2010 - The Year We Made Contact

It's December 31st!  That means it's time to look back on the last 12  7 months and reflect.  That's right, this is a New Year's post.

To the best of my knowledge, such a thing has never been done before. 

2010 was the best year of my life.  I faced trials, tribulations, learned what the word "tribulation" meant, and came out on top.  I went on some spectacular adventures, which I promise will eventually make their way onto this blog!

Spoiler Alert: there's nudity.  Say goodbye to the PG-13!


What I learned:

What other people think of me is none of my business.  (credit to my mom)

The best way to cheer yourself up is to cheer someone else up.  (credit to Mark Twain)

Hard work is more important than talent.  (credit to Not That Kind of Girl)

There is no reason, ever, to postpone your dreams.  Make time for what matters.  Let go of what doesn't.


Finally, for those of you who took the time to dig their way through the archives, you know that this started as a practice blog.  My goal was to write 30 posts in 30 days, and I didn't tell anybody about it.  

But unbeknownst to me, Google Buzz decided to tell the world what I was doing.  I had no idea, but it was broadcasting my most private thoughts  sage observations  insane ramblings to the world! 

You guys are the reason I do this.  And chicks.  But mostly it's you guys.

The fact that you started reading my blog, unsolicited, really touches me.  Knowing that you're out there listening really feeds my vanity  soul, and encourages me to keep writing.  Sometimes forcefully (looking at you E3).

With that said, a few shout-outs are in order:

Erin:
Awarded the Gold Star of Excellence for being a great editor, an even better friend, and the boot to my neck.  Seriously, pie would not be here if it weren't for her.

Heads up for an E3 guest post in 2011!

Jasmine:
Awarded a lock of my hair (+2 to vitality) for being the first person to find my blog entirely on her own.  She is either my greatest fan or most dangerous stalker.  Either way, much love!

My Mom:
Awarded the Badge of Awesome for reading Billy Goats Gruff like, a thousand times, and always encouraging me to write.  And clean my room.  But hey, you can't win em all.

Jenn M:
Awarded the Participation Trophy for reading my entire archive in one go.  Heart.

LiLu:
Awarded a free link to her ridiculously awesome blog for being my most famous follower!  Keep raising the bar LiLu.

Also, if I eat you do I gain your powers?


Thank you to everyone who made this blog what it is.  You guys are the best.  For reals.

The Southwest - Part 14

August 28th - Viva Las Vegas!

Barley able to move, I dragged myself into the car and we headed for Sin City.  I'll spare you the details of the drive, save that it was very well documented.

We arrived in Las Vegas that night.  Well, whatever passes for "night" in Vegas.

OMG, we made it you guys. We had stumbled out of the desert and into the (un)holy land.

After spending the last week in a bad post-apocalyptic movie  camping in Utah, we decided to splurge.  Cruising down the strip in our lonely Prius (seriously guys, where are the rest of the hybrids?!) we settled on the gaudiest hotel we could find: Luxor.

See that pyramid?  I lived in there.

Walking into the casino, a couple things grab your attention.  For starters, Criss Angel appears to be the main attraction, as there are giant posters of him everywhere.  All of which show him shirtless.  To be honest, I am skeptical of any performer who's main credentials are his abs. 

You can tell his career is booming, as he shares the stage with several other luminaries, most notably Carrot Top.  I'm pretty sure Luxor is where careers go to die.

Also, you can smoke indoors.  In fact, it appears there are very few things you can't do in Vegas.  Want to shoot an AK-47?  Ask the concierge.  Sex a panda?  One phone call.  Yeah, he knows a guy.

There is a strip club INSIDE the casino.

It seems the only rule in Vegas is that food must come in buffet form.

The Southwest - Part 13

August 27th - On the Road

Today we said goodbye to our Moab campsite, Arches National Park and the black widow which had taken up residence in our latrine (I named her Bertha).  

The plan was a straight drive to the Grand Canyon, stopping only for gas, water and Subway.  Oh my youthful optimism.  My father, avid photographer and ADHD poster child that he is, decided we needed to stop at every bend in the road to take pictures.  The resulting photo album reads like Google Streetview.

Packed into our claustrophobic Prius again, I began to appreciate why Kerouac took so many drugs. 

As the sun set, we finally reached the Grand Canyon.  Wow, they weren't kidding you guys.  This thing is HUGE.

I photographed this squirrel for perspective.  Okay it was because he's adorable.

The Grand Canyon is so deep and so touristy that you can throw a rock into it, get an espresso and be back in time to watch it land.  Also, it was carved by the Colorado River - which means it's a death trap.

I'm not kidding.  Everywhere you go, there are signs warning the "young and invincible" that any deviation from the main path will result in certain and protracted death.  I guess the BLM shoots to kill. 

August 28th - Challenge Accepted

OMG!  Today's post is a two-fer!  

On a completely unrelated note, it has come to my attention that people outside of Ontario don't call cases of beer "two-fours".  Then what do you call the May Two-Four long weekend?  Victoria Day?!  So you don't drink a whole case of -- FIREWORKS?!  Get out of my sight.

Okay we're back.  So we set out early the next morning to tempt fate again  tackle the canyon.  Before we began our descent, we encountered the Big Scary Sign.  It read:

1) Do not hike down to the river and back in one day.  How about half a day?

2) Do not hike between 10 am and 4 pm.  You're not my mom.

3) Take breaks every 30 minutes.  If you're a wuss.

4) Bring plenty of water.  Dude, water is HEAVY.

5) Eat plenty of snacks.  If I have to eat another Cliff bar, people will DIE.

Pausing only to take in the beautiful vistas, and dodging (with minimal success) the minefield of mule poop, I took off for the basin. 

Well I made it to down to the cursèd Colorado River and had a victory pee.  Just kidding, I hadn't peed in days.  

Unfortunately, the ease of the descent and the cool morning shade belied the perilous return trip.
Lumbering back UP the switchbacks, in the full heat of the sun, I learned a very valuable lesson.  There is a profound difference between miles hiked horizontally, and miles hiked vertically.

The canyon, which hours earlier had seemed so beautiful, now began to look something like this:











Those damn mules had made it look so easy.

The Internet is See-Through

If you're like me, you probably have a Facebook account.  In fact, everyone from your Ugandan sponsor child to your grandmother's cat is on Facebook.

For years I tried to resist its siren song, but like you, I was seduced by the promise of hundreds of friends, including everyone I ever went to high school with.  Which, by the way, means I am totally one of the cool kids now.  I even friended my mom. 

Facebook allows us to piece together a rough time line of events from the weekend, usually while frantically un-tagging ourselves from unflattering photographs.  Without it, whole generations of digital pigs would go unfed, fields of corn would be left to fallow, and wise guys everywhere would go un-whacked.  Astute insights like "my feet are cold" would be limited to those in our immediate vicinity.

Despite all this, there are those who think that sharing our personal information with thousands of our closest "friends" may not be a good idea.  Uh, don't you know that public is the new "social norm"?  Mark Zuckerberg said so.  And if I understood the movie The Social Network correctly, Mark's a stand-up guy.

So under the guise of journalistic integrity, I decided to interview one of these privacy advocates to find out just what he's smoking and if he can get me some.

We met up at a local pub, and got to talking.  While he evidently left his tinfoil hat at home, I knew his geek credentials were impeccable when he described Wikileaks as "chaotic good".  I had found the right guy, my very own Deep Throat.  If you don't know what that is, for the love of God don't Google it. 

DT, as he shall henceforth be known, told me that "the Internet is see-through".  Not comprehending in the least, I smiled and nodded, doodling in my notebook and taking a long drag of my beer.

Clearly not fooled, he explained what he meant.  We all have this impression that the Internet is some formless void, that our shared information is just lost in the ether.  That the websites we visit exist in some alternate dimension, nearly entirely separate from the physical world.

But data, all data, exists somewhere.  It is stored in countless computers and server farms, each of which has a physical location in the real world.  Our data, once shared, rarely every disappears. 

For example, being a member of the digital generation -- not to be confused with the Digimon generation of my little brother -- I have been surfing the web for over a decade.  That means there is potentially over a decade of data out there on my browser history (delete, DELETE!), the books I order, the games I play, the ads I click.

Our romanticized notion of the Internet as this formless anarchy has real implications.  Many of us, myself included, are not particularly judicious with the data we share, filling out myspace profiles (I'm dating myself here), publicly sharing our e-mail addresses on forums, gambling on online poker sites -- it's not gambling if you're good at it!

