Consecutive Days Without Killing: 19
|The passport of life
||[Jan. 19th, 2005|03:52 am]
I remember attending Expo 86 in Vancouver (this probably dates me somewhat), when I was younger (still remaining vague though). Almost every nation in the world put on a display for us to go and see. |
There were all sorts of exhibits - history, holograms, elaborate model trains, chocolate dispensers (gotta love the Swiss).
But the thing that excited us the most was taking our little Expo book to as many exhibits as possible and getting our little passport stamp.
You see, we weren't all that interested in experiencing the sights and offerings of the world, we were more interested in having proof that we had done these things.
But then I grew up. But still, there are adults who remain this way. They have a little passport of life. They don't really care about the adventure half so much as having the ability to show their friends, family, co-workers and pretty much anyone who will listen what they have done, and where they have been.
These are the sorts of people that travel to do the sorts of things that everyone is familiar with. They are the ones posing in front of Big Ben, the Taj Mahal, the Eiffel Tower, etc.
They have no interest in talking to the people, soaking in the culture, or discovering something brand new that no one is familiar with. They want to just jet around the world doing and seeing all the things that everyone else has heard of, as if the more things done somehow represents a full life.
And if they should ever happen upon a pocket of happiness in their travels - a time and a place that gives them comfort, peace and fun that they have never known before, they will pass it by simply because it does not make a good enough story to tell their friends. Instead they stop just long enough to get a few photos to show they have been there, and they move on to the next photo op.
|My old plan to have kids
||[Jan. 5th, 2005|01:29 pm]
The old plan|
Prior to meeting a certian someone, I had pretty much despaired of ever finding someone to raise kids with. Despite this, I still had plans to have children, but I didn't want the wife all that much.
So, given that I was a single male, adoption was pretty much out of the question. Unless you are filthy rich like Michael Jackson or George Lucas, they don't let you adopt. They immediately suspect that you are a gay pedophile.
Obviously I thought about 'borrowing' kids from inattentive parents at the shopping malls etc, but it seems a bit risky. Plus, there is something moderately cool about having a kid with the same genes. Well, at least it would be cool for me. I guess it wouldn'd be especially cool for the obese, stupid people with the coke-bottle glasses.
So given that it's got to come from me, the solution seems simple. I just have to get someone knocked up.
Unforunately, the courts almost always award either joint custody or custody to the woman. The father almost never gets full custody.
And then you have to add in the fact that I don't really want the mother interfering with how I raise the children. These aren't going to be regular kids that play baseball, watch TV and have friends. These children are going to be kept in isolation and trained to eventually become the Secretary General of the UN. It might be hard to find someone who agrees with my child-rearing strategy.
So, if I am to be given custody, then I have to find a woman who is severely fucked up and will therefore be deemed too irresponsible to raise children.
At first I thought alcoholic or crack addict - but then you run the risk of having a crack baby or FAS kid. - limited potential. A chronic gambler would also be an option. Of course, even with all their problems - the courts might still believe that they have cleaned up their act.
So, the trick is to find someone completely messed up but with no chemical addiction and no genetic flaws. Then it came to me. Brain damaged chicks. This is the way to go. THey can't even look after themselves - how are they going to look after children? I am practically guaranteed custody.
The new plan isn't quite as interesting, but at least people won't think I'm a cruel merciless parent.
||[Dec. 29th, 2004|01:11 pm]
It amazes me, it simply amazes me.|
People that consider themselves intelligent, trendy and open-minded are in complete subservience to the fashion dictates of society.
They have to read magazines such as Cosmo, Instyle and Vogue to find out what's hot and what's not. And then they go through their closets, and discard all of last year's fashions as if they had suddenly come to the conclusion by themselves that those clothes really don't look good after all.
Look, people, if the clothes looked good on you two years ago, they probably still look good. What changed? Nothing. The fashion nazis have simply dictated that those clothes are no longer in fashion and the new lines are now 'in'.
Why do they do this? Because they need you to constantly feel inadequate about yourself so that you rush out to buy the latest expensive fashions. Don't go thinking that you can compete with other people if you are wearing last year's fashions and they are wearing the new line. That's preposterous.
They want you to have this fear that someone out there will see what you are wearing and then they will all mock you because 'that is so out of style'.
Don't play their games. Don't be their puppets. Wear what you want, when you want.
Sometimes they take it to the next level. Once a clothing style has gone completely out, then they bring it back. Of course by that time - the old clothes have faded into oblivion and you have to buy the new ones.
And then sometimes they decide to make you jump through hoops, just because they can.
Calvin: You know what we should do?
Calvin: We should see just how much control we have over the sheep out there.
