“I moved here from Canada, and they think I’m slow, eh?” -Gordy, The Simpsons.

Sorry everyone for not keeping up and commenting. I made a couple feeble attempts since the move but there is just too much for now. I really don’t understand how people with a zillion subscription contacts keep up with them. Currently I can’t manage what I have. In the past I found I needed about an hour for a good entry and another hour to read my subscriptions and leave a zesty comment wherever I went. Two hours every two or three days doesn’t seem like much but I’ve been making a strong effort to get organized and my career started. That kind of work is mentally draining. On top of that, I’ve got household chores to do which include all kinds of mundane energy sucking tasks.

First, I want to write that it feels truly bizarre not to be starting school in September. Junior Kindergarten, Senior Kindergarten, Grades one to thirteen. Seven more years of University. That’s 22 straight years of school. I am haunted by a feeling that I am perpetually skipping class and falling incredibly behind on a vast array of assignments.

So, I’m in Newton, a Boston suburb. I’m living with Merle and her parents. Yes, the dysfunctional couple is reunited in cohabitive glee. Nothing has changed between us. We occupy a state comprised of regular intervals of intense murderous fighting interspersed with short periods of light hearted fun and mischief. Probably nothing will ever change until one of us kills the other one. Other than that.. let me see. It’s not so bad living here I suppose. Everyone is gone all day. Merle works until six. Her parents work until late. Her two brothers are off at University. So I’ve got their big historical, colonial home all to myself all day. I’ve been getting up early, heading downstairs in my blue pin striped robe and pajama pants, making a hazelnut coffee and doing the sudoku puzzle while I groggily sip my coffee and everyone rushes out. Then boring job searching and cover letter writing. Blah blah. I’ve been painting and grouting for Merle’s papa a little. I’ve got a nightly struggle going on with raccoons over the trash bins, it’s reminiscent of the Great Outdoors. Yup. Life’s about as exciting a slice of provolone cheese.

I’ve been enjoying the city though. If I had to pick a place to live in the U.S.A., I’m sure Boston would be top ten. It’s a different environment and cultural mix, but one that’s not very different. The accent still catches me off-guard though. I’m going to pawwwwwwk my car. Let’s go for a wawwwwwwwk. That buwwrd sure can squawwwwwk. What? There’s nothing wrong with how I tawwwwwk. It seems to me that Americans in general talk louder and deeper. More baritone and flat pitched. I admit this may not be a fair assessment though because 90% of my USA experience comes from three states,

Bonjour mes amies!

I can’t breathe here. However, I am learning lots of francais.

Yesterday afternoon was my last day working at my concierge job. There was a nice send off, much well wishing, cards, a special going-away muffin and even a few gifts. I worked there since the fall of 2000 and it was a mostly enjoyable experience. A very social one, perfect for a student wanting to support his way through university. I won’t miss the job, the pay was laughable, but I won’t forget many of the people there.

For anyone wanting an update on Mrs. Cowing’s situation, she is still at the hospital and has had two relatives check in. I’m glad they came for her, so she at least has that. I’ve been contemplating a visit. It’s something I should at least do now that’s it clear that she won’t be able to go out for lunch with me like she wanted to.

Anyway, here’s a picture of the front of the building (A ritzy condominium complex):

Inside, by the billiards room, is a minitature model of the whole property. It’s quite elaborate and apparently was quite expensive to make. The realtors like to show it off when they have clients with them. It’s encased within a big clear plexiglass cover to prevent children and mischievous individuals from playing with the little plastic people and cars inside.

Here’s a picture the model:

Yesterday this model was….

ATTACKED BY DINOSAURS!!!!!!! ROAAAAAAAARRRRR!!!!!

There’s a T-Rex headed for the courtyard! RUN!!

Oh no, it’s got a car!

Hey! That’s my Civic!!

A shot of the carnage from the channel 4 news chopper.

