Jennah has done it again.
Ran off with my heart, that is.
Bring it back, Jennah.
I needs it to circulate me blood.
Sunday, March 30, 2008
No Easy Solution
I went to something reminiscent of a party this evening past.
Matt Cooke had a birthday.
His father and my father taught in the same school.
Matt Cooke's dad had many children.
I suppose Dad may have had as many children and I just don't know about them...
But I'd like to think otherwise.
It was kinda fun.
It's a group of people that you'll get along fine with as long as you're wearing a stylish hoodie.
Luckily I have a closet full of them.
Scope meeting happened.
That was something.
Alright, now, maybe I'm not supposed to mention this cause of...whatever...journalistic gagging, but I'm doing it anyway.
We're thinking of ideas for what Elling (editor for you newcomers) refers to as 'The Bottom Line.'
This is simply the space that runs along the bottom of the printed page.
It's where my Tragic Hero posts go, by the way.
He wants new items to put there.
And I suddenly have one of the best ideas that I've had in what is likely decades.
I suggest that every issue we put a sudoku down there that doesn't have a solution.
So, not a sudoku at all, really. Just some random numbers in a 3x3 panel.
If not every issue, at least for April Fool's Day (which, by the way, is an occaison that people need to pay more attention to).
And everyone at the meeting commented on how 'mean' that would be.
Come on.
It's a fucking math puzzle that people do on the toilet, and while they wait for the bus.
It's just a trend.
I think the idea is brilliant.
If it was my paper, it'd be there next issue.
Putting up fake solutions in the following issue would be funny, too.
Hopefully they're considering it...
Everyone know by now why The Simpsons are yellow?
Matt Groening thought that if they were colored that way, people at home would think that there was something wrong with the contrast of their televisions.
The general public deserves to be fucked with.
Matt Cooke had a birthday.
His father and my father taught in the same school.
Matt Cooke's dad had many children.
I suppose Dad may have had as many children and I just don't know about them...
But I'd like to think otherwise.
It was kinda fun.
It's a group of people that you'll get along fine with as long as you're wearing a stylish hoodie.
Luckily I have a closet full of them.
Scope meeting happened.
That was something.
Alright, now, maybe I'm not supposed to mention this cause of...whatever...journalistic gagging, but I'm doing it anyway.
We're thinking of ideas for what Elling (editor for you newcomers) refers to as 'The Bottom Line.'
This is simply the space that runs along the bottom of the printed page.
It's where my Tragic Hero posts go, by the way.
He wants new items to put there.
And I suddenly have one of the best ideas that I've had in what is likely decades.
I suggest that every issue we put a sudoku down there that doesn't have a solution.
So, not a sudoku at all, really. Just some random numbers in a 3x3 panel.
If not every issue, at least for April Fool's Day (which, by the way, is an occaison that people need to pay more attention to).
And everyone at the meeting commented on how 'mean' that would be.
Come on.
It's a fucking math puzzle that people do on the toilet, and while they wait for the bus.
It's just a trend.
I think the idea is brilliant.
If it was my paper, it'd be there next issue.
Putting up fake solutions in the following issue would be funny, too.
Hopefully they're considering it...
Everyone know by now why The Simpsons are yellow?
Matt Groening thought that if they were colored that way, people at home would think that there was something wrong with the contrast of their televisions.
The general public deserves to be fucked with.
Thursday, March 27, 2008
Pentecostals of the Jungle
I did something yesterday that I've never done before.
Origami.
And I'm a whiz at it. You should see me folding the little cranes, and giraffes, and tortoises.
Tortoi?
Whatever.
I can't fold anything.
I purchased my first-ever newspaper.
I think it's because of all of these damned history courses I've been taking.
I read two pages into it.
I got an idea for a bit just by getting that far.
It's about pandas.
As all of the classic bits have been.
It's not really a bit so much as it is me making fun of them for a minute or two.
Whatever. They deserve it.
Abstinent, cutesy sons of bitches.
Origami.
And I'm a whiz at it. You should see me folding the little cranes, and giraffes, and tortoises.
Tortoi?
Whatever.
I can't fold anything.
I purchased my first-ever newspaper.
I think it's because of all of these damned history courses I've been taking.
I read two pages into it.
I got an idea for a bit just by getting that far.
It's about pandas.
As all of the classic bits have been.
It's not really a bit so much as it is me making fun of them for a minute or two.
Whatever. They deserve it.
Abstinent, cutesy sons of bitches.
Monday, March 24, 2008
"Get a Job!"
Check it:
http://ca.news.yahoo.com/s/capress/080324/world/oly_beijing_flame
Only a group of smelly protestors could take a ceremony dedicated to international-scratch that-world community, and turn it into a fucking circus about something they know nothing about.
Assholes.
http://ca.news.yahoo.com/s/capress/080324/world/oly_beijing_flame
Only a group of smelly protestors could take a ceremony dedicated to international-scratch that-world community, and turn it into a fucking circus about something they know nothing about.
Assholes.
Your Place or Your Place?
I'm standing in line at the reserve desk.
It's a couple of hours ago.
And there's this pretty girl getting some article or periodical or what have you from the reserve people (who also double as library people).
And she needs to update her MUN account or whatever.
