NEWS FLASH

It's official:
Tom Cruise is Crazy. C-R-A-Z-Y. Take a look. It's true.
Got to give it to him though, everything is probably out of context. Mhen -- either way, he made me laugh. Alot.

Complaints, some PS's, and some in-between stuff

OK so I got off work way early yesterday for once, and spent the whole day until like 3 running around and buying crap in a rush of fanatic consumerism. So by the time I got home at 3:whatever, I just wanted to sit around and do nothing. It was so nice out so I just took out the windows -- OK this remind me... Time for another exciting installment of:

Installment #2:

The Windows

So this is probably a little bit our fault for not checking it out, but it's still outrageous anyway. You see, we get free heat, so I figured that it wasn't necessary to check out the windows since we weren't going to be paying for escaping heat anyway. Come to think of it, I bet that the free heat is just a scam to keep potential buyers from noticing the windows. I guess I just took it for granted that the apartment we were buying had windows that locked. You know, basic home-security is something that I assumed was included with the place. Silly me.

But no. The "windows", as some would call them, are no more than sliding panes of glass. Like on a trophy case. Except trohpy cases have locks. You can slide them open just as easily from either side. In fact, hardened ciminals probably see my whole apartment as some sort of elaborate trophy case -- Wide open for the taking. On boring Friday nights, while hanging out with their hooligan friends, they're probably like:

Ruffian #1: "Hey, let's go rob that trophy case!"
Ruffian #2: "But aren't the tenants clever and devilishly handsome?"
Ruffian #1: "Yeah... but it serves them right for living in a trophy case. It's a good night for a-plunderin'!"
Ruffian #3: "And let's urinate in their dryer!"
Ruffian #1 & #2 (in unison): "Good idea, Ruffian #3!"

So yeah, needless to say, I worry about stuff getting stolen. After all, I've got a lot of important stuff, such as my digital camcorder, digital camera, computer, 19" TV, and 24: Seasons 1 & 2. And oh yeah, Bert's got some stuff too that would suck if it was stolen. Well... the stuff itself wouldn't suck (because some thief would have some cool-ass loot afterwards), but the situation would.

------------------------

So yeah, I slid the panes of glass out of their tracks and pulled our upholstered recliner chair out into the front yard. I'd picked up a few books by Kurt Vonnegut (based on the words of Ian and Raph) at the library the night before, so I just layed out on the front lawn along side a fairly busy road in our chair, reading and sipping cool and refreshing water from my Alexander Keith's bar glass (stolen from Bridie Molloy's on my Birthday night). It was a nice day, and I was tired, so I fell asleep by accident after maybe half an hour, and stayed that way till about 6. It was actually really nice out, so it was comfortable, even though I had really fucked up dreams. That tends to happen when I take naps through the day... My nap-dreams after pulling all nighter are REALLY messed. Like usually I start to fall asleep and have weird quasi-dreams where I hear people talking or moving beside me, but when I roll over to see who's there or say something, there's no one there. To tell ya the truth though, I'm not altogether sure whether I'm even awake when I look over. Fucked up dreams, I tells ya.

So that day, Bert and Ania came home and found me asleep on a recliner in the front yard, but they said I looked too comfortable, so they left me there. The end.

You see, I'm at the point where there's lots of stuff I want to say, but I'm all backed up! I can't talk about the stuff that happened last night till I say what I wanna say from last week!

Eff this. I'm outtie.


I made a macaroni casserole with hot dogs a few days ago.
I was pretty proud.

PS - Anyone seen the Mott's Clamato ad on TV? It consists of text telling you that the commercial is too racy to show on TV, and that you can see it at www.mottsclamato.com (Coincidentally, the Mott's site is also down. Hm...). Hopefully this whole ripping-off-the-Carl-Jr's-Paris-Hilton-ad thing doesn't become the cool thing to do. I like my commercials to be available on TV right in front of me. If I wanted to have to get up to complete my television viewing experience, I wouldn't use the remote.

