Wednesday, December 29, 2004

these notes will be poems

-Waking up early and shoveling out three cars in your driveway
-Putting on gloves that say "I AM CANADIAN" to do so
-driving from your parents' place to your own apartment, and seeing your roomate getting a boost from a car
-turning on the radio and hearing "Silver Jet" by the Hip
-running away from work as soon as possible
-scraping windows with burnt CDs
-skipping supper to fish out pretzels
-getting drunk on scrabble
-sleeping in your own bed and looking at stars through your own window
-hearing sounds of love through walls

Sunday, December 26, 2004

Boxing Day '04. Food.

So, I'm home for a while. I think it's a subconcious way to slow the passing of time and delay my return to work. No PS2, no books, no laptop, a temperamental digital camera, few wearable clothes, and a familial nagging guilt. On the other hand, too much food to eat. In the fridge, there is a two-liter jug used for making Kool-Aid during the summer that is now full of gravy. There is also seven (!!!) pounds of turkey meat and a full Christmas ham. This is a good, and a bad thing. It's good to have food. However, at my apartment, I'm used to eating everything in sight before someone else gets to it. Something about expanding to the limits of the resources of the environment or the like.

Needless to say, I've been expanding.

I've been staying in what was once mine and my brother's old room. Yes, we shared a room; no, I have no idea how we survived. It doesn't even qualify as my 'old' room anymore, since my room was a deep navy and burgundy combination. This room has sea-foam green walls, lace doilies, teddy bears, and frightening porceline dolls. I have to drink myself into a stupor just to get to sleep at night.

Speaking of which, I'm about due for my nightly splash of Bailey's...

Friday, December 24, 2004

Pax joelg

It's Christmas Eve, and it's raining outside. I have a splitting headache, and I've been up for three hours already. I really ought to be home right now. All I have to do is get dressed, pack a few essentials for tonight's annual church outing, and I'm on my way, but I really need at least six hour's more sleep before I can function properly.

I delivered all the presents I had left last night. So, if you didn't get a present from me by now, you're outta luck. I did my best to smooth things over with as many people as I could yesterday. I'm only one man, but I figure this is the time of year to build bridges (or, as Mitch put it, "Pave Peter Mansbridges") inasmuch as I can.

I was really thinking about making a big, long list of things I wanted to say to people that I didn't get a chance to see in the last little while, but the more I think about that idea, the more it sounds pretty pathetic and attention-whorish. I'm so not into that right now.

Here's to hoping that everyone has two days of quiet happiness, with lots of food, and people, and whatnot.

I'll see everyone later. I've got cookies to bake.

Thursday, December 23, 2004

(you know you're right)

Probably my last drunken-wednesday post this year.

Sometimes, even though you know you'rehaving a good tim,e there's this part of you that says "Hey, this is fun now, but if you remember this tomorrow, it's not gonna be a fond memory." But at the same time, I'm like "WHatever, these times don't come along that often. Especially with my current possee, 'cause of the age difference and everything." Shite.

I have to be reasonable very soon, or grow up or something. I just want to know why Ryan hates me and everyone at the Wave so much so as to ask such retarded questions. Seriously. What the fack?

Sunday, December 19, 2004

Either it'll move me, or move right through me

Just got in from a night at the old homestead. Wasn't even a night -- I helped my mother bid on some auctions on eBay, took my turn nursing poor Socks back to health, complained that there was still much much too much food in the house, and admired the excessive Christmas-ness of the living room. This was the first year in my memory that I didn't help decorate, and I may not get to bake either, due to a restrictive work schedule.

Saw The Royal Tenenbaums again tonight. I remember seeing it in while it was in theatres. I think, at the time, I described it as "A comedy that isn't funny, or a drama that isn't sad." Something like that. But it made much, much more sense to me the second time around. The pacing. The short sentences, punctuated by long looks between characters. Oh yeah, and the fucked-up characters. The more I saw of Gwenyth Paltrow, the more I liked her as depressed playwrite in love with her adopted brother. One of the few times that I've seen a smoker as even remotely attractive. I don't know what that says about me.