So, the resereve person starts asking her for all sorts of information:
Address, phone number, e-mail address.
And I have this urge to take out my book and pretend to furiously copy this information down.
For fun.
I don't.
Because when it comes to invading women's personal space, they seem to have a skewed vision on the issue compared to me.
It's a couple of hours ago.
And there's this pretty girl getting some article or periodical or what have you from the reserve people (who also double as library people).
And she needs to update her MUN account or whatever.
So, the resereve person starts asking her for all sorts of information:
Address, phone number, e-mail address.
And I have this urge to take out my book and pretend to furiously copy this information down.
For fun.
I don't.
Because when it comes to invading women's personal space, they seem to have a skewed vision on the issue compared to me.
Post #277
Sarah Turpin did this, too.
First.
She did it first.
But I was born before her.
And her parents like me more than her.
Same deal with her sisters.
First.
She did it first.
But I was born before her.
And her parents like me more than her.
Same deal with her sisters.
Sunday, March 23, 2008
'Yis Girl'
Jennah Turpin doesn't communicate with me often.
But when she does...look out.
I actually worked at this gas station for a while.
If you're a mainlander you may not see the humour in this.
But you will absorb Newfoundland culture.
Try this one out. Murder By Death.
And this one. Dispatch.
I drank a lot of sunnyshine beers abreast barbecues at Acadia while listening to the second band.
Sitting in those collapsable canvas chairs that everyone used to buy from Canadian Tire?
You've sat in one.
Dicky bought one once, and was blown away by how cheap it was.
It turned out to be a kids' version.
He sat in it anyway.
But when she does...look out.
I actually worked at this gas station for a while.
If you're a mainlander you may not see the humour in this.
But you will absorb Newfoundland culture.
Try this one out. Murder By Death.
And this one. Dispatch.
I drank a lot of sunnyshine beers abreast barbecues at Acadia while listening to the second band.
Sitting in those collapsable canvas chairs that everyone used to buy from Canadian Tire?
You've sat in one.
Dicky bought one once, and was blown away by how cheap it was.
It turned out to be a kids' version.
He sat in it anyway.
Tyin' Rebar
Happy excuse to eat chocolate and pretend to be interested in Jesus day, everyone.
I saw Hoskins' band Fulltime on Friday with Shandera.
I think they should use a hyphen in their name.
But whatever. They play instruments.
They are better humans than I.
The show was deadly.
Hoskins' parents were at the bar (Roxxy's) to watch.
Which I found very impressive.
His parents fed me lasagna in Banff.
Canmore, technically.
Then they got me drunk.
I broke a wine glass.
His father told some joke that made us all uncomfortable. But he meant well.
I can't remember it, but I remember that the punchline was: "No my love, tonight you're drinkin' from the bottle."
...
Ahem.
I ran into drunk Peter Russell, which was fantastic.
I was playing drunk Paul Warford at the time.
We misplaced one another and then drunk Paul Warford got himself some 'street meat,' as they call it.
Then he took a cab.
Then he desperately felt as though he were about to vomit.
But he made it to his house.
It was a rough night.
Dave/Mavis showed up at my door yesterday.
Dave is a former roommate.
The type of roommate who boils ears of corn (after shucking them) at midnight on a Saturday.
We went to Ballistic and spoke with some rad people who then gave me a rad discount on a hoodie I couldn't afford.
I have missed rad people, which Banff was choking on.
It's a place where certain guys are so rad as fuck that they shouldn't even be allowed outside.
I could never be rad.
I don't know how to tie a bandana.
I saw Hoskins' band Fulltime on Friday with Shandera.
I think they should use a hyphen in their name.
But whatever. They play instruments.
They are better humans than I.
The show was deadly.
Hoskins' parents were at the bar (Roxxy's) to watch.
Which I found very impressive.
His parents fed me lasagna in Banff.
Canmore, technically.
Then they got me drunk.
I broke a wine glass.
His father told some joke that made us all uncomfortable. But he meant well.
I can't remember it, but I remember that the punchline was: "No my love, tonight you're drinkin' from the bottle."
...
Ahem.
I ran into drunk Peter Russell, which was fantastic.
I was playing drunk Paul Warford at the time.
We misplaced one another and then drunk Paul Warford got himself some 'street meat,' as they call it.
Then he took a cab.
Then he desperately felt as though he were about to vomit.
But he made it to his house.
It was a rough night.
Dave/Mavis showed up at my door yesterday.
Dave is a former roommate.
The type of roommate who boils ears of corn (after shucking them) at midnight on a Saturday.
We went to Ballistic and spoke with some rad people who then gave me a rad discount on a hoodie I couldn't afford.
I have missed rad people, which Banff was choking on.
It's a place where certain guys are so rad as fuck that they shouldn't even be allowed outside.
I could never be rad.
I don't know how to tie a bandana.
Friday, March 21, 2008
"A Moment of Clarity"
There's nothing quite like waking up to sex that you're not having to start your day.
I don't think that vegans should be allowed to make cupcakes.
If they've dedicated their lives to not eating anything fun, then I believe that cupcakes, a particularly fun food, are no longer their fucking business.
I've encountered a lot of vegan cupcakes over the past few months or so, and I think the whole thing is preposterous.