PSS - Oh and I put together a photo tour of the house we're looking at getting for the fall. It's $1600 a month, heat and light included, and keep in mind that they're renovating/painting it right now. And oh yeah... probably a good time to mention that I'm not going back to residence in the fall... :(

I was finally convinced by Ashley, Alisha, and Coleman about how great moving out will be... but I am going to miss Burke sooo much. My plan was to keep this secret and just show up the first day and keep telling people I was living in different room numbers. So that way, if they said that they went to room 305 and someone else lived there, I could just say, "305? No no no it's not that one... I foget the exact number but it's... ya know... that one in the corner. Yeah, that one." I was gonna sleep on couches, unoccupied beds, and floors until someone put two and two together and realized that I didn't live there anymore. But I felt bad having to continue lying to people when they were asking "Are you going back next year?", so this is me telling the world that I am now a Burke House alumni... So sad. I don't want to think about it anymore... :(

Musings from work

Apologies in advance, cause this post is long and not an effort to be amusing in any way. It's a collection of words forming a hopefully intelligent thought, so if you came here to avoid shit like that, then it's a good time to leave... but I will get back to the barely-intelligible-babble type of content ASAP!

OK, so I'm listening to one of those light rock stations -- You know, the ones who steal obscure sound-clips from TV and movies, then arrange them into sound collages that are either just plain stupid or full of sexual innuendos. And they play them ad nauseum. -- so I was listening to Dust in the Wind (by Kansas) while I was pipetting and it got me thinking. Stick with me:

I find it odd that when people become chronically depressed, they are labelled as having a chemical imbalance in their brains -- an imbalance that gives them an outlook that every effort to accomplish anything is useless. It seems to me that they are the only ones who are balanced. They are the realistic ones! I mean, when you think about it, everything we do (humans, that is) as a race is -- in terms of the big picture -- useless. All our efforts will be erased after we're gone, and that's a fact. Anyone who finished high school chemistry/biology should know something about a little thing called entropy. Entropy is basically a measure of randomness and disorder. It is a proven fact -- a law of thermodynamics, in fact -- that every process increases the entropy of the universe as a whole. Every action of anything, though entropy/disorder may decrease locally, actually makes the universe more disordered. So what I'm trying to say is that the universe tends toward disorder. Got that?

Ok, so here's the kicker: We, as humans and living organisms, are basically islands of order and organization in a sea of increasing disorder. We are beings of order in a universe which is tending toward disorder. So basically , the universe is trying to kill you. Period. This is not a disputed fact kiddies, so don't argue, though there may be some dispute in the way I've worded it ("kill", for instance). The universe and the laws of thermodynamics oppose life. We're a transient side-effect of the universe's journey toward maximum entropy -- We're "allowed" to exist, because in the end, the result is going to be the same. Kind of like how if you're on a really slow train from Boston to New York, you could probably still run toward the back of the train and for a very short time at least, you would be able to get closer to Boston, but there's no fucking two shits about it that you're eventually getting to New York, cause sooner or later you run out of train. So there's my analogy for the day. Happy birthday to you.

OK, so back to depression: It's been said that our perception of time is our interpretation of the reactions going on that make up our thought processes and beings. It's all about the reaction, baby! The passage of time's... I guess you could say it's our interpretation of the universe's increasing entropy. We feel this increasing entropy as the passage of time, and the reason time doesn't go backward is because entropy doesn't. (This is an actually a well-respected theory, by the way. I don't think it's proven, but theories rarely are, so it's the best that can be expected.) Bear with me: So according to this, we feel the increase in entropy -- We fell the universe's flow toward disorder -- We can, in essence, feel our impending destruction -- and we measure it in hours, and minutes, and seconds. We use these "units of doom" to figure out when we have to pick up the kids, when we have to get to work, and how long before we give Grampy his pills again.

That is what I call fucking crazy! Talk about denial on a massive scale! It seems that those who are depressed actually, for whatever reason, feel the true gravity of the whole situation. And they are the ones who are imbalanced? But I suppose it couldn't really be any other way. The truth of it is that this denial of our doom which is built into us is necessary for our existence. Life relies on this little inborn psychosis in order to continue being -- a psychosis which prevents us from seeing the big picture, cause the big picture is depressing. Which is weird, to say the least...

OK. Wow. Enough of this hooplah! I've had my rant. Back to pipetting, says I!
...And I'll do that diagram when I get home later tonight if I get time.

