CBC Update

I was supposed to head down to the CBC building tomorrow to be interviewed for Sounds Like Canada.

After a couple of postponements already, my interview has again been postponed. I doesn't bother me since it isn't time sensitive and I have a wide open schedule.

I promised to keep you posted about the interview, but I haven't done a very good job at keeping everyone up-to-date. The interview is happening, but what was supposed to happen tomorrow will happen sometime next week.

Ridiculous Controversy of the Week

Last week as I was driving around and listening to the news. There was an item about Boston renaming its Christmas tree to a Holiday tree.

For the past 34 years, the province of Nova Scotia has given a tree to the city of Boston to thank them for their help after the Halifax Harbour explosion in 1917. This year the city decided to call the tree a Holiday tree.

The CBC had an interview with the man who grew the tree. He said that he would rather have thrown the tree in a chipper than see it named a Holiday tree.

I shook my head in disbelief that this would make the national news, since the only controversy here is ignorance. Nevertheless, I awoke this morning to hear that this story isn't dead. Jerry Falwell has piped up as well as other ultra-conservative groups arguing that this is a desecration and that something must be done.

Read a few blogs about it and you will be sickened a just how close-minded the whole thing is. People arguing that it's a "rape of my faith" and that "a menorah shouldn't be renamed to a candle".

It doesn't matter what you call the tree. It doesn't matter if you celebrate Kwanzaa, Eid, Christmas, Hanukkah, or Divali, this time of year is all about one thing: money.

On the same day that this story was at its height, Walmart reported that there over 2,000,000 people were queued up at 5:00am waiting for stores to open. No matter what you call the tree or how many religious services you go to, no one can tell me that December is anything but commercialism.

So as everyone starts thinking about presents and credit card bills, I present two of the best ideas for gifts at this time of year:

1) Make a charitable donation. I suggest charities working in heart disease, Diabetes, and Parkinson's disease since all of these run in my family. I suggest any organization that is completely apathetic towards the name of a tree, or better yet have you considered donating to the "Nugget Fund"?

2) Sign out Library books. This is perhaps the greatest Christmas-spirit gift. Think about the person who is receiving the gift. Think about who they are and what they love. Then go to the library and sign them out a book that feeds that love. It's completely free and after the three weeks, they return the book. If the thought truly is what counts, then no one ought to complain. Plus, when they realize that they've spent $200 on your gift, they really understand the foolishness and idiocy of the commercialization of the holidays. Expensive gifts does not equal love.

Point number two is a sticky one and may be difficult to pull off. If anyone is angry with you about not spending enough money on them, simply ask them why they want gifts at all since the holidays are not "about" receiving gifts, but about religion. If you don't care about the naming of trees or the holiday spirit then why participate in gift-giving at all? If you like the idea and hate the commercialization enact point number 1 or 2. If you are disappointed because you got a library book from me for Christmas, don't be angry that they've renamed the tree in Boston and really read that book since I did put a lot of thought into it.

Weekend Happenings and Concert Review

Not much has happened lately, but I've been busy.

On Friday, as part of my resolution to get Ontario license plates, I headed to get my safety and emissions tests. I called a place in Toronto and they wanted to charge me $100, so I called my car's original dealership in Brockville. They wanted $64.99. I knew that any work that needed to be done would cost less in Brockville than Toronto, so I headed there on Friday morning.

Thinking that I would be slowed down by bad roads, I left at 8am. I skipped along nicely, and hit Brockville seconds after my car clicked noon. I decided to head to the lot right away and get things rolling. At 2:30, my car was still sitting exactly where I'd left it.

I waited until 4:45 only to be told that my car had passed the emissions test with flying colours, but had failed the safety inspection. In order to pass, I need to fix a chip in my windshield, get a new wiper blade, and replace a brake light. These are the smallest most insignificant things, but will end up costing me a fortune. The brake light has a tiny chip about the size of the last digit of your pinky finger in the plastic cover. The chip, can hopefully be filled without replacing the windshield, and I do believe that the wiper is bullcrap, since it is better than in most new cars. It seems to me that all of this is a load of garbage and is government instituted make-work taxation.

I drove the my parents farm after that debacle. I spent Saturday helping my parents clean out their garage. While it sounds easy enough, it was quite a tough job. My father is a serious packrat and cleaning the garage involved carrying furniture up stairs for storage, moving wood, purging garbage, and a lot of tidying. We had two truckloads full of garbage.

After working for 7.5 hours, I drove back to Toronto. I had tickets for The Most Serene Republic concert last night. Chris and I headed to the show at Lee's Palace. We missed opening band, Debaser, but did catch In-Flight Safety. I had seen them play at the Harbourfront Centre in August and enjoyed them then. I thought that they were tighter in August, but still good last night.

I don't mind The Most Serene Republic's album Underwater Cinematographer. I especially like the opening track, Prologue, and only wish that they had more instrumental tracks on the album. I might even go so far as to say that I like the album. That said, I lost a lot of respect for the band last night. While I do appreciate that they are trying to do something different, not only with their music, but also with their live show, I found the whole thing a little overdone: like an acquaintance that tries to hard to make you like them.

The audience was given kazoos before the show, which seemed only to provoke the doofuses in the audience to believe that they too were musicians. I'm glad that TMSR are trying to engage their audience, but I think that they underestimated the moron factor last night. Guy One: Real pretty boy type with barbie on arm. He wore a blue and green checkered sport jacket on top of a baby blue shirt with a collar that he refused to fold down. He had on frayed jeans, and black and white "Elaine shoes". To top it off he wore a mesh hat skewed to the right.

When you could actually hear the music above the din of exclusive-to-Toronto during-show- conversations and the incessant humming of kazoos, the music was enjoyable. The lead singer's microphone was NOT loud enough and the sound person really dropped the ball since it's only as difficult as turning a knob.