Jerry: What do you have in mind?
Calvin: Let's take the worst fashion imaginable, and try and get them to start wearing it again.
Jerry: Like what? Should we bring back those pants with all the zippers?
Calvin: Better yet - bellbottom pants.
Jerry: It can't be done. They aren't that desperate to fit in.
Calvin: Oh but they are. You underestimate the insecurity of the so-called elite.
I know that you're reading this and thinking to yourself, that other people might judge people who 'aren't in style', but you would never do it.
But how many times have you pointed out the person wearing white socks, or the person with sandals and socks. Society tells us that this is wrong? But why? There is no rhyme or reason - it's all completely arbitrary as to why one style is out and one is in.
Get out and do something wild, you fashion sheep.
|Brrrr....Toronto is so cold
||[Dec. 21st, 2004|03:17 pm]
Well, not really - but it did reach -20 yesterday which apparently is about as cold as Toronto gets.|
Of course, I had to have some smartass friend mail me from Whitehorse to tell me that the temperature there is + 5.
Despite that, I'm not going to mail him back and gloat when we are at +10 and they are at -40, which is quite often the case in January. Let him have his 'day in the sun'. It's not as if I'm about to pack up the car and start driving back to catch that three days of warm weather.
The weekend was really amazing, I did a lot of things that I would never have been able to do back home.
Let's compare and contrast:
Friday: went to some dinner at the Royal Yacht Club. I felt a little out of place. It was the first time I've worn a tie (other than disciplinary meetings) for over a year. Despite that, it was a pretty good time - and the food was spectacular. There was champagne, plenty of hors d'ouvres, a four course meal, and plenty of free drinks. All in all, it was great food, and great conversation.
If I was in Whitehorse, I would have been dragged out to the Kopper KIng. For those of you not in the know, it's THE club in Whitehorse on Friday nights. Unlike most cities where the hotspot is situated right downtown - the Kopper King is located in the middle of a trailer court. I shit you not. This is no joke. And this is the best club in town?
I would have listened to the usual annoying songs generic factory-produced Hip-hop/R&B that would have been considered Top 40 two years ago, mixed in with the mandatory Mony Mony, and Thunderstruck.I'm not sure if it's a bylaw that these two songs must be played every night in every bar, but it sure seems that way. With any luck, a fight would have broken out which would have provided the only real entertainment of the night.
People from 19-60 would be there, all weaving the fine line of being really drunk and having a good time, to getting tossed out. With any luck, I would be regaled with great stories of how much alcohol the storyteller had drunk. That never gets old. Then we would sit at a booth, make a couple comments about the usual hoochies that have a second home at the bar, and then with any luck, we would talk about TV shows that we saw that week.
Saturday night: went to a Christmas party hosted by some hot chick - didn't catch her name. It was small but the food was great. They had these cranberry brie snacks - and even better - they had poppers. Remember kids, if you are hosting a party - do not forget the poppers. I can not stress this enough. For the old paranoid fuddy-duddies who might be reading my journal - poppers have no association with 'uppers', if that's what you were thinking. They aren't even drugs. Again, there was some great conversation. I talked with a producer, a guy who just got back from Cuba, and a guy who just made his first feature film. Very interesting people.
Saturday in Whitehorse: If lucky, I would have been able to stay home and play video games, chat on the Internet, and read my friends journals. With no luck, I would have been dragged to one of those annoying house parties with 23 guys, and 2 underage girls - where we talked about monster trucks, hunting, and snowmobiles while waiting for our turn to hit on the two mediocre underage girls.
Sunday: Went to see Handel's Messiah at the Symphony. There were trumpets, violins,and a full choir, and solo vocalists.
Here were some of the highlights:
1) A very animated conductor. He actually leapt off the ground a few times, in order to direct the orchestra to produce just the sound he wanted. I hadn't realize one needed to be such an athlete to be a conductor. What if they got Michael Jordan to do it? Could he push the orchestra even higher?
2) The bass singer. His voice was alright, nothing spectacular, - but the look he gave when he was about to sing, was worth the price of admission all by itself.
It was as if he was saying: "Prepare peasants, to hear the most magnificent voice in all of creation. You lucky people have just hit the jackpot. My voice will make you forget all about your worthless lives"
And then when he was done singing - he would turn to the conductor or the tenor and give the look that said"
"Did you hear that? Do you really think we need to go on with the rest of this common performance after these peasants have been given the gift of hearing my voice? Wouldn't that be a little like eatinga peanut butter sandwich after truffles?"
