I was going to do a follow-up post about the hated toothbrush (it's annoyingly different), but I hesitate to even speak about it because jnadiger just can't help himself and will make it into something dirty (the boy does have talent/one thing on his mind).

Instead, I'll just ramble on about nothingness.

I think that I'm the only person in the class who uses the second DC parking lot (and one of the few who drives to school), so I was the only person (I think) who got to drive/walk past the New Westminster courthouse today. The day is significant because it's the first day of the Robert Pickton trial. The media was there in force. Not really, which I thought was interesting. This is, or at least should be, a high profile case. All I could see was one tv truck with about a dozen people milling around it. There were several strategically placed cameras (covering all exits), and a tent set up for on-the-spot interviews, I suppose. I had lots of time to check it out because the stupid techno-gate on the parking garage fucked up on my turn, and then wouldn't let anyone out. So I wandered around a bit while the attendant took his sweet time getting there just to shrug his shoulders, and then MANUALLY OPEN AND CLOSE THE GATE FOR EACH PERSON TO PASS THROUGH. I'm yelling because that was the stupidest thing, ever, and it took so much time. He checked everyone's parking pass, which was an exercise in futility because they all the good info is contained on a chip which is INSIDE the card. The outside is blank which except for a blue strip down one side with "insert here" and an arrow printed on it. I don't know what this guy was seeing, but I couldn't see it. But he looked at each one, and then opened the gate and let you through. It took a long time. But I guess that's the price you have to pay for safety and security. Right.

With the Pickton trial starting, I was reminded of another book which could have made my top 7 list. "Missing Sarah" was a really touching book written by Maggie de Vries, who is a children's author and who's adopted sister, Sarah, went missing several years ago. Through Maggie's persistence, she found out and proved that Sarah was one of the many victims whose remains were found on the pig farm. It was such a powerful book because Maggie was able to use not only her own journal as a source, but also her sister Sarah's. That way, we, as readers, heard Sarah. It was very powerful.

And there were a couple of places in the book, especially in the photos, which reminded me of my own sister. In one photo, taken at Christmas, there are Christmas stockings on the fireplace in the background. It's probably just because we grew up at the same time, but one of the stockings matched the one my sister had when we were kids. In another photo, and probably due just to living in the same time, Sarah is wearing a blouse which my sister had when she was in grade 9, just after she had been so sick. These two weird coincidences made the book and the sense of loss very real to me.

Meanwhile, that damn toothbrush did something to my tongue. I'm injured, and my sense of taste is way off. Perhaps I'm using it incorrectly. There's a chance, considering that there's no user manual. Hey, a new topic for Janice's class!

So my cousin, who lives in Toronto (whatever), sent me a photo from his recent work trip. He went to a seminar "up north", and I have no idea where that is, exactly. However, it can be assumed that because is was a work trip and a seminar, that it was boring. Until they saw the deer outside the window. You see, this seminar was attended by many folks from many parts of the world, so when they saw a deer right outside the window, they all got really, really excited. This was going to be something about which they could write home. Therefore, they were all watching when the deer tweaked out, and jumped through the window. Here is a photo which was taken just after the deer jumped through the window.
I have no idea how the incident ended, but judging from the neck gash (and the reported loss of blood), I don't think that Bambi's day ended all too well.

Today, I'll do a follow-up to yesterday's blog/rant (from now on to be known as a "blant"). This is follow-up is, of course, at jnadiger's request. So here goes:

Two pictures of the apparently pornographic toothbrush, which has been posed quite innocently with my fish-buddy.



















There's nothing wrong with that, is there?

It took me a while, but I've now realized that I desperately need to go to the chiropractor. Luckily, I've caught on earlier this semester. Last semester, I kept thinking that I was allergic to the school or something, but it turned out that the enormous backpack had fucked up my neck and shoulders, giving me pain and nausea. I can only hope that I'm having the same problem this semester.