On my way back to the apartment, I took a spin around town. What with work and sleep, I don't see much of downtown now, since there is little or no reason for me to venture there. What did I see? A lot of blue lights. I must have missed the memo saying that blue -- manic-depressive blue -- is an official Christmas colour. I seriously need a working camera to capture the sheer moroseness of the city right now. I don't think I saw a single person outside. I heard no Christmas music on the radio, or blaring from any other car's stereo system. I saw a Santa hat on top of a Christmas tree, probably tossed up there a while ago. But no other expressions of Christmas to be found.

Back at the apartment, the place that Christmas forgot, everything is completely quiet. Most of my neighbors have returned home between semesters. The parking lot is practically empty. I didn't hear a single scream, hoot, holler, fight, smashing of bottle, stereo turned to 11, tire squeal, or drunken singalong. I've been home for 40 minutes now, and I still haven't heard more than the usual traffic. By "usual," I mean "usual for someone not living in the middle of 200+ student apartments." There are some cars passing by. I heard a siren. I think there's a radio playing in the distance. That's it.

Saturday, December 18, 2004

Too much 1994

This is what happens when I putter around the apartment too much. Everything seems to talk to me. On a more technical note, the commenty-thing seems to work now, and you don't have to fill in a zillion checkboxes to tell me how awesome I am.

That's it, I'm getting out of here before something stupid happens.


Luna, from Siamese Dream

What moonsongs
Do you sing your babies?
What sunshine do you bring?

Who belongs
Who decides who's crazy
Who rights wrongs where others cling?

I'll sing for you
If you want me to
I'll give to you
And it's a chance I'll have to take
And it's a chance I'll have to break

I go along
Just because I'm lazy
I go along to be with you


And those moonsongs
That you sing your babies
Will be the songs to see you through

I'll hear your song
If you want me to
I'll sing along
And it's a chance I'll have to take
And it's a chance I'll have to break

I'm in love with you...etc

I'm not sick, but I'm not well

I have come to the conclusion that rum and I are no longer friends.

We had our ups and our downs, our ins and our outs, and a few scraps along the way. But nothing, nothing like Thursday night. (Yes, two nights ago. It was so intense that I couldn't even talk about it yesterday.)

I hate blogs that say "Oh my god I was so drunk last night that i don't even remember what i did or who i did it to! OMG!!!" That was funny, um, in first year. No, I'm a bit more urbane than that. Not that urbane, in that I continue to wake up the morning after in a state of stunned disbelief, but I don't go around announcing it to the world that yes, I was hammered, and yes, I was out of control, and no, I don't remember talking/dancing/buying you drinks/high fiving/hitting on your girlfriend/standing awkwardly at the bar/etc.

I have never associated Christmas with alcohol. No association whatsoever. My family would have a glass of wine -- usually a watered-down glass, and never more than one glass -- with Christmas dinner. After that, the bottle of Baby Duck would go back in the cupboard behind the pots and pans until next year. No one got drunk. No one did anything they regretted. No one felt anything more than sleepy, especially with the overdose of turkey that went along with the wine.

And then I started hitting Christmas parties. Actually, the pre-parties are usually much, much better than the parties themselves. (The exception, of course, being this year, when all parties suck.) Christmas parties then led to New Year's parties. All of which are still new to me.

Up until New Year's 1999, I didn't go out at all on New Year's Eve. Why bother? I didn't drink, my friends were all trashed somewhere swanky where they had to buy tickets to get in, and I was usually working.

New Year's has gone downhill from there. I mean, I've gone to bigger parties, house parties, swanky balls, pool rooms, wandering downtown at the last minute, got drunk, got kicked out of some places, made an utter fool of myself to a large crowd of people I barely knew, and ended up passing out in someone's bathtub, but nothing really says in my mind "Yeah, that was fun." It was more just going through the motions, doing what I have gathered from other people what a good time is, and what I should be doing instead of what I'd like to be doing. So what does that say about me?

