this is my dull life. this is my dull life on drugs. this is a haiku.

Sunday, October 30, 2005

The day after

So... let's see... what's new with me?

Well, we had a kickin' halloween party last night and I went on a tear like I haven't really done since the first weekend back in school. First off, though no one really recognized it, my costume was awesome. My costume was that I was dressed as Donnie Darko wearing his halloween costume. It was all my idea. Certainly not Coleman's -- No sir. It took me all day to make, what with getting to the Walmart and putting it together. I made it with masking tape, some Walmart clothes, an iron, and just a little bit of love. Here's a day-after pic of me in my get-up, looking all Donnie-Darko-esque:

But last night, I was more fun-looking than that. Here is my rendition of me being a fun Donnie Darko:

Picture me moving to Cha. Cha. Cha-Cha-Cha. If that doesn't scream "party like it's 1999" then I don't know what does... except maybe a robot whose sole purpose is to yell "PARTY LIKE IT'S 1999!!! PARTY LIKE IT'S 1999!!!" over and over again in a crazy robot voice, but that's beside the point. The point is that I had fun last night. End of story.

Whoa whoa whoa, hold on -- What am I talking about? This is not the end of story! The end of the story tends to follow the story, of which I haven't even started. As usual, I will use visual aids to tell the tale. We took a good bit of video too, but I can't get that up on the internet in a timely manner. Maybe I'll put it on Google Video sometime...

WARNING: This "story" is going to be all over the place.

So anyway, as is turning into a recurring event at our house, a bunch of the guys ended up riding a storage container down the stairs and out onto the lawn. I got kind of daring with the cameras and went for some extreme photography and cinematography, so I've got some crazy pictures and video of people barreling down the stairs towards me. For example, here's Ian (dressed as JFK), doing his thing:

I sort of just met Ian tonight, cause he's a frosh and I haven't been around Burke all that much. I'd heard about him though, cause people were telling me that he's like a mini version of me, at least in the sense that he gets drunk and thinks that stupid ideas are good ones. Well anyway -- hats off to you Ian.

Speaking of stupid things, the masking tape bones started to fall off of my costume last night, so I used the iron to re-apply them. Not so stupid, in and of itself, but the catch is that I refused to take my shirt off first. The masking tape actually browned. I sort of forgot about it until I saw the video this morning...
Lesson learned: Irons = hot.

And oh yeah, we got the Community Jug on the go this time. At odd intervals, we'd go around the room with the jug and everyone would have to pour a bit of their drink in. After it was filled to our satisfaction, we'd go back around and everyone would have to drink out of it. I've gotta say... I was skeptical at first, but it actually turned out tasting REALLY good. I'd say that the first one ws the best... So yeah -- here's Andre holding it up and being an idiot:

To explain the costume: He's a chick magnet. Get it? Kind of a good idea, because any other time that you extend your arms out towards women, wiggling your fingers and yelling "MAGNETIZE!", you end up looking creepy. Wearing this costume though, you end up with girls latching onto you. Go figure.

At one point, Tony didn't look like he was having enough fun, so I took it upon myself to make him smile -- manually, that is.

Jesse's costume was that he was not Jesse. He didn't really have anything when he arrived, so he just cut up a liquor store bag and put it on his head.

Ok, I'm getting tired of writing, so I'm just gonna post all the rest of the pictures (of those that turned out), and you guys can see them. Whatever.

End of story.

Saturday, October 29, 2005

The low-down on the slow-down

Sorry about the little hiatus thing I've been doing, but I've been realizing a few things:
  1. I've been really busy lately,
  2. I need to get out more, and
  3. I enjoy making frivolous lists.

We're having a pre-Mardi Gras (on George Street) halloween party tonight (12 Hatcher Street!), so I can't say much now cause I've still got to get my costume on the go! If anyone has any good ideas in the next few hours, let me know!

UPDATE: Clearly the mainstream news media has not gotten ahold of this yet, but I found this while searching for George Bush pictures on Yahoo Images (I'm the poster guy for the UN Society). Forewarning though: This is a picture of George Bush butt naked in his younger days. He is so fucked. This rivals even Ugh...

Wednesday, October 26, 2005

Zit shit

The only thing that grosser than seeing someone with a big, huge zit on their face is seeing that person leave for a minute and when they come back, the aforementioned zit is gone. It's in these situations that I can't help but picture them popping the zit, which is like 11 times more disgusting. Which is weird, cause what else can I expect them to do.

So in other words, the only thing more disgusting than a big pimple is the remedy.

