My Plans for Next Summer: Starcraft

I don't have any living arrangements for victoria this fall. However i am already planning my living arrangements for next summer.

At the start of this summer, i had the sweetest living arrangements in the history of mankind. I was living in my parents house, eating their food, getting my mom to do my laundry, using their cable and internet. It was the perfect life. I would wake up every day at around noon, get into my bathrobe, then walk around the house and patio with a mug of coffee in my hands. I was a king. But next summer my dad has made it clear that i will not be allowed to live a cushy life like that. He has said that i will need to find a job immediately, else i will be kicked out of the house.

here's where starcraft comes into play. These are pictures of a 1988 starcraft tent trailer. Currently on sale on ebay for $2200. I will simply buy the tent trailer and park it in front of my parents house. When i wake up at noon (by that time they are gone to work), i will enter the housee and commence to making my sandwhiches

Studying the Liminal

The idea of liminality has recently been re-brought to my attention. During school it's a phrase that one of my young and interesting professors likes to use as often as possible, because it applies to a lot of things we cant define and it defines a lot of things we cant define, but mostly it defines things so we can apply them. I hope that helps.

The liminal is essentially, the inbetween. It's a state things occupy that never crosses over into the other. If it helps you, you can think of Schrödinger's cat, which in the theoretical experiment, is either alive, or dead through observation, but both alive and dead through equation. Not only does that rhyme, but it applies to what I'm trying to say, which is that the liminal, like quantum states, is not anything, it is the between state of other states.

What I'd like to apply this to is the universe, and life. Not everything, just those two categories.

Lets start with the universe. I believe that the universe adheres to the multiverse principle, which dictates that every time anything happens, the universe, based on probability (and possibility) is split, and results in the "creation" of another universe. The way that I wrap my mind around this is through this hypothesis: "For a decision to be made based on probability, the output needs to match the input of the equation". So: If I decide to go for a walk, there is an equal probability that I could have decided not to, and for the laws of thermodynamics to account for the lost metaphysical energy it took me to reach this decision, there must be a universe where the other 50% of my decision resulted in the completed loop. In a quantum universe, the result of this decision does not necessarily occur after the decision, but that's something I don't even want to understand.

What really interests me about what I just wrote is that it's hard to reconcile that with anything other than an infinite universe. But: I do not believe the universe is infinite. If the universe started with a matter reaction, then logically, this finite reaction created a finite universe. Furthermore, with recent scientific revelations, we have learned the universe is expanding, and through this we can deduce that an infinite universe cannot expand, or contract. An infinite universe just is. Unless the scientists are wrong, which is fine, because they're probably rich and have nice trophy wives.

So now I've argued myself into a box: how can finite universes create infinite new universes? Easy, think of the Pi constant. It's an infinite number created by finite variables. BUT WAIT! I just proved myself wrong, didn't I? A finite bang can create infinite universes right? Maybe, but lets remember that Pi is just a number and the universe is an actual object, and not a constant. Since the mulitverse is only a theory, I will happily ignore the argument I just lost to myself, and continue with what I was trying to say. Anyways, comparing simple math to quantum physics is not a fair argument, and really means nothing. I just like the Pi metaphor because it works for half of this argument, but not the other half, and yet it works like both, which means this entire essay is almost in a quantum state. Anyhoo.

The universe must have a shape. If it is finite (which it must be) then logically, it can be defined. What shape is the universe? It COULD be spherical, but scientists do not believe the universe expanded uniformly. Just like an explosion on earth VS an explosion in a complete vacuum (sans gravity) we see that the fireball does not form a sphere, but a slightly lumpy one, because of atmospheric conditions and the characteristics of the explosives and whatnot. So if the universe expanded non-uniformly, then logically, it's because of either outside factors (which is really, really interesting, because it implies the universe expanded INSIDE OF SOMETHING), or because it wasn't an even matter ball, which is much more likely. Anyways what I'm trying to say is that the universe has a shape, and therefore a border, and therefore complies to the liminal.

The universe has a border! It must! Even if it's a hazy cloud of semi-universe right at the edge, that is a difference, and that is a border. That is neither universe, nor non-universe. What a trip! What does this mean for science? It means that we need to find that border pronto, because that will show us a space where light is moving into absolute nothingness, and I have a feeling that could be useful to someone.

Later I'll talk about how this liminal property of the universe affects the psychological properties of our own minds.

The Paris Hilton effect

Lately I've come to realize two things. The first is that my left ear is slightly smaller than the right. The second is that if enough people tell you someone is good looking, you mindlessly believe it. Let me give you some examples.