The usual. I wish I knew what I was doing. Ninety percent of the time, I'm just doing what people assume someone like me should be doing. Which leads me back to my antagonism with rum. Myself and Ryan were having a grand ol' time, watching free cable and inhaling free popcorn at the Wave. Great times all around. Shooting the shit, talking about what we want to do with the rest of our lives. The Henderson twins showed up after some student union shindig, and the rest of the place fills up with people I don't know. Then, out of nowhere, Melissa shows up. The Henderson twins leave, and come, and go, and come again, and split up, and dance, and leave, and so on and so forth. Melissa starts acting like the shoulder devil she usually is. All hell breaks loose afterwards. I end up staggering home, freezing, have made an ass of myself, as per usual. The reason, of course, being a) the rum, b) the thought that I should have been doing that, and c) no reason not to. Bah well. I'm alive now, and that's about it.

No no no, he's got a point, that is pretty cool.

Friday, December 17, 2004

I've done six of these so far

Fourty things every self-respecting drunkard must do in his/her lifetime

1.) Open and close a bar. Find one that opens its doors before noon. Stake out a comfortable seat and hunker down. Resist informing the bartender of your tremendous plan, as this will cause him to pour waves of pre-celebratory shots and you won't survive happy hour. Pacing is everything. Watch the crowds come and go, watch bartenders rise, reign and fade while you remain like a cagey Methuselah. From that day forward, within the walls of that bar at least, your name will be legend.

2.) Go on a bender. I don't mean a weekend binge. I'm talking a full-bore, hooch-bent, screw-work hoolihan. Dangerous, yes, but so is getting out of bed in the morning. True benders have gone the way of the snap brim fedora, which makes them all the greater currency in the world of drunks. It won't be easy. You must start drinking the moment you wake up and carry on until you go under. Then start over again. In your grandfather's day you had to drink two weeks straight before you could officially declare yourself on a proper jag, but that's when a mug of beer cost a nickel. These days four straight days and nights will give you all the bragging rights you need.

3.) Drink a fifth of hard liquor, by yourself, in one day. For some this is a typical evening, the rest will have to try harder. Unplug the phone, don't answer the door and get down with your bad self. Stock up on ice, gather mixers if you need them, crack the seal and, inch by inch, take that proud bottle down. Take your own sweet time. Near the bottom you will discover a rich inner landscape you thought a barren desert. Explore it.

4.) Dance like a fool in front of a large hooting crowd. Cast aside your fear of public opinion, march to the center of the room's attention and boogie down. You don't need a partner, you don't even need music, do a happy jig to the beat of your own drum. Of course, it helps to be really really drunk.

5.) Spend a night in the drunk tank. While getting captured by the Man goes against the most primal of drunkard instincts, if you're putting your time and liquor in, it's going to happen. Make the most of the experience. Pretend you're Cool Hand Luke. And don't refrain from telling your friends: Among drunks, the real ones anyway, a night in the tank is a very large feather in the drinking cap.

6.) Get drunk on the grave of your hero. Wait until the cemetery closes for the night, then slip over the fence with a bottle of something strong. Prop your back against the gravestone and tell your hero how much he inspired you, how he changed your life, revel in the fact that your inspiration is only six feet of hard-packed earth away. It'll be the greatest one-sided conversation you'll ever have. Then pass out. Let the groundskeeper be your alarm clock.

7.) Buy a crowded bar a round. For no reason at all. Jump up on a barstool and shout it loud: "A round for the house! On me!" Make sure you have a good toast ready, because, for once, they'll all be listening.

8.) Embark on an impromptu road trip. Out of the blue, propose a trip to Las Vegas, New Orleans, Jack Kerouac's grave or, for the love of God, the Two-Headed Cattle Museum. It doesn't really matter where, the joy is in the journey. There's nothing like a sudden burst of irresponsible freedom to shake up your worldview. It will be an adventure you'll never forget or get tired of talking about.

9.) Get 86'd from a bar. There are generally two types of drunkards in the world: Those that get 86'd a lot and those who never do. If you're the latter, you're missing out on a very special feeling. A man with any character at all must have enemies and places he is not welcome -- in the end we are not only defined by our friends, but also those aligned against us. So choose the type of bar you loathe. Get
remorselessly smashed on tequila. Let your lizard brain do your talking. Splash the kerosene, drop the match and watch the bridge burn. Few sentences in the English language bespeak a mysterious dark side than: "I'm not allowed in there. And, quite frankly, I don't blame them."

