HNT - Swan Song

Alright people, it's been fun. I've ridden the HNT bandwagon for long enough. It has been a swell ride that has challenged my self photography skills (giggle).

But the blog goes on, and though I'm giving up a big weekly boost in traffic, I feel that my participation has run its course.

(Okay, I may occasionally participate but only if I get inspired.)

So for my swan song, I am going to put up the photo that I posted once before, for 24 hours.

After that story I told last week, this seems like nothing in comparison.

Enjoy and Happy HNT!

(And by the way, I am holding the camera and taking the shot into the mirror.)

What the f...

I reached into the pantry for a late night snack - Nature Valley Sweet and Salty Peanut Bars. I like these because they remind me of Payday candy bars which aren't sold here. Anyway, what I pulled out was a tube of Blistex. What the f$%k? I found it so strange, how did a tube of Blistex get into our box of granola bars? I took the box out to look inside. All was normal. Didn't make sense, I didn't buy any Blistex, spouse doesn't use lip balm, weird!

And then I read the box.



Forgive me for saying so, but thank you for not putting bathroom products in my foodstuffs.

What marketing moron thought this up!?

Mesh and conflict

Here's the backyard.


Now that we have the two thousand dollar storage house, Spouse is not at all happy with the existing patio furniture. We bought that banquet table for fifty bucks for our wedding reception (which was held in our huge loft, now gone from our possession) and which served us well as the cake table. While I'm at it, here is a picture of the cake.

Have I ever told the story of how Em and I made our wedding cake for the wedding? Another day perhaps, just know this: Pay someone! Anyway, back to my thirftiness, (see the wedding cake digression works) when we moved into this place with a real backyard, I suggested we use that table in the backyard. And so we have, it's durable, it cleans up easily, okay it's a little plain and possibly homely, but does the job for up to six people.

Spouse claims that a table with an umbrella is necessary so that the tenants upstairs cannot see us when we are eating outside. (????whatthehellishetalkingabout????)

It is this kind of logic I am not equipped to successfully argue against. There is some quality of "being watched" that spouse doesn't like, and if I pooh-pooh that, we get nowhere. So I bargain for time.

"Can we just muddle through one more summer with this one, and get one half price at the end of the season this year."

He stops to think about it and then starts with the whiny Nooooooo. "You decide everything." Pouty. (Working me.)

And then I add that an air conditioner was going to be the next purchase as we had previously discussed. Cat furball noises and rolling of the eyes greet my comment. (He doesn't agree.)

And this is where we are so amazingly different. I would much rather spend money on an air conditioner than a patio table. It charms me how we are, how we mesh and conflict. Happiness.

Peppertree Park part 4 (final)

Part 3 2 1

Warning: graphic gay sexual scenes

Once in the car, Gary kept an eye out for anyone who may have noticed him picking up the boy, especially the police. He asked Eric his age and where he went to school as he checked the rearview mirror and nervously drove into a nearby housing development. Eric answered his questions and asked the same of Gary. Gary took Eric's hand and placed it into his lap where Eric could feel Gary's excitement. Eric had a sinking feeling about it all (Where is he taking me!!!) but continued ignoring it, his quest for this knowledge too strong for him to deny.

Gary stopped at a new park created in a just finished neighborhood. Some homes still didn't have grass yet. There was no one in this park as they drove up and parked. Gary and Eric got out of the car and headed for the restroom located in the middle of a large field of grass. And again their hearts beat faster, and the anticipation rose and then they were there, inside, tearing open shirts, and kissing.

Eric had never kissed a man and wasn't sure he liked it. His interest in this whole affair was really to check out other male sexual organs, and he was already freaked out about how MUCH he realized he wanted to check them out. So the kissing wasn't really fun, it felt like kissing his father, and he tried to give his attention to Gary's (really big) penis. And then things got worse.

Gary, excited as hell about the boy, was thrilled to see him move down there. As Eric took it in his hands and shyly touched it with his mouth, Gary thought he would explode right there. Then Gary's instinct took over and he put his hand behind the boy's head to guide him.

Yes, Eric was blowing Gary.

In his excitement, Gary pushed harder, faster and more furiously with his hand. Didn't he notice Eric's repeated gagging? He couldn't see the gag-induced tears streaming down Eric's face and really just got caught up in his own orgasm which he let fly while he banged Eric's face into his crotch so brutally. Eric gagged and choked and sputtered as they separated, Gary's cum dripping off his chin onto his shirt. When Gary saw the boy like this, shame flew into him as fast as his his lust had. He went to get some toilet paper from the stall and wiped himself and handed a wad of it to Eric.

"I've really got to go, thanks and see you around." Gary said and left, taking with him a big chunk of Eric's innocence.

And now we have the shot panning away from Eric, dirty and orgasmless, wiping himself up. We see Eric leave the building and walk across the park grass in the direction of his home. The camera rises into the sky until the park is a wee patch of green in a sea of city. "You Can't Always Get What You Want" plays. The final line appears on the screen: Eric never went back to Peppertree Park.

***********

Okay so yeah, maybe that last part there is a way of distancing myself from all of this. Jesus H Christ on a stick, but that was more than I had bargained for when I started writing that. This befalls me often, this not thinking things through stuff. You know I love reading Farmboyz tales of seedy excursions. His power with the pen makes everything seem beautiful (for there truly is beauty in everything) and I wanted to try my hand at it. I thought about this story because of the amazing excitement of discovery, but once I started really getting into it, I realized that that event had a lot more to it, much of which I haven't even thought about for a long time. So, what I thought was going to be a story about discovery was really a story of rape, go figure. And then I discovered that I have some shit deep down, issues if you will, with this. (And I don't have a therapist, but if I did, I'm sure we'd start here.) So, now it ends up being kind of a painful story instead of uplifting. Ugly? not really. Beautiful? certainly not.
Anyway, sorry to thrust all this on you, we'll go back to our regular and more superficial programming tomorrow.

Peppertree Park part 3

Part 1 Part 2

Warning: this story is graphic in its depiction of homosexual intimacy. If you are easily offended by such illustrations, please do come back another day.

As before, Eric found no one in the restroom when he entered, and so he went to the only stall which had no door. He pulled down his pants and sat down. He heard Gary come in. Both of the human hearts in the room were beating a stacatto rhythm, fueled by anticipation. Gary approached the urinal and let out his already rigid penis and began stroking it. Eric looked through the hole, and again, even as his loins were on fire, it felt like his stomach wanted to be in his mouth. He began to stroke himself too and turned away for a moment. Gary, on the other side of the divider, knew the boy must be there but had neither heard nor seen any usual sign of interest. Normally these would come in the form of either a sound or a movement from inside the stall. Eric, ecstatically terrified, more paralyzed than anything else, was as quiet and immobile as possible. Only his breath finally gave him away. Gary thought he heard the breathing and decided to verify. He bent down and peered into the hole.

Eric turned back again to look through the hole and saw a huge eyeball peering through. Whump! Shame sprang to life and spread out over his body like a million itchy bugs, if only he could disappear. He quickly pulled up his trousers and stood up and it felt like the blood would pass through the pores of his face. And then Gary appeared before him. It was really only a couple of steps, but the implications were enormous. Here stood Gary, with his dick out and erect, and a cornered, but out of his mind thrilled teenage boy not knowing what to say or do. "Can I see your dick?" asked Gary simply. He wasn't entirely sure if Eric had reached the crucial age yet, and needed to verify. Eric exposed his own brand of concrete. "Would you like to go for a drive? I'm Gary." Eric replied simply, "Eric" and nodded his affirmative answer. "Wait here a minute and I'll drive around to the corner, you come out and wait and I'll pick you up." Eric waited and pondered what he was doing. This was big, this was exciting, this was very scary. Ways to get out of it crossed his mind and thoughts of "What am I doing?" made the shame burn more strongly. It was inevitable though, the driving lust for knowing led him out the door and over to the corner to wait for Gary.

In the car alone, Gary had his own struggle. "What the hell are you doing, he can't be a day over 13, you can go to prison for this!" And then the rationalisation, "But the boy wants it too, there is nothing wrong, as long as we don't get caught." (I'd like to point out that in this part of the story I am not going to go into the bitterness coming up as I write. Because where we can forgive a thirteen year old poor judgement, we should not forgive the adult in this situation who does. Or should we? I know, I know this is what my therapist is for.) Waffling back and forth in his mind, there was finally no question once Gary saw the tall blond boy waiting for him at the corner. He slowed down and pulled over and Eric jumped in, ready for adventure.

This 'n that for a Saturday morning

This is the new "garden shed" for the backyard. Looks so cute doesn't it? Spouse loves it to death, and though I find it useful, it cost way too much. (We had some heated moments over the necessity of a window in a storage shed, you can see who prevailed.)

I'm still not ready with the rest of the Peppertree Park story. The last bit is proving more difficult to pen. It feels like hard and dirty work digging up that day from memory.

