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

Permit me to reflect upon an irony which I have been faced with many a times in the recent past. One of my jobs for the summer, by jobs I mean time wasters more than anything else, is working at the Department of Economics at Concordia University updating the web site, and assisting in basically whatever needs to be done. I am the all purpose office bitch as well a mild tech support, even though technically I'm not supposed to go into the tech stuff. But I digress.

I am, in this very instant, serving in the capacity which I have described above. The summer is beginning to draw to a close, and in theory the beginning of the school year is starting to draw close. I am should be working harder during the month of august as all sorts of administrative stuff starts popping up. Teachers need new web pages, new teachers need web pages, help, etc... However I have come in to work today, 15 minutes early I might add, and find myself with but one minor change to make to the web site. This took me only 5 minutes to figure out. I spent more time in my boss' office asking her how vacation went, and for a more efficient use of my time here. I got a "Good vacation," and a "Well there really isn't anything right now." So now I am faced with a dilemma. I have 2 hours and 20 minutes left of "work" time. My boss knows I have nothing to do. I am here. My hours will be fulfilled, regardless of the amusements I manage to bring upon myself. So, should I depart and disappear, having done that which was assigned to me? Or should I look busy? I could ask my boss to go home, but she might get annoyed at me throwing her another problem to deal with in her busy day. After all, it’s not her fault everything is in working order. Besides it's more fun the other way. I know! Perhaps I should write! Wait a minute.... ARGHHHHH!!!!

What strikes me the most, however, is not my dilemma or my boredom, but the fact that what is occurring with me right now flies straight in the face of years of economic theory. One of the many things which economics tries to show us is how to use limited resources in the most efficient manner. Labour, as we all know, is one of the most important resources which planet earth possesses. I have a BA in Economics, I am halfway through my Masters degree, I have kickass grades, I speak three languages fairly well, I am a part time computer nerd, I have travelled to almost 30 countries, and been exposed to countless cultures, ways of life. One would think that the Department of Economics could use the 3 hours a week which I dedicate to them more efficiently than giving me a 5 minute job, and then expecting me to well.... I don't know, but I am being paid for this. Now most people would kill to have a part time job working at school sitting on your ass in front of a computer with internet access and a couple of cute girls to chat with. But somehow this use of my time feels fundamentally wrong. There is value associated with free time obtained when shirking responsibility, but here I cannot feel that satisfaction because, well I've got nothing to do anyway! I know, I shouldn't complain, but well blah.

I think I’m going to chat up someone.

As the heavy doors swung inwards, an odor of decomposition permeated the atmosphere. For the first time in centuries, new untainted air rushed into the chamber dispelling the stench which had lain dormant within. Dust suddenly sprang to life from its long resting place, cobwebs lain by spiders which had suffocated blew softly from the mild breeze. The room was littered with small carcasses of the insects which had expired from lack of renewed air. A small skeleton or two occasionally littered the floor threatening to crumble at even the slightest disturbance. As the curtain of particles began to settle down, a beam of light penetrated into the room, illuminating the far wall at the back. The wall had not seen light in ages, but remembering its task, it began revealing the secrets which had been inscribed upon it long ago. The pictures told the tales of a man of power gone mad. A man who had caused much suffering due to his madness. A man who was assassinated because of this madness by one he loved. For love in itself is often guided by madness. The tale was a sad one, and left no moral, no lesson, for there was nothing to be learned from the story.

In the center of the chamber, on top of a slab of exquisitely carved marble, lay a coffin in the shape of a man. The alter and coffin were clean, smooth, and bore no signs of having remained unmoving for centuries. Even the dust itself was loath to rest its back upon the surfaces of the items. They were beautiful, alluring, enticing, however maybe too much so. The man who approached the resting place of the dead did not realize the influence which was being exercised upon him. He did not notice the particles of dust reaching up and screaming for him to cease his approach with every step he took. He did not perceive the long dead spirits of the deceased’s servants imploring him to turn back. The man was so completely withdrawn into his walking, that his mind seemed to have wandered off into some small cavity of existence which only he could ever know about. And as he drew back the cover of the coffin, as a weathered decrepit appendage seized his wrist momentarily, a feeling of contentment overcame him as his soul was violently ripped away from his body. Suddenly everything the man had ever pondered upon made sense. Suddenly he was free of the bonds of his flesh. Suddenly he had joined the world of the spirits, but this fact did not bother him as much as it would have in life. And as he watched his body erupt in a blood-curling cry of victory, the man knew pity for the monster which was incapable of attaining the serene existence of the afterlife.

I am a big believer and supporter for more and more open-mindedness in the world. I don’t like close-minded people or cultures. I believe that it is important and essential for any society, culture, civilization to have a certain openness towards new ideas, thoughts, philosophies in order to grow and enrich itself. However last year I was in Burkina Faso for an extended period of time, and I faced a big dilemma.

