I am Captain Kirk, the protector of the Moon. A thriving city lives there- protected from meteors with what we call a band shield. It swings in an arc over the buildings, a perfect band. Something falls in the distance- crawling through the lunar dust.
It takes shape in an alley and strikes out- my navigator- some sort of potato like being, is struck. The alien presence takes over his mind. He threatens his fellow bridge officers, Kylie Minogue and some squat, green, rectangular creature who sits at Com. It strikes out at Kylie with a swift flicker of dark shadow- she's stunned. I pick her up in my arms- cradle her. I know it is a dream, but her body feels so life-like there, she is tiny and fragile and she presses close to me for protection, I brush my lips against her cheek- then turn to face the being.
26.10.07
6.9.07
12.8.07
Back to School
Want to warm up your brain a bit without being completely bored? Make sure to check out FlowTV on my side bar once in a while. They update bi-weekly but have some great commentary on the vidiot box and its content.
The Cinema, too, once in a while.
The Cinema, too, once in a while.
9.8.07
and summer hiatus' are great and all...
but I know some of you are just really, really missing your fix of the mtlanglo here. And, truth be told, I am missing writing on here. Problem is I am SOOOOO busy that the only thing I really do is post links on my facebook page.
So, be like my friends here and get out and enjoy yourselves while you can! That little chill on the wind is Autumn calling, and you will all be bitching about how miserable the weather is soon enough.
Love y'all- see you soon.
26.7.07
Betrayal
My favorite dep owner has been seen walking around my building, looking for me smoking on the balcony. I haven't been into his place for a week and a half since a friend hooked me up with some Yankee tobacco.
Thus, he has an extra carton and a half of Dunhills in his inventory. Whoops! He's going to be right pissed when I move.
Thus, he has an extra carton and a half of Dunhills in his inventory. Whoops! He's going to be right pissed when I move.
24.7.07
Condo for Sale- slightly distressed
Rachel walks across the parking lot behind the triplex- firm steps in black high heels. Beige skirt, summer blouse, black, billowing in the afternoon breeze. Her office is sending her emails to her purse right now, but she won't answer. Can't. She left work early to come deal with this nightmare that has gone on for months.
She rounds the corner to the front of the building where Marc is sitting waiting for her. He is wearing shorts and sandals and that horrible pink golf shirt he thinks looks good on him. But he's not sitting on the first steps, he is sitting six or seven steps up, so he will have the upper ground. His cell phone is out and open- he's pretending to read text messages? From who? His broker? Like brokers keep in touch with day-traders. It's like a dep owner keeping in touch with customers addicted to scratch-and-win tickets.
The for sale sign is still out in front. The face of their pathetic agent is vainly peering out trying to project confidence, professionalism and friendliness all at the same time. She thinks he looks like a child molester instead.
5 months now, since the separation and now 4 weeks since the divorce, and not one serious offer on this condo they barely lived in. Their first home together and it stands empty now, a drain on both of their finances, a drain on both of their emotions. How many calls, emails and failed meetings with realtors and other couples must she go through until she can walk away from this thing? It is just a thing- a second floor enclosure of brick and plaster, glass and wiring. It is not a symbol for anything- it was never a promise of any idealized relationship. Never was a place to fall in love all over again, to take the disused den and turn it into a nursery, to grow plants and buy rugs and...
It was a trap. A trap to turn her into one of the neighbourhood wives with thick calves and practical haircuts and baby yoga lessons and small dinners with other couples that end at 11PM. With strollers and "nappy bags" you buy at Wal-Mart. A trap to turn her into a wife and mother and a side note in this man's life.
And here, here he sits looking like a golf pro in front of our condo that we could easily sell for $189k, but he insists on asking for $220k. It stands still and barren, couples who come to view it can sense the failure- the danger of the place. Bad vibes- the tension between the two of them like razor-wire drawn taut all through the space- slashing at their soft parts. Fear. Pain.
His cell phone actually rings. The viewing is canceled. She turns away from him and walks back to the metro without saying a word. She's never coming to show the house again.
She rounds the corner to the front of the building where Marc is sitting waiting for her. He is wearing shorts and sandals and that horrible pink golf shirt he thinks looks good on him. But he's not sitting on the first steps, he is sitting six or seven steps up, so he will have the upper ground. His cell phone is out and open- he's pretending to read text messages? From who? His broker? Like brokers keep in touch with day-traders. It's like a dep owner keeping in touch with customers addicted to scratch-and-win tickets.
The for sale sign is still out in front. The face of their pathetic agent is vainly peering out trying to project confidence, professionalism and friendliness all at the same time. She thinks he looks like a child molester instead.
5 months now, since the separation and now 4 weeks since the divorce, and not one serious offer on this condo they barely lived in. Their first home together and it stands empty now, a drain on both of their finances, a drain on both of their emotions. How many calls, emails and failed meetings with realtors and other couples must she go through until she can walk away from this thing? It is just a thing- a second floor enclosure of brick and plaster, glass and wiring. It is not a symbol for anything- it was never a promise of any idealized relationship. Never was a place to fall in love all over again, to take the disused den and turn it into a nursery, to grow plants and buy rugs and...
It was a trap. A trap to turn her into one of the neighbourhood wives with thick calves and practical haircuts and baby yoga lessons and small dinners with other couples that end at 11PM. With strollers and "nappy bags" you buy at Wal-Mart. A trap to turn her into a wife and mother and a side note in this man's life.
And here, here he sits looking like a golf pro in front of our condo that we could easily sell for $189k, but he insists on asking for $220k. It stands still and barren, couples who come to view it can sense the failure- the danger of the place. Bad vibes- the tension between the two of them like razor-wire drawn taut all through the space- slashing at their soft parts. Fear. Pain.
His cell phone actually rings. The viewing is canceled. She turns away from him and walks back to the metro without saying a word. She's never coming to show the house again.
Anodized Aluminum
I forget which book I was reading where the author used this term, but it struck me. Like vulcanized rubber. Or carbon composite.
From what I understand, though, this is aluminum that has been heat-hardened and possibly coloured in order to make things like MP3 players, cell phones and other consumer crap look pretty and last longer. The best example is the pictured combo bottle opener and key chain- I've had several of these that were made of plastic and they just can't stand up to the punishment I give the damn things.
So- if anyone ever wants to pick me up a nice little surprise, one of these would be great :)
From what I understand, though, this is aluminum that has been heat-hardened and possibly coloured in order to make things like MP3 players, cell phones and other consumer crap look pretty and last longer. The best example is the pictured combo bottle opener and key chain- I've had several of these that were made of plastic and they just can't stand up to the punishment I give the damn things.
So- if anyone ever wants to pick me up a nice little surprise, one of these would be great :)
The Incongruous Blond Woman at 6PM
Several times a week, right around 6PM, a blonde woman walks down my street in front of my front balcony, dressed in what I can only describe as her best clubbing clothes. Black blouses with sheer arms, off the shoulder dresses with big, sparkling clasps.
Her hair is done, perfect makeup, and high heel shoes. She's either a daytime escort or a bartender. Or maybe someone who has made the transition from undergrad student to office employee who doesn't have an office wardrobe yet.
If my balcony was on the first floor I might talk to her to try to find out. For now, though, it is fun to conjecture about her based on these few clues.
Her hair is done, perfect makeup, and high heel shoes. She's either a daytime escort or a bartender. Or maybe someone who has made the transition from undergrad student to office employee who doesn't have an office wardrobe yet.
If my balcony was on the first floor I might talk to her to try to find out. For now, though, it is fun to conjecture about her based on these few clues.
29.6.07
the freak can roll, dude
And YouTube took down the video of Jesus bowling from The Big Lebowski- copyright law is such a downer sometimes.
28.6.07
US Elections- time to gear up
My stat counter does some amazing things- it tells me minute details about the people who come to my site- and how they look at it- lately I've been getting a lot of hits on this article from within Quebec, but the readers are looking at through the google translator. Fun! Here's what it says:
Conseil pour le Lefty- desserrant la démocratie
D'un commentaire à Todd impair sur son poteau au sujet « d'un forum sur des anomalies de vote en Ohio » - ou, en plaine parler « en ayant quelqu'un plus lisse que vous volez les procès d'élection et maintenant. »
Pauvre Todd ; J'ai trébuché sur son emplacement le jour après qu'il l'ait commencé. C'était également le jour après que je sois allé sur mon sabbatical- de Solaris ainsi j'ai été un lecteur avide (j'ai beaucoup de temps sur mes mains, copain !).
Todd !
Jésus ! ! Combien d'élections les Américains vont-ils permettre soient-ils volés de elles avant que vous ayez une autre guerre civile ?
Est-ce que n'importe qui pense vraiment les établissements à votre « démocratie » avoir assez de sauvegardes établies dans elles pour mettre les pailles dans le système politique adversarial en évidence ?
Combien d'électeurs étant privés des droits civiques est acceptable ? 1, 100 ? 1000 ; peut-être ? 100.000 tant que il n'aurait pas affecté les résultats ?
Je sais que ce conseil peut sembler venir creux d'un Canadien car nous n'avons eu une naissance pacifique et aucune guerre civile, mais les événements entourant le référendum 1995 au Québec peuvent illustrer comment fragile nos démocraties occidentales deviennent à le moment où les murs de support des élections justes et libres sont ébréchés.
Un peu d'histoire :
Quand elle vient au Québec il y a deux côtés, les sovereignists qui veulent que le Québec soit leur propre nation (qui déchirerait le Canada dans le twain, les provinces atlantiques sont au à l'est du Québec), et les fédéralistes, qui croient que la structure courante entre le gouvernement fédéral et les provinces est cruciale à l'identité canadienne en dépit de quelques pailles de la manière plaçant, puissance, et des responsabilités sont divisées (bruit semblable aux arguments faits par States ?)
En 1995 il y avait un grand nombre de votes d'une matière prédominante d'anglais ou les équitations ethniques qui ont été considérées « se sont corrompues. » Sur celui, il était très dur pour Anglophones (anglophones) ou l'Allophones (les immigrés ou d'autres citoyens du Québec qui ont parlé une autre langue en tant que leur langue maternelle) au REGISTRE À LA VOIX.
Les personnes bonnes étaient nerveuses et très émotives. L'armée canadienne (telle qu'il est) est un mélange d'Anglophones et Francophones- que la plupart des dirigeants sont requis ainsi d'être bilingues. Qui a su ce que se produirait si l'armée était requise de maintenir l'ordre dans le Québec après le référendum, l'one-way ou un autre. Où les fidélités des troupes se trouveraient ? Les dirigeants ?
Rassemblement pour le Canada 1995, place de Domion, Montréal
Les Canadiens de l'extérieur de du Québec versent dans la ville pour parler en faveur avec Quebecers pour ne pas laisser la confédération.
Les étudiants étudiant au Québec du Nouveau Brunswick ont reçu des lettres
du bureau des ministres de NOTA: les invitant à me servir ai supposé
ils ont obtenu mon adresse/nom du bureau de prêts d'étudiant.
À la fin la voix a sorti pour être 50.1% contre la séparation, 49.9% pour. Le ministre du Québec publiquement a blâmé la perte des sovereignists sur le « argent et la voix ethnique » - pas assez !
Si le résultat était l'opposé et toutes ces gens qui avaient été privées des droits civiques allaient soudainement vivre dans un nouveau pays appelé le Québec là aurait été des protestations massives, les grèves, protestations à l'ONU et probablement il a pu même avoir TRÈS violent une La la crise de FLQ dans les années '70 mais s'être inversé.
Pendant qu'il était, plusieurs personnes ont été jetées en prison pour la voix trifouillant le mouvement entier de sovereignist ont été critiquées en tant qu'étant cyniques et malveillantes. Aucune discussion sérieuse de elle n'a eu lieu puisque, mais les parties soutenant l'idée forment toujours l'opposition dans la législature provinciale, et a même une partie dans les élections fédérales.