Our first witness is Drew Berrymore. Movies like Charlies Angels have led us to believe that she is, in fact, a beautiful woman. She is, in fact, not. Look at her closely with fresh eyes and you'll see exactly what I mean. She's a million times less attractive than a lot of people I go to school with, on and on the hollywood ladder she's the guy on the ground making sure the hot people don't fall off the top.

Our second witness is Angelina Jolie. She's starved herself to death, she's like 4'9" and so many people are convinced she's gorgeous that even the intelligent readers of our blog will believe it. She's gone from meh to terrifying. That creature in Beowulf with the fucked up skin was way sexier than she is in real life. Brad Pitt, I hope you kept Jennifer Annistans number you crazy fucker.

Our third witness is every man in a TV show, movie, or play. King of queens, for example. That guy is hardly a catch. His wife however, is quite attractive, albeit annoying. There's no chance in hell he could snag that ass in real life, and we all know it. How about Everybody Loves Raymond? Seinfeld? You think George can actually pull all that tail? No chance. No chance at all. Fame = attractive for men, Gossip = attractive for women.

So that's my beef. If you're famous and ugly, stop casting yourself beside attractive people and stick to the ugly fuckers you belong with.

UPDATE: Jeremy Clarkson, a British celebrity, has brought up a likely contender for this theory: Sarah Jessica Parker. In fact, he compared her to a boiled horse. He was using her as a metaphor for an ugly Ferrari, but nonetheless, I've been proven right again.

Things I didn't know about trees

So as some of you already know, I have a job. I went for two entire months, living in my parents house, without earning a dime for the entire half of a summer. That's impressive and you had better acknowledge it because that's some straight up awesome shit.

So anyways, I work for a company called ArborCare. You may have seen their huge ass trucks driving around, with cranes a flying on the roof and leaf chippers a bouncin behind. They're pretty epic, and have giant maple leaf graphics on them, so if you remember a giant leaf-adorned truck, it's because you saw it and suppressed the memory. Now, my position with the company is one of those positions that sounds better than it is: I'm the Ground Crew assistant to the certified Arborist. What this means is while someone is up in a bucket with a chainsaw, I stand below them with a hardhat on and put 300 pound tree branches through a chipper after dragging them around. I also saw down little branches with what is essentially a saw on a stick. Sometimes I climb, but I usually get in trouble for it, and the wood beetles bite a lot.

So that's my job. Come visit me on Memorial Drive, we're trimming all the way up to 52nd.

Graph. Click to enlarge.

The profound-ness of dirty jobs

How amazing is the show dirty jobs? Let me tell you.

It's more amazing than the Eifel tower is steel. It's more amazing than Mulroney's son is a political failure. It's more amazing than Don Cherry is a snappy dresser. It's more amazing than Family guy is badly animated. It's more amazing than Nike SB is a poser branch of a poser company. It's more amazing than Andrea Bocelli is blind.

Anyways, dirty jobs is amazing. I'll elaborate later.

Fish Creek Fight Club

In Union Square, NYC, some people have organized a fight club. It's not really organized, but people show up once in a while at a certain time and beat the fear of terrorism out of each other. There's no real accurate way to pair people up so it's fair, people just seem to select a rival and fight for the hell of it. I saw a few videos of people with actual martial arts skills fighting each other in an intense flury of fists, and I saw lanky emo japanese kids fight each other while smoking a cig.

So here's the plan. I want to start a fight club, except it's going to be in fish creek, and it's going to be during park hours. Here's the rules.

1. You can talk about fight club, because we always want new people. It's not illegal unless someone presses charges, but if we're doing it in a public space we can totally get in shit. Joint responsibility is the way to go. So rule number one is: Talk about fight club, but only to people who will participate.
2. Since this could conceivably turn into a gang war, Only bring one friend per night.
3. I want to discourage a ton of spectators, because that would only get in the way. If you're going to spectate, you pay 2$, which will be used to provide bandages and possibly for some cash we can use on liquor. Spectators pay, fighters don't.
4. No drunk fighting. If you can walk in a straight line and do a somersault without losing your balance, you're too sober enough to fight. Drunk people feel no pain, get emotional, and ruin fights. No drunk idiots. Baked is fine. No shrooms either.
5. It's fun, don't make it a grudge match. No revenge fighting, or fighting in anger. This is fun.
6. Both fighters must agree to the fight, no shame in refusal. Since we cant match people by skill, this will do.