The long weekend routine

So I've been drinking the last few nights... On Friday I gave Martin a call and he was over at Barker's playing poker so I headed out over there, which was a good time cause I got to see a few people who I wouldn't normally call up to hang out, but I still love to see em'(ie. Barker, Tara, Rob and clearly Martin). So the plan was to head downtown and go to Konfusion, and you all know what that means. DANCING! Yeah... and you all know how I feel about that. ONLY WITH DUBIOUS QUANITIES OF LIQUOR! Wasn't in the mood for it that night, so I devised a plan which involved me spraining my ankle while walking out Barker's door on the way to the cab. Listen: I'm a thinker. Don't try to pull any of this "let's dance" stuff with me, cause I know how to get out of it. All I have to do is close my eyes and start walking. Hey, I'm so pro that sometimes I don't even have to close my eyes. All I have to do is walk. Yeah.. you're jealous. So while everyone was inside dancing, I was out on the street with my cell talking to some folks from home, which is always good! And I think I called Mackenzie too, though I'm not sure... Anyway! Spent the night fully dressed on a pull-out couch, woke up at 8 am, and then stumbled home. La fin.

And Saturday was oh-so-boring for the daytime portion. I just sat around doing nothing (since Bert is home for the weekend) and watching TV. Actually the highlight of my day was when I was doing dishes and I had all the utensils in my "My Beer" glass beside the sink. I hear this loud crack sound and look to the left of the sink. Nothing happens for a sec so I start to wonder what's going on, but then the liquid-holding part of the beer glass just tips over while the base remains in it's previous position. I guess all the shit in the glass was too topheavy. OK, I know I'm hurtin for stories, but can you think of a more exciting dishwashing story? I didn't think so. Actually, I took a picture of the glass after it fell over. Maybe I'll print it off and frame it...

So that night Pete and I went along with Karen (his girlfriend) to one of her friends' house's for a party. It was a little quiet but it was still fun and I met some people and learned some names before prompty forgotting them again... maybe... Chris and... Wes? uh-unno... We all went downtown and met up with a bunch of residence folk, and then it all went fuzzy... I woke up sitting in the middle of my couch at 6am with Bert's guitar in my lap. The best I can guess is that I got home and decided that this was the opportune time to learn to play an instrument. Ever head of how you rememeber drunken experiences better after you're back in that state? Maybe the next time I get loaded, I'll be able to play Smoke on the Water... that'd be cool. Bitchin' even.

And now, a reply to this:
Hi Patrick C_______,
I read your blog and find it most entertaining, however keep in mind that I am in Spaniard's Bay with no job and I watch Oprah all day. I'm so bored. . Therefore I insist that you say hi to me in your next post. Even if you don't remember me and think that I am a freaky SOB that reads about your life.
Amy Peddle | 05.21.05 - 12:50 am

Amy Elizabeth Peddle - Ok, I just made up the middle name, but I figured if we were on a full name basis here, I might as well go all out! I am sorry to hear that you're in S.Bay and also that you watch Oprah. Unless it is the giveaway show. Free stuff is wicked, though Oprah is not. And don't worry -- I remember you! You were Robyn's roommate, and I definitely don't think you're an SOB. Oops, almost forgot: "Hi Amy!"

Sooooo tired! Time for bed so I can wake up and go to work the morrow... I'm taking Wednesday of instead... and oh yeah, next post I'm definitely doing a diagram, cause this blog has been sorely lacking in the diagram department as of late.

PS - Not sure if I posted this already, so I'll just do it again. It's called The Picture of Everything. Pretty self-explanatory. It's sooooo massive...
Bah... TFB! Psssst... that's cool-kid slang for "Time For Bed". I'm outtie

What if...

Know what I wanna do? Go to the supermarket and buy two bull testicles and put 'em in a plastic baggy. Then I would carry them around with me so I could have them on hand at all times. That way, if I came across any guy doing something stupendously fruity, I could inconspicuously pull out the baggy and empty the contents onto the ground. Then I'd go, "Hey! I think you dropped these." and I'd pick up the testicles and toss them to him or into his car or whatever. And then I would run. Or curl into the fetal position and try not to absorb most of the punches with my kidneys.

I decided I wanted to do this while walking home yesterday. There was this tough-looking dude stopped at a red light, sitting in his "pimped out ride", as some might call it, with his arm hanging out the window. The funny thing was, he appeared to be attempting to maintain his tough-guy image while being completely oblivious to what seemed to be VengaBoys music blaring out of his 10x amplified, subwooferred... hydrolic... car audio system.