It's raining this morning and supposed to be showery for the weekend. Yesterday was over 60 degrees (16 celsius) and sunny, everyone was out, I went out too and got a haircut, did the grocery shopping and walked the dog in the park. Had to. Today looks like a stay inside day.

Somehow the stars aligned and we both have four consecutive days off. Neither of us knew until Thursday that this would be the case. During our excitement of pondering FOUR DAYS OFF, we thought about getting out of town, visiting friends, popping off to Toronto, and then we realized how stressful all of that would be, so we are staying home ON PURPOSE. Puttering is heaven, I tell you.

Have a great day everyone, I'll go get to work on that story. See you soon!

Good Friday Snippets

* There's nothing quite like the hiccups to keep you in the moment, is there?

* Here's why religion is such a problem. You say to someone, "Hey. what's 9 divided by 3?" and they answer, "Four." When you furrow your brow and dispute the answer, they note your lack of faith, and (feign) pity for your eventual and eternal damnation.

* While periods of time such as years and months can be substantiated by the movement of heavenly bodies, weeks, minutes and hours are ficticious man-made quatities of time.

* Since You + Reality = Truth, there is no immutable truth. This is what they mean by "perception is reality".

* The expression "the straw that broke the camel's back" is different in French. It's "the last drop that made the vase overflow".

* If we can view all problems as "chances for growth and learning" then there are no more problems.

* It is possible to disentangle "sex" from "love". I suspect this is easier for males.

* "Never give up?" Bullshit. Sometimes giving up is the best course of action.

* Have you ever realized how much more volume of space birds have than we do? We are (except in planes) restricted to essentially the ten feet of space above the earth's surface. Birds have at least a hundred times more space than we do. Perhaps they pity us for being such slaves to gravity.

Peppertree Park part 2

* Warning, the following contains material that may or may not be your cup of tea (pun intended). If you are squeamish about such things, you can skip this (and read part one first to know what I mean)

** I've been asking myself about the appropriateness of writing this story. It's a true story, so I feel that I can tell it. If it weren't true, I wouldn't be writing about this particular topic. Do I have to be careful about writing about what happened to ME when I was 13? I don't think I do, so here is part 2.

There are moments in life that impact us in a way that nothing else can. They are often tragic events, the loss of a child or the diagnosis of disease, and some are chameleon memories, starting out horrible but serving some greater understanding that can only later be appreciated. The loss of a job perhaps or the discovery of a cheating spouse might fall into this category. Still others herald the loss of innocence by direct experience. What to make of that? Do we cherish those moments that opened our eyes and thickened our skin, or do we nostalgically reflect on our unjaded youth? At Peppertree Park that late October afternoon, Eric was about to know something he could never have imagined.

The stall wall was scratched and marked with initials and phone numbers and the hole carved into it was crudely made, perhaps with a pocketknife. When Eric turned and looked at the hole, he saw a huge erection slowly being pet by someone standing at the urinal on the other side of the wall. This was the first time he had ever seen an adult male with an erection. Eric immediately turned away and his attention stood up. His heart beat quickly as a hummingbird's even as a large knot seemed to be constricting his windpipe. Eric was no longer in control of his senses. He slowly turned again to see and, BAM, his heart shot again and he thought he would explode down there. Flushed and panicky, he stood up and pulled up his pants and scurried out of the bathroom and headed for home.

Eric spent the rest of the afternoon "reflecting" on the experience. He was going to have this routine for another two weeks and the thought thrilled him. Did he think about why the other men were there? Did he imagine interacting with them? No. For some reason, he thought that men simply went there to stand at the urinal like that while someone watched from the stall. Ah the naivete. The next two days were rainy and Eric did not go to the park on his way home. But on the third day, a brisk but sunny afternoon, he went again to the bathroom at Peppertree Park. This time was going to be different but he didn't know it yet.

Gary was thirty-two that year and had recently risen to partner in the law firm where he worked. His wife had birthed their daughter ten years before, and though he had once been in love with her, he sought to serve his desire in other ways now. Gary was really just another gay man living a straight life which was not all that uncommon at the time. Peppertree Park was Gary's friday afternoon "treat" before going home for the weekend. He liked to park his car in the second spot from the bathroom so that he could see who came and went without having to look them in the eye. He saw Eric walking toward the bathroom and found himself shamefully excited by the boy's young age. He was quite surprised by his reaction on seeing Eric go into the bathroom. Without thinking, he got out of the car and followed the boy in.

Peppertree Park part 1

Eric stood six feet tall, skinny and towheaded, and some of his classmates had already noted something dandy about him. At thirteen, Eric was at that age where every day seemed to herald some new feeling or even some new physical attribute. Neither child nor man, he lived in some kind of in between stage like the cocooned caterpillar. Although he had tested the functioning of his procreational plumbing (much to his satisfaction I might add) he had never confirmed visually with others what he had come to know about his own equipment. He was curious about that, to be sure, but also ashamed, knowing somehow the societal taboo of expressing such an interest.

But the universe has a way of delivering where the furtive thoughts of a teenage boy cannot.

When he started 8th grade that year, he found himself with a new kind of eye in the locker room. This new eye served well his fantasies bred in the dark safety of the night and his bed, but this tale is not about the ordinary discoveries of a teenage boy, it's about something so exciting, even his most extravagant ideas could not have prepared him for that October.

Eric's mother had recently taken a new husband and to celebrate, had gone off for a month abroad. This meant that he would stay with his father and use an hour of public transportation each way to attend school. One day after making the long bus ride home after school, he felt the need to relieve his bowels. His dad's house was a 15 minute walk from the bus stop and he hustled along in the butt-clenching walk typical of someone about to have an excreplosion. He was only half way home when he began to consider that he might not be able to make it. As you can imagine, the thought of shitting one's pants was especially terrible for a boy of that age. But then he remembered the park. Peppertree Park was just ahead and wasn't there a public restroom there? The possibility only made his bowels press more fervently, and his gait become more hurried.

A small brick building lay at the other side of the park and Eric shuffled and shimmied across that grass as fast as he could. He did not notice the half dozen cars parked nearby with a single man in each one. He dashed into the bathroom (Thank GOD it was really a bathroom!!!) and with only a moment to spare, managed to get his pants down before the swift shitting of water took place. And then something caught his eye to the right of his head. He turned to see a hole that had been carved through the stall wall. What he saw through that hole, he would remember forever.

Marital blister 2

After thirteen years with a person, you get pretty used to their shit. And by shit I mean, habits, likes, dislikes, moods, and behavior patterns. We've all got them and with any luck, we find partners willing to put up with them. The fastest way to the destruction of a relationship is when one of the parties thinks they can actually change the other, but then you knew that, didn't you?

I was hacked off by spouse twice yesterday and unfortunately for him, I'm going to tell you about it. The first was when I made dinner (steak, pasta and brussel sprouts) and served it. He bitched and moaned about the quantity (he always says my portions are too big, but come on, it was 3 brussel sprouts, a tiny bit of pasta because I know he gets cranky about big portions, and a nice juicy steak) and whined bitterly about how I will never learn. I thought the plates looked beautiful and delicious and was quite clipped that none of his bitching was preceded by "thank you". Sometimes I think we are more civil to complete strangers on the telephone than we are to each other.

Then when I woke up at 1:30 last night to go pee, I saw that he was at my computer using the mouse and the keyboard! He saw me and before I could say a word, he said "You had a virus. I'm fixing it!" Of course I was upset because the last time he dickered with my computer, files mysteriously disappeared (it's not his fault, he swears) and so I went to stand next to him to monitor what he was doing on my computer. Plus I was in wadded pantyland because I wanted to be back in bed. He was supremely irritated that I was treating him like a child. Sigh. When he came to bed a few minutes after, we took careful pains not to touch each other in any way, both of us petulantly holding our little grudge.

So today I have to calm myself down, take a deep breath and remember those good things. Like the fact that he sets up the coffee pot every night so that I will have hot coffee ready for me when I wake up. (I always get up first) Really, I owe him a lot of patience and tolerance just for that thing there.

Question drill

Sometimes in class, I do a question drill. It's a little exercise where I fire off ten questions and challenge the students to answer as quickly and accurately as possible. It goes something like this:

What's your name?
Where do you live?
How long have you lived there?
Who do you live with?
And what time is it right now?
How many brothers and sisters do you have?
Where do you work?
What's your telephone number?
When did you wake up this morning?
How much money do you make?

And then there is always an uncomfortable moment, and I burst out laughing. Because, of course, that last question crosses the boundary of, well, questions. Is it ever appropriate (outside of one's spouse) to discuss salary? Personally, I've never had a problem revealing mine to anyone. I am neither boastful nor ashamed. It is what it is. So it amuses me helplessly when people refuse to answer this. (Not that I pester people about it, but it has come up.) I have one friend in particular who finally, after knowing him for over a decade, revealed his salary. (But only, I suspect, because it is a new job with a very boastable wage.) There are other taboo questions in our society of course. Sometimes instead of that last question, I'll use, "How much do you weigh?" But only with really advanced students, most of the time they are confused by the sense and think "way".....not so funny. When they get it though, that's funny.

