There comes a time when one is sitting on a long journey in an aircraft, heading to some distant destination and one is left with nothing else except for the solitude of one’s own thoughts. I have tried very hard not to ponder too much on things, for I have in the recent past psyched myself out repeatedly over trivial things. However left with my thoughts about the less mundane worries, which I torture myself with, I find that reflection is somewhat amusing when one does it consciously. It was in those moments that I began to ponder upon where I am going with my search for myself. It is not so much that I am trying to discover myself, but more like I am trying to discover which direction I want to head in right now. I am what I am at this very moment, and it is a product of what I have wanted to do in the past. I may not have achieved it, and I am fully aware that it is critical for one to learn from his or her mistakes. I am undeniably left with limitless options in this point in time. That being said I with to discover where I head rather than where I am right now. I say this because I am content with what I have achieved, and discontent with what I have failed to accomplish. I feel I understand myself, and I know enough to realize that I must keep on moving. I am in perpetual evolution, and to stop and consider too hard as to where I am will cause me to become overwhelmed.

That being said I have decided that I want to write more, and that I want to leave a mark upon the planet. In recent past, I have been obsessed with coming up with an idea which I can publish and express to the world. Leave my piece of mind. Immortalize myself. Men have always tried to achieve immortality in different ways. Some tried to change the world for the better, some were outspoken, some wrote, and some bore offspring leaving behind principles in the minds of their children and DNA. Many have done a combination of everything. I want to it all. It is probably a matter of pride. I should be comfortable with who I am based on my accomplishments, and not dwell too strongly on goals. Disappointment is a bitter enemy. I can live with my mortality because I know that it will overtake me eventually in the vastness of existence. But because I feel like I have something to share with the world. I will attempt it. I just haven’t figured out what it is yet.

Small sharp explosions pierce the serenity of an otherwise quiet existence, filling the bowels of memories with violent images that cling. In between the bursting lies nothingness in which one self absorbs into a feeling of complete complacency and vegetableism. It is in moments like these that man truly learns either apathy or to really genuinely detest himself contrary to the normal self loathing which all human beings deem fashionable. I have felt moments like these, and realize in mild pangs, the futility of the way one complicates his or her existence. All things irrevocably fall down to a lowest common denominator, and somewhere at the bottom lies truth, if it even exists as man truly believes it does. One will relate thoughts and memories and realizations which inevitably become futile. Sudden epiphanies become obsolete after but a few short moments of careful reflection, only to be replaced by some greater understanding of something yet to be destroyed. One’s outlook on existence is fleeting, and enters a state of perpetual evolution until the process itself become useless. The worlds revolve like a gigantic wave, rolling from one extreme, cusping, and then violently descending until it cannot but rise again. It is painfully enforced, for balance in not within human nature or man's grasp. It is the constant swirling chaos which perpetuates the motion of our affairs. Self importance is attached to things which do not need to exist. Some things only fill reality for so long as they are needed, others only truly begin to exist when they disappear from our lives. We want what we cannot have. We have what we do not want. And when we finally achieve our goal, satisfaction is never lasting for meaning is only found in some greater pursuit, until failure hits, and failure is painful. Man is masochistic in this sense. He can never truly be happy without being unhappy. It is impossible to love without hating, it is impossible to strive for peace, without being swirled around in a blissful vortex of self imposed drama. I hate the way things are only because I cannot find the peace I am searching for. I love the life I live only because I will never achieve Nirvana. And somewhere within the void of everything that is, one only reaches the conclusion that a denominator will cure all things. Eventually one becomes sick even of self analyzing the universe around itself. It becomes more interesting to ponder, not as to how life is structured or can be lived to maximum fullness, but rather to achieve a state in which one derives experience form his experiences and just lives it. And hence we become complacent again, monotony settles, and the cycle begins anew with my spirit sleeping interrupted only as small sharp explosions pierce the serenity of an otherwise quiet existence, filling the bowels of memories with violent images that cling.

‘Tears’, Django Reinhardt. a most excellent song, and one that I have begun an obsession with. I have reached the opinion that the best love songs are sung without words, but with soul. The human languages are not meat to describe complex emotions. A scream can relate true anguish, laughter can capture true joy, madness, anger. Words do not do them justice. I have heard music that does. It’s beautiful.

Back in line with the quest of self-improvement, I discovered recently through the excessive playing of videogames that self-esteem is better built whilst doing physical actives, and not necessarily by sitting for 10 hour chunks in front of a computer screen. In fact it, actually took me about three days to come to this realization, although I suspect that deep down, I knew it from the beginning.

The first step in building self-esteem starts with learning to love oneself. This means taking care of your body and hygiene. I am attempting to shower more regularly. I have decided to keep my facial hair relatively neat and trimmed. I am attempting to make myself smell good. I’m also trying to add to my limited wardrobe which is aimed more at comfort than style right now.

However the main issue comes with exercise. I am one of those people who is not only unsatisfied with the way that I look, but also of the opinion that my dissatisfaction can be cured. I am fully convinced that a physically attractive person lies beneath my lard. This may or may not be true, but the important thing is that I think this about myself regardless of other people’s opinions. Since I stand only to better myself, and my health, by losing a few pound I will do this, not for anyone else other than myself. This is the first time in my life that I have consciously decided to lose weight and exercise more from my own desire rather than a desire to impress someone or for someone else’s sake. I should also mention that there is something incredibly satisfying in working out. There are also all sort of positive advantages. This time I do it for me, not to impress, not to pickup chicks, not at the urging of the people around me.

Yesterday I played a hard game of badminton. It felt great. My ass is sore. Tomorrow night I think I’ll go swimming. I am one step closer to happiness. It may be that I am too concerned with esthetic things, but if that is what is bothering me for the time being it should be addressed. I am not satisfied. Satisfaction is within reach. It’s just a simple matter of gritting your teeth and going for it. It’s like quitting smoking. I used to tell people for years when I smoked that I did it because I liked it, and because I didn’t want to quit. I quit several times, mostly for other people at first, eventually for myself. I started again because people tend to become self destructive when they are depressed, and depressed I have been in the past. But as with all things, wallowing in self- worthlessness does indeed get boring and unfulfilling. I think I’m in the mood to try this positive outlook on life thing now, see where it takes me.

Our story begins much as can be expected. One as an exercise, another from no apparent desire to commence anything constructive. They did not know weather or not they had ever wanted to come to this place, but somehow they did all eventually end up here. It was the way of things. And people do things the way they were intended to be done. Not necessarily from a sober aspect, but perhaps from the influence of creativity. One had once made a deal with a buddy that he would never be able to produce work of any quality whilst he was not himself. But he maybe was wrong. But I digress.

Our story begins on the first day which was a day which would be etched forever in their minds. They had anticipated these very moments for a long time, revising every second a different scenario for how the following hours would unfold, and now that they had finally reached the critical point, it seemed somehow less fun, too real.

The instructor walked into the room amidst a buzz of activity of people getting to know one another eagerly. It was not his course they were interested in, but more to meet the people they would be spending time with, calling friends, gossiping about, maybe even having sex with, both worthwhile and meaningless. It was an exciting time which was broken only by the voice of the instructor beginning to introduce himself and his class. They settled down after the first sentence or two, and for a moment they realized what they were really supposed to be here for. Notepads and pens, were conjured. The talent show had begun.

The first lectured turned out to be quite a boring ordeal offering nothing but promises of hard work yet to come. But then again hard work bred good study groups, and this is what some of them had set out to do that day. It was finally time to select those few who they would be spending a short portion of their lives with. In time, an informal selection process would be made, some would gravitate, others would leave, but within the end of the month those remaining together would stay that way for the next two years.
And that is how it all began.

Remembering a few weeks ago it was a Saturday night, and we were out drinking. It was one day off from Halloween, but for us, the festivities had already ended after a terrific and disastrous party at my place on Friday night. Halloween had not yet come, but in out minds it was over, and we were ok with that as we waded through the streets amidst all the people dressed up. The interesting thing about a Sunday Halloween is that it lasts 3 days. By day 2 we were we had it out of our systems, and closure was achieved. And so not wanting to miss the remainder of the festivities, we went for a drink on Crescent Street, dressed up as ourselves for a change. We ended up, I believe, in Brutopia accompanied by some music which couldn’t have been exceptional seeing as I don’t remember it. When I say exceptional I mean it both ways, as in exceptionally good or exceptionally bad. I must also say that in Bru’s defense, the music is almost always excellent, and so exceptional music over there means not only good but really good. I digress. The evening’s conversation is irrelevant seeing, as I do not remember it well, but I do recall thinking to myself that it was a shame seeing everyone all dressed up whilst we had kinda lost the groove and reverted to the usual. Upon exiting the bar we began our trek towards Number 65’s place seeing as he and his companions live within walking distance. I followed along anticipating a cab ride home, the public transportation having stopped long ago. Just a few short steps out of the bar, the following conversation took place between myself, Number 65, and some aged blond chick dressed in a Superwoman outfit.

Superwoman: “Hey you guys seem like a decent bunch; lemme ask you something.”
She proceeds to bend over, lift up her cape and display the contours of her ass held together by her skin-tight Superwoman outfit.

Superwoman: “Do these earrings make my ass look fat?”

Me: “Ummm well, uhhh.”

Number 65: “Yeah a little bit.”

Superwoman’s face assumes a look of disbelief and anger. She recovers swiftly and stomps off angrily muttering obscenities under her breath.

Me: “Number 65 dude, you are my hero.”

This all goes to show that there are some things in this world money can buy, for everything else there is schadenfreude.

If one who wanted things to happen
Played dead in the garden of Eden,
Would it be fair to presume
That all the world’s a stage?

If one thinking wishing world,
Believing would destroy,
The thing the very air we breath,
The sacred soul of greed.