Yesterday, before checking into the Douglas mental institution, I had to run a few errands which included stopping by London Drugs for some supplies. As I was in a hurry, I didn't take the time to peruse and choose the most perfect toothbrush. And what did I end up with? (Shut up, I know that's awkward and wrong!) Some bs techno-marvel of a toothbrush which just annoys the hell out of me. I wanted something bristly in a medium. Instead, I got something lime green (why?), on a slippery handle, with about 40 different kinds of bristles and 3 rubber knobs up the center (shut it, jnadiger...no commentary from you). Why is all that necessary? Is it because we, as North Americans, have shitty eating habits and shitty hygiene habits? Could it be that? Or is it because North Americans are at the same time wasteful and dazzled by the technology, so companies jump on the techno-marvel bandwagon because something which is new and different must be better. Because, seriously, all I need from a toothbrush is that it spreads the toothpaste all through my mouth, and then scrubs a little. That's it. Is that so much to ask?

Meanwhile, on another topic, at the end of design class today, I walked by a certain classmate and saw that she was working on her assignment. Just glancing at her work, I could see that it was remarkably similar to a concept I was considering. So I sat down, looked at it closer, and told her that I had a similar design. She kind of looked at me disbelievingly (Yes, it's a word), and said "Really, because I've been keeping my ideas pretty close to my chest on this one." I immediately got up, went to my desk, found my page of thumbnail sketches, and brought them back to show her. As we sort of laughed about it, she pointed at another one of my thumbnails and said "No, way", and rifled through her pages to find a similar sketch. So we had two similar ideas. Alarming, no? We both jokingly said "stay out of my head" to each other, and I went back to my desk. But seriously, does that mean that neither of us were being that original, or should we report directly to The Amazing Kreskin?

I'm awaiting your sage advice, oh blogosphere crowd. Advise me.

I've left it much too late to do tonight's homework, so there's no time for a thoroughly interesting blog (and there's so much fodder...jnadiger and his Transformer lust!).

Instead, hopefully you'll be satisfied with the link to the 100 Worst Porn Movie Titles. Cringe, and enjoy.

Sorry that I'm so slow to meme
But here it is, finally.

Seven things to do before I die:
1) Conquer my fear of heights
2) Buy and refurbish/renovate an old house (I like Arts and Crafts)
3) Own a bookstore ("You will read what I tell you to read)
4) Establish a doggy rescue thingy
5) Visit all the Disney theme parks (that's my geek)
6) Finish reading Ulysses (everybody's talking about it)
7) Design something that will change the world

Seven things I can't do (but wish that I could):
1) Think before I speak (that's a shout-out to vulture)
2) Snorkle/scuba dive (Jaws has prevented me thus far)
3) Convince jnadiger that the Harry Potter books are good readin'
4) Not seek the punchline every time (see #1)
5) Be spontaneous in action, not in speech
6) Let some things go (spelling, punctuation)
7) Sing (outside of my car or the shower)

Seven things that attract me to blogging:
1) The obvious...jnadiger told me to, meladuck helped to convince me
2) It's a good way to vent, I mean express myself
3) I was spying on other people through their blogs, so...it just seemed like the right thing to do
4) "Everybody's doing it!"
5) It feels like you're part of something which is way big (aka the "blogosphere")
6) It's the best way to share my wisdom/It's easier than shouting
7) Self-glorification/gratification

Seven things I say most often:
1) "Sorry" (see #s 1 and 4 in Seven things I can't do)
2) Usually the most inappropriate thing (see previous entry)
3) "Is it just me...?"
4) Apparently I say "dude" a lot, as in a dismissive "Dude, no."
5) "Ice cream"...not a catch phrase, just a request
6) My memory is terrible, therefore I don't have many catch phrases, and therefore,
7)

Seven books that I love:
1) Pilgrim and Not Wanted on the Voyage by Timothy Findley
2) The Secret History by Donna Tartt
3) The Gallery of Regrettable Food by James Lileks
4) Walt Disney Imagineering: A Behind the Dreams Look at Making the Magic Real by The Imagineers
5) Nobody's Perfect by Anthony Lane
6) Masquerade by Kit Williams
7) Lamb: The Gospel According to Biff, Christ's Childhood Pal by Christopher Moore
Honourable Mention: Anything by Sarah Vowell

Seven movies I watch again and again:
1) The Philadelphia Story
2) Clue (amazing cast, and I think it's funny)
3) The Emperor's New Groove ("no touchy!") and Finding Nemo
4) Rocky Horror Picture Show
5) The Nightmare Before Christmas
6) The Harry Potter movies
7) Fantasia (original and 2000)

I have been reprimanded by vulture for not updating the blog. My apologies...I went through a sloggy time when I didn't feel like writing anything. Good luck on the job interview, by the way (and that's not just because, like meladuck, I want free bagels).