So anyways, being a huge pacifist has made me a pussy, so I think this could actually be a good time. Anyone up for beating the shit out of each other in Fish Creek Park, comment on the post. If no one does it I'll just go down to the park every day and shadow-box until someone fights me.

Calgary Fight Club

In Union Square, NYC, some people have organized a fight club. It's not really organized, but people show up once in a while at a certain time and beat the fear of terrorism out of each other. There's no real accurate way to pair people up so it's fair, people just seem to select a rival and fight for the hell of it. I saw a few videos of people with actual martial arts skills fighting each other in an intense flury of fists, and I saw lanky emo japanese kids fight each other while smoking a cig.

So here's the plan. I want to start a fight club, except it's going to be in fish creek, and it's going to be during park hours. Here's the rules.

1. You can talk about fight club, because we always want new people. It's not illegal unless someone presses charges, but if we're doing it in a public space we can totally get in shit. Joint responsibility is the way to go. So rule number one is: Talk about fight club, but only to people who will participate.
   
2. Since this could conceivably turn into a gang war, Only bring one friend per night.
3. I want to discourage a ton of spectators, because that would only get in the way. If you're going to spectate, you pay 2$, which will be used to provide bandages and possibly for some cash we can use on liquor. Spectators pay, fighters don't.
4. No drunk fighting. If you can walk in a straight line and do a somersault without losing your balance, you're too sober enough to fight. Drunk people feel no pain, get emotional, and ruin fights. No drunk idiots.
5. It's fun, don't make it a grudge match. No revenge fighting, or fighting in anger. This is fun.
6. Both fighters must agree to the fight, no shame in refusal. Since we cant match people by skill, this will do.
   

So anyways, being a huge pacifist has made me a pussy, so I think this could actually be a good time. Anyone up for beating the shit out of each other in Fish Creek Park, comment on the post. If no one does it I'll just go down to the park every day and shadow-box until someone fights me.

Ghost Story: part 2

In the last moments of the first part of this story, we were about to hop out of the car and face our destiny. The forest was dark, the forest was scary, the trees were also scary. Thus, we exited the tiny vehicle and set off towards the normal looking farm house, apprehensively but still curious. The house was a two story victorian style with one of those wrap around decks and some nice gables on what remained of the second story, but there the similarity to a This Old House project ended. Actually, in retrospect, this could very well be featured on This Old House, because the entire back half of the house was destroyed, and sunk into the basement.

Of course, an exploded house that is rumored to be haunted and turns out to actually exist is quite a shock. This wasn't simply a collapsed house, it was charred and shattered, boards were broken and splintered from what looked like the old kitchen in a clear radius of absolute houseplosion. We stepped closer and closer to the mess, avoiding splinters and thistles, until we could finally see directly into the old house's basement. The boiler was clearly visible through a hole about 10 feet by 8 feet, and it was through this hole that we shone the flashlight first.

Directly onto a pair of eyes.

Several minutes later, after a brisk sprint to the car and a change of pants, we rallied our spirits and several extra pen-lights and cautiously tip-toed back to the scene. The aforementioned eyes were no longer there on second glance, but this only added to the mystery. Was the creature watching us from farther in? Was it waiting behind us? Was it about to steal Melissa's car? We had to find out. Slowly but surely we climbed into the gap, down into the icy basement, full of lichen and windblown pine needles. The basement was quite a bit bigger than it appeared, and in its day the house itself must have been a fine place. Now it was a forest of fallen beams and pipes, with danger around every corner.

Shoulder to shoulder we crept further into the crypt, until we came up against the wall the boiler was resting against. With one final triumphant sweep of the flashlight, our exploration complete, we were greeted by the same dull glow of eyes. Except instead of the pair that surprised us the first time, our beams were met by 10; no, 20 eyes, all focused dully at our frightened teenage bundle of scaredy cat-ness. With trembling hands we shone the lights further on and were greeted with the biggest shock of our lives:

Cows. Over a dozen. They must have wandered into the basement. Case closed.

The Least Windiest City in Canada

kelowna, BC

it has an average wind of 5.4 km an hour. this is where i intend to live one day.

what is calgary the best for?

the sunniest winter in canada: average 366.2 hours of sun. even though that sun can sometimes be while its minus 20 degrees.

calgary also has most sunniest days year round, most sunny days in cold months.

victoria, BC has the lowest snowfall

medicine hat is the sunniest year round

prince rupert was the rainiest place in the country to live.

i hate wind.

farewell

An Idea that will never be proven wrong

SI was just going to write this in a comment to Graham's last post, but then i decided it was deserving of it's own post. Graham talked about connecting his idea of 'the absurd' to the particle theory of matter. I don't know anything about science (and i am quite proud of my 14 percent in chemistry 12... which i blame on Josh Mann), but i do realize that good philosophy needs to be based on science.