Is it pricy cheap perfume,
Which makes me so distraught?
Mayhaps it is the stick it must,
Merry laugh eternal thrust.

Is it that impossible,
To give your all in life?
To live and learn and love again,
To lavish in the strife?

What earthlier happy is the rose,
What earthlier sad is Darwin’s man,
What earthlier pathetic is the life,
Of one who spends his time in coffee houses,
Whispering gentle words,
Absorbing the noxious fumes,
Seeing visions of Xanadu,
Writing word which lost upon the souls of man,
Feeding sensations immortal,
Gently filling up the portal,
Fisting futility for fun,
And basking in the eternal glory
Of rampant evangelism.

There is a fine line between desire and madness,
There is a space between divide,
There dwells inside a twistedness,
There lives within a lie.

They say the world will end in fire,
Others end in smoke.
“Agreed,” said I,
“I wont’t deny,
My poetry’s a joke.”

A couple of days ago I was out with some of friends and as usual, the subject matter turned towards relationships. This is a topic of conversation which I have hesitated a great deal to write about because my philosophies about the opposite sex are hardly set in stone and are in perpetual rapid evolution along with myself. However this was proposed to me and has been running through my mind the last couple of days. Since this is technically a journal I wish to share my thoughts on the subject.

So we are eating sushi one night and of course the topic of conversation gravitates towards one’s attitude vs. relationships, love friendship, the works. More precisely we began to focus on dependence on your significant other, which is a phenomena which occurs quite regularly if not constantly. This friend of mine in question explains that good relationships entail not dependence on the person, but just loving the person for who they are. To begin with, this is something I do not completely agree upon, but she does make the interesting and true point that when you need someone and become dependent on them, you might actually love they way they make you feel and not necessarily having them, in particular, as a human being. It’s really the next point that she made which made me think, however. In order to truly love someone you need to love yourself enough so that your self esteem does not become all caught up with the relationship. This makes a certain amount of sense to me, and yet I hadn’t thought about it before. Everyone has some kind of self esteem problem or another. This is something we perpetually try and battle against, but when you are in a relationship where someone else is making you feel good about yourself, you go to the top of the world and nothing can touch your happiness… until it fails, and when it fails, you fall hard. Wouldn’t it be easier to recover, armed with the confidence that you are proud of who and what you are regardless of other people? Would it make your love with your significant other stronger, knowing that you are in the relationship because you like the person and not because you need them? But let us not exaggerate, for there does exist and extreme to this. Friendship is a necessary dependence because, like it or not, happiness is virtually impossible without some form of human contact. It is in man’s nature to depend on others to a certain extent for the weight of reality is heavy indeed. I’d sooner put a bullet through my skull than give-up friendship forever. Is this because I depend of my friends? Yes I do. Is it wrong? No. But then friends are less likely to hurt your feelings than a significant other. So the ever so popular theory kicks in again and proves itself most likely true. The answer lies not at the extremes, but in the middle. We are not meant for solitude. Our minds are not really equipped to build and provide self esteem without the help of others. However relying too much on people is detrimental because you get hurt when the people who provide it fail you, and they will fail you because man is imperfect. I believe I will try and change my life such that I can find this imperfect balance, for I have always relied entirely too much on other human beings to fuel my self worth. I should love because I want to love, not because I need it to be happy. I should want to be with friends because I want to, and not because they make me feel special. I’m not saying that it’s bad. I’m saying that maybe I rely on it too much. Wholeness should be personal. I will try to make this happen for myself.

My 1000th hit since I started writing is comming up. Thanx for the support.

I believe that people have intentions, sometimes good sometimes bad, but despite all the evil in the world I do believe that man has more good intentions than bad ones, even though sometimes his means of achieving his intentions are not the very best. I believe that all people including those who are bad, are capable of laughter, love, and sometimes even innocence. I believe that sensitivity and vulnerability are beautiful things, however should not be taken to the “whinny little bitch” extent. I believe that mastery of one’s emotions is a good thing, but should not be taken to the extent of suppression of all emotion. I believe that one must first lower their defenses to be capable of loving, but that such a move also makes you more susceptible to attacks. I believe that one must learn to be comfortable with one’s self in order to be able to truly love someone without becoming dependent on them. I believe that one should not rely solely on one’s self, for there is always wisdom in the words of a second opinion. I believe that true love happens weather or not you are looking for it. I believe that it is important to overcome your fears and go for things. I believe that it is important not to force something to happen just for the sake of doing it, but rather because you want to do it. I believe that man is a complex beast who does not know what he wants. I believe that inherently we all have some notion of what makes us happy. I believe that one can learn a about one’s self by trying new things, and that people can show you things you never new you liked. I believe that there are limitations in what should be attempted, and that certain things should be tried to satisfy one’s curiosity and not just for the sake of doing it. I believe that some relationships, both romantic and friendly, are meant to be. I believe that some relationships both romantic and friendly are meant to fail. I believe that there is something to be learned, no matter how small, from every experience. I believe that it takes us a long time to learn many of life’s lessons. I believe that one can know a lesson objectively, but not know it subjectively. I believe that the true teacher is experience, and that an objective lesson is more difficult, if not impossible to truly master. I believe that people worry too much about the way things should be, and forget to look at how things really are. I believe that people don’t think enough about the way things should be. I believe that life can be difficult and ruthless. I believe that life is the greatest experience of them all. I believe that the answer does not lie at one extreme or the other, but somewhere in the middle. I believe that mediation is always the answer. I believe that regret is worse than rejection. I believe you should not regret what does not happen. I believe that we all have the power to save humanity. I believe that humanity does not want to be saved. I believe that I have the power to change my life and the lives of others, for better or for worse, as I desire. I believe in love. I believe in hate. I believe in happiness. I believe in sadness. I believe in trust. I believe in caution. I believe in desire. I believe in apathy. I believe in man. I believe in believing in myself. I believe that I someday will.

He hands her the gloves and helps her put them on. He secures them tightly so that her wrists will not suffer any more than they need to. She bangs them together. She is ready. She assumes a defensive posture and throws him an experimental punch, bounces back with catlike dexterity, strikes again. There is finesse in her precise strikes, as each hit lands solidly and squarely on the part of his arm where it was intended. "Just let go," he says after a few swings. She increases the pace of her hits, hander, faster, more angry, more furious. In a moment she explodes into a series of hard punches, her entire body weight behind her every swing. This is probably not good for her wrists, but she pursues relentlessly ignoring the toll which her anger is taking upon her, pounding away, losing all finesse and precision, letting the fury overtake her. She starts yelling and screaming obscenities at him with every punch. He stands still and takes it, his arm beginning to become sore. "Hold on a minute," he says and switches arm. She gives him a few moments respite before beginning again with renewed fury and anger, fists flying, lips moving, mouth screaming, unleashing all her vengeance against fate which has disrupted the balance of an imperfect world. Her face contorts in anger, burning blood red, like a silhouette of fire wanting nothing more than to consume everything that has ever hurt her. It is impossible to know exactly what she is thinking, but the negative energy is leaving her, and he is absorbing it.

And then her punches grow weaker and she backs down, sweating slightly. He removes her gloves from her hands as she sits. "Thanks," She says in between heavy breaths. "That’s what friends are for," he replies with a smile.

Once upon a time in a land not so far away the people of the land decided to get together to decide how to solve some of the problems which had arisen over the course of the past four years. The people were bitterly divided on the solutions to many things, and a fierce debate ensued. What occurred exactly is entirely too complex for anyone to say, and the events will probably remain shrouded in mystery forever. What we are certain of however, is that both sides fell in behind certain leaders who’s vision of the future more or less coincided with their own. After much debate, both civil and bitter, votes were cast and much to nobody’s surprise the people opted for the more adventurous route. “May we live in interesting times!” they cried. Indeed the next four years will be interesting for everyone including the land’s neighbors. If anything we won’t be bored.

I love economics. It allows us to create simple worlds with simple assumptions and simple people which bring us to complex solutions in an attempt to explain the way things really are in the world. The fact of the matter is that we are useless. No one listens to what we say unless it suits them, and none of us have the ability to put into practice any of what we learn in this crazy crazy world. The best we can do is live day by day and watch the world make its decisions. Man indeed, is a complex beast far beyond the reach of simple theories and mathematics. We can spend an entire lifetime trying to understand them, and yet time and time again, they never cease to surprise us. I guess this is one of the things that makes man beautiful, our ignorance, our intelligence, our hatred, our desire to do good. Everyone has a different image of how the world should be, and everyone has a different idea of how to get there. Some people become so obsessed with their visions that they try and ram it down the throats of other people, sometimes violently. I am guilty in that my own opinion does not coincide with other people’s, but I am graceful even in defeat, and acquiesce peacefully to the decisions of the land. I am no patriot after all. Most people are far more obsessed with the land than myself. It is clear to me, and most of the people living abroad, that there is something which we are not getting. From the outside the choice seems obvious to me, perhaps this is because I’ve been gone so long and have not a subjective viewpoint. I can only hope that I am indeed short sighted, and that the others have it right. Unfortunately I have faith in my own wisdom. Man is stubborn. So am I.

I would like to share these insightful bits of wisdom imparted to us by Trey Parker and Matt Stone, from Team America World Police. It explains many a complicated phenomena in the world today.

"There are three kinds of people: dicks, pussies and assholes. Pussies think everyone can get along and dicks just want to fuck all the time without thinkin' it through. But then you got your assholes, Chuck. And all the assholes want is to shit all over everything. So pussies may get mad at dicks once in a while because... pussies get fucked by dicks. But dicks also fuck assholes, Chuck! And if they didn't fuck the assholes, you know what you'd get?? You'd get your dick and your pussy all covered in shit!!"