Just a little glimpse there of my sadistic side.

Tooth grinding Sunday

Madonna tickets went on sale here yesterday. $350 for a decent seat. Thousands of people presented themselves for the chance to be raped by this enterprise. The cheapest seats are $55 and while technically in the building, do not afford a clear view of the performance. Plus, fans get the added bonus of more anal gashing torture with the nine dollar beer conveniently available on site. Not only that, but miss thing (that dates me, doesn't it) will probably stub her toe get hoarse and skip us entirely. Bitch.

Sorry about that, I've stepped down to the #2 patch. This means my body is receiving less nicotine. This also means that cantankerousness abounds of the sort I imagine you would experience walking in on your teenage child penetrating your beloved pet. Or perhaps upon the discovery of pubic lice in your very own home.

This reminds me of the time I actually had pubic lice in the home. My ex and I had taken in a friend of ours who was down on his luck and going through finding out he was positive. He stayed a few days before he found a more permanent setting. A couple of days later, we were sitting on the couch and both P and I were scratching our arms, and it was P who shrieked first, "What? What is this?" He had scraped out one of the crabs from his arm hair. The ensuing hours included much hysteria as we discovered the house and our bodies were infested. We found them everywhere on our bodies that hair grew. Eyebrows, eyelashes(!), arms, legs, pubes, everywhere. It was the most horrifying, creepy crawly realization. It would be days before we had a successful handle on the situation. Nit combs and Rid were our constant obsession, along with frequent waves of the willies.

I hate everything. I'm in a lousy mood.

In other news, I'm sick and tired of repeating the same damn shit to the same damn students fifty million times. I'm patient, but sometimes it's like using a nail clipper to mow the lawn. I get this way every year about this time, anxious for the summer vacation, sick and tired of teaching the same things, correcting the same mistakes.

Must find a way to laugh.

It's sunny, I think I'll take the dog for a walk. Peace.

Couple of things

I've been having smoking dreams. The worst is the dream where I'm smoking a cigarette, and then I "remember" that I have quit and then I experience a huge crushing guilt about it and wake up. Then last night I dreamt Spouse was smoking in the house and when I tried to move the ashtray with burning cig in it outside, he protested and said he had the "right" to smoke in the house, and then I woke up. Going to step 2 on the patch tomorrow, perhaps I'm having some anticipatory anxiety about it. Plus, night before last, as a special bonus, I woke up in the morning with clothes on in bed. I had gone to bed naked, and woke up like that. You know what that means. Sleepwalking again. Sigh.

Life is so busy right now which is reflected in the blog by listlike posts. I enjoy it, but thrice in one week seems a bit much, as Spouse so snatchily kindly pointed out. I've got four more weeks of these crazy work committments before it eases up.

I took a little video of the Tire, the maple syrup lollipop thing described on Tuesday. This is traditionally done outdoors. We were inside, however, because it was pouring rain outside that day.



Em has got me thinking (again) about the heinous acts of the administration in power. Seems that internet communications have been secretly surveilled for several years with the help of AT&T. Emails, chat, sites visited and the like. And I think Em hit it on the head when she said we could all look bad under the proper lens. Go check her latest posts and see if it doesn't make your blood boil.

Finally a pic of my bébé, atop the lookout point on Mont Royal last Sunday. It looks like today is going to be equally fabulous.

Friday snippets

* I'm wearing sunglasses again. I usually don't need them in the winter. This picture is from Sunday atop Mont Royal (the 1000 foot hill in the middle of the city.

* I noticed that they're selling new shoes with a "dirty" look. Dirt as fashion statement. Agape doesn't begin to define my facial expression.

*Lebanese food is big in Montreal. I like it, but I usually don't know exactly what I'm eating.

* The personal lives of celebrities hold no interest for me. (Currently anyway. I do recall some interest in OJ and Woody Allen some time back)

* If voting (like driving) is a privilege, why don't we have to pass some kind of test first? Shouldn't people have to prove that they understand the question before they answer it?

* The sun is a good teacher. It is necessary for survival but too much gives sunburn.

* I've never seen a baby pigeon or seagull. Do they hatch as adults? Have you ever seen a seagull or pigeon "chick"?

* I've been thinking lately how western culture/media encourages us to indulge our every whim. "You deserve it", "Just do it" , "Because you're worth it" and the like are teaching us not only to respond to our every base desire, but also to avoid any and all instances of discomfort.

And it breeds the feeling of entitlement, which I abhor.

I'm sorry, but I don't think our purpose here is to sit around, indulging every whim and hiding out from discomfort. There's got to be more to it than that.

HNT Crackin' it

I've noticed on Survivor that they are now blurring the top of the crack that is sometimes visible on guys wearing low-riding, surfer style bathing suits. I find it ridiculous that the current puritanical mania gripping America has led to a team of workers blurring the tops of buttcracks.

Ridiculous as in worthy of ridicule.

Personally, a little crack shot, while possibly offputting on an overweight plumber, is quite pleasant on the finely built Survivor contestants.

In fact, to prove that it's not all that unpleasant, I give you my crack for HNT.


Also, I don't know what "worksafe" means.


If you are hesitatant (mom?) scroll no further.







Confused about HNT? Don't be, inform yourself here.

I loathe

* leaving for work at 6am on Wednesday

* snow on April 5th (snowed all night too)

* the now covered, but recently revealed filth after the spring snowmelt

* the business model for selling new cars (except for Saturn maybe)

* Bush for making me ashamed to be American

* Hummers and the men who drive them

* wearing ties

* tardiness

* inconsiderate people in public places

* back seat drivers

* people who loathe too many things

(don't worry, at some future time I'll do a balancing "I adore" post)

Sugar Shack! (aka super boring post ahead)

Today, I'll be having a Cabane à Sucre (sugar shack feast) for lunch. Traditionally, this feast is partaken in on a maple sugar farm outside the city. I've been to several which range from simple intimate affairs to all out Disney style parties with horse rides, shows, dancing and entertainment. Today's, however, is sponsored by one of the companies where I give English classes. I'll get to the foodstuffs in a moment.

The sugar shack is a feast celebrating the harvesting of sugar from the sugar maple, a tree that thrives in this region. In fact, Québec is by far the world's leading producer of maple syrup. (What's that about Vermont? Please, don't make me laugh.) This can only be done during specific climatic conditions that occur, give or take, about 3 weeks per year. (It must be below freezing at night, and above freezing during the day for the sap to run.) The longer these climatic conditions persist, the better the harvest will be for the year. Thousands of Québec families are able to make a living from maple syrup and the Cabane à Sucre feast offered on most maple farms.

Because the feast is traditional, you are likely to have the same meal no matter where you go. You'll have pea soup to start, then you'll have a plain omelet, beans, and ham. You will pour maple syrup on these things. You will eat pickled onions, cornichons and Christ's ears (fried pork rinds). For dessert, you'll have sugar pie and Nun's farts (kind of like a doughnut). As an aside, I'd like to report that I am not making up the name of the doughnut thing. And nobody finds the name funny here, as I do.

You'll be stuffed beyond belief because it is "all you can eat". Finally, when you get up to walk around ouside, you'll remember the traditional "Tire" where hot maple syrup is poured over the snow, and you twirl a popsicle stick in it to make your own maple syrup lollipop. You'll have thought you couldn't eat anymore, but you'll eat the lollipop anyway.

And by the way, maple syrup tastes good on nearly everything.

A set of 40 questions

I stole this from Greg.

1. Have you ever been searched by the cops?
No, but my car has been searched by them twice.
2. Do you close your eyes on roller coasters?
No, that would cause vomiting.
3. When's the last time you've been sledding?
A couple years ago, I did this, does that count?