3) The soprano singer. Sure, her voice was OK as well but it was her posture that was so intriguing. It was as if she were a barbie doll. Her arms did not move. She had no elbows, I swear. And her overall presence and demeamour suggested that she was a delicate angel on loan directly from God. We humans had better appreciate her while she was there, because God would be calling her back to the heavens shortly.
There were many other interesting things in this two hour production.
Sunday in Whitehorse would have consisted of me sleeping in until about two o'clock. Then I would have hauled my ass out of bed, grabbed a snack, lamented that I had to work the next day and went back to bed.
Then I would have gotten up, played on the computer all day long. Occasionally I would smell my armpits to confirm that they stink, and smiled knowing that it didn't matter because there was no one in the whole damned town that I wanted to impress.
So, my little friend in Whitehorse, enjoy your day in the sun, I can't say that I'm all that jealous.
||[Dec. 14th, 2004|04:54 pm]
Well, I'm here in the big city. I guess I've been here for about a month now.|
I get asked some pretty silly questions sometimes.
The other day someone asked me if I noticed any differences between Whitehorse and Toronto.
"No, I said, "they seem pretty much the same".
Sometimes people warn me about the harsh Toronto winters.
"I think I'll be OK", as I'm sprinkled with warm December rain, being used to -20 C weather in mid October. (If you don't know Celsius - that converts to very cold.
They have a lot of black people here in the big city. We didn't have any back home. I think most of them are celebrities, but I don't recognize a lot of them. Sometimes I just try asking for random autographs but more often than not they just look really annoyed. It's probably because I don't recognize them. They must sell some sort of guide book around here that helps you identify them.
One thing that I notice about Toronto is every inch of space is coveted. You can't park for free anywhere. If you get to park for $10 a day, you're doing great. Even where you live, it costs to park. And you get the very miniumum space possible to park a car in. Consequently, I average about 2.3 accidents per week when I am parking. It's a good thing that no one was around to see me hit those other cars or I would be in a lot of trouble.
In the real rules of Monopoly, Free Parking didn't give you a bunch of money - it was just a place where you could land on for free. Being here, I realize the value of having a place where you can exist for free.
|The Three Little Words
||[Dec. 7th, 2004|10:59 pm]
Hmm, lately these words have been in my mind a lot.|
Why is it that our society deems that any couple that has not said these exact three words to eachother has an incomplete relationship. It is as if they are still holding something back - not wanting to acknowledge that this relationship has reached the same intensity and depth of past relationships.
Not only must they say these three words in that exact order but there can be no additions. There can be nothing added on - before or after. I love you. End of sentence. Anything less (or more) is seen as a clever ruse to get the other person to say it first.
But, there is much more to it than just the initial uttering.
You see, when a person says these 3 words alone - it is not just a statement, it is also a question.
There is an implied question that comes along with it: Do you love me?
There should be no need for reciprocation, and quite frankly there is something almost phony about an immediate response as if the two people have simultaneously come into the realization that they love eachother. But, in all practicality, is it not more realistic that one person could love the other person first and the other could take a bit longer to come to that conclusion?
So, then that leaves us with a difficult predicament.
What does one say when the other person says 'I love you'?
The problem for me is not so much that I do not reciprocate those feelings. It's more to do with the fact that I crave constant originality and I strive to resist the temptation to have the Jerry Bruckheimer's of the world dictate how I communicate my feelings.
So then, here are some scenarios:
When someone says: 'I love you', what do you say in response:
Here are some failed attempts to placate girlfriends of the past:
"Wow, that's great!"
"I like you too."
"You can show me how much you love me by getting me a beer out of the fridge."
"Shhh, the game's on, honey. We can talk about feelings some other time."
"Then why are you fucking three other guys?"
"I did not know that. Sensational."
"God, I hope this doesn't find it's way into the tabloids."
Of course, one could go for the other route.
I mean really, what is love?
I love chocolate.
I love lightning storms.
I love the satisfaction that comes from finally removing an obstinate booger.
I love all my LJ friends (ok, well some of them)
So, by this much more generous definition of love, I can say I love lots of things.
And if someone slips a couple tabs of E into my drink - I love pretty much everything and everyone with the possible exceptions of AOL, Donald Rumsfeld, mosquitos and Anne Coulter.
Remember kids, it's not lying - it's semantics. There is a big difference.
Disclaimer: This has nothing to do with current relationship(s) that I may be involved with.
|I am a horrible poster
||[Nov. 30th, 2004|10:41 pm]
Yes, I know - my updates are unreliable.|
I rarely go and reciprocate by posting in the journals of others.
And worst of all, I don't even comment back to the people that comment in my journal.
Despite this, you are all important to me.
Ok, well - that's not really true. I don't even know a lot of you and don't recognize your names.