10.) Extravagantly overtip a bartender. The next time a bartender is especially kind or proficient, lay a massive tip on her. I mean, massive. You must be relatively sober or they'll discount the act as drunken foolishness. Say something smooth like, "You're the best of your kind," drop the bomb, and -- this is important -- walk out of the bar without another word. With this single act of unexpected
generosity, you will restore a bartender's faith in humanity and give your own self-image a healthy boost.

11.) Walk up to an attractive stranger way out of your league and buy him or her a drink. You always wanted to do it. You've enviously watched your smooth friends do it. Now it's your turn. The fear is nowhere proportionate to the risk to your ego
(she's out of your league, remember?), yet it still requires a certain amount of courage. It's akin to sticking your hand down into the garbage disposal. The thing isn't going to turn on by itself, but still...

12.) Conspire an afterhours at your favorite bar. I'm not talking about them letting you have a quick one in the back while they're cleaning up. I'm talking about drinking until the sun creeps through the shut blinds. It takes a lot of time and tips to earn the privilege, but there's nothing quite like it.

13.) Make your best friend a perfect martini. I mean perfect. Employ the proper utensils and the highest-end liquor you can afford. Follow an old-school recipe and take your time. You know how a handmade present from a child always warms the heart of a parent more than the most expensive gift? Same deal. Just a little something for all the times your pal bailed you out. And after your friend has enjoyed your
sublime creation, make yourself one, you magnificent bastard.

14.) Buy, build or steal a home bar. Put the well right in your home. Outfit it with many sparkling bottles, accruement and tools. Sit on your barstool with a grossly over-poured cocktail and think: "This is my bar. No one can cut me off, no one can kick me out, none but the floor can announce last call." You've been a sharecropper long enough. Get your own plot of land.

15.) Get carried home by your drinking buddies. In the company of friends you can trust, get fantastically loaded to the point you cannot stand, nevermind walk. Let them brace you from both sides and carry you homeward. Sing like an Irish uncle. Swear love and fealty to your human crutches. These are the bonds that never break.

16.) Get drunk with your father. Getting loaded with the man who brought you into
this world is one of the most deeply mystical experiences a human being can manage. If you can't get your father to commit, find an elder you respect.

17.) Fight a good fight. Samuel Johnson said "Every man thinks meanly of himself for not having been a soldier, or not having been at sea." Men who go to their graves without ever getting into a fistfight undoubtedly feel the same way. How many times have you gone home thinking, "Damn, I should have clocked that asshole." Next time, do it. Swing first, swing hard, and make sure you're in the right. You may not win, but at least you were in there swinging. Fear of losing a fight never stopped Bukowski and neither should it stop you.

18.) Visit the source of your favorite beer, wine or liquor. Make a pilgrimage to the headwaters. Follow the river that's fed you joy to its source. Stand amongst the vats and barrels and absorb the knowledge that this is the spring from which the good times flow. Drink as many free samples as they'll give you. It might mean a trip
to Dublin or Tennessee, but from that moment on you can gaze into your glass and think, "Lad, I met your mother."

19.) Drunkenly watch the sun come up with your best boozing buddies and a bottle.
You've spent plenty of time railing against the dying of the light, this time welcome its birth. With a shot.

20.) Sit in on an A.A. meeting. Not all accomplishments are rum and games. File this under the heading of facing your fears. Just as Jonah found enlightenment in the belly of a beast, so will you. You may come to look at it as a sober examination of the safety net (or trampoline, as the case may be). You may view it as a cautionary trip to hell. Either way, you'll never have to wonder again.

21.) Hit a dozen bars in one night. Make like Marco Polo. Instead of eating one lousy apple, take a bite out of a dozen exotic fruits. Chase the ever elusive good time. A rolling stone gathers no bar tabs.

22.) Try at least one hundred different drinks. Too often we drunks get trapped in a rut, forgetting there is a wide and golden world of forgotten cocktails, strangely-hued beers, mysterious liquors and wines from places we cannot pronounce. Explore the world from your barstool. One need only thumb through a bartender's guide to realize how wide that world is. And when you return to your rut, and you probably will, you'll appreciate just how good home can be after months on the road.