Firstly, Burkina Faso is a small country in West Africa. It is one of the poorest countries in the world. Burkina is conservative compared to most first world cultures. They are trying to open up, become more developed, and most of the time they are eager to try things the way more developed countries would do it. I would tend to argue that we have certain aspects of our economy that make us more efficient than Burkina Faso such as better healthcare, more education, etc… However I came stumped on the subject of culture.

In Burkina Faso the role of the woman is to take care of the household, raise the children, clean the house, and have dinner ready for her man when he returns home from work. I was shocked one day when I was listening to the radio, and they were having debates about weather or not there existed situations where it was justifiable for man to cheat on his woman (not the other way around). Most people who called in, both men and women, agreed that a woman who did not do her job cleaning, cooking, etc…. was not worth staying with, and that the man could justifiably cheat on her if she wasn’t good enough. This idea appalled me. Hold on a second. It’s cultural. We must maintain an open mind. The women themselves uphold the system.

A few days later I was talking to one of my coworkers, and we were discussing the subject of marriage. I personally don’t believe that it serves any other purpose than getting you a tax break. I don’t believe that marriage does anything to the relationship except formalize it with a ceremony. The love is there regardless. But I digress. I was explaining this concept to my friend who was horrified, and told me that I was an upholder of concubinism. I responded with, “Well that makes me as much a concubine to her as her to me.” Obviously we have different views about the status of women vs. man. He might have won out though. In Burkina, a woman without a man is useless because she can barely find anyone willing to hire her. The woman’s reputation is very important as well. A woman who is not married stays at home and never leaves the house, but a woman who is rejected by her husband is shamed no matter the circumstances. Often run away women are sent back, by their families, to abusive husbands, etc… I got the impression that a man can justifiably beat his wife. More importantly though, an unmarried woman who is having relations with a man or multiple men over a long period of time is considered a whore, and will often be rejected by her family out of principle. A woman rejected by her family is also rejected by society. The family plays a HUGE role in Burkina.

So I got to thinking. How inefficient. One of the best things any country ever does, in its evolution, is liberating women. It increases the work force, boosts the economy in a big way, it’s also just simply more fair, right? Women and men are both human beings and as such have equal worth. The concept of subjugation of one of the two reminds me of slavery, fascism. Conclusion? Evil?

But here is where the problem comes in. It’s all part of their culture. People are scared every day of their lives about how culture is being lost amidst all the Mc Donald’s, the internet, mass media and communication. Culture must be preserved. But how can I justifiably defend an aspect of culture which I perceive to be morally wrong? In some parts of the world public executions are part of the learning process for children. “Don’t do bad things or we will cut off your head.” It’s cultural. Should culture be preserved as much as we think it should? Is culture holding us back from evolving? Should bad aspects of culture be eliminated? If so how and which parts?

I believe that the answer will be reached not by conscious manipulation. In many parts of the world we have evolved such that women are granted equal rights to men. There is an economic reasoning behind this, and a moral one. I believe that eventually, many aspects of culture will also fade away due to similar reasons. However it is also possible that such a force will wipe out other things which should be preserved, languages, religion, rituals, etc… which could be harmless. Inevitably we will all intermarry and form into one race so will our roots matter? Does it matter to wonder upon this subject seeing as we don’t know what to do with it, or how to manipulate it if we even had some direction?

I don’t think we will ever know.

The Beatles. Blackbird. Today is August first. Most of the summer months are behind us. Here we are already in August. School is only one month away. It’s passing so fast, and it’s been really good.

The month of August is like a Sunday. You already start feeling depressed and nostalgic because you know that the end is near. Don’t get me wrong. I like school, and from a masochistic perspective, I do indeed miss the work, the pressure, the feeling of accomplishment, the camaderie with my study mates. During the year we work until the wee hours of the morning, we buy each other coffee, we get distracted when we are too bored to study. It’s a fun life. But the summer, it’s just well the summer. From the time when we were but infants the notion has been ingrained in our minds. Some of us may have full time jobs with only two weeks vacation per year, but no matter what, when summer comes, one can’t help but feel excited if not only because of a psychological imprint made over several years of childhood. Frank Zappa, Bobby brown.

I am 24 years of age, and this year I pulled a summer a la classique teenager. I worked some jobs, but more than anything I took it easy. I joined some activities, I traveled a bit, played lots of games, worked out, did lots of self improvement. It’s been the best summer in a long time. Perhaps the best one of my life with the exception of the ones where I was seeing people. Nirvana, Rape Me. I have accomplished much. I am in shape, I feel good aboot myself, I’ve made some new friends, I’ve taken some large steps in dealing with a reoccurring depressive problem of mine, I’ve made peace with some people I’ve been at war with for a long time, I’ve moved apartments even though it’s still a mess, I’ve managed to keep my plants alive. Garbage, track three on the first album. On the other hand, I did not manage certain personal goals. Stuff only happens when you actively stop going for it. I am obsessive. Anywho there is still some time left. I am ranting aimlessly. Ohh well.

