Colours

It started with good and bad. As children we're taught lessons at mom and dad's knees to watch out for strangers and bad people. Illustrations in our story books always showed the evil characters as ugly, wart-ridden, malformed subhumans. We learned to delineate the people we could trust or like by their appearances and first impressions, making opinions based on black and white. As we grew a little older it became evident that judgements drawn from how beautiful a person was on the outside couldn't be used as the litmus test for determining friendship or worthiness. False niceties were learned, used and identified depending on our moods, attitudes and expectations of others. Friends became a thing to toss around, exchange and refund at the lunch table on a regular basis. We bartered for what we wanted, left behind the refuse and in the end came out of some difficult growing years bearing battle scars won by crossing that line in the sand with our allies. Our worlds became shades of grey and we knew that even things set in stone would eventually erode away from the daily bashing from the elements we call life.

Each passing moment teaches us something new about the way the world works, so splendidly laid out if only we would open our eyes. When we wipe away the blur of ignorance to get a glimpse of the truth it hurts and we're shocked and we can't believe that nobody ever told us before how foggy it can be. The truth is that there is no such thing as black and white or shades of grey because then it would the simplification of an equation that can't be solved. To assign a colour to life would spell the end of discovery and questioning, and making things defined as we see fit would only serve to close our eyes again to the world outside of our minds when we should be pushing the boundaries and sharing ourselves with each other.

I can't tell who is a good person and who isn't anymore, I used to think that it was so easy and relied on snap judgements to instantly like or dislike someone. 'Good' is so subjectively used and loosely defined that it doesn't even really mean anything anyway. The more people I meet the more I see how little I know of the human composition and how complex relationships can be, no matter how casual or deep they are. I have some very good friends now who started off as bugs on my windshield, most probably for some slight I can't even remember. Then there are others with whom an instant connection was made and we thought we'd be friends forever. Disagreements were the melodramatic annoyances of others we couldn't understand and our differences only made us link up together to form a stronger bond. After awhile there were bound to be chinks in the armour and cracks in the mortar. After awhile it became apparent that we weren't really that alike to begin with, or maybe we were so alike that we see reflections of ourselves in each other that we didn't really want to see, and the differences we had embraced were starting to smother the relationship until one of us let go and we fluttered away until there was nothing left.

People I had thought were solid and trustworthy turned out to have as many faces as there are cards in their wallets. People you thought you knew enough suddenly became a complete stranger you can't reach or connect with and it makes you wonder if you could be one of these people. I open my mouth to see if the tongue inside is forked and turn my head to see if there's another face back there. I can see how devious and flawed you are but I can't see my horns no matter how many mirrors there are and how unbiased I try to be because the truth is I see me the way you see you.

Bon Echo 2006

Went camping with a few friends this weekend and I guess it was fun. I mean, I sort of enjoy their companies and there was plenty of alcohol to go around so it can't be all bad. Right?

There was rain, lots of it. Not great for any trip but you can't control the weather and the saving grace was that it mostly rained overnight while we were all tucked away/passed out in our tents. It was mostly nice during the day, except for the short bout of pouring rain during our hike but we were all dressed for it so that was OK.

Highlights and lowlights:

Goose getting a palmful of ass
It's not quite as sexy as it sounds although he can now proudly say he got some action. I was on Mr. Stinky's shoulders tying up a tarp for the impending rain and already had some drink in me. Heights and balance are in short order on any given day but especially when wobbly pops are involved. I must've leaned back a little too much at one point because suddenly a hand was on my butt to steady me I presume, and just as fast it was gone. Haven't quite decided if he was being sneaky there or not but it's OK, I have a nice butt. I'll let any of you cop a feel too, we'll start the line up shortly and you can take a number.

Too many wobbly pops
It's been a very long time since I got completely wasted. It'll be a very long time before I revisit that nightmare again. Nothing like standing bent over in one spot because you know that the next move or any other position will induce violent vomiting to signify that you're having a good time. The only positive outcome I could see was that I simultaneously fertilized the trees and fed the wildlife in several spurts. And by spurts I mean forceful eruptions. And you also need to know that strawberry rhubarb pie revisited tastes disgustingly horrible. There's a special feeling with the knowledge that the sensation of vomit knocking on your uvula's door will stay with you for a very long time.

