Tuesday, March 30, 2004

I think that studying may very well be the most hated activity that I have to do. Worse than taking out the garbage, cooking, listening to someone who shall remain nameless who won't stop blithering on and on about how this one person that I don't know did something wholly uninteresting to this other person that I have equally no clue as to their identity and then being asked if I am being bored with me being to polite and nice a person to say yes with enough enthusiasm (or lack of it, whichever works best. I have no idea since whichever of the two that I did, didn't seem to take and I was subjected to more horrible stories of such profound insignificance as to nearly render me unconscious) to be credible. I think that I detest it, think because I haven't the skill or the motivation for introspection at the moment, and detest is quite a powerful word, but in this case I think that it is quite likely to be the right one. I have two tests tomorrow, neither of which I have studied intensively, or even more than half an hour, for. One is in economics and one in accounting, both should be easy tests if I study even moderately for them, however I am for some reason, probably my alleged detest for the action, electing not to do so. Perhaps I will tomorrow, and I think that it is quite likely, but will that be enough? Are there any good students out there who can tell me how to motivate myself into studying? Or is the majority out there the same as me in my feelings toward this particular activity?

Summary in seven words: I detest the unholy action of study.


Monday, March 29, 2004

Once again, I find myself avoiding accounting homework and again I find myself making great progress in life, friendships, culture and generally everything except that which I am supposed to be making progress in.

This post will be completely random, because that is how I feel like writing at the moment. Absolutely random, with seemingly, or actually if you prefer, no thread of continuity.

Life of Pi was an excellent book; it is my second time reading it. Yann Martel's style is surpassed only by the master of the English language himself *drum roll* Douglas Adams.

I got marks taken off my essay for making up words. I think that once you have reached a certain point in the mastering of the language, you should be allowed to make up words. If Adams can do it, so can I, not that I am as good or even close to the level he has, or had attained, but even so, I think that I should be able to have that right. Making up words is an art-form, a worthy expression of abstract, and perhaps less so, thought. As long as they continue to convey some meaning or impression, it should be valid, and so with these arguments on my tongue and in my mind, I will continue to do what I feel I have the right to do, irregardless of the consequences, never pausing to snipple or squotch any longer (ok, perhaps those were, are, bad examples).

I should be working.

Summary in seven words: I've too much time on my hands.


Sunday, March 28, 2004

Today I was busy procrastinating as usual, and doing a very good job of it I must say, when all of the sudden, my left speaker cuts out. Oh no, I say to myself, this puts a slight damper on my procrastination related activities. So of course I take a look under my desk and have a look at what might be wrong and not as a sign to get back to work, or rather to start work (I am a very good procrastinator, if only that could be a nicely high paying career ... *sigh). So all the wires are indeed connected in the right places and when the dead bugs are removed from around the wires, the problem persists. There remains only few options from this point forward: wiggle this wire, wiggle that one, try another... In this fashion I managed to get the left speaker to work only to have the sub cut out. After about ten deeply frustrated minutes of more wiggling, kicking, hitting, yelling at, and general pummeling of my subwoofer into which all the wires are connected (yes I did every one of those things) I still could only get two out of the three speakers at any given time. The next logical step? Go into the computer settings. No luck. There then remains only one option that any woman would most likely have checked first, besides going to Future Shop and kicking up a fuss about how their products really suck and why can't they sell products that wiggling works, and that is to see if the cable is plugged into the back of the computer correctly. The problem inevitably lies in the last place you check for it, and this time was no exception. So after I plugged the wire all the way back into the computer, I sat back and listened to some great Ben Harper and made sure it really was working before actually went to Future Shop (I kind of wanted to go, fighting a hopeless cause can sometimes be fun).

Summary in seven words: Remember, wiggle all of the stupid wires!


