Friday, December 31, 2004


I have been meaning to write this for a while, but other things have gotten in the way, like not sleeping for days at a time. Every time I have sat down to write there has been something else to do.

Max arrived at 228 am on December 24th. Anya and I stayed in the hospital until noon on Christmas Day, when we drove home with our Christmas present.

I took the week off from work to help Anya recover and to get used to the new one who now rules our schedule. As there is little else to do besides sleep and feed baby, we have watched a tremendous amount of television, mostly CBC Newsworld covering the tsunami disaster. I keep telling Anya that it does no good to watch this disaster non-stop.

Thursday, December 16, 2004

Back from the Dark

Early December has always reminded me of the assasination of John Lennon. I will always remember where I was when I learned that Lennon was murdered. I was in Vermont, where our parents had dragged us while my father was working in South Burlington. Our father was living in Burlington at the time and we were in Stowe, in an area called The Hollow

We had just turned on Cronkite at 7pm, when the phone rang. It was Teddy Grennan calling, who told me that Lennon was dead.

Last Wednesday I thought about Teddy, as the anniversary of Lennon's death always reminds me of that phone call. I searched for him in Google, managing to find one picture. But I kept looking. I searched under his cousin's name, and discovered that sadly, he had died in a car wreck in BC this last September. As sad as this made me feel, the comments left by friends and family made me feel that he had lived a great life and made so many happy.

Well, come on, I can't be cyncial ass all the time.

This weather is really getting me down. Every time I get in my car, I realize that I only ever drive during the dark, even if it is 730am or 4pm. Since I started bringing my lunch to work, I hardly ever see the outside world during the dim grey period of 7 hours that we call "daylight".

I need to get out of here, and I know that I won't be able to do it.

Thursday, December 02, 2004

I have long felt that the climate of a place breeds a certain temperament, and during CBC's Canadiana lovefest documentary, this idea was shared by Bruce Mau. He used the example of settlers digging in for their first Canadian winter. Imagine what went through their minds as the temperature plummeted to -20 and the snow never stopped for weeks?

Getting ready for winter wasn't simply a matter of stocking up on supplies. If your roof leaked or your house was not ready, you weren't uncomfortable, you were dead. Not enough food? Starve to death. Wrong clothing? Dead. Get drunk and fall asleep outside? Dead. Having your shit together was a matter of survival.

Imagine then, the relief when whitey discovered the west coast. Nothing but temperate rain forest and mild winters. Get drunk, pass out and wake up in the morning, wet but still living. Whereas the harsh winters in the East required the settlers to plan carefully and live in fear of death, the mild weather here in Vancouver resulted in complacency. A little more creativity but a whole lot more sloth.

i wouldn't trade it for anything.

Sunday, November 28, 2004

I have almost finished reading Good to Great, which contains some entertaining anecdotes about once-powerful companies which subsequently turned to dust. One such company was Bethlehem Steel, which chose to build its new headquarters in the shape of a cross, so that it could provide a corner office for it numerous VPs.

This reminded me of how when I was a child, I thought I wanted to be a "businessman". I imagined that a businessman had only to get the right education, know the right people and work at the right company and then all you had to do was show up at the office, and everything else took care of itself. As a "businessman" you made decisions that others acted upon. You didn't do any actual work, you just sat at a desk all day and received phone calls.

It turns out that Bethlehem Steel would have been a perfect fit for me at the age of 8. Alas, the business culture of the 1970s is no more, which is probably a good thing. But can you imagine the sheer joy of smoking in your workplace?

Tuesday, November 23, 2004

Bonjour le Weekend

It was Grey Cup Weekend here in Canada last weekend, with Toronto and Vancouver facing off for the oldest professional sports title in North America. The competition between the two cities sparked off the usual ridiculous comparisons between the two cities; Toronto is ugly, polluted and too focussed on making money, while Vancouver is lazy, shiftless and hopelessly idealistic.

CBC Radio was talking up the games each morning, which I listened to on my drive to work. One morning featured a city councillor from each city boasting about why their city was better. The Vancouver councillor touched on the familiar themes of Vancouver's superiority: its mountains, the ocean, the islands, the wildlife, in short, things that were here millions of years ago and have nothing do with the accomplishments of Vancouver's citizens.

This is what Vancouverites usually boast about during their endless comparisons with larger cities. But we're cleaner! We're more beautiful! Yes, but that has nothing do with you've done with your life. At least in Toronto they never had a chance to be beautiful, and are doing the best with what they have.

The game itself was interesting until late in the match, after Vancouver embarassed itself by letting the play clock run out not once, but twice on a 2 point conversion attempt, only to botch the ensuing 22 yard convert kick.

Michael was cheering for Toronto, as he wanted Pinball Clemons to win the Cup, and he wanted the Vancouver media to have nothing about which to bitch for the next few weeks, given the current stalemate in the NHL.