And some of you aren't really all that important to me as your posts aren't all that great and you participate in pretty people clubs and whine too much.
And some of you are just alright, because I am extremely arrogant and as such, am only interested in the people that really take a lot of notice of me.
But anyways, the point is, I eventually will be back online on a regular basis and will be much more consistent and reciprocal with my postings.
Thanks for the patience.
ps - is there anyone here that lives in Toronto and is in a hiring position?
Ideally, the job should pay well, have a big fancy title, be free of any real responsibility, and allow me to post online for four hours a day without anyone bitching about it.
If it helps, I will be able to supply monumental amounts of bullshit to create the facade that I know what I am doing, and I care about my job and I work hard.
|Put me out of my misery....please....for the love of God
||[Nov. 26th, 2004|06:06 pm]
I saw this couple yesterday. They were kissing everywhere. |
They were kissing on the elevator on the way up to the restaraunt. Then they were in the restaraunt, practically groping eachother as they sat having drinks. Then, as if fate has not been sickening enough to me as of late, they were at the play. Fortunately, they seemed to have a tiny sense of what was proper and managed to keep their necking to a minimum during the actual play. But the intermission, my God - it was like a clinic on how to catch a cold. I don't know if there was a square millimeter of the poor girl's face that wasn't covered in saliva by the time they were done.
Now, I've seen this sort of thing in the past. But, these weren't 14 year olds. These people were old. They were grown ups.
I felt like lending them the keys to my car so that they could go and neck there.
Weren't they a little too old to be living at home with mom and dad?
Is there nowhere private that these two can go to limit the exposure others have to endure.
Are they under the impression that others enjoy this free live soft porn display?
But that is not the worst part. No, not by a long shot. The worst part is that I was one of those two people. That's right. I have become the very thing which I loathe and mock. I am certain that I have instructed many of my friends to murder me in my sleep should such a fate ever befall me. I trust that at least one of them will honour their vow.
I was supposed to be aloof and mysterious for a year or two. I was supposed to be free and independent - completely indifferent to what anyone in this city thought of me. And now, that's all destroyed. I'm not supposed to meet a great girl my first couple of days in town. Fuck.
I'll save you all the burden of listening to me blather on about how great she is etc. She's alright. We'll just leave it at that.
|Remember - police are the good guys
||[Nov. 19th, 2004|02:34 pm]
I figured that since I was able to go through Alberta, Saskatchewan and Manitoba in one driving session - it would be pretty easy to get from Kenora to Toronto in a day. Heck, I could probably even be there in time for lunch if I left early. After all Ontario is only a single province.|
Unfortunately, traversing Ontario takes as much time as Western Canada combined. I was eager to get to Toronto for my own nefarious reasons and was speeding pretty badly.
It was pitch black and I was going about 130 kmh. I tend to drive faster at night than in the day because I have excellent night vision, you can see oncoming traffic a mile away, and there is less traffic.
So, I passed through a small gas station town, and was driving for another ten minutes when I saw that there was a pair of headlights shining from behind. That seemed bizarre given my speed. I hadn't passed anyone for awhile and someone was actually gaining on me when I was going 130 at night.
I kept driving for a bit and even sped up to 140 and looked behind to see that the mysterious headlights were almost right behind me. Who was this madman? Then, on top of that - we end up in a windy non-passing zone - and the person is actually tailgating me at 140 - about 10 feet behind me.
The speed limit is 90. What is wrong with this person. It's not as if I'm slowing him down. Then I decide to teach this person a lesson. I slow down from 140 down to 70 just to piss him off. The plan then is to travel at about 30 kmh just to really tick him off.
That was when the sirens went off. Yes, the person following me for the last twenty minutes was a cop. I'm in a lot of trouble.
So, he comes over and asks the usual questions. License and registration. Did I know how fast I was going? Why was I in such a hurry? Where was I going to? Where was I coming from?
He informed me that at the rate I was going, it was a 325$ fine. But, considering the speed I was going and the fact that this was the first time I was caught, I was alright with that. In fact, I had pretty much budgeted a speeding ticket into my travel.
I had my music playing (Eurobeat) and he noticed it:
Cop: "Is that the radio?"
Me: "No, it's a CD"
Cop: "Did you get that as a present?"
Me: "No, I made it"
At this point I am trying very, very hard to supress any smart-ass remarks despite my natural resentment of authority figures.
He goes back to the car for a bit and then returns and hands me back all of my ID.
"I'm going to give you a break, but you need to slow down. There's a lot of moose out on the highway".
At this point, I think how funny it would be to say:
"I don't need your fucking charity, porky. Just write up the ticket and shut yer yap."