Friday, March 26, 2004

Happy Comedy Day in Canada! I don't know about you, but I love Canadian comedy, especially that of my favorite TV personality, Rick Mercer. For those of you who don't know, he has a show called Monday Report that is a riot of laughs and airs at 8pm eastern standard time on the CBC. Of course if you are not Canadian, you will probably not understand, want to, or find funny if you don't know anything of our politics or what goes on in our country. The other week Don Cherry was voted (by his viewer in a poll, nothing official here) to be the next Govenor General, or as I like to call the position, Canadian ambassador for Partying to everywhere. Last week, the contest for the biggest pothole was concluded with someone who actually got damage to his car by driving over it (first time anyone in Canada has felt pity for someone in a Lexus. So tune in if you can, want to, or have nothing better to do. Sorry for the commercial but the show is just so great.

Summary in seven words: Comedy Day in Canada, watch Monday Report.


Thursday, March 25, 2004

I had an epiphany today, believe it or not, about a certain something that shall remain a mystery. It was one of those really great epiphanies that leave you feeling really great about life, the universe and everything in general, as opposed to those that leave you despotic, lying on a cement floor previously unknown to you in the general vicinity of someplace hideously depressing such as Saskatchewan (have you ever been there?).

In any case, I attempted to record a lecture today with Adams handheld recorder device, and was successful in part. The success lies in the fact that there was some audio recorded from the lecture, a whole tapes worth in fact. The trouble is that what was recorded was so wholly unrecognizable that I would be (as a fairly imaginative guy, this means quite a lot) hard pressed to find anything at all that it could be used for. Now that I think about it, it could be used as torture. Not a word can be understood (though the words being spoken are unmistakably english, they simply cannot be understood), there is tonnes of static and this strange whirring sound which is particularly odd as I distinctly remember no whirring sound in the classroom at the time (it must be the inner workings of the recording device itself, but it seems like a fundamental design flaw to make a microphone so powerfull or misplaced so as to record the machinations of itself rather than the lecturer as intended). There is nothing worse than having the knowledge that you should be able to understand something in its entirety and being completely unable to do so (with the possible exceptions of starvation, war and decapitaion).

In short, the experiment will not go ahead as planned because I am not a masachist and do not think that I would enjoy a torture session during my sleep. My subconscious might hate me after that, and seriously, who out there would want an angry subconscious? Who knows what it would do? It could try to follow the Bloc's lead and separate, making me a schizophrenic (not a pleasant thing I am told).

Summary in seven words: Epiphany, good kind. Experiment equals torture. Garblewhirrrdogodewhirrrdefloge.


Wednesday, March 24, 2004

  • Bush Unmasked
  • may just be the greatest Bush (the president, not the band) parody site ever, and there are alot out there to choose from, trust me.

    Summary in seven words: Check this out, you won't regret it!

    A friend of mine, who I will call Adam, mostly because that is his name, and partially because there is no way he is ever going to read this, or find out about it since he is principally against the whole blogging idea and no one knows him save perhaps two people that may ever cross paths with this page. I don't know if that sentence made any sense at all, but I am not in the mood for revisions tonight, not that I ever am, or that I ever do, but it somehow seemed that I ought to let you know. Anyhoo, this Adam guy, great guy, smart as a ... really smart guy (I was going to say whip, but lets face it, that is a ridiculous expression. When has a whip really done anything that could remotely be viewed as intelligent? Riddle me this!) and crazier ideas that I could never even dream of conceiving within the limited space between my synapses. The point is that he told me that if you tape record a lecture (keep in mind that this may not be one of his best, or even one of his own ideas) and listen to it in your sleep, you will get a better mark. There is however a catch, says he; you must believe it is going to work. This will increase your memory and cause a better grade on the next test. There have been studies, I'm told (as if I am going to go out and research this when I can take someone else's unverified word for it) that prove this to be the case.

    My question then is this: If it depends on my belief, do I then really even have to record the lecture? Could I not just believe that Mozart or Ben Harper will increase my memory and then also score greater on the next test? A placebo effect of sorts. Did the afore mentioned studies test for this placebo effect when they were conducting this so called scientific study? Please, give me an opinion about this, or just something that you made up that may or may not sound good (isn't that an opinion Sam?). I shouldn't type the voices inside my head, I don't think it is healthy to let them be heard, but it sure is funny, at least in my opinion and I am told that I am a funny guy so I do have some credibility to hold on to.