Envelopper vers le haut l'IMHO que le « gauche » devrait le sélectionner est des batailles plus étroitement dans les états vous les types sont partout ! Il est comme vos DOUZAINES de barre latérale de choses à agir dehors sur mais vraiment quelle est la source ?
Quelle est l'UN question/problème/établissement que vous pourriez changer qui améliorerait l'Amérique plus ? Je dirais la réforme de finances de campagne mais les démocrates sont JUSTES COMME LE MAUVAIS aide là et d'o…
Pourquoi pas chasse vers le bas (je dis la chasse que j'ai voulu dire la VOIE) en bas de chaque dernière personne du fond jusqu'au dessus qui est responsable de N'IMPORTE QUI voix n'étant pas compté. ET LES JETER EN PRISON. Se débarasser de chaque comté, état et loi fédérale qui empêche des personnes de s'enregistrer ou de voter.
Désolé si je vais sur un peu longuement ici mais moi a voté dans ce référendum 1995 au Québec et XX% des votes de ma station de vote « ont été corrompus ». Cela signifie que n'importe qui des 6.000 peuples qui a voté à ce scrutin ne pourrait pas avoir eu leur compte de voix. Cela prive des droits civiques TOUT LE MONDE du fait la zone et ce n'est pas un bon sentiment du tout quand votre pays est en jeu.
27.6.07
june ramblings
things to write about-
the nature of groups of boys (and their clothes)
the blonde woman in black at 6PM and the front balcony
my body as levers vs. fluid thing on mdma
sense of isolation with age
anodized aluminum
modern rituals in transportation
summer food
sensuality of women who wear clothes to bed and why they are not for me
the nature of groups of boys (and their clothes)
the blonde woman in black at 6PM and the front balcony
my body as levers vs. fluid thing on mdma
sense of isolation with age
anodized aluminum
modern rituals in transportation
summer food
sensuality of women who wear clothes to bed and why they are not for me
23.6.07
New Speak
I have to say, I have been looking forward to St. Jean-Baptiste weekend for almost a month. They've closed down my street a block above my house and I have gotten my hands on an amplified bull-horn. I plan on sitting on my balcony at 11 PM this evening shouting "Bonne Fete Provinciale" into the damn thing and watch the crowd go NUTS.
Why do we use the term "nationale" to describe Quebec instead of provincial? Is it us trying to appease the separatists, or are we succumbing to their propaganda? Don't they teach history in school here? I think the British won the Battle at the Plains of Abraham. Instead of wiping out the French altogether, we let them keep their schools, language and religion and this is how we get repaid? With a simmering movement to leave Canada, to restrict the use of English in the province in commerce, in politics, in essential services communications.
So- are we just using the terms of our oppressors or are we trying to appease the rebels so they really don't try to get their own state?
And here's a picture of some chick from facebook playing maid.
18.6.07
Facebook gone WILD
With all the new applications being added to Facebook there are also now a bunch of groups dedicated to discussing technical problems associated with the new apps.
Well, one such group has been over run with people talking about pretty much everything but.
So much so that the developer of the app has said:
Well, one such group has been over run with people talking about pretty much everything but.
So much so that the developer of the app has said:
16.6.07
Superior
I love it when people judge me to be morally or intellectually inferior to them because I "use" illicit substances that they are unfamiliar with.
First sign- they keep saying the words "abuse" instead of "use"; even before they ask anything about frequency or dosage.
It reminds me when I sneered down my nose at pot smokers. I stopped doing that- in general, but I won't date them. Unless they give me reason to :)
I am more than a match for you just drunk- the "e" will just level the field a bit more. You should be happy about it.
First sign- they keep saying the words "abuse" instead of "use"; even before they ask anything about frequency or dosage.
It reminds me when I sneered down my nose at pot smokers. I stopped doing that- in general, but I won't date them. Unless they give me reason to :)
I am more than a match for you just drunk- the "e" will just level the field a bit more. You should be happy about it.
15.6.07
What a Wonderful Friday
The sun is shining, a cool breeze is wafting past my front balcony, I'm not hungover and I found a fresh razor in my suitcase and got a really good shave. (What is it with sideburns lately? They are getting HUGE and I still think they look ridiculous unless you are in a rock-a-billy band... oh well...)
The women walking on the street are all wearing clothes in shades reminiscent of the candies of olde; bubblegum pink, freezie orange, and that electric pink hue that only came from the cream sodas of our youth.
I've eaten and have not drank since Tuesday. I am well hydrated and lightly dressed. I have a spare shirt, pair of socks packed (after putting away all my laundry I found that I have not worn socks in a week or more- summer ROCKS!), and swim trunks along with my travel tooth brush and comb. I have brought a second, fully charged cell phone.
I don't know when I will be home again and I certainly don't care.
The women walking on the street are all wearing clothes in shades reminiscent of the candies of olde; bubblegum pink, freezie orange, and that electric pink hue that only came from the cream sodas of our youth.
I've eaten and have not drank since Tuesday. I am well hydrated and lightly dressed. I have a spare shirt, pair of socks packed (after putting away all my laundry I found that I have not worn socks in a week or more- summer ROCKS!), and swim trunks along with my travel tooth brush and comb. I have brought a second, fully charged cell phone.
I don't know when I will be home again and I certainly don't care.
Pigeon mathematics- foiled
Remember the pigeons I wanted to kill the other week? In my back alley? Well- they had laid eggs under my barbeque. Behind it, actually, so no one saw them. But, there, one day, I saw a pigeon who would not leave the railing. I shooed him away with the big BBQ tongs, and then peered over and saw these two eggs! The miracle of life! More rats of the sky!
I soon noticed all the other little horrible pigeons had had their babies and there were even some small pigeons bopping around the quad. So, I tipped the eggs off into the driveway below, guessing the radiant heat from the BBQ had cooked the little fuckers inside their own eggs.
And I was right, the eggs didn't even break.
Yannick, my French-fuck-hippie roommate was just then looking out the kitchen window at my wanton act of destruction. I practically had to lead him by the hand to the alley to show him that harm was already done when he was roasting that corn on the grill. What a peacenik! He wouldn't even kill a spider the other day!
I am calling animal control this weekend for the birds, there are too many of them, and we also have a rather large skunk roaming about. If someone would just give this Maritime boy a good .22 carbine all this would be taken care of...
I soon noticed all the other little horrible pigeons had had their babies and there were even some small pigeons bopping around the quad. So, I tipped the eggs off into the driveway below, guessing the radiant heat from the BBQ had cooked the little fuckers inside their own eggs.
And I was right, the eggs didn't even break.
Yannick, my French-fuck-hippie roommate was just then looking out the kitchen window at my wanton act of destruction. I practically had to lead him by the hand to the alley to show him that harm was already done when he was roasting that corn on the grill. What a peacenik! He wouldn't even kill a spider the other day!
I am calling animal control this weekend for the birds, there are too many of them, and we also have a rather large skunk roaming about. If someone would just give this Maritime boy a good .22 carbine all this would be taken care of...
13.6.07
12.6.07
Dating in the 90's
Dating is very different now then it was in the 90's, when I was a young buck with big Elvis Costello glasses and a lower moral standard. Women didn't care how much you made, how many times a month you went out and got bottle service, what kind of car you drove.
Everyone was a student, everyone was poor and dressed like they were extras in a Ramones video. They drank $8 pitchers of beer and would occasionally splurge on a round of tequila- back when it was a buck a shot, before the agave shortage of 2004.
(Oh, and smoking- everyone smoked, everywhere; and cigarettes were $5 a pack and women knew how to blow smoke rings in heart shapes and men could put out the butts on their palms without pain. The 90's were THAT good.)
Used to be you would meet a woman in the bar, or at a loft party, hit it off and make out a bit in some shadowed corner, go home to either one of your places and fuck like there was nothing better to do on the planet. Ever.
You would wake up in the morning- one or the other of you may have decided to slink off if they were having second doubts about their drunken choices of the night before. But more likely than not they would go to breakfast at some diner and get to know one another a bit better. Maybe laugh at how drunk they were the night before. Maybe, if they were of the romantic persuasion and thinking they would like to see this random meeting develop into something more, they would touch on when they first saw each other at the bar, what song was playing when they kissed- just so they would know what to play a year from now on their anniversary, 5 years from now- or at their wedding.
You would call the other person again that night and ask them if they would like to go somewhere. One of you would suggest your regular bar, close to the other person's place. There, one of you would be surrounded by the other's friends as you drink more cheap beer and the group passes judgment on you. Stories of the host's previous relationships are skillfully interjected into the conversation and your reactions are weighed. You pass muster and are invited to the other's apartment, less drunk, and more attention is paid to details of technique, tenderness- possible emotional attachment- and decor.
Two weeks of "hanging out" ensue, then you have the going out discussion- which is usually brought about because one or the other almost had a sexual encounter with someone new, or had one and it was terrible and you now feel you had originally made a wise choice. There may be a more general leaving of things at one another's apartments- especially toiletries.
A month or two later one of you will realize you have not been to your own apartment for more than 10 hours in the past month, or one of you may have trouble making rent. There will be a very tactful discussion of finance, pros and cons of moving in together. One person will seem to ponder this slowly and weight-fully, but they are just as excited as the other. You are, after all, in your twenties, your parents can be damned, and this person may be the one.
This living together, of course, is akin to putting two mentally challenged people in the cockpit of a jet. You are thrilled to be flying the jet, but neither of you know WHAT THE FUCK you are doing. You drink too much, you hang out together too much, your school work suffers and one of you is not contributing financially as much the other. Or worse, one of you is starting to resent the commitment this living together has forced on you and you start making life intolerable for the other. You become passive aggressive and manipulative. So does your mate.
As the end of your lease approaches, one of you becomes an adulterer- one of you is cuckolded. One person knows it is over, the other just feels lost. About two weeks before the lease needs to be resigned the bomb is dropped- one of you moves out, or is kicked out. A new person may move in within the next 6 weeks- just for fun, and the cycle begins again.
You don't ever, ever, talk to your ex. You never, ever go to their favorite bar.
Everyone was a student, everyone was poor and dressed like they were extras in a Ramones video. They drank $8 pitchers of beer and would occasionally splurge on a round of tequila- back when it was a buck a shot, before the agave shortage of 2004.
(Oh, and smoking- everyone smoked, everywhere; and cigarettes were $5 a pack and women knew how to blow smoke rings in heart shapes and men could put out the butts on their palms without pain. The 90's were THAT good.)
Used to be you would meet a woman in the bar, or at a loft party, hit it off and make out a bit in some shadowed corner, go home to either one of your places and fuck like there was nothing better to do on the planet. Ever.
You would wake up in the morning- one or the other of you may have decided to slink off if they were having second doubts about their drunken choices of the night before. But more likely than not they would go to breakfast at some diner and get to know one another a bit better. Maybe laugh at how drunk they were the night before. Maybe, if they were of the romantic persuasion and thinking they would like to see this random meeting develop into something more, they would touch on when they first saw each other at the bar, what song was playing when they kissed- just so they would know what to play a year from now on their anniversary, 5 years from now- or at their wedding.
You would call the other person again that night and ask them if they would like to go somewhere. One of you would suggest your regular bar, close to the other person's place. There, one of you would be surrounded by the other's friends as you drink more cheap beer and the group passes judgment on you. Stories of the host's previous relationships are skillfully interjected into the conversation and your reactions are weighed. You pass muster and are invited to the other's apartment, less drunk, and more attention is paid to details of technique, tenderness- possible emotional attachment- and decor.
Two weeks of "hanging out" ensue, then you have the going out discussion- which is usually brought about because one or the other almost had a sexual encounter with someone new, or had one and it was terrible and you now feel you had originally made a wise choice. There may be a more general leaving of things at one another's apartments- especially toiletries.
A month or two later one of you will realize you have not been to your own apartment for more than 10 hours in the past month, or one of you may have trouble making rent. There will be a very tactful discussion of finance, pros and cons of moving in together. One person will seem to ponder this slowly and weight-fully, but they are just as excited as the other. You are, after all, in your twenties, your parents can be damned, and this person may be the one.