Yesterday I helped a friend by association move. It rained all day and I was wet. Long term ickyness is somewhat annoying after a time. Afterwards the Minister of the Interior and I went for a swim at Li’s place. Gun’s and Roses, Paradise City. After a healthy soak in chlorine with a twist of water, I exited feeling very chlorinated. I don’t know which feeling I prefer. Nevertheless I was able to perform at the bowling alley. Bowling, like poker, is fun when you are with people who dish out the trash-talk. I like trash-talk. Trash-talk likes me. It gets ride of stress. I am not stressed.
I am not satisfied. I have four weeks left… No five. I need to do something else. There is so much more I need to accomplish before I become a slave to my studies again. I have things to do. People to meet. Needs to meet. I need more time. Dammit! I will now proofread and edit this rant….. Nirvana, Come as You Are…. Cake, Frank Sinatra. Grease, Greased Lightning.

Everyone has at least one memory or two in their lives where all thinking, all worries, everything in the world both good and bad ceases to exist except for the one moment and the overwhelming feeling of just existing. The last time such a feeling came over me was nearly 18 months ago. I was walking home at around 2 AM. It was winter. I remember the heavens opening up, and it desperately pouring snow onto the ground with as much haste as possible. I don’t recall what I was doing at the time, but I do remember a silence so profound that even time itself seemed to have stopped. All that was heard was the steady rush of snowflakes colliding softly with the ground. It sounded like a roar to my soul. The snow was untouched, unspoiled. Even the streets themselves were devoid of tracks made my cars or humans. It was dark, but the sky was blood red. The odd lighting meshed weirdly into a reddish glow like some kind of soft-core house of ill repute. It was both demonic and heavenly at the same time. Scary and serene, but either way beautiful. And I remember being absorbed into a sense of perfection so perfect. I felt alive. All my senses were stimulated. My touch felt the snowflakes and the cold weather, my sight the beautiful scene, my ears the roar of a blanket being laid out one molecule at a time, my taste and scent, the snow falling, and the clean clean air. However even more profound was the sensation of being part of life. In this moment all that mattered was the moment. It was beautiful and it was perfect.

Today I once again came across the same sensation.

I was at the gym with Calvin. I was pleased to discover that my quest to get back into shape had started producing results. I’d managed to spend more time on my cardio than before, and I was lifting heavier weights for longer repetitions. We topped off the workout with a game of “cat and mouse” which consists of trying to tap your opponent’s shoulders in sparing fashion. When I exited the gym I was soaking wet with sweat, high on endorphins, tired, and content. I bade Calvin goodbye and began walking home. It was raining this time.

I had no umbrella, and my earpieces were playing “Everywhere to Me” by Michelle Branch. The rain was hard but not too hard. The air was cool, perfect for a cool down after a hard hour and a half of training. The rain was slightly warmer, and dribbled down my face, into my beard, my t-shirt, my arms, my shorts, my socks. My first reaction was fear of my ipaq in my pocket getting damaged by the rain, but after a few short moments my body gave into nature’s massage, and a feeling of euphoria came over me. I was walking, breathing deeply, absorbing the sensations. Jerry Lewis “Great Balls of Fire.” As I continued my walk, I saw people with umbrellas and a few who like me were braving the rain. I saw two souls on the way home with whom I shared the same stupid grin. I realized that I wasn’t the only one who had reached this temporary state of perfect existence. Again time stopped. Cars passed, but they didn’t exist more than was necessary in the reality which I had achieved. Traffic lights changed, but did not hinder me, the people in my way parted. I was at the center of the universe, and it felt great.

What falls off the tidbits of imagination are gleanings of real things which only seem to be what they truly are. Thus in the presence of this knowledge, I come to wondrous conclusions aboot the way things should have been. I ponder upon events in the past, the things which will shape the present, the future. I think of a mishmash of chaotic images which float violently in the recesses of existence as I perceive it. And as I assemble these pictures, these flashes, this pain, I realize that there exists an extreme in the domain of thoughts. Indeed the extreme exists in the fashion that time spent on thoughts, have a tendency to creep into hours better spent conducting other useful activities, such as sleeping, eating, enjoying life. Other solutions for these scenarios are found in the fact that, writing as dubiously as the human heart is capable of at its fullest potential, brings nothing but pathetic literature into the world. I believe that my grasp of grammar in the English language is flawed. Fetcher la vache.


And so with that I think I’ll trash this ridiculous exercise in the absurd.

My eyes opened, and the remnants of a hazy dream involving sex and forgiveness fled into the dark corners of my memory where it would be remembered someday or forever lost. I blinked. My head was woozy. 5:22 AM. The alarm was set to go off in eight minutes. I’d beaten it. It was going to be a good day.