    Completely unrelated list of movies that I just saw and thought were really good (by just saw I mean within the last week):
    1) Secret Window - If you don't like this movie, you should watch it again and then if you still don't like it, you should seek help. If that doesn't work, it my simply not be your style, but at least then we will know for sure.
    2)School of Rock - Awesome. Can Jack Black say anything that doesn't come out sounding hilarious?
    3)The Jackal - I like Bruce Willis, I can't remember how long ago it was when I saw it, probably beyond the week deadline but I am all for breaking deadlines, however still good enough to mention. It was in the really wee hours so I could be mistaken though.

    Summary in seven words: Sleep listening improves memory, true/false? Movies!


    Tuesday, March 23, 2004

    I had a pretty uneventful day today, got up, listened to music, made lunch, ate lunch, tasted good, went to band practice, enjoyed it, went to library, enjoyed it not so much, class, got uber bored, ran into friends, got uber cold, walked home, got laughed at (I truly had a snowbeard today, one of those rare occasions that the nickname is truthful), ate supper, tasted better than lunch, bickered a bit with those hethens (Mwhahahaha) over at MBNA, opened up blogger, "I had a pretty uneventful day ...". Good times.

    Telemarketers are fun, especially when they phone you because then they are pretty much asking for it. I know, I was one for many months, had many good times (yes there is such a thing in telemarketing land), made many good friends, and, yes, of course got many whackjobs on the other end of the line. Telemarketers do have a sense of humour, and they enjoy those little jokes that you do to them, at least I did as it took away from the fact that it was a hideously depressing job and that by working there for too long was a shortcut to an asylum of some sort (it doesn't really matter which kind because if they are going to call it an asylum, it is going to be a less than sane place to be). Also, every one needs a stranger that they can be difficult with, and one over the phone is even better (mostly because there is less threat of physical violence that way), because friends don't appreciate it when you do it to them and those urges have to be vented somewhere lest we should be the ones off to the loony bin, crank house, or to become like Wonko the Sane (if you didn't get that reference, shame on you).

    Summary in seven words: Telemarketers are for our amusement. And sanity?


    Monday, March 22, 2004

    Sorry, no lengthy, or substantial (have I ever done one of those?), or amusing post today. My teachers ended their strike last night, so I have to catch up on a weeks worth of work. I am not worried, I quite frankly don't see the point, I just have to recognize my own stupidity for not doing the work when I had nothing else to do, and suffer for it now. Sam out.

    Summary in seven words: Sam has much work to be doing.


    Sunday, March 21, 2004

    Tune du Jour: No One's Listening by Goo Goo Dolls because it is just so good, as are most of their songs.


    Saturday, March 20, 2004

    I don't know about yours, but my keyboard has a warning stating this: "Some experts believe that the use of any keyboard may cause serious injury." What I would like to know, is who these experts are, why they are simply believing that it can cause injury instead of actually going out an proving it like most experts and exactly how my keyboard or any other can cause serious injury, besides the obvious (namely someone bashing me over the head with it). Why even bother to put the warning on the keyboard itself, and on the top in plain sight no less, when they could at least hide their, at least apparent, stupidity (too harsh?) and put it in the pamphlet that invariably accompanies any and every electronic device these days. What makes these guys experts anyways? Did they write their thesis on keyboard related injuries, or is it simply a matter of using keyboards a lot, in which case could I really be considered an expert? There is also the matter of the great divide between the so called keyboard "experts". Why is there no consensus? It isn't as if it is complicated or anything; They either cause injury or they don't, so why all this uncertainty with only some "experts" believing in this. Also why must they even believe in fact, or apparent fact, instead of simply stating it, or thinking it. I thought that word (believe) was reserved for things that cannot be or have yet to be proven. Are they in the process or do newer keyboards have updated warnings and if so why bother to put a warning on older ones like mine when the results of the study were yet to be determined? Would there be a scandal and a mass recall of all keyboards if the studies show that they do in fact cause serious injury and why haven't we heard of this before? Everyone uses keyboards so we have the right to know! Show yourselves you so called experts and answer our questions. We demand the truth, credentials and why we should care!