This living together, of course, is akin to putting two mentally challenged people in the cockpit of a jet. You are thrilled to be flying the jet, but neither of you know WHAT THE FUCK you are doing. You drink too much, you hang out together too much, your school work suffers and one of you is not contributing financially as much the other. Or worse, one of you is starting to resent the commitment this living together has forced on you and you start making life intolerable for the other. You become passive aggressive and manipulative. So does your mate.
As the end of your lease approaches, one of you becomes an adulterer- one of you is cuckolded. One person knows it is over, the other just feels lost. About two weeks before the lease needs to be resigned the bomb is dropped- one of you moves out, or is kicked out. A new person may move in within the next 6 weeks- just for fun, and the cycle begins again.
You don't ever, ever, talk to your ex. You never, ever go to their favorite bar.
7.6.07
Morning Nightmare
Blowing snow on the Trans-Canada highway as I am making my way from Saint John to Rothesay with my twelve year old daughter sitting beside me. Some sort of new sedan with black leather interior. I am forty four or so and we are talking about her grandparents who we are going to visit.
The front end of the car lurches left unexpectedly. My car grazes a mini-van that was overtaking us and spins in my own lane. My head is thrown against my window and all I see are flashes of white snow on the hills raising up on either side of the highway, then the black of the road, then white.
The On-Star is beeping in alarm and my daughter is screeching at the top of her lungs- I'm wrestling with the steering wheel, the gas and the hand brake all at the same time like some yachtsman fighting a gale.
There's a sound of metal screaming and a deep noise that wipes out every thought from my mind- I open my eyes and I am lying in a snow bank beside the car- it is twisted around the bridge support, passenger side crushed inward all the way to the drivers console.
There's blood everywhere, covering the snow and I can't hear my daughter screaming anymore.
I'm glad I don't wake up alone.
The front end of the car lurches left unexpectedly. My car grazes a mini-van that was overtaking us and spins in my own lane. My head is thrown against my window and all I see are flashes of white snow on the hills raising up on either side of the highway, then the black of the road, then white.
The On-Star is beeping in alarm and my daughter is screeching at the top of her lungs- I'm wrestling with the steering wheel, the gas and the hand brake all at the same time like some yachtsman fighting a gale.
There's a sound of metal screaming and a deep noise that wipes out every thought from my mind- I open my eyes and I am lying in a snow bank beside the car- it is twisted around the bridge support, passenger side crushed inward all the way to the drivers console.
There's blood everywhere, covering the snow and I can't hear my daughter screaming anymore.
I'm glad I don't wake up alone.
6.6.07
Buy me whiskey tomorrow night
And i will say these words:
I wish my blog was as banal as yours and as widely read
Futility
When I did this the first time around I had 40-50 repeat readers everyday. Now, 15- with some other 50 keyword readers.
So- do I try to sleek up and "cross post" myself to other blogs or do I not give a fug?
To those of you who read this when I post- Basil, Andrea, Alston, Misstress, Septima, B2B Ontario, Lise, Tiff, Villa, Anna, Ronny and Raymi- thanks. And I ask you- should I be looking for a wider audience or focus more on my craft?
So- do I try to sleek up and "cross post" myself to other blogs or do I not give a fug?
To those of you who read this when I post- Basil, Andrea, Alston, Misstress, Septima, B2B Ontario, Lise, Tiff, Villa, Anna, Ronny and Raymi- thanks. And I ask you- should I be looking for a wider audience or focus more on my craft?
4.6.07
From Natural to OMG I'm a porn star
From the fine and catty ladies over at Go Fug Yourself comes an expose on a nice young acttress from The Hills who has gone from this:
to something you are more used to seeing on The Playboy Channel. Of course, they blame it on the bad influence of her boyfriend- and from what I've seen of the guys on the Hills I wouldn't bet against it.
to something you are more used to seeing on The Playboy Channel. Of course, they blame it on the bad influence of her boyfriend- and from what I've seen of the guys on the Hills I wouldn't bet against it.
Art for Everyone- where you'd least expect it
Sinbad Richardson and his large comics
There's a group of fine folks over at indyish.com (who's website takes for ass-long to load...) have arranged a little project where artists and various others put up work in random spots around Montreal (and hopefully this will mean not all up on the Main)- and this is the big week!
Get locations and give feedback on the art at THE SECRET COMMONS, which I guess isn't so secret anymore.
3.6.07
My RSS feed seems to be taking a LONG time
Other things of note-
*********************************
My parents are THOSE people you hear about on the internet who sign up for $100 for some marketing thing that makes no sense. I never would have thought- but then again they did try selling Amway back in the eighties.
*********************************
The little things my roommates do that don't fit into my perfect, idealized, ordered little universe are starting to drive me nuts a bit. They are also exerting something my therapist says is their "free will", whatever the fuck that is.
All of which has been severely damaging my calm.
ie: "This hook is for the wash cloth, this is for the tea towel. Fuck it up again and you will loose all kitchen privileges."
"-Who am I to make these rules? You question my correctness and authority? (Insert low guttural, wet giggle raising to a full maniacal laugh) You'll see, you'll see..."
*********************************
My new job sounds a lot more interesting when I describe it in detail than if I just say, "Sales."
*********************************
A woman I just met on Easter weekend and have partied with a bit, Marie, seems to know everyone I do, and not through me. And she isn't even on facebook. Today she was at an art studio open house that I went to with a friend I hadn't hung out with for 2 years. This is freaking me out a bit.
*********************************
The thing I think about most while walking the plateau in the sticky hot weather is Black Books- the episode "Fever" where Bernard is lamenting that he needs a "summer girl"- with summer friends who know how to be out of doors...
Yes- I will eventually get locked up if I don't get an air conditioner. But if L. Lohan is still walking the streets I think I'm far enough down the list that I can enjoy myself this summer.
*********************************
My parents are THOSE people you hear about on the internet who sign up for $100 for some marketing thing that makes no sense. I never would have thought- but then again they did try selling Amway back in the eighties.
*********************************
The little things my roommates do that don't fit into my perfect, idealized, ordered little universe are starting to drive me nuts a bit. They are also exerting something my therapist says is their "free will", whatever the fuck that is.
All of which has been severely damaging my calm.
ie: "This hook is for the wash cloth, this is for the tea towel. Fuck it up again and you will loose all kitchen privileges."
"-Who am I to make these rules? You question my correctness and authority? (Insert low guttural, wet giggle raising to a full maniacal laugh) You'll see, you'll see..."
*********************************
My new job sounds a lot more interesting when I describe it in detail than if I just say, "Sales."
*********************************
A woman I just met on Easter weekend and have partied with a bit, Marie, seems to know everyone I do, and not through me. And she isn't even on facebook. Today she was at an art studio open house that I went to with a friend I hadn't hung out with for 2 years. This is freaking me out a bit.
*********************************
The thing I think about most while walking the plateau in the sticky hot weather is Black Books- the episode "Fever" where Bernard is lamenting that he needs a "summer girl"- with summer friends who know how to be out of doors...
"You throw your hair back and laugh as we bicycle around the Cotswolds in a taxi. You flick the cherry off the pie and only eat the cream because that's what Aunty Nibs used to do."-I especially want to have sex in the grass this year. And in the water somewhere- in the Atlantic most of all. And in nightclub washrooms and on rooftops. In my apartment elevator while the damn thing is jammed up betwixt floors- no!!!-better yet my ex's elevator, which actually has those waist high rails that give you such a good leverage point... I wouldn't really count out public transport, either.
Yes- I will eventually get locked up if I don't get an air conditioner. But if L. Lohan is still walking the streets I think I'm far enough down the list that I can enjoy myself this summer.
2.6.07
It's June and my patio bar is calling
Gabby and I tried to go 737 yesterday after work only to find the bar doors (elevator) open but no one inside, no booze behind the bar and no staff to be seen anywhere. I don't know what the owners are thinking but now are the weeks when we start building our summer routines. And if they don't want us drinking on Varga's patio all summer they had better be open next week.
737 is a bit over crowded some weeks, and their no jeans policy on Thursdays is a bit of a turn off for some of my friends who don't even own an iron, let alone know how to press a pair of slacks.
And the no sandals rule sucks when it is 27 degrees in the shade. But the cheap beer and office babes make up for it. And it is fun to pretend, even for a few hours, that we are responsible adults. Sipping beer out of plastic cups and leaving our ties on so they whip around in the wind 737 feet above the streets of downtown Montreal.
Varga's has food, though, and their beer specials are just as good as 737's but you get served your drinks in pre-frosted mugs the size off your head. Bonus-their bar whiskey is cheap with your mix on the side in those little vases. There's really no dress code but the staff get wary when we show up there. We get loud and drunk by 8PM and only have one round past happy hour. And we never stay for a full dinner (who can afford to pay $40 for a steak?? Not me yet).
There's no music at Varga's- and dancing is strongly discouraged. But you are at street level with decent traffic so the people watching is a bonus. Unfortunately I see a lot of my ex-coworkers there that I really have no use for. And the washrooms have those tiny little towels and good lighting in case you need to get something small out of your pockets and into your body (which is also looked down upon by the staff LOL but fug 'em).
On any random night at 737 you can buy coke in the washrooms and maybe get some VP of Short Skirts from a tony law firm to do some with you in the VIP lounge. Then maybe down to her office for a scotch and a board meeting (wink wink).
I think 737 is going to win the summer patio war this year. There's enough time to drink at Varga's in the winter.
737 is a bit over crowded some weeks, and their no jeans policy on Thursdays is a bit of a turn off for some of my friends who don't even own an iron, let alone know how to press a pair of slacks.
And the no sandals rule sucks when it is 27 degrees in the shade. But the cheap beer and office babes make up for it. And it is fun to pretend, even for a few hours, that we are responsible adults. Sipping beer out of plastic cups and leaving our ties on so they whip around in the wind 737 feet above the streets of downtown Montreal.
Varga's has food, though, and their beer specials are just as good as 737's but you get served your drinks in pre-frosted mugs the size off your head. Bonus-their bar whiskey is cheap with your mix on the side in those little vases. There's really no dress code but the staff get wary when we show up there. We get loud and drunk by 8PM and only have one round past happy hour. And we never stay for a full dinner (who can afford to pay $40 for a steak?? Not me yet).
There's no music at Varga's- and dancing is strongly discouraged. But you are at street level with decent traffic so the people watching is a bonus. Unfortunately I see a lot of my ex-coworkers there that I really have no use for. And the washrooms have those tiny little towels and good lighting in case you need to get something small out of your pockets and into your body (which is also looked down upon by the staff LOL but fug 'em).
On any random night at 737 you can buy coke in the washrooms and maybe get some VP of Short Skirts from a tony law firm to do some with you in the VIP lounge. Then maybe down to her office for a scotch and a board meeting (wink wink).
I think 737 is going to win the summer patio war this year. There's enough time to drink at Varga's in the winter.
30.5.07
We have made this
I wept like a child last night. Pardon the cliché, but it is true. Long deep shaking sobs washing over me like a balm.
All she had said was "I wish I'd met your parents."
The sense of loss is still there- I am just getting better at ignoring it, at pretending I am fine. At being the walking wounded.
I've been putting on a good show. I had myself believing it to the point I was actually thinking about starting to date again.
Whenever I thought about trying to win her back I used to remember just one thing she said before she left.
"I would go to the bathroom to cry."
I never want to hurt anyone like that ever again. Especially her. She is my kindred and my best friend.
But when I see her and we both openly admit we are still deeply in love with one another- and still find our lives meshing, our dreams meshing- how do we go on? Or how do we walk away?
Her friend spelled out her dilemma in mathematics- at the age of 22 she had been with me for 2 years, a tenth of her whole life. A fifth of her teen and adult life- therefore it is normal for her to feel residual emotions for me. To be bound.
But that doesn't explain it for me. I can't shrug this off like I used to. I've left relationships like this with barely a look back. I've been left before and not been in knots about it. I don't know this and it is debilitating.
I love her more than I ever imagined I would ever love anyone in my life. And I wept because we made a complete mess of it. Both of us; a total fucking mess. But the bits of this thing won't die- the tendrils are far into us and writhing about.