The frenetic on-stage act quickly grew sour. It was just too much. Lead singer, Adrian Jewett, bounced around the stage like a superball, which is fine, but I am always somewhat skeptical of bands whose lead singer doesn't play an instrument on each song. Band members wore white shirts splashed with mud and dirt. There was a clothesline that spanned the hall which was used to hang out clothes during the show.

I all seemed too forced. After 30 or so minutes I was faced with the option of spending the next hour watching the same thing. I decided that I'd seen all that I needed to see and we split.

Today, I haven't got too much planned. I'm heading to Jon's to watch Miller's Crossing, and then I'm going out for dinner. Fairly quiet which is okay with me.

No Energy Shortages

There's an old Chralie Brown cartoon which is a single panel with a wall of snowmen. They stretch the width of the entire scene. Linus has a puzzled look on his face, and as Charlie Brown builds the final snowman he says, "I have a lot of nervous energy."

While I would never wish, even upon my worst enemy, to be compared to Charlie Brown, by far the biggest loser in cartoonery, I must admit that I too have a lot of nervous energy.

People today would call building 15 snowmen in perfectly aligned row a severe case of it ADD or obsessive compulsive disorder (or similar psychiatric ailment). For Charlie Brown it's "nervous energy." Others may give it harsher names.

I've got a lot of it. Anyone who knows me knows that it's a problem. I fiddle constantly. It doesn't matter what it is whether it's a straw, a button, an elastic, a Kinder surprise toy, nail file, pencil, paper clip, gummi bear, or whatever; if it's lying around and looks even moderately interesting, there's a good chance I'll have it in my hands in 3.4 seconds. There is also a good chance that that object, whatever it is, will be destroyed.

I am a tobacco companies wet dream. I am what every cigarette manufacturer thinks about when they spend millions fighting government legislation that stifles the selling and marketing of their product. I think that people with nervous energy, if not diagnosed with ADD, are concealing it by filling their hands with Cancer sticks.

Yesterday, I played poker with some friends. I played badly, and it seems that everyone I play with has caught on to my game and the jig is up. Anyway, after an early knockout, I was left sitting there to wait for the tournament to finish. What to do? What to do? Ahh, I'll shuffle chips. I proceeded to reach into the case and haul out chips to mindlessly play with.

Most of the time, I don't even realize that I'm doing it. I grab a red straw and a blue straw and I think, briefly oh so briefly, "I wonder if I can make purple if I put the red straw inside the blue straw?" I then spend the next 45 minutes struggling to fit two exactly the same size pieces into one another.

People can either ignore my actions, see them as funny, or find them downright annoying. I must tell all who read this, that it really isn't my fault. I will say numerous times during the course of the fiddling, "Take this away from me." Invariably, I push the item(s) away and within three minutes they are back in my hands and I'm at it again. I don't consciously do it, but I can't consciously stop either.

So last night I was shuffling chips. Four whites and four blues. I thought that they might look nice together. I shuffle chips badly and I could tell that people were trying to ignore it, but that it was bothering them. I tried to stop.

Next thing I knew, the chips were gone. I wasn't sure where they went, but I knew that they weren't where I'd left them; someone had taken them. "I don't mean to alarm anyone, but I may have added some chips to the table," I squeaked.

This yielded many confused looks from those who didn't know me well. I could see them thinking, "Who is this idiot?" The people who know me well thought, "That's about right. I knew something like that was gonna happen. Stupid Nugget, it could only happen to you."

I knew that the white chips were 25 cents, so no harm done by adding a dollar, but I had forgotten that the blue chips were 2 dollars. So I added 9 bucks to someone's stack. Considering that our buy in was $20, nine bucks is significant.

I apologized profusely, but it seemed to no avail. It's hard to tell someone you've met briefly, "Oh by the way, I may look normal, but I have some severe nervous energy problems."

So that's that. I present this not so much as a resolution for change, but as something that comes with the package. I y'am who I y'am, and this is meant really as fair warning to those people who know me vaguely.

It's endearing, right?

Resolution: Day 1

My alarm went off this morning at 7:45 and after rolling over and doing grumpy kicks of the sheets, I got up at 7:58. I got up and had breakfast. Internet.

As promised, I did unplug my fridge last night and it was nicely thawed this morning. I took out all the shelves and drawers and washed them in the sink with Mr. Clean and water. I rinsed them in the shower, and let them drip dry. I then washed all the surfaces of the fridge. Dryed the shelves and drawers and reassembled eveything.

Then I took a shower and shaved. I used willowherb aftershave balm on my face, and then went through the unpleasant task of applying lotion to my skin. Apart from the greasy sticky feeling that followed me for the morning, I actually think that it's going to do some good. In time I'm hoping that my skin doesn't burn constantly.

After dressing I headed upstairs to see the baby and to talk to my sister. She and her husband are moving to the suburbs for some dumb reason and they have just purchased a bedroom suite. I had no idea that a few pieces of furniture could cost so much, but a dozen grand later they have furniture for their house. They had purchased it at The Bay and they suggested that I use the purchase receipts to earn HBC Rewards points. I got the receipts and headed out to get some work done.

First stop was The Bay Yorkdale. I needed to get a pair of gloves and tuque, but couldn't find anything that I liked. That's the way it is with me and shopping. Hundreds of tuques; all unacceptable. I did manage to get the rewards points put on my card and went from 200,000 points to over 1.3 Million. I'm not sure what I can get, but the digital camera that I want costs 7 million points so it isn't like I won the lottery or anything. I can convert to 6500 Air Miles, which might get me somewhere warm in February.

