Small One and the Douche

Lightly tapping on the table, Uncle Dude stares at his phone. Small one had been bursting with excitement and could hardly contain herself while he waited in line for a smoothy. It wasn't the smoothy she cared about, in fact she hardly touched it once he brought it over. she wanted him to sit next to her and presumably entertain her. Mommy sat quietly next to Small One looking rather disengaged, while Uncle Dude tapped quickly away on his phone.

"Stop that" he said, "you'll get me sick." Small one looked on just as confused as you do right now since she had no idea what she had done or what he was talking about.

"He needs his space" mommy said in a way that redefines passivity, "You know that."

"This is my cylinder", he said gesturing to his sphere.

Small one's expression might have resembled slight confusion as to why Uncle Dude had just used the word cylinder, but since she didn't know what cylinder meant she simply cocked her head to one side and smirked.

"yeah?" she challenged, "well this is my sililindinar", although she should have set it as her status since it fell on digital ears.

Uncle Dude tapped tapped tapped on his phone some more and then stopped. Small One had started to work on her smoothy again and Mommy drifted off somewhere.

Uncle Douche stood up and said "mumble mumble", or something as equally unrelated, motioning for Small One and Disenchanted to follow him. They all stood and Small One skipped for a bit until momma reached for her hand to ground her. Uncle dude walked several paces ahead of the pair with his nose once more buried in his phone. I was not lucky enough to see Uncle Dude walk into anything, though I am told storied like these usually end in that manner.

Merry Christmas Small One, I sure hope your mom finds a less douchie dude by next holiday season, or at the very least you get to see your 'Uncle' walk through a calendar kiosk.

three dreams

Last night I dreamed that Dad showed up with a surprise bike for me. The night before I dreamed I was biking down the main street here with my breaks failing, but there isn't much more of a story there. I avoided the traffic and got stopped and woke up shortly after.

Last night, however, you and Dad had arrived in the city, but hadn't told me you were here. I knew because you were leaving tokens of your arrival all over campus. The most impressive was Dad's old red road bike (Though not the one that went missing, this one still sits in the barn at home. For the purposes of this dream its sitting in the hallway at school with me leaning over it). The rear tire needed attention, some air, new treads and to be reattached to the frame. It seemed to be held on by strategically lazy cobwebs. There was a rear rack, but it hung to one side apparently by the weight of the rust. The handle bars were bent down, but the looked like they could be bent back up if one was patient and careful.

The night before I had dreamed of a bike shed in the backyard of my big city house.

what do you think, Bird? you said to me in my dream from last night, which was startling because you hadn't been standing there moments before.

I stood sheepishly there because I was embarrassed to have been startled into breaking the handle bars off in my hand.

it's great, i said honestly because I knew you knew I needed a new bike (although in my dream life I knew I hadn't told you and I knew that you had read about it here and I knew you were here to surprise me.) I also knew that it could be fixed up, regardless of how many parts came off in my hand.

Dad was behind you, smirking like he was hiding something. He was.

Behind him was a chopper-like pedal-bike. Beefy and low to the ground with a bucket seat and what looked like a cup holder on the roll bar which turned out not be either but merely the way the light was hitting wall behind. He loved it. I also loved it, but he loved it more. At least I think he did. I was even more sure that he did after I told him I had already picked up a replacement bike because he acted as if he already knew that and had already decided that he was going to keep it for himself.

I was even more sure after I took a walk around it. His vanity plates said DADSRIDE.

In dreams chopper-like pedal-bikes have vanity plates.

I don't want to talk about it

Two bikes? How do i get two bikes stolen?

One, .. sure.

Whoops. I went to the pub and left it locked in the wrong place and someone needed it more than me.

Fine. Take it. You might have been hungry or thirsty or bored.

I can find something else that will serve the purpose. After all, I'm not chasing a yellow jersey.

But then the "something-else-that-will-serve-the-purpose" gets taken and I feel like I might cry.

Cry, or wound something. I'd like to wound something. Like something riding a red bike with a rack on the back and CCM painted on the tubing.

I'd like to wound something like that. If someone can find me something like that let me know and I'll feel better.

It didn't make me feel better annexing my landlady's bike.

I didn't feel better walking several block to put air in tires that may or may not hold air.

I certainly didn't feel any better as I rode up hill paying close attention to tires that may or may not hold air and not nearly enough attention to the pedal that certainly won't stay attached to the crank any longer.

that's fine world, I'd rather carry it anyways. Besides, my left leg is a bit weaker than my right. This will work out much better

If something is to fall off a bike it almost always does so in an intersection. #murphyslaw

I most certainly didn't feel better biking up hill with one pedal to get to a big box store that doesn't stock the part I need to make my landlady's bike usable for the next three days. I need something to get me to campus until I find a way to a bike shop to buy another bike that will most certainly be taken from me too.

It didn't make me feel any better to have to tell Dad that I couldn't meet the two of you for mass tonight because I had homework to do. Sure I have homework, but I can put it off. I didn't want to have to tell you I lost another bike.

And this time it was his bike I lost.

So no, I don't want to talk about it. Unless someone finds me something to wound. Then I'll feel better talking about it.

online math post

the other day in my classroom math class i was presenting my group's solution. we had drawn a picture and written a sentence.

well, i had re-drawn the picture that several of us had come up with and then re-written the ideas down that one other group member had come up with.

when i hung it up to present i realized that the sentence i had written couldn't be called a sentence because it was missing the essential bits.

"that isn't a complete sentence" i said to myself and the class as i faced the board "but that doesn't matter because this is a math class, not an English class"

it was out before i could bite my tongue. i turned slowly and saw the professor grimacing.

i back peddled as quick as i could, but it didn't make a difference, the damage was done.

I don't know why I said it, I don't think that. I understand that language arts should be incorporated into all lessons, just as the lines between other subjects should ideally be blurred, dissolved if possible.

I blamed it on my associate and what she had told the class time and time again during my placement. That isn't at all fair to her, she wasn't presenting there with me, standing in front of my peers defending my ignorance.

Have any of you been told that there's a difference between math or language arts or visual arts or gym or spelling or ____?

la button

i've was just bullied by the new post button.

when i logged on I felt it looking at me. I could feel a button looking at me.

where do you think you've been? it asked. i know it did. i felt it ask me.

around. i've been around. doing .. stuff. busy, you know. work. school. those big reports are due soon ..

I could feel myself drifting into a conversation that would soon sound like that virus email that went around about a month ago.