All she had said was "I wish I'd met your parents."
The sense of loss is still there- I am just getting better at ignoring it, at pretending I am fine. At being the walking wounded.
I've been putting on a good show. I had myself believing it to the point I was actually thinking about starting to date again.
Whenever I thought about trying to win her back I used to remember just one thing she said before she left.
"I would go to the bathroom to cry."
I never want to hurt anyone like that ever again. Especially her. She is my kindred and my best friend.
But when I see her and we both openly admit we are still deeply in love with one another- and still find our lives meshing, our dreams meshing- how do we go on? Or how do we walk away?
Her friend spelled out her dilemma in mathematics- at the age of 22 she had been with me for 2 years, a tenth of her whole life. A fifth of her teen and adult life- therefore it is normal for her to feel residual emotions for me. To be bound.
But that doesn't explain it for me. I can't shrug this off like I used to. I've left relationships like this with barely a look back. I've been left before and not been in knots about it. I don't know this and it is debilitating.
I love her more than I ever imagined I would ever love anyone in my life. And I wept because we made a complete mess of it. Both of us; a total fucking mess. But the bits of this thing won't die- the tendrils are far into us and writhing about.
29.5.07
May's notebook
I've fallen so far.
The Spring rains in Montreal remind me of the Maritimes. All year, actually, I think I feel closer to the Earth than most of the people I know. I understand its power. Living on the edge of the continent is a blessing. Being born there is a boon to be treasured. I feel the power of the wind, the sweet kiss of the rain- the enormity of the sky, the throb of the earth beneath my feet-
-and I am humbled. The things we have wrought are a monument not just to human ingenuity, but to the planet itself. We've wrought mighty works from the crust of our world and it is not all bad.
Can I kill the pigeons in the back quad? Please? Not with poison or anything dangerous to our cat but with a pellet gun or marbles and a slingshot. They are the rats of the sky and I think they are making a nest under our barbeque.
Outremont Welcome kit- things I did not get:
Women from New York know how to stand with their shoulders back, breasts out and chin up. It is remarkable to contrast them with their Montreal friends- standing side by side at a party. Who are invariably hunching their shoulders for some reason...
If there are a dozen pigeons now I assume they are six mated pairs- who can lay 2 eggs every 60 days, so by June there will be 24, by September there will be 48- and if it is warm, by December first there will be 96...
Teen age boys in Saudi Arabia call women "MBO's"- Moving Black Objects, because of the prevelance of the burqa in their society. Some sociologists believe these men are missing the civilizing female influence in their formative years because of the lack of casual, every-day contact with women- making them more susceptible to extremism and violence.
Can I really date a woman who is a horrible dancer? Despite everything else we have in common? I mean not horrible, just unexpressive... I felt bad for her. I even reigned it in a notch or two even though I was on fire- having a blast.
Possible book title- You, Kirk and I- how Geeks ruin relationships.
The Spring rains in Montreal remind me of the Maritimes. All year, actually, I think I feel closer to the Earth than most of the people I know. I understand its power. Living on the edge of the continent is a blessing. Being born there is a boon to be treasured. I feel the power of the wind, the sweet kiss of the rain- the enormity of the sky, the throb of the earth beneath my feet-
-and I am humbled. The things we have wrought are a monument not just to human ingenuity, but to the planet itself. We've wrought mighty works from the crust of our world and it is not all bad.
Can I kill the pigeons in the back quad? Please? Not with poison or anything dangerous to our cat but with a pellet gun or marbles and a slingshot. They are the rats of the sky and I think they are making a nest under our barbeque.
Outremont Welcome kit- things I did not get:
- a German compact car
- a dog to walk around and be seen with
- a young wife with two kids, one in a stroller- the other on a tricycle
- a set of horrible plaid shorts, socks and sandals at the same time.
- grandparents who come over on Sundays and drink beer on the patio
Women from New York know how to stand with their shoulders back, breasts out and chin up. It is remarkable to contrast them with their Montreal friends- standing side by side at a party. Who are invariably hunching their shoulders for some reason...
If there are a dozen pigeons now I assume they are six mated pairs- who can lay 2 eggs every 60 days, so by June there will be 24, by September there will be 48- and if it is warm, by December first there will be 96...
Teen age boys in Saudi Arabia call women "MBO's"- Moving Black Objects, because of the prevelance of the burqa in their society. Some sociologists believe these men are missing the civilizing female influence in their formative years because of the lack of casual, every-day contact with women- making them more susceptible to extremism and violence.
Can I really date a woman who is a horrible dancer? Despite everything else we have in common? I mean not horrible, just unexpressive... I felt bad for her. I even reigned it in a notch or two even though I was on fire- having a blast.
Possible book title- You, Kirk and I- how Geeks ruin relationships.
26.5.07
random erotic dreams
Am in a hallway with a petite woman- short blonde bob, we are both medical school students, she is wearing a sleek and tight fitting sweater. You can watch her small breasts raising and falling as I am leaning over her. No makeup- but her lips are warm and inviting. I hover an inch over them- she's clutching a text book- but not in front of her- both her hands are behind her- it is almost as if she is pinning herself against the wall.We are talking about something- an upcoming exam- a social event we will both be at. She springs forward the last inch by pushing against the wall. The text clatters to the ground, her hands in my hair. Her palms are damp and she's breathing fast and quick.
I'm panicked about being seen but my anxiety is just encouraging her. There's a study room down the hall and she leads me there saying something horribly cliché like a 70's porn,
I think it's great.
23.5.07
Hoisted by my own petard
And- un-BAM- with the 240+ hits I've gotten in the past few days on my tattoo question- I realize I might be missing out on the insights that I am looking for. And generally, I am missing the debate and the witty rapporte with the readers.
Okay- I won't come to your blogs calling you whiny, sniveling Web 2.0 nerds if you don't come over here calling me a degenerate, crunkhead misogynist- deal?
Besides, I'll be moderating the comments ;)
Okay- I won't come to your blogs calling you whiny, sniveling Web 2.0 nerds if you don't come over here calling me a degenerate, crunkhead misogynist- deal?
Besides, I'll be moderating the comments ;)
19.5.07
Yes- it hurts
Ok- I had promised that there would be no more song lyrics- so I guess I'll actually have to write something here instead of continuing to break numerous copyright laws.
I had my monthly visit from my ex this week as she was in the midst of what appears to be a break up or a failed fling. She was a bit distraught, a bit drunk and a bit missing me. And a bit down on herself for the way her life's been going these past months.
And yes, I do realize that not all things have to do with me or with our break up.
So we talked and cried and had breakfast the next day and she left smiling and I felt good that we could communicate without hurting each other- even though she told me some things that she had done during our relationship that would have hurt me before- they only stunned me this time.
(I had suspected.)
So I guess I'm getting emotionally ready to move on and away from this and still keep my best friend in some way. That huge sense of loss I felt here is down to a size I can deal with a lot better.
I had my monthly visit from my ex this week as she was in the midst of what appears to be a break up or a failed fling. She was a bit distraught, a bit drunk and a bit missing me. And a bit down on herself for the way her life's been going these past months.
And yes, I do realize that not all things have to do with me or with our break up.
So we talked and cried and had breakfast the next day and she left smiling and I felt good that we could communicate without hurting each other- even though she told me some things that she had done during our relationship that would have hurt me before- they only stunned me this time.
(I had suspected.)
So I guess I'm getting emotionally ready to move on and away from this and still keep my best friend in some way. That huge sense of loss I felt here is down to a size I can deal with a lot better.
16.5.07
Hump day
Ok- if I believed in reincarnation I would want to come back as Jessica Alba's silk jumper- shown here in this fashion spread at men.style.com.
What Jessica Alba has to do with men's fashion is beyond me, but it will certainly increase their page load count today.
15.5.07
Today on Facebook
I realized that I have been using the same email, cut and pasted and slightly altered for two months now when people I have not seen or heard of in years add me as their friend. There's three paragraphs detailing the last 6 months, the last 4 years, and then the last ten years.
I don't know what I will do if someone I haven't talked to in 15 years adds me- I think I would just reject the offer.
But today a guy who used to live with me three years ago basically sent me his form "Hey, how you doing-" I sent my 4 year response to him, and he sent back another one with a link to his MySpace page and his music...
So, our form emails are keeping in touch with one and another. I'm going to ping our mutual friends and see if my suspicions are correct or not, or if I am the only evil one using form replies on facebook!
I don't know what I will do if someone I haven't talked to in 15 years adds me- I think I would just reject the offer.
But today a guy who used to live with me three years ago basically sent me his form "Hey, how you doing-" I sent my 4 year response to him, and he sent back another one with a link to his MySpace page and his music...
So, our form emails are keeping in touch with one and another. I'm going to ping our mutual friends and see if my suspicions are correct or not, or if I am the only evil one using form replies on facebook!
14.5.07
Three squares and a beer, please
I'm a bit happy with myself this evening- I have prepared and ate three full meals today, at almost their habitual times, went to one job interview, sent out ten more resumes, and am now going to have my one and only drink of the night before doing my ironing.
And no one got hurt at all.
Except that cow that I got the steak from I think.
And I guess there was a pig involved in the morning ham- and there might have been some chicken discomfort involved in producing those two eggs... but you get the idea.
Travel, like youth, is wasted on the young
Hi Katie,
From a found postcard in my new flat.
By the time you get this, we will have returned from our trip & Varanasi will be the furthest thing from my mind! But while it is still fresh in my memory & experience, I thought Id send this off to you. What an amazing city- centered around death and cremation rituals, yet teeming with life in every nick(sic) & cranny. Between the heat & the hastling (sic), it is often a bit too much, but I still find myself developing an inexplicable love for the place. I feel like there is a secret, a mystery to be contemplated around every corner. Perhaps the 40 degree+ is making me a bit sentimental...lots of love,
Sarah
and BAM!
Comments off- I didn't start blogging so I could be accused of this, that or the other thing and I certainly don't feel like having my sense of humour put on trial at all hours of the day, for days on end- so- feel free to email me, but honestly- go write your own things.
12.5.07
And my second post was a killer, too
Entitled "A Bit of Melancholy" I was in the midst of a three or four month fling with a half Thai/Chinese girl at work that I should not have been- I adored her but didn't love her- I was still sleeping with my ex at that point, too- from Halifax... and this German girl called Inge... God- the things we do to ourselves emotionally sometimes...
**short IM with someone I'm dating**Yeah, ditto.
Tenacious J: we have the most bizarre IM conversations...
I'm flying to the moon & back: what makes you say that?
Tenacious J: they are way more bizarre than our actual conversations
I'm flying to the moon & back: we don't talk much when we're together
Tenacious J: how does that make you feel?
I'm flying to the moon & back: LOL I think we're too busy groping each other
Tenacious J: :) no, seriously
I'm flying to the moon & back: I'm not good talking about my feelings :)
Tenacious J: I am when I want to...
God- suddenly I'm depressed...
First post- from May. 2004
Bad spelling and all- this was right after I had closed my LiveJournal account and decided to blog instead-- I still have issues talking to beautiful women in the club- but only if they are with other men and their tongues are intertwined- now I just try to treat them like people and it all works fine.
So, four years gone and I barely have enough to make a chap book out of. No more breaks for me!
Thank you all!
There's nothing better than watching beautiful people dancing except dancing with the beautiful people. Tammy, Stephan and I had a wicked night at Circus with DJ Nivoc, except I smoked too much -got tired around 8 AM and lost the beat.Did I used to think Alanis was hot? I guess so!
Too many single guys at Circus- had way more fun at Stereo last week.I also end up not talking to anyone new when I'm there--is it my lack of French? What's wrong with me- still feel out of place in that scene?
Saw the most beautiful woman- she looked like Alanis Morissette except more glamorous... she was with a Latin guy who had hair just like mine, before I got it caught. She danced with me for an hour- and I didn't even ask her name.
What is the correct social convention for that?? I don't know... dancing is one hting and flirting is another.