"We're dicks! We're reckless, arrogant, stupid dicks! And the Film Actors' Guild!.. are pussies. And Kim Jong Il is an asshole. Pussies don't like dicks, because pussies get fucked by dicks. But dicks also fuck assholes. Assholes who just want to shit on everything. Pussies may think they can deal with assholes their way, but the only thing that can fuck an asshole... is a dick... with some balls. The problem with dicks is that sometimes they fuck too much, or fuck when it isn't appropriate, and it takes a pussy to show 'em that. But sometimes pussies get so full of shit that they become assholes themselves. Because pussies are only an inch and a half away from assholes. I don't know much in this crazy, crazy world, but I do know that if you don't let us fuck this asshole, we are gonna have our dicks and our pussies... all covered in shit."

My exams are over, and due to this fact I am back to my normal college self again. Of course the end of midterms was cause for much celebration, and I have spent the past week under the influence of many a drink and other things. On the other hand I’ve managed to quit smoking…. tobacco, so that’s good. Last night was no exception, and I still feel the ill effects of my previous evening’s consumption.

I found myself last night, at Café Campus where 60s 70s and 80s music is played on Tuesdays. I like this arrangement very much for the selection is an exquisite mix of cheese and class which I so do enjoy. The place gets very packed quite quickly due to its popularity, and I find that most of the time, I need to show up quite early in order to skip the lineups. Yesterday was no exception, but we didn’t have to wait long to enter. Since we were celebrating the birthday of a friend of mine I found it suitable to purchase the first round of drinks. Since no one obliged for the next one, except the birthday girl of course, I obliged a second round as well, which left me quite undamaged since Café Campus is also famous for its 6 dollar pitchers on Tuesday nights. Hence it only took me a short time before realizing how deliriously happy I was, and went off to the dance floor to experiment with my newly acquired fluidity.

At about 1:30 the birthday girl expressed a desire to return to her resting place since she had consumed quite a bit more than she had originally intended, and felt the effects beyond her control. Being the gentleman that I am, I returned her to her home, and departed.

It was in this moment that it dawned upon me how drunk I was, and realized all of a sudden, that I might have difficulty walking the remaining two blocks to my abode. However, I persevered with a bit of stumbling around, and found my way to bed without incident, if I recall properly.

It occurs to me that I was acting perfectly normal, not slurring my words, and, whilst I was responsible for my friend, did nothing stupid, nor gave away the level of my intoxication. However upon being relieved of that responsibility, I was plastered. This brings me to a conclusion which has popped up several times during my drinking bouts. If I am responsible for someone or something I manage to clear the alcohol from my head for awhile.

Indeed several times in the past I have found myself quite drunk until something bad happened, such as the time when a friend of mine got ill and had to go to the hospital. All of a sudden, bang, I was sober again. Adrenaline rushes do the same, but yesterday was no such thing. I was responsible for a friend of mine, and I stepped up to it. I am certain that had I spent the evening with no such thoughts in my head, I would not have managed a successful return home, unassisted.

The heart is beating to a frantic, twisting beat. It attempts to force as much as it can. A hollow drumming is felt within the confines of an empty shell. The brain beats. Blood rushes furiously like a panicked mob desperately attempting to flee from a burning building. Burning. The stomach turns, and flips, and dances, furiously attempting to escape a pending doom. Petrified, it expels. The left heel taps rapidly in anticipation, like an epileptic fit. Calve muscles tense. The belly squirms. Breath pumps. Frantic fear.

And all of a sudden. BANG! The body stops, the muscles relax, the breath settles, the tapping of the heel shifts into a calm mantra. The beating becomes music. The mind is focused, the heart relaxed. And enlightenment happens. It is not a deep understanding of the things beneath the eyes, but rather the profound comprehension that life matters. The hand scribbles something meaningful in somebody else’s universe which might be akin to its own, but in the end, it ends and that makes all the difference.

I really like economics. It’s a great subject and lots of fun. People think I’m crazy for studying it, but I always argue that it just a more specialized form of philosophy. Then again most things stem from philosophy, but I digress.

However like all great things it is always possible to overdose, especially when you are force feeding yourself because of exams, and like all things there is almost always a small aspect of something which you dislike. This thing for me is Econometrics. Econometrics is the more applicative aspect of economics. It consists mainly of advanced statistical inference, along with loads of economic theory. I tend to prefer the more creative aspect of economics. Give me a model, some kind of explanation, it is art. Give me matrices and multidimensional mathematics, and I crumble. I should probably elaborate for economics is a very mathematical subject.

Algebra is ok so long as it doesn’t become too abstract. When I start having to imagine dubious spaces in more than 3 dimensions I get headaches. It especially hurts for vector projections. Calculus, no problem. I know it, I understand it, I know more than most people; I get by. Statistics, if kept relatively simple are doable. Combine, statistics, calculus, linear algebra, and economic theory to boot, you have econometrics.

I guess I’m especially bitter because over the last week I’ve been studying for my econometrics exam about 8 hour or more every day. My exam on Thursday was ridiculously difficult, and although the whole class failed, I am left with a very unsatisfied feeling. Exams like these can’t be studied for so I feel like I might have wasted a lot of time. Fortunately the professor is a fan of the bell curve, so I’ll get a kickback, but how can I convince myself that I want to make a career out of something which leaves me with no sense of accomplishment?

However in defense of the “dismal science,” I happen to love just about every other aspect of economics. I am especially attracted to Game Theory, and not because it has the word “game” in it. This week I’ll have the remaining two exams, International Macroeconomics and Game Theory. I’m a bit burnt out from Econometrics, but I think I can pull them off without too much coffee. Time will tell.

So maybe someday I’ll be Doctor Admiral, but until then it’s back to the Economics Department at Concordia U for more brain stuffing (I know how bad that sounds).

It’s Saturday late afternoon. I know this because of the calendar on the computer, the needles on my watch. The box is devoid of natural light for there are no windows in the economics department. I like it, sometimes. It’s quiet. When you sit still and listen, there is a dull throb of florescent light bulbs, the humming on the computers from the computer lab. Death silence in a bustling city. By now the rain has probably begun. I know this because of the computer, its feels like it’s raining. There are no windows.

The last several hours have been a myriad of numbers and equations filling the cervices of memory. As if a hard drive is de-fragmented for extra space. None of it stays really for very long. It slips away silently as the eyes move on to other things. Somehow, someway, they will seem more and more familiar as they are looked upon. Eventually understanding will dawn, and the miracle will occur. The hand writes and copies, the eyes stare empty. There is no thought, but eventually it will come.
You can lose yourself for days, hours, weeks in a place like this. During the day there are bodies in this place. There is noise and laughter and frustration and joy. There is anger and love and smiles and frowns. But in the end there is only ME. I move through the dimly lit halls searching for a way to make it all happen. I gain inspiration in this windowless box. Lost somewhere within the walls of a building, right in the center of it, lies the road to enlightenment. It is in places like these that one can truly explore the nature of things. "I am moved by these fancies that are curled around these images and cling: the notion of some infinitely gentle infinitely suffering thing." But among the doors, the humming, the poor quality carpeting. Among the florescence, the musty smell, the books, the notes, the drama. Among the plastic, the blue, the conformity. "Words, words, words." "Numbers, numbers, numbers." Shall I go and memorize? Do I dare to try a proof? I shall write senseless things and walk along the corridors. I have seen professors working in the early hours of the morning. I do not think that they will speak to me.

When you find yourself alone. Lost in a small part of the world where no one will go to. When you are alone and thinking. You start wishing you can share it with someone special. But sooner or later reality reasserts itself, and I have to get back to studying.

“No thanks. I love life… I’m sad, but at the same time I’m really happy that something can make me feel that sad. It’s like, it makes me feel alive you know? It makes me feel human. The only way I can feel this sad now, is if I felt something really good before. So I have to take the bad with the good. So I guess what I’m feeling is like a beautiful sadness. I guess that sounds stupid… Thanks for offering to let me in your clique guys, but to be honest I’d rather be a crying little pussy rather than a faggy Goth kid.”

-Butters (Southpark)-

A similar problem has been bugging me for the past year or so. I didn’t expect to find the answers in a Southpark episode. Now I can go find something else to worry about.

The events of the past few days are plentiful and hilarious. So much so that I have little faith in my ability to explain all the intricacies of what happened, the inside jokes, the context of everything. However because we had so much fun I will attempt to put into words the overwhelming feeling of hilarity which dotted the weekend. The following post WILL be offensive to anyone who attended Bishops University. I am a little ashamed of myself.

That being said, I begin. The Minister of Fashion is an ex-student of the University of Bishops. Or maybe it is Bishops University, but this is not relevant. Bishops is located north of here in the small and quaint village of Lenoxville. It is a small undergraduate school, which sports over 2000 students, however the most impressive thing is that is it, to my knowledge, the only Anglo university in Quebec, outside of Montreal. Most people haven’t heard of it. I first heard of Bishops when I was living in University residences, back in my McGill days. A couple of acquaintances of mine had gone up and ripped the place apart with obnoxious acts ranging from rampant vandalism, to getting thrown off campus for playing with the fire extinguishers. They came back weaving a tale of a party school full of jocks. At the time, I thought it to be close by. Much to my surprise, I discovered, several years later, that Bishops is but a short 2 hour bus ride from Montreal in the small village of Lenoxville. Lenoxville might as well be called Sherbrooke for I do not notice the difference going from one to the other. It is surrounded by small farms and is quite rustic. My roommate, The Minister of Fashion, invited myself and Number 65 up for a trip this weekend. It was Shell Boy’s birthday and we were requested to celebrate. It was more an excuse than anything else. I’d been to Bishops in May to help the Fashion Minister move his belongings to Montreal, but I had not the time to taste the lifestyle there.

