I had a dream this morning that I was Bud Dwyer’s son. And I was phoning him the night before his final television appearance. I knew what he was planning to do and was doing my best to talk him out of it.

I, I live among the creatures of the night. I haven’t got the will to try and fight.  Another day, another 4-something-am. I just had a nice two hours of lying in the darkness rolling around. You know, if I was Tyler Durden, my Edward Norton would wake up each morning wondering how all his laundry and dishes were getting done because instead of setting up fight clubs, all my Brad Pitt does is clean. I’m living in the forest of my dream. I know the night is not as it would seem.

Maybe I’ll try making that tea. I know nothing of tea though. What’s caffeinated or what…. all right, found a pouch of sweet apple cider. Sounds soothing enough…. I shocked my grandparents (Nana and Papa!) this evening by phoning them. I’m rotten at keeping in contact with my family and am totally undeserving of the star status I enjoy within it. I called because I finally found out that I am officially graduating. (there was some concern due to a class I dropped first term blah blah blah) My grandpa was more excited when I told him that I was seriously considering getting back into hockey though. He still plays in hockey tournaments and seriously weightlifts. He’s in phenomenal shape. Nana informed me of the existence of cousins I never knew I had and all kinds of stuff only the matriarch would know. It was good to call. Now that I’m on a roll, maybe I’ll surprise some old friends this week too. (Yes, I consider one call a roll.)

Doesn’t tea ever cool down? My sensitive lips can’t handle this. I just tried to name all my first cousins and scored seven, maybe eight, out of eleven. Not too good. On the plus side, the tea is delicious. The soothing action, action, action probably isn’t working though. Maybe I’ll go scrub the tub. And by tub I mean penis. No I don’t. What is wrong with me. I need sleep, that’s what.

Insomnia is becoming a real problem. I suppose if I’m going to be up all night I might as well get some chores done. My thoughts are muddled and erratic. A coherent post isn’t in the cards tonight.

You know what else? Shangri-La Dee Da is the only STP album I don’t have or listen to. So, I never knew, but just found out there’s a song called Bi-Polar Bear on it. The quote I used references the pilot episode of The Tick. How’s that for a coincidence?

Sorry Mr. White, I opened my Christmas presents early again. Your new album is great though, raw, rhythmic and fun. Some of the songs remind me of the stranger material Paul McCartney did on Abbey Road and Let It Be.

Coming off a nightshift. It’s after 3am. Insomnia. Polka dot pants and a bright red Kansas City Chief t-shirt. Trying to break out of a bad funk with some of the good kind. I want some coffee. But its too late. I still don’t know if I’m graduating in 28 days or not. blah blah blah.

Caffeine withdrawal headache. A dull little ache that starts at the back of my eye, travels an inch back and extends two more inches upwards. A neural triangle of annoyance. Insomnia. Insomnia. No sleeping pill tonight cause at 7am I have to walk to work for an all-staff meeting. One of the guards is unhappy with the new schedule. I think he might have a proposal that cuts my hours since it’s no secret I’m leaving in a couple months. Maybe I’ll just have a mega huge coffee before bed. The old caffeine nap trick. That’ll solve my headache and as a bonus, the caffeine and lack of sleep will ensure I’ll be easily agitated for the meeting. “I’m out of order? NO, YOU’RE OUT OF ORDER!” I hope we’re all around a table, so I can bang it with my fist for emphasis.

A trillion things to do and be done to me tomorrow. I’m off this week-end. (That sounds way more exciting than reality.)

Living alone is something I recommend every person does at least once in life for self-discovery purposes. I’m starting to sour on it now though. Uncertainty in various aspects of my near future weigh heavy. If I knew I was staying in London past August, I think I’d find a roommate. Right now, I’m Merle’s little bird in an expensive single bedroom cage.

“This sounds like a job for Bi-Polar Bear! …but I just can’t seem to get out of bed this month.”

Felt pretty spiffy tonight. I talked to a very old friend for the first time in a few months and had a meaningful conversation, not just crummy chit chat. Went for a most excellent run (fastest time yet, maybe ever!) and I surrendered to a fierce Stone Temple Pilot craving.

