I was briefly hit by a cosmic wtf this afternoon.

Earlier this week, I had queried/suggested to the illustrious editor-in-chief at alive magazine that the Barenaked Ladies would be in town this week. I thought that the magazine should interview them because I had heard that the Ladies were trying to be eco-friendly during this tour.

In an interview on The Hour with George Stroumboulopoulous (I have no idea how to spell his name), Steven Page and Ed Robertson had described how they were going green this time around. They're using biodiesel in their buses; they're using wind-generated electricty to offset their power use; and they're using biodegradeable stuff backstage (ie "plastic" cups made from a corn product). They also talked about how they're switching to releasing their music digitally on flash drives, to help reduce the amount of waste on the planet.

All of this sounded like a good angle for the magazine. They want to target a younger demographic. Yes, the BNL aren't exactly what the kids are listening to today on their fancy ear/music machines, they are still younger than a lot of the recent cover models (ie Robert Bateman). I thought this was a good idea (maybe not for me to do, but still...a good idea).

So today, this afternoon, I received a phone call from the e-i-c asking for a favour: the magazine had secured an interview that had to be done tomorrow afternoon. I nearly drove off the road. This is it, I thought to myself. Be prepared to take the leap and say "yes".

The e-i-c continued: "It's with that local baseball player who was recently named MVP or something. I can't remember his name, but you know who I mean."

All I could think of was "baseball...I don't know anything about baseball." I agreed to do it. I can't believe this, but I have to cram for the interview. And the worst part...I have to cancel my shift begging for pennies at school. Damn!

PS: It's Justin Morneau. If anyone has any hints, please send them my way.

As a result of my deep techno-savviness, I've managed to completely fuck up my username/password combo for our school's website. It started yesterday when I received a "your password grace period is over...go see the geeks and get reinstated" message when I tried to sign in before class. I dutifully trudged up the stairs to their lair, where I successfully chose a new password (cleverly one digit away from my previous password).

When I went to class, I was able to login only one time. After that, I couldn't remember the password, and kept screwing it up. I tried so many different combinations that they finally e-suspended my account.

So I now have to go back to the geeks and admit my stupidity. Terrific.

The professional readiness class we're taking this semester, the last in a series of four, isn't accomplishing what I think it's meant to accomplish. Instead of feeling ready for fearlessly foisting myself into the worlds of writing and editing, I'm feeling completely unprepared and quite nervous. In a few months, the safety net for school will be ripped from underneath us; we'll be flying and/or crashing on our own.

Therefore, these next few months are crucial. We need to prepare ourselves for the "real world". This professional readiness class is supposed to be covering all our concerns. But instead, our classmates usually get stuck in some useless vortex of obsession. Today, they got fixated on furniture. And from what I heard, I've realized that I'm completely unprepared.

My desk is all wrong. It doesn't instill in me feelings of professionalism or dread. It's just there. Sometimes I sit at it. Sometimes I use it to store books. But it doesn't do anyting for me. Maybe I have the wrong kind? Perhaps I should take a photo and bring it to class. Maybe it's the reason why I sometimes have writer's blocks.

Or it could be the lamp. It's totally non-regulation. It was a gift, and therefore it must have bad writing karma. Perhaps it's in the wrong spot. Should I even bring up the topic of feng shui?

And I didn't even ask anyone if I could buy a file cabinet. It never occured to me that I could buy the wrong one and that all my writing efforts would be totally useless. Maybe it's totally negating all the info I store in there. Maybe it has a portal which sends all my ideas to the same place where the missing socks go.

I know that my chair is all wrong. My back tells me that it is. Maybe I'm using the wrong pencils and pens? Maybe they're blocking all my cleverness. Maybe it's the fact that I recycle paper (ie write on the blank side); this might cause confusion.

Then again, there is a saying about people blaming the tools instead of their skills. It's kind of famous, and kind of cliched, but maybe for a good reason. It doesn't matter what you use to write, people. What matters is that you write.

So quit your whining.

