I think it's sad that I'm too much of a prude to tell my dude friends I love them. At least to their faces. Which is unfortunate, because I really do and I think they should know. So here goes, in a medium they're unlikely to check. Dude friends, I love you. You are some spectacular dudes.
Anyway, speaking of friends, I think I made a new one yesterday. Trouble is, I don't know her name. What a sitcom predicament! For those in Summerstock, she's really blonde and has braces, and is often seen wearing her "students for a free Tibet" T shirt during dance stuff. I have a feeling her name is Kate, but my feelings are usually wrong. So I figured I'd ask instead. In the most convoluted and inconvenient way. You know, because that's how I work. Yes.
I'm off to watch TV. Maybe I'll update later. Probably not. I'm sure nobody will miss me.
Thursday, November 30, 2006
Tuesday, November 28, 2006
Cutting back on cigarettes won't reduce the risk of dying.
Title courtesy of Yahoo news.
Guess what guys? I got into my very first car accident (tm) today! It was on the way to my first day of work, too, which made it extra special. We were almost hit by a bus, but swerved and hit an SUV instead. The great part was that the friend of the woman driving the SUV was a cop, so all units were deployed pretty quick. We had 2 cop cars, 2 ambulances, and a fire truck at the scene, and it looked like part of 17th ave was blocked off. All for a little bloodless fender-bender and a busted headlight (ours; the SUV went away unscathed). The wonders of modern man.
So I missed work. But we phoned around and everything's all hunky-dory...for now.
I think my body's staring to reject fast food. Maybe it's because I'm getting older. Or maybe it's because of the McDonald's experience during my very first hangover (tm). But somehow, the taste of sugarbuns and hospital fries just doesn't tickle my fancy. It just leaves me with a brick in my stomach and a hole in my soul. BUT! while at the "restaurant" (Burger King, if you must know) I saw the Urban Santa Claus. He was a short man with a grizzled grey beard and eyepatch, and he was carrying a cane wrapped in silver garland. No-one could take their eyes off him as he moved silently and gracefully around the room, taking occasional swigs from his water bottle. He didn't say a word, but I think he left a lasting impression on everyone he passed. Urban Santa, I salute you.
Guess what guys? I got into my very first car accident (tm) today! It was on the way to my first day of work, too, which made it extra special. We were almost hit by a bus, but swerved and hit an SUV instead. The great part was that the friend of the woman driving the SUV was a cop, so all units were deployed pretty quick. We had 2 cop cars, 2 ambulances, and a fire truck at the scene, and it looked like part of 17th ave was blocked off. All for a little bloodless fender-bender and a busted headlight (ours; the SUV went away unscathed). The wonders of modern man.
So I missed work. But we phoned around and everything's all hunky-dory...for now.
I think my body's staring to reject fast food. Maybe it's because I'm getting older. Or maybe it's because of the McDonald's experience during my very first hangover (tm). But somehow, the taste of sugarbuns and hospital fries just doesn't tickle my fancy. It just leaves me with a brick in my stomach and a hole in my soul. BUT! while at the "restaurant" (Burger King, if you must know) I saw the Urban Santa Claus. He was a short man with a grizzled grey beard and eyepatch, and he was carrying a cane wrapped in silver garland. No-one could take their eyes off him as he moved silently and gracefully around the room, taking occasional swigs from his water bottle. He didn't say a word, but I think he left a lasting impression on everyone he passed. Urban Santa, I salute you.
Monday, November 27, 2006
My eyelids stick when I blink, blink, blink
Holy crap, it's cold as death here in drabland. I don't know how the city can let people sleep on the streets in this weather. Someone ought to report our municipal government for a violation of human rights. Speaking of the homeless, I think the mayor's trying to do everything in his power to make homelessness illegal, short of actually making it illegal. There are no public washrooms downtown, but if you pee behind a building you get a fine. There aren't enough homeless shelters, but if you sleep on a bench you get a fine. Somebody's trying to make it impossible to live here without money. There are solutions to the "homelessness problem" that don't include driving people out of the city. It just doesn't make sense in my head. But then again, I'm not the mayor.