    Summary in seven words: Some things more dangerous than imagined. Experts?


    Friday, March 19, 2004

    Thank you Wes for another great quiz.
    You are Proverbs
    You are Proverbs.

    Which book of the Bible are you?
    brought to you by Quizilla
    I think that is about right. I have to stop doing these quizes.

    Today I have an interesting tale from a friend of mine who I shall elect to call "SCG" for no other reason that her actual name is slightly longer and more cumbersome to type and the fact that she may not want her name to appear to readers to whom she is known for reasons that won't be stated here (mostly because I don't know what they would be if it would in fact be the case). The facts may vary from the truth in part or in whole because her story was told to me in several parts, new details being added all the time, changes being made, omissions from previous versions and complete irrelevancies being thrown in while key plot points were being discussed (ex. "he was about to do ... and just as he did- Hey! My shirt looks like the one that Mike Myers wore in that movie ... What was I saying? Oh yeah ...").

    It all started (or at least I gathered that it did) one day last week when SCG (because that is what we previously elected to call her) was walking on campus with her guitar (at least that is where I gathered she was) and this guy comes up to her and starts talking to her. He seems quite nice (at least I think ... you get the picture) so when he mentions that he plays guitar and would like to "jam" she says sure. So they go and play for a bit and it turns out that this guy really can't play guitar all that well, or even t all really, but he tries somewhat feebly. She tries to teach him some awesome Metalica song but he sucks too badly and can't play it, nor does he have the patience to learn or take heed of her instructions, so she leaves politely (she is a very polite girl and doesn't hurt his feelings by telling him that he is awful and has nothing to be so cocky about (for he was surely that).

    A few days later at approximately midnight SCG receives a call from this guy (you must understand that she didn't give him her number and wasn't in the student directory or anything so this would be understandably creepy) saying that he has found a song that they can jam together with and perform at the local bar together. SCG doesn't frequent bars nor would she like to start, especially not with cocky crappy guitarists, but being the polite person that she is she accepts and goes to meet him the next day.

    What does this song turn out to be? I'll bet you didn't guess "One Tin Soldier" by Dennis Lambert
    and Brian Potter! He then proceeds to sing along with his atrocious guitar playing and asking with the audacity that only the imperviously obliviousness can assume for her to "accompany him" because he could use some classical accompaniment. Wow. Does this pick-up technique ever work? Of course she gets out of there as fast as manners would allow and now has the decision of what to do with this guy. Then she runs into me and ... Not important.

    I would like your comments on this one people. How would you treat this tin soldier, do you have any better stories, or anything else you feel like writing, it doesn't matter.

    Summary in seven words: Some guy, crappy guitarist, arrogant, SCG, Comments?


    Thursday, March 18, 2004

    I don't know if anyone out there has experienced or noticed this, but it seems to me that every day someone does something so incredibly, mindblowingly stupid that it is pretty much safe to say that this guy is, at the particular moment in time, the single most unintelligent person on the planet. Whether this means that the world is actually getting stupider, or if it just means that we now have the means to actually hear about these people is beyond my power to tell, but I would tend to lean toward the former.

    In recent years western society in general has definitely got a leak in its think-tank. Just look at who our wonderful neighbors to the south have elected as president (sorry to pick on those of you from the US of A). Has Bush actually done anything that could remotely be considered intelligent? Perhaps I am being unfair and perhaps we only hear of his blunders and his creative use of what some may choose to call the English language, and maybe his is a smart guy who has done some good. Then again he may just be all foam and no beer, a few fries short of a happy meal, the one that fell out of the family tree, that his cheese has slid off his cracker etc. Then there was all that trouble counting the votes before the election that most have chosen to forget (how many months did it end up taking them to count a few ballots?). I guess I just feel a bit malicious today with no school to distract me.

    On a completely unrelated topic, thanks to Wes and Sam for adding me to the links on their sites.

    Summary in seven words: People today aren't firing on all thrusters.