Okay...

So the post about yearbooks went well. I thought everyone would have a disastrous/funny yearbook photo story to tell, but apparently not. I'm the only loser who had a dumbbell fall on the bridge of his nose the day before photos were taken. Whatever.

Maybe this post will be more interesting. A friend sent an interesting web site my way. She knows that I'm interested in both design and snarkiness, so she thought that I'd be interested in Design Observer. She was correct, but not for the reason she thought.

The posts she pointed out to me were "Quinessence" (she said that the comments are funny); "On Scrapbooking" (because I don't get it); and "What they don't teach you in design school". She may be right. I may be interested in those entries.

However, the one that caught my eye was the one called "Word Made Flesh" which is about sentence diagramming. I hadn't heard of this concept until I took PF, and now, suddenly, here it is again. It's just crazy how these things can creep up on you. Creepy.

I'd diagram that but I'm not smart enough.

Meladuck's brilliant post about yearbook revenge and Rich Little inspired me to ask for submissions: Tell us your funny yearbook story. You know you have one.

Mine involves a bookshelf, an unfortunately-placed heavy object, and the bridge of my nose. Details to follow after everyone else shares.

Brought my dad home from the hospital today. We weren't too thrilled with bringing him home. He's still not 100%, and frankly, my mother and I are nervous to have him home. He still has "issues" that need to be resolved. He's acting like he's well, but he isn't. He's probably glad to be out of the hospital, though. Those places really aren't that conducive to health.

On the way there, I drove her around to do errands. She figures that she's going to be stuck at home with him for the next few days, keeping an eye on him. She had to go to Safeway (she was out of coffee!). I don't mind...there's usually a Starbuck's treat in it for me. What can I say? I can be bought cheaply with either a frozen blended coffee beverage or a soy hot chocolate.

In the coffee aisle, when scanning the shelves for the decaf, I noticed that someone had helpfully written a note on the shelf tag: "Why don't you buy hazelnut coffee?" I thought that this was a brilliant way to ask for something desperately needed. It was written on the (gag) Irish cream-flavoured coffee.

I wish we could write little notes to store employees about what we want. Why couldn't it be that easy? Of course, everywhere I went, I'd ask for a monkey.

I feel like I should post (and not a forced-upon-me school post), but I have no idea what to post about. Sure, I could bitch and complain more, but I've realized over the last few days that that is my mother's way of being, so I'm going to try my best not to be that way. Bitching and complaining isn't the complete picture. She's also really bossy. But I'll have to stop that line of thinking before I become what I'm trying to avoid.

Unfortunately, that leaves me topic-less. This reflects my homebound-ness for the weekend. It was supposed to be a catch-up weekend. So far, all I've managed to do is write out what I hope is most of my due dates for the semester. They're on my giant, four-month calendar, hopefully intimidating me into action with the sheer volume. So far...nothing. I'm immune.

But I have so much to do. There's the school work. There's the work work (monthly duties, writing assignments, posting to the discussion forum). Then there's the workout work (figure out some sort of schedule for going to the gym, figure out how to work in the training for the Sun Run, which I am walking). It feels like too much. It may be too much. We'll see.

I haven't even been keeping up with local and worldy news. Then again, those are things to avoid...I'm very likely to slip into a rant about the lack of personal responsibility (wounded/stranded hiker on Seymour, dead back-country camping couple, and that kid from Coquitlam who decided to go camping in the snow without telling anyone), or about the state of our healthcare system, or about the possible tearing down of the stadium (what a waste! Cities in Europe have public toilets that are older and more treasured). So I won't.

Instead, I'll give you the link to a website which comments and shares bad websites (in terms of design): http://www.webpagesthatsuck.com/

Have a little fun.

On second thought, I will post.

I was late to class today (shouldn't have come to school at all). Knowing that it would be stupid to stop in to June's class for 15 minutes, I decided to visit Maureen and pick up my assignments from last semester.