So it was with great enthusiasm that we debarked from the bus after a long ride of making loud redneck jokes, and faking a poorly done Quebecois accent. We were feeling obnoxious and I’d been itching to let lose all week. It’s been a hard week, but I digress.

Bishops stank of manure, which didn’t surprise me much seeing as we were in the middle of hick Quebec. We made several remarks concerning this, which might have offended Shell Boy a bit more than I’d intended. I probably went too far with the “Bishops student’s are just McGill rejects,” remarks but I managed to stop myself before any true harm was done. We were introduced to Shell’s roommates, and settled in.

As we were entering the building we came across one of Fashion’s old friends. Since she was a great source of amusement for the whole weekend I shall call her Fifi. Fifi and I got off to a great start when I introduced myself in French and she goes, “Ohh you’re Quebecois!” I don’t think I’ve ever seen such an empty look of lack of intelligence in a human beings eyes before. She reminded me of a puppy with a stellar body. I am certain that this female was what they had in mind when they coined the word “Bimbo.” For those of you who don’t get the joke, I am French from France.

The dorm room was exactly as expected. The common area was covered in trash which they insisted was “recycling.” The dishes were dirty enough so that I stopped feeling embarrassed of the state of my apartment. I found joy in the fact that I had progressed since my own undergrad days. Shell had three roommates who I shall call, Raspy, Julie, and Steve. Steve was the president of the computer science club, and, as his name suggests, was a complete dweeb. Julie disappeared quickly so I didn’t have time to make judgments. Raspy was a shy, cute gamer girl with a wicked sore throat. It took me about thirty second to judge Steve with his, “Yeah I’ve heard of the IMF, when I was living in Nicaragua. All the farmers complained about how the IMF made them buy 100 dollar manuals on agriculture which were worthless to them.” I responded with a famous line, “Dude, do you even know what the IMF is?” So obviously we got off to a great start. Raspy was hanging on his every word, obviously smitten. Steve’s girlfriend “Megabyte” (her real nickname), was this loopy chick who reminded me of some movie I’d seen as a kid involving a chainsaw wielded by a psycho blonde.

We basically dropped our things and went looking for liquid refreshment and food. After a short walk, which involved jumping along train tracks, we found ourselves in one of Lenoxville’s culinary gems, Village Grec. We were served by an angry waitress who didn’t believe us when Number 65 requested a chicken sandwich. He also warned her that he was going to check the food for saliva, when she complained about how we had switched tables. When she asked us if we wanted anything else he replied with, “Well what do you recommend?” She replies, “Umm desert?” I was just happy she forgotten to bring my side order of tzadziki for it tasted like ass on my pita. Shortly afterwards, were back in the residence with booze. Shell Boy’s roommates took off, and we waited for one of his friends, Shell Girl, and her buddies to show. The plan was to celebrate Shell Boy’s birthday and then go to a house party.

Shell Girl turned out to be every inch a spoiled princess. Her one friend was relatively cool, and was giving Number 65 a pretty good vibe before pleading fatigue and leaving. Too bad too, he had almost convinced her to come with us. Shell Girl had us all annoyed with her princessy plastic attitude. We couldn’t help but take a few cracks at her. Number 65 posed as a fine arts student from Concordia and later admitted to “taking the piss,” (She was a fine arts major). I laughed at her when she whipped out Shell Boy’s birthday present, a shot-bottle of whiskey, which was obviously taken off an airplane ride. At the end of the evening she stormed off saying that we annoyed her. Shell Boy didn’t seem to mind.

The house party was littered with French people (from France), and I really didn’t have much of a vibe from anyone. I function much better in English, but I also have trouble speaking to people when I don’t know them. This effect is multiplied when the crowd is 6 years or more younger than myself. I did some light conversation with a Spanish girl who, of course I argued with, but mostly I was observing people. I also got into another spat with Fifi who insisted that I had a Quebecois accent when I spoke English, and that it was my English she had commented on previously. I hadn’t spoken a word of English to her until that moment, and I pointed out to her that I am half-American. That shut her up. Fashion was in his element. He approached everyone with the lamest comments he could muster. At some point he took a dare and brute forced himself into talking with a girl by interrupting the conversation with an arbitrary line about his sexual preferences. Everyone was plastered so it didn’t matter. Number 65 was cornered by an ugly example of the fair sex. It was amusing for me.

At around oneish, Number 65 and I stepped outside for a bite. Since McDonald’s was closed we contented ourselves with Pizza. It took 45 minutes to get it and of course they’d screwed up our order and brought us Pepperoni with extra cheese instead of an all dressed Pizza. By the time we got back the party had died. Fashion decided to stay at the place since they offered a better sleeping arrangement for him, so Shell, 65, and I went back for the dorm room and passed out.

I was woken by Steve and Megabyte holding signs over my head and snapping pictures. I didn’t get to read the signs cause I was sleepy, so I rolled over and went to bed. We spent the early part of the day lounging around. 65 tried to study, and I spent most of my time chatting up Raspy who confided to be a gamer and big fan of the medieval. I was a bit hungover and didn’t feel like pursuing too much. That doesn’t ever happen to me. Whenever I meet someone with similar interests to mine I jump all over it, but for some reason I just wasn’t getting the vibe. When Fashion showed up, we headed to the sports facilities.

After a couple of pathetic dives in the pool and breath holding competitions, Fashion challenged some kid to some diving. The individual in question pulled a magnificent flip/twist, landing on his feet. Fashion ran across the diving board like a crippled kid and threw himself into the water. It was funny to watch. I managed about 75 meters holding my breath (I’m certain that I could pull 100 if I wasn’t constantly breaking my smoking ban). We also spent some time in the sauna next to some sweaty naked guy who lectured to us about the history of the sauna. The sauna was electric and he was pouring water onto the coals straight out of a bucket. He did however admit that it was dangerous to do so with this particular sauna when I pointed out to him that pouring water on an electric heater was hazardous.

Upon returning to the apartment, we were informed of a night of drinking occurring there, later that evening. They gathered friends of theirs to play a game called 3-Man which is an old drinking game I played once when I was 19. Their version however involved dice and Raspy was all proud about whipping out her d6es. We went to the supermarket to get booze which got all sorts of positive reactions from the flat mates. It hadn’t occurred to us that they might think we were going to fuel their game. People started showing up sporting 40s of Wildcat, which I liberally took the piss out of. When they started helping themselves to our booze we hid it. Finally we got bored of observing the young rez student in his natural habitat, seeking temporary companionship by impressing females with the quantity of bad beer which can be consumed in a short period of time. Eventually they left.

By this time I was annoyed. Our beer had been taken, and the level of intelligent conversation had dropped heavily with their presence. They reminded me of everything I used to detest in rez and I was glad to see that my opinion hadn’t changed. I played with Raspy’s dice and suddenly developed an overwhelming urge to take them. When I suggested this to the others, Shell Boy warned me that she would be sad at losing them for they have great sentimental value to her. I was fairly certain of this given her gaming background. Most gamers are very attached to their dice. A dice with attachment is more fun to roll and from a superstitious standpoint more powerful. Naturally I don’t believe in this but my D&D buddies will understand where others can’t. They weren’t especially nice, but I was in a shitty mood and wanted to do something bad. I don’t know why. Raspy wasn’t a bad person, she was even cooler than the others perhaps, but something ticked me off. Eventually my conscious and my buddies convinced me not to do it, so I placed one dice on top of the kitchen cabinet so that it would be difficult to notice. I placed the other one under the coffee table so as to make it appear as if they had been knocked over. I wonder how long it will take for her to find it. I feel a little bad.

To Steve I used the old trick of the screenshot. I took a screen shot of his computer and made it into his background. I hid the icons, and dropped the taskbar. Voila. It looks like everything is there but the icons aren’t because they are back of the background. I wondered if such an old trick would confound the computer science president for a long time but it was harmless. After a few laughs we ascended to Fifi’s apartment for a bite of brownies.

It was at this time that I realized truly how genius my roommate really is in his native language. I always knew was funny, but in French he is ten times more hilarious, and liberally started ripping into everyone including himself. We was rude, witty, quick, punning, and hilarious all at the time same time and generally in one sentence. After helping ourselves to some brownies which turned out pretty good, we departed for the “Lion” night club, accompanied by a French girl who’s name I never caught so I will refer to her as “French girl”.

The Lion was packed with hotties and jocks. It reminded me of Crescent Street. A real meat market. The boys were all preppy white guys dancing to gansta rap. Exactly the kind of place I tend not to like, but nevertheless I had a beer which was surprisingly good. Homebrewed apparently and not bad at all. Eventually I got bored of watching people so I struck a conversation with French Girl whilst the others went hunting. I was still riding on my “I’m not in the mood to make an effort to face rejection tonight,” feeling, and so it was only when Number 65 returned asking us to join him on the dance floor, that we did anything.

I don’t like Rap and R&B. It was obvious that French Girl also wasn’t too much into the music by the way she danced, but I shook my ass as best I could, and took the piss out of myself as I always do whenever I’m dancing. Eventually 65 left the two of us together and we shook to the music. Suddenly some guy pushes rudely and points at my t-shirt with a scowl. I was wearing a McGill shirt. I threw him a mocking smile, emphasizing the insult with my hands, and continued what I was doing. Out of the corner of my eye I could see him scowling, not dancing, and after a moments hesitation, moving to speak to other guys whilst pointing at me. It was at this moment that French Girl suggested we move off the floor. I conceded, not wanting to get into trouble. I found out later that there exists a long lasting hatred of McGill on behalf of Bishops students. Apparently McGill beats them in rugby or something rather. I am convinced that this actually stems from the fact that many Bishops students are McGill rejects. This was confirmed to me by several people. Anywho I pulled it off and remained unmolested for the remainder of the evening. At one point Fashion filled a beer mug with urine and left it on the table despite my urgings to pour it into random cups (I was in the mood for cheap thrills). We left Number 65 who had managed to start a conversation with some girls, and returned home.

