R to the Power of T

Rob Thomas sings, "What if I could hold you till I feel you move inside of me?" And the crowd goes, "OOOOOooooooooooooooooooooh." Erin claims, "That is also sexual." Jean says, "You should listen to her. She's a whale biologist." And this is why Erin and Jean shouldn't be allowed in public places...

For Valentine's Days Shane bought me tickets to see Rob Thomas. It was supposed to be a lovely, romantic evening for the two of us. He got put on nights, so he couldn't take me. Jean loves things that I love so she said she would come and that David could drive me back to London the same night. Good plan. Almost.

It cost 4 dollars for two small pops. We figured there were refills, but didn't want to hang on to the cups, so we came up with a plan to just pick our cups out of the trash when we got thirsty again. And, love, that is just the beginning.

The opening act was Anna something. She was okay, but wore ugly clothes. Jean and I kept looking at eachother, asking, "Are those words? Is she singing in English?" And it was awesome because we had the same thoughts. As it turns out, if you know the song she's singing then it's easier to tell if she's saying real words or not.

Robert came on around 9 o'clock. He played some interesting songs. Apparently, he likes the songs he wrote when he was with MB20 but only if he gets to sing them crazy and abnormally. I barely recognized Bent and The Difference (aka the Boulevard song) was too fast.

There was this girl a couple rows up from us and I was pretty sure she was on some sort of nasty drug. She just seemed extra stupid. And the world is relatively dumb to begin with. I will show you my impression of her if you'd like. It's really good.

Jean and I like contraversy, so we really wanted to start a fight. We were all set to just start yelling at someone and then take a swing at them but miss and hit the person two rows ahead of us and then blame it on the person we were yelling at. It was a good plan, but we have short arms so there was no way we'd be able to reach that far. So Jean says, I'll just throw my shoe then.

And that is how it started. I said, "Okay. But let's wait until the concert is almost over." An hour later we re-evaluated the plan and realized that short of pretending to have a peg leg, if Jean threw her shoe she'd get caught because she would be the only person trying to leave with only one shoe on. She sat and mulled for a few minutes and then agreed that it was probably a good idea. Then she says, "Can I see your boot for a second? I just want to see what size it is."

The only thing that could possibly top that was our rendition of Smooth with air guitar. Santana wasn't there so the song didn't sound right, so we added the guitar noises ourselves. I'm actually surprised that we didn't create a riot with that...but RT fans are evidently mellow or on drugs.

The rest of the weekend was good. Rory made me laugh something wonderful. Hanging his head out the window of the freestyle he announced that he never wants to turn 19 again. And I don't blame him one bit.

Bitter Days

NB: Before you read this, remind yourself how much I love the goos. I am not in any way making fun of them. I just found their song a little too cheery for Hostile Wednesdays--so I rewrote it to suit my needs. It's supposed to be funny, not mean. Like your face.

And I’ll tell you what I want this year
And I’ll try and make it painfully clear
Just a chance that maybe you’ll have
Bitter days (like I dooooooo [a la Lisa Loeb, I saw her a goos concert so she’s in])
Because I don’t have any boxes
And I need some string
To hang myself and store my things
There’s no desire or love, only another bitter day.

So take these words
They are pretty worthless
When no body is forgiven now
Cuz tonight the night still won’t end again.

You find it sitting in your living room
When you’ve wrapped yourself in all that gloom
There’s not faith nor trust nor peace--there’s only doom.

And the one poor child that would save this world
Knows there’s ten million more who probably could
But won’t because no one believes in God any more (as if I doooo…[again a la Lisa Loeb])

So take these words
They are pretty worthless
When no body is forgiven now
Cuz tonight’s the night still won’t end again.

I wish everyone was loved tonight
But I hate them all out of spite
And it’s all because of all these bitter days

So take these words
They are pretty worthless
When no body is forgiven now
Cuz tonight’s the night still won’t end again.
And the morning may not ever come again.

Wasn't that fun? I will give you some of the real lyrics so that you understand why it's funny not mean. "And you ask me what I want this year, and I try to make this kind and clear: Just a chance that maybe we'll find better days. So take these words, and scream outloud, because everyone is forgiven now. Tonight's the night the world begins again...I wish everyone was loved tonight and somehow end this endless fight. Just a chance that maybe we'll find better days." You can hear it at www.googoodolls.com if you want to sing either version to make yourself feel better on Hostile Wednesday.