STP’s probably my favorite band. They may not have been as innovative as Nirvana or Pearl Jam but I like their sound better. And that’s all that really matters. Between 1993 and 98 is when my interest in music exploded. My first purchase was NIN – Broken because I had seen my black lipstick, knee high boot wearing crush with a copy at school. After I started to listen to campus radio, my perspectives and tastes broadened. They have shows featuring a lot of indie rock, world music, country, 80s independent, funk, punk, underground rap, electronica, dance techno, retro, hip hop, soul, blues and more! Still grunge was my first love and STP is my special sweetheart. Scott Weiland’s sweet, deep, coked-out voice is perfect. The songs are so smooth and rich, not irritatingly catchy or rushed. Excellent stuff.

So after that I was in the mood for, and listened to, The Crow soundtrack on the walk to work. And then I had a naked sauna in the men’s locker room at midnight. While I was in there, sweating a ton, slathering the place with my DNA, I realized I forgot to stretch after my run so I did it all sweaty naked in there. Then I had a cool shower and had no towel so I had to creatively shake off all the water afterwards. Heeheehee.

Rundown. Tired. Washed out. It rained all day. During my walk to work it was thunder storming. Given my crummy mood, I didn’t mind, it was cathartic. I feel better when it rains on work nights. I don’t feel like I’m missing out on life as much.

While I walked to work through the storm, I listened to a lecture on Brahmin Hinduism, something I had previously enjoyed learning about in a World Religions course. I like to envision Brahmin as the giant bulbous, writhing mass of flesh that Tetsuo morphs into at the end of Akira. Except it’s yellow. And we’re all illusionary projections of tentacles.

So I was grappling with how cause and effect relationships work when Brahmin is everything and all objects are Brahmin, when a giant spidering lightning bolt flashed lengthwise overhead and lit up the night sky. At this point, focusing on the lecture became an impossibility. I put on some punk music and recalled in vivid detail the following five moments in which I was either inside an object struck by lightning or right beside it:

(1) 13 years old. On route to a family cabin in Northern Saskatchewan, riding in the back of a 1979 green Cadillac as my grandfather drove through the prairies. The landscape was flat and the car was hit.

(2) 17 years old. In a Fat Cats pool hall playing eight ball with a good friend. An extremely loud reverberating crack shook the place as the power went out. I was amazed that lightning or electricity could make that sound. It was like a god dropped his giant wooden mallet right on the roof. Really violent. If you are in a place that is struck by lightning, there is no mistaking it. You just know. The waitress brought us candles to play by after the strike. Fun.

(3) 17 years old still. At home, making a sandwich in the kitchen by the window, getting wet from the rain blowing in. The branches of our giant cedar tree were smacking into the screen window cover. I was watching this as lightning struck the tree less than 10 meters away and left scorch marks in my vision for days. The tree splintered violently and was subsequently cut down.

(4) 18 years old. Inside the clubhouse at Chapples golf course. Same deal as Fat Cats.

(5) 21 years old. Third and top floor apartment of Beaver Hall. Sleeping with Mango and Merle at around 4am. I was so disoriented after the strike that I actually pushed Merle out of bed and told her to stay away from the wall because I thought the ten story building (Bayfield Hall) across the road was collapsing down upon us. Poor Mango hid under my cushy chair and crawled up inside of it as the power went out and emergency alarms stared blaring.

So on the walk, I was genuinely concerned. I thought my iPod Luna may have been malfunctioning due to the electricity of the storm. The volume kept oscillating high to low and low to high even though the hold switch was flipped. Also the street I walk down is lined with giant oak trees and the lightning seemed very close.

Yada yada yada I made it to work ok but soaking wet. I dried off in the exercise room, sitting on a gigantic purple ball, watching my all-time favorite Futurama episode, Parasites Lost. The End.

It’s thunderstorming. An enjoyable experience because I’m on campus, typing right next to large floor to ceiling windows. A perfect view of the storm and scurrying students. I feel better when it rains on work nights. I don’t feel like I’m missing out on life as much.

Things of mine keep breaking. The latest was my pc soundcard. Just another setback amongst many. I’m really batting 1.000 lately. I’m trying to stay optimistic but it’s becoming difficult.

I don’t even really like this song. It’s just the best title on the album. Fitting springtime rain music I suppose.

2025 me here: Did I just forget to mention the song I referenced?