I am sure you know the one. It took hold of your address book and told everyone your sorry for not having talked for a while, but that you knew they were busy with work/family/travel. .. but anyways, i just found this incredible site that allowed me to make hundreds of dollars a day by ..

(it was sent to me by a friend whom i ran into a week later and never got a chance to tell him about it because i never called him back and i've only just realized now. E^#.)

the new post button starred back at me, obviously not taking my crap filled crap story. it raised it's eyebrow.

what, you think you can just stroll back in here and do what you want?

i shrugged my shoulders and smirked a bit. you're a button, not a person. leave me alone.

but thanks for a posting topic

i wonder why my first posts written after short hiatuses are typically about writing or not writing or not knowing what to write about.

Red and Yellow

I have twelve counters. I have both red and yellow counters. I have two more red than yellow. How many of each do I have?

shaggy hair gets out his manipulative dinosaur pieces. “These ones will be the red ones, Mr. Murray” pointing to a pile of all sorts of colours, “and these the yellows”.

alright, but, what else might we want to do? Is there another way we use the dinos?

“ummmm,” he thinks for a moment. “There are lots of yellows and reds, should I use the real colours?”

I don’t know, does that sound like a good idea to you?

He shrugs his shoulders and organizes the pieces.

Another girl comes up to the table, picks up the sheet of paper with the Question of the Week is written on.

“can I try?”

you sure can

She takes a pile of red and yellow and counts out twelve. She shows six of each colour and goes back to the question.

it was one of the most interesting things I’ve ever watched. I could see the cogs turning in her head as she looked from the paper to the piles of six and back again.

“I got it Mr. Murray” says Shaggy “it’s fourteen”.

Are you sure?

He shrugs his shoulders and goes back to work. The other girl changes the piles in front of her. She takes two red away and replaces them with two yellow. She counts them up: eight red, four yellow. She furrows her brow and replaces the reds and removes the yellows; two piles of six again.

Turning, turning, turning

Then suddenly her face lights up. Her eyes widen, hands shake momentarily.

Something clicks

I could almost cry

She moves her pieces and looks up with a smile. “Is it right, Mr. Murray?”

What do you think?

She smirks and nods ‘yes’.

Then write it down and put it in the answer box. We’ll check to see if it’s correct later today

“I’m pretty sure the answer’s 14, Mr. Murray,” Says Shaggy.

i wonder

i yawn.

just now too. i had been thinking that i'd start this post with those words for most of the day and as soon as i wrote them i yawned.

then you yawned.

interesting.

not-Orange

The oranges I am eating are making a mess of the table and keyboard keys. It is spitting juice everywhere.

Very messy. Very messy indeed.

School started for me and 749 of my friends just over three weeks ago. We've been in class learning a ton of stuff, and we've been spending the time between the classes learning the names of the other 749 people in the program.

On the first week I went out to Baxter's Place and learned the names of a whole bunch of people, one among them was Ross. Red hair, glasses, early twenty-something. I quickly made a crack about Rachel that, luckily, no one heard. At least no one told me right away that they had heard. A girl sitting next to me told me a few hours later that she had heard me say it.

Though that's important. Ross didn't react to the joke I shouldn't have made about a television that isn't topical humor anymore.

Two days later I spotted Ross sitting in the lunch room and I went over to say hi and perhaps try my Rachel joke again.

Turns out I had sat down across from not-Ross. Red hair, glasses, early twenty-something - and not-Ross.

Not-Ross just smirked, awkwardly and shook his head no. Eventually he told me his name, to which I replied with mine and in the process of doing so promptly forgot his.

Luckily another girl I had spoke with at Baxter's came up and recognized him from a class of hers. While they talked I sat messily eating my orange.

Red hair, glasses, twenty-something, goes by the name of Dan.

I can never call them by name though. I see each of them in the halls still but there isn't a chance I'll be caught dead calling not-Ross by the wrong name again. I can't take the chance of messing up not-Dan either.

Remembering names isn't so hard, it's remembering who to call what name that is much, much harder.

A bit too much bit

Today in class a teacher teacher read from a book called “Thank you Mr. Falker” which I snickered a bit because it reminded me of a couple of movies from a couple of years ago that played on a similar name.

As far as the movies went, I could have done without the play on swear words. I get it, they have an ironic name that does nothing to advance the story, and your son has an even more unfortunate first name that, again, does nothing for the story.

As far as the book goes, it turned out the name simply represented a particular young teacher who made a difference to a particular little girl who turned out to be the author of the book my teacher teacher read from.

By the end I was tearing up a bit. Not in a way that I put too much salt in the macaroni one time for H when she was little and we ate ice cream instead, but in a way that a bit of a hug can make the worst of a day the best day ever.

I was tearing up a bit, but not because it hit close to home, although it did, and not because it was the end of a long day, although it was, and not because I knew I would come home to a parking ticket that was a bit too expense, because I didn’t.

It was because it was the last class on the last day of the first week I realized that I have found something that I could absolutely be happy doing for the rest of my life.

It was also because the author who had been teased because she learned to read a little bit later than the rest of her class had become an author of stories about children that made eyes teary on grownup boys.

I think the girl sitting next to me, who shares Slice’s middle name except uses it as her first, might have felt nearly the same because she was the same little bit choked up as I was teared up.

The teacher teacher sent us on our merry way to find a children’s book of our own to share with the class which was fair to do because all I can think about it Mr. Falker.

Falk. Now what do I do?

a non-student

i've been on top of an apartment building for the last eight days. today is the last day I'll be up here. today my family and friends and four hundred other people will come together to celebrate my sister and her engagement to a guy she loves.

i hope it goes well.

i also hope that yesterday was the last day i have to be on top of this apartment building. i hope that because I can't possibly know what day will be my last day up here because i have written this sunday night. while i was tired.

i am still tired.

in twenty (or nineteen) days i start school for the twenty-first time. this time might be the last time i start school as a student.

I hope it isn't.

I also hope that the following september it isn't all that hard to start school as a non-student because right now in ontario it seems to be difficult for people to start school in the position of non-students. although some people have told me that the age group i hope to be a non-student of is easier for a person of my talents.

it would be easier if i had more talents.

i also hope that this september is the last september i have to quit the job that has kept me up on this roof for the past eight (or seven) days.

see you at tonight's party, mom.

--b

@pmharper, 10-08-20 4:25 PM

Mom,

There's a link below to a news story. I haven't read it, but you might like to. That is to say, I haven't read it yet. But I will. After the buck and doe. The one I'm at. Right now. 

