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!?

Making Words Aloud

Sitting in front of my computer with a big, white screen devoid of text I'm at a loss. I want to write something, creative words and such are floating around in my head and I know I have the ability to make feeding the cats and popping my gigantic zit sound like a cool adventure. There is nothing.

I've been feeling quite contemplative lately. There just seems to be so many thoughts running around, not quite coherent but completely whole. I find myself drifting off into that other plane of consciousness quite often but always getting yanked back out abruptly and before I'm done. Sometimes I can sit in one spot and think for hours, about everything real and imagined. I like thinking as there are no boundaries inside and nobody to question the deliriousness of my logic. As loud as I can be at times I think that I'm much more an introvert as I am more than comfortable with the same silence that make people squirm and bring up the weather.

In these past few days I wrote something that turned into a two page exposition, a topic which began quite lightheartedly benign but evolved into a very personal and affecting diary entry. I let Mr. Stinky read it and he thought it was good. He also questioned whether I would publish it or not. I haven't quite decided, it seems much too deep down private to let others see, yet is probably the most honest account of me that I've ever expressed. Don't hold your breath for it to appear here anytime soon.

I can talk. Oh my god, I can talk so much that sometimes it's hard to shut me up. But when my mouth isn't opened is when I find myself most profound. I've always found it much easier to write things down than to vocalize them but sometimes I feel that I need to share something of me. That seems to be why I wanted to have Mr. Stinky read my essay... I wanted him to know but my words don't work the way they do when I say them to myself. This way I was able to keep the integrity of the message and at the same time lay it all out on the table. It's not quite the most ideal way to communicate but for now I suppose it'll have to do.

I've kept a diary for years, keeping inane, momentous and show-stopping events in the hereafter. These past few years I've been lazy and only write once in a very long while and I think it's why I started this blog, not really for you but for me because I like words. I like the way they connect and make sense. The fun patterns they make all over the page. The way they let me tell my stories and someone else wants to read them. If I could, I would be constantly writing and therefore constantly updating.

I can clearly see how horribly unorganized and disjunct this post has been, and embarrassingly so. Normally I'd go back, slash and burn the words until they flow: beginning, middle, end. But today I think I'll just leave it as visual proof that lately I really can't seem to connect the dots. If my words won't even work imagine the abomination when I try to speak... As many trains of thoughts as I have, it's just like rush hour at the station but nobody knows what happened to the damn schedule.

Baseball Players Are Pussies

Please don't try to dissuade me or defend them because I'd just laugh at you if you tried. Remember last year when Jeter dove onto the turf and laid there wracked in pain for a good 10 minutes like he needed his last rites? They may have wheeled out the stretcher... lord, they may have brought the whole ER down onto the field, I'm not too sure. But what did he end up with? A bruised thumb. Ohmigod!

When I heard that Chacin left the game last night with a crampy finger all I could do was roll my eyes. Dude, walk it off! Suck it up and play through the cramp. It'll eventually go away on its own. What the hell.

How do hockey players get their teeth knocked out and come back for their next shift? How do they break a leg but manage to hobble back to the bench so the next guy can jump on the ice? How can they stand in the hallway to get that gaping hole stitched up and return to the game? Inconceivable! (The Princess Bride was on a few days ago. Oh Westley....)

I don't know what breed of men they have in the MLB but seriously, let's tone that suck factor down a few notches. Nobody wants to hear about female cramps and pains but if a baseball player gets a cramp we want to send him get well cards and pretty balloons. This world makes so little sense that it's practically inconceivable.

Saturday Quickie

Bike riding to a nearby supermarket, we stopped at a red light. On a nearby light post I noticed a piece of paper taped onto it with the little cut-off flaps at the bottom for easy ripping.

Stinky T: Hey! Quick Divorces from $300!

Mr. Stinky: Haha! Look, someone already took one (of the flaps with convenient 1-800 number).

Stinky T: Haha! Wow, $300.

Mr. Stinky: $300... I could afford that.

Stinky T: Hey we'll go half, $150-$150.