I don't think I've ever been on a real sled.
4. Would you rather sleep with someone else, or alone?
Is this a trick question? Alone in bed, someone else in the room.
5. Do you believe in ghosts?
Define ghost.
6. Do you consider yourself creative?
I hate to make such bold claims of myself, but yes, I enjoy making things, writing, and composing music.
7. Do you think O.J. killed his wife?
Is the Pope Catholic?
8. Jennifer Aniston or Angelina Jolie?
Who are they again?
9. Can you honestly say you know ANYTHING about politics?
All I need to know is that politics is this: it's the art of getting money from the rich and votes from the poor on the promise of protecting one from the other.
10. Do you know how to play poker?
Of course.
11. Have you ever been awake for 48 hours straight?
Yes, and I once slept for 19 hours straight. I think those events are somehow connected.
12. What's your favorite commercial?
I flip during commercials.
13. Who was your first love?
Karen Lake, 4th grade, she broke my heart when she told me she had been "felt up" by another boy.
14. If you're driving in the middle of the night, and no one is around how fast do you go?
85mph
15. Do you have a secret that no one knows but you?
No. I let it all pretty much hang out.
16. Boston Red Sox or New York Yankees?
Who? Those are team thingies right? They run around with some kind of ball, right?
17. Have you ever been Ice Skating?
Sure, every Christmas Eve.
18. How often do you remember your dreams?
Maybe one dream a month.
19. When was the last time you laughed so hard you cried?
Yesterday watching a funny home made cell phone video.
20. Can you name 5 songs by The Beatle's?
Yes
21. What's the one thing on your mind?
Not smoking.
22. Do you believe in love at first sight?
Sure, I experience it everytime I see an ice cream cone.
23. Do you know who Ba-Ba-Booey is?
No, should I?
24. Why is there no question 24?
That was so funny I fell off my dinosaur and broke my wooden underwear.
25. What talent do you wish you had?
A good singing voice.
26. Do you like sushi?
Especially Toro.
27. Have you ever narrowly avoided a fatal accident?
Yes, and ever since I've been more prudent behind the wheel.
28. What do you wear to bed?
Nuthin'
29. Have you ever been caught stealing?
Yes, and then I got fired.
30. Does size matter?
Depends on the body part.
31. Whats the coolest thing you think you've done?
Bungee jumping comes to mind.
32. Rock or Rap?
I prefer music to noise.
33. If you could sleep with one famous person, who would it be?
Such a strange question, let's see, maybe David Duchovney.
34. Do you know anyone in jail?
Nope.
35. Have you ever sang in front of the mirror?
You mean SUNG? Have I ever sung in front of the mirror? No, but I often do in the shower.
37. What food do you find disgusting?
I can't think of one thing. Maybe those bugs or rocky mountain oysters from fear factor.
38. Did you ever play, "I'll show you mine, if you show me yours"?
Yes, and much much more.
39. Have you ever made fun of your friends behind their back?
Probably, but only in a good natured way. If they're my friends, I love them.
40. Have you ever stood up for someone you hardly knew?
Yes, and it got me a trip to Hong Kong.

Hanging in there

It's day 17. It's almost getting harder now, this constant self denial, and the comical thinking that just one isn't going to blow it for me (yeah, right). I know that (Like Christie said) if you take one, you're a smoker again. And the corollary is also true, "once you give yourself permission, quantity is no longer an issue." I sure wish Spouse would quit, I would certainly think about it less if he did. I'll just have to get used to the cranky/edgy thing that I've become, I suppose.

Not helping things is that Guy (pronounced ghee) upstairs has "the kids" this weekend. I shit you not, his son was rollerblading in the apt yesterday on top of us. The kids contstantly wrestle with one another, and there is bang, bang, banging all the time. The eldest daughter could also be heard yesterday morning getting quite a happy face on from her boyfriend, and when Guy tired of the "Mmmmm"ing, and "Ahhhh"ing coming from their room, his shouting could be heard around the neighborhood. (Think short, Italian, New Yorky hothead. Verrrrry expressive.)

At one point the banging was so loud, Serge had to call upstairs to tell the kids to stop. (Thinking that Guy must have run off to the store or something) Guy answered and it is just impossible to believe that he is present with all the banging going on. He must just tune it out or something. He acts like it's out of his hands. He screams at the kids, it's quiet for fifteen minutes, and then it starts again. Arrrgh.

I don't have much positive to say, so I guess I'll go. I'll try to cheer up, get outside a little. I've got a big week ahead. Oy.

How to make perfect french fries

Our friend Dan has shown us the proper method for perfect french fries every time. It's a rather counterintuitive method, but he has repeated it for us many times and it always comes out delish. I decided to take pictures of his work to share with you. Now, Dan recommends Gold Yukon potatoes, but it works with ANY kind. I promise. So the first thing you want to do is cut up the potatoes in thin strips and keep the size small a la McDonalds. Place the freshly cut fries into a bowl with COLD water. Leave it there for at least 5 minutes or up to an hour. (Dan says longer is better, but we are always impatient.)


Now pour out the water and spread the fries out on a dry towel, and lightly dab.

Martinis are not required, but add a certain joviality to the french fry making.

Here is the size that works best for this recipe.

Now the next thing you want to do is put about a half on inch of oil into a pan like the one shown. Use whatever oil you like but we prefer half olive oil, half corn oil. Do not turn on the heat yet!

Put the fries into the cold oil. (I know it's strange, but DO it. Trust me.)

Turn the burner up to med-med high (we have it on 7 on a dial that is 1 -10). Wait. Finish up the rest of the meal. In this case it was my meat from a previous HNT.

Eventually, (and I say this, because it takes a while, but just wait for it, and don't turn up the heat, ok, promise me.) the fries will turn golden. Now you can fish them out and place them in a paper towel lined bowl or plate and sprinkle with salt. Unbelievably good. I swear. Crunchy on the outside and just right on the inside. (And no, this is not an April fool's joke recipe.)

More Friday snippets

- I took this picture Wednesday at 4pm. Next year, there will be towers of condos here. (At the empty lot at Thiemens and Cavendish for those of you who live here.)

- The more benefits your company offers, the harder you can be expected to work. (I teach at a company where the employees are treated to two massages per month at work. Sounds nice, eh? They are the most stressed out students I have.)

- The real trick to making a nuclear bomb is very similar to designing a can of beer that won't explode in the freezer. (I betcha didn't know that!)

- Since the mind stores dream memories in exactly the same way as "real" ones, how do we know our memories are "real"?

- If there were a food that smelled like diesel exhaust, I would eat it. I don't know why, but I adore that smell.

- I think if the word "them" didn't exist in our language (only "us"), we would view the world very differently.

- One of the things I appreciate most about new cars these days is the little symbol indicating which side the gas cap is on.

-I don't feel safe when bus drivers blab on their cellphone but I don't have the balls to confront them when they do it. I'm certain it's against regulations.

- I don't pay much attention to lyrics and (perhaps consequently) I listen to lots of music in different languages. Screw the poetry, I'm looking for genius in melody, rhythm and chord progression.

I'm confused

Any science whizzes out there? (Adam?)

I've always understood that a liquid could not be compressed. In other words, any material in a liquid state cannot be "squeezed" into a smaller volume of space.

But now with all this global warming talk, I'm hearing of "thermal expansion" of the water causing sea levels to rise. But wait a minute, if adding heat to the ocean waters causes the water to expand, then wouldn't the converse also be true? That is, if we remove heat from the water, it will shrink?

That sounds like compression to me.

So where is my error? Something is amiss here.

I also learned that even if the whole arctic sea melted, the oceans wouldn't rise because the weight of the ice is already part of the sea level. (The arctic is landless as opposed to the antarctic.)

Sea levels will rise due to the thermal expansion mentioned before and from the melting of land locked ice. (The glaciers of Greenland for example.)

Alright enough of that seriousness. For HNT, let's get silly again. Here I am eating my "pudding cake" which I made during the cram-anything-into-my-mouth-except-cigarettes hell of the first few days of non-smoking. It's actually the filling for Banana Cream Pie made into little cakes. True to form, I put anything of such color and texture coming out of my nose for a shock pic. (This can't be helped, I think it's genetic) Happy HNT. (click here for more info about HNT)

Short on time

This is my new hellish Wednesday routine, gotta split before 6:15. Get home at 7:30 tonight. I know some people thrive on that kind of schedule, I'm more of a resenter when I have to deal with crowded public transportation at such an ungodly hour. This contract goes to mid June. Two months off after that. Two. Months.

Must hoard as much moolah now, so fun can be had.

Let's see, when I'm short on time, I at least owe a pithy comment.

Cheese is just carefully rotted milk.

What? You already knew that? Okay, how about this one?

Skyscrapers are just prisons with great views.

I'm out of here, goodday everyone.

Goofy

Torn and Serge try their new video functions on the cellphone. We both have our arms extended with our phones, ostensibly videotaping ourselves.

Dialogue:
Torn: Do you like your new cellphone Serge?
Serge: Hold on.
Torn: Do you like it? We are live on my cellphone.
Serge: We are also live on my cellphone.
Torn: Except that you're taking a picture in the other direction and I'm taking a picture of Us.
Serge: No, because I have two carmeras, there's one camera on one side and there's a cam, oh that's true (laughs). Oh c'est ben niaseux.
Torn: Yes, that's true....He's lame, he's lame, he's lame
Serge: Ben Nooo, no because I can take the camera from there garde, look..............
Torn: No, you can see, you're taking a picture of the broom!
The quality of the cellphone video wasn't too good, and then when I uploaded to youtube, it lost even more quality. Still, I thought it was a cute thirty seconds.

Spastic for spring

Sunday was a gorgeous day here, and as is the case when sun, spring and weekend coincide, Montrealers go outside. It is always a bit shocking to me when this starts to happen, over the course of the winter, I tend to forget how many people really live here. Spouse and I are not immune to this phenomenon and we also went outside a bit strolling down Ste-Catherine st from Peel to Papineau ( lemme see, about 4 km or so) with the throngs of others crowding the sidewalks and stores. The sidewalk peddlers were out, as were the music players, beggars and every imaginable sort of human being. All of us bound by the common Yippee that is these first few springy, sunny days that we get each year. It's almost like we're all buzzed, stoned on the same dope, silly grins on each of us.