I haven't eaten any.
I had myself one of those epiphanies last night.
Like the religious people keep talking about.
I have a new epiphany once every couple of days.
Because I'm a pretty deep guy.
Wanna know what it was?
No?
Well, whatever, you've read this far already.
I have to make fun of facefuck. On stage.
And I hate the idea of it. Cause everyone is into it, from Jesus down.
But that's the point, though: someone has to do it.
I'll be a pioneer. At The Victory, at least.
Like Louis and Clarke.
But funnier.
eDit: Ashleigh Sobol found the picture. She's a dynamo.
Cause she's a Sobol.
I don't think that vegans should be allowed to make cupcakes.
If they've dedicated their lives to not eating anything fun, then I believe that cupcakes, a particularly fun food, are no longer their fucking business.
I've encountered a lot of vegan cupcakes over the past few months or so, and I think the whole thing is preposterous.
I haven't eaten any.
I had myself one of those epiphanies last night.
Like the religious people keep talking about.
I have a new epiphany once every couple of days.
Because I'm a pretty deep guy.
Wanna know what it was?
No?
Well, whatever, you've read this far already.
I have to make fun of facefuck. On stage.
And I hate the idea of it. Cause everyone is into it, from Jesus down.
But that's the point, though: someone has to do it.
I'll be a pioneer. At The Victory, at least.
Like Louis and Clarke.
But funnier.
eDit: Ashleigh Sobol found the picture. She's a dynamo.
Cause she's a Sobol.
Wednesday, March 19, 2008
Divine Cancelation
I was to write some sort of an exam or another on Tuesday.
Monday night sees the greatest number of storm warnings that I've seen in this province since I started using my eyes.
So, Monday night I play World of Warcraft, and pray that the storm is going to be as monumental as the Weather Network wench says it is.
And considering the shoveling that Colin and I did the following day, God delivered.
Postponed.
When it comes to examination, there is no better word.
Two days go by and I still don't bother studying.
The story of my life is essentially a couple of pages that have been photocopied x number of times.
x being the total number of days that I'm going to live for.
Until God thinks that I should be postponed.
Or Allah.
Whichever religion is right.
Monday, March 17, 2008
Parody
Tribute night at The Victory last night.
My buddy Baxter (Acadia. No pictures of us together exist) is present for the first time.
Heckles George and is absolutely trounced for it.
Trounced.
Did my Eddie Murphy. Froze up because memory and comedy don't go hand-in-hand for me.
But it was satisfactory, and it is recorded.
I'll try to upload it here.
Though the video is likely too big (I have no idea).
If I can't upload it then I'll send it to Turpin, Smallwood and my brother, copy down addresses from the rest of you, and probably never get around to mailing any more.
Every time I do laundry I say "This time I'm going to fold it and put it away. I am not going to use my laundry basket as a closet."
But it never happens.
Sarah Turpin really enjoys folding clothes. It's a guilty pleasure.
Think about it.
My buddy Baxter (Acadia. No pictures of us together exist) is present for the first time.
Heckles George and is absolutely trounced for it.
Trounced.
Did my Eddie Murphy. Froze up because memory and comedy don't go hand-in-hand for me.
But it was satisfactory, and it is recorded.
I'll try to upload it here.
Though the video is likely too big (I have no idea).
If I can't upload it then I'll send it to Turpin, Smallwood and my brother, copy down addresses from the rest of you, and probably never get around to mailing any more.
Every time I do laundry I say "This time I'm going to fold it and put it away. I am not going to use my laundry basket as a closet."
But it never happens.
Sarah Turpin really enjoys folding clothes. It's a guilty pleasure.
Think about it.
Group Meeting
Alright. Hypothetical:
It's a swinger's party, right?
Keys in the bowl, or however they match people up.
That's how they do it, isn't it?
"Patty and Steve just made it guys! Alright, throw your keys in the bowl!"
And all the guys cross their fingers.
Cause Patty's got it goin' on.
They're friends of friends, Patty and Steve. So, they're the exotic, unfamiliar couple.
Swingers party. Huge orgy.
Everyone's defiling everyone else. The air is heavy with the smell of lubricants and sexual liberation.
Now, orgy's over. Everyone's putting clothes back on and avoiding eye contact.
People are starting to trickle home.
But then Patty and Steve's car won't start.
And they need a boost.
Wouldn't that be awkward?
Cause the moment of passion is gone.
Now there's a man that you barely know from the curling club going through his car's trunk, muttering to himself "Where did I leave those?" And the two have just seen one another in a melange of lewd acts.
He's moving emergency blankets and half-empty (never half-full for me) bottles of antifreeze.
Meanwhile, his wife had her mouth on your genitalia about half an hour beforehand.
That would have to be laborious for everyone.
Maybe he can't find his cables. Then Steve has to call triple A.
And he has to go back into the orgy brothel to do it.
Because it's the seventies. There are no cell phones.
"Terribly sorry, but Hal couldn't find his cables. He thinks he may have left them at home-could I use your phone, maybe? It'll just be a minute."
Waiting for that tow truck to arrive. Making small talk with the orgy hosts.
Everyone's holding cups of tea.
"...and I've been in junk bonds ever since."