The next stop was the OHIP offices for health insurance. For the first time in recorded history I managed to have all required documents, and the entire thing was relatively pain free. There was no queue and I waited patiently as the attendant entered the information into her computer. She printed me a receipt and told me that I'll get my card at the beginning of December.

I headed to the Ontario DriveTest location to get my Ontario Driver's License. There were a lot of unhappy people there. It is a shockingly depressing building. I overheard a man talking to his friend: "I know I ain't stupid, but this piece of paper says I'm stupid. Why can't I pass this thing?" I saw a young teenager run to the bathroom with her eyes swollen up with tears. I began to get very nervous that I might have to take a written test, and with everyone frantically cramming the handbook, I wondered how I would ever survive if I managed to fail my written test. It's bad enough being a teacher for three years and being told that you're not qualified, but to drive for 14 years and then fail a written test?

Since I was already licensed in Saskatchewan, and since I was licensed in Ontario as a teenager, all I had to do was transfer my registration. It involved providing a few documents and paying $75. No written test, fortunately. I was happy to find out also that my $75 covers me for five years, whereas my Saskatchewan license costs $25 a year.

After that I made a few phone calls about getting my car safety and emissions tested and I've scheduled them for Friday. After that's done, I can get my plates. The hoop jumping continues.

With those jobs done, I headed to the grocery store to stock up on food. It was about as good as the grocery store gets, but I managed to keep my blinders on so as not to see the wretchedness around me. Many, many unhappy people at the grocery store. I got everything I needed and headed home.

When I arrived home, job one was to feed the cat. I ran out of his food on Sunday morning, so he was quite hungry. Then I put everything away and made dinner. I'd forgotten how much I enjoy cooking, and it makes me feel better to have a clean fridge with lots of food in it.

So that's it. I'm sticking to my plan. Thanks to everyone who phoned today with concern. It isn't everyday that you realize that you've got to crawl out of a rut, but I'm going to keep at it. Self-improvement is my specialty, right?

My Goldie Hawn Resolution

Tomorrow is Goldie Hawn's birthday. It is also the day that my life changes. I am sick of things the way they are.

Don't worry, I'm not going to do anything to create global economic harmony, or curb gun violence in our cities. I'm not going to feed the poor or put a stop to the spread of HIV in Africa.

As much as I would like to do those things, I cannot begin to effect any positive change until I thoroughly get myself straightened out first.

Now as much as I paint a beautiful picture of myself on this blog, I will admit, my kind readers, that I have a few problems. Not big ones, and not anything that I don't thank whomever at how easy and simple and great my life is, but problems that have taken a toll on me and my happiness.

1) Get an OHIP card. I've been living in Ontario since July 9th and I don't have health insurance in this province. At first, I was unsure about where I would be going and what I would be doing, but I've decided that enough is enough. It's free after all, and I'm just being an idiot by not getting it.

2) Get Ontario License Plates, Driver's License and insurance. This is the painful one. I pay $97 a month to insure my car in the province of Saskatchewan. I know that I will be taking a huge hit to the pocketbook, but in order to fix my life, I have to do this. It's stupid that I have to pay more, but that's the way it's going to have to be. I'm sick of breaking the law 24 hours a day.

3) Get a proper tuque and gloves. I wore a woman's tuque last winter and I continue to wear it today. I had what I thought was an awesome tuque from CBC's Definitely Not the Opera. I won it in a contest. I liked it but everyone I knew thought that it was ugly and then it mysteriously disappeared. I needed a tuque and November in Saskatoon is much more about warmth than style, and so I was happy to have a warm head. I didn't care if it looked stupid. Enough is enough, I can't afford a new winter jacket, and so I'm going to get a new hat and gloves and hopefully jolt myself out of what might be a serious funk.

4) I have to adjust my sleep cycle. I cannot continue to wake up between 11:51am and 2:17pm. It's absolutely ridiculous. I'm a grown man! I have no willpower to stick to a cycle. I profess to want to write but I can't even sit down at a desk for more than 27 minutes unless it involves wasting my life in a video game. I watched a documentary about Ernest Hemingway the other day (that's what I do these days!) and he woke up at 5 am and wrote until noon every single day. Why can't I do that? I am not saying that I will achieve anything with my writing, but goddammit if I don't produce a single document I will ensure that I achieve nothing. From now on, I'm getting up before 8:00am whether I have to or not. I will work a regular day whether I'm blogging, writing, cleaning, looking for work, or doing any of the other things that normally functioning humans do. Only then can I reward myself with dinners out, movies, vids, and copious amounts of alcohol.

5) I need to go to the grocery store. I've fallen into the trap of going out for meals. It's a pain on my morale and on my pocketbook. I'm unplugging my fridge before bed tonight and first thing tomorrow I will clean it within an inch of it's life and then fill it with fresh fruits and vegetables. I will only go out for meals at most twice a week. Never alone, and always with someone I enjoy being with. If you open a fridge to find a jar of peanut butter and a jar of jam, fine. If you open my fridge, you have all the jars of the elements of meals that I used to make. Every time I open the fridge I am sickened by the testament to how I used to cook every meal at home, but threw it all away. I won't document it now, at the risk of being too similar to my wallet entry, but maybe I'll do that tomorrow.

6) I will use moisturizer daily. My skin is a mess. It's sore and itchy because it's too dry and is not in good health. I find putting moisturizer on to be one of the most tedious and unfun things to do, but I think that it's time that I be a man and moisturize. When I find an organ to inflict pain upon, I decide to go for the biggest organ there is. It's so easy to avoid that pain. I started using an aftershave balm as part of my new shaving ritual, so this couldn't be too difficult.