Free things were offered on Ste. Catherine St. We accepted an offer of free Folger's, poured by cute guys carrying giant ads/thermoses on their backs. We declined the free Bible (three times, from three different people) and also the free admission to the XXX Sextease. This is part of the fun of crowded downtown areas, the "giveaway" form of publicity. (It's a treat sometimes on the subway too, you get out and there's people there giving away candy, soap, cereal, whathaveyou.) This is probably true of most large concentrated metropolitan areas.

What else....we saw V for Vendetta yesterday at the IMAX. I like any film that's presented on IMAX, and I enjoyed V. I wouldn't say it was awesome, but it was a nice light fluffy romp. (The deeper themes kind of got lost in the final edit I think. )

Alright then, I'll let you go, have a great week and we'll talk tomorrow. Mmmmwah!

Never means five and a half years

My second weekend without cigs is better than the first, but still not happy and sane. People seem to think I'm handling it so well, and I suppose it's true, I'm just waiting for the "I hate everything" part to go away. Dickey said he had a reasonably good mood after fourteen days, so maybe I have only 4 days to go.

Of primary distractive power this weekend, our new cellphones arrived with amazing features I wasn't really aware of. I am on record saying that I will never have a cellphone again, and for me, that translates to about 5 years. But wow! What they've done with these gadgets in the last five years! (And by the way, I hate, hate, hate myself for love, love loving this little hunk of metal and electric potential) I've made little movies (you'll see one soon I'm sure) and learned how to get them from my phone to the 'puter. I've taken photos (too bad they're not very high quality, but I have a camera for that) and yesterday, I made my own ringtone that I cut out of one of my favorite renditions of Brazil, the part where the orchestra pinnacles full with horns and human voices "Da, da da da da da da daaaaaaaaaa.". Silly, since no one is ever going to call me.

In other news, I went to see What the Bleep, Down the Rabbit Hole yesterday, and I could hardly sit through it. It was like a rehashing of the first, with many of the same scenes and gurus pontificating. Though there was one line that really hooked into me:

We are all living today as though it were yesterday.

And it's true, we all think we know how the day will be, it's planned, perhaps routinized, and are already planning tomorrow. So the "potential" or the gamut of possibilities in life are reduced, because we have already decided to live outside of "now". Seems lamentable, but how do you not plan your day unless you're wealthy enough not to work? And even then?

The picture above is from a Metro station here, and I really love it. It's a big gnarled tree with faces carved into it. By some well known artist, but I can't remember the name. Everytime I see it, it means something different for me. (Maybe that's how you can tell real art?)

Update: Wikipedia knows all about it here.

Demonstrably reamed

In the evening, I have been working on the second scarf, knitting while watching/listening to television, and I am getting a little tired of doing the same thing, the same stitch, same yarn. Also, this scarf is taking much longer because of my employment taking up all my time. (I could get so much more done without that pesky job!) Anyway, I had a break Thursday in the afternoon and decided to go check out a yarn shop, maybe pick up some thicker yarn to do a "perfect" scarf, maybe for me, maybe as a gift, whatever. When I entered the shop which was crammed full of natural fibers and elderly women, the owner's husband started yacking it up with me trying to pin me down on what I wanted. (I felt like I had failed a test. I was supposed to prepare before setting foot in the shop.) I modeled my scarf as my first attempt and said I'd like to do something similar but with yarn three times as thick. (That means it'll go three times more quickly too.) And two colors. So he showed me some things and I chose three balls of yarn, went to the counter and then the owner went through all the information already hashed out with husband, and she said, "Well you need 3 more balls, that's not going to be enough," and waltzed over to the yarn to get me three more. Then we picked out the proper needles. Then she started writing everything in one of those little receipt books.

Now, for my first project, I picked up two skeins of yarn and some needles and will have 2 scarves out of it. It was $19. I thought this was reasonable.

So imagine my horror when she presented the bill to me. Remember, I had purchased enough yarn for ONE scarf. It was $70! As I tucked my $20 that I had pulled out into my pocket, I whipped out my visa and my heart sunk deep into my belly. I hate being had.

But wait. Then I call up Em to relate this whole incident and she seems to be completely nonplussed, and even evasive about it. I wailed, "What? You mean you were fully aware of the SCAM that is the local yarn shop? Are you kidding me? I could buy ten scarves at Walmart for the price of this little project!" (Not that I would ever, ever buy anything there, just sayin') And instead of answering the question, she said something like, "So what kind of yarn is it, what colors did you get?" all excited about my knitting purchase. This is called skirting, an evasive response that she excels at. Still, I had to laugh.

Maybe it's just my karma for being such a cheap bastard sometimes.

Detox snippets

With one week down and the rest of my life to go, I've observed the following changes as a non-smoker:

1. I have zero coughing. (this contrasts greatly with incessant coughing)

2. Even if they aren't smoking I can now smell a smoker in the bus, metro, elevator, or even just passing on the street. Like little smoke saturated incense bodies walking around. Ick.

3. Who knew food smelled and tasted so good?

4. Strange, but I feel less angsty when the patch is affixed to the left side of my body.

5. Smoking in restaurants is gross.

6. I've seen more movies in the theatre this week than I have in the last 3 years combined.

7. I ran all the way up the stairs out of the subway yesterday and was barely breathing hard. I couldn't do this a week ago. I would have had to stop before reaching the top.

8. Weight is being gained. (May or may not be related to number three)

9. While food is smelling so much better, other less desirable smells have also become stronger. I've gagged a couple times this week from (I'll let you imagine the kind of) odors.

10. I alternately lust after and find disgust with cigarettes. The body lusts, the mind finds disgust. Sigh.

HNT - The crass edition

Number one, I'm still tickled over the noisy farting chair from yesterday. How can she stand there and say with a straight face, " It is such a source of embarassment, especially at parent-teacher meetings." And I keep imagining said meetings where an exchange might go as follows:

(Chair makes farting sound)

Teacher: Now let's talk about your son Timmy. (Ignoring the farting chair)

Parent: I'm sorry, do you need a moment to use the restroom?

Teacher: No, no, it's just this chair you see. (Writhes on chair to make it "fart" again) See?

The SNL writers could have such fun with this one.

Number two, my darling cousin sent me a little video yesterday about "redneck women". The very last thing that happens on the video had me crying last night watching it. If you dare, you can have a look see here.

And number three, I present "me and my meat" for HNT this week. If you're a meat eater, you can't go wrong with Pork Tenderloin. If you can't remember the name, just look for the "penis cut" of meat in the case. We marinated this in soy sauce and garlic, seared it, and then put it in the oven at 450 for 10 minutes. Pulled it out, sliced it into medallions and served. (We made a bit of peppercorn sauce too.)

Happy HNT! Don't know what HNT is? Click here to see the man who started it.

Newsglance

The top five Most Popular stories this morning on Cnn's online US edition are:

1. Man dies stuck in mud after running from deputies

I am inclined to read this one just to find out the mud/death connection. What, did he slip and fall head-first into a deeeeep puddle of mud? Did he escape the deputies by hiding in the mud and then realize he couldn't get out and died of starvation? Wow, I can really see why this is number one. I'll be thinking it over all day.

2. Ex-teacher sues over noisy chair

When I first read the headline, I thought it said noisy hair which immediately brought up a vision of Kramer. A noisy chair? Suing? This must be number two because of the "You've gotta be kidding" reaction to the title. What do you think, was it his chair or the student's chair, and is he suing for pain and suffering? Ok, I'm going to peek now...... Oh this is just too good, er bad, er appealing to the lowest common denominator:

Storer said the school failed to replace her chair, which made a "farting" noise whenever anyone sat on it, although other staff received new chairs. She said the chair was a source of embarrassment, especially at parent-teacher evenings."I had a nervous breakdown because of the ordeal I went through. It's just not fair that people can treat you like that," said Storer, who resigned in
September. She said she would never teach again.

3. Milwaukee boys vanish while playing

I hope they checked the trunk of the car!!!! (Remember that story? Big search for missing kids, but dead and rotting in the trunk of a car in the driveway - nobody looked there.)

4. Crocodile kills humanitarian professor

Are they trying to show irony? Humanitarian? Why add that part? Somebody thinks it's ironic that a humanitarian professor would be killed by a crocodile. I think the writer should check again the meaning of humanitarian and ironic. Somehow it has caught our attention anyway and is at number 4.

5. Prosecutors drop sex case against teacher

Well, that's no fun. We want to see the sex case proceed and we want to vilify the teacher and generate suspicion against all teachers. Dropped? Why? not enough evidence or something, sheesh.

(Ok, I just checked, I know why now, because she looks like a model and she said sorry and is being treated for bipolar disorder. Imagine if it had been a male teacher screwing a 14 year old student. I don't think the excuse would fly quite as well as it did for her.)