Saturday, November 25, 2006
A paradox!
I just got an email titled "How does Bradd Pitt make soap?" I'm still mulling over whether or not I should open it.
I think this blog is ruining my already inept conversation skills. In the 5 or so posts I've created, I have covered every conversation topic I could, leaving me with nothing to tell my friends. Also, my blog paranoia is expanding to new and exciting realms. I've set a high standard for myself; every post is like an essay, only worse, because my friends are reading it. I feel that I have to be entertaining, so I only write at certain times of the day or after long, hilarious conversations. I think it's something we in the business refer to as "comedic angst". I thought it would be a good outlet, a way to effectively communicate without communicating, effectively (oh ho ho!), but it's turned into another pesky dragon to slay.
Nevertheless, here I am, updating. Maybe if I do it enough, I'll lose my created fear (something I'm still struggling to accomplish with MSN). Speaking of which, I just came back from a lecture of sorts on Islam. It was pretty awesome. I'm sure my sister can fill you in much more accurately and eloquently, seeing as she's in religious studies and probably paid better attention than me (even when I'm trying my hardest, she still manages to do better. I hate that kid). I will tell you, though, that jihad doesn't just mean holy war. There are three levels: the first is correcting the wrong within yourself. The second is speaking out against the wrong in your community by letter-writing and talking. The third is the war aspect of jihad, but even then, the meaning is misconstrued. During a real holy war, you are not allowed to cut down green trees, contaminate drinking water, kill innocent civillians (women and children), or destroy hospitals or places of worship. And you can only kill in self-defense. If you are not attacked, you cannot attack. I'm sure that even the mention of jihad will get me banned from the internet, but I'm willing to take that risk. Just to clear things up a bit.
I think this blog is ruining my already inept conversation skills. In the 5 or so posts I've created, I have covered every conversation topic I could, leaving me with nothing to tell my friends. Also, my blog paranoia is expanding to new and exciting realms. I've set a high standard for myself; every post is like an essay, only worse, because my friends are reading it. I feel that I have to be entertaining, so I only write at certain times of the day or after long, hilarious conversations. I think it's something we in the business refer to as "comedic angst". I thought it would be a good outlet, a way to effectively communicate without communicating, effectively (oh ho ho!), but it's turned into another pesky dragon to slay.
Nevertheless, here I am, updating. Maybe if I do it enough, I'll lose my created fear (something I'm still struggling to accomplish with MSN). Speaking of which, I just came back from a lecture of sorts on Islam. It was pretty awesome. I'm sure my sister can fill you in much more accurately and eloquently, seeing as she's in religious studies and probably paid better attention than me (even when I'm trying my hardest, she still manages to do better. I hate that kid). I will tell you, though, that jihad doesn't just mean holy war. There are three levels: the first is correcting the wrong within yourself. The second is speaking out against the wrong in your community by letter-writing and talking. The third is the war aspect of jihad, but even then, the meaning is misconstrued. During a real holy war, you are not allowed to cut down green trees, contaminate drinking water, kill innocent civillians (women and children), or destroy hospitals or places of worship. And you can only kill in self-defense. If you are not attacked, you cannot attack. I'm sure that even the mention of jihad will get me banned from the internet, but I'm willing to take that risk. Just to clear things up a bit.
Thursday, November 23, 2006
You know what would be funny?
A zamboni running over a shirt.
I don't have much to say today, but I feel obligated to update because I had a job interview. Hooray for me. The lass interviewing me struck me as the sort of woman who would eat nothing but celery and fresh-ground espresso, and she had the most intense blue eyes I've ever seen this side of husky dogs. It went pretty well, I think, and if I'm lucky I might have a job at Good Earth in a day or so. Toast to that.