Immanuel Kant, who was a philosopher/political theorist/ racist german/ genius, put forth some really good ideas. His political theory often rested between a battle between the individual and the state. How can you be an individual, when you need the state to protect you? How can we have an orderly state, when everyone wants to be an individual?

In answering these problems, he based his theories on Newtonian Physics. At his time in the late 1700's, it looked quite clearly that Newtonian Physics explained the universe perfectly. His ideas were held in high esteem, until about 1898 when science similar to Einstein's relativity, proved that Newtonian Physics did not explain the world in a universal way; rather everything was relative. We haven't disregarded Newton's theories, rather we just accept the fact that there are 2 good scientific ideas.

Most people looking for a grand unification theory (a theory that combines Einstein relativity and Newton), want to go to something along the lines of quantum mechanics (or string theory or something like that). We live in really weird times because we don't have a science that explains our world universally anymore. Rather, everything has to be a dualism between these two competing views.


I don't remember where i was going with this.

Obligatory random philosophy thoughts

I started writing out this school of philosophy called "adjectivism". The name I chose had absolutely nothing to do with the adjectivism found on the many results on google, and in fact, was a pointless school of thought that I was playing with for one reason only: it had everything to do with language. I wanted to use language as a basis for an entire school of thought, because language is after all one of our defining features. Unfortunately I lost interest in it, but today I was randomly reading some existentialist stuff (just Albert Camus, and no, not L'etranger (the outsider)) and it hit me that I can simply use adjectivism as a little mini-theory in the greater whole of the works.

What I was writing today was completely related to cyclical reality; a term I use to describe the truth that everything returns to its place, and everything is connected. This is not new. At all. What I was interested in was applying Camus's idea of the Absurd to the cyclical view of the world. He says that the absurd becomes apparent at any point of a persons life, and can be triggered by a random event. I know exactly when mine happened, and it's a shockingly stupid story. I was watching a Sugar Ray music video (I'm so sorry) and there was one line that went "my mother god rest her soul". After hearing that line I became, for the first time, aware of the mortality of my parents, and through that I had a horrible realization myself: I was going to die at some point. I was thirteen years old so this thought was quite a shock. Everyone says and sort of knows that they're going to die, but for some reason I went into a blind terror that lasted about a day. I couldn't eat and I couldn't sleep and everytime that fucking sugar ray song came on I freaked out and couldn't hear it anymore. It was like that earlier short essay I wrote; I felt like I was on the edge of a cliff. That was my first experience with the absurd.

Anyway.

The absurd, in the philosophy I've been working on, is the arrows that connect the elements of a cycle, or the borders on a map, or the lines on a chart. Like a particle of matter you can continue breaking things down until, like atoms, you're left with "The God Particle". This hasn't been discovered yet, but apparently we're close to finding it. So the way I want to formulate this philosophy is in direct relation to particle physics and will revolve around dissecting each segment of an absurd thought down to it's components so the true nature of emotion and thought can be analyzed, or at least in my own head. I can't say if what I'm writing or thinking will do anything for anyone else, but self analyzing is incredibly fascinating to me.

And I came up with the name "psychological Divisionism" after the artistic movement Divisionism. More on this later.

Thinks I learned from retail, ie conversion rates and pimpin ho's

Retail is really stupid. You're payed to be a middle-man, essentially. But I don't give a shit because it's easy, and I don't have to do any bending or lifting or running or hammering or kick-pressing or steel tempering. Or even sod laying. So right off the bat I prefer retail to every other single job I've had.

But customers are the problem. With the exclusion of the rare friend who visits me at work I think the people who shop at HMV may be a separate species... possibly half person half anteater. Or perhaps part armadillo. There are really very few people who come into the store that you cant categorize as one of the following:

Emo kid
This is such an easy one. Emo kids and record stores go together like emo kids and a human sized blender, or in simpler terms, completely fucking naturally. We allow loitering, and anyone who's met an emo kid knows that loitering is the national sport of the emo nation. Having bangs fucking with your depth perception may also be a factor, and loitering will eliminate any chance of bumping into something, or accomplishing something in their worthless lives. The term emo kid encompasses emos from age 12-50. Emos. Gross.