Mr. Stinky: Done.

Stinky T: Niice!

Starburst Attack

A few fortnights ago an incident occurred which forever changed the dynamics between T-J and I. It wasn't planned and nobody was injured severely but it was gut-bustingly funny and became an instant classic. To this day when we retell the story it's a slapstick comedy reenacted in tandem coz it's always funnier that way.

I'm not a sweet snacker, I prefer to munch on salty foods instead. About the only time that I crave sweet stuff is when I'm PMSing. I don't know why. Sometimes I will even want chocolate but that's rare. I'm not a fan of chocolate as it does nothing for me. The mind just boggles. Back to the topic.

I hadn't had Starbursts in awhile so when I saw that they were on sale I bought a bag of the assorted flavours. I was enjoying them immensely at my desk and asked T-J and Shuster if they wanted to share in my bounty. Shuster came over and grabbed a few while T-J held out her hands for me to toss one over. We work about 10 feet away from each other so you'd think no problemo, yes? But if you did then there'd be no story to tell.

For the record I was planning on gently tossing it over so that it would land in her outstretched hands. Somehow the synapses grossly misfired because I winged the damned thing at her and because her hands were kind of head level guess where the Starburst went.

In the instant I let it fly my mind said "whoops!". In the half a millisecond (what would that be?) before the candy hit her, she must've seen the imminent strike because her head turned away from me and her hands morphed from catcher's mitts to shields. In the silence of the office we heard a small "tock!" and T-J's "AAAAAAOoow!!"

When the rest of that second passed we burst into laughter. My profuse apologies were drowned pitifully in the undertow of our tear filled hysteria and everytime I tried to explain my intent a fresh wave of mirth would burst forth. Why do we have boxes of kleenex on our desks? It's definitely not to combat nasal drip, unless it results from laughing. Nay, the kleenex is to aid in our recovery after such events of stupidity, especially when T-J revealed that as she shied away from the Starburst missile and yelled in reaction to being hit, a big gob of drool fell from her mouth and onto the floor. We laughed until it hurt, then we laughed some more until it got numb.

I don't even know if she ended up eating that candy. I can't remember coz all that laughing caused me to black out and forget the rest of the day. What I do know is, you can only get away with such acts of violence against your friends. If it had been anybody else and I had laughed to the brink of pissing myself, I can assure you that formal complaints would have been drawn up and issued. That would be followed by severe scolding and an indefinite ban on candy with pointy corners. And that's so not fun when that's about all we care for.

Just Add Water!

We've got Sea Monkeys in our office. They were on sale at the toy store and we decided they'd be the perfect addition to the ambience of our hard-working environment. I should tell you that this is the second generation. The first, may they rest in peace, were mercilessly slain in the historic event known as the T.R. Massacre*. I shall not divulge the tyrant's name, as he might slap me with a big, fat libel suit and as much as I cherished the pets I don't have the kind of money to go to court over such frivolity.

Sea Monkeys are a cutesy name for a species of brine shrimp. They are itty bitty little swimming creatures, kind of like lice or moving dandruff. They come freeze-dried in little packages and magically become animated when you mix them into a jar of pre-treated water like you would make lemonade.

They’ve essentially become the centrepiece of our office as we get frequent visitors throughout the day to check on their growth, numbers and watch them buzz around the tank. Everyone drops by to see them, it’s like freak circus central! I tell ya, this office is full of fre.. characters!

I’m happy to report that second generation Monkeys are thriving. After the T.R. Massacre we learned our lesson, there are now colourful signs all around the tank warning people not to touch or pick it up. Anytime a visitor gets too close to the pets we immediately screech out warnings which include promises of dire pain and torture should they disregard the signs. So far the combination of warnings have proven to be superbly effective.

So now, a little bit wiser and a little less soaked we are all living harmoniously with our sea creatures. Hopefully it stays that way coz I like that they are such an attraction and draw many new and returning visitors to our cozy little office. All it took was mixing a few things together to bring forth life! Playing god makes Stinky T ve-ry happy.