I think that these six things will help me get myself organized. It's a start, but I think it's a good one. I've fallen into a rut and it's unhealthy. I'm disappointed with myself and I don't know how I've fallen off the path to unemployment bliss. I expect that not only will I be happier with myself, but I also know that all the other parts of my life will fall into place when I'm not filled with the crippling self-loathing that envelops me now.

Schedules or Sleeping in, Who Loves Life More?

My sleep cycle is completely buggered. I've fallen into the lure of night guy who believes that the day is boring and staying up until four am is super cool.

I resisted for such a long time. I'd go to bed by midnight and wake up before 9 even though I didn't have anything to wake up for. Over the past couple of weeks, I've discovered that even with two channels, television is better at night. I knew nighttime tv was better than that daytime crap (except for all the game shows), but it's true without cable too.

There is something strangely compelling about staying awake when everyone else has to go to sleep. I love sleep as much as anyone, maybe even more, but I don't have to go to bed. I can sleep until 5:30 in the afternoon for no other reason than the fact that I can.

That said, I'm having a hard time working today and tomorrow. I was up at 7:00 this morning and it wasn't easy rolling my bones out of bed. I am completely caffeine free and have been for over a year. I couldn't ride the legal stimulant all morning, and luckily I didn't really need to. Not yet. Tomorrow may be a different story considering that it's 12:30am and I'm typing this entry. Blogging is also way more fun at night. Night guy wins again.

Fortunately, I don't have to be into work until 11:00 tomorrow. Ah, the life of the substitute teacher! The best part is, I finish at 3:30.

Tagged

I've been tagged by Chris. Apparently I have to write a story which begins with the sentence which appears in sentence number five of my 23rd blog entry. It reads:

"I have been living under the shroud of credit card debt for such a long time and I've been looking forward to paying all my cards off and getting that weight off of my shoulders."

So I guess I'd better get at it. Thanks Chris, by the way. This is my first meme. I'd read about them but hadn't partaken. I guess I'm supposed to tag five people. Not easy since I don't know many bloggers, but I'll tag the people I read and they can partake if they'd like. Consider yourselves tagged: pageblank, Sean, Nicole, indiaiynke and EMG. If any of you don't have 23 entries, just improvise. Isn't it seven years bad luck for not participating?


I have been living under the shroud of credit card debt for such a long time and I've been looking forward to paying all my cards off and getting that weight off of my shoulders. My cheque arrived this morning, and I pinched my finger in the mailbox lid as I reached in for it. I'm going to lose the nail. Nothing's come easily since the accident.

I had gone to university mainly out of parental pressure and boredom. I was too lazy to come up with anything better. I slogged along through Intro to Psych, and Linguistics with teachers who I respected about as much as we respected the gum covered lecture hall seats. I had always wondered why there were footprints on the ceiling and how they got there. Some great prank set in motion by someone way more creative than me. Someone who saw school as a chance for something better.

"What if I don't want to become a member of the Teacher's Union?" I asked during a small group tutorial.

"Well, you write to the Union and ask to be removed. You still have to pay union dues on each paycheque and if there are ever any problems in which you require union support, you will not be entitled to them."

"So what am I paying for?"

"Well you would be supporting other teachers and you would still receive the monthly newsletter outlining professional development opportunities."

With that I decided that I'd rather get paid more driving the buses to the school than the teachers teaching the students that I drive. I suppose it's the sign of a broken system, but I've never cared about anything enough to become a martyr. Give me my class "C" license, pay for my training courses, and hit me with the $24.99 an hour plus benefits.

Still, no matter how much you have there's never enough. I remember living comfortably on minimum wage, and with four times that, I'm still maxxed out to money lenders. I'm not buying more, I'm not living beyond my means, I don't have anyone to support, but there's always something that comes along that snaps up any extra I can scrape together. I wonder if it's even worth it when I don't see the benefit.

I'm doing nothing these days. My free ride through workmen's compensation. I feel fine, but they won't let me back for 18 months.

"What do you remember from that day?"

"I'd just started my shift. I'd stopped at one of those cinnamon bun places that you can always smell when you go into the subway. Did you know that the sense of smell is cited as the one sense most people feel they could live without, but did you know that they vent the ovens into the terminal so that the smell become the marketing campaign?"

"I didn't know that, go on."

"So I waited around with all the customers for the train to arrive. I was reading ads, mainly. As the train pulled in I waved to Sidney, and approached the door."

"Anything new today?" I asked.

"Not really, a bit busy with the rain. Lots of people swinging umbrellas. Epstein said that there've been 4 disruption reports already. Some lady tripped and smashed her nose on a seat. Ambulance came and she's pressing charges against an 8 year old she says stuck his foot out on purpose."

"So the usual, then?"

"Pretty much, I guess. All I know is that I'm going to the game tonight and I can't wait to get home."

"Well have a good one then."

"Do you miss him?" she asked as she tapped at her notebook and glanced at the clock.

I suppose I was boring her. "Sure, but I don't miss seeing him at work everyday. Driving the subway isn't glamourous. Most people don't think ever think about someone driving the trains. They'll probably be automated in the next fifty years, but I think of it a lot like NASA. They use the same computers that they did in the 1960s because it's too expensive to update them. Railway tracks in Canada are the same way. We could take a high-speed train from Toronto to Montreal in 45 minutes, but it can't happen because it would require too much capital to lay new tracks. Updating the subway system is just about the last thing anyone at City Hall's going to do."

I recrossed my legs and continued, "The hardest part of the job is the boredom. Everyday is exactly the same. Same trains, same route over and over again. Sometimes there'll be a breakdown to throw a splash of excitement, but it just ends up ticking everyone off and everyone gets to work late or, worse, home late."

"Sounds like delivering mail. Always the same, no matter how hard you work, and no matter how much you carry or how much anyone gets in a day, there's always the same tomorrow. You can't take a day off because everything just piles up."