"Now, are those the same as high-yield bonds, or is that something totally different?"
The wives are talking about lamps.
It's a swinger's party, right?
Keys in the bowl, or however they match people up.
That's how they do it, isn't it?
"Patty and Steve just made it guys! Alright, throw your keys in the bowl!"
And all the guys cross their fingers.
Cause Patty's got it goin' on.
They're friends of friends, Patty and Steve. So, they're the exotic, unfamiliar couple.
Swingers party. Huge orgy.
Everyone's defiling everyone else. The air is heavy with the smell of lubricants and sexual liberation.
Now, orgy's over. Everyone's putting clothes back on and avoiding eye contact.
People are starting to trickle home.
But then Patty and Steve's car won't start.
And they need a boost.
Wouldn't that be awkward?
Cause the moment of passion is gone.
Now there's a man that you barely know from the curling club going through his car's trunk, muttering to himself "Where did I leave those?" And the two have just seen one another in a melange of lewd acts.
He's moving emergency blankets and half-empty (never half-full for me) bottles of antifreeze.
Meanwhile, his wife had her mouth on your genitalia about half an hour beforehand.
That would have to be laborious for everyone.
Maybe he can't find his cables. Then Steve has to call triple A.
And he has to go back into the orgy brothel to do it.
Because it's the seventies. There are no cell phones.
"Terribly sorry, but Hal couldn't find his cables. He thinks he may have left them at home-could I use your phone, maybe? It'll just be a minute."
Waiting for that tow truck to arrive. Making small talk with the orgy hosts.
Everyone's holding cups of tea.
"...and I've been in junk bonds ever since."
"Now, are those the same as high-yield bonds, or is that something totally different?"
The wives are talking about lamps.
Saturday, March 15, 2008
The Long and Short of It
I've started playing World of Warfcraft.
This was a bad idea.
Pop culture doesn't deserve a game that's so fun.
They should have had to put their hours in like the rest of us hopeless nerds.
I have many decorative daggers and swords.
Fuck Mister T. Fuck that wee person from Austin Powers.
I'll argue this to the grave:
If I was three feet tall I'd rather be referred to as a 'midget' than a 'dwarf'.
How is 'dwarf' the PC term?
It's like making fun of midgets right to their face.
...
Maybe I'll start a dwarf character in World of Warcraft.
This was a bad idea.
Pop culture doesn't deserve a game that's so fun.
They should have had to put their hours in like the rest of us hopeless nerds.
I have many decorative daggers and swords.
Fuck Mister T. Fuck that wee person from Austin Powers.
I'll argue this to the grave:
If I was three feet tall I'd rather be referred to as a 'midget' than a 'dwarf'.
How is 'dwarf' the PC term?
It's like making fun of midgets right to their face.
...
Maybe I'll start a dwarf character in World of Warcraft.
Friday, March 14, 2008
To Hypocrisy!
Happy get-wasted-weekend, everyone.
Hope you all vomit just a little bit.
"'Tis the season," as they say.
Leave it to the h'Irish.
I got pierced today.
After vowing that I wouldn't get pierced again.
But it was an act of solidarity.
Does solidarity stave off infection?
Doesn't matter.
I have to admit that I find it helplessly funny when people say "Screw it," sometimes.
I want to give up caffeine.
I don't know why. It's spring.
I'm trying to act as though I have purpose.
I won't stop drinking coffee, mind you. I'm just going to switch to decaf for a while.
Which I also vowed I wouldn't do.
We'll just see what happens.
I'm betting on my being appallingly groggy during my morning classes, and otherwise pissy all day.
But at least I'm making plans that will perpetuate beyond tomorrow.
I was driving up Torbay Road today, and I'm behind this bus.
I'm harbouring road rage at a red, and I notice that the back of the bus has the NTV News Team painted on there.
Alright, I likely noticed before the red light. I just wanted an excuse to use the verb 'harbour.'
And I realized, as I checked for wrinkles on Lynn Burry (there are none) that I'd like to be plastered to the back of a bus some day.
Then I wouldn't mind getting stuck behind it.
'Cause I'd have me to look at.
All toothy and thin.
People always say that they see members of the NTV News Team doing various human being type shit around the city.
I never do.
People seeing Fred Hutton at Music City getting his banjo restrung, that sort of thing.
Toni Marie down on the corner, turning tricks.
For fun. Not profit (sorry Toni).
Hope you all vomit just a little bit.
"'Tis the season," as they say.
Leave it to the h'Irish.
I got pierced today.
After vowing that I wouldn't get pierced again.
But it was an act of solidarity.
Does solidarity stave off infection?
Doesn't matter.
I have to admit that I find it helplessly funny when people say "Screw it," sometimes.
I want to give up caffeine.
I don't know why. It's spring.
I'm trying to act as though I have purpose.
I won't stop drinking coffee, mind you. I'm just going to switch to decaf for a while.
Which I also vowed I wouldn't do.
We'll just see what happens.
I'm betting on my being appallingly groggy during my morning classes, and otherwise pissy all day.
But at least I'm making plans that will perpetuate beyond tomorrow.
I was driving up Torbay Road today, and I'm behind this bus.
I'm harbouring road rage at a red, and I notice that the back of the bus has the NTV News Team painted on there.
