Welcome to a very special Canada Day post.

My dad has a story that he absolutely loves to tell about me. It’s probably his favorite because he gets to be the hero and it shows how much of a pain in the ass kids can be sometimes. It just so happens that today is the five year anniversary of this little adventure.

During the summer of 2000, I was planning a trip to go see Merle in Boston. At the time I was working in the major paper mill at Thunder Bay. It was 4 days on, 4 days off, shift work so I was able to trade with another student to get eight consecutive days off. I asked my dad if I could take our Jeep for the trip. He was reluctant but agreed to let me have it.

So I started out on the 25 hour trip, I had planned to drive to London, stay the night at my empty-for-the-summer apartment and drive the rest of the way the next day. It was all going well, I went around the north shore of lake Superior, crossed the border at Ste. Sault Marie and headed south to Detroit on Interstate 90. On I-90 I noticed everyone was going really fast. Everyone. Much faster than the 110 km/h that my dad recommended as my speed ceiling. So I sped up to 130 km/h (about 80 mi/h) to match everyone. Apparently the little Jeep couldn’t handle this and something broke. I was in the middle of the busy four lane Interstate when I noticed that I was suddenly coasting. Pushing the gas did nothing. So with panicked clarity, I escaped by drifting over to an exit ramp. Since I was coasting, I only had enough momentum to get halfway up the exit ramp. I parked it with two wheels up over the curb and got out.

Where did I break down? Why was the Interstate a busy four lanes? Because I was in Detroit. I supposed it’s a pretty good city for your car to break down in, but I could think of better places to be randomly be stranded on a Saturday night.

I tried and failed to get the Jeep moving. So I got out and walked with just my wallet to check out the neighborhood. The buildings were all pretty run down, it looked kind of like an old industrial area. It was near an exit ramp though and I was lucky to find a hotel a few blocks away. I phoned home just as my parents were about to head out and watch the fireworks to inform them that their little boy was stranded all alone in Detroit.

I described what happened and my daddy, the mechanic, suggested shifting the jeep into 4-low mode and see if it would move then. It did, but no faster than about 10km/hr. I got it to the hotel though. I stayed at the hotel and phoned Merle to get her panicking too. On Sunday morning I phoned about 50 garages before I located one that would take the Jeep (the mechanic, “Bob”, was actually out fishing but forwarded his calls out to his cell phone on the boat.) So I drove the Jeep to this really shitty looking run down garage, parked it in the driveway, slid the keys under the door and caught a taxi to the Greyhound station. I then took a bus to Boston leaving the Jeep behind. (It’s Pa and Bob’s problem now hehhehehe.)

So I had my vacation in Boston and took another Greyhound bus back to Detroit. (I was scheduled to arrive there at 3am.) Here is the sketchy part I’ve never told my parents, I got to the Detroit Greyhound station at 3am or so and went out to the cab area. A very large and intimidating black guy grabbed three of us off the bus and herded us into his cab. We all told him where we were going and he dropped the first two off. He headed out to where I was going and it took a long time. We had agreed on a fare of twenty bucks before hand and the longer we drove, the more he wanted. He said he wouldn’t go any further for fifty. I told him all I had was thirty (a lie), we argued, eventually he grunted and continued on in nasty silence.

When we finally got to the garage, I saw the Jeep and my heart lept with joy. I got out my wallet to pay the cab driver and he put the light on, trying very hard to see how much money I actually had (a lot). I hid it from his prying eyes, took out thirty and escaped.

I drove back 12 hours straight to Thunder Bay after 18 or so on the bus and had to work the next day. My dad was charged $2000 for a new Jeep transfer case and labour. My mom conviced him that since I was hard working student I didn’t need to pay them back. The End.

Home. Tired. Just got off my last of a block of nightshifts. Don’t have to do one for at least two weeks. I put MuchMusic on for white noise but it grabs my attention anyway. The videos permeate through well in this sleep deprived vegetative state. There’s one on right now with the chorus, “I remember the time you left for Santa Monica”. I like Local H’s, “No More California Songs” better. The Black Rebel Motorcycle Club has a new album out. So excited when I saw this cause their 2003 album,” Take Them On, On Your Own.” is one of my all-time favorites. I was disappointed with the new one though. They mellowed out and found Jesus or something. It’s ok I suppose but it’s stock emo rock just like hundreds of other indie bands do. Not raw, dark and bluesy anymore. The new, New Pornographers album is kind of a let down too.