Has anyone else thought about this before?

Sunday, October 23, 2005

The delicious dinner

A few nights ago, Andre was supposed to have made supper for Alisha but forgot to. Later in the night, while Cowman was over, Alisha made a comment about how hungry she was since her brother hadn't made her anything.

Let us pause a moment for a brief aside -- as in like Shakespeare does -- for those of you not living in Newfoundland:
"Cowman", you ask? Who names themselves Cowman? Well, Cowman does, that's who. Cowman is quite possibly the sketchiest/funniest/interestingest person I know. He moved in with his girlfriend when he was like 15 -- he was engaged and like 12 hours away from getting married at 19 -- he now sleeps on the tiny, 4-foot bed upstairs on Wednesday nights after open mic... lets see, what else? He's got a tattoo of a cow on his arm -- Very few people know his real name -- he wears one of those "french painter"-type hats all the time... you know the kind I mean! Anyway, just thought I'd explain Cowman. He's a cool guy.

So anyway, Alisha was complaining about being hungry so I, being the gentleman that I am, said that I'd make something for her. I grabbed a hotdog bun from on top of the fridge and proceeded to fill it with the following: canola oil, steak spice, onion powder, peanut butter, the contents of a teabag, Aunt Jemima pancake syrup, and one slice of processed cheese. Alisha wouldn't touch it, but Cowman said that he'd give it a try, so he took a bite.

Then he took another bite.

When he was about half done, he told us that it tasted like garlic bread with peanut butter on it. This somehow convinced me to try it. Let me tell you -- I almost threw up. It was a gustatory insult of the higher order. My tongue retreated past my uvula, and I gagged what was left in my mouth out into the toilet. Not at all fun.

Cowman had a few more bites, at which point Coleman entered the kitchen scene. Not having seen me expel my portion, he gave it a try, too. Yeah... I've gotta say... it was fun when it wasn't me. Andre, Tony and Alisha were having none of it, so Coleman and I decided to hold Tony down and make him eat some. We enjoyed only limited success, but by the end of it all, Tony had peanut butter and Aunt Jemima covering at least half the surface area of his face. I would've taken a picture, but Tony wouldn't leave it on his face long enough for me to take the batteries from my keyboard and put them in the camera. I'm guessing the smell from his angle was pretty bad.

Anyway, that's all folks! Labs and a-studyin' to do!

Friday, October 21, 2005

Every day is garbage day

I guess we've started a garbage game or something here at 12 Hatcher. I have to say that I'm not so much a fan of this particular game. I much rather prefer games which don't smell... nor fall on the ground where they end up stuck to the bottom of my socks.

I'd changed the garbage for like the last three times, so I was finally like "Ok, fuck this. Someone else is going to have to do it."

Or so I thought. It's now just ridiculous. But I'm soooo stubborn...

As Tony, Andre and I were gathered in the kitchen and I was taking this picture, Tony said something along the lines of "Man -- We're taking garbage to a new level!" to which I replied, "Well... if by 'new level' you mean the second floor, then yeah -- I suppose we're about halfway there."

I think Coleman will cave first. Unless, of course, he reads this first...

Wednesday, October 19, 2005

Getting my study on... no matter what.

I'm always in the library looking for good places to study, but with midterm season being upon us, study rooms tend to fill up quickly and the wait-line gets longer. But I think I've figured out a good solution:

There a comfortable-looking, spacious study room up on fourth floor that never seems to be in use. I figure I could go in, get my study on, and not be disturbed the whole time I'd be there. The only catch is that it's the "assisted learning" study room. It's got all these magnifying and braille machine dealies and CD players for playing audio-books and stuff... you know -- for anyone with sensory disabilities.

So I'd go in here, and if by chance someone came in to see who was using the room without booking it, I'd simply look at them blankly and then just keep yelling "WHAT? WHAT? WHAT?" until they'd left.

The only problem I can foresee is that maybe they'd start signing to me. In that case, I'd just play it cool. I'd probably start doing the macarena or something. Y'know -- I'm sure I'd say something. So what if the macarena in sign language means something like "You honks like pretty dog sandwiches." I'm sure they'd just leave me be at this point no matter what.

Sunday, October 16, 2005

Re-lost wallet and punched Coleman.
Woohoo for Saturdays.

First off, I was playing around with my camera today and took a bunch of pictures of my bed from the ceiling and stitched them all together. Who knows -- If I'm really bored, maybe I'll do it for my whole room...


Last friday I lost my wallet.

Yeah -- crap.