    Wednesday, March 17, 2004

    Happy St. Patricks Day all, not that I'm Irish, or close, or wish I were or even celebrate the holiday or anything else but I never miss a holiday, at least not one I deem to be somewhat less than useless. From what I know, this meaning that I did no research whatsoever and everything I am about to write will have come strait off the top of my head, St. Patrick was a poor man wandering around in Celtic areas of Ireland among the "barbarian tribes" until he came across one particular one. This one had a policy, perhaps they all did, I don't know, of hospitality and always kept one house empty as a guest house for travelers to stay as long as they wished and do whatever they wished as long as they were there. This was how villages grew back then, that is when the visitors decided to stay, which they were perfectly welcome to do. So, this St. Patrick guy stayed in the guest house and lived among the "barbarians", liked their simple horticultural structure of society and so decided to stay. The people liked him and then I forget the middle bit, but it ends up that he converts (right word?) the whole village to Christianity (Catholic of Protestant I don't know, not even sure there was the distinction at the time) through his actions, just as the villagers convinced him to stay through theirs.

    So that is the basis for the holiday ... I think. Well that is Sam's version of the basis for the holiday. If your version differs slightly, or in entirety I would love to hear it so long as you don't insult my version and tell me it is wrong flat out, because I rather like my version.

    Summary in seven words: Patrick was just this guy, you know.


    Monday, March 15, 2004

    My professors have elected to go on strike, so there will be no classes at all this week in all likelihood. I support the teachers fully in their decision, not only because I get a second spring break, but because they got a proverbial kick in the face from the administration. If I had a good idea for a sign and it was a nicer day out I would be out there picketing with them, but as I don't and it isn't I'll stay home and watch Memento (one of the best movies out there for those who haven't seen it) and play guitar; not very productive I know, but maybe I'll do some work tomorrow. I am learning "Hall of the Mountain King" for anyone interested in my playing, or perhaps you didn't even know that I played and now know something new about my life of intrigue and mystery. I also have made up my own light jazzy background to a cool solo type of piece and have been playing that fairly constantly today. Perhaps I will make up a solo to go along with it, but more likely I will forget it within a week and hear it on a jazz track 3 years from now and wonder why I have heard it before.

    By the way, Happy Eat An Animal For The PETA Day!

    Summary in seven words: No school, no work, much fun, yeah.


    Saturday, March 13, 2004

    The purpose for the contest of the last entry was twofold. First, it allowed me to post one of my simple creations of artistic (objections?) nature. Second it allowed me to prove that there can be more than one interpretation to a poem, however simle. The poem from last post (I can't name poems, my creativity stops there) was undoubtedly simple in nature, and apparently in content or interpretability. There is what could be seen as the altogether more apparent, likely and sensible interpretation of anti-americanism as Nwar so helpfully pointed out. Then there is the actual interpretation, that is about the Harlem Globetrotters. Yes. Think about it. "Red, Blue, White," is not a denotation of America but of the Globetrotters colours. It does make sense. I hope my english teacher is reading this so I can prove once and for maybe that I wasn't always wrong in my obscure interpretations of the poems she made us read and analyze. Of course, she was always right because she was the english teacher and thus has some sort of dead poet intercessory to find out the real meanings of things that no one else is aware of. Now, don't get me wrong, I am not anti-english-teacher, I am anti-my-english-teacher. Or perhaps I am against them all and their tyranny of the classroom, oppressing opinions not similar to her own and her own kind. Intolerance of new ideas, however obscure, irrational, illogical or otherwise, that creates a spirit of superiority and tunnel thinking that can only lead to closed mindedness and the sort of oppression that can only be recognized if you were the one on the outside, going against the grain.

    Ok, rant over, turn over tape to side two.

    Summary in seven words: Poems are not always as they seem.


    Thursday, March 11, 2004

    Red, Blue, White,
    All the might,
    Suck it up and spit it out.

    Make the money,
    Take the honey,
    Leaving the rest to pout.

    What to do?
    Pick on you,
    And bring you all to rout!

    I don't know Ettienne, what do you think the title should be for this one? This is a contest, give me an interpretation of this poem, and if you are close enough, I will reward you with cookies, or tickets to theater shows, depending on who and how soon I get your interpretation. Timmy, I know you are reading this, so you had better respond, and anyone else can if they wish.