When we entered, three people were in the process of passing out on our mattresses. Shell Boy kicked them all awake informing them that the mattresses were for his friends. I watched with glee as they left, and fell asleep with a smile on my face. Several hours later Number 65 stumbled in, cursing his bad luck. He had made friends with one girl who lived a bit of a distance away, but since he had no ride, she was forced to leave prematurely. I fell asleep again to the sounds of him cursing his luck, interrupted by an occasional flatulence of mine for good measure.

This morning we woke to a scowling Steve who ignored our existence completely. Raspy was somewhat social, but disappeared into her room for a few hours and then from the apartment. We had breakfast and packed up. I figured from the music eschewing from Steve’s room that he had fixed his computer, but I gleefully noted the dice which still hadn’t been located. We shall see. A small part of me still wanted to take it. A small part of me still wishes I had. I am a bit ashamed at myself. We bade Steve goodbye, which was returned very unenthusiastically and left. Shell Boy went to class.

Now I have to go back and edit this stuff, so I’ll keep my closing remarks short. This story is probably not as interesting to you guys seeing as you weren’t there, and most likely you are thinking about how much of a looser and asshole I am. I have no defense to this save only that I’ve been feeling kinda shitty for the past few weeks and this weekend gave me the opportunity to unleash that frustration. The unexpected bonus is that I got to unleash it against a time of my life which I really disliked. It was some lame form of vengeance for me, but it was extremely gratifying and for all it’s worth I laughed my ass off.

Last night some friends and I conducted a trip to one of my favorite places in Montreal, the Casino. The game is Blackjack. This is an activity which I indulge in about once a year, for lack of funds, and fear of addiction, for it is far more addictive than any activity or drug I have tried. It is also one of the potentially most dangerous addictions known to man. However having long thought of the consequences and frame of mind in which I like to gamble, I have put together a “Theory of Blackjack.” This goes back to a previous post which I made several months ago, concerning my poker games. In Blackjack, however, the stakes are much much higher than a poker game for pennies.

Firstly there is a mathematical axiom, which holds with complete certainty. That truth is the age old cliché, “The house always wins.” Keeping that in mind one should always enter the casino with the frame of mind that they are most likely paying money to enjoy the thrill of the game, the tension, the excitement, the disappointment, etc… Winning or losing is incidental, and in all likeliness the longer you play, the more you will lose.

A game of Blackjack, if played properly, and I’m not talking about the various obscure techniques of counting cards, etc… (of which, I might add, I am very skeptical about), can yield approximately a 47ish percent winning ratio. Winning is possible, but the odds are less than 50 percent, and those who win are in the minority. If this axiom did not hold, casinos would not exist for they would not be making money. Therefore there is no trick. Learn to play well to maximize your odds, and if you are lucky, your money will last a long enough time for you to enjoy the game without losing too much. If you are really lucky, you might even net positively, but NEVER go in expecting to win.

Learning Blackjack is not a difficult process. For those of you who wish to learn, I highly recommend the following web site, http://www.hitorstand.net/. This web site has an excellent trainer for Blackjack, which will explain to you what steps you should take when faced with various situations. You play against the computer, but the computer points out your mistakes and tells you how to maximize your odds. It is easy to quickly become a good Blackjack player, and it’s free and fun. The program, however doesn’t specify a betting strategy. This is arbitrary. One can always double their losses in bets to make the money back, but the tables have maximum betting limits to prevent the over-exploitation of this fact. If I lose several hands in a row I like to up my stakes. Probability theory says that it’s not a valid strategy, but I like it that way.

For those of you who want to go without knowing how to play, you can bet behind some people at certain tables at the casino. That means that you can place bets along side a certain player and win when he wins, lose when he loses. You have no control over the game and have to rely on the skill of the player you are betting behind, but if you find someone who knows what they are doing, (observe around a bit), you can have fun that way too. Personally I prefer to play rather than play behind, but that is just me. I had a friend betting behind me last night. He knew I knew how to play.

That being said, the next step is to set yourself certain limits. Firstly, one must set himself a time limit. Playing is fun for awhile, but eventually you get tried and stop wanting to play the game. I’m talking from an external standpoint here. Playing more to win back the money you lost is not a good enough reason to keep going, and will most likely lead you to ruin. When you get bored, stop. Secondly, set yourself a financial limit. Assuming that this money dies before your time limit, too bad. The floor will prevent you from losing too much. In the worst case scenario, you will lose all of your money quickly, but most of the time you won’t. Lastly, set yourself a table with a low enough minimum bet so that you can make your money last long enough to enjoy yourself.

Finally, “Don’t regret what doesn’t happen.” This line comes from my good friend Calvin, and contains infinite wisdom applicable to a multitude of situations. If you win great, if you lose great. Losing is also fun if you are in the right mind frame (even though you will always have this nagging feeling in the back of you head when you lose). However I can safely say that when I’ve lost in a casino I didn’t regret going. Even losing is fun, though winning would have been so much better.

Given the above I won’t relate to you how much I won or lost last night because it is not central to the lesson. Last night I set myself a two hundred dollar loss limit, over a two hour period. I chose the 15 dollar tables because it is the minimum that someone can play behind on. I stopped after two hours, and had fun.

Those who are close to me will all know about the night’s details (because I have a big mouth), but that is not the point of this post. Have fun, be reasonable, and don’t do anything stupid like bet everything in one go. Make it last. Longer games are more fun, always.

As consciousness assumes itself there appears to be a sense of anxiousness and activity in the warm parts of an under-lit taproom. Yellow smoke permeates the atmosphere, rubbing its back upon the windows panes. It is in these places that faces congregate for discussions of various types. Words are spoken, mostly with the sole intention of captivating an imagination, or perhaps better yet, as a formality for certain things which are yet to come. Plastic laughter, synthetic smiles, all in the name of buying time enough for the chemicals to settle in and dilute the phony barrier. Even the barrier is fake, for both sides know the drill.

Arms wrapped around necks, hands unwrapping arms, fingers laid on shoulders, lips laid on lips, jaws working furiously so as to ensnare, like ragged claws. Gatherings such as this are meant to satisfy physical needs. “Let us take the air in a tobacco trance.”

There is a feeling which builds, struggles, begging to break the barriers which hold it; barriers which we are instilled with. They protect, and deceive. They hurt. We wish they could stop feeling sorry for myself. The defect of this source of outlet is that one cannot commit the most painful and difficult tests for fear of exposure and attaining the pity or frustrations of others. He wouldn’t want for such things to occur. On the other hand, the black sheet of paper is the world’s best listener and worst reassure.

Some people seek to master their emotions and learn to control them so as to be able to turn them on or off, like a light bulb. I prefer to believe in the release and revelry of the chaotic things which go on inside me, rather than containment and eventual stifling. For me emotion, both good and bad, are incredible things. Painful, sweet, sad, exhilarating, beautiful. Yet I hate it when I pity myself. There is so much to comprehend.

A tingling light. A soft glow begins to emanate, illuminating the dark corners of the premises. Swing. Rush. Roar. As the flames begin to cradle back and forth, a dull lullaby begins to sing to itself. Rushing, roaring, spinning. The song is that of a small child singing alone, a dull echo in its voice as if sung within a hollow mind. So soft and sweet and violent. Deliberate and lulling. Insane. And all of a sudden they explode into a stunning dance of looping, arcing, graceful circulations, all accompanied by the harsh protests of flame both feeding off the wind, and struggling to survive against it. Like a drug.

Intensity is felt. Heat emanates promising annihilation to anything which dares to intercede its destine path. Thrill begins. For the mastery of the flame is man’s oldest battle and greatest victory. They too struggle to overthrow the weaver, but in vain. It follows a chosen course, and all they do is gasp for breath and squeal an outraged sound. It is moving how these things are done.

The eyes all stare, and laugh and grin. None of them know the feeling, the thrill. Pretty lights, rushing sound. “Do a Trick!”

And then the speed, the sound, the sensations. Of fatigue exhilaration. Droplets of water form a protective barrier to prevent the threat of fire, both internal and external. And the skin begins to warm, and heat and boil. Speed and strength recoil. Mild euphoria settles. Faster. Faster. More extravagant, more daring. Hair! And in one final display of dominance and mastery, the flames are stifled leaving only small trails of smoke as testament of their existence.
Clap, clap, clap. Whooo! Yeah, yeah ok. Thanks. Where the ladies at?

Awesome, I survived the day relatively intact. Today I did not have class, but I nonetheless spent the better part of my time downtown finishing up this assignment and some light studying. It’s a painful adjustment, but I’m finally starting to feeling like I’m getting back into the groove of things.

I took three hours off to volunteer and conduct interviews. As far as that goes, it wasn’t as much fun today. The people I interviewed were annoying, and really didn’t know what they wanted. One of them was emitting this harsh cologne which must have been some kind of sick avant garde experiment involving urine and skunk. Fortunately this woman was not so confused as the others, and I quickly managed to conclude the experience.

Tomorrow I’m going to a big house party in Dorval. From the people throwing it, and the crowd attending I fully expect nothing less than an American Pie experience. I very much look forward to returning to this aspect of my youth which I missed out on. After all, the house parties in Zimbabwe were of a different nature than this sort of thing. I’ll be there in full force with my pyrotechnics to showoff. One final bang before breaking ties with the summer laziness. It’s time to get back to work.