Campfire conversations
What was said around the burny centre of both nights will stay there but you may be told that we had some great exchanges and laughs. We talked about our feelings, or lack thereof and vented about stuff. Extra points for having imbibed on the juices of lowered inhibitions, I had a hand alongside Emma in asking some wickedly inappropriate questions but we got answers. We now probably know more than we should for females. Scandalous.

Chipmunks on crotches
Now that totally sounds dirty. While we were sitting around Mr. Stinky and Goose started feeding the local chipmunks peanuts. Then it got elaborate with peanuts going up their legs and onto their knees. The activity evolved into a trail of nuts being placed on my legs and I have to admit I've never had so many cameras aimed at my crotch area. It was so Paris Hiltonesque it suddenly made me feel self conscious to have my legs wide open like that, and all so we could get a rodent to crawl up my leg. Have I made this story sound dirtier than it should? Golly. Hahaha...

OK, perverts. Here's some proof that I'm not into chipmunks. That way. On Saturdays. .......wait, what?

Summer Showdown

I know that there are only a couple of days until the end of summer 2006. I know that soon it'll get cold, people will start coughing, sneezing and boogering everywhere, the ice and snow will fall, the biting winds will blow up our pant legs showing no mercy for frostbitten cootches and we'll all lose our beautiful, glowing tans, thus turning into walking zombies who blend into the rest of the dead and winterized world. That was a really long sentence.

I'm fighting the change of seasons tooth and nail. Despite chilly mornings where I can see my breath and afternoons which do little to warm the soul I am still in my summer clothes. Until it gets unbearably frigid I have sworn an oath to wear skirts, sandals/heels and tank tops to work. I march proudly up and down the hallways on a daily basis looking like July when everyone else is already dressing for February and telling me to put on a sweater. To be honest, most times I'm not feeling the cold which is ironic considering how much guff I get for having less body fat than some others (this is totally out of my control as I can eat like your mom on a menopausal day). My toothpick arms still sun-kissed and bare are a testament to how I will not falter in my quest to keep summer around a little longer.

You should support me, my rented minions, in this epic yearly battle. Soon I'll be posting messages full of blah and wah describing how incredibly S.A.D. I am, how uninspired and sucked dry of life and energy... all because of the cold. I can't wait for this current cold front to snap that so we can enjoy Indian Summer 2006. Wait, is that a derogatory term now? Hahaha... what movie/show was that from? "Indian." "Dots or feathers?" Ha! I love me some snarky humour. That may be why I'm so universally loved: unapologetically unpolitical.

Back to the point. Lift my arms when I falter, carry my feet when I stumble for I shall prevail. In almost exactly 6 months' time I promise if you join this fight with me I shall bring back the warmth. The sun. The joy. Because come on, what else are we gonna do right? A happy Stinky T is a blogging Stinky T and as long as I'm happy what the hell else matters? I mean, I love you all... big and small. Wait, come back.

Cheap Feel

Apparently I got one today. Everyday after break my friend Amy and I wash our hands before returning to our desks. It's a good routine to get into, especially having witnessed firsthand how questionable some people's hygienic habits are. I personally am not shy to say that I wash my hands like, 50 times a day. I am singlehandedly keeping the soap and lotion people afloat, I am their economy! Well, me and scads of horny, single guys out there whose Saturday dates consist of a magazine, a sock and that trusty bottle of Jergens.

So today Amy had a magazine in hand and before the purification of the hands she put it down on a nearby cabinet. We were gabbing away so I didn't register that action. She finished first and I was next. Still jabbering like a pair of budgies, we headed back towards our office but not before she stopped in her tracks to pick up said magazine. Me being the uber aware person living the keyboardist's life, kept going. At the last minute my body reacted before my mind did and the feet stopped moving but that doesn't do much for inertia and to right myself I tripped and flew towards her. I should add that as this happened a few people were having an informal meeting a few feet away from us, in an office made of glass.