Proud of my magazine design, I decided to show it off to Josie, who had expressed interest last semester. She was especially curious to see what I was able to put together after all of the computer hassels I encountered (or brought on myself...opinions vary depending on who you talk to).

This all went down in the work room, where, due to the format of our midday class, people were strolling in and out of quite frequently. One classmate came in and saw that I had my magazine sitting there. She asked if I had picked it up today, which I told her that I had. Her curiosity took over, and she asked if she could see it. Proudly, I said yes and handed it over. I can't remember how the conversation went exactly, but she commented about how I had extra time to finish it. I defended myself saying that my computer fucked up and that it wasn't my fault. She countered with (and I don't quote here, but paraphrase) "Well, we were told at the beginning that we were responsible for backing up our work and that computer problems weren't going to be accepted as excuses."

I was stunned. I knew that I had fucked up with the computer thing. I had worked for 12 hours that day, and shut off the computer forgetting to back up. It was a freak thing. I was tired. It was nearly 1 am. And I forgot. I'm an honest and hardworking person, and I made sure that when I was granted an extension, I didn't work on the project any longer that I would have if I had worked all weekend on it.

The nastiness of the comment stung me. And although I am a very forgiving person, I'm not sure if I can ever forgive this moment. If the situation were reversed, I wouldn't be this way to this classmate. I know that she, like me, has a very solid work ethic, and that any missed deadline would not be the result of laziness or procrastination. It would be an honest and freaky mistake. I would have thought that she would think the same of my situation, but apparently not.

I think that I learned my biggest lesson on professionalism this semester: sometimes professionalism can get in the way of friendships, logic, and decency.

Now I have to ask, and please be honest: Did it bother any of you that I got to hand in my magazine a few days later than everyone else?

Day 2 of lazy blogs. I could write about the asshole in the hospital parking lot this morning. But I won't.

Instead, I'll post some more photos of frozen fields and hockey players, and a couple of Mt. Baker. Enjoy!

Oh dear god, we got the news that we have to do a blog for school. I wonder if we can challenge that part of the class? Seriously. Could we just show June our blog and say, "See, I can do it. Now leave me alone for a month." I think I'm on to something here.

I'm going to post photos again for this entry. Why? Because I think that they're pretty.

These photos are from the Bose farm in Cloverdale. My mom grew up in Cloverdale with the Boses (one of which grew up to be Mayor Bob Bose, a respected retired mayor). This is the first time I can remember it being so cold out that the ponds have frozen hard enough for skating. While I was out yesterday, I happened to drive past the farm and saw all the families skating and playing hockey.

There were quite a few games going on. And there were dogs everywhere. The one photo shows the barn on the hill, with yet another pond below it. Usually these fields are filled with cows, and in the fall, with a corn maze. It's nice to see them being enjoyed in the middle of winter.

I took quite a few photos of these skaters. For now, I'll bore you with these few. Look for more photos tomorrow.

Still not in the mood to be too deep. But I am in the mood for sharing.

First, my dear classmate, she who cannot be stopped from knitting, gave me a lovely gift when I camped out on her couch (well, Don owns it too) when the snow was too much for my car. It's a lovely gift. I hope that I do it justice. Here are two photos:

I'm thinking that I need to lose the glasses. I've had them for several years now, and I do believe that the self-delusionment (that they make me look smart) is over.

This fashion statement came in quite handy when I was walking from Evil's and MarriedtoEvil's apartment. It was cold out. The snow continued to fall. The cars continued to line up.

As I was walking down Columbia Street on my way to the Skytrain station, some guy in an SUV honked his horn and called over to me. "Can you see what's going on," he asked me. I looked at him, incredulous (mmmmmmm, big word...delicious). Traffic was backed up in both directions as far as I could see. It had been that way all afternoon. It would be that way all night. I looked back at him, and said "traffic's backed up." "Yeah," he said, "but is there an accident?"

What an idiot. Of course there were accidents. Everywhere.

I just laughed and walked away with my chick pea curry and my fancy new hat, secure in my superiority of being on foot. Thank you, Evil and MarriedtoEvil. You're lovely hosts.