So yeah, since it was my last shift, it was a unique opportunity to have a little fun. I hope no one notices the dinosaurs for a while, or that the people that do just laugh and don’t say anything about them. Now it’s on to a new place and fresh challenges…

On the intercom of a dimly lit, deserted mall at 1:30am, Tears For Fears – Head Over Heels started playing. The crystal clear melodic opening sent a warm shiver down my spine. My pleasant somatic response to hearing something strong or beautiful. Merle had run ahead to a wedding dress display case. She pointed at a dress and looked back over her shoulder with a childish pout on her face. As we slowly strolled towards the exit, I just wanted to drift away and enjoy the song. She broke my spell by demanding an explanation about the movie we had just seen, Broken Flowers. To annoy her, I feigned shock that she didn’t understand completely. That the answers to her questions were so painfully obvious that I was definitely not going to bother answering them, pretending that it all made perfect sense. Which I guess it did. The abnormality is the movie that ties all loose ends in satisfying resolution.

I just read an article by Tom Stein on, “The Price of a Perfect Child”. For the first seventeen years, it totaled to just over $800,000. It includes the costs of things such as a social-skills coach, private tutors, bilingual nanny, private schools, camps and lessons in science, computers, chess, tennis, music, horseback riding etc. Also all the prep courses for SSAT, ISEE, PSAT, SAT blah blah blah blah tests. The cost of growth hormones is even thrown in. But I wonder if this micromanaged child would be any happier than the one raised in an unstructured environment by a liberal mother and hard working secular father. The one that learned to love the unmanaged beauty of nature. In part, because he was given freedom to do what he wanted within very loose bounds. I bet the one raised on candy, horror movies, MTV and hockey would be a lot more fun than the engineered robokid. It’s a safe bet that the 800 grand prodigy would write more cohesive Xanga posts though.

Twelve hours after having emerged from Broken Flowers, I added five or so albums to Luna. Tears for Fears, The Ramones Box Set, Deep Forest, Goldfrapp and The Hustle and Flow OST. This morning was dark and hazy, Sowing the Seeds of Love, Shout and Everybody Wants to Rule the World were perfect anthems for the gloom. I arrived at work and saw that an ambulance was monopolizing the traffic circle space in front of the building, the fourth time the ambulance had come in as many days. I knew who it was there for.

On a shift two weeks ago, Mrs. Cowing, a 92 year old woman with a walker, sat in the lobby making small talk with me. We had a conversation that died out fairly quickly yet she remained in her chair, fiddling with her gloves. Before returning to her condo, she sat there for 30 minutes looking anxious about something. Later that evening, she came back down, stopped directly in front of the front desk and asked me if I would maybe like to have lunch with her at a country club before I left London. It was incredibly cute because she was clearly extremely nervous about asking me. When I consented she replied, “I can’t just let you walk out of life without saying goodbye.”

Since then, her condition has degraded drastically. Her ability to live independently is now lost. She has been falling and injuring herself frequently. She refuses paramedic help because of a fear of being placed in a primary care facility even though she needs it. It’s an awkward situation because this woman’s family no longer cares about her. This morning, a registered nurse convinced her to leave for the university hospital after another injury. I’ve never dealt with a situation like this before and it’s quite depressing. Two or three weeks ago she looked healthy and vigorous for someone that age. Now I think it’s a fairly safe bet that she’s not coming back… hmmm. Sad.

My first comment on your page (chronologically):

shygirLuv:
Well said. I like stepping back and contemplating how trivial most of the day to day issues of University students are. Whining about classes, work or relationships etc, when something like a third of the population of the earth is classified as hungry or starving.
10/6/2004 at 3:22 PM
-one of my first ever

wonderplum:
I’m not up to writing a response of the magnitute worthy of that post, but I did read it, quite the introduction :). I think loneliness and anonymitity are side effects of the toxic culture we live in. There’s no easy solution, we all suffer from it. I hate those little yappy dogs too, maybe you can eat it.
10/24/2004 at 8:43 PM
-at least two typos in there.

lizamae:
I hate how there is no more innocence in people my own age anymore.
10/30/2004 9:23 PM
-ha ha you didn’t like this.

beware_carebear: (pellows)
Maybe you can paint your power animal. 😉
10/31/2004 1:21 AM
-slide

kwasham:
Also an irritant.
11/18/2004 10:35 AM
-in regards to the effects of coffee

TheParkN8r:
Almost everything in that Homestarrunner cartoon was better than that line. You picked the worst part as your favorite? “The survey says… You’re an idiot!” (I am joking) I feel sorry for that cat.
11/20/2004 7:30 AM
-I was quoting Strongbad, I’m not mean like that.