Here's a sample of VengaBoys lyrics, just to give you an idea (but imagine it put to a beat full of sound effects and peppy clavica synth music):

... Big Boy Showing Of All Around The City...... Still The Same For Such A
Suite...... Thinking You're So Bad...... Hustlin' Girls, Handy Phone, Acting
Like Your
Busy...... Baby Let Me Tell You, You're The Worst I Ever Had...
[Robot Voice:]
... Superfly Superfly...
... Superfly Slick Dick...
... Superfly Superfly...
... Superfly Slick Dick...
[Robot Voice:]
... Superfly Superfly...
... Superfly Slick Dick...
... Superfly Superfly...
... Superfly Slick Dick...
... Highbrow Attitude, Really Don't Impress Me...

- Excerpt of Superfly Slick from "The Party Album" CD
by the VengaBoys

PS - I Image-Googled 'pimped out ride' for a picture to go with this post, and found this. It doesn't fit, but I like it, so it stays.

What if...

I wish there was a town called Cahoots. If there were, I would go there with one of my friends (for instance, Lefty)and I 'd call someone else on my cell phone. The long distance would be well worth it. When they picked up, I'd make small talk until they eventually popped the question: "So where are you anyway?". I'd then blurt, "I'm in Cahoots with Lefty!" before hanging up.

Then I might giggle. I haven't really thought that far ahead yet...

PS - This story is fucked up. I don't know whether to believe it's true... It's long, but read it if you have time...

Posting from work...

It's 10:14 PM on a Wednesday night. Do you know where your Patrick is?

He's in the lab. Because he forgot to vortex his samples in the incubation bath before he left work today. This might sound mildly exciting, because hey -- isn't a "vortex" a whirling mass of fluid that sucks in anything and everything in the general vicinity, including puppies and babies should they happen to meander too close-by? Well, that definition makes it sound really bad-ass... Vortexes don't take crap from nobody... but no, I am not dealing with an unquenchable whirling funnel of destruction. The translation of what I am doing is this: I am swirling test tubes in a pool of luke-warm water. Not so cool now, is it? So anyway, I had to run all the way up here as opposed to bike (due to my flat tire), so I figured I'd at least do an entry while I'm here on the lab compy.

Hmmm... what to say, what to say... Oh yeah! OK, so maybe this should really go in the next installment of Things About My Apartment That Piss Me Off, but it's too good to pass up.

So our kitchen sink has been leaking for at least the past week, which is a pain cause that means we need to lay all the shit on the floor from the cupboard underneath. Our landlady has been trying to get her neighbor to come over and fix it. He kept no-showing, so landlady Annette starts saying that he tends to "get on a tear" (ie. drink himself stupid. (a.k.a. He's an alcoholic.)). I figured that Annette is just saying this cause she feels stupid that our sink isn't getting fixed so she's making excuses. So yesterday Annette calls me through the day to tell me that Fontz has fixed the sink -- I feel a tangential moment coming on: OK, maybe you didn't, but I got really excited when I heard the Fonz was our neighbor! I was hoping he'd come over and go "Heeeeeeeeey" with his goofy thumbs-up:


But as it turned out, I had missed the crucial enunciation of the "T". Fucking T's... the only time they're acceptable is when they're immediately preceded by a "Mr."... -- So anyway, back to the sink. I get back from work and the sink is still leaking. I called up Annette to tell her, and she tells me Fontz will be right over.

So about 15 minutes later, Fontz shows up. Lemme tell you about Fontz: His face is a little crooked. His teeth are a little crooked. He speaks like his tongue might be crooked or possibly upside down. He's basically a crooked kinda guy. So he shows up and I don't really notice anything at first, but after Bert's been in the kitchen with him for awhile, good ol' bert comes out and whispers, "I think... I think Fontz is drunk...". So I go see him and sure enough, he's stone-walled drunk. As in, he's in the I-can't-focus-my-eyes phase of the drunk cycle. He's normally hard to understand, but now he's slurring his speech and he reeks like booze. I don't get how I didn't notice at first! Bert tells me that when he tried to get down on his knees to look under the sink, he stumbled and barely missed falling flat on his face. He toyed around under the sink for awhile before telling me that he "wasn't in the mood to do this right now". I said no problem, even though I really wanted the sink fixed, cause the last thing I wanted was a rowdy drunk Fontz stumbling around. He left his tools under the sink and said he'd be back the next day, but in typical Fontz fashion, he's no-showed. He probably doesn't even remember coming over and still thinks the sink's fixed. Dah well... sooner or later he'll notice his tools are missing...

So yeah, here are some more pictures:


Lovell trying to look like he's doing an action-diving shot for me.


Pete Squires doing a Pete-pose while high.