"I suppose you're right, but it shouldn't matter."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, I should be happy that people are going about their lives. I should be happy that I've got a job. I should be happy that I have a house. I should be happy that I have weekends."

"You're not?"

"You take the subway don't you?"

"Yes."

"Well how many times do you think that I've driven your train? Dropped you off where you needed to go? Probably a hundred times. Did you ever speak to me? No. Did you ever even know I existed? No. You turned up your iPod and tuned out my voice over the public address just like everyone else on the train. I've been as invisible to you as the vagrant asking for change outside the liquor store. You don't remember him unless he scares you. You ignore him, unless you feel offended by his filthy hands."

"I'm talking with you now."

"That's because I'm a murderer and they make me come here."

"You don't think you should be here?"

"I don't know. No. Maybe. I washed the blood off my face, and they threw my uniform out at the hospital. Someone had to clean the front of the train, you know. You should have him in here. He's got it worse than I do."

I walked home with my hands in my pockets. It was a nice night, and I wasn't rushing home to anything important. There were some dishes from last night's lasagna, but they could sit. I could let them sit for a week. There was nothing on television tonight. Nothing new at least.

As I approached the house, I picked up the flyers that had been scattered on the step. I remembered my pinched finger as I opened the mailbox. Pizza places, real estate agents, and a coupon for $2 off a cab ride. Recycling box.

I'd heard the pigeons cooing above me. I'd spent Saturdays scraping their mess of the porch. I suppose it was just a matter of time before I'd get shat on.

Ploop. Bullseye. Not centre of my head, but off to the side enough that it dripped onto my ear and down the side of my face.

As I showered, I laughed. It was ridiculous to think that anything else could have happened. I kill some suicidal teenager and a bird poops on my head. All I knew was that I had to find something good on tv, and manage to dig something in my fridge that wasn't leftovers. Maybe I could slice my hand on a tuna fish lid reaching into the recycling box for one of those pizza flyers. I'd have to remember not to do that.

I toweled of and brushed my teeth, more out of habit than anything. Nothing to read on the toilet. Lights hummed. Fan spun.

I opened the door and there he was. Sitting on the floor waiting for me. Clement. His tail flat on the floor, slightly curved at the end. My cat was waiting for me. He was thinking of me when I was in the shower, and he missed me when I was gone this afternoon. His eyes closing slightly as I leaned over to rub behind his ear.

His head pushing back as I touched it.

Crummy Monday

I woke up in a good mood this morning. I slept well on newly laundered sheets. After checking my mail and the weekly results of my hockey pool, I was buoyed by the fact that my garbage team, managed to pull it out last night and post a decent result. My apartment is all neat and tidy, and with all my dishes done, I decided to make waffles for breakfast.

It was at this point that my day started to go sour.

I guess I didn't put in enough oil, because the waffles stuck. They were crispy on the outside (I hate them crispy. A waffle should be cooked throughly, but soft) and uncooked in the middle. When I opened the iron they pulled apart into a mucky mess. More like crunchy gum than waffles, I managed to salvage what I could, but no amount of syrup could make a meal out of it. Instead, I've been left with a filthy waffle iron that sits, to this moment, waiting to be cleaned.

I decided that rather than sitting around all afternoon pretending to work but more accurately doing nothing, that I would go to the movies. I was going to check out Good Night, and Good Luck and The Squid and the Whale using the immortal movie-theatre-sneak.

I headed to the Bathurst subway and they were waving people through for free. I tucked my ticket back into my wallet and smiled as I went on my way.

I made it to the theatre and bought a ticket to GNGL and checked out the other theatre to scope out my post movie route to my free feature. Everything looked good.

The movie was quite good and I daresay that George Clooney may know what he's doing as director. I don't have much to say about the film other than that I liked it. It's hard not to watch the film and not make (the perhaps too obvious) connections to the present day political situation, the state of modern television, and journalism. I might also ask George Clooney what he thought the world was learning from television shows like Roseanne and The Facts of Life?

After the movie, I prepared to sneak into the other theatre, but I just couldn't do it. There was a 20 minute lag between the two shows, and the place was a ghost town, but I couldn't do it. I went to the bathroom to get psyched up, but when I went down the stairs, I turned left to go outside. I couldn't risk getting caught.

I decided to grab a banquet burger special from the Burger Shack and hopped on the Eglington West bus. I figured that I would hop out grab dinner and then get on the Avenue Road 5, but in some twisted kick from fate, I got busted by the driver trying to get on with my transfer. She asked, "Why do you have a transfer from Eglington station?" I told her that I had stopped to get a hamburger, to which she replied, "You're not allowed to get off and on."

I guess I played the idiot well and she let me on anyway, but I felt that she had judged me badly and it made me not only feel guilty, but really sad. After not being able to rip off the movie theatre even though I wanted to, I was now judged a con and a cheat by the bus driver even though I hadn't meant to. As I sat in the back of the bus, I could feel her eyes watching me in the mirror, and I had to get off the bus. I walked from Avenue Road and St-Clair to my house, because I couldn't stand being there anymore.

So I moped home with my hands in my pockets. I wandered around The Beguiling hoping to find something by Harvey Pekar, but I only came to the understanding that I don't know anything about comic books. I've always had a strange fascination with comics, but have never actually purchased any. I've always felt that I've missed out on a lot by not reading them.

As I left the store I scraped my forehead on the branch of a tree much to the delight of someone smoking on the sidewalk. It made me angry that he was laughing at my misfortune, but it made me even sadder that I would have done the exact same thing.

So now I'm off to tackle the waffle iron, which may or may not get thrown into the garbage. I'm trying my best to avoid a drink, getting my duvet and curling up on the couch, but at this point it might be the best thing for me.