Alright, I likely noticed before the red light. I just wanted an excuse to use the verb 'harbour.'
And I realized, as I checked for wrinkles on Lynn Burry (there are none) that I'd like to be plastered to the back of a bus some day.
Then I wouldn't mind getting stuck behind it.
'Cause I'd have me to look at.
All toothy and thin.
People always say that they see members of the NTV News Team doing various human being type shit around the city.
I never do.
People seeing Fred Hutton at Music City getting his banjo restrung, that sort of thing.
Toni Marie down on the corner, turning tricks.
For fun. Not profit (sorry Toni).
I couldn't find a photo of the NTV bus, but you get the idea.
Stop throwing your McDonald's bags onto the road, fuckers.
Wednesday, March 12, 2008
"I said 'Fuck it', I put my drink on it."
Big open mic at The Victory this Sunday.
I meant to tell you guys about this shit earlier.
It's gonna be a cover night.
Despite my racial handicap, I'm going to be performing the cookout bit from Eddie Murphy's Delirious.
And I can't wait.
Here's a taste of a microphone technique required that I haven't figured out yet.
I've been groomed to do this bit.
I owe a lot to this performance.
It taught me how to swear.
I meant to tell you guys about this shit earlier.
It's gonna be a cover night.
Despite my racial handicap, I'm going to be performing the cookout bit from Eddie Murphy's Delirious.
And I can't wait.
Here's a taste of a microphone technique required that I haven't figured out yet.
I've been groomed to do this bit.
I owe a lot to this performance.
It taught me how to swear.
People Get Addicted
I did something today that I probably haven't done in many years.
"You got a shower!"
Hyuk hyuk.
No.
I danced. By myself.
Not just for chicks anymore!
Hawksley Workman can play an instrument for ya.
He just knows how to put on a show.
He's the type of talented that would make you hate him, but he's too nice (or so I'm told).
I went to his show last night in a high school auditorium with deadly acoustics.
I met a lot of new people.
Fortunately, I was very on.
Due to the exhorbinant amount of money that the loan people gave me, I've got a little bit of good news for me and my body.
It's time for another ridiculous tattoo.
Oh, I love these.
So, I'm gonna get a skull, right? But it's on fire. It's like Night Rider, but it's gonna have barbed wire wrapped around it, and underneath it there's gonna be a Chinese symbol that says (translates into) 'skull'. Now, that's gonna be emblazoned over the superman symbol and to one side I'm going to have a rose, and on the other side, paw prints.
I'm going to get it on whichever of my biceps is larger.
I estimate that it's going to cost about $700,000.
Well, that's what I was going to get. But I think Colin and Brian are gonna get that one with me, so I'll wait.
'Til then, I'm going to get a tattoo of Professor Farnsworth while he's wearing the suit in the picture. However, the pose I want is of him while he's strutting, which he does in the episode, while swinging the chain of his pocket watch.
You gotta kinda visualize.
And I'm going to get that on the back of my calf.
Perfectly timed for shorts weather.
I do plan to get a tattoo of Leela in her poodle skirt, as well. On the other calf.
Some day
Everyone will say it's a stupid idea, then everyone will want to see it.
Then when new people come onto the scene, they'll say 'show so-and-so the tattoo' and then the person will see it and say 'cool!' and will then immediately agree that it's stupid.
Cause that's what happens with all of them.
Except the 'writer' tattoo.
That one actually was kinda stupid.
That one actually was kinda stupid.
But deep.
Tuesday, March 11, 2008
Hello! My Name Is Hungry for Attention
I'm thinking of buying a roll of those "Hello! My name is..." stickers.
And wearing a new one every day.
There are certain stylistic things that I would like to do, and then continue to do, until I die.
Like skateboarding.
And wearing a new one every day.
There are certain stylistic things that I would like to do, and then continue to do, until I die.
Like skateboarding.
Condoms in Vending Machines
I'm waiting at the reserve desk in the library. It's about a week ago.
And there are females. Behind the counter, I mean, fetching this and that.
Scanning things.
One of them is on lunch.
And she's giving it out. About her celery. Doesn't want her celery.
So, she asks her co-worker, who is in the midst of doling out my much-needed archaeological information on the data analysis of ceramics (can someone tell me how to eject-seat out of this class?) if she wants the celery.
"Do you want my celery?" she asks.
And the other doesn't want it.
So, I say, "I'll eat your celery."
And then I did.
That's it.
Today, I go to fetch some student grant money.
Apparently, there has been a buildup of government checks kicking around for me to collect.
When I receive official-seeming e-mails, I sometimes won't read them because I find everything official to be confusing and frightening.
So, I'm getting this check, and a student loan slave is speaking with her friend about an upcoming test.
The friend has to write some sort of garbage in an hour. And she's too frightened to eat.
The friend is listing potential foodstuffs.
"Get a sub, or some soup or something."
"Or a pita," I interject.
"Or a pita," the slave repeats, "See, we're concerned about you," she goes on to say.
Which I thought was cute.
Anyway, I get my moneys, I head out, and as I leave I say, "Good luck on your test," take a few steps, wheel about, and while walking backwards, I say, "Eat something!"