As consciousness began to reinstate itself I began my morning routine. Halfway through it the phone rang, and I answered it.

“Outside in thirty.” Right.

I finished the business of the morning, and packed my bag. I opened my front door, and exited. I was met at the stair. No words were spoken. We descended.

The air was cool. The sky was mostly clear and blue. Observations about this optimal weather were made. Light chitchat. Our ride was late. I took advantage of the moment to return briefly to my apartment for a last minute defecation. My stomach informed me that this might be a difficult day. I took note.

Our ride apologized for his tardiness, and we were on our way. We would have been on time if not for the city worker bus parked at the entrance of the park. It was moved, and in we went. Our teammates arrived. Our’s was the first race. A feeling of sleepiness overtook me only to be broken at the start of the race where I awoke with passion and fury. I paddled furiously, angrily. I paddled fast. I paddled hard. Thus it was with all of us. Our resolve heightened by the beat of the drum. Muscles working furiously. Burning. Our rowing was chaotic. Our technique uncontrolled. As we crossed the finish line all of my energy was expelled in a violent shriek of a war cry. It was half a cry of victory, half anger. We came last. Our time sucked.

Our next race was to be in the afternoon. I went home. Bought and took some Imodium AD. Had breakfast. Passed out.

Forty five minutes later I was awake again, and it took me time to shake off the fatigue. It was only when I got off the metro that I began to feel awake enough to do this again. The sun was out, and began beating steadily against my body. The temperature was cool, but it was harsh.

It was then that I found out that the morning race had been more successful than anticipated. I was pleased. One of my accomplishments had been fulfilled. I still had a few more to accomplish. A new resolve instituted itself. There was hype.

We discussed technique and strategy. This time we were going to do it slower. More controlled. Try to push more water behind us with each stroke. The tactic was a dubious one to me, but my experience in the boat was much less than the others so I had no say in the matter.

We got in the boat. I was calm. And the race began.
Once again my body was a machine working furiously, pumping hard, but this time as instructed, slower. More controlled. More emphasis on the precise motions which had been instructed to me. It made sense, and I felt the boat glide further with less effort. The wind was against us but it blew with futility. We rowed hard. We flew. We came fourth this time, beating our previous time by three and a half seconds. It was a great feeling, and the scream which escaped my lungs, was one of genuine triumph. I was certain that objective number two was fulfilled.

Now I am at home. I am tired. I was not programmed to wake up this early in the morning. I have some remorse at the thought of having to give up my Saturday night to my weariness, but I am left with a feeling of contentment, satisfaction. Dragon boating is fun. I’m glad to be doing it. I hope we continue to improve.
 Tomorrow is the final. We will race in heats. Tomorrow we will be placed with people of our level. Tomorrow will be harder. Tomorrow will be fun. I just hope I don’t have to wakeup so early.

Over the last several days I have been overworked and under-sleeping. I was even too tired last night to go out dancing with a cute girl who I was getting along with (quite unprecedented). Anywho I’ve been working at the Immunology Conference 2004 as a tech and punching bag for people using the internet. The tech part is easy. Walk around, remind people to hit the refresh button if the page doesn’t load, reboot computers, bullshit people with technical nonsense if I can’t solve their problem, try to look like a badass. Pretty easy stuff as far as responsibility is concerned. Lots of cute girls, free breakfast, sometimes free lunch, and all for decent pay. The only drawbacks were ten hour shifts, and chronic boredom. The past few days have been an exercise in self amusement and let me tell you that desperation drives one to the borders of their own imagination. I was having imaginary conversations with just aboot everyone I saw, destroyed the network at least five times in my head, and saved hundreds of attractive horny young females from certain death when that fire broke out. Just as I was getting to the good parts I’d find another broken computer or angry customer. My fantasy would glitch, reality would re-impose itself, the problem would be solved, and I’d have to start all over again. Ohh well.

On the plus side I seem to have acquired some minor initiation in the art of swiping pens. I think I’ve acquired over ten different ones. I lost count. Some of them are really cool.

Anywho the conference is over, and this day I found myself pulling a 15 hour shift since I had to help pack up. It’s all aboot money so I won’t complain.

Tomorrow I believe I will set out on a quest to acquire a record player to boost my coolness index. My father left me some of his old jazz LPs and I’m looking forward to listening to some quality static.

In other news I feel like I’m getting over something big. Now all I need to do is solve life’s greatest problems and I will have achieved the optimal existence. Alas, I feel that until I achieve this goal my complaining won’t cease. Most likely I’ll find something else to bitch aboot if I ever do solve it, but I digress.

Dragon boat competition is Saturday and Sunday. Apparently I have to be at Le Basin Olympique by six AM. So much for celebrating the end of a hard week.

And so with that I’ll end this rant, and do that which has not been done in days due to extreme fatigue and responsibility. Goodnight sweet ladies. Goodnight.