Kalligenia:
How is a geo-cache different than a time capsule? You won nanoWrimo last year? Impressive.
11/26/2004 10:31 AM
-I miss all the geo-cache references.

Darksunder:
Happy Birthday! Cheers. Want to join a webring? It has only one member (me). I am trying to collect anime fans in their twenties.
11/27/2004 11:04 PM
-that webring is now dead

shadowed_perfections:
I like Belldandy.
12/11/2004 4:50 AM
-in regards to her goddess display picture.

LaniBanani:
These are popping up all over the place.
Movie: City of God
Book: Eye of The World – Robert Jordan (in my opinion the best of the fantasy
genre)
Music: The Notwist (nice and mellow)
Xangan: shadowed_perfections (she deserves the traffic)
Three Questions:
(1) What do you really hope to receive this Christmas?
(2) Do you read my page much?
(3) What colour best describes you?
12/22/2004 at 12:35 AM
-the “recommend things to me” survey. I provided unimaginative questions. This was at least the fourth one of these I had done though.

peaceofmymind84:
Down with caps! Rants are more fun to read, I never apologize on my site. Maybe just some self-deprecation.
1/11/2005 at 12:38 AM
-That doesn’t feel true. I think I have apologized.

reyrey12:
I wanted to poke the penguin so hard the finger goes through him. I wasn’t content with the little jabs. The game tapped into a well of hostility that I didn’t know was there.
1/19/2005 at 3:14 PM
-in regards to the penguin poking game

Cinnamongirl78:
It’s good to put an apostrophe in d’oh.
2/5/2005 11:37 PM
-worst one of the bunch.

coconutjules:
I like mens pants too.
3/5/2005 3:50 AM
-because I’m a man. Ha ha. Zing!

doraemon08:
Surprisingly, Jann Arden won the catchiness battle and nested in my head. Insensitive….
3/12/2005 at 12:23 AM
-I’m not even going to try and provide context here.

happyboogie:
It’s St.Joe now. I like that link even though I’m non-practicing. Agnostic, really.
3/19/2005 at 9:01 PM
-in regards to the Saint of the day.

Starry_Eyed_82:
I don’t get a bunny trail this year. if you don’t watch out these boots are going to walk all over you.
3/26/2005 at 12:54 AM
-this was on a post about count chocula.

This is one of those times when I come back to my page, read my last entry and ask myself, “Jiminy Crickets, what in blue blazes is wrong with me? Did I really write that drivel? The next time you’re feeling manic and unstable, maybe you had better keep the entry private for a bit before unleashing it.”  But then I think back to the entries I used to post for the first few months I had this xanga and figure, “I guess it’s ok to revisit my roots once and awhile.” Stephen King says a writer should cut 20% of everything he/she writes. You have to learn how to kill your babies. I don’t kill them though. I feed, obscure and/or elongate them. My page could probably benefit with some baby killing though.

Everywhere I turn I see subscription incest! Scandalous! I thought I was the center of the Universe. Me me me me. Why would anyone want to talk with other people?

I’m in London again, currently working afternoon shifts at my Security/Concierge job. Monday is my last day working here ever. It feels like circles from my London, Ontario/University student phase of life are closing. Let’s see. I’ll call them, “Friendship Circles”. No that’s no good. Perhaps, “Rings of Acquaintanceship”. Yeah. That sounds more dignified and pompous. Or maybe they’re more thread like. Then I could say, The final threads of London are weaving themselves through my quilt of life. More quaint and cozy with just a sprinkle of whimsy. Like sands through the hourglass, so are the days of my life. Ahh, I’m in the goofiest mood today.