*Coles Notes version of the genocide: T.R. picked up the tank to look at it and proceeded to spill it all down his pants, namely his crotch. Now I know it’s not rocket science, but if you see a container filled with water why shake, tip and turn the thing upside down? I know, right?!?

Expand Your Lungs

The weather lately has been beautiful, the humidity has snapped and although it can get hot under the sun, you can’t beat hanging out in the shade. Mr. Stinky and I enjoy the outdoors; we bike, garden, hike, camp and go for walks… even on those yucky, sticky days. I figure you can’t be a constant shut-in, right? Everyone needs to go outside to relax, get some fresh air and have some fun when they can, especially since the majority of us go into a state of semi-hibernation come winter.

I’m coming to the realization that a lot of people don’t agree with me, a lot of people don’t like to breathe outdoors air or be outside. The past week or so, we’ve enjoyed having the windows opened and the a/c off. There is almost always a lovely breeze coming from the lake and it feels nice… different from manufactured cool air. I’ve even been using the side burner of our BBQ more often, just to be outside. However, all through the day and night, our next door neighbour’s a/c is running. And loudly at that. These last few nights temperatures went down to the low teens but I’ve deduced they like it much colder than that. I don’t even know what their bills are like but to give you a hint: they moved in about 6 months after we did and once as I was doing some gardening I looked at their meter. The numbers were already much higher than ours. Yowza!

It’s not an isolated case either, I’ve been told by some that their windows do not open. At home if the heat’s not on, then the a/c is. Not only do I find this quite wasteful in terms of unnecessary hydro use, which translates to further lining the pockets of our energy providers it leaves me with the question of why we don’t like natural, fresh air? Do we believe that it’s better inside? Not to get all scientificy here and I won’t be referencing anything, but I’m pretty sure that most studies between indoor and outdoor air have proven that the latter is usually cleaner and fresher. Or perhaps the age of artificial living has moved in whereby we don’t do or use anything unless it’s not in its raw state. Intriguing.

In any case, I don’t know why it’s on my mind. I don’t suppose it’s an issue of right or wrong, just different mindsets. But if you can before it gets cold, go outside and enjoy the weather. It doesn’t get any better than right now.

Back!

Days Gone: 4
Mileage Claimed: ~50km
Bear Encountered: 0
Moose Encountered: 1
Bug Bites: Stopped counting after the first one
Scary Storms: 1

I'm back. Rest your weary, little hearts, we made it safely back out the bush. Although for the rest of this post you will think of me as Lumpy T instead of the usual as I'm covered in bug bites, scrapes and bruises. More later.

We were gone for 4 days, and as stated above the round trip was roughly 50km worth of rowing and portaging. There was a lot of rowing; my arms and shoulders are sore but I held my own. Sometimes it felt like all we did was stroke... stroke... stroke... but we actually moved at pretty good clips. I've learned to look far off to where we were going, not in front of me, especially if we were rowing across the current coz then it gets trippy. Like we were travelling diagonally, or sideways which, when it was super windy was definitely the case. There was also the fear that we might tip over. Back country canoeing/backpacking is quite different from being in the familiar. We couldn't just whip out cell phones to call for help if anything bad were to occur. If something happens to you out there you're pretty much fucked. Ain't nobody gonna come rescue you coz how would you call them and how would they know where you are anyway? Since our packs were 30-50lb they'd be dead weight and sink so fast we wouldn't even see where they hit the water. All the gear and food would be gone in an instant, thus severely handicapping us. I was super vigilant in my quest to keep the canoe upright.

We were careful not attract any bears to our campsites. I'm pretty happy that we came out having never met each other, although according to park statistics it actually is very rare to see one of these creatures. Park rangers are lucky if they see one or two a year. Good odds for me.