This last weekend found us in the not too far away land of St. Julie where we were teleported away from reality to create our own. The game is called Le Domaine du Createur and the goal is… well whatever you want really. What I’m speaking of exactly is a live action role playing game (LARP) where people dress up in costumes, assume a different personality, name, history, etc… and pretend to be in a fantasy world. We have foam covered weapons, and incantations to memorize for spells. It requires some imagination but it’s tremendous fun. We also have people playing the roles of monsters and other important characters to the story line. All in all, it’s quite fun if you manage to get into it, however I can understand those who have trouble relating to this game.
 
Every time I've played Domaine I’ve had this overwhelming fear of the dark and getting jumped when I least expect it. However in my own defense I'm pretty good with a blade and my reflexes are on the ball. In any case I’d decided to use this opportunity to challenge my most serious fears and address an issue that I have been pondering upon for quite sometime. That is the classic notion of chivalry and the medieval fantasy novel according to King Arthur and the Knights of the Round Table. I’m a big fan of the Arthurian myths, and even have some formal education concerning some of the more influential versions of the legends. Whilst every author is inconsistent and took liberties in twisting and bastardizing the stories to suit the times, the typical Arthurian knight always possesses certain attributes. One great physical prowess. Two courtly respect to women. Three respect to God. Four fearlessness. Five gross stupidity, with some exceptions. In any case all of the men who show up in the tales are portrayed as prime examples of humanity and the incarnation of heroism.
 
Modern fantasy novels, however, tend to break these rules. Furthermore not too many people play stupid characters in say D&D, or LARPs for that matter. So I figure I have a unique intelligent concept relating to a subject which has fascinated me since I was but a wee lad, and I get to fight like crazy. Furthermore I get to confront one of my great fears. The only drawback to this is that in Domaine, such a character typically wouldn’t last very long. Bingo. A short term character who I’m not afraid of losing. I would go down in a blaze of glory and fire, probably in one game. Domaine gives you six lives per character.
 
The only thing I hadn’t calculated was that I was sleeping close to the healers of the game and ended up getting my ass saved one million times. Nevertheless I managed to lose three out of six lives, and had a terrific time challenging everything. I was speaking in a bad rendition of a Shakespearian play. In short it kicked ass. At the end of the game I was voted second most implicated character in story line, and third best for role-play. I will now attempt to relate one of my deaths, in my mind the most exciting of the game.
 
 
 
The wolves howled in unison, and it would have brought a slight prickle to the back of Sir Edmund’s neck had he not been warmed by a feeling of comfort in his heart. Sator was ever with him, and as such he could not fail. Sator had already denied him rest twice since his arrival in Terra Nova, and Edmund was convinced that he would not reach the arms of his God before the task which had been laid before him was accomplished. Right now however, his mind was only on how to bring back his friends who had been turned into beasts.
 
Edmund followed the raiding party which attempted to track the animals in vain. Their prey was too fast, and too cunning in the darkness to be jumped by the clumsy loud crowd. The wolves were intelligent, they would pick out single targets and slowly wear them down. Edmund was not afraid however. Sator would guide him.
 
In a moment three women showed up declaring an attack by the wolves on the Inn. The women had also died but been brought back by the grace of God. They announced that they would return to the Inn and guard it.
 
“Nay my lady,” replied Sir Edmund. "The wood doth reek with the villainy of foul beasts. Mayhaps t’would be best that thou abide here awhile whilst I slay the creatures.”
“I’m sorry sir but my boss will fire us if we don’t get back to the Inn, and the magics of this land keep us alive even after death,” replied the old one.
“Then my lady I shall accompany thee and thy friends for tis my duty and honor as a knight to protect and guide women in need of assistance.”
“But sir, there are wolves about.”
“Indeed, and tis not in my nature to allow the weak to walk about unattended. Come fair one and I shall deliver thee unto thy Inn and guard thee with my life. This I swear.”
“Then you are welcome sir,” and off he went, sword drawn, his chain mail glistening in the twilight.
 
In a few minutes they had reached the Inn which had been put into disarray by the attacks of the evening. The women went about their cleaning whilst Sir Edmund remained at the door his eyes vigilant. Minutes passed and nothing. He turned his eyes away from the firelight so as not too lose his night-vision.
 
They came on him fast and hard. They must have been ten in number, and at their approach one of the women screamed. He drew his sword and charged the closest wolf felling it quickly with a few smart blows. He then turned to the second.
“Back foul beast. Back to whence though camest from, for the light of Sator is with me and thy assault will not avail thee. Back, or I shall be forced to cut thee down.” The beast merely snarled and pounced at him forcing him back but not before his sword connected cutting deep into the creature’s thigh. Suddenly he was sized from behind as another wolf wrestled him onto a table. It’s jaws flashed in the fire and bit deep into his armor. Edmund pushed with all his might but to no avail. Sator was going to demand yet another sacrifice of him. “Well then beast finish it. End it now so that I may continue my given task.” The creature slashed at his face and jumped off.
 
