(A Random Post)

Your Laughter Is Superconnected

All I Can Do – Chantal Kreviazuk

A couple of weeks ago I sat through a four hour frosh meeting. It was my responsibility to film the events for both posterity’s sake and to later punish those who did not attend the actual meeting by forcing them to watch it. As you might expect, it was also my responsibility to make sure that people attended screenings of said video. In other words, not only did I endure the meeting once, I was forced to ensure that others sat through it by sitting through it with them. Truly, a new and twisted form of purgatory. The situation was not unlike an episode of Cheers, where local beerfly Norm Peterson remarked incredulously that he once watched a guy sit in the bar for 24 hours.

After the meeting, Julius promised me a ride home so I was at his mercy. He mentioned that he had to help a friend with her OSAP stuff and then we would head home. I shrugged my shoulders and agreed. Hey, I was getting a free ride. What ended up happening was that we went to visit his friend, the three of us went to dinner (she didn’t eat) and then we went back to her apartment. Somewhere along the way, she convinced Julius and I to pick up an old television that was lying next to a dumpster. As we were going up the elevator to her place, I maintained my belief that this was some elaborate joke. Not until we set it down in her living room and switched it on (the damn thing worked!) did I realize what had happened. I sat around watching the Red Sox-Yankees game and Kevin Federline‘s performance at the Teen Choice Awards until Julius was finished helping her out. What I thought would be a short trip ended up lasting almost two hours if I recall correctly. Despite the dubious circumstances, Julius’ friend seemed really happy about her new appliance so I guess I feel good about the whole thing.


I finally had time to give Broken Social Scene‘s self-titled album a good listen. I don’t think I need to tell anyone here that it’s amazing, but I will anyway. It never ceases to amaze me how much more rewarding music can be when both the artist and the listener deviate from the typical pop structure. It’s loud as hell and distinguishing guitar number one from guitar number four borders on impossible, but somehow it all comes together to form this brilliant alternative/orchestral rock gem.


Between the last time I posted and, um, right now, I’ve been spending a lot of time with Shirley. It’s difficult to recall exactly what we’ve been up to lately. I can’t see the events clearly, only fuzzy Shirley-shaped images come to mind. Spring rolls. A cherry tied into a knot. A shirt with really strange, mesmerizing sleeves. A barely audible bubble tea invite. Honey rose for almond. One of the best voicemails I’ve ever heard (Hola Chica!). Bon Cop, Bad Cop (good flick).

I’m sure I’m forgetting something, but when I’m having a good time I usually don’t put too much effort into remembering the details for the sake of this blog. I prefer to just soak in it and hold on for dear life to the traces that linger. I’m glad Shirley’s been around for the last month. God only knows what I’d do without her. I probably would have gone back to Food Basics.


The Chalkmaster‘s gone. I don’t know if he finally reached his goal of accumulating enough money to afford a house in the country or if he decided to just change locations. I hope it’s the former. He’s been replaced by other inferior chalk artists, an old man who does karaoke and plays chess and one of those poor bastards who covers themselves in silver clothes and glitter who act like robots. I miss the Chalkmaster.


Gary and I spent time with Nitasha Puri on Friday. I don’t think she’s changed one bit and thank God for that. We took a walk down Unionville Main Street and came to rest at the fountain behind the library. Then we sat and talked for about an hour or so. Later, Gary remarked that it was depressing and it was in a way. The three of us have known each other for a long, long time and it’s only natural that our conversations drift towards the past. In addition to the wistfulness that accompanies these talks, there was the greater reminder of how afraid we are of the future. I’ll be the first one to tell you that Gary and Nitasha have nothing to worry about, but I would never insist that they believe that. The future is unquestionably relative. I fear the future and I don’t even have any goals! I can only imagine how much anxiety can be heightened by the presence of ambition.

That heavy handed bit out of the way, I can tell you that seeing Nitasha was wonderful. During our last year of high school, there was uncertainty amongst many of us that we would lose touch with each other and our friendships would crumble and all that jazz. I can honestly say that I never worried about that with Nitasha for a single, solitary second. We might not see each other again for months, maybe even years, but my thoughts of her will remain warm and the mention of her will always bring a smile to my face.


The Frosh Committee’s retreat at Hart House Farm was freakin’ CRAZY. I’ve already broken this down in great detail for most of you guys, but allow me to jot it down here for the sake of the archives. In the span of twenty four hours, I:

– broke out in hives when I realized I was going to be spending a day out in the middle of nowhere with about fifty strangers
– was stricken blind by the sight of a Russian beauty named Elena
– learned the names of almost everyone involved in Frosh Week
– dubbed a female frosh leader named Alex, “Lil’ Al”
– tossed around a football and frisbee with surprising accuracy
– jumped into a pond wearing nothing but white underwear
– immediately regretted that decision
– filmed whatever I could until I ran out of tape
– tried to figure out how I could properly approach Elena
– chugged four gulps of 63% rum at the campfire
– immediately regretted that decision
– experienced what I believe is called a “buzz” for the first time
– dealt with a killer headache
– woke up around five in the morning and played solitaire while listening to Plans for the next couple of hours
– made a new friend in this guy named Song
– tossed the frisbee around some more with Song and Julius at about seven thirty on a foggy Sunday morning
– went for a walk by myself around the farm while listening to the Garden State soundtrack

That’s all the important stuff. Again, it’s all a bit of a blur. A worthwhile experience though, for sure.