I go and do a few lines in the men's, and while I'm walking back across the skywalk (tripping balls, mind you) I see this person.
In line at Extreme Pita.
Between the money and minute interactions, it's been a satisfying day.
And there are females. Behind the counter, I mean, fetching this and that.
Scanning things.
One of them is on lunch.
And she's giving it out. About her celery. Doesn't want her celery.
So, she asks her co-worker, who is in the midst of doling out my much-needed archaeological information on the data analysis of ceramics (can someone tell me how to eject-seat out of this class?) if she wants the celery.
"Do you want my celery?" she asks.
And the other doesn't want it.
So, I say, "I'll eat your celery."
And then I did.
That's it.
Today, I go to fetch some student grant money.
Apparently, there has been a buildup of government checks kicking around for me to collect.
When I receive official-seeming e-mails, I sometimes won't read them because I find everything official to be confusing and frightening.
So, I'm getting this check, and a student loan slave is speaking with her friend about an upcoming test.
The friend has to write some sort of garbage in an hour. And she's too frightened to eat.
The friend is listing potential foodstuffs.
"Get a sub, or some soup or something."
"Or a pita," I interject.
"Or a pita," the slave repeats, "See, we're concerned about you," she goes on to say.
Which I thought was cute.
Anyway, I get my moneys, I head out, and as I leave I say, "Good luck on your test," take a few steps, wheel about, and while walking backwards, I say, "Eat something!"
I go and do a few lines in the men's, and while I'm walking back across the skywalk (tripping balls, mind you) I see this person.
In line at Extreme Pita.
Between the money and minute interactions, it's been a satisfying day.
Free Fallin'
Tomorrow I intend to finally do some skydiving.
I'd say it's about time.
I'd do it for the view. I enjoy wide, sprawling views of things.
Don't get me wrong.
It's being suspended from glorified curtains that I have issues with.
I remember at Acadia when a bunch of people went skydiving, and Crazy Dave (who wasn't even that crazy. Do we really need to have a 'crazy dave' in every social circle?) had to use his emergency chute.
And he was talking about how much fun it was, and hopefully he could save enough money to "go again this term."
Skydiving is only fun if everything's operational.
It's just that sort of passtime.
Who would ever go a second time, if they had to use their emergency chute the first time?
Of course, that fucker was crazy.
My buddy Pete also went skydiving while in Acadia. Broke his leg.
That's a skydiving accident, right there.
I told him that he got off light.
Post-landing, Pete would have sex with his girlfriend, and his cast would bang against the wall of his room.
There are certain things that simply cannot be replicated outside of a university residence.
Hawksley Workman tonight.
He still won't return my e-mails.
But wait 'til he gets a load of the candygram I sent him.
I'd say it's about time.
I'd do it for the view. I enjoy wide, sprawling views of things.
Don't get me wrong.
It's being suspended from glorified curtains that I have issues with.
I remember at Acadia when a bunch of people went skydiving, and Crazy Dave (who wasn't even that crazy. Do we really need to have a 'crazy dave' in every social circle?) had to use his emergency chute.
And he was talking about how much fun it was, and hopefully he could save enough money to "go again this term."
Skydiving is only fun if everything's operational.
It's just that sort of passtime.
Who would ever go a second time, if they had to use their emergency chute the first time?
Of course, that fucker was crazy.
My buddy Pete also went skydiving while in Acadia. Broke his leg.
That's a skydiving accident, right there.
I told him that he got off light.
Post-landing, Pete would have sex with his girlfriend, and his cast would bang against the wall of his room.
There are certain things that simply cannot be replicated outside of a university residence.
Hawksley Workman tonight.
He still won't return my e-mails.
But wait 'til he gets a load of the candygram I sent him.
Sunday, March 9, 2008
You Can Dress Us Up...
Alright.
Let's get to it, readerbase.
Stretch out the ol' legs and arms.
Everybody limber?
Neither am I.
Alright, the following thing happened:
But first! If you are going to see me within the next few days, don't read this post. The story works better in-person. This warning is especially reserved for Pete, Bussey, and Shandera.
I'll get Colin to tell you guys about it.
Everyone else outside of the St. Jiahn's perimeter, or those who cannot wait, here's the story:
Colin and I are in da mall with his new one, Charlotte (she gets a name now. She's coming along nicely, though she puts in a paltry effort when fighting for shotgun).
She's in Le Chateau, buying gear for the rapidly approaching Paddy's Day, which is the equivelant of a national holiday for Colin.
After the fact, herself said, "I've never seen two people more out of place in a store in my life."
Colin and I grow weary of EB, and so we head on over to see if Charlotte's ready to get mobile.
It's like a camoflauge, this store, all whites and pinks, and soft pastels. Beyond the entrance display racks, it's sort of hard to pick out anything.
So, he and I go inside, and immediately fuck and joke around, making a general spectacle.
Charlotte's standing in line, red-faced and giggly.
He and I subside mildly, and begin to let our eyes adjust to the interior.
Then Colin says, "I tell ya what, have a gark at buddy."
For those of you unfamiliar with the dialect, this simply means, "Get a load of that guy."
So, I look in the direction that he's gesturing.
"You should've given me a warning!" I yelled afterwards.
First of all, he's pushing forty for sure.