I also found a beautiful video that I will try to link to. Wish me luck:
http://www.transbuddha.com/mediaHolder.php?id=2365
Dang. Whatever. Copy and paste if you'd like.
I don't have much to say today, but I feel obligated to update because I had a job interview. Hooray for me. The lass interviewing me struck me as the sort of woman who would eat nothing but celery and fresh-ground espresso, and she had the most intense blue eyes I've ever seen this side of husky dogs. It went pretty well, I think, and if I'm lucky I might have a job at Good Earth in a day or so. Toast to that.
I also found a beautiful video that I will try to link to. Wish me luck:
http://www.transbuddha.com/mediaHolder.php?id=2365
Dang. Whatever. Copy and paste if you'd like.
Wednesday, November 22, 2006
When I was a kid, I didn't like gravel playgrounds.
Gravel was too hard to swallow.
So I'm pretty sore at myself for not writing yesterday. And it's not like I forgot or had things to do, either; I just kept putting it off until I was too tired to lift my head. It would be nice to have a laptop. Then I could post while drifting off to sleep, bathed in the warm glow of a cathode ray tube or whatever makes computers light up these days. But to get back to the point at hand, I'ma fill you in on what happened yesterday (ha, happened. That's rich).
Early in the morning (meaning about 9am) I visited my good friend, the dentist. I used to love going to the dentist because they had a little room where you could play Sonic the Hedgehog while you waited. Later on they upgraded to Nintendo 64, then Gamecube and Xbox (the little room had no surveillance so games and controllers went "missing" pretty quick). Now, they've got an Xbox 360 and the magic is gone. I miss that old Sega Genesis and fighting over who got to be Tails. I miss picking out prizes after getting my mouth scoured for cavities. My childhood is gone and ain't nothin gon' bring 'er back. But anyway. Once I got home I turned on the television, as per usual, and lo and behold, the show was about dentists! I watched the Simpsons immediately after; again, dentists. Something cosmic is at work here, folks. Could it be coincidence that both Seinfeld and the Simpsons, two entirely different shows on entirely different channels, referred to dentists on the day I visited the dentist? The answer is no, of course not. That would be silly. I have no option but to conclude, then, that the mundane, ordinary happenings in my mundane, ordinary life have some effect on what the world watches. I don't yet know what the implications of this are, but I have a hunch that they are no good.
Where was I? Oh yes, crushed childhood memories. My dad bougt a bag of Mojos, just for a thrill. I hadn't had mojos since I was at least 7 years old, and to tell you the truth, I was ecstatic. But as soon as I lay my eyes on them, I knew something was amiss. They were bigger than usual, thicker. The wrapping paper didn't stick to their candy folds, and they were...supple. Chewable. I took out my old favourite--cola--and stuck it in my mouth. Something was definitely amiss. It tasted like all other failed "cola"-flavoured candies. A sour twinge to imitate carbonation and an aftertaste of lead and nightmares. These were not the stale mojo candies of my childhood. These were cheap mass-produced imposters. My heart sank, and I hunched off to brush my teeth.
(not really)
So I'm pretty sore at myself for not writing yesterday. And it's not like I forgot or had things to do, either; I just kept putting it off until I was too tired to lift my head. It would be nice to have a laptop. Then I could post while drifting off to sleep, bathed in the warm glow of a cathode ray tube or whatever makes computers light up these days. But to get back to the point at hand, I'ma fill you in on what happened yesterday (ha, happened. That's rich).
