Say Something New

Unemployment feels swell. The path to Redeemer is like the Underground Railroad.

A spanking new email has been conceived via hotmail. I will begin the arduous process of adding contacts shortly. I anticipate this MSN list will be much shorter and efficient; there are a myriad of contacts on my current list that I never talk to anymore.

Packing sucks.

My chiropractor has been moderately successful; but for the green he commanded, he should of restored my deviated spine and financed an exhibition to the Arctic. According to Canadian scientists our Arctic passages are melting at an alarmingly quicker rate each year come spring. As the ice melts quicker, our northern passage route will become an ideal route for oil tankers to use year-round; and with temperatures rising, it will become realistic to drill for oil in our vast Arctic area. In this Arctic area is like one quarter of the world's oil. Loneys! I hope Shell's parent company gets in on this action!

I would like to thank you, the mob

Upon my arrival at Shell today, there was about forty-five cents in the "give a penny/take a penny" tray. This was amble change for me to purchase some gum. Thank you.

Get Me Away From Here, I'm Dying

If this summer lasts any longer I'll need to revise my will. I am on pins and needles awaiting my education. First semester I will receive some very undesirable education in the forms of environmental science and mathematics. I'll likely need to enroll in biology next semester too--what a crock. Upon further review of my first semester I am not over-the-moon about any of these subjects. I'm basically still taking Redeemer's cores. After I suffer through these compulsories, I may enroll in higher education.
Furthermore, I am not even mildly eupeptic about these ongoing social activities during the first week or so. To cap off these fatuous social gatherings a decade dance will take place: I'd rather be moribund with Irukandji syndrome (Wiki that; it's an interesting way to approach possible death). Despite my reasonable apprehensions I will attend these death-functions because I am sociable and even voluble when properly enticed.
Despite these grievances I am very eager to commence my second term. I'm thrilled to see my dear confreres once again; I am rooming with Tim. This should make our room a social mecca.

She Hangs Brightly

Mazzy Star. Yes, yes! If only I were born twenty years earlier in Southern California, I would of wooed Hope Sandoval and we'd been introspective together; if only this were so. Furthermore I'd be confreres with My Bloody Valentine and The Jesus and Mary Chain and we'd shoot the warm, sultry Californian breeze. Per contra this pleasant fiction, I suffer through sub-par indie pictures like Down in the Valley just to hear Hope's mellifluous tones. Mazzy Star, like Radiohead, is allegedly bleeding a new record but they're recording with a dull knife. But unlike Radiohead, MS (the affectionate acronym) play gigs at very humble concert halls with inky lighting and self-conscious bashfulness; they will neglect the audience and play only a short while and only encore if the audience has behaved -- been respectfully quiet and not photographed -- and of course all this business occurs after a few hours of waiting. The consequences of such a performance may lose them a fan but this fan is a daff for he not know how privileged he is to hear euphonious chords from the ethereal persona that is Hope Sandoval.

On a non-Mazzy note, I viewed some X-Games -- BMX Park -- and By Jove! have none of those athletes viewed the Lords of Dogtown picture. I mean, Dave Mirra, is a corporate whore. How does he garner any respect? But then I saw other athletes and they were all corporate whores. Skip would not be impressed; Skip would not call any of these sordid punks "bro".

This is my final weekend with Shell. A shame. I was becoming accustomed to my duties and becoming adroit and handy. A shame. I was functional and borderline competent and they will sorely desire my abilities while I am off becoming learned. A shame.

Brief brush with a Nationalist

I was puttering about in my jalopy when I noticed a fancy roadster desperately attempting to merge into traffic; being the altruistic individual I are, I allowed this swank car to merge ahead of me. Then I noticed this automobile was that of a nationalist -- a Florida license plate with a "Support Our Troops" sticker -- and needless to say, I was sickened and realized why no Canadian was letting him merge. Considering my love-everyone yet dislike-most policy, I did not regret my decision; but I received no thank-you wave -- NO THANK-YOU WAVE! Loneys, the things I did for this Neo-Conservative (in Liberal Canada) and he neglects or refuses to acknowledge this courteous act --shame on you, ingrate!