He's wearing a billowy pirate-type black shirt.
He has a very exaggerated and well-groomed soul patch in the form of a perfect isosoles triangle.
His hair is also pirate-like, long and teased-almost flowing.
And when I happen to look at this guy, he's standing with his hands, triumphantly, I should add, placed on his hips.
I glance this, and without reserve or hesitation, and with no control over the reflex, mind you, I immediately make this noise:
"Pffft!"
And begin to cackle with laughter.
Colin and I immediately leave the store.
I'm laughing so hard that I have to sit down.
On a bench.
Outside of the store, but likely still within earshot.
Now, some may construe this anecdote as being mean.
"What an asshole that Paul/Screech is, guys."
To which I say: you had to be there.
Another Warford family moment in which I would have paid money for Brian to be there.
It's the sort of situation that he would have added to dramatically.
Let's get to it, readerbase.
Stretch out the ol' legs and arms.
Everybody limber?
Neither am I.
Alright, the following thing happened:
But first! If you are going to see me within the next few days, don't read this post. The story works better in-person. This warning is especially reserved for Pete, Bussey, and Shandera.
I'll get Colin to tell you guys about it.
Everyone else outside of the St. Jiahn's perimeter, or those who cannot wait, here's the story:
Colin and I are in da mall with his new one, Charlotte (she gets a name now. She's coming along nicely, though she puts in a paltry effort when fighting for shotgun).
She's in Le Chateau, buying gear for the rapidly approaching Paddy's Day, which is the equivelant of a national holiday for Colin.
After the fact, herself said, "I've never seen two people more out of place in a store in my life."
Colin and I grow weary of EB, and so we head on over to see if Charlotte's ready to get mobile.
It's like a camoflauge, this store, all whites and pinks, and soft pastels. Beyond the entrance display racks, it's sort of hard to pick out anything.
So, he and I go inside, and immediately fuck and joke around, making a general spectacle.
Charlotte's standing in line, red-faced and giggly.
He and I subside mildly, and begin to let our eyes adjust to the interior.
Then Colin says, "I tell ya what, have a gark at buddy."
For those of you unfamiliar with the dialect, this simply means, "Get a load of that guy."
So, I look in the direction that he's gesturing.
"You should've given me a warning!" I yelled afterwards.
First of all, he's pushing forty for sure.
He's wearing a billowy pirate-type black shirt.
He has a very exaggerated and well-groomed soul patch in the form of a perfect isosoles triangle.
His hair is also pirate-like, long and teased-almost flowing.
And when I happen to look at this guy, he's standing with his hands, triumphantly, I should add, placed on his hips.
I glance this, and without reserve or hesitation, and with no control over the reflex, mind you, I immediately make this noise:
"Pffft!"
And begin to cackle with laughter.
Colin and I immediately leave the store.
I'm laughing so hard that I have to sit down.
On a bench.
Outside of the store, but likely still within earshot.
Now, some may construe this anecdote as being mean.
"What an asshole that Paul/Screech is, guys."
To which I say: you had to be there.
Another Warford family moment in which I would have paid money for Brian to be there.
It's the sort of situation that he would have added to dramatically.
Friday, March 7, 2008
A Show for the Deaf
Queens of the Stone Age are coming to St. John's.
So goes the murmur.
Apparently you have to win shit to see them.
I win nothing. I will not see them.
They are my favourite band.
This, in the grand scheme of things, is unfair.
Pity me (moreso than usual) and listen to this:
So goes the murmur.
Apparently you have to win shit to see them.
I win nothing. I will not see them.
They are my favourite band.
This, in the grand scheme of things, is unfair.
Pity me (moreso than usual) and listen to this:
Thursday, March 6, 2008
Pajama Pants With Rubber Ducks
It's a heavy Acadia alumni day.
Bear with me, all of you filthy ingrates who were educated elsewhere.
Speaking of which, Spence wrote me back.
I've got this Hurley t-shirt.
It has a hole in the armpit.
All of my best shirts do.
It was a t-shirt that was given to me by one Sarah Hope-Jonston.
Did I spell 'Jonston' wrong? I bet I did.
I helped her mom make a caesar salad, once.
Sarah has recently informed me that she has begun to read my blog.
She used to patiently suggest that I should maybe go to bed at an earlier time while I was in my first year.
I never did.
I'll put in a brief interjection to commemorate other late-night Eaton House people from that year: Ern, Beav, Shane, and anyone else who I may have forgotten because too much time has passed to allow my swiss cheese brain to remember you.
Anyway. I never did.
And despite that, Sarah would always wake me up and make sure I got to class.
And always so delicately, she would wake me.
Once, her roommate Terri came with her to wake me, and she threw open my door and shouted, "Screech! Wake the fuck up!"
It was less pleasant.
Sarah studied things I don't understand.
She visited me in Banff, once.
Well, more than once.
But describing this particular visit will make me seem the sweetest.
I pulled as many hotel strings as I could at the time.
To impress her, you see.
Women are often impressed with how many arangements can be made on their behalf.
This includes breakfasts. And bathrobes.
We went for a walk and I asked an older gentleman to take our picture.
Whenever she's on my arm, she makes me feel like I'm getting away with something.