Stupid bitch with a stroller
First of all, lose some weight. Second of all fucking ziploc your kid, or better yet, wear a condom. Strollers are like parade floats, gigantic, annoying when you're trying to get somewhere fast, and are a massive magnet for pedophiles. One woman with a stroller blocking one isle pisses off at least 20 people who would have bought something. As my first manager at HMV once said "if these stupid chicks with babies fuck up my sales one more time I'm going to nerf gun their babies back into their baby-holes".

Person who has apparently never shopped before
Detecting one of these is easy. They will walk up to you and say

• Can you look things up? Like to see if you have them?
• Do you have a gospel section?
• Where are your DVD's?
• Anything that could start a conversation, ie their kids, pets, diseases

Occasionally they won't say anything, but they will pay in exact change. Let me break something down real simple for all the readers of this blog. Cashiers are 200-100000 times faster at counting change than you will ever fucking be. I don't like to toot my own horn (that's a lie) but I can count change faster than most people realize they even need any. And so can anyone who's worked cash for more than 6 months. Counting your pennies is not saving me time. It's making me furious. So furious that I'm going to do what I usually do when that happens, and mark your receipt as non-refundable. And then kill your family and burn your house down. Exact change is for chumps.



The next category I will treat with care because I have serious issues with people who discriminate against the group I'm about to talk about, but it's a problem nonetheless.

Handicapped people, specifically the people who are either their relatives or caregivers.
I write about some offensive stuff that can be seen as sexist or racist, but you will never read a sentence that bashes people with disabilities. People who pick on the disabled (CARLOS MENCIA) aren't worth anyones time, and should be ignored. The problem arises when irresponsible family members think that we have enough staff to accommodate their relatives or friend's special needs. We simply cant. During Christmas we had to close transactions on a till because we're not allowed to say "no" to a sales related request. If someone wants to listen to 10000 CD's, and they happen to be disabled and are unable, due to their condition, to see that it's busy and a lot of people will be inconvenienced, that's everyones tough luck. During the day in question, because of one person and his caretaker, lineup time was just under an hour. AN HOUR. TO BUY A CD. It just doesn't work. We're kind people at HMV (another lie, with the exclusion of the incredibly cheerful Jordan Hunter), but when the same kid comes in every week causing massive, MASSIVE delays because his sister wont monitor him, you'll understand if we get a bit frustrated with the system. I guess the solution is to have more people working, but that just doesn't seem possible in the job market we're in. So it has to be said. And HMV wont shell out for more people even if there were people to be had. Damn limeys.

Last but not least: scavenger hunters.
This isn't a cute term. Every weekend there are literally dozens of kids whose parents think a nice mall scavenger hunt will keep their kids occupied. We don't babysit. And 1000 kids running in the store and not buying shit throws off our sales figures (conversion: sales/number of customers that day). When our conversion drops our manager gets gangraped by the HMV VP's. If you're so uncreative that you have to send your kids to the mall, the place that every kid spends grade 7-11, then you should have your kids taken away. I guess it all goes back to how shitty playgrounds are now. So fuck you city of Calgary, get rid of these metal playgrounds and put the wooden ones back so smelly dirty children will stay the fuck out of my hair on a busy saturday. Seriously. Go to laser quest you little pussies.

Thank you. I'm sure there will be complaints on this one, please direct them to comments so we can do what we normally do which is not very much.

Plan for a Potential Road Trip to Bring Marc Home to his Rightful City

Day 1

The tentative plan is to leave Victoria on the 23rd. We will head to Vancouver and spend the night in downtown. We might try and watch some hockey games at a pub, or just wander around the streets of Vancouver. There are many great restaurants in Vancouver where you can get cheap meals. 5 or 6 bucks for a plate of dinner. We will get some sleep and be well rested for the next day.

Day 2

We will begin heading East and ascenting into the infamous Rocky Mountains. We will see many large cities such as Kamloops and Kelowna; Chilliwack is a good place to stop for a mid-morning snack. We will survive most of this day on a diet of Tim Hortons Coffee and Tim-Bits. Eventually we will arrive in Salmon Arm with uneasy stomachs, where we will stop for Day 2.