According to DT, it's not necessarily Big Brother that you should be concerned about.  The real danger comes from all the little brothers out there; the kind that are always spying on you when your friends are over, and that like to raid your piggy bank so they can buy more Digimon cards. 

He told me about the concept of "phishing", which apparently isn't about following the band Phish on tour but is actually a form of data mining.  Companies use information from your online activities to create targeted advertising.  As you can imagine, there are real financial incentives to knowing what you like.  Don't believe me?  Check out Google Dashboard.

Now, this in itself is not necessarily a bad thing.  Despite being an unmarried male, I can probably quote numerous tampon commercials word for word, which might be a good gimmick at parties but is ultimately just a good case for targeted advertising.  As DT points out, he is in the market for a car.  He wants to see car commercials. 

From my own experience, the moment my Facebook status changed to "single", I was inundated with ads for dating web sites and Russian mail order brides.  Yes, apparently I am that demographic.  Thanks guys, way to salt the wound.

The problem is with what DT calls "spear phishing".  This is when online entities use your information to target you directly for malicious purposes.  If someone has access to your Facebook account (and thus to everything from your interests and hobbies to the contents of your breakfast) it is potentially very easy to steal your identity.

No longer just the domain of Nigerian princes, hackers can use information about you to convince you to open suspicious e-mails.  You like soccer?  Check out this awesome World Cup video, you just need to download this plug-in first...

I don't know if it was the beer or not, but this guy was starting to make sense.  I mean, I like soccer!  The stakes were much higher than I'd realized.

So how can we protect ourselves?  DT's answer was not encouraging:

"Ultimately, it all comes down to motivation.  If someone is really motivated to get you, there's not a lot you can do."

Awesome.

DT did leave me with a glimmer of hope though.  He said it may be impossible to use the web without making one's self vulnerable, but you can certainly limit your risk.

It's all about limiting your "Attack Surface Area".  That is, not offering more information than is necessary to use your online services.  If you absolutely have to have a Facebook account, limit who can see your profile and consider using a pseudonym.  Also, be more judicious about who you "friend" online.  Maybe don't add that girl you knew from elementary school.

As DT points out, "you got along without her since the sixth grade.  I think you'll be fine."

The Southwest - Part 12

So now that  the booze has run out   the semester is finished, it's time to return to our regularly scheduled programming.

I'm back at my local coffee shop and it feels good (I found my old butt groove).  Unfortunately, writing in public means I no longer get to type away in my underpants.  Or as I call them, my "brainstorming briefs".  Alas, Bridgehead has a strict pants policy (I asked).  Stop smothering my creativity!

Misunderstood artistic expression aside,  I now proudly present the triumphant return of The Southwest!


August 27th - Back on the Colorado: this time it's personal

For those of you who remember the Duckie Incident you know that the Colorado River and I have a history.  By that I mean it wants to kill me.  Probably because I kept peeing in it.

Still alive against all odds, we decided the best thing to do was tempt fate again by going whitewater rafting in a place called Westwater Canyon.

You may know it better as the River Styx

THIS is Westwater Canyon:

















Now most people opt for the raft where the guide paddles for you (pictured above).  As should already be evident by now, we are not most people.  Most people, as it turns out, are sane.

We opted for the DIY approach: a bunch of untrained tourists wielding plastic paddles that I'm almost certain said Fisher Price on them somewhere.  I was scared to check.

There were eight people to a boat.  At first.  And guess what?  We were randomly teamed up with the French guys!  Who by now were clearly spying on us.

So we plunged into the Colorado with reckless abandon.  I don't remember much else after that, although my vocabulary of French swear words has now vastly expanded.

Afterwards, the survivors all cracked open some Coors (Regular Coors guys!  It's real!) while we floated back to Moab. 

Along the way we passed some Canada Geese.  In August.  As our guide informed us, apparently these guys have figured out that it's actually always warm there and that that whole migration thing is for suckers. 

Which I guess means they're just geese now.

The G-Spot

This is a little piece I wrote about the G-Spot, which is a place in Carleton where they make free Vegan food.  I know what you're thinking:

You had me at "free".

Notice: If you just arrived here from Google because you searched "G-Spot" prepare to be disappointed.

If, however, you're like me and after half a decade of higher education you are now about 90% Ramen noodle, then read on!

The G-Spot

I know many of you are still reeling from the news that the Double Down is no longer available in Canada.  Be strong.  We’re going to get through this together.

Well I have some good news.  According to this random guy I met there’s a place on campus where they have delicious, non-Aramark food.  And they are just giving it away.

The conversation went down like this:

“You don’t know about the G-Spot?”

“Well I never had any complaints...”

“Free food man.  Vegan.”

“So there’s no meat.”

“Nope.”

“You mean like a McRib?”

“No.  I mean like a cabbage.”

“CAB-IDGE.  Got it.”

“And there are cookies.”

So naturally, I followed him.  What?  He promised me cookies!  Seriously if you have cookies I will totally jump right in the van you don’t even KNOW.

My mom would be so proud. 

What I expected:

You know how every Halloween there was that house on your street that gave away peanuts?  I mean, actual peanuts.  Not in Snickers bar form. 

What I got:

A suspiciously tasty vegan stuffing and a cookie that was so good I might be going to hell now.  

And the best part: it's pay what you can.

Clearly these guys do not understand capitalism.  But food they get. 

The Southwest - Part 11

So I was up at four a.m. this morning.

Because I'm AWESOME that's why.

Had you asked me last week about the dawn I would have told you it's a myth, like dragons.  Or gravity.  But lo and behold, it exists.  I have seen it.

After plugging away at french homework for a while (I'm awesome, remember?) I decided to catch up on some long overdue sleep writing.  Because that's what sane people do.

So in order to please my adoring fan base assuage my conscience, I present to you the Southwest Part 11!


August 26th - The Road Less Traveled (because it's not a damn road)

Remember travel tips 1 and 2?

Allow me to explain.  My father is the kind of environmental crusader who, when he went to empty our trash bag, came back with all the bottles and cans that had been misplaced, tragically, into the Moab garbage bins.  This actually led to a net gain of refuse in our tiny hybrid car.

If I wanted to rebel, all I'd have to do is fail to compost an apple core.

It should here also be noted that, whatever else he is, my dad is the kind who will drive across the country doing dangerous things with his son because he loves him.  So he gets a pass.

But I digress.  Today was a day I'd been looking forward to.  Today we went trail riding.  And I use the term "trail" lightly.  The barren hellscape that surrounds Moab just goes to show why everyone but the Mormons had the good sense to keep moving.

Nevertheless, it is absolutely stunning.  Observe:

"I can make it."

Note: that picture is actually me.

Also Note: I look hawt in bike shorts.  (Thank you for noticing)

Now I thought I knew mountain biking.  Evidently, I was wrong.  If you want to know what riding around Moab is like, picture corporal punishment.  That's it.  You're done.

My butt cheeks still aren't speaking to me.  

The views were, as per usual, spectacular.  We also ran into a charming group of french guys along the trail.  We compared maps, bruises and last will and testaments exit strategies.

After the ride we decided to explore the town, since the last thing we wanted to do was sit down. 

It is around this part of the trip that I came up with this:


The Four Stages of Adventure Trips

1) Finally!  An excuse to eat cliff bars again.

2) Another cliff bar?  Why not!

3) I'd kill you for a salad.

4) I can't remember my last bowel movement.

The Southwest - Part 10

August 25 - Can you say "Viking Funeral"?

We awoke (against all odds) the next morning to the sun rising over the canyon wall of the Colorado River.  Little did we know we had set up camp in a National Geographic photograph.  Alright Utah, we're even.

There's something you should know about camping in Utah: it is an almost capital offense to urinate in the desert.  Seriously, these guys aren't messing around.

Now before you start wondering what the Mormons could possibly have against urinating, it turns out there is actually a good reason for this.  Evidently the desert ecosystem can't process the nitrogen in urine, so that if you pee your name in the desert it will stay there, permanently.  And they tell you this to discourage you from doing it.  Silly Mormons.

Now, normally this would be a problem except that you never, ever have to pee.  The rule of thumb for desert camping is that if you are not drinking water (note I said drinking, not sipping) right now, you aren't drinking enough water.  And still, you never have to pee.  It's actually a real time saver.