Your son,

--b

Stephen Harper (@pmharper) 10-08-20 4:25 PM Announced support for wind energy project in PEI. http://bit.ly/cltv8S

Sent with Twitter for iPhone

Sent with love, from Nowhere, Particular

my travel blog - www.salutmaman.ca

I'm tired

I'm pretty exhausted. we've started at six each morning and .. I am tired.

I'm drinking some orange juice out of a glass that i got because i got to keep the glass that the triple margarita I ordered at a chain restaurant came in it.

then one of the other guys gave me his because he couldn't finish his.

then i stuttered over the lyrics of a song we've heard thirty times everyday since we got here.

then i watched so much tv online that the internet told me to take a 57 min break.

which brings me here. posting #366.

the other day one of my co-w0rkers told me I should write children's books which i don't understand because at the time I certainly wasn't using language that children should listen to. in fact I distinctly remember telling him that very point after he told me to write for children.

he didn't agree with me. he told me that i would know better than to use the language of the job site in places that aren't job sites which is likely true because my I said hell at home the other day and it caught dad off guard.

that's not like you to say hell he said to me right after I said it.

he was right as well.

both of them right about my usage of language in places that should and shouldn't have certain uses of language.

perhaps there is something to this children's writing thing.

but it all sounds so cliche. a wandering dude in the autumn years of his twenties decides that he's going to write children's books simply because he knows the usages of language or thinks of the life of a writer as one filled with romance and wonder.

The truth is I am tired and I am glad I got to tell you that.

G'night mother,

--b

The Real "Strange Friend"

[Friends,

There was a post up a few days ago that discussed the difference between fb and cs and why i like the one more than the other.

It may or may not have made sense to you. It shouldn't have because it was a work in progress that was posted by accident. If it did make a little sense, it appears that I was on the right track.

This time I've posted the real one, the one I meant to publish a few days ago. It was saved on my desktop as blah blah blah, I'll stop blathering on and let you get to the story.

Perhaps on another occasion I'll share an edited version of why cs is different to fb. Until then, enjoy.

--b]

There was a woman, she pulled up next to us. Driving a Saab or something. Chatty, early forties and driving by herself. We had pulled in to the gas station only five minutes earlier and were topping off our tank. It was taking a long time because we had run the tank nearly to empty.

“Were you worried?” Kate asked, politely, knowing full well that I was.

“Not worried per say,” I replied “mostly I would rather have had take in scenery be more important than find fuel now.”

She smiled because she knew the truth, because the truth had be painted on my irritated face for the last 80 clicks. The truth was I really would have liked to have stopped at any of the beaches along the way, or even glanced out the windows and admired the quaint houses and picturesque horizons, not curse every small town for their lack of fossil fuel. Each time the car made a ding, sounding off another twenty km less in the tank, my face had turned a new shade of white.

I also would have liked to stop at the cute little beach we came across soon after the gas station, but that didn’t happen because I forgot to pack the sunscreen and there were no stores near us for thirty minutes in either direction. (One of those stores was the gas station we were currently at, though at this time we don’t know we were out of sunscreen.)

The woman who had pulled up next to us got out of her Saab and asked if we were nearly done.

“I’d rather not pay for the premium you see I don’t think it’s worth it.”

I hadn’t noticed there was a difference, I had just lucked upon the cheaper side of the pump.

She spoke quickly and smoothly and mostly to herself and it took me a good l o n g moment to realized that she hadn’t said diesel.

“But oh look at that I parked the car on the wrong side and my tank is on the other side I’ll just quick turn it around and be out of your hair.” She said in the same breath as the one she used to confidently climb into the driver’s side back seat of her Saab.

We looked at each other in a fashion that bewildered doesn’t quite cover because neither of us could quite piece together what had happened. Luckily the back window was down or I wouldn’t have heard her say “it must be one of those days.”

She smirked a smirk that said it must be one of those days, and Kate smirked a smirk that she knew we would share again later during the retelling of this moment.

Unabashed, the woman climbed out of the back and into the front and in between said “I think you might want to pull out of the way because I know you know that neither of us know were I’ll put this car if I start driving”.

Kate asked if there was anything I needed from inside the shop. I might have asked for sunscreen, but we didn’t know any better.

I pulled the car up, Kate paid for the fuel and we left our strange little friend to go about her adventures.

Encore a sud-ouest l'ontario

Salut maman,

I am back in the (home farm) area. Extremely tired. I'll write more tomorrow.

Good night,

--b

the illusion of 2x4's

My Dear Town,

A town is empty the first time I move through it. I might argue that it is empty long after the first time I move through it and doesn't become not-empty until the last time I move through it. The buildings are all propped up like a village out of an old western movie; each supported by a couple of 2x4's and wooded stakes. They create the illusion of a town in the middle of a province that up until six weeks ago had little significance in the small universe that I occupy.

I am the most important part of that universe. Since I don't see myself in the stores they remain a one dimensional illusion.

Days turn into weeks, as they tend to do on their own accord with no guidance from anyone else. Quite often we miss this happening, try to stop it or slow it or effect it's progress by drawing attention to the speed at which they are progressing, first the days then the weeks and eventually we surrender and, under the influence of hugs and tears, we move once more through the not-so-empty town and the no-longer-empty buildings.

Nameless intersections transform into meeting places. Campers who had left campus found other campers who had left campus for what was, until this place, an unknown reason. Dark side-streets become the homes of small micro brew pubs, farmer's markets and remarkably delicious vegetarian restaurants.

Cold concrete structures are for shouting <<'parkour'>> and jumping over, sandwich shops are where I watch Poo-Bears eat mc-franken-burgers with gusto and that red brick building is a place where Allstars throw up. Twice.

It has been wonderful Exploring you, Moncton and I am happy to be part of your universe. Take care of your not-so-empty self, I will see you again soon.

--b

a Car and a Coast

Salut Maman,

Here is a picture of Kate and I before we head out into the world and explore Moncton, NB, and it's surrounding friends.

One of those friends is Hopewell Rocks. I was at his place a few weeks ago but his basement flooded and we had to leave rather abruptly. We hope the timing is better this time around.

The other friend is a coffee shop who's name we don't know yet. Nor do we know where she lives. We'll let you know when we find it.

We are on our way to pick up the car, then to find the coast. Wish us well.

Sainté,

--b & K

(I am in red)

aide, svp

Cool

Mom,

It is so much easier to lay in bed than it is to get out of bed. I don't think it's cause I'm lazy, at least I hope it's not cause I'm lazy. I think it's cause it takes me so long to gain consciousness in the morning and I can easily be convinced that staying in bed is the better idea.

I hear two voices chatting about the pro's and con's of plus de dormis or réveiller.