Any sort of ID that I'd had in my possession had been in it, so I now had nothing. No student ID. No driver's license. No medicare card. No nothing. Since it was the Thanksgiving long-weekend, I couldn't even get a replacement backcard until something like Tuesday.

Yesterday Peter (our landlord) was over installing the new door, and he found my wallet in the hedges of our front lawn. I guess that I threw it aside when we were riding down the main stairwell in the storage container, presumeably because it was digging into my butt as I careened over the steps. So I went out again last night -- against my better judgement, I might add -- and guess what? I lost my freakin' wallet again!

Yeah, yeah, yeah... I know. I'm an idiot. But hey -- at least it was a fun time. To be truthful. I only had my driver's license and student card in there this time, since everything else was drying on the floor of my room at that moment. So I guess a week in a bush makes a wallet wet. Go figure.

And Coleman just sent me this joke which he says his psych prof sent to him! Lovin' it!

Before I lay me down to sleep,
I pray for a man, who's not a creep,
One who's handsome, smart and strong:
One who loves to listen long:
One who thinks before he speaks;
One who'll call, not wait for weeks.
I pray he's gainfully employed;
When I spend his cash, won't be annoyed.
Pulls out my chair and opens my door,
Massages my back and begs to do more.
Oh! Send me a man who'll make love to my mind,
Who knows what to answer to "how big is my behind?"
I pray that this man will love me to no end,
And always be my very best friend.

I pray for a deaf-mute nymphomaniac
with huge boobs who
owns a liquor store, fishing boat and a Ferrari.
This doesn't rhyme and I don't give a shit.

Speaking of Coleman, I guess I punched him in the face last night. Seriously. He showed me the mark right between his eyes.

We ran into Lovell in 180 (a bar), and he was sitting at the bar, so I decided to smack him in the back of the head. Due to my state at the time, my coordination was somewhat compromised, so I completely overshot his head and effin' smoked Coleman. When I'd missed Lovell I apparently started to close my hand, so by the time it made contact with Coleman's face, it was a full-fledged fist. Lovell, who hadn't even known that his head was in danger, turned around just in time to see me clock Coleman between the eyes and knock him over. Connie was working the bar, so I guess her and Lovell got a kick out of it! There were only a few of us in the bar, and the bouncer is cool, so he understood and I didn't get kicked out or anything.

And here are a few pics of our ghetto Thanksgiving dinner here at 12 Hatcher. It actually turned out not so half-bad. Kinda. They didn't have any non-frozen turkeys left at Sobey's, so we had a Thanksgiving duck instead. Yep, that's right -- a duck.

I only used the inside rolls when I was putting the rolls in a bowl for the meal, so we had a roll-ring and nothing at all to do with it. So I put it on my head. It seemed like a perfectly logical thing to do at the time.

And oh yeah: I tried to do the worm last night in Julia's kitchen. It didn't work out too well, and I fell on my face. My chin really hurts today. And just so y'know, my "worm" consists of me jumping up into the air as high as I can, then diving head-first into the ground. So I guess technically it's only the start of the worm, but usually I can pull it off, although there was this one time a few summers ago when I attempted to do it in Coleman's driveway and made myself bleed...

Saturday, October 15, 2005


Ok, there seems to be some confusion about The Game. Trust me -- this is a lot easier to explain and understand when done in person. I guess I just didn't do a good job of the explanation in the type-face format.

To answer a specific question; You're not playing before you know about it, but only after someone explains it to you (which I clearly haven't done well). From that point on, you ARE playing. And just because of the way it works, it's not really possible to STOP PLAYING, you're just simply playing while cheating (by not acknowlegding your loss when you remember about The Game).

But I digress. Here's an example:

Ian is walking down the road 3 months from now with his special lady-friend. He sees a "lost dog" sign stapled onto a telephone pole, titled with the word "LOST" in big, red letters. This reminds him, for the first time since today, that he's been playing The Game. So he now says "Crap! I lost!" out loud. His special lady-friend looks at him like he has just announced that he is the celebrated Papaya-king of the grand Republic of Hoochiville. He then explains The Game to her, and they continue on their merry way.

Friday, October 14, 2005

The Game

I'm gonna let you guys in on a little secret. You guys all know that's I've got a new stupid game for every day of the week, but I'm going to tell you about "The Game". As in, the mother of all effing games. Get ready...