So, four years gone and I barely have enough to make a chap book out of. No more breaks for me!
Thank you all!
11.5.07
Julia Bonk is our official HotPerson
Maybe this will help- hopefully she'll have more photos on-line in the future, but we are going to adopt Julia Bonk, the then 18 year old Parliamentarian from Germany, as the Bliss' official HotPerson.
Her official write up, translated from German-
With their straight times (wow- Babelfish is still in Beta...) 18 years Julia is the youngest candidate to the election of the federal parliament and starts fully through. The former national pupil spokeswoman demands fewer school locking and a socially fairer school as much as more financial support for youth clubs in Saxonia. "young people cannot be always first, those with household negotiations in the back down fall!", she means. You are important that delegates see their task also outside of the parliament and with initiatives and federations together to work closely. It wants to give to young humans in politics a voice and therefore stands as a candidate to Julia, non-party, on the list of the Party of Democratic Socialism to the elections of the federal parliament.
Julia, welcome to the blog that will pander for pills. I don't want to be the one who breaks it to Lindsey Lohan...
10.5.07
Bad art projects
An empty lot on Parc Ave. above Sherbrooke
I was thinking as a photo project it would be interesting to go around town and take photos of the places and apartments I have had sex in and then post them online with a brief description and then an overlay to Google maps or some such.
And then my friend joked that you could give out audio tapes and make it into a walking tour of Montreal. But this seemed like taking the idea a bit too far... but it might be fun to see tourists reactions!
9.5.07
OMG- do you know it is Wednesday??
Basil- when and why did you call my cell phone? are u insane? do you know what day it is? It is WEDNESDAY the day of sleeping in and being extremely hungover! did u not read my facebook events for yesterday? I was at MELANIE'S birthday party at McLean's- then at Salone Daome- where i caught a chair with MY HAND and broke or sprained or horribly disfigured my thumb and i have no idea why I am even trying to type with this swollen and bruised monstrous limb.
and I am blaming YOU! yes- I know you weren't there or anything or that you are pretty innocent in general but you were the one who called me and left messages on my cell phone and then the little fucking thing was BEEPING for hours this morning while I was trying to sleep off this HORRIBLE hangover---
GOD- I got some fucking fat chick's phone number last night- what a fucking mess...
I may need you to come over and help me set up a wireless bridge over here for the kids on the other side of the apartment.
WHAT DO YOU MEAN "MAYBE" attend my housewarming- god- don't make me beg you.. and bring some single women this time that DON'T charge for sex... what are married buddies for except to attract single women and pawn them off on their older, wiser, more available buddies.
and I am blaming YOU! yes- I know you weren't there or anything or that you are pretty innocent in general but you were the one who called me and left messages on my cell phone and then the little fucking thing was BEEPING for hours this morning while I was trying to sleep off this HORRIBLE hangover---
GOD- I got some fucking fat chick's phone number last night- what a fucking mess...
I may need you to come over and help me set up a wireless bridge over here for the kids on the other side of the apartment.
WHAT DO YOU MEAN "MAYBE" attend my housewarming- god- don't make me beg you.. and bring some single women this time that DON'T charge for sex... what are married buddies for except to attract single women and pawn them off on their older, wiser, more available buddies.
8.5.07
Passive Agressive?
Does anyone think it strange that my female roommate has both a whistle and a 3 inch long blade knife on her key chain?
One item saying don't fuck with me, the other a safety measure?
Or maybe the pen knife is just for cutting apples at break and the whistle is for hailing cabs...who knows?
Time to get Interactive
I need some reader help by calling on the vast knowledge base that my audience represents- I am curious to know what may be the significance of a woman wearing a traditional "mom" heart tattoo with a pencil stuck through it- not like a regular pencil you use at school, but the short kind that comes with boardgames or you use to order in a sushi restaurant. The type with no eraser.
Any sites you could point me towards or personal stories...I'll tell you why once I have an interesting story to tell and maybe prove/disprove any answers I get here!
Many thanks- more later!
5.5.07
There should be a law.
As part of my continuing scrutiny of all things bizarre and slightly offensive to my view of the world, I bring you these two tidbits from the last twenty four hours:
"I'm in the Arts, too- I'm an animator for video games"
-which, despite my high regard for people who do such work, is not, yet, an Art with a capital "A." I'm sorry, it just isn't. I know the video game industry employs more people and makes more money than film in North America, but reallllllyyy-no.
Next- the phone call:
*RING RING*
me-"Hello?"
young woman on phone-"Is Alicia there?"
me-"No, she's moved out.'
her-"Well thanks for telling me!!" (annoyed tone changes this from a thank you to a sarcastic bitchy thing...)
me-"I would have told you sooner but I don't know you."
Enjoy your weekend!
"I'm in the Arts, too- I'm an animator for video games"
-which, despite my high regard for people who do such work, is not, yet, an Art with a capital "A." I'm sorry, it just isn't. I know the video game industry employs more people and makes more money than film in North America, but reallllllyyy-no.
Next- the phone call:
*RING RING*
me-"Hello?"
young woman on phone-"Is Alicia there?"
me-"No, she's moved out.'
her-"Well thanks for telling me!!" (annoyed tone changes this from a thank you to a sarcastic bitchy thing...)
me-"I would have told you sooner but I don't know you."
Enjoy your weekend!
2.5.07
Weddings and Toothaches
One of my oldest friends from Halifax has an excellent blog that I don't read enough- Weddings and Toothaches- a mix of normal blog stuff like Thai hippos eating dwarves and stuff, and excellent recipes from her experiences as a chef (She made that ballerina cake! Wow!)
1.5.07
Blogging, biking and group thought
Why is it that when the whole discussion of transportation comes to the blog sphere I always hear unanimous approval and support for bicycles and bike lanes in Montreal? This link from the Montreal Metroblog is a case in point- the city is finally going to link downtown to Westmount- but at what expense to the taxpayer?
I don't agree wholeheartedly that cyclists should get more lanes until their numbers start following the rules of the road a bit better. Like, all the rules- wearing helmets, coming to full stops OUTSIDE of the crosswalks- like back three feet where that THICK WHITE LINE IS YOU STINKING HIPPY. Not riding the wrong way down one way streets- crap like that.
But anyway... what percentage of bloggers are bicyclists? How about video game designers? Professional PHP or PCP or WTF programmers? Why is everyone all up about Net-freedom? Hasn't anyone heard of Homeland Security? (LOL)
Am I just sampling blogs that I think will agree [or will be likely to agree] with my own personal world view or is there really a lack of diversity in the blog sphere, here and outside of Montreal.
If I ever actually get to one of these YULblog things I might suggest to some of my friends we each go out and try to find ONE Montreal blogger who holds radically different opinions than we/they do- then invite them as our guest to the next one, intro them around to the room and see the fireworks go off.
(note the new tags- I'll be writing a lot on hyperreality and postmodernity over the next couple of weeks since I just loaded the correct spelling into my Firefox dictionary)
I don't agree wholeheartedly that cyclists should get more lanes until their numbers start following the rules of the road a bit better. Like, all the rules- wearing helmets, coming to full stops OUTSIDE of the crosswalks- like back three feet where that THICK WHITE LINE IS YOU STINKING HIPPY. Not riding the wrong way down one way streets- crap like that.
But anyway... what percentage of bloggers are bicyclists? How about video game designers? Professional PHP or PCP or WTF programmers? Why is everyone all up about Net-freedom? Hasn't anyone heard of Homeland Security? (LOL)
Am I just sampling blogs that I think will agree [or will be likely to agree] with my own personal world view or is there really a lack of diversity in the blog sphere, here and outside of Montreal.
If I ever actually get to one of these YULblog things I might suggest to some of my friends we each go out and try to find ONE Montreal blogger who holds radically different opinions than we/they do- then invite them as our guest to the next one, intro them around to the room and see the fireworks go off.
(note the new tags- I'll be writing a lot on hyperreality and postmodernity over the next couple of weeks since I just loaded the correct spelling into my Firefox dictionary)
30.4.07
Really bad video from Basil's party
Okay- so the cell phone cost a lot when I got it, but the damn thing is a piece of crap when it comes to video recording- or it could be the lighting, or the fact I was more than three feet from the poor guy while he was singing (the song is, of course, Shania Twain's man, I feel Like a woman)
So- enjoy!
We return you to your regularly scheduled blog-
Where we spend too much time surfing the internet (the REAL internet- not just facebook) and find hilarious stuff like this- poor Bjork- from over at the brilliant Go Fug yourself,
"This is why Bjork is an international treasure."
24.4.07
A Dream About You
Keri Noble
I had a dream about you last night
I dreamed that you were dead
When I woke up I wanted to call
And get it out of my head
But we don't talk anymore
I made sure of that
But I'd give anything to hear your voice
I would do better if I could go back
I'm sorry for your tears
I'm sorry I never told you in all of these years
I didn't leave you like I should
I hope you found someone to love you like I tried to
But never could
I always knew that it wasn't right
To get involved with you
But I never thought that you would fall so fast
Got me to thinkin', “what the hell am I gonna do?”
But now you seem like you're fine
Like you've moved on with your life
But I'd give anything to talk to you
And tell you I know I didn't treat you right
You live and you learn
You build and sometimes you just watch it all burn
I had a dream about you last night
I dreamed that you were dead
I had a dream about you last night
I dreamed that you were dead
When I woke up I wanted to call
And get it out of my head
But we don't talk anymore
I made sure of that
But I'd give anything to hear your voice
I would do better if I could go back
I'm sorry for your tears
I'm sorry I never told you in all of these years
I didn't leave you like I should
I hope you found someone to love you like I tried to
But never could
I always knew that it wasn't right
To get involved with you
But I never thought that you would fall so fast
Got me to thinkin', “what the hell am I gonna do?”
But now you seem like you're fine
Like you've moved on with your life
But I'd give anything to talk to you
And tell you I know I didn't treat you right
You live and you learn
You build and sometimes you just watch it all burn
I had a dream about you last night
I dreamed that you were dead
22.4.07
Bachelor Party madness
went to bed at 6 AM this morning after my pal Basil's bachelor party last night. Highlights of the evening:
Going to spurs and watching people line dance
All of us sucking at pool, all night
The doorman telling us to keep our cigarettes in our pockets, not on the table, not on the bar (wtf is that about?)
Basil singing "Man, I Feel Like a Woman" at a sketchy karaoke bar (video to come)
One of my friends telling me something something he shouldn't have just to hurt my feelings- and me kicking everyone out of my apartment.
Fun times- until the end- but maybe we all get a bit evil after drinking for 8 hours straight.
No drinking this week- just packing.
Going to spurs and watching people line dance
All of us sucking at pool, all night
The doorman telling us to keep our cigarettes in our pockets, not on the table, not on the bar (wtf is that about?)
Basil singing "Man, I Feel Like a Woman" at a sketchy karaoke bar (video to come)
One of my friends telling me something something he shouldn't have just to hurt my feelings- and me kicking everyone out of my apartment.
Fun times- until the end- but maybe we all get a bit evil after drinking for 8 hours straight.
No drinking this week- just packing.
28.3.07
Sarah Harmer, Tonight, March 28th at 8PM on CBC Radio 2
I have a bizarre relationship with Sarah Harmer. It seems every time I buy or download one of her albums whatever relationship I am in is down to it's last month. Then I spend the next three or four months attaching memories of love lost to each album, so they form a tight knit emotional bundle. Fun!
Today is also Cat Appreciation day, oddly enough. On this date King Richard issued an edict forbidding people from eating their cats. So go cuddle your cats and give Sarah a listen tonight.
Today is also Cat Appreciation day, oddly enough. On this date King Richard issued an edict forbidding people from eating their cats. So go cuddle your cats and give Sarah a listen tonight.
Some things have changed
I get up now at roughly 5 AM and watch movies or listen to the morning news without fear of waking anyone up.
I don't drink at home unless I have company. Which is unfortunately rare.
There are mushrooms in the house. There is pulp in the orange juice- which is slowly being phased out with grapefruit juice.