I'd be curious to find out where the dormis voice gets all his energy so early in the morning. Perhaps I'll ask him, that is if I can get a word in edgewise.

Waking up later than I planned always makes for a rushed day. I wrote a test today and I did well, at least I probably did. I had planned on reading a few more notes in the morning, but Dormis won again.

Damn you, Dormis.

In class, after the test, my patience were wearing thin on account of Blonde thinking that it was his comedy hour and his show to run.

Deep breathing. Deep breathing.

"He's just being a mid-teen, that's all" I repeat to myself over and over and over again. At one time I was just as giddy, and in all likelihood I am still just as giddy and in all likelihood I crack the same type of jokes when I am in a situation that makes me uncomfortable and I don't know how else to act.

After all he is just a kid. He's just a kid who thinks that everyone needs constant comic relief and that he's just the kid to provide it. He's a Chandler Binge.

My patience wore thinner.

"You're wasting my time and the class's time" my inner me said. Suddenly I was a vigilante, fighting for the entire class. My god I need to relax. Deep breaths encore, tout le mond deep breaths.

Don't lose your cool. as soon as you lose you're cool you've lost.

I like it when my inner voice quotes Dad while sounding like Dad.

(By the way, can you tell him happy fathers day for me?)

I didn't lose my cool. Class ended and we all went for lunch. I ate quietly and quickly and worked on some homework. Then I was late for the activity. The activity was painting.

The activity was painting. Painting.

I like painting. I like painting when I am at home. I like painting all sorts of stuff. I don't like painting at french camp if we aren't going to learn french, nor do I like getting a fois jaune for being late to a ... breath ... to an afternoon activity.

I just about lost my cool. Then I painted a mustache on the person next to me.

I found my cool again.

Then I got a hug from a camper. I needed that hug. I forget how great unexpected hugs feel and how much we need them everyday, tout le mond.

Despite Dormis, I found my cool again. I am glad to have it back. I need to be able to recognize that there isn't anything happening that I can't cope with. That is to say if I am frustrated it isn't the event that's frustrating, it's me that's frustrated with the event. I can cope with anything.

The painting turned out to be a fun activity in the end. Mine turned out really good.

Miss you lots,

--b

Where I'm at

Mom,

I can't remember if you asked for my address or not. I am pretty sure you did, but if you didn't then you can disregard this message.

This is where
the address
would go if it
were personal
message to
my mother
Moncton, NB
J2T A3K

I don't really think you'd need to put all that on a letter. I am sure my name, the name of the university program, and Explore Program written somewhere on it would be enough to get it to me.

or not get anything to me if you didn't ask for the address.

that is all. i am going to bed now. i am sorry that i've been writing only in french recently. I hope Mandy's been helping you out with it, or that you've been learning a bit along with me.

talk to you soon.

--b

Tu es comique, ha ha!

je n'ai pas de pantoufles. Mon pied a froid la nuit. Puet-etre, c'est bon d'avons froid aux pieds, mais je ne sais pas parsce.

je n'ai pas de pantoufles.

j'ai des bas, beaucoup des bas. Mes bas gardent mes pied aux chaud, mais je pensce que les pantoufles sont plus élégants.

mes mains sont jalouses parsce ils n'y pas de gants plus élégants mais je ne cherche pas pour des gant pour mes mains.

some poetry

S'enflammer

J'ai enflammé ma soeur
et sionner le feu
quand elle déborde
et me mord



Le lune

la lune est fait du fromage
peut-etre
je n'ai pas visiter
donc ca deveait etre fait du fromage
je ne sais pas



Le Sourteneur

"ou es mon aregent?"
ill dit avec patience
elle pleure un petit peu
parce que sa patience
n'est pas

English Practice

Dear mom,

Here at camp we've entered the third week an are quickly approaching the midway point. This morning my class were asked several questions in order to test our oral ability.

J'as pence I did okay.

Tomorrow we write another test that will test our writing ability. I think I could have made the previous sentence work better, but I am out of practice. Since I am not overtly worried about English at this moment I'm simply going to move on.

In order to prepare for the test I decoded to write this post, and so far it's done nothing to help me. I've used three french words in what is likely the wrong tense and I even think I spelled the one wrong.

What will likely help me more are the stacks of journal entries i've been meaning to input. I've written one for every day I've been here and I plan to set them to post automatically over the next few days.

So, ah. Stay tuned for that.

I hop you are well, and make sure to keep dad out of trouble.

Love,

--b

je pense

je pense j'ecrise mon petit journal après le corrections de ma professeur

le 3 juin, 2010,

Je pens que c'est pluvieux mais j'ai oublié mon imperméable et mes gants. Peut-etre j'achetaerai un autre imperméable et les autre gants mais j'ai oublié ma portefeuille. C'est dommage. Je m'en veux!

not long boarding

I fell and hurt myself. I am pretty sure I am okay, but I did fall and hurt myself.

The day after the cat started taking not-valium I started long-boarding with a helmet. I did a few little hills, went around the block a couple of times and put it back inside. Once I tumbled off the board onto the front lawn of a lady a few houses down from the Cat's house.

For letting me crash on her lawn I helped her unload her patio set.

The board went away and the Cat and I went back into the house to jump on all the furniture and pee on DVD's and hiss at people who came in the door.

Well, we would have hissed at people if anyone came in the door or if the cat hadn't been doped up. As it turned out it was just me peeing on things and running wild around the place.

The Dog wasn't sure what to do so she just kept doing what she was doing which wasn't much at all.

Later on that same fortnight I started long-boarding sans helmet, which is a whole lot worse of an idea than it sounds. Although had I the chance to do it again I likely still wouldn't have put on a helmet, but took that helmet and put it on my right elbow. It would make a lot more sense than the cover up I am now applying daily.

Bruises are hard to hide, really hard.

The good news is the board did not get wrecked, it was safely returned to the owner. My elbow is terribly pissed off at me though, and tells me this whenever it can, although it doesn't get that chance very often.

It is getting that chance right now, though. So this is the end of this post.

I am doing well and no longer studying long-boarding. I've decided to put that energy into learning french, it is a whole lot safer.

Talk to you soon.

--b

inaudibilities

Dear Mom,

I went to a dance club on Friday. It was exactly what a dance club should be. It had a big screen where the dancers where told how to dance and what to drink and fast to drink said drinks.

They were told to drink them very fast.

Apparently they were told to dance poorly, dress scandalously and yell inaudible things that likely shouldn't be said at all.

I didn't hear the big screen people tell anyone that, but then again I wasn't watching anything all that closely.