So yesterday, the Prairie Queen and I had our first official meeting with our non-profit group. Critter Care is a smallish place way out in south Langley, near the Canada/US border, which takes in orphaned critters (squirrels, skunks, raccoons, oppossums, beavers, marmots, coyotes, deer, rabbits, bears), rehabilitates them, and then releases them back in the wild. We think that it was a good meeting. We were there for an hour and a half. We were very lucky in that we received the "special tour." Because this place isn't a zoo, but is a rehab and release center, they keep the people/animal contact very low. There is only one day a year during which they allow the general public tour the place and see some animals. Unfortunately, they only had raccoons and a couple of oppossums. Fortunately, it was raccoons (and they were being quite mischievous) and BABY oppossums, which were being quite cute. Also, we got to see Hoover, who is their bobcat mascot. She was busy chewing on a bone, so we didn't get to see much of her.

The above photo, and this one of a very cute baby skunk, were taken last summer at their open house.

As I said, the meeting went well. They seemed genuinely enthusiastic about our project. They were helpful and open, and they gave us a lot to think about and read. Afterwards, the Prairie Queen and I went to Fatburger, which just recently opened in Langley. It is the second Canadian location for the famous American burger chain. The burgers were decent (except the crappy, foamy bun), but I'm still not sure if $3.50 for a plain burger is worth it. Sure, they're much better than McDonald's and the rest, but still....?

I think that next time, we're going to go to a little place I know for perogies. Mmmmmm, doughy!

Don't feel like thinking or writing, so here's a picture of the dog.















His eyes are a little watery because I was setting up the Christmas tree, and he always gets sentimental at Christmas. That, or they are tears of joy over having a tree IN the house.

This book:



















is really, really, really fucking boring. It shouldn't be called "Read Me First". It should be called "Read Me Only If You Really, Really, Really Must Because I'm A Boring, Repetitive Piece of Technical Writing Bullshit Which, By Definition, Shouldn't Be Read Front-to-back, Anyhow." I know, it's not as catchy. But it's the truth.

And I see that I've turned into a cursing complainer. Great. But the upside is that I know that you're already liking me better.

I'm in an incredibly pissy mood on such a nice (comparatively to the last month or so) day, and Wegnerd is to blame. WTF is wrong with her? Does she want to put us off reading altogether? I used to like to read, but after her 3 textbook chapters (I haven't finished), two articles to read, chapter and 3 exercises, and two rhetorical analyses (plus extra reading for our spare time), I'm really over reading. Give me the tv, and give it to me fast. Or is it correct to say "give it to me fastly". Like meladuck, I'm beginning to rhetorically analyze (and second guess) even my most basic written work.

So I don't waste this pissiness, it's time to rant about billionaires. My cousin works at Save-On, and has just found out that the beloved Jimmy Pattison (that struggling businessman) has decided to change all of the Save-On stores to something called Buy-Right. This way, he can de-unionize them, and spin all their wages back to the minimum. As the "manager" of the seafood department (and with many years of experience), my cousin presently makes only 3 times the minimum wage. Now let's get this straight: I have strong beliefs that not all jobs should be life-supporting. I'm conflicted because some jobs have higher risk and responsibility factors. However, I also think that some people are just rich enough, and don't need to screw their employees to get even more rich. I seriously think that there's something mentally fucked up with these people, and that in a few years, some psychologist will have breakthrough and identify the tendency to need to be the richest person on the planet to be some sort of personality disorder (and blame it on parents). Like the newly-"discovered" body dysmorphic disorder (bodybuilders), it will be found that people who have to be the richest and own the most won't be labelled "greedy" but seriously fucked up and deficient.