    Even better yet, post your own poem (yes it must be your own, but really how am I to know? your conscience will judge you) that completely blows mine out of the water, or not, depending on your rhyming skills. I like rhyming.

    Summary in seven words: Interpret or write, rhyming is quite alright.


    Wednesday, March 10, 2004

    For anyone out there who doesn't know of the band called Dispatch, you must go out and listen to their music immediately. At the risk of sounding like a complete moron, which by the way is how I am feeling today, I would even go as far to say that they are the best band out there regardless of personal taste. I know that is not a very intelligent, and probably not even close to accurate thing to say, however, as I have previously stated, I am not feeling particularly intelligent at the moment and so feel it my duty to act as such. Also, if you play guitar, their music is very fun to play, especially their song Born Normal (thank you Ettienne for pointing it out to me on your blog as I had not heard that one before) which I am currently learning. Among their other greats: The General, Flying Horses, Cover This, Open Up (a favorite sing-along song of mine), Questioned Apocalypse, Time Served and Walk With You, to list a few. There is something there for everyone, except for those who don't like music with actual skill behind it. That probably sounded really callous, pretentious and in all other ways snooty, but all I was saying is that they are really talented and I would be lucky to have half the talent of their guitarist and/or vocalist (which I ordinarily am not, but hey, why exclude?).

    Summary in seven words: If you don't like Dispatch, keep quiet.


    Tuesday, March 09, 2004

    Based on a rutual of poor time allocation and a severe case of rampant apathy, I have, however wisely, elected to blog instead of the actual work that I am, or more likely, should have already done. It is not that I have anything particular to say, or indeed anything at all, it is jsut that I really don't want to start writing essays and projects or do accounting homework et cetera, et cetera. I have written truly amazing songs on guitar while avoiding accounting homework (well they were at least good in my mind) and I sincerely think everyone should consider taking one for the simple reason that you will most likely boost your creativity output as you find new revolutionary ways of avoiding the homework for that class. This blog was likely an outcome of one such creative outbursts (I cannot say for certain because as I have menitoned earlier, I have a case of rampant apathy and don't wish to care enough to actually think back and remember if it was indeed the case). In any case, I must now proceed to class as for some strange reason my rampant apathetic condition doesn't seem to seep into the class attending portion of my scholarly activities, or in most cases scholarly inactivities.

    Summary in seven words: Anything can be done while avoiding homework.


    Monday, March 08, 2004

    It has been brought to my attention that all of my posts have nothing of importance/sustenance/anything that can remotely be viewed as content to them. To this I say that I have to write things that mean something all the time for school papers, assignments and other miscellaneous projects. This blog is not intended for those looking for uber deep discussions/opinions/comments about things that matter (to exemplify my point scroll down to my bit about the cherry pie yesterday). It is rather intended to provide a well written (as opposed to the hordes out there written by teenage girls largely composed of "lol", "kewl", "omg" and numerous others that I have forced from memory), hopefully humorous (don't worry if you don't find it funny, this is but one of the many facets of my humor) and adjective rich alternative to the traditional blog. I am also open to suggestions if you think my, what I hope to be, unique blog lacks something, essential or otherwise, though I may prefer to completely, utterly and without regret or other thought about it completely ignore any or all that do pass my way. Don't let that deter you, however, because I am all for freedom of speech, just as I am of ignoring those who I find distasteful/ignorant (both intellectually and of the importance of spelling and grammar)/mind-numbingly dull. In any case, good night and happy nearly belated international women's day to any female readers I have out there.

    Summary in seven words: I like it well written/funny/insubstantial.

    Starting today I am implimenting a new item in my blog, which I am perfectly able, allowed and in all other ways completely free to do, and that will be a summary section, hopefully humerous but I can promise nothing. I am borrowing from the concept used in the ignoble cerimonies, or rather just stealing it entirely for my own uses. I don't feel bad about it in the least as I'm sure they could care less. All summaries must be exactly seven words, no less, no more. This will take effect imediately and I have even gone back and given summaries to yesterday's posts, just because I can.