All the Things that I have Done

Andrea has me thinking in song lyrics again. Not that she usually makes me think in song lyrics, that she has this time and I am doing it again, in that I do it fairly often. Understand?

This is a picture of University College at sunset. It was the picture of the week posted by some Western expatriate (in that he transferred to U of T). I love to see pretty pictures of my school. I believe it makes the rest of the world jealous. People who visit don't understand why I go to a castle to learn about Modern Drama. There is this really pretty lecture hall in University College called Conron Hall with stained glass windows and everything. I was supposed to have a class in it first year but the prof didn't like the acoustics.

Here is a better picture of it in daylight. I guess it does look like a castle. Professor Zeitz tells me that from the steps you get a prospect view of the lower part of campus. I tell her that I don't know what that means, and she gives me a lecture on 18th-century gardens.

This is where we ended up instead. I know that the picture is pretty impressive, but Middlesex College Room 110 smells like sweaty socks.

I am showing you these pictures so that you can gain some insight into how I spend my days. You can't tell as much from the first picture, but in the second you can see the hill I walk up and down most days of the week. The first picture is important because I used it in my desktop publishing project, which (by the way) I'm almost finished. The last one is black and white. It is monochromatic. Like me. I will give you all the money in my top drawer if you can tell me what I might possibly mean by that.

For those of you that think I've been neglecting my blogging responsibilities and not bringing you the usual delights you are so used to, you should go see Andrea's blog http://ohtheblogness.blogspot.com and check out the comments. I've been busy.

Andrea and I are making a list of songs that don't make us cry (it is surprisingly long) and we're going to burn it onto a cd so we can sit around and listen to it while we drink daiquiris. If any of you have a burner you'd be willing to let us use for this purpose, please let me know.

The wounds inflicted by my rejection from English 298E are finally starting to heal. Actually, I barely know they're there because I have so much reading and writing to do that I don't have much time to think about it.

Ford apps came out today. I'm going to try to have mine in by Friday. My father is making sure I understand the importance of getting it in early. Jeff is still off school though, and I'm pretty sure he's not getting that lecture. Isn't it fun to be the least favourite?

Dennis was asking about the cost of leasing a Fusion this summer. He can't afford it but we worked out a plan. He can share mine with me and Jeff and Meaghan. I just think it would be truly wonderful to tell Meg that she can't use it because Dennis needs it in Barrie. And then I can be evil. Everything that ends with me being evil is worthwhile.

Check out the title of this American Lit paper I want to write: "Huckleberry Finn--Cross- Dresser: How Deceit Reveals the Truth about Gender Performance and Construction". I bet you can't wait. I know I can't.

That's all the news for now ladies and gents. Have a good evening and don't forget it's hostile Wednesday tomorrow. Bus drivers beware. Convert tonight.

257 Weeks

You could be waiting for a day that won't come. And you could be so much more than you've become. But I have found my feet 257 weeks, and you could be waiting for a day that won't come. And it's SO sad, you're so good and I'm so bad--but you won't see me wasting the best thing I've ever had. And it's such a shame that I can't tell you anything...

Some days, I love Nine Days. For those of you who are mathematically challenged, 257 weeks is just short of 5 years. So, let us make a list of things that you or I or the whole world may have been waiting close to 257 weeks to happen:

1. George W. Bush to say something remotely intelligent. Sorry, it's out of the way now. We can move on.
2. School to be out forever.
3. The snow to melt.
4. Your heart to melt that it might know the warmth I exude.
5. The end of the world.
6. The list of readings to get smaller.
7. The essays to at least stop piling up.

If you're waiting for these things, you could be waiting for a day that won't come. Maybe not. Sometimes it feels that way though. I am keen on short sentences. Today.

Well, you could be so much more than you've become. What could you be?

• Intuitive. That is Kennedy's contribution for the day. He says, "A tractor trailer tries to go under a bridge that is too low [IDIOT! says I]. It gets stuck. So all these engineers and other truck drivers and business people stuck in traffic stand around and try to figure out how to get the truck out from under the bridge. Finally, a little boy suggests they let the air out of the tires so that the truck will be low enough to move from under the bridge." Intuition...the fourth out of five aspects of creativity.
• Asleep. Being asleep always seems better than being awake. There is a pillow where you sleep...and dreams are more interesting than real life.
• Working on something important--like one of those many essays. But nooo, you're stuck in DTP trying to find something long enough to hang yourself with.
• Finishing my Gwynne Dyer book so that I can have it back. But only if you're Brendan.
• Rich. But then you wouldn't be very happy. Money can't buy happiness. I used to play a song like that on the piano. I hated it.

