Black Sunday

Remember that time we were traveling to Trinity Baptist Church but then learned that Google is mendacious and thus Trinity Baptist does not even exist in Ancaster at all. So we hit the church strip to find another church but it was eleven and the only church that began around then was some Catholic church; and we thought, hey, Catholics cannot be that different; and then once inside we realized that Catholics are that different; and communion was about to be served and we thought, hey we're Christians too, may we not partake in communion?; and then we realized that we knew nothing of Catholic tradition and I had essentially plucked Jesus' flesh right outta this woman's hands and began to walk away with it when she sternly advised: "sir, put it in your mouth, now." -- and I ate it really quickly because I was scared of the woman; and then she stared us down because our actions were seen as turpitudinous; and then we booked it outta there before 'cause we were so terrified to spill Jesus' blood. Remember that time we basically defiled the Catholic church and chuckled cause they had a framed photo of Benedict and then had to finish communion at Tim Horton's?

Lassitude

I pretty much have the equivalent of Irukandji syndrome, except this plague has manifested itself as a common cold; regardless, I languidly wander about the dorm, drawing criticism from my dorm mates who do not pity the sick. I need notes for the classes missed today. In a few hours I must write a Lab quiz, followed by three hours of lab loitering and unsuccessfully feigning scientist status.

The other day whilst cruising through some Hamilton ghetto, I passed this really sketchy and worn apartment (likely a brothel or some other sordid thing) with the words, "Yuppie Condos" spray painted on the side.

Loneys, five hours until second tryout

The original aspiration to become a Redeemer hockey hero has fizzled for the following reasons: I have no endurance; I've lost skating ability like nothing else; my once booming shot is now merely average; and I am pathetically weak. Regardless of these salient anti-attributes, I will likely attend the second tryout. Once again the following thoughts may run through my head as I struggle to simply perform a figure eight around a dot (each phrase is presupposed with a "loneys"): "Everything feels so heavy and burns ever so painfully; cut me now; my soft and inaccurate shot is akin to Nazi soldiers; I am getting beat as morbidly as a Nazi soldier", and so on. This may sound like a no gooder situation -- and it is -- but I am not overly concerned about my whilom abilities. Side note: Whilom is the word of the day.

Some of my classes are offering some intrigue, which is a pleasant. Further optimism: We have solidified a ball hockey team for intermurals.

L'envoi

Life is cold; but not hypothermia cold. No, no, I am content for the moment.

I Loved Them Until They Loved Me

Chanson: Ballade At Thirty Five
Written by dear Dorothy Parker, and mellifluously sung by dear Carla Bruni.

This, no song of ingénue,
This, no ballad of innocence;
This, the rhyme of a lady who
Followed ever the natural bents.
This, a solo of sapience,
This, a chantey of sophistry,
This, the sum of experiments, --
I loved them until they loved me.

Decked in garments of sable hue,
Daubed with ashes of myriad Lents,
Wearing shower bouquets of rue,
Walk I ever in penitence.
Oft I roam, as my heart repents,
Through God's acre of memory,
Marking stones, in my reverence,
"I loved them until they loved me."

Pictures pass me in long review,--
Marching columns of dead events.
I was tender, and, often, true;
Ever a prey to coincidence.
Always knew I the consequence;
Always saw what the end would be.
We're as Nature has made us -- hence
I loved them until they loved me.

L'envoi

Princes, never I'd give offense,
Won't you think of me tenderly?
Here's my strength and my weakness, gents --
I loved them until they loved me.

Landmark

Today, Tim freely listens to Carla Bruni. Is this for her mellifluous chords or her strikingly luscious exterior? Perhaps both. None-the-less, the maudlin John Mayer is losing playing time--and this, my daffy little readers, is a salient point of conversion from mob behaviour to an ear searching for truth; not immediate gratification from trash blowing in the wind.

Regardless, Tim has auditory ADD; therefore, switching songs about every fifteen seconds and arousing cholericism within my soul.

Oh, he plays The National now! Loneys! The world is not so cold.

TERROR

There are hordes of tiny black insects hovering about my room; they are stygian and harvest my flesh! There are millions of these things on my walls! TERROR.

My dear fellow sufferer Marianne:

Posted by Marianne on August 01, 2007 at 00:43:24:

"Please help me identify these little black bugs. I recently found them on the ceiling of a light and that is where most of them were. They also were on the walls. These things are tiny but there were a few bigger ones on the wall. I am so freaked out I wont sleep in that room. Can anyone tell me what they are and how to get rid of them. I am going nuts. I killed a bunch of them last night and now there are more in the same spots. Any help??????????????"

No one answered her! NO ONE. DOES NO ONE CARE.

IT IS 12:30, I SHOULD SLEEP--BUT I WILL NOT! OH, THEY ARE EVERYWHERE.

Daffy Dances, Misplaced Misomusy

This "decade dance" bled lameness. Dancing is a weak justification to socialize, yet no one actually socializes due to blaring sound waves--and mostly I would rather listen to music than mingle with the mob. I attended this charade as a more stylized version of Jack Kerouac--but I appeared to be your atypical illicit drug abuser. Kerouac was actually a heavy drinker and this played a salient role in his ultimate mortal destruction. I substituted liquor with orange juice -- everyone was sipping on OJ -- and we rebelliously tossed our empty bottles onto the grass. Immediately, of course, we placed them into the recycling bin after this feigned hooliganism. I wore shades and everything appeared inky and blended and I was thoroughly confounded. I danced gauchely and cursed the ancient folk who created this morbid pastime.

Mondays will be deathlike this semester: I have four day classes followed by a three hour night class. Furthermore, on Tuesday I have a three hour morning lab and By Jove! do I have absolutely despise labs. Monday and Tuesdays are a one-two punch that may only be compared to Nistelrooy-Ferdinand of Manchester United.

Life is cold.

Killer's Creek

Redeemer security has no compassion; they are unforgiving and choleric. Perhaps this is because their employment sucks--but I was always amiable towards Shell customers and I despised them all. I must now pay twenty-five dollars to this tyrannical institution. HAVE I NOT DONATED ENOUGH MONEY TO THIS SORDID PLACE. I am embittered as few will ever be. Adding on to my destruction, my glasses are broken. I cannot see; I cannot take notes; I cannot drive; and I cannot live!

I am not fine with this! Oh, inverted fractions.

I am a criminal. I illegitimately parked my jalopy outside of my designated parking zone. I will appeal this ticket to the highest court possible--the Redeemer parking counsel. Other than this holy terror and a plethora of other issues burning my mind, I am stellar.
The other day, your hero and his confrere ventured off on an intense exhibition to befriend newsters. For some odd reason, we seemed drawn to freshman female dorms. This exhibition was pretty much like the Sable Island exhibition in '05--when a team of scientists headed to the island and solve the enigma of the slaughter of innocent seals, but winter came early and thus results were inconclusive--and the awkward moments on our befriending adventure could of confounded a seal so intensely that it would die. Furthermore, the RA's of these first year dorms were suspicious of our intentions, thinking maybe we were sordid characters on the prowl to pick-up venerable youngsters.
My math teacher called me out in class to answer a question while I was busy woolgathering and demanded I invert and multiply; she made a fool of me.
More so, a compulsory science course inclusive with a three hour lab is an overt anti-blessing and I resent it.
I believe I told Hendy I would blog about important matters like my brand name clothing and how I'm a hypocritical corporate whore, but obviously I chose not to.