On the second day we stayed on a small island littered with moose poo, actually moose poo dots the entire park. They're not very picky about where they go... think also of roughly two dozen chocolate Timbits in one pile. At about 4pm, while we were hanging out in our campsite which is located in the clearing at one end of the island Mr. Stinky and I heard branches snapping and something walking in the bush. We looked up and saw a huge brown shape walking through the trees, its footsteps thumping the ground so heavily that we felt them. The camera came out and we waited. The shape turned into a very impressive bull moose taller than Mr. Stinky's height of 6' and came as close as about 6 feet away from where we pitched our tent. We were very excited due to our proximity, plus they usually don't come out in the middle of the day. It got spooked and jumped into the lake to swim back to the mainland. We stood and watched the whole time while it grunted and huffed the water out of its nose. Absolutely awesome.

I don't like using bug spray so I endured the bites. I find that the first bite is the worst; after that they all sort of cancel each other out so although I tried to swat them away, kill them or do the Mosquito Dance I did get bit but only had to use the spray once.

The last night of our trip it stormed. You could hear God noisily inhaling from somewhere down in Alabama before blowing it across the land... winds in the city cannot compare in terms of strength and noise. The lake was choppy and it rained. I had visions of us trying to make our way back come morning with lashing winds and pouring rain, and me screaming at Mr. Stinky "I HAAAATE youuuuu!! You did this to meeeeee!", not unlike how I imagine it might sound in the delivery room. Luckily for us it cleared up in the early morning and we got out without any incident.

After days of eating trail mix and dehydrated foods we headed to Kelsey's for our celebratory gorge. Tossing aside the skimpy lunch menus we devoured the entrees of choice and several hours later stuffed ourselves silly again. Heaven.

Bear Warning

I'm off to my weekend portage tomorrow. Mr. Stinky and I are heading up to Algonquin for a long weekend of canoeing, camping, bugs and skinny dipping (!). I'm very excited as it's my first experience. We're regular car campers but this time we're going a step further into the bush and away from life. It's our mini vacation... as a regular vacation seems to be out of our reach right now so this'll do.

I've never camped where the land belongs to the bears. I'll have to be careful and remember not to smell too yummy to one of them but I'm sure if I smell like hot dog Mr. Stinky'll remind me to change my clothes before bedtime. If one should get agressive, I can assure you that I will not be playing dead or curling into the fetal position. Why you ask? Simple. If a hungry and angry 800lb beast decides that he wants to nosh on some Stinkyback ribs I hardly think that I'm a good enough actor to remain calm until he's done and goes away. I really do not believe that calmly presenting oneself on a platter surrounded by sprigs of green garnishings will discourage a hungry being. No, presentation is a large part of eating and I for one am not willing to look like a yummy dish for Ursus grumblytummyus.

Instead I resolve to fall into total panic mode whereby squawking like a chicken, running back and forth, jumping into the lake, flapping my limbs around and throwing gear at it like my toothbrush, pillow and underwear, for some reason will totally make sense. I will not be the generous main course of the night for the damn bear. I will convince myself that my actions are deterring him from clamping down on me even though my clear and rational mind knows that I'm just whetting his appetite.

So, dear readers, I plan on returning Monday night. I'll be tired so don't expect me to rush to the nearest piece of technology to update you on how I got a soaker, hiked up some hills and made potty in the bush. You can however, check here on Tuesday since I've got the day off from work and should have some time to type. If I don't make a peep by Wednesday you may safely assume that Mr. Grumblytummyus greatly enjoyed some Stinkyback ribs and you'll need to tell the rangers that they'll probably find me in random piles of bear poop.

The Blue File

A co-worker came into our office just now. There are three of us in here: T-J, Clueless and me. Usually when our manager comes in to ask us questions we sit in our chairs looking blankly back at her slack-jawed, hoping someone else knows the answer, any answer. However, our manager's questions usually make sense as they are logical and specially designed to make us squirm in our seats. This question, well..... I've changed a few details to keep things ambiguous but yah...

Co-worker: Excuse me, have you seen the blue file?

Magnificent 3: .....................?

The Shuster a frequent visitor sits and observes.

Co-W: It's a blue file.

M3: .........................?

Co-W: I'm looking for the blue file.

M3: .......................?
T-J: Like a blue file folder? Yes we use those here....

Co-W: No no, it's an existing blue file.

T-J: Is it empty?