Pretend there's no title

You know the other day I revealed a rather personal tidbit related to spouse and my navel. (I was a little surprised at the disgust level expressed. A little thread balled up in there is pretty clean, it's not like it's in your pits, crack, or .......toenails, now that would be gross) And ever since reading it again a couple hours after posting, I have not been able to stop wringing my hands over my spelling error. Oh, sure, it was a simple "a" in place of an "e", but it is one of those hallmark words that people might use to gauge your intelligence. Having once belonged to the clan of perpetual intellectual superiority, I know of what I speak. I have been working hard over the past decade to extricate myself from the clan, but it has been a hard road. I have learned that "holes" in someone's knowledge or skill in any particular arena does not indicate that they don't have superior knowledge or skill in some other particular arena. I have equal respect (hell, maybe more) for the illiterate guy who can put an engine together without instructions as I do for a University professor, refined in his social habits but who is also scatterbrained. I didn't use to, but now, that is true.

Anyway, I have this policy not to fix any errors in my writing unless I catch it just after posting. I just want to keep it real. Sometimes it pains me to see "the the" or a misspelled word. Most misspelled words are typos (I don't need no stinking spell check) but once in a while I err for real (as in, not on purpose). Like last Friday. And I keep wondering if some small judgement has been passed based on the mistake, and then asking myself why I should possibly care. Anyway, I don't really know what I'm trying to say. I'm not stupid!

Did you figure out the word yet?

Day five of no cigarettes has dawned, and in my experience, this should be the last of the really difficult days, day four was harsher than I expected, just a constant gnawing need grating at the inside of my abdomen, though admittedly, less intense than day one. I just keep marveling at the bad feelings, and I keep telling myself, "You'll never have to feel this way again as long as you don't pick one up." And I remind myself that I'm 40, and what kind of pathetic man am I if I can't be in charge of myself. (The flog oneself with shame method) And finally, I keep remembering what my Grandpa said when he told me how he finally successfully quit, "I just didn't want this inanimate object to control my life, and then it became a war."

A war, indeed.

Another Monday lady story

"Do you have any tickets available for Matchpoint at 1:30?" the elderly woman asked when she approached the lone employee working the movie-plex ticket kiosk. The young man didn't need to check anything to know that the film had tickets available and said, "Yes we do." The woman jumped right in, "Now wait one minute now, don't print the ticket yet. Have there been any tickets sold for the show, because I don't want to sit all alone in the theater." Now the young man had to perform a few clicks on his keyboard to see if any tickets had been sold, and once he found the information, he looked up and said, "No, there haven't." By this time a few more people had joined me in the line waiting to buy tickets, it was 12:15. The old woman spoke in the shouty voice of someone with hearing difficulties, "Well, now what about last week, were there any tickets sold for the same movie last week at the same time?" It didn't appear that his keyboard could help him now, and he replied, "I don't know ma'am, I wasn't working at this time last week." None of this seemed to bother the woman so much, she was going to hash everything out right there, and those of us who had the poor foresight to arrive at the theater mere minutes before our films would start would just have to wait. She continued, "Well now, I don't want to sit in a big movie theater all by myself and there really is nothing else I'd like to see. (then, as though someone is protesting her ideas) No, no, this is the only film I'm interested in seeing." At this point, I catch the eye of the guy working the booth, a real model of patience, and yet I detected the faintest exasperated hint of a roll of his eyes as she continued in her shouty voice, " Now can you tell me what time I should check back to see if any tickets have been sold." I was about to crack up watching this unfold especially as I watched the young man, and at the same time I had spurts of rage, unhinged as I was from my nicotine drip. Remember now, it's 12:15 and her movie begins at 1:30. The whole thing was so Seinfeld-y. The young man did not make some terribly biting and sarcastic remark to her question, he simply and cheerfully offered, "How about 1:00? Someone will probably buy a ticket by then." She says, "One o'clock you say, well I will just walk around for a bit, I need to get something for my daughter in law's birthday, and that should give me time to come back, Okay, thank you young man, I'll come back at one." As soon as she departed from the window, I rushed up to buy the tickets for our film which was already beginning. Behind me, I heard the old lady ask all the people in line if they were buying tickets for the 1:30 show and the young man and I finally shared a satisfying laugh together, not a word spoken, but both highly amused at the wacky old lady. Obviously no one in line was buying tickets for her show. But later, when I went to the bathroom during my movie, I saw people going into her movie, so I figured she got to see her film, and that made me smile.

Staying the course

So how long until the giant pit of need begins to shrink? As I recall, it's somewhere after the third day. Then it's more psychological. Definitely physical at the beginning, patch or no patch, there's a physical need for something, and this is what withdrawal is. Ugh. Probably worse for me, smoking over 30 a day as I was. You know the lion pacing wildly in his cage, or how Ricky wrung his hands fretting and pacing in the hospital waiting for the birth of Little Ricky? It's like that for me every waking moment. Ok, enough whiny pity ploys, here's how I made it through yesterday.

1. Went out to breakfast. Got the steak and eggs.

2. Went to movies. Saw Transamerica. It was a great flick, and much because it rang so true. Felicity's performance is remarkable. Smuggled in canned pop and candy.

3. Went shopping. Bought jeans, candles, dog playthings, and drooled over the just arriving air conditioners. (It's freezing still here, but the last two years, when we wanted to buy, they were all sold out. We need to buy this year BEFORE it gets hot.)

4. Came home, talked to Em on Skype, played Scrabble on the computer, paced a little, and then made hamburgers.

5. Watched 12 Monkeys and knitted. Stopped knitting to cram a package of beef jerky, and a package of skittles, and a frozen drumstick ice cream cone down my throat. Wrong, you say? Please, I invite you to go sodomize yourself. At least I made it to bedtime without failing.

6. Felt deep, deep gratitude for all the supportive comments I've received. Believe it or not, it really seems to help take the edge off. I love you people, even if I'm crankified.

33 hours and counting

Well I made it the first day. That means that I am capable. Capable of being an asshole that is. There was just no happy feeling shit yesterday, and when Spouse came home after Happy Hour, tossed his cigs on the coffee table, pulled one out and readied to light it, I about lost it. Picture this:

There's me in my jammies gnashing my teeth, working on knitting the scarf for him, watching I Love Lucy the second season, and slowly adding to the detritus of wrappers on the coffee table - drumstick, beef jerky, gummi bears, etc. It's after nine, and I am so close to the finish line for the day, I can taste it. I can't wait to go to bed, because only then will I escape the terrible withdrawal symptoms. Like every cell of my being craves something, and I know what it is, but I can't give in. So he arrives a bit wobbly from the libations and gets all ready to talk to me and does the cigarette thing I already described. Horrified, I whine, "What are you doing, how can you do that to me, that's, that's ....", and then my mind does silly things like contemplate having one. He responds with a dozen sorrys and rushes back to the smoking room in the back (same room where the exercise equipment is) . I stay put.

When he came back, I don't really remember what happened, but I know that I eventually called him a bad name, (it doesn't matter that I can't remember why, he deserved it, or at any rate, I deserve to be able to call him a bad name on the first day of no smoking) and went to bed.
And now I'm awake again to face day two, another day of jagged thoughts and barbed feelings. How come it's supposedly harder to quit cigarettes than heroin, but I don't get to have any methodone? You know, a little methodone would be nice I bet, really rout out this dagger of angst inside.

Or general anasthesia, can I sign up for three days of that? Why, that would be the way to go, just skip these first three days, poof, erased from conciousness.

Ok, I'll go, have a good weekend, I think you know how mine'll be.

Snippets 3

1. I'm very good at remembering my keys, but very bad at remembering to lock.

2. I'm the horniest when I'm sick. I don't know why, maybe a built in instinct - procreate before you die!

3. I talk to trees, plants and animals. Even though they can't talk back, they hear me.

4. If you don't say something immediately when I pick up the phone, I will hang up on you.

5. My toothbrush needs to have "hard" or "firm" bristles. Otherwise, it's like cleaning the lasagna pan with Kleenex. Ineffective.

6. I can say, "I'll get you my pretty, and you're little dog, too" with the exact intonation of Margaret Hamilton. It hurts my throat to do it though.

7. I'm still waiting for the pharmaceutical companies to come up with something I might actually consider taking - like a good mood pill with no come-down.

8. Sometimes lint collects in my bellbutton. (why is that anyway?) When spouse notices it, he will promptly pluck it from my naval and eat it. (I swear.)

HNT and quit day

Ever wonder what your face would look like if it were perfectly symmetrical? They say that the more symmetrical your features, the more attractive you are. But after this little experiment, I think I prefer nature's design. Click here to see more on HNT.

Tomorrow is my quit day. As in quitting cigarettes. It has been a while since I've attempted to stop and I am highly motivated. I've cleared the weekend of duties so I can focus solely on distracting myself - movies, food, walks, more food. I do have to work tomorrow morning so I'm a little worried about that, but I'll be using the patch as a crutch for a few weeks to help me get through.