But I manage to supress that and even manage not to giggle noticeably. Why do these thoughts even enter my head? Laughing then could have really hurt me.
So, he lets me go with a warning and a promise to drive slower and I think to myself ' what a nice guy. He wasn't condescending, patronizing or anything else - just seemed to be concerned about my safety.
Then I get back on the road - and keeping my promise to the officer, I am only going about 115. Then just outside of Wawa, about 1/2 hour later - I become eternally grateful that the officer stopped me.
As I'm driving, I see something come on to the road in the path of my car. It's not a deer or a moose or anything like that. My first thought was that it was a monkey. Fortunately, I didn't vocalize this thought because I would have appeared to be a complete moron. Then I thought it was a dog or a cat or something. As I slowed down - I realized what it was. A cougar!! I had never seen a wild cougar in my entire life. It was amazing. As it saw me, it neither sped up out of fear, nor froze out of panic, but merely turned its neck a bit to look at me curiously as it continued its pace to the other side.
Such a majestic creature and the fact of the matter is that if I was going 140, I probably would have hit it with my car - likely killing it. I thought about what I would have done if I had killed it. I think I would have sold my car in Wawa, taken the bus to Toronto and never driven again.
Thank you officer. If not for your intervention, I may very well have killed this cougar. Not everyone appreciates the fine work of the police, but I certainly did on this day.
PS - I am in Toronto now.
|The heart of darkness (aka Calgary)
||[Nov. 18th, 2004|04:07 pm]
Well, as much as I wanted to disparage and denigrate the home province of Ralph Klein and Calgary in particular. I was unable to find anything I disliked about it. |
People were very friendly and seemed happy. Of course I avoided the areas filled with lesser people as I don't like to be reminded that we have a less than perfect society.
In Vancouver, when people come up and tap on my car, it is invariably to offer me the chance to have them leave a trail of plague-ridden filth across my windshield in exchange for a loonie or two. In Calgary, the people that came up and tapped on my car were well-dresssed (non-homeless) people wanting to know if I needed directions (assumed by my Yukon license plate and the large number of maps sprawled across my car). Having every confidence in my navigational abilities, I rolled down my window, gave them a twenty-five cent piece and shooed them away. I am sure that my generosity towards these Calgarians is likely to ensure that I am remembered fondly.
Can someone explain to me why Medicine Hat has a better club than the entire province of BC?
The license plates in Saskatchewan read 'land of living skies'. Well, it's a good thing that the skies are alove, because they have killed everything on the ground. I have never seen so much roadkill in my life. Disgusting - highways are an evil thing. The speed limit was 110 kmh which was decent as it ensured that I could get out of Saskatchewan as soon as possible. Unlike most places - Saskatchewan makes no effort to entice people into visiting or staying. They have some serious farming to do, and all the non-farmers had best just 'move on and go about their business'.
The only place I stopped in was 'White City'. Who could resist a place with that name? White City? Are you kidding me? Who gave it the name - Goebbels? Himmler?
Anyways, I was doing my best to assimiliate into the local culture. I started off making a few biting remarks in a loud voice about inferior races being allowed to eat in the same restaraunt as me, and then proceeded to round up a posse to kick the shit out of the native guy and his two children that were eating lunch there as well. Unbelievably, they all looked at me (even the white people), like I was some sort of deranged lunatic. If you can't do this in White City, where can you do it. Ridiculous.
I basically drove from Calgary to Winnipeg, and I planned on spending the night in Winnipeg, the capital of 'Friendly Manitoba'. I found a few cheap hotels all of which were multi-purpose facilities hotel/cold beer & wine store/bottle return which I thought to be a bit odd.
After waiting patiently for the three people in front of me to return their bottles, collect 2.50 and then panhandle for the additional .15 cents to get a beer - I made it to the front of the line where I inquired as to getting a room.
Adam: Can I get a room for the night
Clerk: We don't rent out rooms at night, you'll have to come back in the morning
Adam: Great, I'll just sleep in my car tonight, and then come back and rent a room at this fine establishment
Adam: Do you know of any other hotels around here?
Adam: Thanks so much.
Friendly Manitoba, my ass
So, I tried five other places. Some were closed, some were full (apparently Sunday night in mid-november must be the busy season. I went to a real hotel and they wanted 120$ even though it was 2 in the morning and they weren't going to be renting that room out to anyone else that night.
I decided to skip it and leave 'Friendly Manitoba'.
The Manitoba roads were these patchwork, potholed monstrosities. But then as soon, as I saw the welcome to Ontario sign - the roads became these brand new - black seemless highways. So, this is what it's like to be in a 'have' province I thought to myself.
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