At work.

I wasn’t looking forward to today, a tedious twelve hour dayshift. I went and hid in the break room immediately after taking over for the very haggard looking night guard. We’re supposed to be available at the front lobby desk as much as possible. I like to roam and hide though. When I tell residents that I’m quitting soon, they’re genuinely disappointed. Elusiveness is part of my appeal. Sighting me at the front desk is like spotting a rare…. black handed spider monkey. Which are the July calendar monkeys. But I can’t relate to these ones. Ugly, compared to the super cute mustached Tamarin who was yelling on the tree stump during June. There are two and they look like they bite. One is standing over another who is on his hands and knees. The standing monkey is gripping the shoulders of the kneeling one, gently guiding him down for what just very well might be fellatio. Or he could be holding him back from another monkey off camera, who just insulted him, “Let it go man, he’s not worth it.”

So anyway, I was down in the break room eating my donuts and listening to CBC radio when Seu Jorge’s version of Life on Mars came on. It was a nice way to start the shift. Mellow and rhythmic. I loved the Life Aquatic. Well, I loved the atmosphere of it, and that was enough. The music Wes Anderson chooses is excellent at adding emotional depth, a mixture of sweet and sad melodies. A minor spoiler follows (my favorite scene), where Zissou says to the interns, “Well, I’m not failing you. But you all get incompletes.”, after they all went though hell on his boat. I burst out laughing in the theater because he seemed to be seriously evaluating them, but you just know he didn’t give a rat’s ass about academia, he was just being mean for kicks. The line about being the leader of B team was good too. I have a Biology degree not just computer science. Maybe I should be looking for a job in Costa Rica or the Galapagos.

I hate TV. Mostly because of the commercials. I wish cable wasn’t integrated into rent here. While watching, I feel my soul drain out my left ear. It’s nice and warm just like water that comes out at night after swimming all day. It’s near impossible to form a complex or creative thought with this garbage on, too easy to vegetate. Fucking puns.

The July monkeys are a pair of black handed spider monkeys. Ugly, compared to the supercute mustached Tamarin who was yelling on the tree stump during June. They look like they bite. My Xanga sucks. Why does anyone comment here.

There are way too many students in the UCC right now that have skin the same pigment as a half ripened tomato. It’s absolutely comical. It’s the shade of red that comes after a week-end of tanning when you were fairly white before. 9-5 office working, holiday week-end tan guys. I shouldn’t make fun, this will probably be me in a year.

This place is packed again. I bought three donuts and a large coffee loaded with more sugar and creme. Beside me is a girl in a teal shirt having a lunch of strawberries, carrots, crackers and bottled water. She was alone until a tomato friend came over and sat down with her. And you know what he said? “You’re looking nice and tanned”. ha! Ha!!! She looks normal. You look like a lobster, I’m having considerable difficulty not staring at you. Your bright face has pushed all thought out of my head.

I’m at the University Community Center finishing breakfast at 1:30pm and I’m grateful that my student wireless access hasn’t been cut off yet. This place is pretty busy. The conversations that waft over are irritating. 80 averages. Internships. Grad school. Miscellaneous courses. Boring. I still look like I belong, probably couldn’t pass for an undergrad anymore though, maybe an unshaven philosophy grad, definitely not computer science. Well I gave my two month lease termination notice on the way over here. Whether I like it or not, I won’t feel like a student for much longer, even if I do still roll out of bed at 11. … and I just had a boring student conversation myself. Graduation. Career searching. Job opportunities in California and Vancouver…

Merle and I are fighting worse than normal (which is intermittent spurts of spectacular badness). Stress and uncertainty erode patience. She still hasn’t landed a teaching position for the fall, although has an interview with a Cambridge school this week. I hate how my autonomy is threatened by unemployment. It’s impossible to objectively evaluate our relationship under these circumstances. Yeah we’ve been together for a long time. With the exception of the first few months it has always been a rollercoaster. But just like Brian Shelby says, there’s no sweet without the sour right? The physical distance between us has kept us together. (ooh how profound!). It would have exploded long ago had we not had the buffer. All it takes is some time together to build resolve to escape. Merle Merle Merle.

…After re-reading my last post, I’ve come to the conclusion that I mangled the story. Dad does a much finer job with it, more effectively digging deep to evoke sympathy, really emphasizing how I ruined their night of fireworks, and what it’s like to be at the mercy of a mechanic a thousand miles away. For extra drama, I also should have thrown in that in Thunder Bay, the NBC, CBS and ABC affiliates are all carried in from Detroit. So growing up we were always exposed to news at 11 teasers about the nightly multiple homicide, drug bust gone horribly wrong or some other random violent horror story.

2025 me: As usual, the images that used to be here, are lost, sorry.

Here’s a Canadian goose enjoying Canada Day week-end.

And some shoes hanging from a telephone wire. I’ll stop being lazy and return comments later.

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.