I don't know if I'll be blogging these first couple days of quitting, you'll just have to wait and see.

Wish me luck!

Internacle

Way back when I was just getting into blogging which started as mostly a way for me and a couple long distance friends and family members to keep apprised of the goings on in life, I wrote a story about someone who made an impression on me when I was young. That story was Gina Limongelli, which I have kept in the "stickiest crows" section of links at the left. If you haven't read it, it's worth a read, because I relate one of the funniest stories I've ever heard which came from her life. The last time I saw her was 29 years ago. I was 11.

Apparently, the advent of Google has made the world that much smaller, and her siblings contacted her to tell her of the story on the internet and contacted me to let me know I had written about their sister. Then I received a wonderful memory sharing letter from her, and was so thrilled to learn that she remembered me. She remembered lots in fact, and we have corresponded since. This was just a couple days ago. But I find it so interesting to look at two completely different realities that were present in the same situation. I was a kid feeling trapped in a prison. She was working, going to college, just a stepping stone to her future. But somehow we made a certain connection, I'd like to say bond, and it seems so easy and natural to communicate once again. And all because of the internet miracle. Internacle? (This kind of word combining is called portmanteau, which I learned yesterday from Adam)

Also, I've discovered that there's 8 years between us, which means we are both in our 40's. Practically of the same generation. But at the time, being a kid, there seemed to be an unbelievably big difference in our ages. It would take forever before I would be as old as her. It makes me laugh how our perception of time changes over our lives. Accelerate comes to mind.

Anyway, I've had a nostalgia smile on my face the last couple days digging through my memories of that part of my life, which are incredibly dim and entangled, like looking for a key that someone threw in the bushes.

I work for you

Last week, I told a funny story about some commercials I had done here. Over the weekend, I tore through the boxes in the basement (do people really ever fully unpack when they move?) and found the videocassette with the spots.

I won't go into the details of how we got it from cassette to computer ( we're idiots ok? if I tell that story, that will be your conclusion) but we managed to do it, though the quality is rather poor.

Anyway, here's the link to the three videos. The story I told last week was about the third one there. Don't blink or you'll miss the KISS at the end. Enjoy.

The unfortunate outing of the lady on the bus

She got on the bus with voluminous effort, hoisting one elephantine leg at a time up the two step entry. Her dismay shouting from her eyes, she fumbled with her fat hands, and with some difficulty managed to unclasp her shiny black purse to take out her bus pass. She flashed her pass to the driver and took two of the first three seats inside the door, the middle occupant having slid to the third in horror. (But she didn't notice this part.) Her face was tired and full of hope given up. There were two deep creases between her eyes giving her a perma-vexed look. She brushed her grey and black bangs from her eyes and exhaled a long sigh. She took notice of a sensation below her breast and absently poked at it and scratched. Then she licked her finger and annointed the spot with a bit of her saliva. She made a quick scan of the bus occupants and I caught her gaze for a moment. I had my Jesus face on, shining with compassion. A small bead of sweat trickled from her temple and she fumbled again to unclasp her purse. She jammed her taut sausage fingers into the bag and seemed to be stirring the contents as with a baton. Her newly found frustration was getting the best of her and she lifted the purse and jammed her hand to the bottom, held it out in front of her and shook it violently while she peered into it sideways. Then her face changed and she mumbled, "Ah" and a small smile spread across her lips. Nodding her head and smiling, she unzipped the side pocket of the purse to retrieve a tissue with which to wipe her sweaty face. She dabbed herself about the forehead and cheeks clearly amused with herself for having forgotten, almost chuckling to herself. Then she had her used, wet tissue in her hand, and like a very small child, and I mean very small, she looked into the air up and to the left, a nowhere point, and slowly slid her coconut fist to the side and dropped the tissue in the crack next to the seat. It fell and tumbled a couple inches into the aisle. Then the attention came back into her gaze which did not have the scope to see the used tissue on the ground. ( Her rotund frame provided ample blocking of her sightline.) She let out a big satisfied sigh and turned to look out the front window. Her body jolted and she gasped. She pushed the button to signal her stop and she turned back into miserable, frustrated woman, rising from her seat (again with great difficulty) and trepidatiously stepped off the bus, having missed her stop who knows how many stops ago. I watched her from the back window as she slowly crossed the street to wait at the bus stop on the other side, black cloud and all over her head.

Definitely skippable

I've sat here for a good 20 minutes wondering what to write about. While it may appear effortless, the constant issuing of posts, varied and (journalistic? diaretic?) in nature, the way I write here, let me assure you that there's a wee knot inside always tensing and narding itself up about it. Especially when it comes to days like this, with nothing all that scintillating to report.

Yesterday, I did the taxes.

And I filed electronically over the internet for both federal and provincial. Then I realized that I had probably made a mistake. I said to myself, there was no place to mark the sale of our home last year. Later, I remembered the question, Is there any other income received that you did not report above? Maybe that's where I should have put it. Oh well, as I understand it, it's tax free, the appreciation of your principal residence. I'll call or something.

I told you it wasn't scintillating.

The weather has changed (see, another exciting topic) and we hit 50F for the first time this year yesterday. I took Sara out again for a walk yesterday afternoon, and it was really slushy and muddy in the park. T'was beautiful and sunny though.

Okay, I'm boring myself. See ya tomorrow.

Comment responded

Comments are such a fun part of blogging. I enjoy leaving them and receiving them. I'm reaching in the bag to respond to 4 comments this week:

On yesterday's post, Em asks:

So when we are grateful for the suffering we are more deeply aligned with our original intent? (In your scenario I mean.)

No the grateful part comes from analyzing why you chose this life, that's when you'll think about all the incredible wonderful things you've experienced that you wouldn't trade for the world. The suffering part, I mean during it, if you think you're SUPPOSED to be living it, and already KNEW that you would live it, then it wouldn't be so hard. That's all. It wasn't clear, I just expect (foolishly) everybody's brain to make the same leaps as mine.

On HNT, Coffeedog asks:

Lesseem you are pressing about 70 lbs there in that pic?

Well actually, I think it's more like 100. That's an olympic bar (40/45lbs?) plus 55 on it. So around 100 pounds, assuming the bar is 45.

If you're curious, other common exercise/weights currently being performed
At 3 sets of 6 - 8 reps:
Incline bench/140
Squats/185
Curls/65


For my 6 things (remember the dog) that help me get through the day, a rare commenter Jack Hamster commented:

I'd have to say that most of us have it pretty damn easy actually... Real suffering is something that most of us have not experienced.

I agree completely and think that we should remind ourselves daily how lucky we are. On the other hand, I think humans are meant to suffer, whether it's for lack of resources, or some terrible emotional trauma. We all experience disappointment based on our expectations whether we live in a poor village or a rich suburb. I don't agree that the suffering of losing one's mother or laying down with the flu is any different for anyone. That suffering is universal.

Finally, from the post last Saturday on Scrabble, Colleen (a friend of Chunks) writes of her sister's similar fixation with the game and asks:

Aa - did you know aa was a word? And xi? I didn't!

Why yes Colleen, I did know. In fact, (I swear I'm not proud of this) I know every two and three letter word in the English language. The twos are easy, there's only 96 of them, including other gems like OE, HM, and AI. There are hundreds of threes, and some of my favorites include CWM, PHT, EAU, and EDH. Let's not get into the fours, I've already exposed enough geekiness for the day.

Thanks again for all the comments, I think there was a record number this week which is pretty darn cool. Good weekend all.

This is when I dig my job the most

In order to fire up conversation in the ESL (English as a second language) classes I give, I introduce questions that are likely to inspire a variety of opinions. Yesterday we were discussing the following statement:

No one chooses their country of birth, so it is foolish to be proud of it. Agree or disagree.

One student pointed out that it was right to be proud because in that way, we honor our ancestors who came before us.

Another student agreed in principal but since the world is divided into countries, why not be proud of "yours".

I stated my opinion that if we are proud of our country, we are really stating that our country or "we" are superior to others.

And then one of the quieter students spoke up. I disagree, she said, because I believe that I did choose this life.

I thought "Ooooh, now we can delve into some deeper philosophical stuff." At the same time, the other students were exchanging "she's crazy" glances at each other.

A cursory discussion ensued touching on Buddhism, and tales seen on "mystery files" about past lives.

With class time waning, I seized the moment and asked the class to do a small writing assignment for homework:

Regardless of what you think about reincarnation, I want you to ASSUME that you did indeed choose this life.

Now write down why you chose this particular life. Minimum 200 words.

I'm interested to hear their thoughts because I hope that it becomes a lesson in gratitude.

After all, if we experience bad situations, but we "know" that we chose this life, the bad situations become less about "why me?" and more about, "what am I supposed to be learning from it."

And that my friends, is a better perspective, regardless of the "truth".

HNT working out

Here I am doing my home workout on the Nautilus all-in-one home gym. We have renovated every room in the house except this one. This summer we are planning to gut it and make it our bedroom. At that time, I have agreed to sell the equipment and go back to a public gym.