Day 3

We will venture even further East into the vast Wonderland known as the Interior. By this time, Graham will be on my nerves very much and it is likely he will be left at a Gas Station in Kimberley or Fernie (these details are still a little fuzzy). We will stop by the McDonalds in Canmore for our last meal on the road. We will reach the maximum altitude of our trip approximately 20 kilometers past Canmore. Then a rapid descent will be made into the Foothills which signify the beginning of prairie civilizaition. We will drop Graham's articles off at his house, and tell his parents he did not make it. Then i will venture over to Albert's to talk about hockey, Worms Armageddon, the Chuck Kobasew Sweepstakes and good roles for Sean Bean to play in upcoming films.

Woman has nipple ring removed by pliers, is unhappy

I recently watched a news article about an obese Ontarian who wanted nothing more than to fly, but because of her large (and I presume, really gross) nipple rings, she was detained. And by detained, I mean they yelled at her and laughed at her while she reached into her shirt and attempted to take them off. Alas, being unable to remove them, a male security guard used pliars to remove them.

As an advocate of nipples in general, this is disturbing to me. Nothing is as beautiful as a nipple. If Monet and Picasso had had a plentiful source of nipples and weren't bound by society's nipple-fear, I'm sure the MOMA and guggenheim would be full of abstract or impressionist nipples. Nipples in multiple colors, nipples with odd brush strokes, nipples made of marble and bronze. A nippleopolis of epic proportions. In fact I propose a national nipple appreciation day, to start on the first day of winter, when the cold winds will ensure that all nipples stand at proud attention. Male and female nipples will co-exist in firm harmony for a day, and perhaps through this symbol of nipple solidarity the barriers of sexism will fall, like a nipplevalanche, or perhaps a nippleplosion.

Nipple nipple nipple.

Ghost story.

I have one ghost story. Just one. But it's totally awesome, and I realized recently that I haven't told it enough.

It starts on a chilly night in October. The year was 2002, and I was fifteen years of age, just coming into my own. But it was not to last. Here is a story of such terror and scariness that your pants will wet themselves.

Jason, Karen, and myself (names changed to preserve their sanity) were all sitting in the petland staff room, enjoying a nice dixie cup of coke and a nice dixie plate of pizza, when our co-worker dropped a bombshell. She stood up, and declared, in a voice both haunting and slutty, that she knew of a haunted house we should check out after the staff meeting. Being fifteen, and surrounded by 17 year-olds who for reasons of youth I thought were totally rad, I agreed to come along. Also we went to wendy's.

So there we were, 3 of us packed into her small sunfire, her smoking, jay getting stoned, me eating chicken and getting stoned and smoking, and all three of us soaring towards our imminent destruction via ghost. Down the snowy roads we travelled at speeds in excess of 60km/h, until we reached our destination. Those of you from the woodlands/far SW of calgary will be familiar with which I speak: I speak of the one lane bridge that used to go over fish creek at the bottom of the valley, which has since been replaced by a modern overpass high above the mysterious trees of the dreaded fish creek provincial park, and the terror of the Tsu-tina native reserve. This bridge was only wide enough to let one car through, but there was one thing about that bridge that was even scarier: a tiny little road, barely more than a path, bordered by a fence made of what appeared to be human skulls, but were in fact chunks of white rock stacked to form a little barrier. I drove past this numerous times, always curious as to what lay beyond that grim sentinel. Alas, that night I would find out what was hidden down that dark path.

The sunfire creaked and moaned as it traversed the rutted and overgrown trail, as if protesting the coming destruction that awaited us all. It's 1.4 litre engine quaked and fidgeted under the throttle, urging us to go back. But three stoned teenagers are a force to be reckoned with, and onwards we went. We drove for what seemed like hours, the road wouldn't let us over 10KM/H, and we went so far that soon the lights of the metropolis of woodbine were far in the distance. We had long since left the borders of calgary and had crossed over into the mysterious lysol scented forest of the reserve. Dark trees, with dark limbs and roots beckoned us onwards, until we reached our final destination, innocuous but horrible, innocent but terrifying.

We had arrived in a clearing, about the size of a cul-de-sac, bordered on all sides by lichen covered pine trees and poplar leaf covered poplar trees. It was a normal looking field, dead leaves and dead grass, some rocks, and an abandoned farm house. This, as Karen or whatever the fuck name I made up to protect Melissa's privacy had told us earlier, was the haunted house. The story goes, this place used to belong to a farmer who emigrated here at the turn of the century. He farmed happily for 40 years until one fateful night his stove had a gas leak, and destroyed the back half of the house, killing his wife and 14 year old daughter. As we piled out of the car, our fates in our hands...