Our first day in Moab we decided to hit the Colorado River rapids.  We rented two inflatable kayaks, deceptively referred to as "Duckies" (ducks don't float upside down), and launched a few miles upstream.

"Duckie" is actually spanish for "Death Trap"

From the road, the Colorado appears very calm, even tranquil.  This is a trick, designed to lure unsuspecting mariners to their doom.  The current is very, very strong. 

This being my first experience with white water rafting, no one had bothered to inform me that, once the rapids take you, your paddle becomes little more than a placebo.  Clutching my (at this point purely ornamental) paddle in a death grip, I flew (usually right side up) all the way back to Moab with all the grace of a piece of jetsam. 

Heading back into town  to explore my options for legal recourse  for a much needed, if barely qualified, beer (or ten) we found one of the few restaurants with a highly coveted "liquor" license.  As you can likely guess, getting a liquor license in Utah is a Herculean task, making such establishments very popular indeed.

Long story short: getting drunk in Utah is not just a chore.  It is an accomplishment.

Mission Accomplished.

I just got my ass kicked by a blind guy

When I was 16, my mom and I raised a black lab to be a guide dog.  It was hard to give him up but we were happy to hear that our pup, Viscount, had graduated and was now leading some lucky blind person around.  (yes, lucky and blind.  Viscount is a kickass dog!)

For the record, we did not name him Viscount.  We called him Noosums.

Well while I was in line for my coffee at Bridgehead (where else?) the man behind me happened to be blind and lead by none other than a black lab.

I ventured some small talk.  My exact words:

"Hey man!  What's your dog's name?"

At this moment he turned and stared (read: glared) right into my eyes (which is impressive for a blind man) just long enough for it to become uncomfortable - then he stared some more.

Finally, mercifully, he broke the silence with this:

"I don't give her a name while she's working."

Sorry man, I didn't mean to ruin your whole day like that...

His tone was somewhere between "Pistols at dawn" and "I have mace."

Before this battle of wills descended into fisticuffs* I decided to politely disengage  tactically retreat  grab my coffee and run.  I did not want to mess with this guy.  The man clearly had beef.

*side note: there is no way to beat a blind guy.  Even if you win, you lose.

Now reflecting over my small* cup of Ethiopian Harrar, I can't decide if I feel guilty or offended.

*Take notes, Starbucks.  "Tall" is not a denomination of volume.

So I'm taking a poll: guilty or offended?  You guys decide.

Alternate poll: would I have won?

Tomorrow's post:
Grady actually beats up a blind guy.  For science.

The Southwest - Part 9

August 24 - I am the night

So not the type to waste time (you can sleep when you're dead) and clearly making good decisions on account of dehydration, we decided to go night hiking in Arches National Park.

Arches, at least the small cone of it illuminated by my headlamp, was beautiful.  Also, headlamps are a truly amazing invention, except for one flaw: they attract bugs.  To your face.

As it turns out, Arches is very aptly, if not creatively, named.  There are dozens of naturally-formed arches scattered throughout the park, some of which you can walk right under.  One in particular, the Delicate Arch, is a beautiful and precarious formation cleverly hidden away up a mountain.

With the last rays of sunlight we read the sign describing the route to Delicate Arch: four miles.  Ha! we thought, ain't no thang.  However, as it turns out there is a world of difference between miles hiked horizontally and miles hiked vertically. 

Determined to catch the moonrise at the Arch (because we are  going to get ourselves killed one of these days  hardcore) we took off at a march for the summit.  The "trail" was marked only by rocks, cleverly hidden among other rocks.  Our ascent turned out to be not so much a "hike" as some kind of penitence for our sins.  And evidently our sins had been numerous and flagrant.

Reaching the summit (totally worth it guys) we found a number of other similarly suicidal foolish hikers.  In particular a family of Belgians who had found themselves stranded atop the mountain without  a horde of flesh-hungry insects around their face  headlamps.  The daughter approached me in the earnest hope that we could escort them to back to safety.  Spitting in the face of Darwin Because I'm a gentleman, I agreed.  (Okay, she was totally cute you guys.  We're facebook friends now!)

The hike back was quite pleasant.  We chatted, en français, with the Belgians (who by the way speak much better french than us Canadians, sorry guys).  The daughter was really quite  patient with us while we bastardized her language  charming, while her father was somewhat less charming (but considerably more racist).

Getting back to the car in the twilight hours, we took off for a nearby campsite because we're cheap crazy.  For those of you that don't know, setting up a tent in the dark is like running through a forest lathered in honey, in that it should never be attempted again.

It was also around this time that I discovered that mankind's greatest invention is not the wheel, the alphabet or even penicillin, but rather the pillow, and if you don't believe me try laying your head down anywhere in the state of Utah without one.

Also, do not travel with perfectionists.  Don't even befriend them.  They're bad for you.

The Southwest - Part 8

August 24 - Yoo-TAW!

I know you were all worried, but yes, we survived.   Evidently the highway we wanted was a few miles past Cisco (still unmarked, what the hell Utah?)

While it was still two hours to Moab, and my father felt compelled to take photos of every bend in the road (urge to kill... rising...) we made it without having to refuel.  Hybrids, guys.  They're a thing.

You guys remember the roadrunner and coyote show?  Utah actually looks like that.

We pulled into Moab just as the sun was setting.  I thought I'd seen what a sunset looks like.  Evidently, I was wrong:

Some things you guys should know about Moab, Utah.  First off, Moab does not belong in Utah.  It is a glaring cartographical error.  Moab is filled with trendy shops with anti-establishment slogans like "Coffee: Still Legal in Utah".  It's the one place in the state where dreadlocks outnumber cowboy hats (though both are equally unfashionable).

Now some things you should know about the rest of Utah.  Not only are the people of Utah very friendly, they are related.

And you know all those jokes about American beer?  À la "What do American beer and sex in a canoe have in common?  They're both fucking close to water."  (Canada, I love you.)

Well in Utah it is actually true.  It is state law that no establishment can sell beverages above 3.2% alcohol.  The effect being that a beer in Utah has the potency of watered-down baby formula. 

So between the wedding and the mormons, I have not had a real drink since the airplane.  I know, I'm scared too.

Making Faces at Vodka (and Babies)

UPDATE:  There is a shout-out that is long past due.  E3 has time and again been the one to keep me accountable.  She's like the mom of this blog.  Only she doesn't hit me.  As hard.

Anyway, you guys owe her.  Big time.

And now back to our regularly scheduled programming

---------------------------

Dear pie lovers.  I must apologize   again  reluctantly  sincerely.

I have once again dropped the ball.  It's not that I don't love you (you know you guys are my only), it's that this last week I have been inundated with school/work/family related things. 

My brother's family was in town (how cool is it that he has a family?) so there was lots of visiting with my   first   only   favourite nephew.  He still won't remember me, but he totally dug hanging out on my shoulder.

In other news, I delivered a big presentation on monday, followed by an application meeting for military intelligence.  Then today I handed in a french project, and attended a career fair  where I got myself a shiny new CSIS water bottle!  I'm like, totally James Bond y'all.  (Except I still make a face when I drink vodka.  Working on it.)

Before falling off the face of the Earth, I had entered a writing competition to be the Billings Bridge Blogger.  Billings Bridge being the local mall and me being the starving artist type.  Well, as it turns out I didn't win (I want a recount!) so I will be  drowning my sorrows (and making vodka face)  bitterly complaining  posting my entry here.

Since the contest called for a "unique approach to shopping" and I am a heterosexual male I decided to go with the private eye "gumshoe" angle.  Evidently, they were not impressed:

When I heard about the Blogger contest, I knew I was the one for the job.  And not just because I used to work at the Tim Horton’s.  But because I know stuff.  I’m gonna give you guys the down-low.  I’ll be your man on the inside, giving you tips on sales, deals, in-store romances, you name it. 

For instance, did you guys know Billings Bridge is the first Green Mall in Ontario?  Cause it is.  Stick around; I’m full of all sorts of useful information.  Take notes. 

So this morning I decided to do some research.  Scope the place out.  Sniff the air, as it were. 

I started at Little Critters where Oh Em Gee you guys!  They totally let me play with the ferret!  You know, for research.  The ferret had no name, and so he will henceforth be known as Mr. Wigglesworth (can I keep him?  PUWEEEZ!).  Also, did you know there’s such a thing as a lion-headed rabbit?  It’s a thing.  Google it.