What someone should have told the Dance Bar was that it wasn't a Dance Bar, it was a Country Bar. Or perhaps someone should have told the sign guy and the guy who dressed the big dudes at the door and the little girls with the quickly drinkable drinks that it was a dance bar, not a country bar.

That way they could have avoided the embarrassing wide brim hats, corsets and Rockin' Rodeo sign out front.

They could have also avoided the disco ball saddle.

That's right, a disco ball saddle.

I think the people at this camp should start using those Big Screen people to teach us students French, because the people at the bar that night sure got the drink-a-lot-of-drinks-fast message. The big guy with the shaved head sure did, I think he even got the message a few times. I think he even started on The Message while he was shaving his head, because he left a bit in the middle that turned itself into a feux hawk. He then got The Message twice more at the bar and decided to pick a little guy up and yell inaudible things at him that shouldn't have been said at all. The little guy wasn't saying too much which I am sure was because he thought Big Guy might rip his little arms off like a Wookie.

A Wookie is what the big bear thing from Star Wars is. He sounds a bit like a loose fan belt.

The night ended soon after that, and appeared to end well. The little guy kept his arms and Big Guy was finally overcome by the bouncers. They had been outside removing a few other guys where were just as good of listeners as the big guy was.

Perhaps even better.

Bonne Nuit Maman,

--b

et une autre thing

Salut Maman,

Fun Fact about Twenteens #15,

They ask odd questions at the oddest times that exist in no other realm of reality than their own.

...
"Oui, je suis vingt et un." étudiant un
"Merci et enchanté." étudiant deux

"Excuse me. This is really off topic, but what do the green and blue garbage bags mean?"

The disbelief must have been written across my face because Alternative met my gaze with one of agreement when I drifted away from Twenteen's direction generale.

That just happened? I mumble. Alternative shrugs her les épaules the way they must in l'alberta. Prof cocks her head to the side come a confused chien might, but quickly regains her composure and patiently answers the question. I asked myself if I was in a grade one class.

Once Prof settled the confusion surrounding the Moncton recycle program we went on to recite l'alphabet.

Later, unprovoked, un étudiant from un autre salle de classe would describe mon Prof as having kindergarten teacher qualities.

I smile because I don't know how to agree with her en fransaise.

--b

Sent avec amour from Nowhere, Nouveau Bruswick

Jour Trois

Dear Maman,

fun fact about twenteens #7

Take away their langage premier they turn twenty-something.

Peace. Pour a petit temps, anyways. They soon discovered that their English hadn't actually been taken away, they had just been tricked. They needed only to not speak while the counselors where near and the could continue on as they did during their last four years.

Maintenant, je digress. Because I will quickly run out of things to talk about if I stick with this group of girls, but mostly parce que there really isn't as many twenteens as I make there out to be.

I think there is actually only one, and she is beginning to come around.

The real issue is that I do not know any French whatsoever, in fact I have only just realized that speaking french is a beauxcoup difficile than I imagined.

If I had more time I would go deeper into how discouraged I became playing Trivial Pursuit, however the details are insignifiant.

Bonne Nuit,

--b

Sent with amour from Nowhere, Particular.

Sans wifi

Mom,

I am moved in and unpacked and napped and coffeed.

(I figure since this is my last day with the English language I can butcher it as much as I want. Feel free to use those new verbs I just created. You're welcome.)

I have also met my roommate, Ryan. Or Adam, I can't remember for sure. When I met him I did a name association for myself but made the mistake of using Adam Ryan as a memory tool. I even asked the nice girls whom are moving everyone in to remind me, but that didn't work worth a darn. Now I'm banking on him forgetting my name and doing our introductions again.

I hope he doesn't cheat like I did.

A Twenteen is an early twenty-something who hasn't quite given up the shreeking and giggling and "you're-such-a-sl*t-ing" from their late teen years.

When I went to the local fast-coffee joint I over heard three young women talking about the french program and I was about to say hi until they openly labled themselves as a gaggle of twenteens.

I kept my bearded mouth shut and sat in the corner and watched an 85 yr old hit on a pair of 89 yr olds.

I sure hope I find more thirty-ishes like my roommate (although he might be closer to a 1/4 lifer if I am not mistaken).

Anyway, I should finish my sub and get back to french school. I just wanted to let you know that I overheard the twenteens say that they didn't know what they'd do because we weren't getting access to the campus wifi.

My updates may be coming from my phone when I get around to it.

Miss you,

--b

Sent with love, from Nowhere, Particular

first night in Moncton

Dear Mom,

The cat gets Valium.

This is fine. After what I've seen here every cat should get Valium. And of course it's not real Valium, because people save that for other people. Cats get other stuff that we're told effects them, the cats, in the same way that Valium effects humans.

So the cat gets not-Valium.

And really I should write that the cat got not-Valium for the first time tonight and after what I've seen here, every cat should get it.

More on that later because I am off to bed because while we watched the cat take the not-Valium I lost count of the whiskey's I've had.

Do keep in mind that I'm learning how to count in French. Tomorrow I learn how to say four.

your son,

--b

going east

a few of my plans to go east are coming together.

this is really great because I am set to leave in the next two and a half weeks.

not to mention that by "few" I mean "one" and that one is my ride out there.

turns out kajiji has a rideshare program. it's a bit like couchsurfing for drivers without the profiles and community.

come to think of it the service could do with a bit of community.

perhaps Cory and I will discuss this on the steady trip east.

By the way; Happy Birthday Greg! Your card is in the mail, and Bizz, your mothers day card is lost in my parents kitchen. I hope it turns up because I really liked picking it out. I have a few other mother's day cards to send out but alas I do not have any addresses.

Merde.

Bon Nuit!

--b

The New Big

Man.

I wrote something.

I'm too tired to read over it to post it.

So I didn't.

I wrote this boring piece.

Next time will be better. I promise.

(The good news is my beard is big. Not Italy-big, but still pretty big. I think East Coast-big will set a new standard for Bird's Big Beard)

Roughed up Ideas

Roughed up Ideas
Until I find a better mobile bloggers app I will be roughing up ideas on my notepad app and emailing them to blogger. Until I get used to it, or until I get fed up and go back to using a full sized computer, you may have to forgive some minor typos.

Though so far the predicuve text has fixed everything.

(I guess it doesn't know how to spell predictive)

I am writing this way for two (quick) reasons ...

1) I went back to my house at school for a few days to wrap up my exams and move out. I have no essays or major research tasks so I left my laptop behind. There are less distractions from studying if I can't flip on four episodes of Dexter on a whim.