    Summary in seven words: In seven words I must convey all.


    Sunday, March 07, 2004

    Tonight I had the pleasure of being invited, and indeed attending an evening of food, merriment and games, and all told it was thoroughly enjoyable. I won't divulge anything of consequence about the evening other than this (if you are so keen as to want to hear more, get yourself invited next time and share in the good times), the cherry pie,brought by someone who I will only refer to as Eve for he very simple reason that I have no idea who brought it and thus what the name of that person actually is, was the most delightful culinary experience of the dessert variety I have ever experienced. The soft flaky pastry of the crust was browned to perfection, with the sweet crimson sap between its layers filled with lusciously plump cherries. I can only wish I had had a second piece, if only to lock in my mind the sheer experience that this piece has delivered. Of course there will be some cynics out there who say that they have had cherry pie before and that it was good but not all that great, at least not worth a spot in a blog so purposeful as this one, but to to them I say, you have not tasted this particular piece made by this particular person whom I have made an executive decision to calle Eve, and until that day comes no one can tell me that this was not the single greatest piece of pie ever to grace this planet with her (what sex is a pie anyways? the french would know) splendor.

    Of course this is faulty reasoning, and of course I know that, but I still stand by my opinion and will not back down until I have tasted an altogether different piece of pie that meets or exceeds the one made by the person I have previously elected to call Eve. I welcome anyone to send me as many pies as you like and I will gladly eat them, not just to find out once and for all if this was the best there is or can be, but rather because I simply like pies, especially cherry ones. I'll even sit with you and eat it, should you decide to darken my door, and revail you with tales of pies once eaten, those expected to come and how yours stands up to those (don't worry if the need arrises, I'll soften the blow, and you won't know that yours was the pie that made me give up pies).

    Summary in Seven Words: It was a good piece of pie.

    Well, Bishops Gaitors (the lady gaitors, of course. Everyone knows, or at least everyone who follows Bishops basketball, which now that I think about it is more likely to be a very small and isolated number of people in the grand scheme of things, or even in a lesser known, solitary scheme of something completely different.) are going to the nationals in winnipeg after their victory over Laval last night. It was a very good game (this coming from a guy who is not a sports fan in the least, basketball nearly least of all. The only reason this Sam happened to be there was that he was working the camera that was filming the game). All I can say is that I am glad I am not a referee after that game. Some of those uber old guys who just stand behind the railings, drinking beer, as if they are feeling of intolerant of wooden benches at this particular sporting event, as well as of anyone who seems to have the same relative IQ, (or the ref in their view, which was exemplified in the way at which they shouted obscenities at him at a fairly constant rate thorughout the game) can be quite harsh at times.

    Now if anyone finds my gratuitous use of brackets distastefull/unnecessary/otherwise, he/she can tell me about it and I will do everything in my power to completely ignore every word/idea that was spoken/typed/otherwise conveyed.

    If anyone doesn't like my gratuitous use of /'s in the previous paragraph, they are again quite welcome to tell me about it, however the same rules/conditions (or otherwise) do apply.

    Summary in seven words: Lady gaitors won. Yes, yes they did.


    Saturday, March 06, 2004

    I am the Master of the Universe!
    Magister Mundi sum!
    "I am the Master of the Universe!"
    You are full of yourself, but you're so cool you
    probably deserve to be. Rock on.

    Which Weird Latin Phrase Are You?
    brought to you by Quizilla

    I think mine is almost right, at least I like the colour blue. I don't think that I am so self infatuated though.

    Here is a poem I made up in the shower this morning. Too much information, perhaps, but it is my only excuse for the quality, or rather lack of it. No title yet, so if you deem that it is good enough for one then feel free to suggest one, if not I will have to leave it titleless, which would really irk my high school english teachers, but hey, since when did I ever do anything right by them anyways?