Bored like the wind

Ok, so this is the continuation of the remix... whatever that means. OK, I've decided to start a new segment, just because I'm bored and I can't think of what else to write about. It's called Things About My Apartment That Piss Me Off. I'll just add stuff whenever I feel like it. Here goes...

Installment #1:

The Kitchen Light

Our kitchen light is one of those energy saver lights, which might seem kind of great at first. Let me just tell you this: Anything that lights a room with under 20 watts is ungodly and inherently evil. This light fixture is truly sinister. You see, I would have no problem with this lightbulb if when I flipped the switch, all I was looking for was light in the indeterminate future. If -- when I flipped the switch -- I was thinking, "You know what, I don't care when, but I'd like some light in this room at some future point in time" -- If that's what I was thinking, I would love this light for saving me all those precious watts. But alas, this is not the case. When I flip the switch, I want my fucking electricity coursing through my filament instantaneously. I don't want to wait for it to warm up. The light literally takes 2 or 3 minutes sometimes! I've gotten in the routine of turning on the light a few minute before I intend to enter the kitchen. Just like I'm sure many people warm up their automobiles in the morning, I warm up my kitchen luminescence.

Anyway, more stuff later when I decide to write it. In the meantime, here's a panorama shot of my room. Yippee-kye-yo-kye-yay motherfuckers!

Random Pictures

Outside the window in my lab



A random pair of shoes hanging from the powerlines outside our place. Well... I thought it looked cool... I'm gonna throw a pair of shoes up there with them before I move out. Probably Bert's though, cause I don't have many pairs of shoes.

First Picture Post! It's a doozy...

Ok I've got -- how do you say in French? -- les photos, and I'll post them intermittently throughtout this post, just so I don't have just a bunch of words, then pictures, then that's it. I have it so that your brain will be like "words words read words WHOA PICTURE words skim words HOLY CRAP ANOTHER PICTURE!" and so on.

So yeah, a couple nights ago I was just getting into bed when Pete (who had been visiting and was now waiting outside for his girlfriend to come pick him up) came in a threw a letter at me. Being my first piece of incoming mail in our new place, it was a momentous occasion. I read the return address and postmark stamp, and when I saw that they were "The National Crime Prevention Council" and "Chicago" respectively, I freaked out and tried to wake Bert up. On a side note, Bert grew his hair all year, then the last week of school, he shaved only the top of his head so that he'd have a Hulk Hogan hairdo. It was horrid. When he took off his hat for the first time, I was literally speechless for once. But anyway, it's all shaved off now. This is Bert:

Before	After

Unfortunately, he didn't share in my glee, since he was really tired from all that "getting high" that he'd done earlier. So anyway, I opened my mail from Scruff McGruff by myself. Let me tell you, this was the crowning moment of my week! It was Scruff McGruff trading cards. So far, the only other person I know who has em' is Raph, so I don't see much trading in my future, but it's still cool. I got 3 sets; one for internet safety and two different ones for bullying. I'm gonna see if I can sucker Raph into taking one of my bullying ones off my hands. That Raph... he's a sucker.



So anyway, as many of you know, I'm a massive 24 fan. -- If you don't know the jist of it, every hour of the show is a real-time hour so that every minute (minus the commercials) something is going on. there are 24 episodes and it take place over a full day. -- Bert and I watched the first season on DVD, then I bought the second and the plan was to have a big 24 marathon this summer. This was gonna be the setup:

Watch 24, watching each episode at the right time (watch the 9:00-10:00 AM episode at 9 am, etc), so that it takes 24 hours. The only break we'd have is the extra few minutes at the end of each episode, during which we would consume a 2-4 (a flat) of beer each. and oh yeah, the TV volume would remain at level 24 for the whole course of the show. The only thing that would make this better is if we watched it on May 2-4, but that's kind of a waste of a good party day...

But anyway, that didn't happen so we decided to start watching it a few nights ago. We couldn't get ahold of Mackenzie, so I flipped open my phone to call a random and see if they wanted to watch. I saw "Anskey" at the top of my address book and knew I had to call him up. Lemme tell you something about Anskey: We don't know each other. On pub crawl during the first semester last year, he was on my team. We were all tied together in a line with rope (part of the pub-crawl catch) and he was at the front and Coleman and I were at the back. I overheard him giving his cell number so some girl, so I put it into my phone and kept calling him later that night. This is the rough dialogue of our first conversation:

Me: "Hey Anskey! What's up dude?"
Anskey (unsure): "Nothing much, just downtown doing the pubcrawl..."
Me: "Wicked! How's that going?"
Anskey: "Who is this?"
Me: "It's me, Pat, at the back of the line!"
Anskey (looking back): ...
Me (waving): "Hey!"
Anksey: "...Hi?"