Co-W: No, it's got stuff in it. It's a blue file.

Clueless: It. would. help. if you had an address…
Stinky T: Do you have any other information about the file?

I should tell you that Co-W is notoriously secretive, nobody knows why. If you locked her up in solitary, tortured her within an inch of her life and threatened any and all kin she's got she still probably wouldn't tell you what colour the sky is if she didn't feel like it, so divulging this bit of information surely must've torn pieces out of her heart and soul.

Co-W: ..........Uh...It says..... "6 Pink Elephants and 20 Toes".

M3: OHH! OK, that file! Yah, we don't have it.

Co-W: No? Are you sure you don't have that file? (Wanders around, poking her little nose everywhere) It's a blue file.

M3: Nope.

Co-W leaves. I look over at Nancy T-J and the Shuster and they're both sitting v-e-r-y still, trying to hold something in. I decided to find out what that something could be.

Stinky T: So.. I'm looking for a woman... She's a woman. An existing woman. Have you seen the woman?

The office erupts into peals of laughter and tears of hilarity. We can't get over what just happened. Like complete idiots we put the incident on repeat and keep on asking each other where the blue file is. T-J is yanking out sheaths of kleenex by the handfuls in an effort to dam up the flow of streaming tears, while snorting and snuffling, trying to catch her breath through her laughter in what I can only think of as some sort of hysterical epileptic seizure. The Shuster is shaking tremulously in his chair so much that I didn't know if he'd ever be able to stop and wiping his eyes in futile. All the while I'm trying to keep a straight face. The rest of the day is a wash because about the only thing we can talk about is the blue file.

As of the time of publishing we still don't know where that darn blue file is.

Mazel Tov!

Oh dude! I just realized it's been a year since I started this. That surely must be the coolest thing you were told today.

Hand-Drawn Questions

> Didn't Snow White and Cinderella suffer from mad cases of morning breath when their princely saviours on white horses awoke them from their deep sleeps? Also, how did they also not mess their beds or get bed sores?

> How come Pepe Le Pew's horny obsession with the black cat was seen as funny and not as what it really was: stalking, sexual harassment, sexual assault, dry humping and practical rape?

> I know we all knew that the Beast was a cursed human prince on the inside, but Belle sure as hell didn't and fell in love with him anyway. Wouldn't it be beastiality if he didn't turned back and they consummated their true fairy tale love? This question also works for Roger and Jessica Rabbit. Friggin' pervs.

> Wasn't Jem ever concerned that Rio was two-timing with her alter ego Jerrica when she wasn't around? And how come Jerrica was OK with him getting some rockstar nookie with Jem, while we're at it? Someone's got both identity and self-esteem problems if you ask me.

> Was Tweety a boy or a girl, coz he had some raging eyelashes and pouty lips and no discernible genitals. Maybe the question should really be: Pre-op or post-op...

> Why did no one ever kill that pansy-assed sidekick of the Mighty Hercules? Even as a kid I thought that Newton was the most annoying thing ever and I bet he was "touched" too. How can you trust a boy who prances around constantly anyhow?

> The Amazing Spiderman, when he swung along the city's skyline doing his spiderly patrol thing at the end of the episode after he had saved Gotham, Grayskull or whatever, where did his webbing attach onto? Heaven, perhaps?

> Were He-Man and She-Ra siblings or lovers for pete's sake?! Or maybe, BOTH...

> When they concentrated real hard, clenched their fists and stuck their rotund little bellies out to give the Care Bear Stare and/or Care Bear Cousins Call, did any one of them ever accidentally push out a fart?

> How come Charlie Brown never bitch-slapped or kicked Lucy in the head after she pulled the football out from under him? I bet that would've made her think hard the next time she tried that stunt.

> When they were flying around in Neverland did any of the Lost Boys ever take a peek up Wendy's nightgown? Coz I would, if only to make sure that her bloomies didn't say "Wednesday" on a Thursday. Eeew..

> I was probably 4 when I watched Bambi and nobody would tell me what happened to his mom. What's up with that?