Once again, this isn't going to be a deep, philosophical post. But as a bonus, it will also not be a rant. What will it be, you ask? Eh, not much. Maybe just a bunch of photos. However, I hate doing photos (they never are placed the way I'd like, so you'll have to be patient).

First, a few photos from Christmas. You'll notice a theme (think "dog").

Then there's the obligatory "snow dog" photos.

And some lovely scenery...

And, you have a blog post. I hope this keeps you all happy for a while.

Have a great weekend.

I am apparently on a ranting roll.

Although this happened on Sunday, I'm going to bring it up because I still haven't gotten over it.

My dad is going for surgery next week, so we're doing a lot of family things together while we can and while he's up and around. He'll be recovering for about 6 weeks, so that means that my parents won't be going anywhere for a while. Also, my mom wants to stock up on all kinds of treats. So this meant a trip to West Vancouver. Just before Christmas, I went to the naturopathic doctor for a supplement refill. While there, I stopped by a pie bakery I had a) seen and thought looked good, and b) read about, which confirmed its goodness. I'm a good boy (shut up) and bought a suck-up pie for my parents. It was lemon buttermilk with mixed berries. Delicious. By the way...the place is called Savary Island Pie Company. Check it out.

However, my mother was more impressed with the muffins I had bought there. Even since tasting their muffin-y goodness, she was planning/scheming how to get to West Van for another round of muffins. As it happened, I had to get muffins for the editorial meeting at the magazine, so I decided to go with them. Our plan was to go there, stop by the Tomahawk for breakfast, then wander around for a while before heading home and rescuing the dog. He can't go for more than 4 hours without my mother feeling super guilty, and scared that he might have an "accident". They've had him for about 6 years...he's never had an accident. In fact, when he's been sick, he's begged to be let out of the yard. I guess that he doesn't like to mess it up with puke. He doesn't poop in the yard, either.

My this has wandered into a weird tangent. Back to the rant.

From the Pie Company, I bought a dozen muffins (in two boxes), plus a brownie. As I was leaving, two women were walking towards the door to come in. So I swung out and around the door, holding it open with one hand while balancing my baked goodies on my other hand (those years of restaurant jobs paid off, somewhat). The women walked in right past me, didn't make eye contact, didn't thank me for holding the door. One was deep into an important conversation with her cell phone. The other one was scanning the room for tables. Granted, space was at a premium, and therefore people had to act fast to get a seat. But, seriously, what's wrong with a "thank you". I wasn't being sexist (I do realize that women can open doors for themselves). I was trying to not be rude and let the door slam obviously in their faces. In return, I got rudeness.

I called after them "You're WELCOME!" in my most sunny, passive-aggressive way. They still ignored me.

Amazingly, this didn't annoy me too much. We had a lovely day, ate too much at breakfast, looked at some of the old sights (my parents haven't been to North/West Van in years), and managed to rescue the dog before his bladder let go.

But later, when I thought about the incident, I became infuriated. Who did those women think they were? As far as I know, the Queen isn't visiting West Van. Even better, I don't work for the bakery (and therefore become invisible to some snotty people). How do people become so self-involved that doors open for them and they don't even question or notice how or why? Are they that special that doors automatically open for them wherever they go? What they need is for a door to close in their faces, then they'd notice the ones that are opened for them.

Yesterday, in my long re-introduction to the blogging world, I made the statement that nothing happened over Christmas. While that's mostly true (and therefore sad), I did manage to get out and do some things.

Most notably (and again, sad), I went to see The Polar Express in mind-wrenching 3-D IMAX, SURROUND SOUND overbearingness. Those of you who recall the triumphant, epic poem called "Dizzy" which was shared with everyone during Personal Therapy class last summer might be thinking...what was he thinking? He gets dizzy if he rolls his eyes (methinks I'm in for a dizzy semester)! How could he ever consider going to a movie so technologically advanced, so state-of-the-art, so certain to induce vomiting?