So, with all that...I suppose it's time for a life update.

I didn't get into the creative writing class next year. Nor did I make it onto the waiting list. They had a record of 110 submissionsm and only 24 made it. I was not in that 24 and never will be. That's okay though. Katrina has my reasoning for not even wanting to be in that stupid class all worked out. Western is too conservative, I believe, is the angle she takes.

I read 500 pages on the weekend. I am behind by 250 still. 67%. Ouch.

A male ponytail is actually called ponis. I kid you not. Kennedy told me. He never lies.

Shane is back on nights. Ew nights. That means that if I see him, he will be sleeping. And if I don't see him, he probably won't notice.

I'm supposed to go see Rob Thomas at Hamilton Place on Saturday. Shane is supposed to work. Nothing is fun alone. I plan on stealing Jean for my purposes.

And the most exciting news of the day...(this is a drum roll)...I found the sheet music for Better Days. Buy it for me. I will owe you my life.

...You won't hear me, still you endear me now.

Little Miss Fancy [No-] Pants

My favourite part of the weekend is that I don't have to go anywhere--and that means that pants are no longer mandatory.

So, I have some [un]exciting news. Jack, the head of the career counselling program at the SDC, asked me to fill a[n imaginary] position as the third [and therefore least important] career assistant coordinator next year. Alycia assures me [though I have no faith in her information] that this position is more lucrative than the one that I've been filling for the last two years. Fancy. I bet I'll have to wear pants and work harder.

The only thing that is preventing me from enthusiastically agreeing to take the position [other than my complete lack of ability to seem enthusiastic about anything] is that next year I will always be enrolled in at least four English courses, and one of them might be a thesis. So will I have time? Of course--I'm Little Miss Fancy [No-] Pants [who is evidently in some kind of love with square brackets].

Already the CA program has eaten away at much of my life. This week, I dedicated 7 of my hard-earned hours to teaching basic resume writing skills, interviewing potential candidates for next year and calming the fears of a bunch of first year MIT students. Stand in front of any group of people and try tell them a general arts degree has credibility in the real world with a straight face and then you and I can share the title of Little Miss Fancy [No-] Pants.

And it's official. I'm not allowed to express myself publicly after midnight for the rest of my life. But, in the coming weeks, you can look forward to a new type of weekly entry called "Jean and Wein: Random Midnight Thoughts." Also, I've lined up a featurette by Jean about Disgruntled Tuesdays. At this rate, there will be no days left worth getting out of bed for; and I'm certain you wouldn't have it any other way...

MARCH

Time to quit life or buckle down something fierce. Flip a coin to decide. Otherwise you're wasting precious time.

I'm going to have to dig deep for new material for this one. I am still laughing because I dug up last year's "manic March" post and I wrote it on exactly the same date. That means one thing: I'm in a rut. But it's March, and if I wasn't in a rut, I'd be abnormal. So, let's take a moment or two and applaud me for my normalcy. Thanks. That was really...great.

I thought my March was going to be alright, actually. I got back from reading week and thought, "Well, that was the worst break of my life. Things can only get better from here." I was very wrong. Really, very, quite, wrong. I must have forgotten that it is March.

But, I'm going to change things up a bit, just to keep you all on your toes. Today, (NB: it is Hostile Wednesday) I'm going to make you a list of all the things in the world that are wonderful. So you and I can have something to laugh about. Hopefully you can find something on my list that at least provides an opportunity for you to smile smugly at the shambles that my life is in.