Yes. I understand the irony in my having found a distraction anyways, but I've come to terms with it ... As I am sure you have too.

2) when I head out east this summer I would like to be moving as light as possible, which, ipso facto, leaves me without a laptop. I will be blogging, it's just that I don't know what I'll be blogging on.

Grayson manages just fine working from cafè's he finds, an option I haven't ruled out.

It will be nice becuse I don't know how to make hyperlinks on this notepad program.

And before I get to a third reason I will sign off and get back to either studying or bed, I haven't decided which yet.

Tomorrow I write an exam for Reading Fiction, which I will do well on.

Yours,

--b

Sent, with love, from Nowhere, Particular

Université du Moncton

Oh exams, you are what I did not miss about school.

I like the essays, and the take home assignments due a week later, and the lectures and the young minds and the society of school.

But the exams are a bane, a thorn, a nuisance.

We spend twelve weeks learning great, new ideas then have two hours to get it all out on paper. I don't get it, I really don't get it.

In other news, I received word this week that I will be studying at Université du Moncton for five weeks starting at the end of May. Just so you're aware, I may start writing in French soon so I can get into the zone for a month of hardcore learning. Part of the challenge of the course out east is not to speak any English at all, and if I am caught three times I'm sent packing.

I'm really excited, and I'll share that excitement with you through here.

dans l'attende de votre résponse,
i am looking forward to hearing from you,
(... but i searched for that one the web)

b





(one of my exam questions is on the film Hamlet (2000) starring Ethan Hawke, Julia Styles, Bill Murray, et al. Just in case I loose the link to an online copy of the movie I'll post it here)

3:25, time to shower

I was picked out of the class to show a head stand. I feel this is my greatest accomplishment this week, mind you this week hasn't been very productive. I mean, I haven't even had a show yet today, and it's already 3:16; I am sure it will be closer to four before I take care of that little issue. Good thing my clothes don't judge me for smelling the way I do.

I slept through the pagan new year, I haven't got a clue if anyone was fooled. The only one who respects that holiday in the family is you, mom. I imagine you caught a fair few of the nursing staff off guard with some crazy stunt. I can't wait to hear about them.

I called the people at Trois Pistole. The lady on the phone said she didn't know the status of my application but that I would be getting a letter in the mail soon. Western sent me an email to check my student account for information they sent to it. Jokes on me because I haven't a clue how I check that email. I had forgotten what it is like to be a clueless first year, however this time around I give a crap and know that no one is going to check it for me.

I certainly wish they would, or at least share with me the secrets of the website. I can see why people stay loyal to a system the know; it's mostly so they don't have to learn a new one.

All in all, I did get to do a head stand for the class. Slowly bring myself up onto my head and forearms, then slowly and controlled, lower myself back down onto the mat. We then learned a prep move that will eventually have me balanced on my forearms only, my head won't touch the mat, with my quads vertical and my knees bent and my feet resting on my head.

not doing homework

my room is still an arrangement
of books and clutter and mess

so i grab a blue bin

how do socks wiggle their way into small places
how did i get so many so many socks

an ancient plate of peanut butter
several empty coffee mugs
stacks of unused folded
loose leaf lined paper
a half eaten plum

but the plum is from today -

my four new juggling balls
provide a wonderful distraction
because after all isn't this what
a day like today is all about?

distractions

Odd Language

Yoga ends, I change my clothes. Tie my shoes. My hand slips the lace.

I swear.

didn't you just finish yoga?

I take a walk, a boost of juice with a side of espresso;
an extra shot -
on the house -
because I am patient -

A smile thanks her. She did not need to do that, I just finished yoga.

Find a seat, I bump the chair. I do not spill a drop.

I swear.

what's going on with you tonight?

Odd.

Yoga, basically.

Welcome, everyone. please, choose a spot on the floor. mats are available in the corner.

make yourself comfortable. breath in slowly, through your nose. exhale slowly also through your nose.

pull yourself into a ball. roll softly back and forth to warm up your back and spine.

now stretch. do a sort of push up. bend. stretch again.

lye flat on your back, palms up and open yourself up. breath deep. in through your nose and out through your nose. relax. let your mind slow.

now take a moment to thank your body for helping you through the series of exercises this evening. we'll see you again next week.

my room's a mess

My room may be a mess, but I'm sitting here at my desk writing about nothing because writing about nothing is a whole lot more fun.

House Keeping Item #1 - There is now a word verification text box to fill out before you post. There has been a couple of, well several actually, robot posters trying desperately to get our attention by posting not so interesting comments on my not so interesting blog.

In the end, the jokes on them because they've wasted their time writing a program that searches out sites that receive more than one hit a week.

The verification thingy is a little annoying, but I think we can make a game out of it by asking commenting visitors to use the word provided to them in their comment post.

In closing, since by item #1 I actually meant the only thing I had to write about on this post, I leave you with a picture because pictures make words more enjoyable by giving us a thinking rest for a while.

My room is still a mess, but at least I cleared some cobwebs away from this place.

(mom is doing much better today. I got word from Mands that she'll be in Recovery getting all the physiotherapy she can handle)

Miss you terribly,

--b

It's science

I like my room warmer rather than colder.

For the past couple of weeks I've been without a heater in my room at school, the old one conked out on account of too much dust getting inhibiting the filter, which slowed down the heat manifold conduit and made a mess of the circuit board.

But I can tell that you're bored with all this circuit manifold talk so I'll skip the technical jargon.

What's important is my room is warm again because I picked up another one a few hours ago.

It's toasty warm in here now. Perhaps now I can get some work done.

(that might mean I end up writing more here, there are so many things I haven't been writing about for so long. I get tingly just thinking about it all.)

early morning thoughts

here are some point form thoughts while I write my poetry paper. I haven't taken the time to arrange them in any particular order; at least, I don't plan to.

- I have a toque on because my heater conked out two weeks ago and when I got me money back without my hassle it never occurred to me that it would be cold for another two months.

- I can't, for the life of me, make a good cup of coffee.

- my roommates love to celebrate a goal by tapping the same spot on the the floor in the living room/ceiling of my room with their foot and all their weight.

- I think I was possessed when I wrote the last paper for this class and did so well. I am afraid that I can't possibly do as well this time around. I peaked too early.

- I closed my door as if it makes a difference to do so when I live in a papermaché house.

-

It happens to the best of us

I sent a text to Kate's friend the other day.

(it was while I was driving)

Kate was asleep in the passenger seat and we were on our way back
from something; I'm not sure what, though I am sure it doesn't matter
for the story.

I had stopped to fuel up.

