stay where you are. Once you are exposed to me as living outside my head, your image falls prey to the open air, and soon, instead of wishing you goodnight, I'll be pleading for a goodbye.

P.S. Despite evidence to the contrary, I haven't licked a toad in ages...

Today No-Showed the Calendar

2004-08-01T16:09:00.000-06:00

There was a certain feeling in the air of my room this morning. More of an anti-feeling, really. A negation of everything that felt so real the night before. I could still taste Stacy's mouth if I tried hard enough, hear faint soundbites of the verbal war with her obsessed fan Brian, and see the outline of the spot where my fist was cut on his tooth, but none of these senses blew to life any ember of what burned to fuel me not 10 hours ago. There was nothing in my sweltering hot room that could get me out of bed, no reward that would tempt me so far as to force my aching head into consideration or my stiff body into action. I lay there for hours, only half-awake to save time, before finally caving to the notion that the day was meant to be enjoyed, or at least experienced.

That notion had faded before I had even made it downstairs and to the kitchen table. I made a coffee, headed to the couch, and popped in Smackdown for my Playstation 2. I must have played for hours, not caring about winning or losing, not even that intent on waking up fully, just letting the colours and shapes on the screen do the work for my poor brain.

Had it not been for my mom offering a ride into town, I may never have left the couch. But I didn't go into town. I knew that it wouldn't take much to rekindle the events of last night, and I just did not have the gas in the tank for it. All's fair in love and war unless there's no heart. And there wasn't. I opted instead to have my mom pick me up some cigarettes and a carton of orange juice while I went outside, hoping fresh air would invigorate me to some degree. And to some degree, it did. I played like a kid with my new bulldog puppy under a wonderfully mild sun, bringing her down to the creek for the first swim of her life, and before I knew it, I was alive again. But being stranded in the country feels a lot less oppresive when you're dead.

Left alone, the mind is forced to its own amusement, and I knew just what it would amuse itself with today. Several times, the night gone by would replay itself, each time with improved clarity, but never becoming fully clear. I needed confirmation on a few things. So I called Stacy.

But she wasn't home.

I tried the next soberest friend I had at the party. He was more than happy to remind me of the slurred and senseless lines I was "impressing" Stacy with, the blatantly sloppy public displays of affection, and the ever-so-graceful way I had gotten so riled up after the fight and knocked over pretty much everything I came near. He laughed, and I did too, when he told me how I puked on the deck of our buddy's house. I didn't even remember puking. Of course, I didn't rememeber coming home either, so I figured there was a lot I didn't remember. Stacy going home out of embarassment, for one.

Maybe she WAS home...damn...

After I hung up, I made some poutine and savoured it quietly, realizing just how much is to be said for a lazy day. Nothing happened, there was vitually no human interaction, and I played more Smackdown today than I have in a LONG time, but it was nice. I didn't feel much, but at least I know what I felt.

Well, here I am

2004-08-01T03:33:00.000-06:00

So, yeah, here I am. Never thought I'd take the time to make one of these things, even though it really wasn't that long and I didn't have anything better to do. Just couldn't see why I'd want to open myself up (as much as a blog can) to people I don't know. Still don't. But I will. Not because I think I'm so important people will want to know what I think, but rather to give that option to people who do, for whatever reason.

I've also grown to believe that there's a certain beneficial potential to leaving parts of one's mind on the Internet, in that as useless, boring, or incomprehensible as these fragments might seem to some, or most, there may be those who will take in what I have to say, and, at the risk of sounding self-righteous, be inspired, or comforted, or amused, or simply prodded. It'd be great if I could tweak a few minds for a minute, a day, or for life.

That's not why I started this thing though. That's merely my justification for my curiosity. I was introduced to this site by a friend, Sarah (or Soneedai, as she is here), who seemed to really be taken in by this whole blog thing. Granted, she is a tad more internet-inclined than I am, but after knowing her for some time, it's apparent that our minds are of similar molds. If she gets something out of the experience, maybe I will too. And if not, at least I'll know.

So, for all those listening, here's a new voice. It may not always be the clearest, I'm sure this'll be split up into a concrete journal and an abstract one as well, but even if something doesn't make sense at first here, it'll stay put, and you can disect it at your leisure. Hopefully, someone learns something.