My next stop was Laura Secord, where the lovely Hannah and Natalie made it their personal mission to make me fat.  Seriously, they thrust free samples at me as if they would be personally offended should I refuse.  Not one to be impolite, I indulged of their many chocolaty treasures.  Choice favourites included the Orange Cream: “A duet of orange mousse and decadent dark chocolate.”  Read that again.  Now tell me you don’t want one.

Natalie then told me all about the return of the “Buttermallow” – which is exactly what it sounds like: delicious – all the while showering me with samples in a way that was starting to approach Sin.  This went on until I literally had to ask her to stop (bless her heart).  I ended up buying a box of truffles.  What?  It was a gift!  For myself.  Don’t judge me you weren’t there. 

Now, I know what you’re thinking: “I’ve seen Blow.  I know how this works.  The first one is always free.”  But seriously guys.  Go there.  Thank me later. 

Next up was Grand and Toy.  I bought a box of pens – I’m a writer; you can never have too many pens – and was asked if I’d like to donate to Kidsfest, a charity to buy school supplies for underprivileged kids.  After donating a dollar (on my two dollar purchase) I got to put my name on the wall for my “generous” contribution.  And guess what?  There’s another Grady out there!  And he’s charitable.   Grady, if you’re reading this, we should totally hang out.

My last stop was McDonough’s Independent Grocery.  Did you guys know they deliver?! I know what you’re thinking: “All this time I’ve been shopping for my own groceries like a sucker!” 

Stick with me, guys.  I’m going to dig up the deals for you. 

Future Investigations:

Grady gets a mani-pedi at Trendy Nails

                         

Grady blows his whole gift certificate at Il Paradiso Salon and Spa

Grady abuses the LCBO’s free sample policy

The Southwest - Part 7

August 24 - Road Trippin'

With the wedding concluded, we packed up our gear and drove up to Grand Junction, which, while it is a junction where I-70 meets hwy-50, it isn't "grand" as such.  But we shouldn't hold that against it.  The people of Grand Junction are actually very friendly and helpful.  In fact, it recently occurred to me that people are very friendly and helpful pretty much everywhere and so I should stop remarking on how friendly and helpful they are.

One local was a little too friendly and tried to recruit me into a pyramid scheme.  Having already had two run-ins with cults (seriously, is it me you guys?) I could smell the scam coming a mile away and politely but forcefully refused.

After an afternoon getting supplies/experiencing the inevitable time sink that is an outdoors store ("you know what, I could use some ice-climbing shoes!") we checked into a quaint little motel which had all the charm of an ashtray (minus a few amenities).  There was a pool which my dad bravely took a swim in, whereas I opted for the shower.  Unfortunately, the shower only had one setting: sandblaster.  It wasn't so much exfoliating as it was literally flaying the skin from my bones.

The next morning, we took off for Utah, land of cowboy hats, pick up trucks, and teeth that play by their own rules.  Flipping through the radio stations, you inevitably come across a number of religious broadcasts (or as we came to refer to them "Godcasts") featuring a hilarious line-up of unwitting comedians, including my personal favourite: Glenn Beck*.

*you know, if you listen to Glenn Beck long enough, he totally starts to make sense.  This is when your driving companion must, literally and forcefully, smack some sense back into you.

Before leaving Grand Junction, the locals informed us of a "scenic" route into Utah that was not on the map, but definitely worth taking.   And totally, unmistakably real.  So amidst a sea of four-wheel drives, pickups and semis, our little Prius took a little-marked exit off I-70 and into... nowhere.

Seriously, this lonely road was unmarked, unpaved and utterly unimpressed with our paltry little hybrid.  Think Cormac McCarthy here.  And these seasoned vets forgot to bring a map.  Or water.

The thing about dehydration is that it does more than just make you thirsty.  It makes you cranky.   By this point, our respective crank meters had moved from tantrum, to "this town ain't big enough for the two of us" to "if I have to, I will eat you".

A few miles further on we saw signs for a town called Cisco.  Relieved, we figured one of the undoubtedly friendly locals would take pity on us and point us back to the highway.

Well we found Cisco.

Evidently so had Father Time.  Not only did Cisco lack residents, most of the buildings lacked roofs.

It was at this point that the fuel light came on.

The Southwest - Part 6

August 22 - The Big Day

This was it.  The wedding had finally arrived.  However, seeing as how it wasn't until 4:00, we had most of a day to kill.   So my aunts and I headed off to the nearby town (read: tourist mecca) of Telluride.

This place has a tourist info "center" (sic) the size of a city block.  Inside is a woman who knows everything about Telluride and is determined to prove it to you. 

For the record, Telluride was beautiful.  We took a free gondola ride up into the Mountain Village -- a town so artificial you half expect to round the corner and see a pack of munchkins breaking into song.  You know, like in those strangely erotic dreams you keep having.  Just me?  Nvm.

Narrowly escaping an immediate return trip, we leaped from the gondola and were immediately handed a fistful of coupons for various drink specials at the local pub.  Telluride, you just get me.

Being a devout Adventist, my one aunt doesn't drink, smoke, or even talk loudly.  The other, being our driver, had to maintain at least the semblance of sobriety.

I was not so burdened.  That day I learned a valuable lesson: wine at 10,000 feet is considerably more potent than wine at sea level.

On our way back we decided to stop by the nature centre, because what the hell, I like nature.  Also, I could feel some "nature" stirring in my insides and desperately needed to answer that call.

Ignoring the fact that the nature centre is inside, we entered, optimistic. 

Now, it would be impossible to describe the whole nature centre, without vowels.
But here goes: Fckng Smll.

Seriously, the "nature" centre consists of a map, a man, a concession stand, and some baggies of authentic animal droppings which, being situated way too close to the Mars bars, could only be hurting their profit margin.  Did you see a bathroom in that list?  Neither did I. 

Needing a place to make some "authentic" droppings of my own, we hightailed it back down the mountain. The rest is between me and the Telluride septic authority.

Now the part you've all (both?) been waiting for: the Wedding.

After "suiting up", we drove up the same mountain from my fateful run the day before.  (The llama farm was real you guys!)

The wedding took place on this plateau called Top of the Pines, which had a beautiful, panoramic view of the mountains.  Simply stunning.  This was nature; the kind you don't find in "nature" centres.

It was a lovely ceremony.  The reading from the bible (there was a lot of this) was made significantly more dramatic by the rumblings of the storm brewing in the distance.

Luckily, the weather held out.  Rachel didn't show up to tell Ross she still loves him.  To the best of my knowledge, there were no shotguns involved. 

We finished the family pictures (wow we have a lot of family) as the first raindrops fell.

I'd call that endorsement from on high.

Update: Yes I did end up writing and performing a song.  I was drunk inspired.

The Southwest - Part 5

August 21 - The Bachelor Party (Rated PG-13)

Okay so this was my second bachelor party.  Once again Hollywood had deeply misled me as to what a bachelor party looks like.

Now, according to my extensive research (read: Girls Gone Wild) the USA does in fact have naked girls.

There were, however, no girls.  And little to no wildness.

Now before you get all concerned let me lay your fears to rest.  Yes, there was some nudity.  Mostly my own.  I'll let that image nestle into your brain for a moment.

So thoroughly buzzed on black bean burgers and decidedly un-spiked punch, we left the barbecue to go celebrate my brother's last day as an unmarried man.

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Interlude: No, Bridgehead.  I am not going to buy another coffee just for the privilege of using your internet for another hour.  Deal with it.
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First stop was the Orvis Hot Springs.  Just what this party was missing: sweaty dudes.

This (clothing optional) facility was actually pretty nifty.  The sun had just set, so here we were floating on our backs looking up at a night sky replete with stars: the Big Dipper, the Little Dipper, the Big Dipper, George Clooney and Alderan.

Of course, no clothing optional establishment would be complete without Mr. Rotund-I-should-be-ashamed-of-my-body-but-I'm-not-so-now-it's-your-problem-not-mine.  Luckily, once you moved away from the lights, his portly form was mercifully shrouded in darkness.  You couldn't see him, but you knew he was out there.  Somewhere.

In some kind of vague tribute to my brother's new-found love, I decided to take off my swimming trunks.  What? you don't have to look.  But I like it when you do.

On a completely unrelated note, can you still blame a hot spring for shrinkage?  I'm asking for a friend...

At 10:00 they gave us the boot.  Apparently the springs were now for "overnight guests only".  I can only imagine what scandalous things go on in those pools after hours. 