I tripped and gravity pushed me into Amy. We stumbled together a few steps, burst into cackles at my clumsiness and then she proclaimed that I had violated her by grabbing some boobage. We couldn't stop laughing and started doing that hyper speech at several octaves higher than normal trying to calm down. When that finally happened I admitted that in the passing moment of gracefulness I didn't feel what she said I should've felt. She reenacted the incident to me, perhaps to refresh my mind. Nothing. I proposed that the next time we have such a close encounter we should slow things down and experience it in slow motion because I figure if I'm going to grab some boob we should at least both know what happened and enjoy it together, right?

Skids and Dives

Sounds like some backyard water sport. It's really not. This past weekend Mr. Stinky and I took a trip around Lake Ontario. We took the Seaway Trail around the southern end of the lake and up around to Kingston or thereabouts before heading south back home. Along the way we stopped at several cities and towns, nothing to write home about and camped at several state parks. I must say though, Kring Point State Park was a really cool stay as most of all its campsites were on the St. Lawrence River waterfront and we watched several barges chug through. We picked a fairly private site and enjoyed a fire-cooked dinner of salmon and potatoes right on the lake.

Last night, back on terra firma Canada we stayed at Presqu'ile Park south of Brighton. I guess it was a nice park, but nothing outstanding. We needed dinner, I didn't feel like cooking and cleaning afterwards so we headed into town. Nothing to be found in Brighton so off we headed to Trenton where one of the first places to eat was called "Rednecks Pub" with the requisite swarm of hogs sitting in the parking lot. Seedy looking, like a dive. We didn't eat there but it brought up fond memories of another time not long ago...

Mr. Stinky entered a marathon in Massey, a small town between Sudbury and Sault Ste. Marie. He placed a hold on a room at a local motel in town for the weekend and we were told what signs to look for as it was "kind of hidden". The day of, we arrived at Massey and set about looking for this motel. When we landmarked all the signs the motel guy told us to look for, we slowed down and whaddya know, there it was if a little run down. We pulled into the drive and the spidey senses just exploded.

Stinky T: 'Girls Girls Girls'?

Mr. Stinky: There's the motel.

Stinky T: But it says 'Girls Girls Girls'!

Mr. Stinky: Oh shit, are you serious?.... It's all one building!

Stinky T: That's disgusting, I don't want to stay here! We're not staying here!

Mr. Stinky: But all the other places are booked for the race and this guy's got my name and cell phone number down...

Stinky T: I don't care, we're not staying here. If the strip joint is attached to the motel can you imagine how much DNA is all over that place?!? Nasty!

Mr. Stinky: Heh, I guess we wouldn't be getting much sleep with the music and all and I need a good night's sleep for tomorrow...

Stinky T: Eek! There's a man in the office window, see him? He's on the phone and he's looking down at us. Let's go! Let's go let's go let's go let's go!!

Mr. Stinky: Shit, he's watching us! What if he knows it's me? What should we do?

Stinky T: Reverse! Let's go! Let's get out here, I don't care if he's watching us. Let's go let's go let's go let's go!!

That, my friends was a total dive run by a skid. A skid in his stained undershirt smoking and talking on the phone, staring at people coming up the drive like a hungry guard dog waiting to pounce. I shudder to think of what his motel rooms are like and the kinds of stains, diseases and memories left behind from the side jobs performed after the lap dances. Luckily, we found another roadside motel a little farther away for accomodations. It was almost a dive too, but the landlady was nice and the place was clean. After the first motel, I could hardly complain.

P.S. Remember how I said I had some crazy neighbours who love cranking the a/c? It's say what, mid-teens now outside and their unit is just the little engine that could, outcooling the Arctic. Nuts I tell ya.