Meanwhile the remaining wolves circled. Edmund regained his footing despite the blood dripping into his eyes, obscuring his vision. He noticed the women huddled in the corner and he interposed his body between them and their assailants. He hurled a cry of aid to Sator and charged.
 
They left him in pieces, blood no longer pouring onto the ground for there was little left of his body for the wounds to bleed from. A fat wolf licked the blood and howled at the sky. Her brothers followed suit, as they retreated into the twilight.
 
 
 
 
T’was truly a kickass way to die I say.

Trying times are at and end,
Fleeting thoughts to make amend,
Entropy bending power true,
Nothing which is miscontrued,
Falling false lies the cure,
Freeing memory will endure,
Falsely thinking it was done,
Mainly manly it's begun,
Winter heat commences hard,
Waking windows in the yard,
Booming banging on the beach,
Longing loving to beseach,
Vainly vaining valiant love,
Cowards flee the crystal dove,
Tables drop and crash to bits,
Pianos bend in the abyss,
Curdling crying cracking cross,
Rememberance of loss,

Memory is a hard'ning thing,
Sloftly singing suffering,
Careful indifference calculated cold,
Twists that which eye behold.

So run, shout, jump, dance, row,
Welcome my abode.

A Bedtime Story

Once upon a time in a land far far away there lived a lovely young woman named Sandra. Sandra was short. Sandra was tall. Sandra was thin. Sandra was large. Sandra was whatever she wanted to be, whenever she wanted to be. Because of her power, Sandra was able to do anything she wished, and she became very wealthy from being a rock star one day, a doctor the next. Sandra could do anything. Sandra could work. Sandra could play. Sandra would be famous. Sandra would be unknown. Sandra could be rich. Sandra could be poor. And each day Sandra did something different. And Sandra was happy.

One day, however, Sandra grew ill. She tried every remedy she knew. She tried all the things she liked. She made all the things she wanted, but she could not feel any better. She asked everyone she knew. She called everyone they knew. She saw all the doctors in the world, but no one could find what was wrong.

And then one day Sandra met a girl. The girl was small. The girl was skinny. The girl was dirty. The girl smelled bad. Sandra wanted to go away, but she didn’t feel well at all. And so the girl came up to her. And asked her why she was crying. And Sandra couldn’t answer.

Sandra was weeping. Sandra was shaking. Sandra didn’t feel well at all. And so Sandra took the girl back to her big house. And Sandra put the girl in her bed. And together they fell asleep.

Several day’s passed, and the girl stayed with Sandra. She would follow her around. She would watch her. She would smile. Sandra didn’t know what to think. Sandra wasn’t scared. Sandra wasn’t mad. But Sandra felt better, so Sandra let her stay.

Many years passed, and Sandra and the girl became friends. Sandra told her things. Sandra went places with her. Sandra liked the girl. And the girl liked Sandra.

Sandra’s friends were mad. Sandra’s friend grew jealous. Sandra’s friends were mean. They didn’t like the girl. She was small. She was skinny. She was dirty. She smelled bad. And then one day they lied to Sandra.

“She just likes you because of your power.” They said. “You don’t need her. Sandra is the best. Sandra is strong. Sandra doesn’t need the dirty girl.” So Sandra made her leave. And the girl left.

And soon again Sandra got sick. Sandra was ill. Sandra was empty. She asked everyone she knew. She called everyone they knew. She saw all the doctors in the world, but no one could find what was wrong. It was much like the last time she was sick.

So Sandra went back to the place where she had met the girl. And Sandra found her. And Sandra began to cry. Sandra didn’t feel well at all. But she was happy to have found her. The girl was small. The girl was skinny. The girl was dirty. The girl smelled bad. But the girl was beautiful. And Sandra loved her. And Sandra was better.

And they lived happily ever after.

Concerning the weekend.

This last weekend found us in the not too far away wilderness of St. Donat on which there is a fabulous lake. The weather Friday was warm, cloudy, some light rain, but not enough to bring down the mood. Upon arriving, an aura of austerity was felt, and all of us lapsed into a comfortable sense of blah. A fire was built to add to the feeling of meh, and dinner was cooked.

At everyone’s insistence I will attempt to do justice to the salad which was eaten after our pasta with vegetarian tomato sauce. And so with what little skill I possess I will attempt to put into words that which was ingested by the females, but not by the males (there is a deeper connotation to that statement, but I digress). The salad in itself was normal, green. I remember it consisting only of lettuce. The sauce which went on top of the salad, however, was smooth, slimy, electric pink. It was a grand pink, a majestic pink. A kind of a pink which would make wrestling costume designers swoon in ecstasy. A kind of a pink which made porn stars, showgirls seem classy. It was a kind of a pink that even Vegas casinos would kill for. A pink so bright that the even human retina could barely behold its glory for more than a few seconds. And so, as I am not one to back down from putting comestible things down my esophagus, I too shielded mine eyes from the neon bright substance and chewed…. I tell truth when I say it wasn’t that bad except that this mental block instituted itself. Hence I backed down from the challenge and abstained from further consumption of the organic thing. Soon it was all eaten, and the women got sick. God bless the masculine instinct.