TO BE CONTINUED

Great Depression Round 2

Earlier this week, the Toronto Sun published an article by a second tier (non-blogger) journalist, about the possibility of another Great Depression. Linda Leatherman presented an interesting article identifying recent trends in economics, and relating these events to events that happeneed leading up to the Great Depression.

I have heard a lot of crazy conspiracy theories lately. In my hostel it seems every hippy is well equipped with 2 or 3 unique conspiraces. That is why hippies are interesrting to talk with, they never have commonplace ideas, they always try to take the craziest point of view that society will allow them.

But whats separates Lisa Leathermans views from crazy hippy views? Why does Lisa Leatherman get published by the Toronto Star, yet these hippies clean toilets in the hostel for 24 hours a day (seriously).

I don't know. But i do know that i would love for the Great Depression to take Place. Everyone would be mumbling and crying over lost money and think that their way of life had been destroyed. While i would be fine because i have no money or family or mortgages. So if the Great Deporeession reads my blog, i would encourage he or she to come soon, and not way for several years and make my life difficult.

thank you. And I'm sorry that all of our history textbooks have painted you to be such an evil being.

800 pound man tries to go on date... and fails

Two years ago Manuel Uribe was over 1200 pounds. Since then, he has lost an amazing 400 pounds. March 10th was Manuel's Girlfriends birthday. To celebrate, Manuel decided to celebrate and deviate from his diet a little. "We were going to celebrate that I've been losing weight for two years ... and fulfill my dream of taking my girlfriend out to eat."

Like any good male, Manuel had the date all planned out. But not just in the sense of the typical flowers or chocolates; Manuel had many other resources to fulffill. Firstly, he needed a forklift and a flatbed rig to get him to the date. At first everything was going well. Manuel was set to meet his date at a picnic in the city of Monterrey, California. His bed, with him in it, was placed on the back of the rig and he was set to make it there on time.

(One might be guessing that this article is leading up to a "wide load" joke. ) However, it was not the "wide load" that prevented Manuel from getting to his date, it was a height restriction. Unfortunately, the frame of his bed (why didn't you take the frame off Manuel?) hit an overpass about halfway to the date. Manuel escaped without any injuries, but doctors concluded that his blood pressure was too high to go on the date. Fortunately for Manuel, 12 news reporters were there to capture this event. Thus, providing people across America, as well as Manuel's date, for the reason behind not showing up. It's always good to have an excuse.

I have a theory on this. Manuel didn't want to go on the date, and manufactured this story and sold it to newspapers and bloggers across the country, just so his date wouldn't feel bad about his not showing up. Congratulations Manuel, you have joined the club of 'self absorbed males'.

The real question that comes to my mind, is how can Manuel get a date, yet i still can't. Cindy still isn't returning my calls, but that could be because she doesn't exist. I was forty minutes late for a date the other day with Ashleigh Bowers, and the girl ended up being a huge boring-bitch the rest of the way through it. Eliza won't pick up the phone when i call her. The other day i text messaged her and asked if she wanted to hang out at the video arcade on friday night. She didn't get back to me... i guess she's just a lesbian or something. Yet as i write you this article from the computer lab at Uvic, a brownish girl has sat down next to me. Who knows?

The Politics of Cool

Earlier this week, Rolling Stone Magazine announced that they would put Barack Obama on next month's issue. This is the first time that Rolling Stone has ever made a cover story out of a nominee for the leader of a party. In the past, they have made cover stories out of Democratic Presidential candidates. But 'the curse of the rolling stone' proved fatal for both Al Gore and John Kerry. Obama will get his issue now, and it would not be surprising to see him get another cover story, during the weeks leading up to the presidential election this Novemberish. Obama has a knack for capitalizing on crowds that are unable to think for themselves. Earlier in January, he got the free-spirited Oprah Winfrey to tour on his campaign trail, and also appeared on Oprah's show, where she fully endorsed him.

Even the elderly Hillary Clinton is trying to find a way to reach out to crowds that are outside her demographic . Last Saturday she made a small cameo on SNL. Lorne Michaels (el presidente of the show) thought it only fair, because he had Barack Obama on the show back in November.

Get with the times Hillary. SNL is so last november. People of today read rolling stone magazine.

Even with Barack's appeal to all these forms of 'cool' media, the race does not seem to be over. Anybody that has followed the Democratic election (meaning anybody bored out of their mind, who has a full selection of cable channels, yet out of complete disrespect for their own intellectual well-being, decides to watch CNN), has been told several times that election is nearly over. All of January, we were told that Super Tuesday (in early February), would determine the Democratic nominee. When that didn't pan out, CNN told us it would be the next state election. And when that didn't pan out, they said it would be the next one; and this pattern continued for quite a while. Well, there have been numerous state elections, and CNN has been wrong numerous times. But for some reason, i keep tuning in.