Why I Love the World

1. It hates me. But at least it is consistent. So far, you may have noticed, there hasn't been a good month or even a really good day. At least not one worthy of note. So there, I love consistency.
2. The "I didn't start smoking party"--that I'm going to crash. Muahahaha.
3. Evil laughs.
4. There were people playing frisbee on the concrete beach yesterday afternoon. In shorts.
5. Derek told me that I should join them because I'm a dolt.
6. The word dolt.
7. November. Man, I'm hilarious. I still can't decide whether I hate November more than March. And I refuse to agree they're equally horrible.
8. College strike. The other half of the world is taking a break, from WHAT? At least I don't have to proof any papers on line sizing while this is going on.
9. Thin tipped pens. Half the fun is finding them.
10. My modern drama teacher is insane. Let us just make this point, I love insanity.
11. My lists. I have fifteen lists of things I'm supposed to remember every day.
12. My biggest obstacle: remembering where I left all my lists.
13. Irony and how my very existence hinges on finding it in new ways each and every day.
14. Redundancy. There is nothing better than repetitive repetition.
15. Last year's March blog. It was way better. But I'm trying not to be repetitive and redundant.
16. Not having to use London transit. This week Shane is here, and hopefully, it will just keep getting warmer so that soon I can walk to school again.
17. Sleep. Mostly because I always feel deprived of it. And don't it only seem to go...
18. Rory nicknamed Jean Slacks. Jean found out and wrote a song about it. They've never met but they have a song and I have nothing.
19. Mango flavoured rum.
20. Mudslide.
21. The fact that both are in my fridge.
22. Spring book sale. $3.99 for every book ever written I swear. Oh I could die happy now.
23. Goo Goo Dolls, of course. They are going to make my April better too by selling their CD finally.
24. Procrastination. It's so bad, but it feels so good.
25. Random visitors. March is my busiest month ever, but more people have said they'll come visit now than ever before.

See? Wasn't that positive and life-affirming? Isn't it good to be alive? You can say no. I would. But I bet you weren't expecting that. You know, if I could change anything I would change everything. But these bitter days shall remain. Happy Hostile Wednesday. Keep your chin up, the weekend of reading is closer than you think. Doesn't that sound like fun?

Boo to the World

Or, what to do when the event that was supposed to get you through the rest of the week is "cancelled."

Boo to the Lies
Anyone who knows me well, knew that the second I saw the Gwynne Dyer posters up around the university I started planning the upcoming week around his arrival. It's dorky, I know. But when two days in February have been drawn out over three weeks, you take what you can get.

So, you shouldn't be surprised by the fact that when that scrawny little know-nothing from the USC approached the podium and said that the whole thing was cancelled had I something to throw, I would have thrown it.

With that news at my disposal, I just sat there with my jaw nearly hitting the floor, teeter-tottering between rage and devastation. Then a ray of hope: a man with a silly red scarf announced that there is no way that it should be cancelled--Dyer is coming. Well, I don't usually make it my business to take the advice of men in silly red scarves, but some days you believe what you want to be true. Today was one of those days.

And come Dyer did. I was so glad I waited that I came up with a complex story about how the USC tried to sabotage the lecture in order to sell more drinks to minors while emptying out seats in front of the stage. My story was elaborate, sure; but if I were you I might doubt its validity. Just a thought.

So what did I learn? As much as a person possibly can from a writer that one has studied with nearly religious fervour. That is to say, I was happy to hear him speak, and he said some things that I hadn't thought of or fully understood, but they were things that I had read in one of his books or articles somewhere along the line.

Granted, I never thought I would hear the words "Long live the Communist Party of China, I guess" come out of the mouth of such a man. Just like in his writing, he structured his lecture very carefully to end on a baffling paradox that pulled everything together so neatly/disturbingly/confusingly that I sat there in shock for about twenty minutes, at which time I realized I was late for meeting Alycia.

Jean will be disappointed with me, but I didn't make a "In Dire need of Dyer" sign or stand up and shout when he arrived. I loved the fact that the USC set up a large pitcher of water for Mr. Dyer, and he found a way to get a beer instead. It's really classy to talk politics with a pint in hand. Note to self: always drink a pint while discussing the fate of the world.

Boo to No Shows
Besides Gwynne, I had an "interesting" afternoon. I met up with Alycia and hiked up to Essex to give a resume writing presentation, to which no one showed up. But there were cookies so we stuck around and talked to the Academic Counsellors. Eventually, about 6 or 7 people did come in at different times and we sat down and put in some face time with each and every one of them. For the most part they were polite and receptive, grateful and extremely nice. And then it was time to go...

Boo to Idiots
But you know that my stories never end that well. About two or three minutes before we were supposed to check out, this kid comes running in, laptop in hand, and says, "I just really need some help! I'm not too late am I?" And I, knowing that Alycia had to run home to do her feasability report, said, "I can give you some help quick. But I have to run soon so that I can catch my bus." I thought he seemed like a nice kid and you all know how bad I am at leaving someone who wants (my) help high and dry.