Anyhow, I ran out of steam on that one. So while I took a break from reading, I decided to offload photos from my camera. I found some from Christmas, including the one I took of the fountain in my parents' front yard. My mom has some family over every year on Dec 24th. A couple of my cousins still smoke, and they (coureously and without having been asked) go outside to have a smoke. The dog always has to go out with them, so I go to keep an eye on the dog (we had a wild rabbit move in over Xmas, so, I don't know, I'm supposed to keep the dog away from the rabbit...as if I could). So this one time when we went out to the front porch, and conversation waned a little, my one cousin said, while looking in the direction of the birdbath/fountain which has to be wrapped every winter, "sooooo, Rob, what's up with that?"



















As soon as she said it, I knew what she was thinking. Yes, it looks like a body. And no, it's not very Christmas-y. But it is very, very funny.

I hadn't even realized that it was Friday the 13th until White Spot's Crispy Orange Chicken Rice bowl and Brownie Sundae (eaten separately, but at the same sitting) was shooting out of my ass faster than the King of Print Futures can say "my sister's doing her master's thesis." I should have known. It was my fault. I let my guard down and ate some dairy (ice cream AND whipped cream on the brownie). And me without my pills!

The day had been fairly good. I met the Ukranian Dancer ("Happy New Year") to work on a school project, and even with some minor distractions, we managed to whip through it in about 3 hours. One of the minor distractions turned out to be an old friend, whom I hadn't seen since high school. We had gone through elementary and high school together, but haven't seen each other since, even though we both still live in the area. It was interesting and not so traumatic to bump into her...but her voice has changed. It's deeper, which is weird. Maybe having kids will do that to you? She's working for Canada Revenue, and I'm kicking myself for being so lazy and not having name cards ready to hand out. In addition to being glad to just plain see her, I wish that I'd had the presence of mind to quiz her about opportunties with the government. She's worked there for just over 15 years. She might know something.

But, as I said, the day is winding down in a bad way. I've had the tummy trouble, and now it's just about 11pm, and I haven't finished the first of many (really, quite a lot) of reading assignments for the week. 75% of them were given by one instructor. She's quirky, she's funny, she's smart...and she's pushing it. She'd better get a lot funnier. That's all I'm saying.

There was a minor grammar flare-up in our editing class today. It was bound to happen. That's what you get with a chatty group of people who all possess a shakey rudimentary grasp of grammar. It was almost worth it to feel/experience vulture's near-break down over the incessant questions. The girl's a time bomb. Granted, she had somewhere to go -- a volunteer job -- (I do envy her volunteerism. She's so generous.), but I think that I'm going to buy her a watch so she can keep looking at her own wrist and not mine. On second thought, a watch would be a fashion statement, and I'm not willing to take on that responsibility. She has her standards, you know.

The minor grammar flare-up was preceeded by a punctuation conundrum. We talked for about 15 minutes about the differences between hyphens, en-dashes, and em-dashes. It was too much for jnadiger, who just got up and left. I barely beat meladuck to the punchline: "J dashed off". We were either tired, or deep down, we are quite simple, because that little pun made us laugh and laugh and laugh.

Sometime during that class, our instructor, who's much nicer than she needs to be with our group (I have a feeling that she's going to bring some new classroom rules with her next week. Rule 1: Shut the fuck up.) brought up the subject of biased, non-pc language. The new lady, who's name escapes me (and shouldn't because it's the only new one I had to learn) told us that the new way for referring to people with special challenges is to refer to the person first. For example, you would say "person with _________" instead of "________ic person". I'm considering adopting that policy, so instead of saying "annoying people", I'll say "people who annoy me". Although now that I think about it, my actions are hidden in the first example. Makes me look like less of an ass, perhaps.

And on that subject...I had time before class, so I went to Winners, where I found myself rocking out (internally...I wasn't doing the white man shuffle in the changing rooms. By the way, for jnadiger, the white man's shuffle is also known as "Cracker Jacks".) to the soundtrack. That is until Wake Me Up Before You Go-Go came on, and then I just plugged my ears and thought happy thoughts until the horror was over.