So there are only 3 sinple rules to this game:
  1. You are always playing The Game. 24 hours a day -- 7 days a week -- 52 weeks a year -- until you keel over and die during an episode of The Price Is Right, which by the way is still hosted by the eternal-cyborg-thing that is Bob Barker.
  2. You only lose when you remember that you're playing The Game.
  3. When you lose The Game, you must say aloud, "I lose," thereby making any other players in your vicinity lose as well.
  4. You must then explain The Game to anyone around you who hasn't previously been playing. They are now playing.

So basically, you're always winning until you lose. At which time you drag other people into it. I suggest making a shirt that says, "You lose." You know... if you really want to be a jerk.

And yeah I know, you're thinking, "Can I just explain The Game to people even if I haven't lost?" But AH-HA! If you think to explain it, then you've already lost, so this situation can never come up.

The great thing about The Game is that you can say that you're not playing anymore, but you're just kidding yourself. You're always playing, even if you pretend not to. In this case, you're just breaking the rules.

Another cool thing is that, after playing for awhile, you'll always be surprise who else is playing too. I tends to get around. And contrary to what you might first believe, you can sometimes go months without remembering that you're invovlved.

So go forth my children, because by this point, you're already playing. Game on.

Thursday, October 13, 2005

An all-encompassing theory of public defecation

Warning: This post uses the word "poop". Deal.

I have a theory. I think that, when in a public restroom with other people, everyone pushes harder when either the faucet started running, the hand-dryer starts going, or another toilet is flushed. Maybe not on purpose, but I think your subconscious goes "Sweet merciful Jesus! Ambient noises! Jump into action!"

When it's utter silence, with just me and some dude sitting not three feet to my left, with nothing but sheet-metal and two thin coats of 1970s-era lead-based paint between us, I just can't do it.

I used to think that I might have been the only one, but then yesterday, I found another. Just me and him -- all the above-mentioned criteria fulfilled -- and neither of us did anything for like 10 minutes. No one came in to break the deadening silence which, on top of being awkward, is odd since mid-day library bathroom traffic is normally pretty high. (Look, I'm a library junkie... I know these things.) So usually I just wait for the buddy next to me to move on, but he was clearly thinking the same thing as me.

Sadly, he won the stand-off. I just left and came back later. I'm not bitter though. He was a worthy adversary. Besides -- my legs were starting to fall asleep... what else was I gonna do?

Yeah, yeah, yeah... I know... I realize what you're thinking: "This kid's a wiener," "This guy sounds like a girly-man," "This dude has deep-seeded pooping issues," -- And hey -- All valid points. But the fact of the matter is, I just can't. Some of you may be blessed with the ability to poop on command without regard for time or place, and for that I envy you, but I lack that capacity. End of story.

Wednesday, October 12, 2005

By Request

McKay left a message saying that there weren't enough pictures of her on my site. So... TA-DAH! The most entertaining one I could find on my compy, circa New Years 2003/2004 at Coleman's place. Hope you like it Erin!

Busted Doors and Broken Spirits

I was walking to class a few days ago and as I passed an elementary school during recess, I had to stop and watch for a little bit. For anyone who hasn't done this before, let me just say that watching children frolic in their natural habitat is the most amusing thing ever. They're so freaking amusing! Now all I need in order to fully take part in this ever-popular pasttime is a trenchcoat and some delicious candy. I kid, I kid... but yeah, I know... it sounds kinda creepy. I figure that as long as I'm not 47 years old and mentally undressing them, this activity is considered socially allowable. It's gotta be at least ten times as entertaining as going to the zoo. Maybe 11.


And last night was ridiculous. For the first long while it was only me, Coleman and Andre playing poker and having a few drinks. I'll give you the quick run-down of the night:

Earlier in the evening, I cooked some left-over fish cakes because I didn't have much else to cook at the moment. We waited patiently for the half hour it took to cook them... then, when they were done, Coleman and I threw them out the door at the side of our neighbor's house. It seemed like a good, spontaneous idea at the time. It's OK -- They're students too, so I just know that when they came out of their house this morning and saw that fish cakes had been forcefully propelled onto the siding of their home, they completely understood.

Later on in the night Coleman, who had just finished using the bathroom, was attempting to make his lavatorial exit. But when he turned the doorknob something odd happened. Naturally, he assumed that rotating the doorknob would result in the regular outcome -- this is, the opening of the door, and his subsequent release from the lavatorial confines.

But hells no.