Early in the morning (meaning about 9am) I visited my good friend, the dentist. I used to love going to the dentist because they had a little room where you could play Sonic the Hedgehog while you waited. Later on they upgraded to Nintendo 64, then Gamecube and Xbox (the little room had no surveillance so games and controllers went "missing" pretty quick). Now, they've got an Xbox 360 and the magic is gone. I miss that old Sega Genesis and fighting over who got to be Tails. I miss picking out prizes after getting my mouth scoured for cavities. My childhood is gone and ain't nothin gon' bring 'er back. But anyway. Once I got home I turned on the television, as per usual, and lo and behold, the show was about dentists! I watched the Simpsons immediately after; again, dentists. Something cosmic is at work here, folks. Could it be coincidence that both Seinfeld and the Simpsons, two entirely different shows on entirely different channels, referred to dentists on the day I visited the dentist? The answer is no, of course not. That would be silly. I have no option but to conclude, then, that the mundane, ordinary happenings in my mundane, ordinary life have some effect on what the world watches. I don't yet know what the implications of this are, but I have a hunch that they are no good.
Where was I? Oh yes, crushed childhood memories. My dad bougt a bag of Mojos, just for a thrill. I hadn't had mojos since I was at least 7 years old, and to tell you the truth, I was ecstatic. But as soon as I lay my eyes on them, I knew something was amiss. They were bigger than usual, thicker. The wrapping paper didn't stick to their candy folds, and they were...supple. Chewable. I took out my old favourite--cola--and stuck it in my mouth. Something was definitely amiss. It tasted like all other failed "cola"-flavoured candies. A sour twinge to imitate carbonation and an aftertaste of lead and nightmares. These were not the stale mojo candies of my childhood. These were cheap mass-produced imposters. My heart sank, and I hunched off to brush my teeth.
(not really)
Monday, November 20, 2006
So I says to Mabel, I says...
I just came back from a meeting at ACAD. Apparently, if I play my cards right (read: apply at the right time), I might be able to get into a real-live class before my actual term begins. Which means if I do well, I can take fewer classes next September, and if I don't, it doesn't matter! Everybody wins. What it also means is that if I'm lucky, I might get to see real-live nude models. I don't know about you, but I'm shaking in my boots. Trouble is, I don't know how I'm going to be able to make my way to said class if I do get in. For those of you who don't know already, ACAD is pretty much a convoluted maze of stairwells that all go to places you really don't want to be, made even more confusing by the fact that all the stairwells look EXACTLY THE SAME. It's really a great place for people like me who have no sense of direction. Really. I did go on a tour, though, and on that tour I learned two things: 1. That all roads lead to the library and 2. That the elevators make no sense (level 18 is the ground floor, level 30-something is the next floor up, etc.).
On the way home I saw a ton of Starbuck's ads around the C-train stations, which prompted me to have my first Starbuck's coffee in...4 months? Something like that. Anyway, after my first gulp, I was reminded why I don't drink Starbuck's. It was like having a huge cup of lukewarm cream, only saturated with sugar and topped with a dollop of just-about-butter whipped cream. Just thinking about it tickles my gag reflex. That'll be giving me the shivers for weeks. What made the whole experience even better was that when I put the "empty" cup back in my bag (I've taken to spitting in the face of "disposable" products due to the influence of my commie sister), the dregs of whipped cream crept out from the bottom and saturated my extended studies application form. One of these days I'll forget about the ordeal and wonder why the stench of chocolate cheese keeps following me around. Then I will bury my bag.
I was just reminded of something great I saw while travelling to my future alma mater. There's a church near our house with a two-sided sign at the front whose slogans have grown more and more reactionary as the years go by. Today, one side read "FACT: WE ALL NEED GOD". The other side read "FICTION: EVOLUTION THEORY". At first it made me kind of mad, until I realised how cute it was. It kind of reminded me of being a kid and believing wholeheartedly that my mom was always right, and that no-one but her could count to 100. Oh, the heated debates I got myself into over these undisputed beliefs.
Late one night, high on fatigue, Hannah and I came up with some gang names for the people we know. One day this information may be useful.
Ali: Alcatraz
Jo: Jehosephat
Me: Redcard (but you know that already).
Kes: Specia' K
Kathleen: Corn Bisque
Eve: Everyman
Hannah: Double-h
And for the summerstockers...