But I can still hear it. Oh, the horror.

Without going into the horrid details, we (meladuck, jnadiger, and I) ended up talking about horses today in class. Jnadiger spent some time in his youth learning how to ride and tame the beasts, and he recounted a particularly memorable episode last semester in one of our writing classes. The short version: he broke his arm and it scared the nurse. Believe me, it was much funnier when he told it.

Anyhow, today in class, he told the short version of the story of his horse, from the time that he came to own it to the time that it was sold for parts. I could have retold my family's story about owning a horse, but I wasn't sure of the details (dates and such), so I decided to save it until now. However, now that I'm at home, I really don't feel like dragging out all the old photo albums (although that would be sooooooo much fun), so I'll retell the tale without all the details.

When we were kids (and I'm talking young...barely walking, probably not going to school kind of young), my sister received a pony for her birthday. Yes, apparently nothing was too good for the Planned One. She had a room full of French provincial-esque white with gold trim furniture complete with a pink canopied bed. She had many horse toys including a few ride-on horsey things. I, on the other hand, grew up in what had been appointed the sewing room. I didn't have to share it with a Pfaff, but still, the knowledge was damaging. And all I wanted was a pet monkey. I didn't care what I slept in as long as I had the pet monkey. Meanwhile, princess had a canopied bed. Anyhow....

She wanted a pony and got one. Many of the relatives came over and they built a barn for the pony. She was too young to take care of it, so that chore fell to both of my parents. My mother did the light stuff such as feeding it, my father did the heavy stuff, such as mucking out the barn, brushing, bathing, etc. The dog, god bless him, just learned to live with the horse, and to ignore it when it ate his dog chow.

The horse lasted for quite a few years. It was somewhat round...it was overfed and under-exercised. And it was around people all the time, so you would think that it would have been more pleasant. It couldn't have had an easier gig. But, it was slightly crazy, as some horses are. It got out a few times, and we had to chase it down. It made the dog and cat's lives kinda difficult. It ate the fence, the barn, and several trees which my mom actually wanted to keep. It was big and expensive to keep. And, one day, when it was having one of its spooky moments, it ran over my sister, stepping on her head. Luckily, she wasn't hurt. But I don't think that the horse was around for much longer. I have no idea if it went to dog food and violin strings as jnadiger's horse did, but it did disappear. And for that, I was happy. Because then there would be room for my monkey.

It never appeared. Such is the lot in life for the unplanned. We are relegated to the spare room, shunned and petless. You can weep for me now or at a later time when it's more convenient. The choice is yours.

PS: My aunt totally acknowledges this lack of pet monkey, and gives me something monkey-related for every birthday and Christmas. I can't tell if she's being nice or mean.

Taking a break from Diana's readings. I'm beginning to think that she's a bit of a sadist (all the readings, the evil laugh, and that hint of red the other day).

Here's the link to Postsecret. I'm surprised that more people don't know about it.

That's enough of a break. Back to Chapter 21: Proposals.

I thought that I'd check out Craigslist because everybody's talking about it (that or "Craiglist"). Lots of interesting stuff there, including this ad for a freelance writer. The job is to write content, on a weekly basis, for an online publication which is called Cougar Hunter. They want the prospective writer to write for two sections of the online mag: "Chronicles of a Cougar Hunter", which are stories about young men and their interactions with sexually aggressive older women; and "Cougar Diaries", which are stories of older women in search of love with younger men.

Ummmmm, NO.

Just when I thought that my lost weekend wasn't all that lost, Diana hands out all kinds of stuff to read in our "spare time". Yes, she laughed while she said it, but I believe that she has a bit of a mean streak in her. Perhaps that explains all the black of which vulture complains so much.

Knock on wood, I think that I'm finally feeling better. I'm not so woozy tonight. I thought that I was going to pass out in our first class today. And it wouldn't have been because our favourite school-puppy finally asked his first question of the semester. It brought a cheer from our corner of the room. Warning: I will remind everyone of that little cheer in a few weeks when his questions have become slightly painful. Aside from that, I honestly don't remember much from today, except that vulture was excited to see that our instructor was wearing a red belt, and that jnadiger showed too much innovation this early in the semester by dashing across the street for a bubble tea during our break. He will be punished by myself and meladuck, who, in the same amount of time, had dragged our sorry asses upstairs for uninspiring apple juice and a weak tea. WEAK TEA!