The knob turned. A crack was heard from within the door. The knob continued to turn -- Round and round, to no avail. I guess some critical element had snapped off, leaving Coleman trapped in the bathroom. He yelled for awhile, and when we eventually heard him above the music, we came to the rescue. The window was too small, making that escape route out of the question, so we decided that taking the doorknob off was the best way to go about this problem. The screws were on the inside, so somehow coleman got the knob off from his side, but for some reason the door still wouldn't budge! This called for drastic measures.

Andre told Coleman to move back from the door, took a few steps back, and just charged the thing. The press-board door splintered out of the locked and closed-tight position, pieces flying all over the bathroom.

So long-story-short: Coleman escaped. Door broken with a big crack through the middle. Andre happy to have had the chance to break through a door.

People ended up showing up later on, and we again hauled out the large storage container and rode it down the main stairs. I didn't get any pictures, but we had the front door open this time, so we'd go down the stairs, straight out the front door, over the landing, down the front steps and across the lawn. My ass was really sore the next morning.

And yeah, I lied about the whole "broken spirits" thing in the title. I just thought it sounded cool... but if you're really looking for some kind of broken spirit dealie... well... erm... Coleman stubbed his toe yesterday. Apparently it hurt quite a bit. Or so I hear.

Wednesday, October 05, 2005

Guess who that charming kid on the left is...

Me chillin' at the bottom of my driveway with the neighbors and brother, back in the day...

And no, I was not wearing a halloween costume. My parents actually allowed me to wear that outfit on a regular, year-round basis. Anyone else find it creepy that I had a taxi hat... and a tiny red bow-tie... and suspenders with little yellow hands that held my pants up?

Tuesday, October 04, 2005

I hate wind.

Always blowin' and tousling my locks. Man... And did I mention that I needed a haircut of the highest degree?

But ok, I take back that wind comment. It was an unfair generalization on my part. I don't hate all air. Calm and orderly air is A-OK by me. It's just air that moves in excess of 60 kmph that I hate. That's where I draw the line between amicable air (the kind of air that I might invite over to meet my elderly grandmother) and bastardish air (the kind that I wouldn't offer a glass of water if I ever came across it parched in a sweltering, windless desert).

Yeah. You heard me.

PS - I've got midterms over the next few days, so if I go into radio-silence mode for awhile, then that's why.

Sunday, October 02, 2005

Shit hits the fan

Tonight brought on the end of an era here at 12 Hatcher Street.

When we first moved into this place way back at the first of September, one of the main draws to the room upstairs was that it had a relatively new ceiling fan installed in the... well... in the ceiling. Clearly. Coleman immediately claimed that living space, naively thinking that all this accessory would provide was a refreshing current of stale air on a warm night. Oh Coleman, how wrong you were.

We hadn't been living here a week before we'd discovered "The Fan Game" (not to be confused with "The Water Game" or "The Waving Game"). The Fan Game involved standing beneath the ceiling fan and just kinda daring yourself to jump up. We didn't do this all at once -- it was more like an ongoing event. Whenever I was up in Coleman's room and one of us thought of it, I'd just be like "Hey... Coleman..." and motion towards the fan with my eyes, and that would be it. You might say it was a... challenge. And who says no to challenges? Losers -- That's who. So we'd do this... You know -- just to see how close we could get to sticking our heads into the fan, but sort of without the intention of really doing it. I mean -- we knew that eventually one of us was going to actually do it, but we just didn't think that that day would come so soon...

So there we were tonight, two idiots jumping up and down below a ceiling fan like a pair of mentally incompetent chimpanzees hopped up on methamphetamines. And then it happened.

Coleman hit the fan.

The game stopped.

Coleman stood there.

And that was the end of it. Obviously, I had to do it too -- you know -- just to put the game to rest, but besides that... it was done. And all that we were left with was this bitter, empty feeling.

I think this probably says a little something about life. You think you've got this great and wonderful thing above you, just out of reach, and you spend a big part of your time down below trying to get to it -- making the attempt, but doing it half-heartedly -- not really trying to actually touch it. Because you know that if you do, it won't be as great as you'd built it up to be. And then one day, almost by accident, you reach that goal... only to be left with a now-wobbly ceiling fixture with a few too many attached hairs circling above your head.

So thank you oh-cherished ceiling fan, for bringing us so many minutes of pure, child-like joy. May your Part & Labour Warranty never be negated, and your resale-market value never stray too far from your MSRP. I salute you.

Saturday, October 01, 2005

The real ultimate frisbee

Ok, I wasn't planning to blog today, but I just had to when I saw this:

So Jesse came over awhile ago, and Tony & him got really high. Like -- Tony is pretty hardcore, so he usually deals pretty well but when he was pouring water for himself, his hand was shaking all over the place and he was saying "Maybe I should take a shower..."