Thoroughly regretting having put my head under the water, we headed back to the house to play "cards".  As it turns out, "cards" was actually code for "cards".

We ended up playing a game called Dutch Blitz, which, I shit you not, is literally Amish.

That's right, we partied like it was 1899.

The Southwest - Part 4

August 21 -  The Day Before the Day After Tomorrow

I don't remember the rest of the trip into Ridgway.  Free booze will do that to you.

So waking up in a foreign bed (or as I call it, saturday) I decided the best cure for my hangover would be to go for a run.  My reasoning can only be explained by a) still being drunk and b) altitude sickness.

The problem with this plan, aside from the obvious, is that in Ridgway there is only one direction of travel: UP.

Not to be deterred by simple things like common sense, aversion to pain or the instinct to survive, I tore up the nearest hill (read: motherf***ing mountain.  Colorado doesn't do hills).

Passing by   the conjurings of my booze-addled oxygen-deprived mind  a llama farm I soon realized (the full extent of) my mistake: there is no way to gently descend a mountain while running.  My return trip was more of a (un)controlled plummet.  Don't even think about   petting that llama  tying that shoelace!

That afternoon I  was carried  went to what my Seventh Day Adventist kin call a "devotional".  A devotional is basically like a wedding but without booze, cake, music, booze or cake.

This was followed by a group hike (still no booze) and then a barbecue (no meat AND no booze).  Can you even call it a barbecue if there's no meat?  That's more like a stir fry.

I don't know if you've ever attended a family barbecue sober, but those things are long.  It's amazing how slowly time goes by without social lubricant.  Where's the classic after dinner entertainment: those two uncles who can barely contain their hate for each other long enough to unwrap presents, whose animosity needs only a sprinkling of eggnog to erupt into a (hilarious) showdown?

This was going to be a long weekend.

Still Alive

Hey Reader,

First off, I owe you an apology.  No post yesterday.  For shame!

I have been sorely busy, pulling 13 hour days at the university.  Somehow, after a whole day studying terrorism, I don't feel like coming home and making funnies.

This hectic schedule shouldn't last much longer.  Well, that or I'll just off myself.  Either way.

Keep your eyes glued to your google reader / the obituaries because there is more pie coming your way!

The Southwest - Part 3

Still August 20 - So this is how the other half lives...

Part 1
Part 2

Boarding the plane from Chicago to Denver, the flight attendant looked at my ticket and immediately sequestered me away from the other passengers.  Suspicious, I followed her to the forward cabin.

Oh Em Gee you guys, it finally happened.  I had been bumped up to FIRST CLASS!  I had stepped through the looking glass and into a better world.

Taking my seat, I was enveloped in plush, leathery softness.  It was like sitting on a cloud.  Stretching my legs to their full extension, I reclined in the comfort of the good life.  Suddenly, I was a winner.

Cradling the remains of my deep dish pizza (you try and finish it in one sitting!) I sunk blissfully into my seat.

Shortly after takeoff (I had left the ground long before that) I was awoken from my revelry:

"Do you prefer red or white?"

"Excuse me?"

"Your wine, sir.  Red or white?"

"Is it... complimentary?"

"It's all complimentary, sugar."  Yeah, she went with sugar

"..."

Regaining my composure (what little I had), I requested the Shiraz, because I could pronounce it.  She filled my glass.  All the way.  Evidently there was no need for the pretense of moderation.  This was the good life, baby.

I decided to see how deep the rabbit hole goes.

Feeling like one of the old boys, I engaged my neighbour in some sophisticated, big man talk.

"Where are you coming from?"  Stronger opener, I know.

"China.  Yourself?"  *Blink*

"Dubai."  Don't judge me.  You weren't there.

Our brief conversational duel was cut short by the arrival of the in-flight meal.  All.  Three.  Courses of it.

The common folk didn't even get pretzels. 

This was followed by a hot towel which I was thoroughly confused as to what to do with.  (Did I just end a sentence with a preposition?  Erin this is why you are my official editor.)

Determined to make me as "comfortable as possible", the flight attendants made it their personal mission that my glass never even approach empty.

I floated the rest of the way into Denver.

You get what you pay for...

Dear Readers,

Part 3 of the Southwest will have to be postponed until monday, as I am leaving shortly for a tournament in Sherbrooke (yes, I know, Ultimate is back!)

It's a camping tournament (no interwebs!!), so I've spent the last while packing and have run out of time to give you the delicious pie we all know you crave.  Rather than try to rush through the next part of the story I decided to save the goods until I have time to do it right.

It's going to be dastardly cold this weekend and yet they decided to make the tournament theme "the beach" which is obviously code for "nipples".

See you monday!  I love all (three) of you.

The Southwest - Part 2

Part 1 found here.

August 20 - En Route

You know what happens when you book your flights four days in advance?*  You get five hour layovers in Chicago.

*see travel tips 1 and 2

We landed in O-Hare with several hours to kill (thank YOU expedia). 

Rather than make forced conversation with the 'rents (No, I still don't know what I'm doing with my life) I decided there was only one thing to do: eat an authentic, Chicago-style deep dish pizza.  

Now we had a plan, all that remained was to set it in motion. 

There was only one problem.  My father (travel tips 1 and 2).  This is a man who finds every single airport employee, piece of art and ikea lampshade undeniably interesting.  Seriously, he is attracted to random shit like a moth to a flame.  A moth with a heavy duty (4 piece set) Nikon camera who needs to take 80 shots of a bottle-shaped recycling bin (I wish I was making this up).

I am now thoroughly convinced that the digital camera is the most heinous invention of all time.  With these new 8000 gigabyte memory cards, one could snap away for hours if one were so inclined.  And he is so inclined.

But fear not, Readers.  There is nothing that can stand between me and delicious pizza(seriously I will bite through your calf, just try me).  As we exited (you fall behind you get left behind) I quickly ascertained that the airport is apparently an hour away from everything.  Way to go, Chicago.  You're on notice.

Undeterred, we jumped onto a subway train where a drunk man was positively assured that I and everyone else on the train were somehow racists, and told us so emphatically.  Which reminds me, I haven't been to Toronto in a while...

While on the train my father politely suggested we go visit the Sears Tower instead of getting pizza.  I politely suggested he leap from the moving train (tuck and roll!).

An hour on the subway and a short cab ride later we arrived at Pizzeria Uno, where we were informed it takes an hour to cook a pizza.  How deep is this dish?!

That's two, Chicago.

"Bag it!" I said.  "We'll eat it at the airport."  My father again proposed we check out the Sears Tower.  I proposed that he "sit down before you fall down."

We got our pizza to go and jumped back in a cab, then the subway, finally arriving at the airport with less than an hour to spare before our flight (uncanny).  In line for security we scarfed down our culinary treasure and let me tell you, it was SO. Worth it.

Chicago has officially ruined pizza for me.  I may never love again like I loved this deep-dished masterpiece.

As we reached the metal detectors, the security woman "randomly" selected me to go through the body scanner (read: naked machine).  She totally digs me.

The Southwest - Part 1

Ok Readers, due to popular demand (and my own crushing guilt) I'm going to actually follow through on my promise and put my adventures through the Southwest into print.

Apparently   the unwashed masses  the lowly plebs  my esteemed readership will not be satisfied with incoherent ramblings, toaster elves and toilet humour.  Who knew?

The strange thing is that I feel somehow obligated to reward this mutinous behaviour.  And there are like what, five of you?  God forbid I ever get famous!

So without further ado, I shall play to the gallery.  More bread, more circuses, and more pie. 

August 20 - The Departure

Travel Tip #1 - Never, ever travel with my father.
Travel Tip #2 - No, seriously.

My family (or elements of) have a very special gift.  They can bend the space-time continuum.  They exist in some kind of temporal bubble such that no matter what time it is in the rest of the world, it is perpetually an hour later in their little piece of the universe.  I try not to think too hard on it.  It is a paradox for greater minds than I.

Let's just sum up by saying that my parents* live in a world where being late is a competitive sport, and they play for keeps.  How they survive in a world with deadlines, last calls and (this is important) airplane boarding times is beyond me.

*my parents on my father's side that is.  Yes, for those keeping score I have backup parents.  That means twice the presents (just kidding, hippies don't do presents) and having to justify your life choices to four different people. 

So an hour and fifteen minutes before takeoff we decide to head to the airport.  Then an hour before takeoff we actually head to the airport.  Dashing through the airport lobby (something security generally frowns upon), we get bogged down in a customs line longer than a Soviet toilet paper queue.  Apparently getting into the US these days requires everything short of some seminal fluid and a stool sample.