Max made me accompany him on an illegal Xbox 360 deal. Apparently, his “cousin Ricky” knows “a guy” who gets Xbox 360s from “trade shows” that he works at and this guy offered to sell one to Max on the cheap ($360). How could anyone walk away from a scenario like that? As we drove around town collecting funds (Max was over his withdrawal limit for the day and I had to lend him $200…two hunny!!!), we couldn’t stop making the usual drug/hood/urban/gangsta/POP-POP!/big pimpin’ jokes that we always make. The genuine shadiness of this deal didn’t help things. After having a ridiculous amount of trouble finding a mutual meeting spot, both parties parked and we made the exchange. He was with a girl, who we assumed was his girlfriend or his emotionless, genetically enhanced, Deadly Viper Assassination Squad bodyguard. We never did get a definitive answer on that. After losing the cops that had been tailing us (fuck tha po-lice!), we picked up Dead Rising and played it until we were as zombified as the seemingly infinite antagonists that infest the game itself.


This rambling post will be right back after this commercial break:

I really thought I was being original when I came up with an idea for a Pac-Man movie. I was wrong. Seemed to be some kind of man…some kind of…Pac…Man.”

And courtesty of Max Wong, The Worst “Price Is Right” Contestant of All-Time. I actually saw this episode and I’m glad that Max found this clip because it’s a classic. I’m always trying to tell people about this contestant, but hearing about it is nowhere near as good as seeing it for yourself. Of course, the thing to watch here is how Bob reacts. Bob Barker is God.

We now return you to your regularly scheduled rambling:


Am I fucked? I’m fucked, aren’t I? That’s how I’m feeling about Frosh Week right about now. I’m on top of things and yet, at the same time, I’m not. There’s all sorts of crap I’m responsible for, I won’t go into it here, and I’m not exactly handling that responsibility with the utmost efficiency. My head hurts.

At least I got to spend the whole day with Michelle yesterday. It feels like I haven’t seen her in forever, even though it’s probably closer to a few weeks. She works a lot and she didn’t show up to many of the meetings, so this committee thing hasn’t given us as much time to hang out together as I’d hoped. But yesterday we walked around campus establishing how the events were going to be laid out and talking to whoever we had to talk to to secure space. It was all kind of boring. However, we spent the time catching up and cracking wise and having an overall kick ass time. She also went out of her way to tell me all this stuff that she learned about our friends when they got drunk during this trip they went on last week, even though I was not in the least bit curious. Good to know, though.

It’s funny. A few days ago, Julius was expressing his frustration at how the support of our friends during this whole frosh planning stage has been lacking. I told him that that was why I never put too much stock into any relationship. I’m like Robert DeNiro in Heat, I never get attached to anything that I can’t walk away from in thirty seconds, especially if I see that heat coming around the corner. Sorry, I got lost there. Anyway, he mentioned how he was disappointed in Michelle and how they’d drifted and I told him that even she was expendable to me. Even after yesterday, I’m still convinced that if, for one reason or another, I couldn’t be friends with Michelle any more I would not let that bother me. I love her to death, but if I had to, I could walk away from our friendship just like that.

Thankfully, that’s a walk I will never, ever have to take.

All right. How ’bout this one: let’s say you’re abducted by aliens.
They haul you aboard the mother ship, take you back to their planet as a curiosity. Now: would you rather be in their zoo, or their circus?
I gotta go zoo. I feel like I could set more of my own schedule.
But in the circus you get to ride around in the train, see the whole planet!
I’m wearin’ a little hat, I’m jumpin’ through fire…they’re puttin’ their little alien heads in my mouth…
At least it’s show business.
But in the zoo, you know, they might, put a woman in there with me to uh…you know, get me to mate.
What if she’s got no interest in you?
W–then I’m pretty much where I am now. At least I got to take a ride on a spaceship.



Destined to fight the world's evil, The WAMBAG endures massive battles involving impossible stunts, races on horse-pulled carriages, and the desecration of enchanting medieval castles (all done with dizzying computer graphics). Not only does the eye candy keep on coming, the tongue-in-cheek writing and deep Transylvanian accents perfect the film with a dose of dark humor.



Atom, RSS 1.0, RSS 2.0 - no idea what the difference is.

Tagboard (!?!)

Apparently PHP7 doesn't support the same function calls I wrote in 2008? I should fix this at some point.

Recent Posts