Kylian: K-Y/ sex jelly (sorry if that made you a little uncomfortable)
Mike: Mixed Greens
Liam: Lost Cause
Luke: Ladyfingers
I've been trying to think of one for Kevin, but nothing seems to fit. If anyone wants to jump in and help out, please do.
Oh, and for Joelle: yes I did make my trademark mutant noise. First out of my own free will, then out of necessity. We must've been playing that game for hours.
(and sorry for publishing everyone's name without permission. I'm sure no strangers will care).
On the way home I saw a ton of Starbuck's ads around the C-train stations, which prompted me to have my first Starbuck's coffee in...4 months? Something like that. Anyway, after my first gulp, I was reminded why I don't drink Starbuck's. It was like having a huge cup of lukewarm cream, only saturated with sugar and topped with a dollop of just-about-butter whipped cream. Just thinking about it tickles my gag reflex. That'll be giving me the shivers for weeks. What made the whole experience even better was that when I put the "empty" cup back in my bag (I've taken to spitting in the face of "disposable" products due to the influence of my commie sister), the dregs of whipped cream crept out from the bottom and saturated my extended studies application form. One of these days I'll forget about the ordeal and wonder why the stench of chocolate cheese keeps following me around. Then I will bury my bag.
I was just reminded of something great I saw while travelling to my future alma mater. There's a church near our house with a two-sided sign at the front whose slogans have grown more and more reactionary as the years go by. Today, one side read "FACT: WE ALL NEED GOD". The other side read "FICTION: EVOLUTION THEORY". At first it made me kind of mad, until I realised how cute it was. It kind of reminded me of being a kid and believing wholeheartedly that my mom was always right, and that no-one but her could count to 100. Oh, the heated debates I got myself into over these undisputed beliefs.
Late one night, high on fatigue, Hannah and I came up with some gang names for the people we know. One day this information may be useful.
Ali: Alcatraz
Jo: Jehosephat
Me: Redcard (but you know that already).
Kes: Specia' K
Kathleen: Corn Bisque
Eve: Everyman
Hannah: Double-h
And for the summerstockers...
Kylian: K-Y/ sex jelly (sorry if that made you a little uncomfortable)
Mike: Mixed Greens
Liam: Lost Cause
Luke: Ladyfingers
I've been trying to think of one for Kevin, but nothing seems to fit. If anyone wants to jump in and help out, please do.
Oh, and for Joelle: yes I did make my trademark mutant noise. First out of my own free will, then out of necessity. We must've been playing that game for hours.
(and sorry for publishing everyone's name without permission. I'm sure no strangers will care).
Sunday, November 19, 2006
I...hmm, wow...
So I've decided to hop on the bandwagon. I've always kind of liked the idea of blogging; it's like having your own radio show except nobody listens to you and you can't let people hear your music. Which is good, I guess, because I doubt anyone would want to listen to my music anyway. But now that I'm actually doing it, I feel a little intimidated. Somebody I don't know could see this. And even though I know they'd only look at it for three seconds before going back to drinking sour milk out of the carton or whatever strangers do, I'm worried that something I write might stick in their head. Maybe they'll visit it again on a day when they have nothing to do, and I might never know. Maybe they'll leave a comment or two on my posts. Maybe they'll try to befriend me and I won't be able to say no and I'll be caught in an eddy of unwanted internet friendship and develop a phobia of my blog, or worse, of the internet in general. Or, you know, maybe not.
I'm tired today even though I slept in till 12 noon. It's that kind of apathy-tired that happens when you haven't done anything in a day and you're still in your pyjamas and you need a shower and you're just TIRED of your own company. I would go outside and do something but my muscles are still yelling at me for playing mutants and dancing in Summerstock. I feel so old.
I'm tired today even though I slept in till 12 noon. It's that kind of apathy-tired that happens when you haven't done anything in a day and you're still in your pyjamas and you need a shower and you're just TIRED of your own company. I would go outside and do something but my muscles are still yelling at me for playing mutants and dancing in Summerstock. I feel so old.
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