I like in Grand Theft Auto San Andreas how you can set and play your own music. I’ve got twenty new rap albums that play on random. My neighbors probably aren’t as happy with that as I am cause I’ve been coming home at 7am after my nightshifts and blasting gangster rap and GTA sounds.  I like the fact that you have to play a black character even if he is a bit of a negative stereotype. I gave my guy a pink Mohawk to accentuate his red tinted shades. He struts around without a shirt because I’ve tattooed him as much as possible and maxed out his muscles at the gym. He’s wears his gangster green colors with track pants and green low tops. And he’s got a big ass Los Santos chain too. He’s the shit.

Ahhh I want to sleep but this little hot box apartment is unbearable. I haven’t been sleeping so well in this heat. I should have invested in some of those high power industrial strength fans five years ago. It’s an unjustifiable expense at this point. I’ll be moving out in 2 months heading out to parts unknown, forced to sell a bunch of stuff at rock bottom prices. IF anyone wants to buy some Ancient Undergrad memorabilia let me know.

Since I’m still waiting on my graduation photos, here are some random pictures that I took with my new camera.  Hopefully I don’t exceed the bandwidth limit on village photos.

It’s always a party on my scanner.

My exciting plants.

Maitland river mallards.

The metal greyhounds that keep me company on lonely nightshifts.

Taken from my Bayfield Hall balcony, Beaver Hall. I used to live there. This random image post was inspired by TheParkN8r.

2025 me here: Wish I still knew where these photos were.

I find the girl on the cover of the new Adbusters magazine to be very attractive. The format of this months magazine is a half and half split like they do to Mangas sometimes. Flipping it upside down is like switching to a whole different magazine. Half of the pages are oriented one way, the other half are inverted the other way, so it is like two separate magazines with two different covers meeting in the center. On the back cover is a young guy looking out the window of an old retro school bus with dull orange bench seats and that typical grey-green school bus interior paint. The day is sunny and the cover is bright. On the front cover is a young woman with dark hair and long black bangs almost in her eyes riding in the interior of a very plush looking bus. She has her knees up on the seat in front of her and a cell phone in her hand. It is much darker. Both people are sitting alone and gazing out the window, eyes glazed, lost in thought. I think the guy represents a slower paced natural life, family based, globally aware etc. He is the good one.  The dark girl represents the modern kid, TV reared, consumer oriented and all the other things Adbusters pounds on monthly. They should have chosen a different representative though. She’s looks too cute and intelligent for the dark side. Maybe I’m just a sucker for that spaced-out, introspective look. I’m probably missing the point, I haven’t started to read it yet, just a quick skim.

In regards to The Chocolate Cat Caper, I was being a sarcastic ass. Which never comes out well in writing because no one gets to see the mischievous grin and slyly cocked eyebrow. If I inspired anyone to actually pick it up, I offer my deep and solemn apology. It is the worst book I’ve ever attempted to read. Have you ever picked up a book that was written so terribly that it blows your mind? A book you can’t believe actually made it through a publishing house and was sold in bookstores. A book so bad that you think, I could pull something better than this out of my untalented, inexperienced ass. *sigh* Again with the ass.

There is a small library at my workplace that I occasionally take books from. Pickings are slim, it’s clearly a collection of castaways from the residents. There are some occasional good ones though. Puzo’s The Godfather. Billy Bathgate. The Romantic by Barbara Gowdy. Angela’s Ashes by Frank McCourt. The Stephen King, John Grisham and Ken Follet stuff are quick and fun reads too though. Anyway, a while back I grabbed The Chocolate Cat Caper. I like Chocolate. I like cats. And who doesn’t love a good caper, right? So I stuck it out for a few chapters. I can’t exactly remember what I found so infuriating about it but I do recall that the vocabulary was simplistic and unbelievable, the dialogue was awkward and worst of all, it was boring. Just plain all-around bad writing.