I thought it would be normal. I thought that I would tell him what I tell everyone else in a matter of seconds and then be on my way. But nothing I said sunk in with this kid. Every suggestion I made he argued with me about. I didn't want to be rude, and I finally suggested that he come in and talk to someone else at the job search clinic, where there are more resources and someone would be able to explain more thoroughly why "was trusted to close the store" is a passive and inappropriate point for a job description. [Sidebar: If you don't know, I can explain it. It's really not that difficult. However, if you try to tell me that "was trusted" and "closed" are both verbs in the passive voice I will personally club you to death. Okay?]

Boo to London Transit
And so I missed my bus. It was after 7, which means that the buses come way way less often. And so I froze a little. Took the 9C up to Wonderland and walked the rest of the way home. Upon arrival, I remembered that I hadn't eaten all day and despite the fact that the only thing I really wanted in the whole world was a rum and coke, I made myself some cheese sticks and tried to forget all about life.

Boo to Homework
Clearly I have not done any of my reading or homework as I was supposed to since my long and treacherous journey back from the school. Two out of my three analyses are done, but I don't know if they are right at all so I quit. I should be reading Robinson Crusoe but I love talking to you all so much more.

I finished up As I Lay Dying last night, but haven't touched the other things that I wanted to have done in anticipation of slack week. Granted, I will have a full week, plus a few days, to catch up as I see fit.

Boo to March
It is upon us. March is so close it hurts to think about it. Prepare yourselves for more drama than usual (and I know, I provide a healthy dose as it is). In March I should hear something about Ford for the summer. Boo to Ford. Boo to March. Boo to essays.

Boo to the World!

Yes, that means you. Boo to you too.

Random: Visual Version

As promised. I am not to blame for more than half of these random pictures. (Did you like my ambiguity there? I sure hope so.)

I didn't think this is the picture I was choosing...but they take so very long to load. It's kind of scary, but only if you are a wimp like me. Dennis took it. He can have all the credit. (Jobe 2006) Yes, I am citing everything because Rory made me think it was a good idea.

Katrina and her drunken friends in Korea. They wouldn't be so happy if they realized I was missing. (? 2006)

This is the first picture I was looking for. It is Rory's interpretation of how the blanket I am making him would look. He clarifies, "Only with more stars like that one and a really ugly green" (Burns 2006). No wonder he was worried. No wonder his worry made me want to cry.

The look on Brett's face when Ana kissed me at the bar as a birthday present. Also, the reason why we had to pose again for the camera--Shane turned to take a picture of Brett at the last second instead of us...stupid boys. (McGinnes 2006)

The look on Ana's face after she took the nasty shot as part of the drinking game. Here's what was in it: rum and coke, orange juice and vodka, motts clamato, banana liquer and sambooka. Oh, and I think some sort of mango juice. I would have died first. Ana's a trooper. (McGinnes/Smith [the distinction is a little hazy on a night like that one] 2006)

My fourteen year old brother skating on top of the pool. No, that's really not safe. If the picture had audio, you'd be able to hear me yelling at him to get off the pool and at Shane for thinking it was funny... (McGinnes 2006)

This is an otter and its yellow slide. We saw the otter at Storybook Gardens. I love otters. (McGinnes 2005)
This is a picture that Rory painted and sent to me via MSN. Look at that talent (Burns 2006).

Wouldn't you like to live in an apartment with a view like that? I would too. Unfortunately, I think that apartment is make believe because Dennis cut out some building that was uglying up his photo. If you were ever curious about what a hangover and some boredom in London can do for you, this might be the best answer you're ever going to get. Suddenly I feel like a horrible hostess. (Jobe 2006).

The penguin that Shane won for me at the movies on our 3rd anniversary. Isn't it adorable? (Smith 2005).

And that is that. More randomness to come, but you knew that already didn't you? Back to Gulliver's Englishness.

Random

Every now and then I like to make a post that makes you walk away saying, "Well, that was random." This is one of those times.

Yesterday during my group's rendition of One Flea Spare, (1.2 and 2.5--for those of you that are familiar with Naomi Wallace) Rohan spit in my face. He was supposed to miss. He missed the place he was aiming for (the floor) and the saliva caught me between my nose and upper lip. Everyone who didn't see what happened was convinced that my acting skills had just improved dramatically as I finished the extremely emotional scene on the brink of tears.