Our actually catching the flight can only be explained by  my step-mother literally standing in the doorway like some civil rights activist forcing them to wait for us  divine intervention.

You GUYS! *shoe stare*

So it's come to my attention that there are people actually reading this blog!  For that, I'm sorry.

You know what this means don't you, Reader?  This means that when I don't post people notice.   

Real people.

And here I go around making grandiose promises about travel stories (um, hello?  I still haven't typed up my stories from Turkey and Italy yet!)

This can only end in KY wrestling disaster.

I am actually in the office right now, "working".  I feel like  I officially have no purpose in this office  a blog NINJA!

  That's how much I love you guys.  I'm risking upgrading to a higher income bracket by a) collecting EI   b) panhandling   c) whoring myself out getting fired just to keep you all (both?) in the loop. 

So here's the deal.  You keep reading, I'll keep writing.  Sound good?  Great.

ps. I love you guys.  Comments always appreciated and rewarded with money   sex but lights off and no kissing  gratitude?

Return of the Jedi!

Yes, in this scenario I am the Jedi.  Deal with it.

I have finally returned from my travels in the southwest, and I have tales to tell.  After two weeks spent camping in the desert (and the desolate hellscape that is the site of Burning Man) I got in last night and had the most satisfying shower of my life.  I can't describe to you how dirty I was.  There was dust in... places.

Much vigorous scrubbing later, I finally managed to remove the layer of sediment caked onto my skin. From there I fell into bed and slept for twelve glorious hours.

I missed you, Reader.  You're looking good.  Have you lost weight?  Sorry I haven't called.  I was busy   really really drunk   stranded in 1885    out of range of the internet, telephones and people who know how to spell "centre"   thinking of you.

Lots of travel stories in the works.  For now, I have a big paper due tomorrow for my NGO* contract. 

*If you've never worked for an NGO, picture all the stress of a high-up government job except with the pay/benefits of a line cook.

It's good to be home.

Silent Hill

I went to Yoga on the Hill yesterday.  That's Parliament Hill for the non-Ottawa* natives.

Now, I work on Wellington street... Parliament is on Wellington street...  You'd think this would be an easy enough journey between A and B.  You'd be wrong.

Evidently my Wellington turns into Somerset, for some godless reason.  Then somehow it continues again, several blocks north of Somerset (which also continues, and runs parallel).

Who built this crazy city?!

That said, yoga was pretty awesome.  Doing downward dog in the grass, the sun shining.  The ratio of beautiful girls to guys was, let's say, favourable. 

One thing I did not anticipate was the throng of tourists taking pictures of us.  My friend quoted Tony Horton "they're coming in to shoot the cover of downward dog magazine" (inside joke for the P90X'ers among you) and I just about died laughing.  I wouldn't be surprised if milk came out my nose, and I wasn't even drinking milk.

I am totally going to end up on a Japanese postcard.

*this one's a freebie for the stalkers.  Track me down and win a free restraining order!

My New Home

Here we are, stalkers Reader.  My new home.

Why yes.  That is a Panty Tree in the front yard.  Where did you think panties came from?  The Panty Fairies?  That's ridiculous.

Also, for the record, I did not take this picture.  This is the image on google streetview.

I still love you!

Reader, I have some bad/awesome news. I'm going to my brother's wedding this weekend. In Colorado. Then I'm driving to the Grand Canyon, then Vegas and finally Burning Man. Go on, BE jealous.

As you can imagine, posts will be sparse.

I just want you to know, I'll be thinking of naked women you.

Speaking of naked women, we DID in fact go to Zanzibar's. It was pretty much what I expected; movies have very much lied to me about what strip clubs are like. I was expecting the dancers to exhibit a Coyote Ugly level of enthusiasm. Instead, their faces looked more like they were playing checkers. And losing.

To close out the night we bought our friends (two five foot nothing asian girls) a double lap dance. And THAT stripper brought her A game! She was fondling her victims customers under their shirts, sucking on their nipples and encouraging the two of them to return the favour.

Best ten bucks I ever spent.

Ba-Dum-Sh

Guy* walks into a coffee shop, says to girl behind the counter: "Can I see your cup size?"

Returns her stare, completely oblivious to the taste of his own foot. Realizes his mistake. Drowns his shame with a chai latte.

*okay it was totally me

It's what she wants! Honest!

One of my best friends is visiting this week and as we were all together reconnecting, she told us she was determined to go to a strip club. Determined.

For the record, I have only been to one strip club, once, and that was more than enough.

Apparently she's never been, and she feels this hole in her experience needs to be rectified. Immediately. Alas, the heart wants what it wants!

So guess where we were last night?

All told, it was alright. They had a special on, you buy a drink and you get a free meal. It was a pretty bland, cafeteria-style affair, but the man serving us had a delightful surliness about him.

I feel here they missed out on an amazing opportunity: why wasn't there a scantily-clad lunch lady?

I mean, it's a strip club. It's not like there's a shortage of naked ladies to choose from. They're everywhere: serving drinks, dancing, soliciting dances, getting backrubs from the clientele... "You're really good with your hands, mister" (actual quote). Yeah, sure he is.

Evidently, my friend has not gotten the stripper bug out of her system yet. Tonight we're going to the famous(-ish) Zanibar's! You know, from that Tenacious D song? If you haven't heard it, you dear Reader, have missed out.

This time there's talk of lap dances. I may be forced to partake. You know, for science.

Like you've never googled yourself!

So I googled Brought to You by Pie (yes, I am that vain) and alas, didn't find our little crack den corner of the Internet.

What I did find though, made my century. Yes, sorry guys who cure cancer and create robot Jesus, the best thing ever has already been invented and it's only 2010.

For anyone who loves executions the inquisition pie, check out this link

You can thank me later. With sex.

The Monies!

Recently, I was the victim of bank fraud. I went to the ATM, as I tend to do, to deposit a sweet, delicious cheque when I was summarily informed that the operation "was not successful".

I'm sorry, you don't want my money?

I went inside to ask the bank teller, "What up?"

Evidently, someone had copied my debit card and used it to withdraw all the money from my chequing account. Jokes on them, though; wasn't much! Happy face. Sad Face. Face.

The helpful teller informed me that this in fact happens all the time (oh, I feel MUCH better now...) and that my money would be returned to me pending a short investigation. "Merely a formality."

Alright, I'll play ball.

So a couple weeks later, having survived by turning tricks on the generosity of my parents, I return to the bank to discover that yes, my money is back, but no, I can't have it.

Although the investigators deemed I was not in fact the one stealing my own money, they didn't go through the trouble of unlocking my debit card.

I felt like a fully grown adult kid in a pet store: I could see all the cute little puppies through the glass, but I wasn't allowed to have them.

See banks, this is why no one likes you. Give me my puppy already.

For Real Real, Not For Play Play

Dear Reader, I apologize. Life has been moving fast. Ridgemont High fast.

To keep you all updated, my computer died, then my house lost power, then I was on a bike for three days and quite (wonderfully) disconnected from the world. Then I moved. Yes, all that happened in the same week.

It was a perfect storm, like the Universe is trying to keep us apart. But our love is stronger than that!

In other news, my brother is getting married in two weeks. When (one of) my (many) other brother(s) got married, I wrote the happy couple a funny little song and performed it at their wedding.

I know what you're thinking perverts. What a lovely gesture. And it was. Only I didn't think it through. You see, this was only the first wedding. The first of many. I have many, many siblings and I set the bar very high for myself.

That leads us to now, where I have to write another song, even though I don't know my brother's fiancee very well. As we're all entering that age when marrying girls is no longer school yard punishment but actually an official pronouncement of your love, I will be very busy indeed.

I should totally charge for this.

I survived!

So my epic two-wheeled journey is finished! I've returned, more or less, in one piece. One very, very tired piece.

More blogging tomorrow, promise. For now, I'll just let the suspense build...

You forgive because you love.

So for those you keeping score, you may have noticed there was no post yesterday. That's because there was a sexy party power outage.

It Burns So Good!

My body had almost forgiven me, almost. Then I decided to pick up one of those SMR foam rollers. And use it.

For those not in the know, SMR stands for Self-Myofascial Release, or for those in the know, it stands for Sado-Masochistic Ritual. It's designed to smooth out trigger points in your muscles the same way getting kicked in the gut gives you abs. Which it does.