Egg Salad, Top Tens, and Things Left Unsaid

It's been a great night and I've had a lot of brilliant thoughts. I doubt that any will translate into a decent entry, but here goes.

I'm typing this in a completely shitfaced state of affairs, but I'm eating an egg salad sandwich with mustard (I learned this from my brother-in-law's mother) and lots of celery (I learned this from my mother). I'm eating this unlike any food I've ever eaten before. Isn't that the way it always goes when you've been drinking? This is the best sandwich ever! Exclamation point, exclamation point!

I waited for the Bathurst streetcar for at least forty minutes. I froze, but finally caught that Bathurst bus instead. There were all mannner of drunken bastards pickin' fights and raising shit and all manner of women chasing after them. I, however, stood silently waiting for a streetcar that didn't exist.

...I'm going back for more eggs salad.

I am so hungry. This egg salad tastes so good right now. I've got the crust pieces now, but it's still yummy.

Tune in every Saturday, for some hilarious posts compliments of yours truly and the magical elixir.

I haven't got too terribly much to say other than the discussion that we had tonight: best albums of all time.

It's so hard to come up with list but here's a rudimentary list of my top ten(in no particular order):

Pink Floyd:Dark Side of the Moon
The Beatles: Revolver
Radiohead: OK Computer (though I must admit that I dislike the final two songs)
Wilco: A Ghost Is Born
Billy Bragg: Back to Basics
Arcade Fire: Funeral
The Beatles: Revolver
Beatie Boys: Ill Communication
Sloan: Twice Removed
Pink Floyd: The Wall
Rolling Stones: High Tides, Green Grass (this shouldn't count since it's a compilation)
Nirvana: In Utero
Leonard Cohen: Songs Of...
Johnny Cash: Live at San Quentin

I know that that's more than 10 albums, but it's just so hard. It makes for great drunken bar conversation, though. There are about a million other albums that I might include in that list, but that would really break the rules. What would you suggest as the greatest album of all time?

The chief problem with top ten albums is that it really depends on the mood. I've been rocking out to Roberta Flack's "Compared to What?" and The Earlies' "Morning Wonder" and Sebastien Tellier's "La Ritournelle" as I've been typing this, and I totally love these songs, but they don't make the top ten.

Perhaps a greater list would be top ten "desert island" albums. I challenge all of you to create your list and publish them here. Here's my rudimentary list:

Pink Floyd: The Wall
Radiohead: The Bends
Afghan Whigs: 1969
The Beach Boys: Pet Sounds
Yo La Tengo: And Then Nothing Turned Itself Inside-Out
The Beatles: White Album
Tom Waits: Big Time
Sloan: Twice Removed
Beastie Boys: Ill Communication
Oasis: What's the Story Morning Glory?

Now that I've written it down for the whole world to see, I'm kinda embarrassed by it. Remember that this is just the ramblings of a drunken fool. I keep thinking about all the tracks and songs that I love, and all the albums that should be on there that aren't. That's the funny thing about top tens: you always miss something wonderful.

What would you suggest? What is your top album of all time? The album that changed your life and that you can't life without? The album that you can listen to forever? The album that always makes you smile and realize how much you just love being alive?

Survivor and Poker

Right now I feel somewhat guilty because I'm sitting in my sister and her husband's living room watching their television, typing on their notebook computer, and dirtying up their dishes.

I'm watching all the shows from the past week that I haven't watched. I'm watching a bunch of slackers, and schemers cooking up plans to cheat each other in order to win a million dollars. Now I'm not mortally wounded by the devious nature of the show. I don't mind watching it develop over the weeks. I'm not insulted by the stock characters, or the shallowness of the events. I just find it funny in the same way I find "The Price is Right" funny. What makes it all the funnier for me is that these people are not playing for a million dollars. After they are taxed, the prize certainly is not a million dollars. Though the "celebrity" endorsements are much more valuable than the prize money, those are available for everyone making the whole prize seem rather moot.

Last night I played poker again at the same bar I was at last week. Out of 38 people this week I, again, made it to the final table, and I finished fourth. I had pocket 10s and the flop was 45Q. After he checked on the post flop betting, I knew he didn't have the Queen and so I went all in for 16500. He called with a pair of fours. He hit his Jack on the turn and the river came up 2. I lost out, but at that stage of the game with a strong hand I had to make my move. Oh well. Two final tables in my first two weeks is pretty good, I think.

Poker's a funny game. You can study mannerisms and have amazing cards every hand, but there's no substitute for luck. It's a game where you can win or lose based on dumb luck. It happens to the best and it happens to the worst. It's a funny thing because no matter how often you practice, how much of math genius you are, or how many books you read, you can still win or lose a free tournament for a stupid t-shirt or a billion dollars because of chance.

Interview, Of Sorts

I spoke to CBC this morning. They don't want to hire me, but instead want me to interview me for a segment on the radio.

It looks like I'll be interviewed for Sounds Like Canada and very possibly by Shelagh Rogers herself.

The producer read my post about my wallet and decided that it was an interesting idea.

So they're discussing it in their weekly staff meeting tomorrow morning, and I should be heading down to the CBC building next week to be interviewed.

How weird is that? I'm going to be on national radio talking about my blog! Who would have thought that it would yield anything let alone my ideas being broadcast across the entire country!

The only problem now is that I should probably tell my sister and my Mom and Dad that this blog exists and that their brother and son is going to be on the national broadcaster.

CBC A-Callin'

I received an interesting email this morning for a producer from the CBC.

She "wanted to talk to me" and asked me to call her. I have no idea what it's about but I don't get producers from the CBC calling me every day so I was pretty psyched.

I'll keep you posted.

Endangered Man?

I've been writing reviews for my friend Jon on his website Hollywood Elsewhere.