23.) Get loaded in the land of your forefathers. An effortless task for Europeans, a broad leap of faith for we colonials. Return to the land from whence your blood sprang, sit down to drinks with those your bold forefathers left behind. And for godsakes, don't order a Bud.

24.) Juice on the job. You will never comprehend just how pleasurable the workaday grind can be until you bring your old chum alcohol along. You don't have to get boss-punching drunk, just sneak enough to loosen up that tight harness. It'll make you wish you worked for a drinking magazine.

25.) Split a magnum of expensive champagne with your true love. Do it up like F. Scott and Zelda before they went crazy. Realize that this is one of the precious few times you can get swizzled in front of your better half and she'll think it's wonderfully romantic.

26.) Give a hobo twenty bucks. Make him promise he's going to spend it on hooch. It won't be a hard sell. Twenty bucks is the price of a crappy shirt to you, to our alley brethren it's a gift from the gods.

27.) Get loaded and tell your boss exactly how you feel. It could go down at the company picnic, the Christmas party, or maybe, if you're really going after Accomplishment #24, right at the office. It's tremendously cathartic. Years of stress and bitterness will drop from your shoulders and for the first time, after you're done unloading, you will see your employer as an actual human being. You may very well get fired, but hey, if you're angry enough to go berserk on your boss,
you need to get a new job anyway.

28.) Send a friend a bottle of good liquor. Apropos of nothing and don't tell him it's coming. Attach a card reading: "Tonight the drinks are on me." He will never forget it. There is no better feeling than unexpected free booze.

29.) Eat a pickled egg from the big jar. A bar must own a certain amount of character to carry the big jar. Maybe you've seen one. A jar large enough to hold Jay Leno's head, populated with slightly off-color eggs floating in a murky fluid. You always wondered what they tasted like and it's time to find out.

30.) Go on a fishing trip with your pals. Ensure you bring enough beer and liquor to paralyze the nation of Liechtenstein. Fishing tackle is optional. Drink near a body of water (you don't actually have to come in contact or even see the water, but it should be nearby), then, when night falls, build a huge campfire. There is nothing more conducive to male bonding and rampant drinking than a campfire. Trust me, strip
clubs come in a distant second.

31.) Eat the worm. It's a cliche, but so are strippers at a bachelor party. It must be done. The last thing you want to do is mutter a half-hearted lie to your grand kids when they squeal, "Gramps, did you eat the worm?"

32.) Learn at least one traditional drinking song. Ethnically fractured and mixed as we are, we colonials have lost the art of the booze ballad. Watch a European football match on television and first thing you notice is the fans know one hell of a lot of songs. All we Yanks can manage is the "Na-na-na" song and chants of "De-fense!" Sure, we all know the words of Ring of Fire by rote, but what of The Pub with No Beer, My Lip Is on the Cup, and Drunk Last Night, Drunk the Night Before? Also, there's nothing like a table of drunks bellowing an unidentifiable song in unison to scare the bejesus out of the bar staff.

33.) Steal some booze. Against the law? Sure. A hell of a rush? Absolutely. Of course, not getting caught is very important. Plan well. Nothing tastes quite so sweet.

34.) Spend half a paycheck on a single bottle of liquor. So much money for so little booze. We've spent our lives learning the art of getting the most stagger out of the smallest investment. We've heard rumors of those insanely expensive bottles, but they might as well sell them on Mars. Out of spite, you've probably told yourself: "Screw that -- booze is booze. What's it gonna do, get me five times drunker?" In a better world, maybe. Depending upon the sensitivity of your palette,
however, you may come to understand that the rich really do have it better than us. And when I say better, I mean they can afford better booze.

35.) Start your long-awaited and very personal autobiography: Me and the Booze: A Love Story. You don't have to finish it. Very few do. The point is, the very act of starting an autobiography means you think you've lived an exciting enough life to deserve one. Strive for that day.

36.) Try absinthe. Do the full ritual with the spoon and sugar. Drink enough to feel the full effect. Stroll the path that Hemingway, Van Gogh, Degas, F. Scott, and myriad other geniuses spent their lives pounding flat. Just don't cut your ear off.

