A Losing Battle

Run away from home.
It's Friday.

So I've been absent for a week.
I was in the Galapagos for a while.
Riding the turtles.
Cataloging the finches.
But I'm back now.
With many new and exotic pets (my favourite sort).
Which my mother will most likely disapprove of.

My mother and I were having a discussion recently.
Christa had nearly been accosted by a Jehova's Witness, you see.
So mom and I were talking about religiosity.
And the tendency of religious people to get married while extremely young.
"Because they want to have sex with one another.
But they're not allowed to until they get married.
So they get married when they're like, eighteen, so they don't have to wait anymore.
No matter what a religion says mom, people are gonna want to have sex with each other.
You can't fight instinct."
"Well, young people don't seem to be fighting very hard."
My mother.
Two points.

My trip to Halifax was relatively rad.
I drank beer at a blues bar with Scott Pickup.
That was Thursday.
The weekend could only get better after that.
I watched a xylophone soloist.
He wore a sport jacket and played that song from The Wedding Singer.
Not that one.
I ate a great deal of seafood and ogled hotel staff.
I went card shopping with Derek Seguin.
And we watched the hockey game.
He'd shout things whenever Canada scored.
We smoked in the hotel room and I acted like I wasn't nervous about it.
As a Frenchman and a Newfie walking into a bar, we were very close to being a joke's setup.
Here's a clip of him. Though he's not hairy enough in it.