Gwynne Dyer is coming to UWO and I'm going to see him at all costs. The cost will likely be 2% of my participation mark in the class where I either get spit on or gaze at myself in a mirror, pretending to be the lesbian lover of Rohan--a gay man.

At least the cost isn't cash. Shane's on unemployment and I'm trying to save my death money. There's no one left to die to give me more inheritance if I can't pay my rent next year.

OSAP should look a little more seriously at the little girl--me.

I finished up Shane's red blanket in time for Valentine's Day and he forgot to take it back to Toronto with him. I didn't realize he left it until about two seconds ago.

I started Rory's blanket and it makes me laugh so very hard. It is a green and black starburst blanket. Rory tells me it is superb.

Jean is making an identical blanket but her starbursts will be orange. She keeps calling me to ask me how the pattern goes. It is SO simple. [Row a: ch 3 (counts as dc) 2 dc in next 2 dc, ch 1, (dc in next dc, ch 1) across to last 3 dc, 3 dc in las 3 dc. Row b: ch 3, 2 dc in next 2 dc, ch 1 (7 dc in next 7 st/sp, ch 1) across to last 3 dc, 3 dc in last 3 dc, etc.]

More than wanting to know the pattern she wanted to know why her starbursts didn't look the same as mine. My initial reaction was to tell her because hers are orange and mine are green. My second reaction was to tell her that I had no idea because I lost my ability to see things over the phone after the terrible boating accident of '89.

No, there was no terrible boating accident of '89.

No, there was no terrible boating accident at all.

It was a snowmobile accident, okay? I saw the tree, but no body told me the brakes didn't work.

The deadline for submission of applications for English 298E has been extended. I now have an extra week to get ulcers about applying for a creative writing class that I probably won't like anyway. If you still want to help me out with that one visit http://irisinexile.blogspot.com or ask me for the manuscriptI put together to hand in yesterday.

I was so ready to be a better person before I went to sleep last night. I convinced myself that I just need to buckle down a bit and everything would be okay. I packed gym clothes so that I could go to the pilates class and everything.

Hostile Wednesday hit and my resolution failed. Again.

Not only did I get spit on yesterday in Modern Drama, I had to feel up and kiss a stranger. Well, it was Shane, but not the Shane you think it is.

I am painfully aware of my feet right now.

My essay on Gulliver as a foolish Englishman and how his persona helps satirize the values of Great Britain as a whole in the 18th century is not going well. It's due tomorrow. I have all the books, a half decent outline and 4 pages written. But I can't make it long enough. I have never had the "not long enough" problem--only the "way way too long" problem. I am tired of thinking about Swift.

I am forcing myself to stay in the computer lab for as long as possible because if I leave I think I might make a run for it. And American Lit is really quite important.

I haven't finished As I Lay Dying yet. That's what we're supposed to be talking about in American Lit.

My mom reminded me 15 times before I left on Sunday that I needed to check the mail for her Valentine. It still hasn't come.

I actually have no solution to the sound of this pollution in me. Only more problems.

Monday morning on the bus instead of bursting into tears (like normal) I started laughing so hard because I was listening to Here is Gone and it reminded me of my first Goo Goo Dolls concert with Jenn, Jay, and Rebecca. The look was all for me.

If there were one person in the world right now that I would really want to talk to it would be Rebecca. I guess absence actually makes the heart grow fonder. I was pretty fond of her from the get go though.

Rory has decided that my dream job would be to type out interviews for newspapers from audio tapes. He based this decision on the fact that I am anal about putting two spaces between a period and the first letter of the next sentence.

Blogger always erases the second space. It drives me nuts.

Hillary is coming to London for the weekend. She is very excited. On Saturday she is going to make me dinner.

I have a psychology exam at 2 o'clock on Saturday afternoon.

I hate the world for hating me.

Try as I might, some days I am destined to lose every game of FreeCell that I play. Today appears to be one of those days.

The SDC is recruiting new volunteers for the Career Assistant Program. You could do what I do, only not quite as well. I am the sole returning Career Assistant out of the 13 volunteers that we had this year. That oughta tell you something about my perseverence--or everyone else's lack thereof. This will be my third year as a Career Assistant. They will never change my title though unless I'm enrolled in a program so that I can become an intern, or have graduated from a program so that I can be a counsellor.