Now I make no claims to be a critic or to know too much about anything, but I am happy with my piece on "The Football Factory".

I would be interested to hear responses about modern masculinity and for those who are interested, here's a link to the October 28th article in Macleans magazine on the erosion of maleness.

In an effort to encourage comments, I'll reward you with another amazing edition of "Name That House!"

Same rules as before. Tell me in a post which fictional character(s) lived in this house.

Traffic Discovery

I'm very prolific when I've been drinking, eh?

I finally figured out why my traffic has been so significantly increased!

It's a real relief since the whole thing has been driving me mental. Technorati has saved me again.

This is the closest thing to famous that I've been and, sadly, may possibly ever be.

My Doorbell

(Another drunken entry)

The White Stripes' "My Doorbell" song kicks some serious ass. If you have the means, I highly recommend picking it up (aka downloading it!).

Kareoke and Harpo

(This is my first drunken log entry so you must forgive any spelling or grammar mistakes.)

My cat, Harpo, who has been supremely neglected tonight is sittting on my lap biting my hand as I write this. I'm too drunk to really feel it right now. He wants to tell me how much he misses me , but even now I know that it's going to leave a mark come tomorrow when I can feel it.

I spent tonight doing all manner of things that I didn't expect. I watched the hockey game with Andrew, Colin, and Katherine and then I headed off to "The Groundhog Pub" of all places, to have some drinks with Jon and company.

The groundhog has kareoke which (I can't believe I spelled that right...which, not kareoke. That, I might have spelled wrong) totally sucks unless you're into kareoke or are significantly pissed.

I actually sang Pink Floyd's "Wish You Were Here" tonight. The problem with kareoke is that everyone says that you are awesome even though you may suck some serious ass. I thought that I did okay, and everyone rocked out, but whether or not I was good will be up for history to decide. I smell record deal.

I waited and waited all night for "Twist and Shout". I thought that it would 'bring the house down', but it never got played. I was ready to rock out a la Ferris Bueller , but it didn't matter since I didn't get to 'bust a move' with it.

Still, it was a fun evening and "the groundhog" is a place that I might really want to go on my birthday. It's a fun joint and a place that I would die to see all my friends gettting hooked on the kareoke vibe.

Note: I doubt very highly that this post will see tomorrow evening since I will likely delete it when I wake up tomorrow morning (when I'm sober and intelligent again). All of you who see it, enjoy!

Know When to Hold 'Em

I must admit that I watch poker on television any time that it's on. I am one of those people who have added to the dramatic rise in televised poker popularity.

Though I'm hardly the disposition to be a poker player, as you don't see many quiet, unassuming, five-years-too-late-on-the-geek-chic type players at many final tables. Though there is something very sexy about poker.

When I see a professional hockey player, soccer, or basketball player on television I think to myself: "I will never be as good as he at that sport." There are no ifs, no maybes, no questions; it's a lock that I will never slam dunk a basketball, or take a penalty shot at Maple Leaf Gardens (actually I have done that, but that's another story). It's sad too when you realize that you're too old to be a professional athlete and that your childhood dreams are gone. Golf is a sport that defies age, and so I do still have dreams of making the senior tour, but as each summer passes with my two visits to the course I am seeing that dream fade also.

I think that most people see poker as a place of endless possibilities. In the metrosexual way of a man wanting to be another man, we watch the World Poker Tour and we all think: "That could be me. I wish that was me. Why can't that be me? It can be me."

I haven't dipped into online poker. I play free tournaments online, but I haven't spent money I don't have on those sights. I can't justify it to myself when money is so tight. Maybe someday. Actually, I came second in a freeroll tournament a couple of weeks ago. There were 2250 entrants and after 4 hours I went into the final table with a 6 to one chip lead, but blew it. I won $3 for all that work finishing second (first was only $5).

I spent yesterday evening at a bar playing a free tournament as part of the Pirana Poker Tour. It's basically a poker night among strangers. There was a 42 person tournament last night, and for the price of two Guinness (or is it Guinnii?) I spent three hours playing poker. It, surprisingly, was a lot of fun. I didn't have a persona schtick, but I played decent hands, and played my conservative style. I ended up at the final table but was short stacked and finished seventh.

I had to make a move and with pocket 8s and the flop 4,5,5 I pushed all in ($8800). I had two callers so the pot was huge (close to $30000). They were on flush draws and had nothing (no one had the five so I was confident) and I was looking good. The turn came 5 so I had a full house. There was only one card that could beat me on the river and it came: 5. I was outkicked by a Jack, and lost. Oh well, I played it right but was beaten.

I suppose that that's the appeal of poker: anyone can get lucky. It doesn't matter how strong your hand is or how many tournaments you've won, or how many fancy cars your winnings have bought you, it still come down to cards and to luck. I can win if I get lucky and I sometimes get lucky and win.

Poker's popularity is very strange. A fad is usually something new, but poker's been around forever and it's recent popularity separates it from Beanie Babies, and Reality TV (who would have thought that one would have lasted as long as it has?). People will always play poker with their buddies on a Saturday night.

I played with my buddies during university. We used to use pennies as chips, but now everyone has their own set of clay chips. I wonder it that kind of commercialization might be the kiss of death for poker. There comes a point where people just get sick and tired of hearing the ads and the hype, and generally being pelted with marketing. I get that way with movies and I have resolved never to see Titanic because one day I had just had enough of people telling me I had to see it.

People will get that way with poker. After buying the chips and the felt table covers and the Bee cards; people will get bored. All those fools who lose hundreds of dollars online will get wise and decide that they can't become a poker cult hero. They'll give up their dreams of playing with Gus Hansen, Phil Ivey, and Doyle Brunson. They'll realize that even though they want to be good at poker, they just can't do it. They will pack up their stainless steel poker chip cases and let them collect dust under the bed along with their SCUBA equipment and "Big Brother" DVD sets.