37.) Watch the movie Barfly with five of your closest friends. Without a doubt the finest drinking movie ever put to celluloid. Make sure there's plenty of booze on hand because you'll want to drink along.

38.) Work at least a week as a bartender. You'll never fully understand the drinking culture as a whole until you've spent some time on the supply side of the wood. The empathy it will lever into your psyche will change your bar behavior forever.

39.) Make your own beer, wine or moonshine. There are fewer finer feelings in the world than to nurture booze from it's humble, evil-tasting origins to something you can get hammered on. Just expect to repeat these words over and over again when you go mad on the blood of your creation: "I made this! Me! And now I'm drinking it! Woo-hoo!"

40.) Go to your place of worship loaded. Not so loaded they'll finger you as a walking incarnation of Demon Rum, just enough to make the droning sermons lip-bitingly hilarious. It's often said that liquor can bring you closer to God, so just think how close you'll be when you're hammered in his house.

Monday, December 13, 2004

The first step:

I have a problem.

I thought I could live without it, but I'm just not strong enough on my own. I had a good run, but without a constructive support group surrounding me and encouraging me to be strong, I have fallen back into old ways that frighten and worry me.

My name is joelg, and I love TV.

I thought I could live the pretentious-art-boy fantasy of not having a TV (which automatically gives me the right to mention that at every given opportunity, and also grants me instant indie cred amongst emo types around town), but when I got my 32-inch RCA flatscreen, I told myself it was only for movies (old/foreign/genre movies -- more indie cred) or my PS2 (geek cred).

I even had trouble believing that when I told myself that in September.

Fortunately, my roomates decided that they didn't want to pay for cable -- despite my bitchin' four-speaker surround sound audio/visual system that is just begging to be used. I thought I was off the hook; there's no way that I could justify paying for cable all by myself! But then, a series of events unfolded, on par with the greatest conspiracy in history:

* one roomate disappeared. Aimee's either in Montreal, or in her room -- but I'm putting my money on Montreal. [Evidence: 1) Her car is gone. 2) The phone isn't in her room. 3) I can use the bathroom at my leisure. 4) She left a note saying "I'm in Montreal." 5) Her MSN name is "Live from Montreal."] She was the most vocal opponent to cable in the apartment.

* Ryan, the other roomate, has watched all the movies I own. Literally. He watched The Fifth Element and Final Fantasy: The Spirits Within on purpose. He has been reduced to watching "Land and Sea" and "Medical Investigation" for entertainment. I pity the poor lad.

* And then, to top it all off, I get a considerable raise at work. Enough to easily pay for cable on a monthly basis.

So, I'm fairly certain, I will indulge in the mind-numbing, trash-talking, intelligence draining, free-time-eating, electronic squawkbox that is extended cable.

I miss Jerry Springer and Trailer Park Boys. I miss MXC and Teletoon. I miss Seinfeld reruns and ER first-runs. I miss seeing Compass in full color. I miss coming home drunk from nights at the Wave and watching utterly crappy British skin-coms with a gaggle of equally drunk people. I miss being able to say "What is this shit?" on MuchMusic, and then flipping to MuchMoreMusic and saying "Why don't they play videos anymore?" and finally flipping to the country music station and wanting to gargle bleach. I miss Saturday-afternoon documentaries on ancient history or prehistoric animals or whatever vaguely-interesting topic is in the news that week.

I miss the creamy highs, the scuzzy lows, and the white-noise ambience that has been absent from my life since I quit watching TV a few months ago. Fortunately, I'm a big enough man to admit that I have a problem, and also to give in to temptation.

Nope.

Nope, nothing symbolic on a rainy Sunday night in Charlottetown.

Except the downright otherworldly Christmas holiday lights downtown.

When my camera feels better, there will be pictures. Many, many pictures of everything and everyone from every angle.

Sunday, December 12, 2004

This attitude weakens my glee

Another waisted weekend. I think I slept for about 30 hours since Friday, and because my sleep schedrool is so massed up, I imagine I'll be asleep tomorrow through much of work.