The remainder of the weekend was spent out in blissful uselessness and unproductivity. We swam, we canoed, we wrestled. The water was cold even after getting used to the temperature. I know this from the masculine thermometer concerning size and hardness. It was fun.

On Saturday evening we temporarily left our sheltered world for a game of mini golf. I was defeated in the first round, but round two favored me when we allowed for “psyche outs.” I highly recommend this adaptation of “Baseketball” rules to mini golf. For those of you who don’t know what I’m talking aboot, rent “Baseketball.” It’s a movie. It’s hilarious.

Saturday night found us with two additional guests. We drank, we ate, we spun fire. The evening ended with us climbing up on the rooftop of the cottage, watching the stars. The clouds had parted. It was a beautiful evening.

I would have liked to stay longer but alas, all good things must come to an end.

Going back to a few weeks ago I remember blasting nature and declaring myself a city lover. I stand by what I said, however wish to point out certain differences aboot this trip. Firstly we were in a warm cottage with working, comfortable toilets, and running hot water. The showerhead in particular was extremely effective. Next, there was the lake in which we swam. I love water. Finally the presence of bugs was not nearly as abundant as the last trip. Hence I declare myself a slave to civilized living.

Thank you, thank you very much.

The Man wore beige shorts, brown leather sandals, and a black shirt. The sun was out, hot, humid. He was sweating slightly. He wore a Panama hat. He waited 5 minutes at the stop for the bus. He got on. He moved towards the back of the bus, and noticed two of them. He also noticed that they weren’t sitting together but at opposite ends. He wondered why.

The first one was tall, blond, muscled. His was hair short, well kept. He must have been no older than 25 years of age. An all American boy. Jimi Hendrix began playing ‘Castles made of Sand’. He was seated. Within minutes an Asian woman came on the bus. She wasn’t pretty. She dressed in a soft pink t-shirt and blue jeans. It was a conservative style of clothing. She was slightly overweight. When she passed him he got up and offered his seat. She declined and moved further towards the back of the bus. He sat back down for a moment and assumed an expression of consideration. Credence Clearwater Revival played ‘I put a Spell on You’. He got up and sat down next to her. Began to speak to her in Mandarin.

Meanwhile the second one closer to the front of the bus assumed his companion’s empty seat. He wasn’t as attractive. When an old woman came on the bus he got up and offered his seat. She declined and so did the woman behind her before another younger, attractive girl, assumed it. He looked at her, hesitated, and withdrew to the front of the bus.

Meanwhile the first one was attempting to engage in conversation. The Asian woman’s replies were short, but polite. It was obvious he was asking the questions and she was giving him short responses. Phil Collins, ‘Jesus He Knows Me’ began to play.

The Asian woman says the longest sentence in the conversation, gets up and moves towards the door. Descends. He throws a glace at his companion and shrugs. It is met with the same facial expression.

He notices Him fixing a stare, he meets it, moves back towards his original seat, sits down, and begins to scan the bus again.

Written yesterday.............

Today was an interesting and cool day. Following a conversation and slight persuasion from the Minister of the Interior, I have decided to join a Dragon Boating team. For those of you who aren’t familiar with the sport, Dragon Boating is comprised of a team of 20 people in a long boat paddling furiously in hopes of moving fast and winning a race. There are over 100 teams registered in the race which takes place at the end of July. The winners win a trip to Hong Kong, but we have no such illusions. Some of the teams competing are professionals. We’re just doing it for fun. The only other person I know on the team is Assgrabber so you know we’re never bored. Ohh one more thing. The team is called The Gingerbread Crew. Don’t ask, I don’t know.

My primary motive for competing is the knowledge of the existence of another team comprised of a human being I would like to defeat. Maybe it goes a little further than that but I won’t discuss it here.

Side effects are soreness, extreme fatigue, fun. I went to my first practice today and although my body is only just beginning to feel the negative effects, I found the exercise exhilarating, motivating, extreme. Looking back on the past few days I come to the conclusion that I’m doing more physical activity than I have in a long time. Firstly Calvin and I joined a gym last week, followed by a move, heavy painting over several days, scrubbing floors, etc… I think it was pretty intense, and until this morning my left wrist was giving me grief (The right one isn’t… I wonder why?) Anyways, Dragon Boating twice a week, gym three times, and I’ve just accepted an under the table job ripping down my old residence (Landlady’s idea not mine). Plus I’ve stopped smoking up every other day. All in all I am rather proud of the way things are going. Maybe I’ll be back in shape by the end of the summer.