Afterwards we listened to Sufjan Stevens in her car.
Then I had to take a nap.
This is the picture the geezer took:
Bear with me, all of you filthy ingrates who were educated elsewhere.
Speaking of which, Spence wrote me back.
I've got this Hurley t-shirt.
It has a hole in the armpit.
All of my best shirts do.
It was a t-shirt that was given to me by one Sarah Hope-Jonston.
Did I spell 'Jonston' wrong? I bet I did.
I helped her mom make a caesar salad, once.
Sarah has recently informed me that she has begun to read my blog.
She used to patiently suggest that I should maybe go to bed at an earlier time while I was in my first year.
I never did.
I'll put in a brief interjection to commemorate other late-night Eaton House people from that year: Ern, Beav, Shane, and anyone else who I may have forgotten because too much time has passed to allow my swiss cheese brain to remember you.
Anyway. I never did.
And despite that, Sarah would always wake me up and make sure I got to class.
And always so delicately, she would wake me.
Once, her roommate Terri came with her to wake me, and she threw open my door and shouted, "Screech! Wake the fuck up!"
It was less pleasant.
Sarah studied things I don't understand.
She visited me in Banff, once.
Well, more than once.
But describing this particular visit will make me seem the sweetest.
I pulled as many hotel strings as I could at the time.
To impress her, you see.
Women are often impressed with how many arangements can be made on their behalf.
This includes breakfasts. And bathrobes.
We went for a walk and I asked an older gentleman to take our picture.
Whenever she's on my arm, she makes me feel like I'm getting away with something.
Afterwards we listened to Sufjan Stevens in her car.
Then I had to take a nap.
This is the picture the geezer took:
Tuesday, March 4, 2008
Padawan*
Oh audience.
I'm not into it today.
I'm fatigued from top to bottom.
I really, really think I need to make some dietary substitutions in my everyday.
Example: Instead of eating nothing until 5p.m. each day, I instead eat some sort of food before 5p.m.
Chew it and swallow it. Nutrients.
All of that.
I think you loafers should start leaving more comments on my blog. My online journal.
My internet inner-mosts. That's what this is.
Do you people realize that most of you know more about my personal life over the past year than my parents do?
And I talk to my parents.
Sporadically.
If you wanna spit something about the site, don't make a comment on my facefuck wall, put it right in here.
So that you can be ostracized.
And judged.
Just as God intended.
Alright.
I've mentioned Colin's new one.
And I've outlined my compulsion to make her mildly miserable whenever she's at the apartment, and my reasoning for it.
As a sort of on-her-toes kinda exercise.
Well, here's a fresh example:
The three of us are sitting on the couch/my bed.
And she's trying to plan things.
She feels a need to create an itinerary for their evenings spent together.
I believe that once everyone in a given room is wearing pajamas, itineraries are no longer welcome.
"What do you want to do for the rest of the night?" She directs towards Colin.
He and I are focused on video games, and are trying our best not to listen.
We grew up with mom. So, we're pretty good at it.
"Do you want to watch the rest of that movie, or do you want to see if House is a re-run, or do you want to..." this goes on for a while.
When she finishes, I say, "Which one of those options puts you in the other room?"
Which she apparently didn't take a shine to.
I could tell because she got up in a bit of a huff.
"It's like a multiple choice, and I don't know the answer!" I called after her.
She slammed Colin's bedroom door. I think she was mad.
This left the two Warford brothers curiously unfazed.
*I never thought that a post title of mine would contain a Star Wars reference.
I'm not into it today.
I'm fatigued from top to bottom.
I really, really think I need to make some dietary substitutions in my everyday.
Example: Instead of eating nothing until 5p.m. each day, I instead eat some sort of food before 5p.m.
Chew it and swallow it. Nutrients.
All of that.
I think you loafers should start leaving more comments on my blog. My online journal.
My internet inner-mosts. That's what this is.
Do you people realize that most of you know more about my personal life over the past year than my parents do?
And I talk to my parents.
Sporadically.
If you wanna spit something about the site, don't make a comment on my facefuck wall, put it right in here.
So that you can be ostracized.
And judged.
Just as God intended.
Alright.
I've mentioned Colin's new one.
And I've outlined my compulsion to make her mildly miserable whenever she's at the apartment, and my reasoning for it.
As a sort of on-her-toes kinda exercise.
Well, here's a fresh example:
The three of us are sitting on the couch/my bed.
And she's trying to plan things.
She feels a need to create an itinerary for their evenings spent together.
I believe that once everyone in a given room is wearing pajamas, itineraries are no longer welcome.
"What do you want to do for the rest of the night?" She directs towards Colin.
He and I are focused on video games, and are trying our best not to listen.
We grew up with mom. So, we're pretty good at it.
"Do you want to watch the rest of that movie, or do you want to see if House is a re-run, or do you want to..." this goes on for a while.
When she finishes, I say, "Which one of those options puts you in the other room?"
Which she apparently didn't take a shine to.
I could tell because she got up in a bit of a huff.
"It's like a multiple choice, and I don't know the answer!" I called after her.
She slammed Colin's bedroom door. I think she was mad.
This left the two Warford brothers curiously unfazed.
*I never thought that a post title of mine would contain a Star Wars reference.
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