Well, I had nothing else to do. So I popped in a Gravol, and went.

It turned out to be not so bad. The movie itself was cute. Visually, it was stunning (not nauseatingly), and very close to the original art. I'm a big fan of Mr. Vans Allsburg...he specializes in black and white pencil drawings...an art form we colourblind can appreciate. The computer animation technology was a little annoying, just not quite natural, which was distracting.

You know what was also distracting? The teenage/young adult assholes who sat behind us mocking the cloying sentimentality in some foreign language. It's funny...you don't need to understand what a person is saying to understand all the mocking nuances. And, some of you might know that I do enjoy me some mocking nuances. But seriously...if you're watching a children's movie, especially a Christmas children's movie, then there's going to be some heavy, ridiculous sentimentality. Assume that when you enter the theatre and move on from there. You're not being clever or witty when you point out the obvious.

Something else you may be thinking is obvious is the fact that all of this might smell like hypocrisy? Yes, I will admit that, in my giddy youth, I did, occasionally, (I can't stress that enough) mock the movie I was watching, commenting loudly enough for all of the other movie patrons around me to hear. But I chose to voice my opinion only when I felt ripped off, watching a supposedly scary movie which turned out to be merely stupid instead. (Child's Play 2, anyone?)

Where am I going with all this? I don't know. But I can safely say what I didn't do this Christmas: puke.

A general plea.

Those of you who wish to be in e-touch with me, or with whom I'd like to be in e-touch (you know who you are) will have to tag me first. My addresses disappeared when my computer committed suicide at the end of last semester. I still haven't gotten over that. After all I'd done for it! The stupid machine hurled itself into the digital abyss two days before the end of semester.

It's been about a month. Really, I'm over it.

You would think I would have too much to write about after having been away from the blog for so long. Sadly, that isn't the case. My Christmas and New Year's were both blessedly quiet. In the past, our Christmases have been huge family affairs. But due to dwindling numbers of people and a noticeable lack of children (except my cousin's grandson. But he wasn't around this year. I prefer it that way. Whatever. If that makes me a bad person, so what.), this Christmas was really quiet. In some ways, it's kind of pathetic. When there used to be a core group of 12 that sometimes swelled to 20, we now have a group of eight. We used to eat, talk, laugh, sing carols, and stay up late waiting to open presents after midnight. And for a few years, when we kids were young, there were skits and performances...we had to dance for our parents. It was a bit "stage mom", except none of us grew up to be pageant winners (most probably because there was only one female). I now can see that this was a twisted way of distracting us kids. There was no whining about opening presents. We were too busy changing costumes and singing out. (No Xine, there were no "jazz hands". You can erase that image from your brain.)

And for the last few years, I've been working at golf courses, so New Year's Eve took on a particularly loathsome tone. The last couple of years, I've had to work weddings on NYE. And I ask you...how freaking selfish is that? The only way a wedding couple could be more obnoxiously self-centered would be to have their wedding on another major holiday like Christmas or even Valentine's Day (I know, I know...V-day is a totally fictitious, money-grabbing "holiday". But still, some people like to celebrate ON THEIR OWN.) So this year, not having to work until 3 am, I took it easy. The truth is, though, that I've been working NYE for so many years now that I wouldn't know what to do with myself. Oh well, maybe I'll figure something out for next year.

Well, that's the summary of my little holiday. I've been working quite a bit at the mag, doing a little editorial cleanup while T-L had her operation. But we'll be back to school soon, and I'll be seeing all of you whom I haven't seen over the last month. I'm so sorry that we didn't get together to do stuff. I would have really liked to. Somehow, I didn't have time. But I promise to make time in the future.

See you all on Monday.

Happy New Year! To celebrate, I purchased a brand new (shiny) computer. This means that I'm back online. Shower me with your e-love...I've been deprived. I'll be back to fully functioning computer gnome in a couple of days while I reconfigure and install software. Until, enjoy the anticipation of a full-fledged blog entry. I've been saving up!