But you know what? It was probably published because there is a market for Chocolate Cat Capers. Out of the hundreds of books there I actually picked it up and I seriously doubt I’m the target demographic. In our library, it was sitting on the shelf next to a book about a detective cat who solves crime. People love books with anthropomorphic cats.

You know I think my Xanga page jumped the shark with my owl post. Lately I haven’t been feeling all that into it. It’s because of the summer weather. You know what I thought when I saw the crowds of people outside the Michael Jackson trial a week or two ago? Nothing really deep about MJ, more along the lines of, “Whoa, look at how many overweight and obese people there are there! How could people living in a warm climate like California let themselves go like that?”. The perspective of a northern Canadian I suppose. You’ve got seize the two weeks of summer with gusto while it’s here! Get outside, run around, do stuff. and so forth. I’ve been making any little excuse to get outside as much as possible. My farmer’s tan is quite prominent.

My apartment is getting so messy because it’s too hot to move around much. I’ve just been throwing stuff anywhere. My bowl chair is half full of clothes. My plants are looking grim. Ehhh I guess it’s not that messy. Summer laziness.

You know what’s a good movie? War of the Roses. This is probably a top ten favorite movie of all-time and a top five comedy. Except I don’t really regard it as a comedy, more as a prophetic vision of what my future in 20 years will be like if I stay with Merle. There is no way that we will quietly go our separate ways. The only way our relationship can end will be in an earth-shaking, cataclysmic event, scorching the earth and leaving a big ugly crater. Merle, who is terrified that I’ll move to Thunder Bay and has offered to pay my rent in her parents house if I move to Boston in September. And I’m considering it because I know I would land a job there and I like Boston. But Merle would have me and I would be perpetually uncomfortable in that house. Her family likes me but is starting to get annoyed that I haven’t proposed yet. I know because her dad wants to give me the “why haven’t you married my daughter yet speech”. So, I would have that to look forward to. They’ll try and teach me French too because, “A Canadian who can’t speak French, such a shame.” Bleah. This was so much more articulate in my head. What right do I have to criticize Joanna Carl.

No time for Xanga posting today because I’m enjoying my book way too much.

I think I got him. Not so sure though. I don’t know what’s sadder, a movie starring that guy or the fact that I went out of my to take his picture.

2025 me here: Looks like I didn’t do a great job saving my photos from pre-2011. Too bad. I forgot I took a stealth, grainy photo of this on my way to work.

Ehhh. I feel about as enthusiastic as a dust bunny. Which is what the first thing I saw to complete my simile as my head slowly lolled over onto my shoulder.  Bleah. The naming of the owl? What was the Owl’s name in the Secret of NIMH. let me look it up. It’s just the great owl. Well that doesn’t work. umm. How about the Owl in ahhh what other movie is an owl in? I’m not using Hedwick. Archimedes? From the Sword in the Stone. mmm. too many syllables. Maybe a Greek name. Or an Egyptian name. Horace. My owls name is Horace. There. Done. Horace the eater of pigeons.

My day was spent doing two things. (1) Playing Grand Theft Auto San Andreas (2) Sending out resumes and cover letters.  Yup. Pretty lame. Lame day, lame post. I’m stagnating.

All right. Enough of the random image posts, my apologies.

I graduated Thursday during an afternoon ceremony. Merle, my parents and grandmother attended. Food was eaten. Alcohol was drunk. Gifts were given. A million pictures were taken. A good time was had by all. That glossed over a lot but yeah. Hooray for me, I’m no longer a student, just an boneless mass of graduate goo. Lately, it has been hard to keep panic from creeping in over my job situation. I haven’t heard back from any companies yet and my semi-self-imposed deadline to find a job of August 30th is closing in. But that is boring and worrisome and always on my mind. So something else.

Today, as I was skating through campus on my way to work, I noticed a big row of trucks and trailers lined up beside the Physics and Astronomy building. People with plastic I.D. cards were scurrying about, crowds of people were standing around, and there were uniformed officers beside the Natural Science building, guarding it apparently.

So I was skating on the sidewalk, past the row of trailers, moving pretty fast and dodging little stands and equipment when a woman with an I.D. card around her neck jumped in front of me, barring the way. She announced importantly, “You can’t go this way, we’re filming a MOVIE.” She said movie just like that too, all in caps. So I said, “OK”, and started to head around the area where I thought they were filming. She chased me down to say, “No. You can’t go that way either.” So I backtrack a little and try to go down another road. I’m grabbed by another handler and she makes a crowd of us lowly academics wait until the director is done yelling stuff before we can move through our campus. What a pain in the ass.