So anyway, our anti-friendship blossomed from there. I called him a few more times during the pubcrawl (usually when I was standing right beside him), and when I saw him in dining hall, and once when I happened to see him walking by my window. the only condition of this whole calling-Anskey thing was that he had to be in plain sight in order for me to call him, cause.. you know... otherwise it woulda been weird... like we were boyfriends of something... pfffft!

So Anksey came over (he turned out to live just down the street) and we all watched 24. The end.

Drats. Here are the other picture that didn't fit into any narrative the I had to offer:


Pictures from around the university...
...Bah! I'll do the rest later, cause apparently I have to "start working"...

Blogathon questions

Ok... blogathon questions in order of asking:
(Remember: elaborate if possible, even if the question doesn't necessarily ask. Answering with all short answers is BO-RING)

Fancy:
1. Why do you always start any online conversations/messages to me with "PAAAAAAAAATTTTT!"?
2. Why are you still obsessed with that "Continuum" game, as in what do you see in it?
3. If you could turn into any one inanimate object on cue, what would it be?
4. What's your favourite day of the week and why (for reasons other than the school/work-week cycle)?
5. Who's you favourite 80s pop icon (TV, movies, etc)?

Mandy:
1. When did you realize that I was your one true love? (hahaha I so funny)
2. How do I get to your house? (I lost the map again)
3. Tofu or beef stroganoff: Which food is more you, and why?
4. If you were going to DO IT in a public place, where would that be?
5. If "Mandy" was a brand name, it would be for what specific type of product, and why? (type of food food, appliance, clothing, or whatever)

Sally:
1. Why do you call me "Pati" (full story)?
2. What's your favourite personal story about a freaky place such as the Bone-yard, the Scary Church or whatever? (explain for those who don't know the background)
3. If "Sally's" were a race, and there was a racial joke about them, how many of you would it take to screw in a lightbulb? Remember to say what each of you would do.
4. What's a memorable dream that you remember from when you were little?
5. Did you ever have a thing for Coleman? STORY!

Ok, that's it for now! Later kiddies!

SPAM

I think the easiest business to work the publicity department for would be SPAM. As in spiced-ham-SPAM. I mean, I bet they don't even have a publicity department. Who needs publicity when you're SPAM? There's already brand awareness! Every time someone gets an email reminding them that their penis isn't big enough, or that they're paying too much for car insurance, or that hot chicks want to talk to them / do them -- Every time any one of these things occurs, your subconscious (on some level, at least) thinks "spiced ham". Your brain's thinking about all that shit at once -- thinking about driving around with hot chicks and your large genitals while eating spiced ham. Hey... at least subliminally it is.

And oh yeah, check this out! It's an elephant band! And unlike the Monkees band, they play all their own instruments. Ba-da CHING! I crack me up. I have a huge urge to buy this CD... heh... "Elephonic Rhapsodies"...

Blogathon Interview!

Continuing with the blogathon, Madeleine asked me five questions. Here are my answers:

1. What is one thing about Newfies that no one knows?

Ok, so maybe lots of people know about Screech, and maybe even the story behind it's name, but I bet you didn't know this: Newfoundlanders hate Screech. Well, at least this surprised me. I figured we'd get here and they'd be drinking it every night, gargling with it before bed, and putting it on their cereal in the mornings. But no. They just see it as a drink for the mainlanders stupid enough to take it!

2. Would you rather spend a day at the Zoo or the Airport? And why?

I would much rather spend a day at the zoo, cause if you fall asleep at a zoo, you don't get stuck there for hours and hours until the next shuttle is available to take you to the next zoo.
You simply get mauled by animals.

3. What happens after you die?

Hmmm... that's a tricky one. I'd have to say that you rot. Yep... pretty grim, but so's the apocalyse! Have you read Revelations lately??? Since only 144,000 souls get into heaven, if I plan on going for this whole eternal life thing, I might as well buy a raffle ticket while I'm at it. Maybe it seemed like a generous admission back then, but it's pretty piddly nowadays. I prefer to have faith in humanity and myself, not some words long-since dead.