In other news I have decided to fully memorize, “The Lovesong of J. Alfred Prufrock,” by TS Eliot. It is a rather long poem which I have been obsessed with for quite some time. The poem itself discusses the inner battle of a man at war with his lust for the opposite sex and his inability to meet women. I find that I relate to Prufrock in many ways, although I definitely never suffered quite as much as him. Nonetheless in my dark moods, consisting of way too much self-reflection, I do indeed draw parallels with him. It is scary, but true nevertheless. I hope to have it all down by the end of next week. It is quite a doozy.

Finally I made a new friend today. Yay! It is not every day that one meets new people let alone make a new friend. Over the past few days I have met a number of people who I will be friends with for at least a few months. I’ve neglected mentioning them and so this one’s for the two people previous, plus the one I made today. Joy!

All is well in the state of The Minister of Fashion. Obviously his style is paying off.

There is Magic in the air.

Booyah. Yesterday I finally experienced my first “study headache,” since last April when I completed the last of my exams. I find it very strange how I’ve conveniently forgotten all the negative aspects of school so quickly. All summer I’ve been pondering about how much I miss my classes and studying, the camaderie, the satisfaction of being correct, solving a hard problems. Funny how easy it is to forget the stress, the headaches at not managing to solve something, the anger associated with it, the fatigue associated with a droning voice.

Yesterday I began my first assignment, Econometrics. For me Econometrics is the least attractive aspect of economics. Throw me theory, models, philosophy any day, but make it into complicated statistics, and my brain starts PMSing. Anywho I started the assignment, and fours hours later after not having gotten anywhere I had someone explain to me a few short simple mathematical tricks which made it all so easy.

So now I’m wondering weather or not I wasted those four painful, angry, frustrated hours or not. I’m not a violent individual, but if I get frustrated at not being able to solve something I should be able to do, especially when I feel I should be able to do it, I don’t get depressed and self loathing, I get angry. It’s probably not healthy, but anger is a more motivating emotion than self-pity. Most probably the painful process is constructive. I explored my imaginative side of Math to solve this problem, came up with all sorts of interesting things which failed. I am better at manipulation of mathematics as a result, but dammit, my head hurts. Plus, because I didn’t manage to solve it myself, I don’t feel the satisfaction.

When it comes to economics I am vain. I have confidence in myself, and I am convinced I can do most things my professors expect of me, hence the frustrations. I think that this self confidence is a strength. I haven’t taken it to the extremes of belittling people with it so I’m not abusing.

In other news I’ve decided to drop the easy class with the boring teacher because I can’t keep my eyes open. I’ll do better if I’m challenged.

Lastly, I’ve been assigned a teaching assistantship along with all my friends who applied. YAY!

“Whatever you do, just stay close to your friends.” -El Presidente- (Sage advice from one friend to another, concerning a deep depression which hit me last year).

Yesterday I found myself awake at 7AM to make a 10AM class. I know that such an early rise from my slumber was not the most efficient way to go about starting my day, but it seemed like a good idea at the time. Naturally it wasn’t until 8PM, when my last class ended, that I finally started feeling really awake, and prevailed upon Number 65 and another fellow colleague of mine, to join me for a pint at Brutopia.

Our evening consisted of light conversation, catching up on summer events, speaking on things yet to come. All in all it was a splendid evening despite the sheer number of people filtering into the barroom, smothering my space with bodies and smoke.

Number 65 and I embarked upon a long conversation, which began as an analysis of difference between our personalities. I think I started something along the lines of, “Hey dude I’m going to organize to go to the Comedy Works next weekend. I haven’t been there in while.” To which I got a, “Ahh but what if everyone backs out on you. Would you go alone?” This is a very philosophical question concerning my psyche. It addresses the issue that I am a groupie. I revel in human contact and detest doing things alone. I am constantly striving to surround myself with people, and if I don’t manage to, I sometimes have difficulty amusing myself. In many respects I am an organizer of events, and entertainment. However on my own, I almost seldom do anything other than trying to get people to come out with me. This holds true for most things with certain small exceptions. I have been known on occasion to completely withdraw myself from society and socializing, for the sake of an engrossing videogame. It’s one of the few things I don’t need to share with people. The only other exception, which comes to mind, is the time no one wanted to go to a Jazz concert at McGill. This is the only time I bit the bullet, smoked a joint, and went to listen to some music alone. It was fun, but I remember thinking, “Gee everyone would have loved this.”

Perhaps the most illogical dislike of mine is going to see a movie alone. I haven’t done it before, and I probably should. However I feel that I just won’t enjoy a good movie if I’m not sharing the experience with someone else. It’s illogical, (I’m borrowing from Number 65 here). (More or less) “Admiral man when I go see a movie, I don’t talk to people, I don’t want to be talked to, I just want to sit back alone and enjoy my movie. If you start talking to me, you ruin my fun.” He is correct. My first defense for taking people to see a movie would be to provide an opportunity to discuss the show afterwards. This doesn’t hold, however, for the simple reason that such discussions can take place at a later date; that and the fact that I like to “digest” a good movie before making judgments. This ruins my basis for ever saying, “Don’t go see it without me.” It just doesn’t make sense.

It occurs to me that there have been several shows which I’ve wanted to see that people saw without me, causing me to not to see it. For example, I haven’t seen Fahrenheit 9/11 yet, for the simple reason that I didn’t want to go alone. I wonder if this provides insight as to my motivational purposes.

When I study alone, I hardly ever get any work done, and I’m constantly losing my train of thought. However when I am in a study group, I am motivated and harder working. Now it’s true, I’ve been known to be distracting in a study group, but I get much more done working with people. It is clear that human contact motivates me. Lack of it makes me idle and unwilling to do things alone. Is this a flaw?

So now I have to wonder to myself weather or not my dependence on people is a bad thing or not. Right now I have loads of friends from many circles so I generally don’t have trouble getting people together to satisfy my needs. However should I depend on others as much as I do? Or should I strive to learn to become more independent and less reliant on others. It is clear to me that both extremes could be a bad thing. As with all things the answer must lie somewhere in the middle.

School has started and all in all I’m kinda glad to be back. I’m starting my second year at Concordia, and it makes me think of my second year university experience at McGill. My first year at Uni back in the before time, was riddled with new faces, and an array of small groups of friends, acquaintances quickly formed. These were people who I socialized with, opened up to, and befriended. Second year brought about a phenomenon I liked to call, “The cleansing.” The cleansing probably took place due to the fact that we left residence, and didn’t see certain people as often as before. The result was that some of us came to realize that we only hung out with some of these guys because they were conveniently present and partying rather than any genuine interest. Beer, drugs, a party, all these things were present in rez, which caused us to bond. Now I don’t want to offend The Minister of Culture and his wife with what follows. I know don’t see them much since I’ve moved, but that is more a circumstance of busyness than anything else. The fact of the matter is that we came to realize that some people just weren’t interesting enough to spend time with, and as a result splits were made. On the other hand I became excellent friends with some people I hadn’t know that well in rez, and formed excellent long lasting friendships.

The years following brought about lesser cleansings, but none so great as the first one. Most of these were brought upon by people we met in classes who moved on in subsequent years, different interests which just diverged, maybe just the natural way of things. I find this phenomenon extraordinary because this is the first time in my life that I have spent five complete years in one place without moving away. Back when I was a wee lad, we moved around a lot causing me to force break many friendships. In fact there is only one human being I’m still good friends with from my Washington DC days, and I only speak consistently to one person from Zimbabwe. Ironically I didn’t know her that well when I was living there. Now, however, I have ex-friends I can bump into the streets and say “Hey man long time no see!” It is strange for me.

Of course the cleansings only truly kicked in, several weeks after the school started cause there was always an effort to keep the old crowd together after the long rigorous summer. I wonder at my situation now and ponder as to weather or not the same thing will occur with me this year. Probably not. Most of my school buddies are in the same classes as me, this due to the fact that the department of economics is small, and offers a limited selection of classes. Plus we spent most of our time together studying rather than socializing, and a certain knowledge of each other’s working habits developed. We know who we work well with and who we don’t. In fact, as I recall many people studied with us at the beginning, and it took several months before our core study group solidified. I guess you could call it a “cleansing” which took place earlier in the year, out of necessity.

Cleansings are always interesting, and sometimes painful when you realized you been “cleansed.” However they almost always bring in new people into your life. I am eager to observe how the dynamics of my life will change due to the school year and my most recent move. Change is good, evolution is fun, painful, and necessary even so far as friends are concerned.

Over the last few weeks I’ve been brainstorming a list of quotations which have had an impact on my life and way of thinking. I’ll probably add more, but this is what I’ve come up with so far.


The only thing worse than rejection is regret. (Number 65)

Don’t regret what doesn’t happen. (Calvin)

No matter what a stripper tells you there is no sex in the champagne room. (Chris Rock)

For it so falls out that what we have we prize not to the worthwhiles we enjoy it, but being lack'd and lost, why, then we rack the value, then we find the virtue that possession would not show us whiles it was ours. (William Shakespeare, Much Ado About Nothing)

So, how about that Ebola virus? (Friends)

Frailty thy name is woman! (William Shakespeare, Hamlet)

You know? I think just realized I hate cognac. (Me)

What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger. (M. M.)

It’s fashionable to be bisexual these days. (Me)

Every problem you ever have you look at. Think to yourself, “Will I still have this problem in 4 years?” If the answer is “yes” then you have a real problem. (Tony)

Long distance relationships never work out. (That girl in Encino Man)

So what!? (Mynx)

Winning is not as important as having fun. (no comment)

I should have been a pair of ragged claws, scuttling across the floors of silent seas. (TS Eliot, The Lovesong of J. Alfred Prufrock)

Never piss in the fountain of youth. (King Karl)

Extremes are the source of all bad things. (Me)

He who hesitates, masturbates. (Kalan)

Shut up and re-boot. (The Minister of the Interior)

En Vino Veritas. (Tom)

Any one-liner from Evil Dead 3, Army of Darkness.