So, I make it in to work and check with excitement to see what big movie stars are in the film. The big name? Zachery Ty Bryan. Who the hell is that? 

Yeah, him. Brad from Home Improvement. What a fucking disappointment. Held up for a movie starring Tim Taylor’s oldest son and that hideous mushroom hair. 

So they’re trying to make UWO look like WestPoint Academy. Well, I’m off tomorrow with nothing better to do and it just so happens I got a spiffy new high tech digital camera as one of my graduation gifts so… Maybe I can sell some Zach pics to Teen Beat or something. (Or at least post and make fun of them here.)

2025 me here: I removed a couple missing pictures and broken links. Pretty sure this movie was 2005’s Code Breakers about a Football cheating scandal at WestPoint Academy.

2025 me here: There was a missing picture link here. Maybe a reference to the original Fly movie?

Help Meee! Help Meeeeeeeeee!

Since I’m going to have visitors for my graduation this week and we might want to use my balcony, I decided to reclaim it from the pigeons.

Last summer they laid eggs in my plants and since everyone should leave as small an ecological footprint as possible, I let the pigeons do their thing, nest building, egg sitting and young raising. But now I’ve had enough. It’s my balcony, not theirs. I’m tired of the cooing and sexual moaning at 6am and the covering of everything with unhealthy excrement. They’ve got to go.

So, after scaring away three pigeons with angry yelling and arm flailing, I surveyed the situation and was thoroughly disgusted. There were dried streaks of white shit on everything. I grabbed some garbage bags and threw out all my old plant paraphernalia, soil, pots, tinfoil pans etc. Then I cleaned and brought the stuff that I wanted to keep inside. Then I swept for a good hour, ruining my broom and getting a blister in the process. I noticed the pigeons were watching me work from the roof about twenty feet away. After I finished sweeping, I went inside to fill a bucket with hot water and Mr. Clean. When I returned, two of the pigeons were back, perched on the railing. So, I nonchalantly grabbed the broom and slowly inched over towards them without making eye contact. When I figured I was within striking distance, I jabbed the broom handle at them with a lightning quick stab, YAA!  They’re lucky I was just trying to scare them away and not kill them because I hit the rail with a loud crack before they were able to scramble and take off. So then I mopped the deck, the walls, everything. No more guano. It took another hour, now it’s clean and beautiful out there.

Now I want it to stay nice and clean of course and on this subject I received some sage wisdom from Charles Bronson. (2025 me here: Wish I remembered the missing quote. I still remember how gross that balcony was though). Sorry, Chuck that’s a little too nutty and violent for me. So, I traveled to Canadian Tire to buy a hunting owl decoy to scare them away. They didn’t have any so I ended up getting a more cartoony looking garden owl. I asked the cashier if she thought it would scare away the pigeons, she just laughed. No help there. I got a second opinion while riding in the elevator with some guy I’ve never seen before. I took the owl out of my packsack, shook it at him menacingly, and asked if he thought it would work. He laughed too and thinks no, that it’s not realistic enough looking. Well we’ll see.

You’re supposed to fill it with sand but I used pennies instead. Then I built a rudimentary four foot perch for him. I figure he needs a name. Something that captures his determination to grimly supervise my balcony with his wise, unblinking, malice filled eyes. Deathwatch? I’m not too happy with that, I think I’m ripping off a Marvel character. Oh well. Name suggestions are welcome.

Before I placed him out there, I made sure the pigeons weren’t looking because I don’t want them to see me handling him. Then I snuck him out there. And you know what? It works! I saw a pigeon come swooping in on an angle towards my balcony, he was about ten feet away and then panicked in midair, flapping furiously to perform an awkward reversal and fly back to where he came from! It was hilarious! One of the most satisfying things I’ve ever seen. Two more pigeons followed and they both bailed too, pulling up and heading for the tenth floor instead! And they’re staying away! Haha!!!

fear me

2025 me here: there was a broken link here. It might have been a pic of me and the the glorious owl.