Now I Can't Disappear.

I'm not dead; I merely encountered the most devastating disease known to humanity: Irukandji syndrome. I writhed in physical agony and moaned heinous expletives: "Sweet Condi Rice-John Maaaayer! I think Albert Camus described my condition in a novel.
On the same night as my plight Marissa Nadler was to invade Toronto and I was to absorb a gloomy hum outta El Mocambo. Turns out, Nadler cancelled the performance ages ago.
Nadler. Nadler. Nadler. Nader. Nader. Nader. Ralph.

We're the heirs to the glimmering world

Last week I purchased a mobile that is not broken. In my subsequent careless days I lost said mobile on an adventure down in the valley. A few gloomy gloamings later I receive a call: "Come collect your phone. West Ancaster." I arrive at some swank country abode with much land. Much land. The lady of the land hands returns my phone. Further the lady laments: " My land. I'm seeking someone to tend my land. Mulch. Cut. Hoe." Such a blatant slap-in-the-face blessing, I am obliged to tend the land. I begin to maintain the estate this week. Beat.

Today is celebratory because Anne of Green Gables was published a century ago. Children were drag racing in the streets of Uxbridge in honour of Montgomery's tenure in our quaint township all those years ago. I say this because my Mother essentially dined with Sarah Polley on a silver afternoon earlier this month. I really say all this because someone once told me a story about Polley: in short, in the era of the first gulf war, she attended some banquet adorning a large peace sign. Disney demanded that our heroin remove the controversial sign, which was clearly in conflict with Mickey's and Daisy's political posture. The Golden One refused and the Disney Company became quite miffed and she left Road to Avonlea. Beat.

The Fall Semester
Western History: feel pain.
Biology: morphine cannot alleviate the symptoms from this one.
PED: Irukandji syndrome epitomized!
French: my God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me?
I cannot continue! Death would become of me.

For the winter semester, I am tentatively planning to study elsewhere other than this odious province I now inhabit. Likely a more agreeable province. Europe is stale and I've imposed sanctions on the States. But this would be my fourth Letter of Permission from Redeemer and the Registrar is a bona fide frigger and he may not allow me to pursue the courses I desire. Ideally my degree will be completed in December '09. A degree attained in three years. Only one thing stands in my way: the very school I am trying to graduate from.

Spit out your lies and chewing gum

Chrystal is not very receptive to my fm transmitter these days. Regardless of the channel I choose the radio crackles over the auditory delight I am desperate to absorb. To make use of the dissonance I resign to playing My Bloody Valentine and make believe the soft radio buzz is yet another droning guitar. Or if the interfering channel is more "talk" then I play Brian Eno & David Byrne and make believe the chatter is part of the dynamic duo's odd eclectic sound.

The moments I am not plagued by this "First World Problem" of fm transmitter malfunctions, I listen to bad asses from a semi-affluent Parisian suburb of Versailles: Phoenix. Only unfeeling robots would hold their foot steady for "Consolation Prizes."

One cannot be truly indolent unless absorbing Beach House's dream-pop melodies. My transition into nature's incubator has been smoother than anticipated.

And when you're holding me, we make a pair of parenthesis. There's plenty of space to encase whatever weird way my mind goes.

The bowling alley is happening tonight. Intense flashes enlightening Hope's striking features.

Here's how I will employ myself today:
8:15 - Rise. No, seriously rise.
9:00 - Chiropractor. Resist temptation to contemptuously sneer "get bent".
9:25 - Sobey's. Buy something appetizing or at least salubrious.
9:45 - Eat something appetizing or at least salubrious.
10:00 - Call Stacey at Good Shepherd. Inform her of my availability for Friday.
10:04 - Stumble to find the Optometrist's digits.
10:07 - Call McMullen. Friday is a no gooder. How about early next Monday.
10:13 - Attempt to pay Union Gas bill online.
10:16 - Call Mother at the library and ask her to elucidate all this complex online banking business.
10:24 - Pay Union Gas. Won't work.
10:32 - Cash Adom's and Tubb's checks to fill account.
10:45 - Pay bill. Successfully, if I dare.
11:00 - Call Lacie. Express frustration in an offensive manner. Order new external hardrive power chord.
11: 15 - Finish that book.
11:15 - Hell, start that book.
12:15 - Eat something solid.
1:00 - Resign to temptations to play shinny.
3:15 - Shower, stretch, vigorous workout.
4:30 - Now, with your endorphins dancing like Phoenix, gather your resume, assume your business countenance, hit the pavement.
4:35 - Realize this hour is not the most agreeable hour to be hunting poisoned game.
5:30 - Endorphins settle.
6:00 - Eat.
6:30 - Die a little.
7:00 - ? Celebrate Adom's perennial birthday.
? - Let mellifluous harmonies seep through my headphones and rescue princesses.

Emil Falls Into...

Sad, sad news to report. Loney, dear's progressive falsetto pop symphonies (if you will) are being used as an instrument of propaganda by a corporate clothing party monster. That's right; Loney, dear plays the Gap. A close compadre who witnessed this calamity described it as: "horror". What a close compadre of mine would be doing at the Gap is his own personal decision and conscience.

Keep Me Cryin'

All my virtual memories are locked away in a black box. I misplaced my power chord for my Lacie "Deskop Hard Disk". Ordinarily this is a minor interference in one's life I'm told. Simply order a new one. However, Lacie has lousy customer service. I've sent a plethora of emails pleading to purchase a new chord but these emails have been neglected by their Redeemer-like staff. And, conveniently, the company does not have any affinity for telecommunications. JUST ONE REPRESENTATIVE IS ALL I ASK. Superfluous suffering. I may be forced to trot to Future Shop and demand their supplier's number.

I misplaced the USB chord for my camera. Virtual memories are locked away in silver things too. Hopefully this requires a generic USB.

The chord for my printer is also misplaced.

Public skating at Dave Andreychuk Arena is not an agreeable pastime. The arena is comprised of lisp-y, balding men vicariously being Kurt Brown and smiling their Crest Striped smiles that would send Andy's Pa screaming towards the Jamaican hillside.

The most missed feature on Leon were his "Clever Keys".

My lease concludes in eleven months.

You Can't Steal A Gift

Due to further complications with Léon, the Misomusy Enterprise is so, so disappointed to announce that the quota for the month of May will not be reached.
A tidbit to hold you over:
I nearly went to Cutting Corners for a haircut to suit my inner city relief worker persona; however, this would conflict with my purple-hue-tie-dye-t-from-AA persona. Never ending conflict here.