4. Why, in your opinion, is most guys' favorite position "doggy style"?

Pfffft... that's so last year. Get with it Madeleine. What about all those crazy new moves, like " The Helicopter" or "Digging for Oil"? On a realated note, apparently "The Helicopter" was invented by some little Japanese porn-star who wears Spandex... who'da thunk it. Since I'm at the library, I couldn't force myself to click any of the links to sites with videos and pictures of this guy (though I'm sure it would be a marvellous site to behold), but that's what I got out of the short Google description...

5. Do you secretly wish that "fetch" would catch on as cool slang?

As you know, I just stole "fetch" from Mean Girls, so I don't really care too much whether it catches on or not... but "frambozzled" on the other hand...

***************

Hey and thanks to Madeleine for the interview! Good times...

If you'd like to have some fun of your own, you too can participate in this blogathon. Of course, there are rules:

1. If you'd like to be interviewed, leave a comment saying "interview me."

2. I will respond by asking you five questions here. They will be different questions than the ones above.

3. You'll update your blog with the answers to the questions.

4. You'll include this explanation and an offer to interview someone else in the same post.

5. When others comment asking to be interviewed, you'll ask them five questions.

I've been Haloscanned!

Go... Haloscan.

Yep, so all my previous comments are gone. This -- for lack of a better word -- sucks. Ok, scratch that, cause I made up another word; a superior word: This frambozzles. Yes, "frambozzled" perfectly describes this situation. The situation for which is was created, that is. Isn't that convenient. The word I made up for this occassion perfectly describes what I want it to. You know why? Cause I'm awesome. Man, I should make up my own words more often! And while I'm sort of on the topic, I should start saying "awesome" and "man" again. They used to get a whole load of use from me on my blog, but lately I seemed to have abandoned them...

So here's an embarrassing story. This morning I went over to Burton's Pond to buy a used chemistry textbook from some dude so that I could study for the DAT (Dental Aptitude Test) which I plan on taking in November. The "dude" was a foreign black guy, and I wouldn't be bothering to mention that fact if it wasn't key to the story. -- Aside: First off, I feel I should explain something. I pride myself as being open and accepting of other cultures and races (especially for a guy who grew up in a white Canadian east coast suburb with minimal racial diversity) and I HATE being around bigots and people who are just plain ignorant in general. So now back to my story, which I feel embarrassed just thinking through right now. -- So the guy comes down to give me the book, I give him the money, and we're standing not 2 feet from each other, with him holding the door to his building and me outside. He says "later" and holds up his right hand in what I now realize was an extended, very short range wave. As in, he raised his hand and left it there for a sec while we were standing right next to each other. Maybe you can understand my confusion... At the time I was thinking that I couldn't just "leave him hangin'", so I made a split second decision and decided he was doing what I can only describe as a "black people handshake" thing. So I seize his hand and give it an elaborate pump or whatever and let go, and as I do that "move", he looks away. My heart falls as I realize that I am the ignorant idiot whom I hate. About the only offensive thing I didn't do was say "We cool, G?".

I still feel really bad and am personally floored by my stupidity. He's probably forgotten about it already, but when I was walking to work afterwords, I just couldn't stop shaking my head in disgust with myself. Literally! I mean, it may be possible to laugh at my situation, but not without some shame on my part.

Grrr... Like I've said before, I need to travel. Maybe that will get some of these ingrained racial stereotypes out of my brain.

Anyway, more later! I've still got to answer those questions that Madeleine gave me, and address a few other issues... like PICTURES!

The mother-effing update! Bitches.

WARNING: Do not be discouraged by the length of this post. Gimme a break, it’s been awhile since the last. And it’s aaaaaaaaall good! -- Picture a large black man saying that last line and it’s sooo much funnier… at least I thought it was…

I am writing this post in Microsoft Word, in the hopes that someday I might be able to put it up onto the presently illusive (at least to me) interweb. Mayhap someday I’ll be able to get it to you, oh faithful reader, perchance through the use of a floppy diskette which can be spirited away to the library for uploading, or perhaps with a USB stick. Yet until then, it shall sit on my hard-drive, dreaming of the day on which it will be posted.

If you haven’t guessed, I am internetless. Yes yes… Sad. I know. But right now, there are many other things that rank higher on my get-it-the-fuck-paid-for list. You see… I happen to be broke. Dead broke. The good thing is that I’ve got money coming my way. There’s the money for doing canteen, my tax refund (funny story on this later) and my first pay-check. These are probably the only things that allow me to laugh at my situation… as opposed to cry, that is. I’ve got a meeting with Darren (works at Housing) to sort out the canteen stuff tomorrow, so hopefully that’ll fix my problem.