The text'ng went like this...

"So it's twenty to ten, we're still in London and Kate just hit her
proverbial wall."

"I don't know what that means but i hope you're not beating her"

"No, not beating. I think I miss used the word. She's tired. Asleep
nearly. Also, I just noticed that when we filled up I likely left the
gas cap on her hood.
It's no longer there."

"Hahaha oh man. You 2 are hilarious. Hope you're home safe and sound.
I am done for the night so maybe see you tmrw!"

A day later we're out at Boars Head for a pint with Amy when Kate asks
me if there's something I wanted to tell her.

I, of course, had not mentioned the gas cap incident as I, of course,
had expected to have had it replaced before she noticed.

What I didn't realize is that the absence of a gas cap turned the
check engine light on which the turned the car into the shop class of
Kate's school.

They made a crack about blonds, which would later be a crack over my
head.

Meanwhile, back at the Boars Head, I was, of course, blaming all this on Amy because she had already told Kate a out our text'ng the night
before.

"Why would you think something like that?"

*crack*

ouch

..in other news:

One for the road

Since katey's gone to work i've sent myself out on a few errands
around Stratford. As I'm sitting here at the boatshead pub on Ontario
street I realize how I had forgotten that I liked Stratford. And how
much I liked it. At least, this quiet little pub.

I turned in here because my other favourite spot was closing at seven.
Instead of a hot chocolate I get a pint of Guinness.

I like the trade off.

I'm taking a break front being trapped inside katey's place, watching
the olympics.

Also, I needed a card and some chocolates.

Tis the season, right?

They'll Think of That

Reading week started today. I'm sitting in the library on campus, hanging out while Katey writes a paper for her online course.

The paper has to be four pages, single spaced.

That's three and a half longer than most of the paper I've had to write so far this semester.

And I'm the one doing an English degree.


(Why doesn't that girl at the next table understand what a no cellphone zone means?

I should have tipped that maître d' better)


I lost my keys this morning; at least I couldn't find them. Katey and I searched and searched, which also means didn't speak because both of us would have got angry over the missing keys.

I wish Ikea could come up with some sort of key-storage-device that I could use. Then they could use us in their line of commercials that have been focusing on spousal abuse.

You've likely seen them. There's one that has a family quietly watching television while the narrator, Fraser Crane's brother, tells us how the evening would have gone horribly wrong had the family not have invested in Ikea furniture. There's another one where a husband and wife avoid a battle because of their closet arrangement.



When I first saw these commercials they made me angry; how dare Ikea assume that couples everywhere are so angry that they're prone to boil over at the slightest thing.

But I understand now. If I had a do-ad or thingy that kept my keys in the same place everyday, not to mention my phone, wallet or glasses, I'd be a whole lot safer.

Wasn't life easier when we could leave our doors unlocked and phones stayed attached to the walls? I wouldn't have keys to eventually find next to the washing machine in the basement, nor would I have had the desire to stomp my size 14 through that girls blackberry storm her parents bought her for getting a B on intro to psych.

We Are More

by Shane Koyczan
Performed at the
Opening Cerermonies
in Vancouver

When defining Canada
you might list some statistics
you might mention our tallest building
or biggest lake
you might shake a tree in the fall
and call a red leaf Canada
you might rattle off some celebrities
might mention Buffy Sainte-Marie
might even mention the fact that we've got a few
Barenaked Ladies
or that we made these crazy things
like zippers
electric cars
and washing machines
when defining Canada
it seems the world's anthem has been
" been there done that"
and maybe that's where we used to be at
it's true
we've done and we've been
we've seen
all the great themes get swallowed up by the machine
and turned into theme parks
but when defining Canada
don't forget to mention that we have set sparks
we are not just fishing stories
about the one that got away
we do more than sit around and say "eh?"
and yes
we are the home of the Rocket and the Great One
who inspired little number nines
and little number ninety-nines
but we're more than just hockey and fishing lines
off of the rocky coast of the Maritimes
and some say what defines us
is something as simple as please and thank you
and as for you're welcome
well we say that too
but we are more
than genteel or civilized
we are an idea in the process
of being realized
we are young
we are cultures strung together
then woven into a tapestry
and the design
is what makes us more
than the sum total of our history
we are an experiment going right for a change
with influences that range from a to zed
and yes we say zed instead of zee
we are the colours of Chinatown and the coffee of Little Italy
we dream so big that there are those
who would call our ambition an industry
because we are more than sticky maple syrup and clean snow
we do more than grow wheat and brew beer
we are vineyards of good year after good year
we reforest what we clear
because we believe in generations beyond our own
knowing now that so many of us
have grown past what used to be
we can stand here today
filled with all the hope people have
when they say things like "someday"
someday we'll be great
someday we'll be this
or that
someday we'll be at a point
when someday was yesterday
and all of our aspirations will pay the way
for those who on that day
look towards tomorrow
and still they say someday
we will reach the goals we set
and we will get interest on our inspiration
because we are more than a nation of whale watchers and lumberjacks
more than backpacks and hiking trails
we are hammers and nails building bridges
towards those who are willing to walk across
we are the lost-and-found for all those who might find themselves at a loss
we are not the see-through gloss or glamour
of those who clamour for the failings of others
we are fathers brothers sisters and mothers
uncles and nephews aunts and nieces
we are cousins
we are found missing puzzle pieces
we are families with room at the table for newcomers
we are more than summers and winters
more than on and off seasons
we are the reasons people have for wanting to stay
because we are more than what we say or do
we live to get past what we go through
and learn who we are
we are students
students who study the studiousness of studying
so we know what as well as why
we don't have all the answers
but we try
and the effort is what makes us more
we don't all know what it is in life we're looking for
so keep exploring
go far and wide
or go inside but go deep
go deep
as if James Cameron was filming a sequel to The Abyss
and suddenly there was this location scout
trying to figure some way out
to get inside you
because you've been through hell and high water
and you went deep
keep exploring
because we are more
than a laundry list of things to do and places to see
we are more than hills to ski
or countryside ponds to skate
we are the abandoned hesitation of all those who can't wait
we are first-rate greasy-spoon diners and healthy-living cafes
a country that is all the ways you choose to live
a land that can give you variety
because we are choices
we are millions upon millions of voices shouting
" keep exploring... we are more"
we are the surprise the world has in store for you
it's true
Canada is the "what" in "what's new?"
so don't say "been there done that"
unless you've sat on the sidewalk
while chalk artists draw still lifes
on the concrete of a kid in the street
beatboxing to Neil Young for fun
don't say you've been there done that
unless you've been here doing it
let this country be your first-aid kit
for all the times you get sick of the same old same old
let us be the story told to your friends
and when that story ends
leave chapters for the next time you'll come back
next time pack for all the things
you didn't pack for the first time
but don't let your luggage define your travels
each life unravels differently
and experiences are what make up
the colours of our tapestry
we are the true north
strong and free
and what's more
is that we didn't just say it
we made it be.