This is very reminiscent to the 'kiefer Sutherland effect'. Anybody that has watched the tv show 24, knows that at the end of every episode, there is a delightful cliffhanger and then footage from next weeks show. If you own the dvd's, you have no choice but to watch the next show immediately. If it's on cable television, you book off your next tuesday at 9pm. I fell under the spell of the 'Kiefer Sutherland effect' during my final exams at the end of my second year at Uvic. I awoke in a daze, back in calgary, having done very poorly on many of my exams.

After having been decieved by CNN for so long, it has become clear that the democratic nominee will not be decided in any of these state elections. Rather it will not be determined until the convention in August. This will prolong the Democratic race for quite a while longer, while the Republican race seems to be finalized with McCain. Will the longer battle between Hillary and OBama help the Democrats by providing them with more media? Or will it give McCain the chance to build his Republican profile, while the Democrats are still fighting amonst each other? It's too early to tell. But the moral of the story is, don't let CNN tell you anything, because it's beginning to come clear that CNN is even less reliable then Fox. And at least Fox takes a break from it's political news, to bring you quality television like the Simpsons.




Let me get all the politics out of me. Alberta Media tells Albertans that Stelmach is going to lose. They trash his name and drag it through the dirt. They do this all the way up to the day of the election. Yet in the end, Stelmech comes out with an even bigger majority than Klein got last election. How could the media be so wrong? Isn't the media like science in that it's always right? Was Graham Krenz conducting the polls?

Look at Michael Moore's movie Farenheit 911, which came out the summer before the presidential election in 04. Before the movie came out, the polls showed the democrats were ahead of the republicans in the presidential race. Some claim that the movie Fahrenheit 911, got all the right-wing voters worried, so they turned out in bigger numbers to support Bush. I don't buy that, but i do find it fascinating that Bush somehow won that election, amidst the propaganda film that Moore shoved out at the same time.

Trapped on a desert island - New school bitches

Since before society, when man had just discovered the magic of islands, the question was posed: what the fuck are we gonna do once all the motherfucking boats be sunk? The answers given to that question are both fascinating, boring, completely unrealistic, and lets be honest, not as cool as the answers I'm about to give you. Why are my answers better? Because my first name is Graham and my last name is Krenz and that's all you need to know. Jerk.

Here's what you need to bring to a desert island:

A fleshlight.
Ya. A fake vag. You're on an island, in case you weren't listening. You're surrounded by water, and the only thing you're going to be banging otherwise is a coconut or a dolphin. Now, I may be speaking from experience when I tell you that coconuts are terrible to make love to (not to mention a laxative) but can you imagine nailing a dolphin? They kill sharks. Because they feel like it. Try sticking your sea cucumber in one of those pelagic bitches. So really, your only choice is a fleshlight.

A subscription to National Geographic.
If any bunch of people know things about things, its the people who know things about things who work for national geographic. They strand themselves routinely on islands for fun, much in the same way dolphins take spearing penalties to beat the shit out of sharkfish, which pretty much makes them the authority on surviving island shenanigans. How you will get this delivered to your island is up to you, I'm not a scientist, or a deliveryologist. Maybe you can train jellyfish to bring them to you. Stop being so demanding.

A shitload of weed.
An island. A tropical island. You're already in a reggae video, minus the hot bitches with weird hair and huge asses, so you might as well be stoned for the entire 30 year duration. You can even use a dead dolphin as a bong if you pack the blowhole just right (after you've had sex with it, of course)

A pogo stick.
Spear fishing would be made a lot easier if you could strap a pointy thing to the bottom of the pogo and bounce about in a murderous and I'm sure hungry (and I'm even more sure horny) state of rage. Those little swimming bastards wont know what hit them until you crush their skulls with a battle cry of "WHEEEEEEEEE!". Lets face it, fish are assholes. You'll have no trouble killing as many fish as you have to if your conscience is as wrecked as mine is (due to Nelly Furtado's shift from pretty Canadian princess to Timbalands blowjob-monkey) and they're high in protein to boot.

That's all you need! And for added fun, get stoned, tie the fleshlight to the pogo stick, and bounce around getting off to the tribal ladies in national geographic. You'll forget you're on an island at all!