Sundays are blah, which is why I usually volontear to work as many of them as I can. At least I could say I did something productive and made some cash. It's all about the cash money, y'knowuddimsayin'?

I've been talking to a lot of new people on MSN. Friends of friends, random acquaintances, that sort of deal. Reminds me a lot of old ICQ days, when you could just hit 'random,' and you'd find yourself a new best friend for the evening, and probably never talk to them again.

In talking online last night, when I was lingerie-ing between "Hey, I could go out and find people" and "Whatever, just go to sleep, you're already in bed anyway," Rhea mentioned that she had a list of things to do before she dies, and makes a point of doing one thing a year. With a new year coming up, I figured that that's one hell of a good idea.

joelg's pre-New Years Revolutions

-Write that damn play that I keep telling people that I'm writing, but still haven't touched because I have no fucking idea how to write a play.
-Write another novel in three days
-Go someplace on my vacation. I took three week's vacation in 2004. The first, I was stuck in Fredericton during White Juan. The next, I went to River John Nover Scosher for about eight hours. My last week of vacation was spent cleaning other people's apartments and helping people move for three straight days. I am so not dewing that again.
-Save more $$$ by eating out less.
-Remember to call people after dates and so on and so forth. ("I was at work and had to work for the last week." "My iguana died." "I think I have tuberculosis." "What do you mean? It hasn't been a month already, has it?" "Yeah, my e-mail has been messed up lately." That sort of jazz.)
-Speaking of jazz, listen to jazz and determine what I like instead of just saying "Yeah, I like it."
-Get back in shape. I was monstrously in shape about two years ago, and then I remembered that I liked beer.
-Remind myself that this isn't a blog, but it's more like a personal-essay-type-dealio where I get to make fun of people I know for no apparent reason.
-Never, ever eat bacon again. For that matter, go two days per week with no meat.
-Start applying for grad school somewhere. Or, like, take courses again. Fuck I are dum. This year was supposed to be "Let's save a whole lot of money and do a whole lot of preliminary research and read everything that everyone says I should have read by now." In reality, it's "PlayStation 2, sleepless nights, binge drinking, and dealing with fucking annoying people that don't seem to get the hint."

I'm probably not going to hold myself to this. I can't even hold myself to waking up before noon on a weekend, regardless of what happened the night before. I (MSN heart emoticon) sleeping.

That being said, I think I'm gonna go wander the streets and look for symbolism.

Saturday, December 11, 2004

Flopsy-twervy

Nothing of interest happened in the last week.

Won two trivia nights and was offered a few chances to do trivia myself.

Found out that I officially didn't win the 3-Day Novel contest I entered in September. Fucking Ontarian bastards hogging all the prizes. It's a consipiracy to keep the Atlantic provinces down, I tell you.

Decided that I need to read up on narratology, and actually finish reading a book.

Spent way too much time on MSN too. That's gonna have to be cut down, if nothing else than for the sake of my sanity, and to let me get a decent night's sleep.

I've got like a dozen more bookmarks to add, but I just can't bring myself to do that right now. I'm soooo tired of being tired. Like, literally, I'm bored of just sleeping all the time. Come hell or high water, next year is going to be different.

Damn, I don't know what I'm talking about. It's not like everything sucks. Everything rules right now... I just want more.

Monday, December 06, 2004

Stuff that rules

* The term "nadal area" to describe the area around nads.

I think that's everything that rules right now.