    Blither, Blather,
    Pitter, Patter,
    Up the stairs she goes,

    Up to the room,
    Up with the broom,
    To clean up the cloves and lizards toes,

    Left from the stew,
    Now cold witch's brew,
    To what effect nobody knows,

    It matters little,
    Which slime and spittle,
    She uses to smite her foes,

    For tonight she depart,
    From hope quite apart,
    To whence the west wind fair blows.


    Friday, March 05, 2004

    Very well, since no one took me up on the offer of defining the word psychosasic for the previoulsy undetirmined prize of infinite billion dollars or $texas (yes, you heard me, texas with a dollar sign), I hadn't decided yet, I will now spoil the whole mystery of the word once and for all, and since no one is reading anyways, I don't feel like I am spoiling a secret so much as muttering to myself about gardening or something equally mundane. Psychosasic is a term used by Dirk Gently's character in his own holistic detective agency, a work by the late Douglas Adams, that means absolutely nothing at all. If you have not heard of him, you have now and should immediately read one of his books, and if you don't like them, I'm sorry to be the one to tell you this, but you might be clinically dead.


    Wednesday, March 03, 2004

    Well since it seems that I have absolutely no readers at all, I am pretty much at liberty to do or say whatever I should wish. Of course there would be little to nothing stopping me from doing whatever I wish even if I did have readers, which I do not, so there is no real point or saying anything at all. It is psychosasic behavior at its finest. If anyone knows what this means please let me know.

    As I was meandering around this morning, after a very good muffin I msut add, minding my own business, this guy just pops out of nowhere and asks me if I know anything about gourmet chefery. Now there are two things that must be mentioned before I continue. One is that my appearance doesn't exactly lend me to be often suspected of being a chef at all, never mind one of gourmet standings. While I know looks are often decieving, in my case they are not as is shown by my choice of lunch today: shell pasta with a creamy garlic and romano sauce ... sidekicks, wonderfull things. I am fairly tall at 6'2", not fat yet not emaciated either, as of this moment scragley if not overgrown gotee and stylishly dark and rectangular shaped glasses. I don't think I look in any way like a chef, some say like a guitarist, which I can buy because I happen to be one, or a manager, which is less true. The second is that I was at that moment I happened to be just emerging from a music store, which also makes sense as has already been mentioned I am a guitarist. So why anyone would ask one who looks like a guitarist, or possibly a manager, recently emerged from a, somewhat subpar I must add, music store about gourmet chefery? The answer is of course I don't know, mostly because I didn't stick around and talk to the guy for any length of time, or indeed any longer than I was required to by the innate supposition of politeness would allow. Not that I am an unfriendly person, nothing could be further from the truth, at least that is how I like to percieve things, but rather because he had something about him that was almost but not quite entirely untrustworthy. Also if he was asking me, which he undoubtedly was, then he must either have been a complete nutjob, or desperate, or both, though I can see no reason that anyone should be desperate about gourmet chefery, so I must conclude that it was the former. I have no problems with these people in general, that is unless they start to infringe on my comfort zone, as he undoubtedly was six inches from my face, and start asking me silly questions in very unsilly manners. So all this to say I had a very pleasant, and I meant that in the most sardonic way possible, 16 word conversation possible. Long winded way of going about it I know, but I am feeling rather wordy today.


    Tuesday, March 02, 2004

    This being only the 62nd day of the year, we still have alot of crap and/or subversive propoganda to but up with during the remaining 304 days of this, or what seems to be shaping up to be, craptastic year. Further adjectives that could be used include: craptacular, pareidolic, beautificent (if you are an optimist), or fangorious (if you are not). I am one who prefers to use words not currently part of the official english language to explain not at all what I am feeling. For some reason they seem to do a better job. Perhaps it is because people have to think what it really means instead of the usual rampant apathy.


    Monday, March 01, 2004

    Ok, so this is my first blog, and I am quite entirely sure that I know nothing of what I am doing, or even what to write. Creating the blog seemed like a good idea at the time, but now that it is here it is like there is absolutely nothing to write about or at least nothing of note. Either I can just keep writing and disregard the consequences, or I can cut my losses and or return when I have something of note or at least of interest with which to bring to the attention of whoever deems this site worthy of their attention in the first place. So this is me signing out for the moment.


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