When I am shopping I keep wondering if the measuring cup was mine, if it was left here or taken, if I can still make bread or do I need to buy a new one. I get home- look on the shelf, it is still there. I shake for a full two minutes in some sort of helpless thanks- this little kindness that only I perceive.
There have been no romantic fires (yes- in the fireplace- not in the kitchen), yet.
The bathroom faucet is continuously clean. I must be good at not getting toothpaste or soap suds on it. This is horribly anal, but sinks are big, just avoid dripping on the damn faucet already. It's a Moen!
My clothes and furniture are surprisingly cat hair free, already. Which is good and bad. The cat hair gave my clothes a "lived in", homey look.
Ah- and there is no poorly maintained reeking litter box over flowing.
There are only four or five pairs of shoes as opposed to the dozens that crowded the foyer. And that's ALL my shoes, not just the winter or summer ones.
I don't sit at the window wondering why my partner is six hours late for our dinner date without a single phone call. I'm rarely up at 2 in the morning.
I stopped making garlic hash browns to go with my eggs in the morning- it's too much work for just one person.
There's no more smoking in the bedroom so hopefully my clothes will smell better- and my bedding.
Right now there is also no Internet. The Deng family across the street encrypted their Wi-Fi signal and now I am a recovering Facebook addict. One of my buddies is coming over to hack someone's signal this weekend- so hopefully I'll be blogging more frequently.
There's no one to water me or stop me from being too introspective- except occasionally Ron- who talks far too much and is completely uninterested in my internal drama.
But I still miss her- horribly.
I don't drink at home unless I have company. Which is unfortunately rare.
There are mushrooms in the house. There is pulp in the orange juice- which is slowly being phased out with grapefruit juice.
When I am shopping I keep wondering if the measuring cup was mine, if it was left here or taken, if I can still make bread or do I need to buy a new one. I get home- look on the shelf, it is still there. I shake for a full two minutes in some sort of helpless thanks- this little kindness that only I perceive.
There have been no romantic fires (yes- in the fireplace- not in the kitchen), yet.
The bathroom faucet is continuously clean. I must be good at not getting toothpaste or soap suds on it. This is horribly anal, but sinks are big, just avoid dripping on the damn faucet already. It's a Moen!
My clothes and furniture are surprisingly cat hair free, already. Which is good and bad. The cat hair gave my clothes a "lived in", homey look.
Ah- and there is no poorly maintained reeking litter box over flowing.
There are only four or five pairs of shoes as opposed to the dozens that crowded the foyer. And that's ALL my shoes, not just the winter or summer ones.
I don't sit at the window wondering why my partner is six hours late for our dinner date without a single phone call. I'm rarely up at 2 in the morning.
I stopped making garlic hash browns to go with my eggs in the morning- it's too much work for just one person.
There's no more smoking in the bedroom so hopefully my clothes will smell better- and my bedding.
Right now there is also no Internet. The Deng family across the street encrypted their Wi-Fi signal and now I am a recovering Facebook addict. One of my buddies is coming over to hack someone's signal this weekend- so hopefully I'll be blogging more frequently.
There's no one to water me or stop me from being too introspective- except occasionally Ron- who talks far too much and is completely uninterested in my internal drama.
But I still miss her- horribly.
Westmount Louise- St. Marie or whatever you cal dem der ridings.
In 1995 I was living two doors away from where I do now on Tupper street. I lived on the bad, poor end with my buddy Olaf in a 2 bedroom student sized dive. It soon turned out to be cockroach infested and we moved in the middle of the night one December evening- owing a good 2 months rent and pretty sick of the landlord's abusive yelling at his young tenants. (And his thinnly vieled attempts to sleep with our female neighbours in exchange for a break on the rent...)
When it was time that year for the referendum on Quebec soverignty I had to go on down to the old age home across from the children's hospital. Which was nice- the seniors living there had never seen so many people at once and were chatting up the voters as we invaded their communal hall. I hope we hadn't disrupted their bingo game or some such.
So I voted no, or yes- I forget how the question was phrased at the time- put my ballot in the box and am now convinced that it was one of the 20,000 ballots from the island of Montreal that were "spoiled" and not counted. Fun times. I still don't think anyone has gone to jail yet for that and I don't think anyone in Quebec is making a fuss about it anymore. It's gone quiet. I'd shoot the fucker who organized that rip off of democracy if they ever found them...
Anyway- this time- the seniors are very helpful- all of them trying to give instructions in French and English on how to get to the basement of the place to vote. And their help was needed- very needed. Not only was it in the back of the building, below the parking garage- but was down a wet and trecherous looking set of metal stairs that I'm sure many an octogenarian has slipped on and broken a hip or wrist.
Poor old sods.
Once in the basement storage room that has been converted into a poling station- I am greated by all manner of freshly scrubbed election workers- all between the ages of 20 and 25. The first girl there is brilliantly attractive- East Indian and wide eyed and tiny- she is helping someone in front of me and keeps glancing at me and lowering her eyes and talking softly to the other voter.
Is this flirtiing? I've forgotten.
But her partner comes and tells me which cardboard sign I should go to and motions me away from her before she is done. I go and vote for the Green Party of all things- I'm in the Westmount riding and the chances of anyone but a Liberal getting voted in seems negligible in my mind. I could be horribly wrong. But the Greens need to start somewhere and I've sat in a returnning office and been on the receiving end of getting less than 2% of the vote. It is not a good feeling, and I thought this Green candidate might be a bit happier knowing someone is thinking of him.
On my way out the girl takes a half step towards me and says thank you. I smile and say thanks. My stomach is rolling around wondering what the fuck I am going to do- what my competing urges are telling me to do. I half pause at the doorway.
My brain says, "No touching the twenty year olds. Stop it."
My bruised and battered ego wants to, though, and is sending a warm smile to my lips and to my eyes everytime someone very pretty acknowledges that I am, yes, a rather handsome looking man with good teeth and good posture. And great hair.
My emotional state is also SCREAMING to me that you are in no shape to do anything but harm to yourself and others by getting involved in anything but a platonic tumble in the sack with any female- and even that isn't is so safe. You don't have a therapist to talk this through with, but TRUST ME- go home, make another pot of coffee and read Something Happened again.
I turn my half pause into looking for the way out. I ask her if it is possible to leave "via the parking garage"- she is blushing (she was flirting- she is attracted) and says she thinks so and takes a step towards me and the door. Points a direction while leaning past me, half through the doorway- she can smell my cologne she is standing so close- I smell blossoms in her hair. Slight musky scent of her skin. And ginger? Her eyes are flashing secret messages to my soul.
"Morin?"- her partner asking for her- (first or last name?) there are more people to herd into the room. She steps back- I wave a small thanks and head out through the parking garage into the morning rain, falling in sheets.
I survive another day.
When it was time that year for the referendum on Quebec soverignty I had to go on down to the old age home across from the children's hospital. Which was nice- the seniors living there had never seen so many people at once and were chatting up the voters as we invaded their communal hall. I hope we hadn't disrupted their bingo game or some such.
So I voted no, or yes- I forget how the question was phrased at the time- put my ballot in the box and am now convinced that it was one of the 20,000 ballots from the island of Montreal that were "spoiled" and not counted. Fun times. I still don't think anyone has gone to jail yet for that and I don't think anyone in Quebec is making a fuss about it anymore. It's gone quiet. I'd shoot the fucker who organized that rip off of democracy if they ever found them...
Anyway- this time- the seniors are very helpful- all of them trying to give instructions in French and English on how to get to the basement of the place to vote. And their help was needed- very needed. Not only was it in the back of the building, below the parking garage- but was down a wet and trecherous looking set of metal stairs that I'm sure many an octogenarian has slipped on and broken a hip or wrist.
Poor old sods.
Once in the basement storage room that has been converted into a poling station- I am greated by all manner of freshly scrubbed election workers- all between the ages of 20 and 25. The first girl there is brilliantly attractive- East Indian and wide eyed and tiny- she is helping someone in front of me and keeps glancing at me and lowering her eyes and talking softly to the other voter.
Is this flirtiing? I've forgotten.
But her partner comes and tells me which cardboard sign I should go to and motions me away from her before she is done. I go and vote for the Green Party of all things- I'm in the Westmount riding and the chances of anyone but a Liberal getting voted in seems negligible in my mind. I could be horribly wrong. But the Greens need to start somewhere and I've sat in a returnning office and been on the receiving end of getting less than 2% of the vote. It is not a good feeling, and I thought this Green candidate might be a bit happier knowing someone is thinking of him.
On my way out the girl takes a half step towards me and says thank you. I smile and say thanks. My stomach is rolling around wondering what the fuck I am going to do- what my competing urges are telling me to do. I half pause at the doorway.
My brain says, "No touching the twenty year olds. Stop it."
My bruised and battered ego wants to, though, and is sending a warm smile to my lips and to my eyes everytime someone very pretty acknowledges that I am, yes, a rather handsome looking man with good teeth and good posture. And great hair.
My emotional state is also SCREAMING to me that you are in no shape to do anything but harm to yourself and others by getting involved in anything but a platonic tumble in the sack with any female- and even that isn't is so safe. You don't have a therapist to talk this through with, but TRUST ME- go home, make another pot of coffee and read Something Happened again.
I turn my half pause into looking for the way out. I ask her if it is possible to leave "via the parking garage"- she is blushing (she was flirting- she is attracted) and says she thinks so and takes a step towards me and the door. Points a direction while leaning past me, half through the doorway- she can smell my cologne she is standing so close- I smell blossoms in her hair. Slight musky scent of her skin. And ginger? Her eyes are flashing secret messages to my soul.
"Morin?"- her partner asking for her- (first or last name?) there are more people to herd into the room. She steps back- I wave a small thanks and head out through the parking garage into the morning rain, falling in sheets.
I survive another day.
Flashback
Day one in Saint John- dreams
I dreamt my love was married and living next door to me with her husband and daughter, Jessica. I, too, had had a child with her-a son, who lived alone with me.
Tracks in the snow of my front yard- a feeling of youth- boundless parental love for both the children.
Jessica is playing with her half brother in the sun room- hard winter light blazing in off the white drifts outside. I notice she has stolen one of my cigarettes and is mock smoking it, unlit. I confront her and she looks up from her crayons and doodles. Her face is painted like a model's- even though I sense in the dream that she is pehaps five. This scares me beyond any horror movie villian's mishapen form.
I wake up- my parents are are sitting in the computer room playing on-line word games- the room is choking with cigarette smoke. I want to get my laundry started but they won't let their thirty year old sonuse thier machines. I argue with my mother about what deteregent to use- she insists on using the powder with bleach in it- all my clothes are dark. And she is insisting I wash in warm water, not cold, as the hard country water does not "suds up".
We relive our teenage parent roles just long enough to make me feel powerless and her upset almost to the point of tears. Am I mad at her about the laundry?
No- I'm mad at them for wasting away. They remind me of my last three months of unemployment.
"What do you do all day?" my love asked. Screaming, crying- tearing my soul out- fingering the damaged spot inside of me so I have to look at. To acknowledge it.
My parents are waiting to die. I'm trying to wake up.
I dreamt my love was married and living next door to me with her husband and daughter, Jessica. I, too, had had a child with her-a son, who lived alone with me.
Tracks in the snow of my front yard- a feeling of youth- boundless parental love for both the children.
Jessica is playing with her half brother in the sun room- hard winter light blazing in off the white drifts outside. I notice she has stolen one of my cigarettes and is mock smoking it, unlit. I confront her and she looks up from her crayons and doodles. Her face is painted like a model's- even though I sense in the dream that she is pehaps five. This scares me beyond any horror movie villian's mishapen form.
I wake up- my parents are are sitting in the computer room playing on-line word games- the room is choking with cigarette smoke. I want to get my laundry started but they won't let their thirty year old sonuse thier machines. I argue with my mother about what deteregent to use- she insists on using the powder with bleach in it- all my clothes are dark. And she is insisting I wash in warm water, not cold, as the hard country water does not "suds up".