Stuff that pisses me off

* The Goo Goo Dolls
* Bacon grease
* Wrapping round presents
* The calorie count in Bailey's
* People on my MSN list that don't talk to me for six months, until they need something, and then they get prissy when you don't drop everything you're doing to bend over backwards and help them with things that are already overdue
* Losing expensive shirts because someone said they'd take care of it, but then you don't see that person for a week or so, and they totally forget what the shirt looks like
* Not being able to find a return flight from here to Toronto on more than two week's notice
* Missing all three Hip concerts in the Maritimes this weekend, just because I was tired. And didn't have a ticket, or a place to stay, or anyone who wanted to come along with me.
* People that eat all the flakie cakes in the cupboard but don't take out the empty box, building up my anticipation and then letting it fall down into a crashing pile of crap. Then I eat bacon.
* 100 watt light bulbs
* Time zone differences
* The Canadian postal service. (They lost an order from American Eagle. AE re-sent the order, and guess where the replacement is now? Yup. MIA.)
* People who said the word "to" like "tyu." It's not befitting a man to purse his lips like that, unless they're saying the word "tutu." And in that case, well, you know he's not pursing his lips just to pronounce words in a funny way.
* Discount chocolate that has dust on it even before you open it
* The sound of slurping kisses
* Nights that go down to minus 25 degrees, and freezing in your bed because someone turned down the heat since they were a little warm in their fleece pyjamas.
* The price of a decent martini in this joint
* Memorial University
* Cats
* The sheer size of XBox controllers
* Hair that looks like it's receding, but it's just due to uneven bangs
* Unisex hair stylists
* People that think I like talking about computers
* Cameras with sand in them
* Falling asleep at 7 PM every night, and then waking up at 10, and having way too much energy for the rest of the night
* Punctuationless rants
* Emotionally crippled idiots who spent too much time staring at their navel and dwelling on "Oh, woe is me, I need a support group, I need attention, boo-fuckin'-hoo"-type hippie crap. If they just looked outside of their little bubble, they'd see there's this thing called life going on, and the more they take themselves out of it, the less they're getting out of it. Suck it up, princesses, and get back in there. Your parents aren't going to write you note to excuse you this time.
* Driers that somehow produce water. Washers whose knobs are marked in random letters. (Water temperature: H-C/C-F W-W/M-M/ C-F/H-C. I mean, seriously, what the fuck?)
* The town of Slummerside's theme song. It makes me never, ever want to go back there. Fortunately, 80% of the island can survive without the whole town anyway.
* Stopping in medias res

Sunday, December 05, 2004

Trippin' on Triptophan

I saw what can only be described as an embarassing spectacle last night.

At the very last minute, I got suckered into attending dinner theatre.

Why, why does God hate me so?

I went to one over the summer. Matt was in it. The actors were funny, and they were able to control a slightly-rowdy crowd. (Actually, just one guy was rowdy, and he was my aunt's brother.) Matt made it worthwhile, despite the fact that I had to run out between acts to throw up. The theme was Maritime Idol, combined with a murder-mystery, which would have allowed every sane person to fulfill their fantasy of killing that Simon bastard and whatever demon-spawns he annoints as 'talented.'

Last night's had something to do with Christmas, something to do with a bar closing, something to do with a greedy grandson, and, for no apparent reason, 1950's music medleys. I gave up after the first act and hoped for food. I often feel bad for actors who get heckled -- I wouldn't want anyone telling me I sucked at work, let alone people that couldn't do my job -- but you've got to deal with them and not let them overshadow you. There were two funny scenes last night: when a drunken, mulletted heckler started running the show, and when one of the actors repeatedly broke character and cracked up during the denoument which had all the subtlety of a Three's Company episode.

The company wasn't all that bad. eBrady throws out malaprops so readily that I'm starting to wonder if he's not doing it on purpose. (Example, while talking about the much-maligned Troy: "That Troy guy could throw a spear through anyone!") But it was really funny to listen to someone who claimed to be a classics minor try to argue with me that Achilles was the lead character of The Odyssey. Uh, no. Nice try. But she's an engineering student, so I give credit to her for knowing how to say "Ah-kill-ees."

So, instead of being bemused by the spectacle before me, or enjoying scintillating conversation with my table-mates (who all had some connection to the military, and assumed that a) I was a reservist, or b) I had intentions on joining the navy), I gorged on round slices of turkey and ice-cream scoops of smashed potatos. I think I fell asleep on the ride home, then went right to bed by 10, only to wake up at the crack of nine this morning.

I had planned on drinkin' and everything last night. I bought a bottle of Bailey's, I still have a dozen or more cans of Keith's in the fridge, and Guinness, which is being saved for a special occasion.

Damn stupid slumber-food, getting in the way of my drunken rage.

Is it wrong to start drinking on a Sunday afternoon?

Wednesday, December 01, 2004

Jesus saves