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.