This ain't your grandma's muscle roller.

Anyways, given that I intend to full out destroy myself over the fall season, I figured I'd learn as many injury prevention techniques as possible.

Sorry, body. It's gonna be a rough ride.

If I were a horse, they would shoot me.

After a weekend of what felt like hard labour mixed with a dash of death march, my body is thoroughly destroyed.

Every excursion up or down the stairs is preceded by a debate weighing the pros and cons, ie "How badly do I really have to pee?"

I've spent the day going to physio, napping* and living attached to no less than three ice packs.

*Trailer trash bingo was AWESOME. Crass, but and awesome. I couldn't tear myself away, even for much needed sleep.

Also, I'm fairly certain my knee can now gauge the weather. This must be what being old feels like.

Mixed Up - Part 2

Wow! What a weekend.

For my part, I kicked ass and took names (although only once literally). I mean, when you clobber a guy, it's common courtesy to, you know, introduce yourself.

After our last game, I picked up with another team (one that had beaten us soundly the day before) and got to play another (4th) game (in a row). Again, asses were kicked. Names were taken.

Tonight I'm headed to Buskerfest (no idea what to expect) and then white trash bingo (some idea what to expect). I mean, it sounds fairly self-explanatory. And trashy. And so me!

Last night after our games we went to a teammate's house for a barbecue. And when I say "house", I mean "villa". This place was the BOMB. There was a pool, hot tub, tons of outdoor couches. Bob Dylan quotes on the wall of the bathroom.

When the sun set, we all gathered around the fire pit and roasted marshmallows. I felt like I was 12 again! But more drunk.

Like I said, what a weekend!

Mixed Up - Part 1

Guess what Reader? I played in yet another Ultimate tournament. And it was great!

Surprise twist though: my ex was there. With her new boyfriend. I was not expecting that, but in all honesty, it went pretty well. I gave her a hug, wished her well, played well against their team (who happens to be one of the best in the country, alas).

Like our previous encounters, she seems to be the one more distraught than I am, which is totally unfair considering she was the breaker-upper! I'm the one that's allowed to get emotional!

For my part, I continue to handle myself beautifully, especially given that this meeting was a complete surprise.

It gets easier every time. I deserve props for today.

I'm gonna assume you just fist-bumped the screen.

Thanks, Reader. You're the best!

Too Close!

My Macbook died today. I always knew this day would come, I just hoped I'd get to say goodbye first.

It was running fine this morning, then I brought it in to work, turned it on and... waited. And waited. And cried. And waited.

After a few rounds of 'boot up, hope, repeat', I had exhausted my technical expertise. I needed help. Professional help. (no not that kind, well yes, but no)

I took it in to the Mac store, cradling it like a sick child.

Little did I know it was the Canadian launch of the iPhone 4 today. There was a HUGE line that had apparently been waiting since 8pm last night. I've never seen a line this long that didn't have Harry Potter characters in it.

As I stood there, staring at the line, knowing that time was running out for my baby, an employee approached me: "Are you looking to upgrade to an iPhone 4?"

"How dare you?! She's not even cold yet!"

She took that to mean that no, I was not in fact here for an iPhone. Reluctantly, she ushered me past the line.

I reached the repair bar (it does not serve booze, I checked) and with hopeful, tear-rimmed eyes I implored the guy behind the counter: "Can you fix her?"

The Mac man (or "Genius" as they like to be called... pretentious much?) asked if it was still under warranty.

"No, she doesn't have health insurance."

He said he'd have to order some parts, it would probably cost a few hundred dollars.

I looked at him like he'd just suggested I have my dog put down.

"Do Macbooks go to heaven?"

Then the Mac man, er Genius, did me a solid: he offered to fix it. For sex free!

Oh Apple.  You're like Dane Cook.  I want to hate you, but you're just too awesome!

Remember Me Fondly

Dear Reader:

We've had some good times, you and I. Remember when we took off our pants for freedom?

This virus has me by the short and curlies. It might be the end of me.

In case I don't make it, I just want you to know, you were always my favourite. You can totally have my stereo.

Sincerely Yours,
Pie

ps. you're supposed to head towards the light, right?

pps. Avenge me.

Pocket Full of Posies

I've been sick the last couple days. My head feels like I've been stuck on an airplane too long. An airplane where the pilot and co-pilot are at the helm either locked in mortal combat or having their carnal way with each other.

Sleep it off you say? I would, except I wake up in the night feeling like I'm deep sea diving. Do you have any idea just how long a day can be when you don't break it up with sleep?

And food has no taste. I can't even eat my boredom away!

All things considered though, it's not that bad. Being sick is a great excuse to relax and be lazy. I get to sit back, pop the vitamin C and oil of oregano (yech!) and focus on getting well.

For a high strung individual like me, it's a good feeling.

You Sly Minx!

I had my first physical today in 4 years. Like I said, I'm busy.

So either I am a HUGE narcissist or my doctor is totally hitting on me

First she has me take off my clothes. Slowly.

Then she proceeds to probe me for weaknesses. She takes my blood pressure and listens to my breathing. You know, evaluating my stamina.

Finally, she "checks" my testicles. For "lumps".

Maybe next time I can play the doctor.

I know what you like

Some of you more observant Readers may have noticed that I didn't post yesterday.

What? I was busy! I do things.

So to make it up to you, today I will give you multiple orgasms posts.

This one, by the way, totally counts.

I'm scared to look...

I went on my first real bike ride in 7 years today. 60km round trip, uphill, both ways.

As I was bombing down one of the few, blessed downhill sections, a girl climbing the other way said "Hey Pie!" Well, obviously she didn't say pie, but you know, anonymity and such.

Come to think of it, had she actually said "pie" that would have been pretty awesome.

How she recognized me at such high velocity is beyond me. The fact that she then managed to register my face and shout my name in that 4.7 nanosecond window is pretty awesome. Almost as awesome as if she'd actually said pie.

I apologize, vaguely feminine blur, I did not have time to strike up a chat. I hope you're well. You're looking good. I assume.

Also, granola bars have never tasted so good.

Even more also, I am fairly certain there's a bicycle seat permanently imprinted on my ass now.

Miracles

Good news, Reader! I can walk again.

Even better news! I am officially an uncle! My first nephew was born yesterday at 10:00 am, 8 lbs. I wonder what it feels like to lose 8 lbs in one night.

Evidently he took his sweet time. Half-way through the 13 hour labour, my sister in law, bless her heart, gave in and had the epidural. She admitted as much over webcam this morning. I was like, honey, if it were me, I wouldn't have had an epidural; I would have had a friggin' surrogate.

8 pounds, 13 hours. Do the math, people.

His name's Mateo. Kinda pretentious there bud, but hey, you pull it off.

When you're 13 and I'm 37 (with the emotional maturity of a 13 year old) we are gonna be great friends.

Say hello to the Cool Uncle. The one that gives you sips of his beer and takes you to R-rated movies. Or as your parents will call it: "the zoo".

So this is how the other half lives...

I have spent most of today hobbling about thanks to a strained knee and a bruise across the top of my foot. I'll let you guess which awesome, disc-related sport is responsible.

On that note, this has made walking the dog a significantly more trying experience. I've been having good results training her to come (using an extension cord tied to the leash). She did so well yesterday that I decided to go without today. The results were not encouraging!

And of course, I can't catch her without a bum leg.

Thankfully, the squirrels were pretty spry.

Betrayal!

So Sydney (the dog) is here now. We've been getting along well. She follows me from room to room and guards me from my roommates. I had forgotten just how terrified she is of most people. That's what happens when you're born in a Mennonite puppy mill, I guess.

Thus far I've enjoyed hanging out with the dog. I've already taught her to come when I call her (something she was definitely no good at yesterday). That's because I am awesome. At dogs.

My roommates tolerate her fine; all except one. The cat. This morning she was waiting outside my door, staring at me. Judging me.

Skittles' accusatory look says it all: "What have you brought into my home?!"

Impending Doom!

In less than an hour my friend's dog arrives, when I'll be taking care of her for the next three days. The dog, not my friend. Try and keep up.

She (the dog) is adorable, and a barely contained ball of crazy. Throw a frisbee anywhere in a 5 mile radius and she will leap 6 feet straight up to retrieve it. She can also run flat out for hours. Bitch doesn't have an off-switch.