We relive our teenage parent roles just long enough to make me feel powerless and her upset almost to the point of tears. Am I mad at her about the laundry?
No- I'm mad at them for wasting away. They remind me of my last three months of unemployment.
"What do you do all day?" my love asked. Screaming, crying- tearing my soul out- fingering the damaged spot inside of me so I have to look at. To acknowledge it.
My parents are waiting to die. I'm trying to wake up.
23.3.07
A few Condescending Spring Cleaning Tips for Students
I know, I know- why clean when your lease is up in May or July? Why sweep when your parents did it when they visited at Christmas? You could just leave the whole thing for the next tenant, or the landlord to clean up.
But, it is also exam time- and I know there are only so many movies and YouTube clips you can watch. What to do to avoid that final paper? Clean!
* At no point should there be a brown discoloration in the bottom of your kitchen sink. Although it is stainless steel, grime will accumulate on it. A little elbow grease and some Comet will clear that right up.
* Yes, you should clean on top of the fridge. Unless you plan on growing grass up there.
* Unlike your counter top, your stove does not have a "pattern" on it. That's grease- please clean it.
* Even though furniture doesn't move much, the dust bunnies under there are plotting to kill you in your sleep. Move the furniture aside and sweep under it.
* A quarter inch of ice wine, left uncorked for two months, is an excellent incubator for fruit flies, even in February. Rinse your bottles and recycle them.
Wow- this was way funnier in my head before I wrote it down...
But, it is also exam time- and I know there are only so many movies and YouTube clips you can watch. What to do to avoid that final paper? Clean!
* At no point should there be a brown discoloration in the bottom of your kitchen sink. Although it is stainless steel, grime will accumulate on it. A little elbow grease and some Comet will clear that right up.
* Yes, you should clean on top of the fridge. Unless you plan on growing grass up there.
* Unlike your counter top, your stove does not have a "pattern" on it. That's grease- please clean it.
* Even though furniture doesn't move much, the dust bunnies under there are plotting to kill you in your sleep. Move the furniture aside and sweep under it.
* A quarter inch of ice wine, left uncorked for two months, is an excellent incubator for fruit flies, even in February. Rinse your bottles and recycle them.
Wow- this was way funnier in my head before I wrote it down...
20.3.07
4:10 AM
The wind is howling through the downtown core- whistling through alleys and gushing.
Reset.
No one out on the streets. Watching infrequent cars and taxis roll by my window while I sip an early morning/late night coffee- writing to-do lists for when I can make noise in the house.
Sanding, drilling- dusting. Sweep and mop floors. Wash walls, windows and mirrors.
Waiting.
Read that cat parasites can make men jealous and morose. (Consult CLSC next week)
Have my upstairs neighbours bang on the floor because I am watching The Transporter 2 too loud.
Read a dozen or more new blogs. (AND this made my day!)
No sweaty palms. No anxiety. I am home, alone, and okay, I guess.
Today at least.
Reset.
No one out on the streets. Watching infrequent cars and taxis roll by my window while I sip an early morning/late night coffee- writing to-do lists for when I can make noise in the house.
Sanding, drilling- dusting. Sweep and mop floors. Wash walls, windows and mirrors.
Waiting.
Read that cat parasites can make men jealous and morose. (Consult CLSC next week)
Have my upstairs neighbours bang on the floor because I am watching The Transporter 2 too loud.
Read a dozen or more new blogs. (AND this made my day!)
No sweaty palms. No anxiety. I am home, alone, and okay, I guess.
Today at least.
15.3.07
Thursday- why always Thursday
Thursday is pretty much the last day you have to do your laundry before the weekend- especially if all your club clothes are dirty. Some men don't know what clubbing clothes are, let alone own any. They are clothes that you could neither wear to the office, nor to a sports bar. Clothes that smell particularly of spilt gin, cigarette smoke and cologne. Usually dark in color- with piping.
They usually have faint discoloration in the arm pit areas from excessive dance-sweat. No one will ever notice that, though, because the clubs are too dark 90% of the time to recognize people from further than 3 feet away.
Socks- black athletic socks that aren't too thick. Black sneakers that you can dance in for 12 hours that no doorman would dare point out while trying to enforce a "no runners" policy.
A secondary cell phone that you can slip your SIM card into that you wouldn't care if it got lost. That phone should fit easily into a good, expensive pair of jeans that makes your ass look OK and doesn't drag on the ground, getting under your feet while dancing.
A pair of lightly tinted sunglasses from the dollar store that will never get lost, and never break. The $80 pair you buy at the Sunglass Hut will get knocked off your head within the first hour of wearing them- so why bother.
One silver zippo you can find if you ever drop it on the dance floor. Black lighters, forget about it. (you can hear the zippo being kicked around and track it via sonar, too- even above the music. It has its own particular sound...)
One coat with interior, sealing pockets for the stuff you don't want to take into the club- like your driver's license/health card, maybe the cell phone, the travel tooth brush. If there is a good after party you may want to bring a messenger bag with extra shirt and socks and maybe some deodorant.
Hats- optional. But please- have some originality.
They usually have faint discoloration in the arm pit areas from excessive dance-sweat. No one will ever notice that, though, because the clubs are too dark 90% of the time to recognize people from further than 3 feet away.
Socks- black athletic socks that aren't too thick. Black sneakers that you can dance in for 12 hours that no doorman would dare point out while trying to enforce a "no runners" policy.
A secondary cell phone that you can slip your SIM card into that you wouldn't care if it got lost. That phone should fit easily into a good, expensive pair of jeans that makes your ass look OK and doesn't drag on the ground, getting under your feet while dancing.
A pair of lightly tinted sunglasses from the dollar store that will never get lost, and never break. The $80 pair you buy at the Sunglass Hut will get knocked off your head within the first hour of wearing them- so why bother.
One silver zippo you can find if you ever drop it on the dance floor. Black lighters, forget about it. (you can hear the zippo being kicked around and track it via sonar, too- even above the music. It has its own particular sound...)
One coat with interior, sealing pockets for the stuff you don't want to take into the club- like your driver's license/health card, maybe the cell phone, the travel tooth brush. If there is a good after party you may want to bring a messenger bag with extra shirt and socks and maybe some deodorant.
Hats- optional. But please- have some originality.
14.3.07
Drapes
My glaring inability yesterday to find any form of window coverings is a pretty good example of how non-functional I can be some days. Four hours and endless miles in malls from Guy all the way down to Place des Arts- where I nearly came to tears when I realized I should have just gone to the Zeller's near my house... that I hadn't eaten anything except toast for two days and that if I am having guests on St. Patrick's day I had best have some decent curtains up.
It has been what now? 6, 7 weeks? It is almost spring. I should clean and build that coffee table. I should paint a bit.
But all I ended up doing today was taking my dress shirts into the dry cleaners along with my new suit.
And eating pasta salad.
It is hard shopping for drapes. You have to measure your windows, then get rods that fit the brackets that are already up and will not come out. Then, most of the draperies look like something the Queen would have at her summer palace, too frilly and paisley for a young urban man like myself with a taste for hyper modern furniture.
And the expense! At the Bay I could have spent $300+ on drapes, just for what was on sale! Zeller's is not much better- so I guess I will have to go to Ikea. I may even get the exact same blinds that she took with her. They were fine and colorful and they're cheap.
But I bet I'll tear up for no reason on the long bus ride back into town.
It has been what now? 6, 7 weeks? It is almost spring. I should clean and build that coffee table. I should paint a bit.
But all I ended up doing today was taking my dress shirts into the dry cleaners along with my new suit.
And eating pasta salad.
It is hard shopping for drapes. You have to measure your windows, then get rods that fit the brackets that are already up and will not come out. Then, most of the draperies look like something the Queen would have at her summer palace, too frilly and paisley for a young urban man like myself with a taste for hyper modern furniture.
And the expense! At the Bay I could have spent $300+ on drapes, just for what was on sale! Zeller's is not much better- so I guess I will have to go to Ikea. I may even get the exact same blinds that she took with her. They were fine and colorful and they're cheap.
But I bet I'll tear up for no reason on the long bus ride back into town.
13.3.07
Corporate whoring- 72 hours left
Until I sign on with another IT sales company, officially. I'm a bit frantic, a bit relieved and a bit skeptical about how much I will enjoy this.
Does anyone enjoy their jobs for ten years plus? Especially when they have to switch companies every year or two and accumulate very little vacation time?
Does anyone enjoy their jobs for ten years plus? Especially when they have to switch companies every year or two and accumulate very little vacation time?
Ahhh- people who believe the messenger
And defend them are a dangerous breed- here's an excerpt from the "discussion" Page attached to Dr. Dyer's Wikipedia page. The Dyer defender (who is obviously not a Wikipedia editor since they improperly tagged their comments) comments have been italicized for easier reading- but I have left their spelling mistakes intact:
I've just found this article and have not picked up anything, at least so far as the state it is in now, to rouse suspicion or warrant any lengthy haggle regarding the credibility of his PhD. I have read at least two biographies which list WSU and MSU as schools with which he has studied and earned doctorates (though of course, I suppose this is meaningless in terms of giving credence to them, since it is from me). Nonetheless, why is the neutrality box still listed? Maybe some subjective material was present in its past editions, but the article is obviously now free of any over-induldged opinion or weaseling. - C.J. 03:07, 10 March 2006 (UTC)
The article is disparriging - if there is such little information to offer, then why should an alcoholic father even be mentioned, for instance. The fact that it is so uneven and sparse in content is what makes the hostile undertone so prominent.
How is the article disparaging? The information that he had an alcoholic father is, I think, probably important: since I have read it was one of his primary reasons to do what he does (motivate). Other than the ugly neutrality box, it appears to me this article is in agreeable condition. If you're so intent on fixing 'disparaging' articles in Wikipedia then I would direct you to the Turkish Air Force page, where I think criticism of quality would be better directed. - C.J. 13:48, 10 March 2006 (UTC)
If you can by any means oppose to the peaceful solutions that Wayne Dyer's teachings explains in the most accurate and humble language, you are most likely to be a fanatic coming from a religious, scientific or intellectual ground who share in common to have forgotten that we all once lived in the spirit of a smiling child.
Childrens do not care or mind about diplomas or the credibility of the thousands of spiritual Schools born on earth from man's mind.They care only to regain their inner state of joy each time something happen that takes it away from them.
That's my interpretation of what Wayne Dyer is try to tell us.
The above comment is beautiful smiling nonsense. Gareth E Kegg 00:21, 12 March 2006 (UTC)
Thank you, but I do not see how any of that is actually relevant to the issue of the neutrality of this article. - C.J. 20:52, 12 March 2006 (UTC)
Nonsense for the heartless like you, not for those who understand the meaning of a smiling kid !!
Thank you, but I do not see how that is actually relevant to the issue of the neutrality of this article. Gareth E Kegg 12:15, 13 March 2006 (UTC)
12.3.07
and some new thinking about "fucking"
hooks later in the book quotes from Robert Jensen, about how men falsely believe that their self hood and their patriarchal sexual identity are "one and the same"- leading men to fear sex with an intensity that females often do:
Not a sense of victim-hood, but a desire to do no harm, to not visit violence by "fucking." That to "fuck someone" and to "fuck someone up" are not that dissimilar.
That in our society, women who consider themselves sexually empowered still wish to "be fucked", that they consider acting towards their sexuality as men have been engendered to do is a healthy feminist goal--it visits a horrible crime on themselves and their very "liberated, empowered" sexuality is then sold back to men as a desirable commodity? And all we are left with is men and women playing out patriarchal sexual roles and a bunch of people "fucking" each other [over].
I am afraid of sex as sex is defined by the dominant culture, as practiced all around me, and projected onto magazine pages, billboards, and movie screens. I am afraid of sex because I am afraid of domination, cruelty, violence and death. I am afraid of sex because sex has hurt me and hurt lots of people I know, and because I have hurt others with sex in the past. I know that there are people out there who have been hurt by sex in ways that are beyond words, who have experienced a depth of pain that I will never fully understand...
Yes, I am afraid of sex. How could I not be?