Went to first training session of my volunteering today and learned how to tackle the software. I’ll start part two on Thursday, where I get to work with a counselor to see how things are done. I think I'm going to enjoy myself doing this, and so far all the people I’ve met are super friendly. Concordia job sucks, but it’s consistent at least.

So all in all with the move and stuff no one could accuse me of being bored. On the other hand I still have loads of work to do in the new place. Paint must be removed from the dinning room floor, the kitchen cleaned and repainted, the bathroom likewise. There is much to accomplish and lots of time to do it. I am content.

This weekend I’m going up to St. Donat with an assortment of people. Let’s see if I can bring back the car intact this time. I’ll be taking full insurance.

Booyah

Some people who read one of my early posts may recall a Spideresque rant concerning the hypocrisy of man towards his starving fellow brothers. On Thursday evening I was shamed and given hope.

After a long and tiring day of painting, cleaning, and trying to organize some semblance of order in our apartment, I took Sucky, Assgrabber, The Wyfe, and their daughter out to Subway for dinner. The joint was empty except for a couple of bored employees, one of whom I tried being friendly with. I ordered a tuna sandwich with honey mustard. It was good.

In mid-meal, a man came off the street with a backpack and a hand luggage bag. Both looked heavy. The man obviously hadn’t had a shower in quite some time and looked hungry. He moved slowly as if disoriented, maybe high on some drug or drunk or both. He asked for a paper cup, filled it with ice, water, and proceed to drink. He then exited with the same slow deliberateness, returned, disappeared into the bathroom for a few minutes, and came back out. As he was leaving for the second time The Wyfe, got up and asked him something. He shook his head and left.

My first reaction when I saw this man was one of discomfort and fear that his presence would mean the temporary shaking of the sheltered, impregnable wall which I have built up against this sort of thing. Since I have left Africa I try to forget that such people exist, but there are unfortunates even in Canada. I don’t want to get into a discussion about what might have brought this man to his current state, but rather how threatened I felt by his presence. On the other hand I asked The Wyfe the content of her short discourse with him. She had asked him if he wanted a sandwich and he refused. She felt sorry for him and wanted to help. Now Assgrabber and The Wyfe are not nearly as well financially endowed as myself, and I was ashamed by how easily they were willing to give, when all I wanted was for him to disappear. I have been called generous on several occasions, but most often my generosity is a bribe at some kind friendship. I would never have considered approaching this fellow on my own. Sometimes when someone asks me for change on the street I give it, but I hardly ever approach someone to give. Most often it is asked for, and I want to buy forgiveness from a sin or some sort. I feel ashamed of my negative reaction. My first instinct was threat, her’s was compassion.

I realize that I have much thinking and reordering to do in my mind before I can go on criticizing the human race for the way it treats itself. Even though my post was more of a self-critique, I have no right to condemn, when I too am at fault. I want to eventually do something, but I am not prepared to do it now. I am too selfish. I have been working on a plan to buy forgiveness from whatever greater power, society, or myself, but I haven’t the means to implement it as of yet. This will take several years. However in the mean time I will strive to suppress my negative reactions to the presence of the unfortunate. I used to feel compassion, but it has turned to fear. I don’t want to be this way. I’m not proud of myself.

I apologize in advance for my apparent lack of presence on the net. I am moving and have been without access to a computer for the past several days. I should be connected again soon.

The past few days have been illuminating in the sense that I have discovered just how loyal, or whipped, my friends really are. Last week, Thursday, we went into our new apartment with the intention of re-painting. Our living room/dinning room areas were covered with a vomit yellow color which simply did not inspire greatness. Painting began along with some light moving. Within a few short hours our place had become a bastion of people seeking to aid us in our struggle. The following day, the same people returned to paint/clean even though my brother and myself were not present in the apartment. My brother is studying hard for exams. I was finishing up the final boxes. Yesterday we moved everything, yet again, with the aid of people from the same circle. The place is still a mess and needs some deep cleaning, especially scrubbing of paint residue on the floors, however once again, today, more people are coming to help. Some of these guys helping have been coming back 3-4 days in a row. I feel overwhelmed. The turnout has been great, and I have come to the conclusion that I have the best friends in the world. I dare anybody to try and find better ones.

So this Bud’s for you Mr./Mrs. really really bored person who associates with the Admiral. For your meticulous abilities at painting walls, cleaning dirty old refrigerators, scrubbing soiled toilet bowls, moving heavy boxes, and all under my expert supervision. Placated by a few beers and pizza slices, you bring light to the countertop under that patch of organic matter, a soft citrus smell to the moldy growth in some obscure crack in the wall, a smile to my unhappy face. So kick back and have a cold one Mr./Mrs. really really bored person who associates with the Admiral. This Bud’s for you… and when you finish you can start priming the bathroom.

Hiho! I've just moved and managed to re-establish my internet. And so without further ado here are a few things I typed up whilst I was internetless.