That said, I am excited! I really love dogs, and can't wait for the day I can have my own. And I like my dogs the same way I like my women: athletic, smart, and CRAZY!*

So, Reader, be warned. There may be some dog posts in our future!

*I am reforming though. I'm trying to stay away from crazies; they are my kryptonite. Right now I'm looking for a keeper. That's called growth.


EDIT: New Ecology Ottawa post can be found here.

You say Gelato...

Lots of news today!

I wrote another post for Ecology Ottawa, which may be submitted to Apartment 613, and if you've ever heard of either of those, you are clearly stalking me, and I'd like you to stop.

And I finally went on another pseudo-date with my crush! I just can't quite figure this girl out, which is probably what makes her so damned attractive. That and being an engineer and an avid cyclist. If we were a couple, she would totally be the dude.

We went out for gelado, which apparently is actually spelled "gelato" (something she took great pride in correcting me about). I was seriously in Italy like 3 months ago eating the stuff and she (an engineer!) totally word pwned me. Damn that is hot.

Afterward we went to see Inception, which was a good movie. In spite of this, the story is so layered and complex that keeping track of the whole thing feels like cramming for a test. A test where Leonardo DiCaprio and Jason Gordon Levitt kick ass and take names.

I would ace that class.

PAIN!

After a weekend of short-roster Ultimate, then rushing home to play soccer on sunday, I feel like I was on the wrong end of a serious ass-kicking.

Given the amount of posts about Ultimate lately, I'm thinking maybe I should start an Ultimate blog on the side... more on that as events unfold. (notice how I seem to capitalize "Ultimate" and not "soccer"... interesting.)

I don't know if it was the beer, the heat, or just sheer exhaustion, but I felt good this weekend. Apparently, an effective way to deal with nervous energy is to burn it the fuck off!

In other news, I've decided to get back into cycling. After an 8-year hiatus, I am back from retirement! I dusted off my old biking shoes and am planning a big ride in a few weeks (a ride for which I am woefully unprepared!)

Thus far, having not used clip-ins for the better part of a decade, I have managed to avoid the painful, if hilarious, side plop. For those not in the know, that is when you brake but fail to extricate your feet from the pedals (because some jackass decided it would be a good idea to weld you into a spinning death-machine). This results in a comically ungraceful dismount wherein you simply fall onto your side and lay there humiliated like a turtle on its back.

If you haven't yet experienced this, you are not a real cyclist. Retire your spandex.

Live a Little

Last night I realized an important lesson: sometimes, you have to stop counting calories, stop worrying about money, or being embarrassed or feeling awkward and just LIVE. NOW.

I do, on occasion, get overwhelmed by the prospect of partying with a large group of people. I'm not particularly into the bar scene, for this very reason. With people I know, plus a few sprinkled-in strangers, I am usually the life of the party, and a shameless (and I do mean SHAMELESS) extrovert.

But with a large group of people, I am often terrified of getting trapped in an awkward situation. The weird part is I'm not even sure what I'm so afraid of. Time and again people have proven themselves to be, on the balance, pretty awesome.

Most groups will go out of their way to make you feel included. Beyond that, most people can be just as shy as I am.

Last night was a case in point. My teammates, whom I don't know as well as I'd like, were all partying in one of our hotel rooms (and racking up noise complaints, as it happens) and I was in the final stages of preparing for sleep: pants off, reading lamp on. I could hear their laughter coming from down the hall and I said you know what? FUCK it! I'M GOING IN.

So I joined my Ultimate comrades and we had a BLAST. We exchanged card tricks (I won a free beer), beers (and probably some serious germs, germophobes be warned, team sports are not for you) and the most riveting/revealing game of Never Have I Ever of all time!

Lesson learned: sometimes, you just have to let loose. Stop doing the responsible thing, and just start doing SOMETHING.

Comedy of Errors Part 1

This weekend I'm in Montreal for the Comedy of Errors tournament. The schedule had us playing five straight games all through the afternoon, starting with the Great Canadian Ultimate Game.

The GCUG is an Ultimate game played across the country over 24 hours. It started in the Yukon at midnight and has been steadily making its way to the east coast. Each team has a charity, and the winning team's cause gets all the proceeds.

As cool an idea as it is, there is a flaw to this system. See, one team's charity is the Boys and Girls Club, while the other is Right to Play. Basically, this means you are playing for the same cause, no matter which side you're on.

This is a missed opportunity: people would play harder if the stakes were higher.

Like if the losing team had to perform community service. Or sign up to be big brothers and sisters. Of course, it probably doesn't boost children's self-esteem to be begrudgingly accompanied by an adult who has nothing better to do than play Ultimate at three in the morning. These are not good role models. They are the losing team; kids want to hang out with WINNERS.

Oh yeah, I forgot to mention, our day was cut short by lightening, so I've actually been drinking since this afternoon. Apologies all around.

Remember when this blog wasn't about Ultimate?

Me neither.

Tomorrow morning I wake up at the ungodly hour of 5:30 am to drive to Montreal for yet another tournament. As much as I love Ultimate, this is just getting downright silly.

On Geeks

First off, this might be the greatest thing ever.

I'm not actually much of a geek. Oh, I appreciate the odd moment of geekiness, and think Star Trek's a good show*, but I'm not the kind to dress up and debate who would win in a cage match between Kirk and Picard. Because uh, Picard, obviously.

*For the record, Deep Space Nine is by far the best series. Okay, so I may be a geek...

In truth, I have a strange feeling of respect for people who get into costume and go to conventions. They know people make fun of them, and they do it anyway, because it's just what they like to do.

Likewise, it takes serious cojones to spend an afternoon LARPing... in public. For the most part people avoid them like a leper with SARS, as if geekiness were something you could catch. And still these uber-geeks, or Geeks 2.0 if you will, aren't the least bit deterred. Hell, they're having a blast. That's pretty admirable.

When you get right down to it, the only difference between dressing up as a wizard in a cardboard battle and painting your whole body blue for the Big Game is that the latter is almost certainly beer-induced.

You know the old saying "Dance like no one is watching"? These geeks have brought that shit to a whole 'nother level.

WE DID IT!!

Today is a momentous occasion!

Not only have I finished a whole month's worth of posts, but today I got my first blogging gig! I was asked to do some blogging (paid in gratitude) for Ecology Ottawa.

You can check it out here.

In other news, I may be mildly concussed. The hits just keep on coming. Thanks to Ultimate I now have a sore body, a black eye, a tan that will never even out, and a nagging suspicion that I have blown a gasket in my brain.

And you know what? Totally worth it.

Words of Wisdom

Things I've learned:


It's the people around you that make life worth living. Keep up with old friends. After all, someone has to bail you out of jail.

Don't just tolerate family, embrace them. Remember, they will lend you money at low interest.

Your parents tried their best. Forgive them. How many of your friends would have put up with you when you were acting like/being a two year old?

You're not as ugly as you think you are. Stop worrying about it already.

You know how the world didn't end today? I call that a win.

Soap. Use it.

Regionals Part 2

You may have noticed I did not post yesterday. I want to assure all (two) of you that I am indeed alive and well, despite the best efforts of our opponents/the sun in trying to give me heat stroke.

Things not to do in a heat wave: spend all weekend playing ultimate with no shade and a tube of sunscreen that I'm convinced is rated SPF-Placebo. At one point, I looked at my hand and noticed it was shaking uncontrollably, as if trying to break free of its moorings and make a bid for freedom.

Beyond that, we had a great weekend. The tournament was very competitive, and we came close to making it to The Show (Nationals). We did manage to crush our rivals, which felt good. It's all about the little things.

I got in about 2:00 am last night (hence no posting). My legs feel like they're threatening to go on strike, but it was well worth it.

Things I never want to eat again: bananas, bagels, gatorade, anything in bar form.

REGIONALS PART ONE

We went 2 and 2 today. We made the wins we had to, now we just have to rally tomorrow to get a spot at nationals.

I'm starting to realize that a lot of the joy of tournaments is the team bonding. There's so much more that happens off the field that is all part of the experience. Last night we went for all you can eat sushi and now I have officially discovered what it feels like to be drunk on food. And turns out it was Mark's birthday, so naturally, we had to get the free cake. It's a matter of principle.

You would be surprised just how much fish a team of ultimate players can pack away. They brought us The Boat, heavily laden with sashimi. With each progressive round of sushi orders, the waiter would shoot us a look of surprise mixed with either profound respect or just deep revulsion.

And that was before we played. Tonight's dinner will be downright gluttonous.