Not a sense of victim-hood, but a desire to do no harm, to not visit violence by "fucking." That to "fuck someone" and to "fuck someone up" are not that dissimilar.
That in our society, women who consider themselves sexually empowered still wish to "be fucked", that they consider acting towards their sexuality as men have been engendered to do is a healthy feminist goal--it visits a horrible crime on themselves and their very "liberated, empowered" sexuality is then sold back to men as a desirable commodity? And all we are left with is men and women playing out patriarchal sexual roles and a bunch of people "fucking" each other [over].
bell hooks
As part of my coping with this latest (and most traumatic) failed relationship I've been doing some soul searching that involves a lot of talking and lots of reading. The first book suggested to me was, unfortunately, a flaky spiritual text by one "Dr." Wayne Dyer, called The Sacred Self. (Note to readers of self-help books, if the copyright notice doesn't have their title in it, then they probably aren't a doctor except maybe in their publishers' minds...)
UPDATE- Dr. Dyer does have an Ed.D from Wayne State University. His "people" emailed me from the Emirates Bank International- I'm sure their lawyers would have followed if I didn't correct my oversight. Snarky comments will not be published, BTW.
Not being a fan of dualism (or of books laced with whole sections in point form)- I was steered towards The Will to Change- Men, Masculinity, and Love by bell hooks. If you read the link, hooks is an African-American feminist with some real teeth. She thinks feminism has become too academic, that the movement hasn't gotten back out to the community- go have a read.
In Will to Change she talks about the patriarchy and how it affects men. How it robs us of our emotional lives and sets us against the women in our lives. One of the striking sections that hit me like a hammer was this one, about a former partner of hers that had changed from a loving partner into an emotional abusive and foreign male- and (as she perceives it) the reasons behind it:
While I was home my parents gave me a large copy of my graduation photo that they had made for me. As an eighteen year old there was a soft warmness in my eyes, an openness across my shoulders- relaxed. Now there is sarcastic hardness written across my face, I hold my body rigid and defensive. Afraid of someone taunting the gentle little loving boy that I miss so much- I hold up this barrier that is suffocating the things I used to hold dear about myself.
My intellect is a weapon instead of a strength. I'm physically repulsed by males i view as stronger or bigger than me- I typecast them as meatheads and make no effort to be nice to them. Somewhere inside I fear they will hit me. I flirt to gain constant reinforcement of my own desirability- but I fear being successful.
As I was leaving my dad gave me a big hug, teary eyed as he always is when I leave- and told me to go find that loving boy again- that he can be my ally and my strength. And I cried, too- and I will.
UPDATE- Dr. Dyer does have an Ed.D from Wayne State University. His "people" emailed me from the Emirates Bank International- I'm sure their lawyers would have followed if I didn't correct my oversight. Snarky comments will not be published, BTW.
Not being a fan of dualism (or of books laced with whole sections in point form)- I was steered towards The Will to Change- Men, Masculinity, and Love by bell hooks. If you read the link, hooks is an African-American feminist with some real teeth. She thinks feminism has become too academic, that the movement hasn't gotten back out to the community- go have a read.
In Will to Change she talks about the patriarchy and how it affects men. How it robs us of our emotional lives and sets us against the women in our lives. One of the striking sections that hit me like a hammer was this one, about a former partner of hers that had changed from a loving partner into an emotional abusive and foreign male- and (as she perceives it) the reasons behind it:
In the early years of our relationship he was extremely critical of male domination of women and children. Although he did not use the word "patriarchy," he understood its meaning and he opposed it. His gentle, quiet manner often lead folks to ignore him, counting him among the weak and powerless. By the age of thirty he began to assume a more macho persona, embracing the dominator model that he had once critiqued. Donning the mantle of patriarch, he gained greater respect and visibility. More women were drawn to him. He was noticed more in public spheres...
These changes in his thinking and behavior were triggered by his desire to be accepted and affirmed in a patriarchal workplace and rationalized by his desire to get ahead. His story is not unusual. Boys brutalized and victimized by patriarchy more often than not become patriarchal, embodying the abusive patriarchal masculinity that they once clearly recognized as evil. Few men brutally abused as boys in the name of patriarchal maleness courageously resist the brainwashing and remain true to themselves. Most males conform to patriarchy in one way or another.
While I was home my parents gave me a large copy of my graduation photo that they had made for me. As an eighteen year old there was a soft warmness in my eyes, an openness across my shoulders- relaxed. Now there is sarcastic hardness written across my face, I hold my body rigid and defensive. Afraid of someone taunting the gentle little loving boy that I miss so much- I hold up this barrier that is suffocating the things I used to hold dear about myself.
My intellect is a weapon instead of a strength. I'm physically repulsed by males i view as stronger or bigger than me- I typecast them as meatheads and make no effort to be nice to them. Somewhere inside I fear they will hit me. I flirt to gain constant reinforcement of my own desirability- but I fear being successful.
As I was leaving my dad gave me a big hug, teary eyed as he always is when I leave- and told me to go find that loving boy again- that he can be my ally and my strength. And I cried, too- and I will.
10.3.07
The double standard
If a male teacher was accused of having sex with a 17 year old student I would be furious- but for some reason I thought it okay back in the day, but this story did creep me out.
And how come all these older female teachers always get pregnant with their boy-toys? Is that why they do it? Are they preying on boys from wealthy families? Inquiring minds want to know!
And how come all these older female teachers always get pregnant with their boy-toys? Is that why they do it? Are they preying on boys from wealthy families? Inquiring minds want to know!
So- I'm back
After 2 years :)- why you may ask.
I guess the main reason was I was dating someone who had a stalker ex-boyfriend. He knew who both of us were online and someone had tried to hack into her blog at one point- so we both seriously curtailed our online blogging to a certain extent. I also thought that the blog may become a liability in my pursuit of employment in my field and took it completely off-line for a while.
I missed it. I think she missed it more. I bought her a journal to write in but never saw her use it except maybe when we were fighting, or broken up. I liked her blog a lot. I liked mine, too- it was one of my last creative hobbies that I had time to do, that didn't cost anything.
A new acquaintance of mine asked me the other night, "Why put your diary on-line? What do you write about?" Well, anything- everything- Why?- posterity? LOL A hope to light some candle of "me"-ness in the vast hinterland of the internet? I don't really know why.
For those of you that are back, it's going to be a lot different, I think, this time around. My life is a lot different.
And yes, I will stop posting song lyrics. When your heart is broken, every pop song will seem to be about you- kinda like Billy Bragg says in...there I go again.
Thanks
I guess the main reason was I was dating someone who had a stalker ex-boyfriend. He knew who both of us were online and someone had tried to hack into her blog at one point- so we both seriously curtailed our online blogging to a certain extent. I also thought that the blog may become a liability in my pursuit of employment in my field and took it completely off-line for a while.
I missed it. I think she missed it more. I bought her a journal to write in but never saw her use it except maybe when we were fighting, or broken up. I liked her blog a lot. I liked mine, too- it was one of my last creative hobbies that I had time to do, that didn't cost anything.
A new acquaintance of mine asked me the other night, "Why put your diary on-line? What do you write about?" Well, anything- everything- Why?- posterity? LOL A hope to light some candle of "me"-ness in the vast hinterland of the internet? I don't really know why.
For those of you that are back, it's going to be a lot different, I think, this time around. My life is a lot different.
And yes, I will stop posting song lyrics. When your heart is broken, every pop song will seem to be about you- kinda like Billy Bragg says in...there I go again.
Thanks
9.3.07
A family tragedy
When I was in high school one of my close friends was in a terrible motorcycle accident. Jason was young, a member of the stage crew for my theatrical production of No Exit and was in my communications class. He was a bit of an "outsider" at school, just like me- not a preppy nor a jock. But he had lots of friends and was pretty happy go lucky.
The motorcycle accident happened on the way to Westfield, on the old two lane highway. His motorcycle (which he had begged his parents for since he turned 16) was a bit much for someone of his slight frame. Too big, too powerful- and one spring night on a dewy road he lost control and slid into an oncoming 18-wheeler.
Jason's best friend- riding as a passenger, was decapitated and killed instantly. Jason lie on the highway, conscious, his left arm and leg crushed and mangled beyond repair.
Driving home and coming upon the horrific accident minutes later was Jason's mother, a nurse at the regional hospital. Stopping to give aid, she had no idea she would find her own son- weeping and screaming, staring in stark horror at his friend's head lying two feet in front of him, unable to get away nor look away.
Jason survived the accident and I visited him the hospital as he was slowly and painfully healing. He was in constant pain for the first month and sometimes delirious from his pain killers. But he would often joke in the dark, dramatic manner of teens of the day.
"This hospital is great, but it costs an arm and a leg!"
Weeks later we were informed that Jason had died of complications from his injuries. People closer to his family told some of us the horrible truth. Unable to bear the pain and unwilling to face adapting to life without his left limbs, Jason tied a sheet around his bedpost and hung himself by rolling out of his hospital bed.
Jason's parents were mortified. Their house became a shrine to their youngest son, who had died on the motorcycle they had given to him. They never forgave themselves and their marriage faded away- and they became emotionally distant to their elder son, Eric, who had returned from university to be a grip for local production companies and the CBC.
I met Eric years after high school through my friends in the local theater. He was just like us, in his early twenties, still reading comic books and living in the artsy South End of the city. He maybe drank too much, but that was a common complaint of young people in the Maritimes. Eric seemed distant sometimes, and as I got to know him better, a bit manic. I had not made the connection between the two brothers yet.
One labour day our group of friends was invited to a house warming party for Eric and his girlfriend. In retrospect, I guess, no one went. Two weeks later we all had received late night calls or voice mails from Eric. And the next day we were told, he too had taken his life.
Buried next to his brother, his parents had treated him as a painful reminder of the departed son, and he withered into a shadow of himself. Unable to get the attention he needed, he choose to die, too, to earn the endless love of his mourning parents; to get his share.
The motorcycle accident happened on the way to Westfield, on the old two lane highway. His motorcycle (which he had begged his parents for since he turned 16) was a bit much for someone of his slight frame. Too big, too powerful- and one spring night on a dewy road he lost control and slid into an oncoming 18-wheeler.
Jason's best friend- riding as a passenger, was decapitated and killed instantly. Jason lie on the highway, conscious, his left arm and leg crushed and mangled beyond repair.
Driving home and coming upon the horrific accident minutes later was Jason's mother, a nurse at the regional hospital. Stopping to give aid, she had no idea she would find her own son- weeping and screaming, staring in stark horror at his friend's head lying two feet in front of him, unable to get away nor look away.
Jason survived the accident and I visited him the hospital as he was slowly and painfully healing. He was in constant pain for the first month and sometimes delirious from his pain killers. But he would often joke in the dark, dramatic manner of teens of the day.
"This hospital is great, but it costs an arm and a leg!"
Weeks later we were informed that Jason had died of complications from his injuries. People closer to his family told some of us the horrible truth. Unable to bear the pain and unwilling to face adapting to life without his left limbs, Jason tied a sheet around his bedpost and hung himself by rolling out of his hospital bed.
Jason's parents were mortified. Their house became a shrine to their youngest son, who had died on the motorcycle they had given to him. They never forgave themselves and their marriage faded away- and they became emotionally distant to their elder son, Eric, who had returned from university to be a grip for local production companies and the CBC.
I met Eric years after high school through my friends in the local theater. He was just like us, in his early twenties, still reading comic books and living in the artsy South End of the city. He maybe drank too much, but that was a common complaint of young people in the Maritimes. Eric seemed distant sometimes, and as I got to know him better, a bit manic. I had not made the connection between the two brothers yet.
One labour day our group of friends was invited to a house warming party for Eric and his girlfriend. In retrospect, I guess, no one went. Two weeks later we all had received late night calls or voice mails from Eric. And the next day we were told, he too had taken his life.
Buried next to his brother, his parents had treated him as a painful reminder of the departed son, and he withered into a shadow of himself. Unable to get the attention he needed, he choose to die, too, to earn the endless love of his mourning parents; to get his share.
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