Vancouver Sun, Feb 12, 2010

one love

I finished the first part of sense and sensibility, but I've another two parts to read before Monday's class.

Not to mention a movie review, poetry midterm and a take-home all due this week.

My café is getting cold, so I'd better get working on it to. I just wanted to give a quick hello from the local European coffee shack in Stratford.

I'd been having a craving for an espresso for about a week; I felt it time to succumb to the temptation.

Adieu,

--b

sent, with love, from Nowhere, Particular.

Why talk about that

The end of a week, I'm sitting at another coffee shop near campus having another coffee, a simple, over priced sandwich, and a glass of water.

Though that's not much to talk about.

What do I have to talk about today? Geeze, not much really. I've psydo- planned something for the first of the summer, tho I won't know for sure about it for another week or so.

I can't talk about that.

I've been holding a volunteer package to a local school for about a week now and I've had too much school work to sit down with it, not to mention my needing a police check first.

I can't talk about that.

I'm reading midsummer night's dream, sense and sensibility, the tempest, a book of poetry, and some other novel that I've an essay to write eventually.

But that's all business as usual, so why talk about that.

This is comfortable. I like studenting. I feel as though I could do this for a while yet.

I wonder what people think about my being a student again.

Perhaps that's something to talk about.

sent, with love, from class

A Break

So here's the thing. I had a second yoga class today. I felt disorganized. Rushed.

And now I'm sitting at sbux. smelly. having a coffee.

This is counter productive.

Isn't it?

I dont know. I would have thought I should have had a booster juice or
something.

Man. It's been a long time since I've writen.

At Jill and Steve's there was a tea cup that had broken in half.
Cleaved. Like a log. I asked if the madhatter had come for tea recently.

"Oh I couldn't possibly have another. Oh, well, if you insist... just
half a cup though"

I laughed. But I'm a geek like that.

In fact while I'm writing this I am thinking of how to get a costume
together for Burtons "wonderland" that comes out in march.

It would be a nice break from the usual movie going.

Anyone want to join me?

Tshirt

Since I am completely iDdicted to my new gadget I figured I should at least share a bit of what I'm doing with it.

Today, while i was hanging around the second cup on campus between classes, I was staring down at this little device I own.

It's such a little device to demand so much of my attention.

Anyways, as I was staring down at it, waiting for it to do something spectacular a tall shadow fell over the screen. I looked up to and an English prof was smirking at me.

On this particular afternoon a group of a hundred students were gathered together, screaming and chanting and competing for something or other (and five years ago it likely would have been an exciting thing to have watched, but five years ago I was doing my first undegrad and didn't have a new iPhone to stare at while waiting for spectacular to happen).

He asked me how I was able to study with all the noise.

It took me a moment. Wow, I thought. He's asked me a question... and I haven't responded yet.

Mumble mumbled, I replied. Awkwardly star struck. What is wrong with me? I thought. I am more articulate than this.

Well, he said, I suppose if you're plugged in you're likley not to hear any noise at all, are you.

Yes. I'm. Not. It's new.

Indeed, he smiled, see you next class then. It was good talking to you.

Same, said I, same.

Whoops, I swore

Cass,

I know no one hardly uses email anymore, but it holds a special place in my heart. Not as special as the postal service, though I don't use it as often as I might make it sound.

Mostly it holds a special place because I can't stand the Peeping Tom feeling I get when I open a friends profile page in facebook. I like my privacy, though keeping this privacy makes keeping in touch with ppl a lot more work.

I keep a bit of a blog, some points about what i'm doing, funny shit that I happen upon or cause to happen upon other people. I keep it to stay in contact with people whom I've moved away from, which is somehing I've just learned about it. I've never told people about it while I've been living around them. Though while I was tending bar I rarely wrote at all, likely because the friends I made while in ireland don't often use the internet. They are more apt to use the post, which, as mentioned before, I love but never use.

Anyways, Cass, this is an invitation to read about my life, through my blog, if you so wish. This is not to say that a person needs an invitation to read it, just that sometimes it's nice to have one.

We'll talk again soon, and perhaps I'll drop in to see everyone before too long.

In the mean time, take care.

b

Oh, and I've made this a post on my blog, I hiope you don't mind. The link to the site is in my signature.

(this post also marks my first post via my mobile. neat, eh!)

--b

untitled

I am pretty tired so I'll have to make this short. In the background I'm listening to @neilhimself read from his book that I bought for Josie's September birthday, wrapped for christmas and still sits undelivered underneath a Christmas tree that has likely been packed up till next year.

Mands, we should get on that.

The book is called The Graveyard Book in which Neil Gaiman retells the Jungle Book story. I didn't get to the ending, because around November I was feeling guilty about reading a present I bought for an eleven year old girl and I was reading it myself, so I don't know how it ends and I don't know how similar it is.

There's a few hours of Neil reading posted on his website, perhaps I'll fit it in yet tonight.

Though I hope I don't.

Today was Reading Poetry, EN120. I liked it, but it'll be some tough reading. Not a lot of reading, but difficult.

I have to have Sense and Sensibility read by Monday.

Also a play, I am sure. I'll likely have to have a play read by friday.

So much for having thursdays off.

Take care, sleep well and I'll write to you again soon. Perhaps to tell you about the two hours we waited in a line at Wilfs, miss two periods of the Canadian Jr's only to take a bus back to the house, catch the third and over time periods while eating pizza.

Actually, that's pretty much it.

Hair's hoping

Here's hoping that sometime soon i figure out what the heck is going on with the font sizes on this page. when i looked back though it appears as though I've been an eight year old with his first box of crayons and a newly painted hallway.

Moving on to items at hand: today is day 1 of my twelve weeks of an english lit bender. I was hoping that before today I would have had a chance to get a hair cut.

For two reasons. One, because it's my first day of school and I want my new threads looking good underneath a new do.

And two: since I haven't had a trim in a while quite shortly i'll be looking a hell of a lot more frazzled and confused than I actually am. Soon after that I will be as frazzled and confused as I looked before, but my look will have spiralled towards, and out of control mind you, a state of frazz and confus that no woman, man or child alive has bore witness to.

I've class in thirty minutes.

I miss you.

b