Suffering from a seriously-bad sinus cold/headache since Thursday. Can't think too much. So here are some brain-droppings:

Glad to be receiving Turner Classic movie channel. Some of those movies are so bad that they're good. But one question: why was tap dancing ever popular? It is the ugliest form of dancing. It doesn't matter how skinny the chicks are, once they start slapping their feet around, they all look like giant Jello-ladies. Not a sexy dance at all.

Here's a link to my personal Romy and Michelle nightmare. I went to school with Erika Pantages (nee Glandon) from kindergarten to gr12. She was completely self-absorbed and concerned with clothes. She and her high-school best friend planned their wardrobe so that they would never repeat an "outfit". They didn't have the benefit of the computer program highlighted in the Clueless movie. However, that all apparently paid off because she's now hawking $300 hand-stitched t-shirts to Halle Berry and the rest of the clueless world.

Whatever.

I am male, and therefore, I have never personally experienced the monthly visitor which plagues the fairer gender. I have experienced it second-hand, as I know many women who have had their period. And I'll speak for all men by saying "that's enough for me, really." That said, I'm sure that I'm one of the millions (dare I say billions) who are not only grossed out but also pissed off by 99% of the feminine hygiene commercials. I have no idea who writes them, but the premise is usually so stupid that it's almost offensive, and the dialogue is trite and unreal. I just saw the latest, an Always ad which has the tagline: "Make it a happy period, Always."

As I said, I myself have never had a period, but I've experienced them second-hand. I'm going to guess that that little piece of sanitary paper is just not going to be enough to make it a happy occassion. Perhaps I'm wrong. If any of the female classmates wish to wipe out my ignorance, please do. In the meantime...that is a stupid, offensive commercial, Always.

Maikopunk and I forgot our rule about not sitting together in class today, and I believe that we made an irreversible first impression on our editing instructor. My only hope is that she will continue to confuse me with Jnadiger. I'll blame Vulture, because it was her juvenile game which started the giggles.

We were talking about how vulture's boyfriend Yar told her that she is immature, and we got to talking about the immature things we did when we were kids. Maikopunk had suggested that vulture should have responded to Yar by saying "YOU'RE immature". That reminded Vulture of how the girls would outsmart the boys when she was young. If a girl was called a "pig", the girls would respond: "Yes, I am a P.I.G. I'm a pretty, intelligent girl." This also reminded her of a game they used to play with car names. They would add "anal" in front of a car name. Both Maikopunk and I deemed this immature. We sat silent for a moment, and then started spouting off car names. "Anal Dodge" "Anal Ram" "Anal Charger" "Anal Explorer""Anal Expedition". After that, it was very difficult to stop snickering randomly. I think that the poor instructor thought that we were laughing at her. Of course, when she asked, we couldn't say what we were laughing about.

I'll just chalk it up to another stunningly good first impression. I'd better work my ass off to redeem myself. Or change my name to James.

The best part about going back to school yesterday? Sitting in Diana's class and smiling at the though of reading vulture's first rant about her fashion/hair.

The worst part about going back to school yesterday? While I was thinking about vulture's past rants, Diana was already talking about the daunting semester-long assignment. She didn't ease into by asking how our holidays were or anything. She just jumped in by handing back the last assignments from last semester (as I predicted...thanks for starting things off in a good way), and then launching into all the particulars of this semester. Thanks, Diana, I don't really care how your Christmas was, either.