I had fun last night playing poker. I knocked out a lot of players and that felt good. I got lucky, and unlucky, but I guess the point is that I had fun. It was a free tournament against strangers who purport to be decent players. I'm not a decent player, but I'm not losing any money either.

Nugget's Razor

Brian commented that the reason he visits my blog is because of the fact that I document the mundane events of my life. I suppose that he gets some pleasure out of knowing that, even in his most boring and mundane, his life really is more interesting than mine. Or perhaps he just likes the fact that I care so much about the barely trivial.

I reflected, rather offhandedly, that I wondered why anyone would want to read about the boring events of my life. Brian set me straight and so now I present to you my foray into electric razors.

The history of my face shaving has had many chapters. The first would be the time I found a disposable bic razor in the medicine cabinet. I was six years old and after pouring all the medicines, tonics, balms, and lotions (as well as all the cleaning products under the sink) into the toilet in an effort to create a magic potion, I set my sights on shaving. Note: Leaving all these items within reach of a six year old may now be considered bad parenting, but in the early 80s researchers hadn't yet made that discovery and it was at that time in fact good for children to be able to get into medicine cabinets and toxic cleaning products.

I took the orange plastic blade cover off the white plastic razor, and dragged it across my face in the way I had seen it done in tv commercials: a giant arc down the jawline from the sideburn all the way to the chin. "This is shaving?" I thought, "It's not doing anything. This stupid piece of junk doesn't work."

I then took care of the spot above my chin below my bottom lip, and gashed what would become the first of many shaving incidents. I screamed and wailed and my Mom tore up the stairs to find out what I'd done. Blood pouring over my fingers and down my chin she freaked but managed to stop the bleeding. Her interrogation regarding what I had done to the toilet and every liquid in the bathroom began. "I was making potion," I hiccupped between sobs.

I received my first electric razor for Christmas 1990. Santa always had a way of informing me of my personal hygiene needs. He "told" me that I needed to shave just as he "told" me a few years earlier that I needed to wear deodorant. It was a Braun rechargeable razor that I used for many years. It did a fine job on the peach fuzz that I called a beard. At that time, I only needed to shave about once (maybe twice) a week.

In university, I started shaving with a razor. I decided that something had to be done about my boyish face and I decided that I needed to toughen up. I've shaved with a razor in the shower without a mirror for the past 10 years or so.

Unhappy with my Schick triple head razor, I wondered if perhaps I could get a closer shave with an electric razor. I was also tired of having knicks and cuts from nervous pre-interview shaves, and my burned neck was at its breaking point. I suppose that changing the blade every three months, may have had something to do with it, but I felt that it was time for a change.

I headed to Sears and purchased another Braun. I tried it for the recommended three weeks. Not only did it not shave closely enough, but it also took a helluva long time. I would sit in front of the tv and shave for 20 minutes trying to get everything smooth. I contorted my mouth and pulled my skin in all manner of ways trying to get at all those tough spots most of which would continue to velcro into my fleeces and sweaters.

Disheartened, I returned the razor to Sears, and figured that the first one had stunk because I hadn't spent enough money on it. I decided this time to try a triple headed Phillishave rotary razor with the patented lift and cut system. On first use, it didn't so much lift and cut, as rip all the hair right out of my face. Again, I tried to the razor for the recommended three weeks, but likewise the same problems arose. The razor was not close, it took forever to shave, and with this one, the added problem of pain.

Yesterday, I went back to Sears and returned the razor, this time opting a full refund rather than an exchange. I stopped off at Pharmasave and picked up the latest (and purportedly greatest) razor from Gillette: the Mach 3 Power Nitro. Of all the stupid names for a razor. This one comes with a battery that is supposed to stimulate the hairs and get them to stand up so as "to provide the closest shave possible."

Even though I was (and am) nervous about taking a battery powered razor into the shower, I checked the manual (razors come with manuals now) and found out that it was "shower-safe". After soaping up I flicked on the switch and, no joke, the shower glowed green with Nitro-power! While not the best shave ever, it was fast, and it was painless.

My experiment with electrics completed, I was happy to be back with an old friend. I'll stick with a blade for now and when I get shocked from the powered razor, I'm sure I'll document it on this blog.

The Streak Is Over

A few months ago, I made a resolution to never get another traffic, speeding, or parking ticket for the rest of my life.

It was a lofty goal, but certainly one that I could achieve, and one to which I should be striving. Alas, it ended yesterday.

I hate this city for parking tickets. I've come to realize that you can't just zip into a store "for just three minutes" because if you do and you don't pay for parking, you'll get a ticket. I've learned my lesson and my dashboard is stacked high with parking slips. Never again will I try to get away with it. For 25 cents I save myself the chest pain and long-term health damage; I just don't risk it anymore.

What ticks me off the most is the residential side-of-the-street rotation that takes place on the first and fifteenth of every month.

For some reason, every time I need to move my car, I always forget. It's not like I'm spending a lazy morning sleeping in; I'm not having crazy morning sex. It's always a regular day when I'm up earlier than I'd like to be. I wander into the bathroom, then to the kitchen, then the computer. I proceed to "work" (read: do nothing) for the morning, until the mailperson comes at one o'clock.

It is then that I see my car sitting lonely in the street. I always have to do a double take because I swear I didn't leave it there on the wrong side of the street. Then it hits me that it was the "night of the great switcheroo" (patent pending) and I'm going to have a $30 ticket under my wiper and a thundercloud over my head for the rest of the day.


(Note: Blogger spell check does not like the word "mailperson" and suggests that I change it to "mulberries".)