Today was a total fiasco that I’m not in the mood to rehash here. However, I experienced some redemption and relief tonight. Now I feel much better. I’ll probably have insomnia again though.

You know, weightlifting is a boring pain in the ass, but I really love running. And I had a fantastic run tonight. It was my fifth of the summer and the fastest time by 72 seconds. I knew it was going to be a good one cause I felt great and was looking forward to it. It was the perfect time and temperature, 10:30pm and 8 degrees Celsius. Dark and cool, baby. Just like me. I was bursting with energy from my dinner of Red Snapper, perogies and broccoli. Yum yum. For music, I listened to the best of 1992, a fine vintage of musical pop.

Music has such a huge effect on how well I run. When a good song comes on, I relax, my stride lengthens, endorphins release chemical ecstasy and I push hard and strong. It doesn’t have to be a really fast song either; I just have to feel it. It can be a little slower as long as it’s melodic with a great beat. Tonight my favorite was Wreckx ‘n’ Effect – Rump Shaker.

When I got home to take off my stylin’ two-hue, black and silver running outfit and appropriately coordinated shoes, I noticed that the white strip that runs along the bottom of each shoe was all bloody on the heel. Then I noticed my calves were bleeding profusely from about halfway up. An odd occurrence since I felt no pain as I ran. I guess my stride needs some work. Or some new shoes. Now that I’ve got my flanks washed and cleaned, there are two little hairless red spots standing out from my otherwise hairy legs. They’re like little bizzare tattoos. Oh well.

For the authentic Ancient Undergrad 1992 workout these are the tracks you need. The amount of time and extraordinary effort that went into painstakingly selecting these tracks is embarrassing. (I’ve done it right from 1976 to 2002.):

Sir Mix A Lot – Baby Got Back
Kris Kross – Jump
Wreckx ‘n’ Effect – Rump Shaker
En Vogue – My Lovin’
House Of Pain – Jump Around
Right Said Fred – I’m Too Sexy
Cece Peniston – Finally
Kws – Please Don’t Go
Technotronic – Move This
Shakespeare’s Sister – Stay
U2 – Mysterious Ways
Red Hot Chilli Peppers – Under The Bridge
Nirvana – Smells Like Teen Spirit
The Cure – Friday I’m In Love

Took an extra strength sleeping pill to trick my system into shifting to daylight normalcy tomorrow. Let’s see if I can write something half decent before my head lolls onto my shoulder, mouth agape. I already feel heavy eye lids and dizziness. The power of placebo! I doubt my body is assimilating it already.

Why don’t I like Rescue Rangers? Well, before my VHS horror movie phase, I used to always run to the Disney section of Village Video to pick out one of the compilation videos made up of old toons, mostly from the 50’s. Donald Duck, Goofy, Chip ‘n Dale, maybe Mickey Mouse. The old Goofy toons are great but I think Donald Duck was my favorite. Specifically, the one where he is playing hockey with his nephews on the outdoor pond. Or the one where he is trying to steal honey from a big honey bee nest that’s like a medieval castle. Yeah. That one’s the best. Still some of those Donald Duck cartoons with Chip n’ Dale were superb too. Dale was the stupid one, but Chip wasn’t all that bright either. He was kind of sadistic in his revenge towards Donald though. I don’t think I liked that.

Anyway, I liked Chip n’ Dale much better when all they were worrying about was collecting nuts and guarding their tree. When Disney made it into an after school adventure sitcom, they lost all credibility with me. Even though I was only eleven or so, I knew they were selling out. They dressed Chip as an Indiana Jones clone and put him in charge. They gave Dale this gaudy, red Hawaiian shirt and a mentality that was ripped right from Weekend at Bernie’s. Then they throw in fat Australian chipmunk stereotype, “Monty”, and Gadget, a female know-it-all chipmunk with a voice that could pierce metal. And then there was that green bug mascot who I hated most of all. Fuck, I wanted him to die.

So, yeah, it was lame. Not funny at all. Boring. If I wanted to see that type of show, Inspector Gadget did it much better. Also, I don’t like how Chip n’ Dale moved from their forest wildlife habitat and into the city. It’s a shift away from ecological wisdom and movement into urban dystopia. Out of the Disney half hour shows, Gummi Bears was my favorite. There were all kinds of darker themes lurking just beneath the surface.

Look, no genitalia!