So anyway, here's the funny thing: Him and Jesse went out back to play frisbee. I've got to say that two really stoned guys trying to play frisbee is the funniest thing EVER! We were watching them out the window, and what they'd do is that one of them would whip the frisbee at a tree or somewhere random, then it seemed like they'd completely forget what they were doing. They'd wander around for awhile, then they'd remember to go find the frisbee. This continued in the same manner the whole time we were watching. Every once in awhile, they'd both just completely stop playing and one would follow the other and they'd just walk in loops and figure-eights for awhile. And throughout the whole she-bang, they seemed so disoriented... I think it was the best thing I've witnessed this week.

So I propose a hip-hip-hooray to tripped-out frisbee, the most entertaining sport I can think of at the moment. Someone should start a league or something...

Thanksgiving weekend stuff

Ok, cool news -- but first, some other shit.

I've been up since 7am yesterday morning. Yep... Except for a power-nap from 5-7 earlier tonight, I've done about my day with effectively zero energy. My reserves are depleted -- my get-up-and-go has got-up-and-gone -- my second, third, and fourth winds are gusting at 0 kmph -- but somehow I'm still in the realm of consciousness. Go figure.

So here's the cool news: So I was up all last night supposedly scribbling out a lab, and in between playing guitar and cooking up a 4:30am-lasagna, I ended up talking to Madeleine real quick at like 3:30 in the morning. I guess that she knows someone who'll be in St. John's next friday, and she wants this chick and her roommate to hang out with us for at least a night! How cool it that?! I guess that she failed to mention to the friend that she's sending her to meet someone who she met over the freaking internet. I mean -- I'm not adverse to someone sending hot chicks to meet people (especially when people is me), but isn't the first rule of the interweb, engraved on some thick slab of silicon way back in 1983, "Thou shalt not meet."? But whatev, cause I guess it doesn't really say anything about shipping your friends over to meet your sketchy internet acquaintances.

So really, now I just sit back and wait for the hot chicks to arrive... all I have to do is prevent Madeleine from realizing how creepy I really am until it's too late to warn her unsuspecting friends. So I should probably just stop writing... but I never was the type to entertain a sensible idea.

Well, as long as I'm being creepy, here's my planned itinerary for the night, (which should clinch the creepification deal):

8:00pm --> Hot chicks arrive.
8:00-8:30 --> Introduce hot chicks and play ice-breaker games.
8:30-9:30 --> Play "Risk: Star Wars Edition".
9:30-10:00 --> Make lewd gestures and sexually harrass hot chicks in general.
10:00-10:45 --> Play drinking games, ie. Ride the Bus (Best Drinking game EVER)
10:45-11:00 --> Try to convince hot chicks to make out.
11:00pm --> Go downtown.

Well, that's about all the inappropriate things I can think of for the moment. But I guess I could stand to throw in a few more minutes for lewd gestures. I reckon you can't never have too many lewd gestures.

I'm having a low key night over here, since I've got midterms next week and I've got to rest up. I'll probably be heading to bed right after I finish writing this... Yeah, I know -- fun times, indeed. But what can ya do?

And just so you guys from home know it, I'm missing everyone a whole bunch! That applies to both friends and family too, cause I know that they read this every once in a while, too!

I Miss Home: Photo-Enhanced Memories

Here are some classic pictures from the distant past (ie. two years ago):

This was at my house on the last night of Christmas break back in first year. Me, Jana, Garrett & Craig all stuck our faces in a cake that had been lying around. I woke up groggy and was at first really pissed about who messed up my cake. Then I saw the pictures and it all came flooding back...

At the Canada Day fireworks two summers ago I believe. As per usual, I was dragging the camcorder around with me.

Same party: Lucas thoroughly enjoying his Amaretto.

Same party: Garrett... grabbing... Jana? Listen: I don't know.

New Years 2003 at Coleman's: Adam and Erica chilling at the table. Adam's probably repeating something from "8 Mile", no doubt.

Same party: Sarah, Coleman, Jeanette & Sally -- Portrait disrupted courtesy of Coleman Black.

Same party: Adam and Shannon being buddies.

Thanksgiving 2003: Shara, McLean and Craig. I miss McLean...


Dropping Chris off at University: Chris looking very sneaky...

The whole family just before ditching the jerk in his new home. I kid, I kid... I LOVE YOU, BROTHER!

Me and my parents right before boarding my plane to Newfoundland this year...