Things had already gone too well up to that point. In the previous class, we had to sign up for group assignments. I had glanced to my left, past jnadiger to meladuck, and did the "do you want to?" face/shrug, to which she answered with a similar shrug. As we had to get into groups of 4-6 (I think), I had thought that me, meladuck, jnadiger, vulture, maikopunk, and Sara (no blog name) would make a good group. However, upon turning away from face-talking with meladuck, a classmate who shall remain nameless (should we call her Voldemort...those who have lowered their standards enough to read the Harry Potter books would get the reference) shouted across the room asking if meladuck and I would like to be in a group with her and another classmate. Meladuck and I both froze: we both knew that this was her horror coming true. I immediately felt so bad. Neither of us could risk shouting "no" across the room, but we weren't exactly sure what to say (we could assume that the others would want to work with us, but we all know what happens when we assume, either way, I'm an ass). So we said "sure".

So here it is, an open apology to meladuck: I'm sorry. I will do my best to make the best out of the situation. And as she said, we're together for two years; it was bound to happen.

It's the new year, and therefore time to divulge some painfully personal details. This isn't a resolution. This is apparently a need. So here goes...

I'm quite hairy. Except for the top of my head, I'm hairy. In fact, I'm probably as hairy as the top of my head on 75% of the rest of my body. My least hairy places: the inside of my elbows, the sides of my neck, and presumably my ass (I don't know...I haven't looked).

Apparently, it's familial. My cousins and I went to Florida for a holiday a few years ago. While standing in line for a water slide (yes, we're dorks...thank you for asking), I overheard a kid asking his parent "Why are those men so hairy?" I'm always ready for viewing the freaks. That very same day, we saw a woman who was approximately 400lbs who was "wearing" a very tiny American flag-print bikini. My cousin, noting where the flag was being "flown" (disappearing into the crack of her ass), said "that's not very patriotic". That's all that was said; and that's all that was needed to be said for me and my other cousin to understand. So when we heard that kid asking about the hairiness of some people nearby, I really was expecting to see a few guys who were sporting black shag carpets. When I couldn't find them, I realized, to my horror, that junior was talking about us. All of the "men" around us were as hairless as some genetically-disadvantaged cats. We, the Canadians, were the hairy ones. Hairy noses, hairy toeses. Hairy.

Where is this going? These days, I'm becoming increasingly tortured by ear hair. I'm trying my best to keep ahead of it. I pluck. I mow with a fancy trimmer. But the struggle continues. Once in a while, I feel the aggravating tickle of a new hair springing forth somewhere inside my ear. I can't ever see them, so I have to blindly tug around with tweezers hoping to find the one, torturous offender. It's not easy, and when I think that I've found and tweezed the hairy little devil, some breeze catches it (yes, there's a breeze through my ears), and it tickles. Not a fun tickle, but an annoying, taunting tickle which I can't ignore. And besides poking around blindly in my ear with a sharp-ish implement, I have no idea how to stop it.

Any suggestions?

Oooh, lord. Help me.

My parents bought themselves a new dvd/vcr combo for Christmas (please, tech geeks, do not lecture me on the folly of buying a combo unit), and my mother has harassed me several times to "teach" her how to use it. I'm using quotes because she's the only one foolish enough to think that she will remember anything that I tell her. This is the woman who gets "vcr" and "dvd" mixed up. I see nothing but repeats in the future (first, turn on the power...) Perhaps I should write a set of instructions. If only this had happened before the end of the semester.

The reason why they wanted a combo is because the vcr is busted, and there is only enough room in the "entertainment center" for one additional unit (again with the quotes, because I'm using the term "entertainment" quite loosely here. It only applies if to you, the height of entertainment is the 6pm news hour followed by Wheel of Fortune and Jeopardy. If not, then just carry on as you were). And the reason why she wants the vcr to work is because there are so many videos which she hasn't seen. What she means is that there are many home movies which she has forgotten and wants to revisit. Hence my apprehension. I do not want to see these videos...yes, I'm miserable. Please read the title of the blog. She may want to reminisce, but I really don't want to relive all the embarassing moments. Honestly, I cannot think of one right now, but I know that there are many. Perhaps I've suppressed them all. That's a nice thought. What a nice Christmas present to myself. And I swing that right into a New Year's resolution: suppress the bad stuff. Surely, that's a good idea.

Happy New Year to all the PRFU folks. I've missed you (sniff), and I'm looking forward to seeing all of you (well, most of you...and I don't mean ALL of you...just the parts that should be visible).