My ability and tendency to trust anyone decreases more and more with each passing day. You've done nothing to counteract this phenomenon.

I sent a bunch of people ecards for Valentine's day. If you didn't get one, don't be offended because I was only sending them to people I was actually talking to at the time. I sent one to Dennis and he was so mad at me. But I got an email that says he opened it. I bet he loved it and now he feels horrible for treating me so cruelly. Actually, I mostly bet that he was drunk and didn't know what he was doing. And now he hates me a little more than he did the day before.

My plan is working.

Gilmore Girls might just be the best thing that ever happened to me.

On May 6th, Shane made plans to take me to the restaurant at the CN Tower. Convinced it was our 3 and a half year (plus two days so that it would be a Saturday) anniversary, he arranged everything a few weeks ago. He told me to keep the day free last weekend.

Shane never plans anything more than two minutes in advance.

May 6th is a month too early for a three and a half year celebration. Three years, five months, and two days seems like an odd occasion to plan something big.

After I pointed all of this out he started claiming it was all part of his master plan to divert my attention. Wow.

This entry just keeps getting longer and longer. But there was a specific something I wanted to say and now I can't remember what it was. So I just keep typing.

I am pretty sure I forgot to put deoderant on this morning and I'm paying for it now.

I am a question to the world. Not an answer to be heard. Or a moment, that's held in your arms.

Terri-Lynn and I have invented new slang. That's so feb of us.

It smells like kelbassa in here. I don't know why. At least its not making me hungry.

Damn, I just realized I haven't eaten anything yet. Coke won't sustain me forever, or will it?

Sometimes, the ability and drive to persevere is priceless. More often than not, worthless.

I'm going to go home tonight to try to find the name of the rhetorical scheme I just used there.

I lost my third FreeCell game in a row and I still can't remember what that everso pertinent point was.

Stay tuned for "Random: The Visual Version" with such entries as "This is my lamp. Dennis took a picture of it and then made it look more blue. I don't understand how he did it. I don't think I care. But maybe I do." It will be all kinds of great fun. I was not the answer so forget you ever thought it was me. Whatta ya got to move you, darling? Please don't say spitting in my face.

Groundhog Day: An Exposé

It's always been a pack of lies, of course, but it's fun, and we need fun if we are to survive another Canadian February. --CBC News Online. February 2, 2006. Available: http://www.cbc.ca/news/background/groundhogday/

Wiarton Willie, the groundhog that kept the lie working for him, so he could continue to work for a lie...until the day he died.

(Photo courtesy of CBC News Online.)

When I first found out about Groundhog day, I was perplexed. Seriously, the logic is fairly twisted, don't you think? If it's sunny then winter is going to last but if its snowing or cloudy or generally disgusting then we can throw a party because spring is coming early. And CBC says we can blame the crazy Scots for it.

Groundhog day should have been put to rest with Willie's death, but they just found a replacement. More than that, the display of Willie's body at his wake (which you have to admit is a little creepy to begin with) was a farce. CBC reports: "On Groundhog Day, they put Wiarton Willie face-up in a small pine casket, bright pennies over his eyes, paws clutching a raw carrot. But it was a fake! Turns out the real Wiarton Willie was so disgustingly decomposed he couldn't be put on display, so they found a stuffed facsimile and laid it in the casket."

Honestly, I don't know how that could be shocking. Animals rot after they die. If they could fake Willie's ability to predict the future, then why would they even consider not faking his death/burial? And why the hell did anybody care? I don't think anybody did. Well, no body but these guys:

A bunch of old men with no legitimate reason left for dressing in ugly suits and donning weird top hats. The only one I would trust even a little is the guy in the black hat, he just seems to be having fun and smiling for the camera. The big guy in front scares the crap out of me. He looks like he's thinking about punching someone in the face for doubting Willie's magnificent ability to see or not see his shadow. After that, the man on the far right who is "consulting" with the groundhog is probably just off his rocker. I make it a rule never to trust people that I think are insane.

But the plan is set. Next year, Andrew and I are going to blind[fold] the new Willies so that it is impossible for them to see their shadow. I said maybe we should just give them each an eye patch, so it would be harder but we wouldn't be cheating as much. Andrew pointed out that it's all a lie anyway, so it's not cheating because it can't be true. I was inclined to agree.

Happy February everybody. And remember, "Christmas lights are for Christmas, NOT groundhog day!"