Kayaking kicks ass. This last weekend sent us just outside the rustic village of Hawkesbury. By us I mean, The Minister of the Interior, The Minister of Fisheries, Number 65, and Barbie (since I can’t come up with an appropriate name for him). Our mission, whitewater kayaking. Unfortunately I don’t remember the name of the lake except that the whitewater is referred to as “The Seven Sisters” and that it is located at the mouth of the Riviere Rouge. I had other things on my mind.

I am a man with small, mundane, human fears. I fear death. I fear life. I fear heights, rapid speeds, and needles. However in water I fear nothing. The last great water sport I embarked upon was scuba diving, which took me to some of the coolest coral reefs off the Islands of Fiji, underground rivers in Mexico. I can consistently beat the two minute mark when holding my breath underwater, and I’m a damn good water-wrestler. But I digress.

It occurred to me as I hauled my kayak up to a relatively tame but still scary looking section of the river, “holy shit this is nuts!” But I didn’t heisted to throw myself down the river. I love water with all the rocks, water up my nose, and red eyes.

This was my first time kayaking, and I was excepting something along the lines of an elaborate waterslide with more thrills and danger. I was correct to some extent. We went with a company called H2O Adventures. The Minister of Fisheries has dealt with these people before and greatly enjoyed it. Our quest took us to a small island on the lake. We arrived late on Friday night, and took a short raft ride to the island. Friday night was relatively quiet despite the large quantity of alcohol imbibed. I spun fire, met the instructors, hung out. Our group was rather disappointed by the lack of femininity on the premesis. Among 10 guys we had something like… one female who was clearly significantly older than any of us. So we parked our things in our abode, which by general concensus was dubbed “The Sausage Hut,” and went to sleep.

Morning took us early around eightish. In the middle of breakfast more people arrived upping the female count to five females, hardly an ideal situation but more fun nonetheless. There is nothing like raging testosterone competing for attention.

We were in the water by tenish, learning basic moves. Now when you get into a kayak you have a skirt around your waist, which keeps water out of your boat. However if you need to exit the boat quickly, i.e. if you have been flipped over, you need to detach the skirt from the kayak by pulling a strap and exiting the boat. Interior Minister, and Number 65, learned this particular trial by fire, or water if you will. We also learned how to rescue an overturned person by having them use your boat for leverage.

The first day consisted of basic paddling techniques, quick recoveries before flipping over, and safety. Interior and I were jousting and playing bumper boats. It was great fun. We also got to ride down a section of whitewater with our life jackets. Alas Number 65 got ill, probably a combination of seasickness and water up his nose. I had purchased a pair of nose plugs, but they were taken by the lake, probably at the end of the day when the Minister of Interior and I were doing “Terry Tate” tackles to each other in the water. Lunch was served sometime in the middle of the day, and the evening found us huddled around a campfire telling jokes, making fun of each other, listening to Fisheries’ stories, and some fire dancing by me. The story he told was about a man gone fish, once again validating his appointment. It was much fun despite the day’s physical antics. We went to bed tired and drained.

The following day consisted of a quick review before we headed out to the whitewater for some action. We learned how to surf waves on the whitewater and navigate currents on the river. Lunch was had and some of us decided that we wanted to learn “Eskimo Rolling” which is the technique kayakers use to flip an overturned kayak up by itself. We had heard about this difficult move from Fisheries and Barbie since they were the veterans of our group. Apparently beginners seldom learn it. After getting an explanation and trying a few drills Interior and I got bored and joined Fisheries and Barbie for some wave surfing. It’s harder than the veterans make it look, but I’ll get better with practice. By then Number 65 had backed out again due to physical discomfort despite his newly acquired nose plugs. On the way down I borrowed them and attempted an Eskimo roll myself without assistance. It took me a few tries and apparently the instructors were using my attempts as demonstrations of “what not to do” when suddenly I succeeded. I was able to repeat the feat multiple times. Interior later confided to me that the instructors were flabbergasted by my improper technique and success despite this. I’ll get better with practice. Interior succeeded one shortly afterwards.

The last thing we did was go down the whitewater in our kayaks. This was by far the most thrilling part of the weekend. Water pulled and pushed. Gravity propelled me through currents, waves, and rocks. Halfway through the experience I lost my balance and tipped over. I attempted and failed two Eskimo rolls before wet exiting. I collided into just about every rock on the way down, but it was fun anyways.

The goodbyes weren’t tearful, but there was a general agreement to try and book the same weekend for next year. These were made more on the spur of the exhilaration and will probably die down quickly. Personally I want go to back right now. There were some e-mails taken and some telephone numbers as well. I will probably never see these people again, and their existence in this chapter of my life will fade with time. I say this with no hint of sarcasm or regret, just experience talking.

Anywho it was fun, and I highly recommend it to anyone who is mildly interested.

The last few days have produced a series of interesting events and anecdotes which will probably result in a rather long discourse. However in the defence of the fact that I have not written in several days, it is justifiable. And so without further a due please find outlined most of the transpirations of the last few days of my life.

As many of you know I was in St. Louis, these past few days, visiting someone, who by unanimous decision, has been dubbed St. Louis (sorry girl I was not consulted on this one). Anywho I departed on Tuesday afternoon and got nailed in a traffic jam which resulted in me only having to wait about 15 minutes before boarding my flight. See? See? I said about not aboot hahahahaha. But I digress.

The flight was bumpy, sending us over many a rain cloud and thunderstorm. We landed heavily on the tarmac in Minneapolis, and I had 2 hours to kill. 2 hours later, we were up in the air again, and I was dozing. There was a young man sitting next to me, boasting a harsh southern accent. He was acting all excited and jumpy like it was his first time on an airplane. I was planning on ignoring him until he shook me awake so that I could focus my attention on the windows. Outside lighting rained all around us. The captain came on the speaker advising the stewardess to stop what she was doing and strap herself in. Her tone was that of concern. It scared us all. The next thirty minutes were spent in absolute silence, the dull roar of the engine in the background, the moment threatening to be pierced by a stray thunderclap. Lightning danced for us in an amazing display which created a sensation of awe and fear within me. I could see the clouds above the storm and those below. It was beautiful. It was terrifying. In the end we weaved out of the cloud and escaped the wrath of nature. I believe that I have been privileged to a display of forces which has been denied to many men and slain many others. It leaves me with a feeling of respect for physics.

The plane descended and we bounced onto the runway, the winds blowing hard in an attempt to banish us from the concrete. However the skills of the pilot defeated the elements and we arrived safely. I deplaned, walked over to the terminal, located my luggage, and finally met with St. Louis who I hadn’t seen in almost 6 years.

Our reunion was strange at first, but time quickly dissolved our preconceptions and our friendship resumed to its former glory.

St. Louis turned out to be a more interesting city than expected. The downtown is riddled with buildings in the neoclassical architectural style which I am so fond of. It was clean, nice, hot and humid. On some days we didn’t go out of her place fearing the wrath of the sun and the moisture in the air. All in all it was fun. I threw around many aboots and, got the crap kicked out of me on several occasions. I was credited with having a “strong Canadian accent.” Not bad ay? I played along with the “Canadian” thing for the most part. Those who asked, however were disappointed to find out that I was a mere citizen of the US. Ahh well.

I purchased “If Chins could Kill,” Bruce Campbell’s autobiography. It’s hilarious.

In St. Louis the PFK is actually called KFC. What an interesting notion!

I watched a lot of the Olympics including the closing ceremony. It was fun. I caught up on some heavy TV which I've been missing out on for the past few years since well I just don’t watch TV. I think I got most of it out of my system. Saw some good movies and other things. In the evenings we’d go out to bars or clubs. Alas her tastes in music did not always match mine, but I was most amused by watching young males and females participating in the time honoured courting ritual which gets many of us no where unless the target is sufficiently diluted with alcohol. I was amused.

St. Louis plays a good game of pool. I was both impressed and offended when she beat me in the first game. I came back of course being the personification of masculinity that I am, but I couldn’t help but feel somewhat castrated by that first defeat. She rubbed it in my face too.

Tuesday morning found me awake before 7 AM with a groggy mind of someone who hadn’t obtained sufficient sleep the previous evening. Nevertheless I dressed and packed. The trip back was riddled with a relatively cloudless sky and stable winds. A short stop in Detroit and boom I was in Montreal again. A few phone calls later found me at Café Campus shaking my ass to 60s 70s 80s rock n’ roll.

Thus ends my story. I am a better man. I have grown, I have learned, I didn’t gain a level but I’m confident that there was some exp involved somewhere.

We are pleased to appoint the Minister of Fashion to the Cabinet. I trust that he will perform splendidly in his duties and look forward to working with him in the future.

This last weekend was eventful, finding me in the small town of London Ontario for a dragon boat race. I like the sound of it. London. Yes well if you must know we went to London last weekend for a race. The Annual International Dragon Boat Competition of London. Yes yes our team is that good. We raced 8th overall. We raced on the Upper Thames. Jolly good. Unfortunately London Ontario is not quite so grandiose but hey.

Anywho, the trip up was fun. I designated myself the personal motivator of our driver, which resulted in me singing lots of Aerosmith, U2, and random tunes on the radio to keep her awake. She sung along as well so it was all good except that I had this minor cold and my voice didn’t last very long.

We stayed at a campsite near the Upper Thames. It was nice, clean, civilized. Running water, real bathrooms, etc… A plastic outdoor experience just the way I like it. The temperature dropped to about 8 or 9 degrees Celsius. It was fine though. I slept on a queen size inflatable mattress. It would have been perfect except for having to wakeup at 8 AM to make our races.