So I’ve been living the poor life recently, and that’s why I haven’t been posting or anything. I didn’t ever end up living in a box, but this is pretty damn close. Here’s how it’s going: Maybe all you guys who have had apartments before, maybe you know this, but I didn’t… Apparently rent is due at the beginning of the month. So yeah, I owe Bert (sharing a house with him) $150 for damage deposit, and $375 for rent. Plus I have to pay my phone bill. If I had known how little money I was going to have, I definitely wouldn’t have bought that digital camera a week before school ended!

So yeah, I am severely malnourished too. I survived 3 or 4 days off of canteen leftovers (ie. peanuts, popcorn, chocolate bars, and 2 bags of chips). I lived out of suitcases at Lovell’s for a week, sleeping in his cold, unheated basement on the couch. Bert and I got to move into our place on Sunday. -- Gah! I’m getting off-track. Our topic sentence clearly tells us that this paragraph is about “malnourishment”, so I’ll deal with that. I’ve been making scattered groceries purchases for the past week, and by “groceries” I mean peanut-butter, butter, and bread. Lots of fucking bread. If I’m short on every other nutrient, at least I’ve got fibre. (Psst… fibre helps you poop.) Hey, the only thing worse that dying of malnutrition is dying of malnutrition while irregular. I eat toast for breakfast, peanut butter sandwiches for lunch, and leftover chicken (soon to run out) and more toast for supper, with water as my only beverage. Nothing screams “variety” like bread and water! Oh wait… it’s Baskin Robins ice cream that screams “variety”… I believe bread and water screams “prison” or “detention facility”. And guess what I’ve got for snacks! Peanuts! Canteen leftovers, of course! I believe my diet covers one-and-a-half food groups. Maximum. Is peanuts a food group? Let’s hope. This is what’s making me regret buying that camera. Because camera doesn’t help me live. Food does.

Ooooh, oooh! Ok, ok, Funny story! Funny story! This emphasizes how poor I am. Before my parents went away to a wedding in Puerto Rico -- Their out-of-the-countryness making it so that they are unable to help me financially, I might add! -- so right before that, my dad mailed me the papers to sign so that I could get my tax refund. Since he was even generous enough to send me a self-addressed envelope, all I had to do was sign said papers, and the proverbial check would be in the mail. I got them a few hours ago, and biked down to Shoppers’ Drug Mart to pick up a stamp and send it on its way. So I go inside, and kindly said “A single stamp, please.” The girl on cash just laughed when I asked to pay for the 50-cent stamp (58 cents with tax) with my debit card. I joked about being poor and worrying that it wouldn’t go through, but in all seriousness, I though I had at least $3. Clearly, I believed myself to be rolling in the cash! So yeah, when INSUFF FNDS came up, I felt ridiculous. “You lose Patrick,” said my inner monologue and the Bank of Montreal in unison. Do you realize how ironic it is that I couldn’t afford the 50-cent stamp that I needed to get back my $830 dollar tax rebate?!?! THIS IS HOW POOR I AM! But the kind cashier girl felt bad, so she bought me the stamp and I went along my merry way.

Speaking of people being nice -- On the first day of work (Monday), I was joking about how broke I was with this guy who I work with. He’s an older fellow and has come from Sri Lanka to Newfoundland to do his Ph.D. work. So anyway, the next day after that he comes in and has made some crazy Indian-type sandwich thing for me. I mean, how cool is that?? I was sketchy about it at first, cause it was green inside and he said it was “spicy”, but it turned out to be pretty good! He brought another today, but I told him not to bring any more… cause -- hey -- I’ve still got my dignity. I’ll eat dog-food (which is supposed to be fairly nutritious, I hear… hmm…), before I start accepting charity on a regular basis!

Again, sorry for the lack of contact people! I swear I will get right on top of this talking-to-everyone thing as soon as possible. Maybe I’ll start scheduling in library time to use the computers… who knows! First things first though, as I’m sure someone always used to say (no one I know). Money, then friends. Wow, that came out wrong, but you all know what I mean! I love you guys! *Pat gives everyone playful noogies* *Except Coleman. Coleman doesn’t get a noogie because he smells.*

To bed, says I!