Vertigo

This site, Mimi in New York is one of my favourite reads. She's a magna cum laude Cambridge grad who went to New York to become a journalist. Troubles with getting her papers and visas resulted in finding work at strip clubs to make rent. If you've got rainy days, read her blog. She is an amazing writer and an absolute word wizard, sometimes I don't know how she does it. If nothing else, read the latest entry Vertigo for a glimpse of her life and why I enjoy her blog so much.

For T-J

This picture is so funny I stole it from her corkboard to show the rest of you. You so have to imagine the entire scene as it played out. Beautiful.



















You know that this giraffee's (you have to say it like it's spelt) got to be blonde.

Graphic Burp

Yesterday after another day of slogging through the keyboardist's life, I went to meet Mr. Stinky at his work so that we could go out for dinner and miss the usual Friday commute home. While he was finishing up I surfed the internet at his desk and visited one of my bookmarked sites. I hadn't been there in a few days so there were several posts I needed to catch up on and the funniest, seriously, funniest thing I've read in a very long time had me in tears. Being that we were in a work environment, and not mine because I have no problems letting loose the howls of hysteria at my workplace, I had to stay somewhat quiet. I was choking, shaking and in stitches. The second reading required, due to blurry wet eyes during the first one, didn't fare so well either.

It's graphic and detailed so if you use your imagination you might feel as if you were him at that moment partaking in the sensory overload... I hope you find it as entertaining as I did. As a caveat, don't eat or drink while reading. You know, just in case.

Culture Shock

Train Piece

Everyday at 4pm The Shuster and I jet out of hell and head for the train station. We talk about all the pointless nothingness we did that day and bitch about whatev, it's pretty much a set ritual. We usually get to the station shortly after 410pm and the train leaves at 425pm. Those last 10 minutes or so consists of a countdown to see who our neighbours will be. Sometimes we act like crazy people, put our bags on the seats next to us and sprawl all over the ones we're sitting on in order to discourage seat buddies. We're not trying to be obnoxious but being a big guy, it's pretty uncomfortable having anyone sit next to or across from him. I'm Asian, I grew up crammed in the car with 19 other people anytime we went anywhere so I can deal. But I prefer the North American standards of space. Sometimes we just gotta deal, you can't not let someone sit if they want it right?

There have been times when we've had to move. Not necessarily because we didn't want to sit with people but because of what they bring into our environment. There are no private sanctuaries in public transit but you hope that society still retains a bit of decency from time to time. At the end of the day most people want nothing more than to relax and enjoy a little peace and quiet because chaos is just on the other side of the train doors and everyone's got to get out some time.

I don't need to hear about Cindy, her boob job and what you think of her melodramatic high life from four rows away. The way I see it, whoever you're talking to is beside, across from you or on the other end of the cell phone pressed up against your face, not halfway down the train. Likewise for groups who insist on making their conversations include the rest of us, thanks for trying to be so involving but no one gives two shits about what you're talking about. Seat change.

I shouldn't be able to smell the disgustingly thick and putrid bouquet you call cologne or perfume. No one should smell like a dumpster that's been sitting out in the sun full of decaying hot garbage mixed with cheap vanilla or horse testicle sweat. It's not alluring! Your 3 metre cloud of death makes me want to vomit through my ears, I'd rather smell B.O. than your designer testicle sweat! Seat change.

I realize that people are hungry after work and need a snack; I can't justifiably get mad when they bring food onto the train but I do anyway. You ever notice that if you get some sort of fast food such as fries from McDonald's they smell and taste like deep-fried paradise? The same cannot be said for someone else's fast food, that shit smells like sour poison. This odour anomaly applies for all fast foods there are out there and I can't explain it but we don't wait around for the stink to waft away because it doesn't. It clings and hangs and lingers until I want to vomit out my ears. Seat change.

Who says sitting in the train is less stressful than driving home? Sometimes it's so not. I may be more sensitive than usual (remember my wolfish senses?) to certain smells but really, there are so many other irritants presented on a daily basis. Can you tell I don't like people? I need a bubble. Like the Jetsons. Why haven't they invented those yet, damn it!?