Saturday evening we BBQed on an open fire and drank copious quantities of beer. The heavens treated us to a beautiful sunset. I spun fire for the team, and glow sticks. We told stories. I recited Annabel Lee, by Edgar Allen Poe. The sky opened up allowing me to once again balk at the glory of infinite white specks against a dark crystal backdrop. My eyes got lost marveling at the soft glow of dying embers. I was one of the last to go to sleep. All in all it was fantastic.

Race wise we did well. We may not have been the best team, but we definitely were the funniest, as we screamed out “Eat ME!” whilst getting our medals. Ohh did I mention we won a medal in London this weekend? Racing on the Upper Thames river we did. Second place in the B Division. London’s International Dragon Boat Competition. Smashing good time it was. I love the sound of that.

The trip back was difficult. The Minister of the Interior had his interior probed by a sleeping bag which was compensating for the shortness of the bench upon which we were sardined on. Fortunately there was good music. We stopped in Toronto on the way back for Chinese food. My advice to you, don’t stop at a Chinese all you can eat buffet as a means of trying out the fine fine delicacies of Toronto. Keep driving, or find a better place. I got home at 2 AM last night, and naturally I couldn’t fall asleep cause I slept in the car. The rest of my evening was pretty much self-entertainment before passing out, if you know what I mean.

I’ll be putting up pictures just as soon as the photographers send me what they took.

As Surgeon General, it gives me great pleasure to appoint the new Minister of Fisheries. He knows who he is. Congratulations and welcome aboard buddy.

Dear Future,

Hi there what’s going on? How are you? We haven’t met yet, but I was hoping to get to know you a little better seeing as eventually we will be spending the rest of our lives together. What kind of person are you? What are your likes, your dislikes? How do you feel about me? How do I make you feel? I’m obviously very eager to meet you. It’s been so long since I’ve felt anything romantic for anyone. It’s been so long since I’ve felt romantically loved. I was kinda hoping to accelerate the process by getting in touch with you, you know?

I consider myself an interesting fellow. I’m into some aspects of geek culture, D&D, computers, anime, videogames, some light LARP. I also study economics at school. Doing my masters degree. It’s fun. I enjoy it. I spin fire balls attached to the ends of chains for fun. It’s very cool, and I get a lot of positive attention from it. I’m a bit of an attention freak.

I’m the kinda guy who considers himself very funny. I make lots of bad jokes generally concerning sex in some way. Most of my friends think I’m a bit loopy, but they love me and I love them too. I can’t wait for you to meet them. They’re great. I’m also a tad erratic, and intense emotionally. This works either way, good or bad depending on the situation, but as a human being I’m open to compromise and tend to think myself more concerned with the happiness of others before my own. I like it when the people around me are content and am willing, more often than not, to go out of my way to make them happy.

I fear death, roller coasters, heights. I like water, even when there are huge waves or when I’m 30 meters underwater with an air tank strapped to my back. I fear spiders, but not snakes. I’ve traveled to many places in the world, and speak three languages pretty well. My background is quite mixed, and I consider myself knowledgeful about the world. I am open-minded, to many things, culturally, sexually, ideally.

In the future I plan on getting my PHD in economics and perhaps doing some research at first. I’m not necessarily driven financially, but more perhaps towards accomplishing something fulfilling. Since, I am afraid of death, I plan on immortalizing myself in history or the memories of people. I want to have a positive impact on the development of the planet. We’ll see.

Anyways that’s a little about me. I’d love to hear from you soon. Find out what kind of person you are. Meet you, fall in love. Please write back as soon as you can.

Anxiously waiting

Erik

Greetings and salutations. Over the last couple of weeks I haven’t felt inspired to writing anything in particular, and for this reason I feel like I’m neglecting my blog. Hence I’ve decided to write about my life as it stands in the current moment.

The month of August is flying past us, and I’m starting to have to make plans to accommodate the impending school year. I am registered in 4 classes, but will be dropping one of them depending how it goes. I also plan on auditing a course on mathematical economics since I have no background in the subject as of yet, and believe that a bit of exposure would do me some good. I am eager to commence once again. Even more eager perhaps to fall back into the routine. I genuinely love school and the people I study with, many of whom have left for the vacation and haven’t seen in several months.

I also wish to keep my volunteering going if possible. It’s fun, but alas my hours will have to change which is a bit of a bitch cause I have a vested interest right now, to working on Thursdays. We’ll see. In any case it’s fun and downtown which is good.

My dragon boating is also beginning to draw to a close as we had our last practice on Tuesday, and our final competition this upcoming weekend. We will be driving to London Ontario for our last few races. It’s been fun and I will be missing the exercise, and the people.

Aside from that, the weekends have been super busy. This last weekend I was at Domaine, a summer LARP I play. Next weekend I’m in London, after that in St. Louis visiting someone who’s nickname I haven’t decided on yet, after that I’m kayaking, and then another Domaine weekend.

We’ve finally started swimming again in the Sommerled swimming pool. By swimming I mean water wrestling which is an activity that myself and the Minister of the Interior greatly enjoy. From time to time we are joined by others. We are getting to know each other’s styles entirely too well. New blood must be found. Anyone wanna join us?

My apartment is still a mess. I have a new fine young roommate who moved in. It’s fun, and he comes up with interesting ideas about furniture and other things. I look forward to living with him and appointing him a cabinet position just as soon as I come up with something suitable.
That’s aboot it I guess. Cheerio!

Allow me time, reflect the past
And in the water I percieve
Enities which I concieve
Flowers I surpassed.
-
Permit me life to wander with
And from This gift I shall persist
And destinty will be my guide
Eternity I shall deny
Mortality is mine
-
Grant me strength for I'll asail
The greatest deed I will prevail
The sweetest song I ever sung
Telling tales of one's
Expression as a pun
-
In light tranquility
In dark eternity
In fluid extacy
In freedom finally
Rejected fecal matter

And now for something completely different!

I just returned from a volunteering job I do. It’s fun. I like the people I work with, and since my job is to interview and place people in volunteering positions, I get to meet new people every day. However today disaster struck. And this is how it began.

At aboot 12:15 I was in a hurry trying to get ready to make the 12:23 bus. I was running all over the place getting my stuff together. Anywho I managed to find everything, put on my sandals, my hat, my wallet etc… I made it just in time for the bus. I entered, sat down, and began my habitual observations of people while listening to music.

Suddenly an odor begins to tickle my nostrils. It was a foul odor, stank, dank, unpleasant, somehow familiar. Not BO. It was with great relief that I exited the bus to escape the smell… Odd it was following me. It then occurred to me that the odor was emanating from my sandals. Fuck.

I am downtown, I have 15 minutes before working. I haven’t eaten. I have stinky feet. I’m going to be interviewing people all afternoon. So naturally I grab a bite and tell myself that I’ll just wash up before working. I eat along the way. Get to work. Enter bathroom. Start scrubbing the sandals. It is in mid scrubbing that it occurs to me that my sandals are now wet, and that I’ll be interviewing people in wet footwear. This fact doesn’t bother me for some reason. I finish. Fuck they still stink. So I let them out to dry and prepare for my first interview.

My brilliant solution was to take the sandals off and put them by the window in between interviews. Whilst the sandals dried quickly, the smell was still present mixed in with an odor of soap. How very unusual.

Needless to say the experience was unpleasant for me, but the fact that I was interviewing men only made me feel better for some reason which doesn’t make sense at the end of the day. My boss and the people I work with laughed at me. I didn’t get much help. One person told me it only reeked cause I was looking for the smell. Meh…
And so well that’s it. It’s not much of a story, but I wish to relate how very stupid I feel.

Last Cigarette:: August 11th.
Last Alcoholic Drink:: Boreal Doree.
Last Car Ride:: Yesterday, from St. Julie. Played a LARP called Le Domaine du Createur all weekend.
Last Kiss:: Early May 2004.
Last Good Cry:: December 2003.
Last Library Book checked out:: Probably some economics text book. At least 2 years ago.
Last movie Seen in Theatres:: Spider-man 2.
Last Book Read:: The Chronicles of Amber.
Last Movie Rented:: Basekitball.
Last Cuss Word Uttered:: Me Cago en la Puta! Joder!
Last Beverage Drank:: Water.
Last Food Consumed:: Chicken Nuggets.
Last Crush:: Ohh no I’m not telling!
Last Phone Call:: Hobbes. “Hey buddy guess what, I’m NOT going to the gym this morning I’m fucking sore from the weekend.”
Last TV Show Watched:: I don’t watch TV usually, but I saw Ali G at the Minister of the Interior’s house 2 weeks ago.
Last Time Showered:: Last night 7 PM.
Last Shoes Worn:: Cheap running shoes.
Last CD Played:: I don’t do CD. Right now I’m listening to George Harisson “I Got My Mind Set on You.”
Last Item Bought:: Registration fee for my weekend LARP.
Last Download:: Some kind of slutty pornographic material.
Last Annoyance:: My apartment perpetual mess!
Last Disappointment:: That a buddy of mine couldn’t make the game.
Last Soda Drank:: Sprite.
Last Thing Written:: Words.
Last Sleep:: Last night obviously.
Last Weird Encounter:: Apologizing to someone for a misunderstanding which took place a month before, but didn’t have time enough to sort out.
Last Ice Cream Eaten: Ben and Jerry’s Chocolate chip cookie dough.
Last Time Amused:: I’m always amused.
Last Time Hugged:: Yesterday
Last Time Scolded:: I’m constantly being scolded.
Last Time Resentful:: I’m not bitter!
Last Chair Sat In:: Umm…I’m sitting down now in a crappy foldout chair in front of my computer.
Last Underwear Worn:: Blue boxers.
Last Bra Worn:: That was a long time ago in another country and besides the bra is dead.
Last Shirt Worn:: Black.
Last Webpage Visited:: www.weather.com