In our last place, we had 2500 square feet and the gym equipment took up a small slice of space in the loft. We actually had too much space there and resented heating it in the winter. Now that we've downsized to 900 square feet, having a home gym makes us feel cramped. I love the convenience of working out at home, but I miss being inspired watching others in the public gym.

Happy HNT!

A funny story

A few years ago, I was approached by a casting scout (in a subway station) to see if I would be interested in auditioning for a commercial. She thought I would be perfect blah blah blah. After two auditions, I was selected for the role. It was a non-union gig, four day shoot, 14 hours a day, $25 an hour. I was still waiting for my final working papers which I would receive the last day of the shoot, which also happened to be my birthday.

Anyway.

We did four 15 second commercials, much of it in front of the green screen. They were ads for the science fiction channel - Canal Z - touting itself. On the last day, we were shooting on location in a scrapyard outside of the city. It was a complicated shot where Miriam (in photo) and I were strapped into a junked car, I was shirtless, and had a prosthetic "slot" in my back where Miriam would insert a card, thus causing us to become amorous and closing the shot with a kiss. It took hours. We were very uncomfortable in our positions strapped into the car. But after four days, we had gotten quite comfortable with one another. We had to do the kiss about a dozen times. On about the 6th time, the director wanted us to "hold" the kiss for 10 beats.

So there we are, lips locked, and we are holding it. I glance into Miriam's eyes and a small giggle starts to wiggle up her body. It's too much for me, and I let a laugh snort out my nose causing a huge stream of projectile snot to coat her cheek. The cameraman, doing a closeup, let's out a huge "Whoa" and laughs heartily. And a few others let out gasps. I am mortified, but cannot move, our arms having been immobilized. One of the assistants rushes over with a towel to wipe Miriam's face. She is laughing, but doesn't know of the terrible thing I've done. I turn 17 shades of purple, and sorry sorry sorry but you started it kind of talk.

The ads ran for a couple of years but are no more. I think I have them on video tape somewhere. The only pic I have of the experience is the one above.

What helps me get through the day

1. Life is hard and full of suffering. Only once you accept that, does it become easier.

2. When you understand that you can control your feelings, you will stop giving time to the bad ones. Like jealousy and guilt.

3. If it ain't broke, don't fix it.

4. The only thing that really exists is this moment, now.

5. Grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the power to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference.

A cold walk in the park

Dear Spring,
I think that I can speak for all of us up here in the great white north when I say that we are anxiously awaiting your arrival. And though it appeared that you were stirring way back in January, it appears that you easily fell back into a deep sleep. But now as the sun prods your sleeping ass from your den in the sky, you only get to hit the snooze button for two more weeks.

We have missed you.

Over these long winter months, we have tried to embrace the old man, albeit through a dozen layers of fabric. We have been amused by snot-cicles, we have bitterly resented the harsh north wind. We have become fully aware of the filth one produces cooped up inside all the time. We have been cold.

I hope this letter finds you well rested and ready for another exciting year waking up the trees and inviting earth's creatures back to enjoy the explosion of life you induce. We are ready to come alive too.

Peeing my pants with anticipation,

Tornwordo

I'll read about them in the morning

So tonight is the Academy Awards. And like the anticipation of the 4th of July and Easter, my Oscar interest has faded from its one time title of - not to be missed party nights of the year. One year I even went and sat in the bleachers, dying from heat and thirst and the lack of toilet access. With each passing year, I'm familiar with fewer and fewer nominated actors, and I'm lucky if I've seen one of the nominations for best picture. Plus now it starts at NINE whereas when you live in California, it starts at six. I can't stay up to watch the good awards given out after my bedtime since tomorrow is a work day.

Yesterday we reconnected to the satellite, after a 3 month television hiatus. Until then, I had no trouble making do with 3 snowy channels and the I love Lucy collection. But. Then I remembered about surfing, and tempted by her many channels, sat down to peruse the list of channels I had forgotten about months ago.

We have OutTV? SexTV? I forgot about that. Oh look here, Discovery, How It's Made. I see how a fishing lure is made. I know my mother makes fishing lures. I ponder the art of fashioning an object that tempts a creature to give up its life. It is fascinating. Oh and what's this? A Woody Allen film on the Film Channel. Mighty Aphrodite. I watch the entire film. I think about the absurdity in which he casts life, the view I suppose he strives for in reality. His stories enchant me, if not his on screen persona. I flip again.

A story following two very hot guys working as paid escorts on SexTV. One digs his job, the other is trying to get away from it. I identify more with the latter.

Getting late, Oh. My. God., I forgot about Meteomedia. Meteomedia is the French weather channel and played a huge help in my learning the language. With images to help you know what is being talked about, and the frequent repetition of such programming, I spent many months watching trying to decipher the language. Of course now, I'm not even aware it's in a foreign language. I watch for ten minutes and go to bed.

With all these possible distractions, I can say with some fair certainty that I'll skip the awards show and surf again tonight.

Some dull Scrabble talk

I play a lot of Scrabble in my free time. Actually, I play "Literati" on Yahoo games. It is a Scrabble rip-off, apparently licensing the original is too costly. Anyway, I've got Scrabble word books, and I've learned a great many words by having obsessed on another game a couple of years ago. The online version of Boggle helped me learn many words that I have no clue of the meaning. So what am I trying to say? I play a mean game of Scrabble.

On-line, when you play, there is a chatbox below that publishes the players comments and the score made after each turn. Most of the time the chat is limited to a Hi and Good Luck at the start of the game, and a Good Game at the end. But once in a while, a player gets quite nasty because they suspect I'm cheating.

It is simple to cheat, you download an anagramming program, enter the letters, and poof - all the possible words from those letters are displayed. But this takes the fun out of the game. There is no challenge to the mind, it just becomes a simple puzzle. So I don't cheat.

In my experience, those that accuse you of cheating are actually cheating themselves. Here is a recent exchange:

Fuhkieu: (Clever moniker don't you think?) Remotion?

I had just put an "r" in front of his "emotion" and also accessed a triple word score in the process.

Tornwordo: Yes, I think it's used in court speak.

Fuhkieu: Uh-huh. You know you're anagramming.

Tornwordo: I'm not, so I'll take that as a compliment.

The game continues, and he makes a poor play opening up a great spot with a triple word score. I play the word "ziti" for 56 points.

Fuhkieu: Ziti? right.

Tornwordo: Uh, it's one of the pastas in the pasta aisle in your supermarket.

Fuhkieu: Shaddap, it's fucking cheaters like you who are ruining this game. And you're arrogant too.

Tornwordo: Let's analyze that statement, you expose your ignorance and go judging someone, but I'm arrogant.

As he furiously types some lame-ass response, the allowable time to play elapses and I have a choice to make him force forfeit. I do, and promptly boot him from the table.

Then a little cackling.

C'mon get happy

Yesterday was a day of rebirth. Though I woke up with lingering mucus clogging the respiratory system, I could tell that the virus had been whipped and I was a real human being again. I was in a great mood, albeit coughy and sniffly. All day, I wanted to grab everyone and shout. "Hey, I'm alive, isn't that great?" Of course I didn't do this, and expose my lunacy and all.

Later that morning, I passed a street performer in the underground city tunnels doing an accapella version of "Don't worry, Be happy." I caught myself starting to skip. As the veil of sickness had been lifted, so had my vitality returned. Nothing could ruin the mood.
The students had fun classes yesterday and the freshly fallen snow from the night before shone crisp and bright in the March sun. All day long I kept wondering, "How can a rigorous work day be so much fun. Why can't I hang onto this feeling for everyday?" And then I remembered that with suffering comes growth, and that there can be no joy without pain. Enjoy the ride while it lasts.

I had two conversations with strangers on public transportation. And I didn't hate it.

Then, on the way home at 5:30, the train arrived and as it slowed I saw that the car that was due to stop in front of me was oddly very sparsely peopled. All the other cars were crowded. What luck I thought, I'll even get a seat (which never happens at that time of day). I entered, as did a dozen other people. What's that smell was my first thought. It was a bad smell but I couldn't identify it right away. The doors closed and I looked around to try to identify where the smell was coming from and what it was. I noticed that people were covering their mouths with gloves and scarves. Then I saw him. A homeless guy, sleeping, with a rotting foot sticking out from one of his soiled pantlegs. So this was the smell of carrion I thought. I cough-gagged and little tears squirted from my eyes. I turned to the lady next to me who had a very angry look on her face, which made me giggle, and then she started giggling too. The teenage girls on the other side of me were huddled at the door, waiting for it to open at the next station to switch cars. A lot of people did this, and a fresh mob of people got on. I watched as it dawned on them too, that they had entered the world of rotting flesh.

And I really tried to think about why this man isn't being cared for, and to have some compassion, but it just wasn't going to happen with that tastable smell. (I tried breathing through my mouth and I swear, it tasted something. gakk.)

And when I got off at the next station to change trains, I felt reborn all over again.

Isn't life grand?