Loomer

I viewed this picture, Stardust -- not for cinematic value; but to heal my sore eyes on the toothsome Michelle Pfeiffer. By Jove! she has aged; not the Pfeiffer I fondly recall from The Fabulous Baker Boys. TFFB (as "fans" call it), was filmed way back in '88 and that was -- whoa! nearly twenty years ago! Well, I suppose, she is the most delectable forty-something my eyes will ever lay upon.
After the picture, we -- my confreres and hotnags (I) -- headed over for some grand family fun at Boston Pizza. I ordered an Italian pasta dish, which was a far distance from ambrosia but good enough for me and the contemporary Michelle Pfieffer. The conversation shifted to music and exuberantly I began speaking of My Bloody Valentine and other shoegaze artists who have made life worth while lately. Not one confrere had heard of this foreign sounding "shoegaze" and despondently no one cared to expand their listening propensities. The conversation turned to The Peppers and some chatter about Flea. I mentioned John Frusciante and confusion ensued: "Who is this John Frusciante that mad Nags is mentioning?; a man from some indie band no doubt". I looked ruefully at my plate where I had been carefully dissecting my dinner with my fork functioning as the instrument of exhibition.
Aight, I have Big Brother lined up on CBS now; a shame really as I intended to speak on my most pressing global concern at the moment: hitchhiking. Upon reading "On The Road" my opinion of hitchhiking is quite clear: It's wikid. But where, oh where! are the hitchhikers today? We'll discuss this later.

Update List Five

1. I have a Sociology examination tomorrow. Loneys.

2. A new spanking email will be unveiled shortly.

3. I've been hitting up shoegaze/dream pop lately. After falling for Asobi Seksu, I thought it appropriate to venture back into the beginnings of these genres so that I may respect the foundations -- otherwise I'd be akin to a Muse fan who neglects Radiohead; thus, I'm allowing my ears to pick up the sonically-ambiguous soundscapes of My Bloody Valentine, Slowdive, Mazzy Star, The Jesus Mary Chain, Cocteau Twins and what have you. At first, I was uneasy listening to Mazzy Star because their song "Fade Into You" has played on virtually every "hit" Fox teen TV show. But after some careful research, I discovered that Mazzy Star repudiated their fame and were notoriously difficult in interviews, frequently responding with monosyllables or no response all; this gave me peace in my Mazzy Star listening endeavors.

4A. I will learn advanced photoshop skills and improve upon my lacklustre photos.

4B. I will learn rudimentary web making skills and design some below mediocre blog so I'm not confined and censored as I am here at Blogspot. Plus, everyone has blogspot or some other high profile blogging source and the unoriginality of it all is tragic.

5. I contritely watch Big Brother three times a week. No matter what you think I will continue to do so and cheer on my favourite reality stars. Is it ironic that I despise the three Christians on show? Or is it just natural because Christians are misrepresented socially and politically?

Nothingsevergonnastandinmyway(again)

Today some geezer handed me a counterfeit twenty and made off like an Arab.

Also, a man purchased condoms yet his wedding finger was bare. Nevertheless he was grinning madly. Maybe he was playing a prank. I was confounded (Nah, I am not so naive; obviously his intent was sinful reverie with some confused girl).

I was blasting Asobi Seksu as a mating call; no dame responded.

A daytripping negro swaggered into the station and asked for some rolling papers. It would be reasonable to hypothesize that this stoner is living in the controversial low income housing project in Uxbridge.

To conclude: I was mulling over The Economist -- a magazine situated in the middle of US Weekly and In Touch (a mere centimeter separates intellectionalism and idiocy) -- and in walks some ditz.

Ditz: "When do you guys close?"
Stud: "We're 24/7."
Ditz: "Everyday?"

I'm guessing this ditz character is reaching one centimetre in the wrong direction. Unless, of course, this apparent dumbness is due to extreme social consciousness; in which case a judgement call cannot be made.