My week-end had a disturbing vivid tinge. I’m sitting here, marveling at how so many oddities took place in just a short forty-eight hour span. Now life is back to the usual fuzzy regularness and at the moment I’m not feeling nostalgic at all.

However, last night, on my first shift back, I was touched to see an older gentleman express genuine disappointment that I’m leaving. I’ve been experiencing this repeating moment with various residents in the building. (twice more while I was writing this post, actually) I’ve touched more lives here than I thought. Later, picking up a pizza, a particularly gruff friend told me he wished more people were like me while his eyes were shining bright with moisture. Then Merle ruined the moment and weirded him out with one of her trademark Fatal Attraction moments. When she does this I feel like running for the hills…

…as the shining sun glints spectacularly off of my bright red and blue ass as it fades gently into the horizon…

…just like the August calendar monkey Mandrill.

I think that little bit of support for Fascism came through due to my frustration with the LTC busses always being late. I only gave the Mussolini question a weak no.

You scored as Socialist. Democrat 92% Socialist 92% Anarchism 92% Communism 75% Green 67% Fascism 33% Nazi 0% Republican 0% What Political Party Do Your Beliefs Put You In? created with QuizFarm.com

No one told me that lychee seeds were poisonous. If you eat the right amount of them though, the psychotropic effects are quite delightful.

P.S. I’m in Newton. I’ve learned that people from Boston don’t really come from Boston, they come from places like Newton, Waltham or Brookline. Just like people from Chicago really come from Palatine or Des Plaines.

My all-time favorite commercial was a fairly recent one for Kraft Dinner. A young man walks into an empty apartment prompting thoughts of, “Why is it completely empty? Was he robbed?” There’s a picture of him pinned to the wall with a fork. The picture is vandalized. His eyes are poked out and someone gave him devil horns. It’s now clear that this man’s girlfriend/wife has cleaned him out and left for good. Besides the mutilated picture, all that she left behind was his scruffy looking dog. So what does he do? Break down and cry? Wallow in self-pity and alcohol? No. He had a rough day and now he’s kind of hungry. Looks like she left some Kraft Dinner in the cupboard. But what to cook it in? He glances around the empty apartment and spies the dog’s water bowl. Perfect. He adds the instant KD and water, cooks it in the microwave, plucks the fork out of the wall and chows down. Then he smiles. Then I smile. Because I know what he must be thinking,  “Wow, she’s finally gone. Took all the stuff too. That’s a small price to pay to get that crazy she-demon out of my life though. This isn’t so bad. I’ve got my dog, a roof over my head, warm KD in my belly, and best of all, sweet sweet freedom. Life is good.”

I slept through a thunderstorm this morning. I would never have known except lighting hit the roof, jarring me out of fitful slumber. For this reason I remember a fragment of a dream. I was headed to a kennel to pickup my childhood family dog, Bear (a big, incredibly furry, beautiful husky/German sheppard). I walked into the kennel and noticed that, for some inexplicable reason, a log of what each dog had said overnight was written down on a gigantic whiteboard on the wall. So I looked at the list of dog names and noted what each one had said. Not surprisingly, all the dogs had said, “Ruff!”. Except for Bear. He was different. Written beside his name was, “Woof!”. Woof? Why was Bear the only Woof?

When I woke up the bed was empty and Merle was on a tear, cleaning the apartment. She was wearing my least favorite boxer shorts and a pink sports bra. I wanted no part of her this morning, so I grumpily ignored her, drank my coffee and read my novel. The main character’s girlfriend had just cleaned out his apartment and left forever and ever. After breakfast I went back to bed to do nothing and indulge in a fantasy of how I’d handle Merle taking all my stuff and fleeing into the sunset. I figure I’d go out to a dark bluesy dive somewhere. Do my best to look cute and lonely. Charming and forlorn. Ahhhhh…. probably not. More likely, if she didn’t take the TV and my Sega Saturn, I’d put on my pajamas and play a retro video game. Something from my childhood that’s nice and comforting. Bubble Bobble or Shining Force. Maybe I’d drink a beer too, I’d be happy. Sweet sweet freedom. Life would be good.

This is my last night shift ever. I’m going to swim in the pool.