Speaking of the NHL, Rob predicts the players will eventually capitulate under financial pressure. Going from $5 million a year to nothing is quite a shock for someone with a grade 9 education, and many of the players are just "one bad restaurant chain away from bankruptcy."

The Vancouver media has indeed run out of things to talk about, so they are making small issues into class and race wars. One friend of ours was on the radio defending the condo owners who led the charge to enact the odor law. He deftly avoided the interviewers attempts to portray him as a racist, stating that it's not the kind of food odor, it is the intensity and the duration of the nuisance. The interviewer thanked him at the end of it, and Ken, in his posh English accented muttered only one word, "right".

Monday, November 15, 2004

Ha Ha!

Thursday, November 11, 2004

Sorry about the delay. I wrote earlier about July being a busy month, but October was even worse. Anya and I began the renovations on our new East Van slum, in an effort to turn it into a decent family home. I even took a few days off work to do menial labour, as I don't like to pay trades people their hourly rates to take out trash. Leave that to an expert like me, who has acutally worked as a "garbologist".

As expected, the plumbing and electrical ended up costing way more than we forecast, which required us to leave the basement unfinished. That leaves us with the equivalent of a 900 square foot appartment with a 900 square foot storage locker.

The dirtiest and most time-consuming task was removing loose fill insulation from the attic. Imagine crawling into the corners of an attic with a low, sloping roof, wearing a respirator, so that you breathing sounds like Darth Vader's; reaching with a makeshift rake to pull recycled newspaper covered in chemical fire retardant from the corners. You have been laying on the joists for so long you have 2 -inch bruises across your ribs. The goggles do nothing. The roof above your head is so close that you can feel the rusty nails sticking through scrape along your scalp as you move. Pull it all into a pile and shovel it into a garbage bag.

This was how I spent my evening in October. This was how I listened to the greatest comeback in sports history. It was work so horrible that the only people I could ask to help me were relatives, and even then I felt guilty about paying Michael to do it.

Speaking of Michael, he has a new commercial on the air, which I think is his best to date; better than the dancing tongue or the cup-chasing fisherman. He has already become tired of it, and has begun to pick apart his performance as Beauregard.


I feel compelled to observe Remembrance Day because of my grandfather, who spent 4 years on Royal Navy destroyer. Brad and I went down to the Cenotaph for the ceremony, which caused me to get teary-eyed, looking at all the old vets. I think what chokes me up is the selfless sacrifice they made for others they would never meet or know. For that, I am truly grateful.

Thursday, October 14, 2004

It's All in the Breeding

Business-savvy students at my high school's arch rival were caught selling fake $10 bills for $5. Reportedly, some grade 9 and 10 boys unloaded $12,000 of counterfeit bills, mostly on younger students. What an ingeniuos new business! Taking money off intimidated 12 year-olds and sticking them with worthless paper.

The core group has "permanently withdrawn" from the school. I am sure, however, that mainly alumni are secretly admiring the chutzpah of the enterprise; such business creativity at such a young age. The headmaster stated that at least it was for a reasonable purchase: to pay off one student's gambling debts.

Sometimes there is no substitute for "unhealthy" things. i have never found anything to replace butter. Non-chemical cleaners fail to eliminate the mold and filth that accumulates in a bathroom. The "natural" deoderant i have started using offers no protection to others from my offensive odor. I suppose it is a small price to pay for a fresh scent.

Anya and I have been working non-stop on the house we bought in East Van. I go to work , come home and then pull a short shift at the house removing loose fill cellulose insulation from the attic. Feel free to join me, if you have a preference for dirty work in hot, confined spaces.

This made me howl yesterday, but, as Stewart says, it's for all the wrong reasons.

Tuesday, October 12, 2004

Man am I tired.

Thursday, September 30, 2004

Bright Ideas, Bold Moves #13

Since my father was the more lenient of my parents, I figured it would be safe to try smoking in my bedroom when my mother was out. I just had to tell my dad I was doing my homework and then close the door. Next, I turned off the lights, opened the window stuck, my head out and lit one up.

I was required only to stick my head out the window and exhale upwards, always holding the cigarette far above the window, because the smoke would simply rise from the scene of my crime. The light was out in case he barged in and asked what I was doing, standing in a dark room by myself. The darkness would give me a split second to toss the cigarette butt into the snow.

When the lights came on , he asked what I was doing perched on the window sill and leaning my head out the window, when I was supposed to be doing my homework.

- I was tired and needed rest my eyes from the light. He was disappointed that this was the best story I could concoct. The smell of cigarettes was suddenly intense, but there was no evidence of smoking. He had nothing, and was furious. He leaned out the window, straining his eyes over the snow to spot the glowing heater, but there was nothing to be found. I had butted out the heater the instant I heard the doorknob turn.

He gave me a lecture that I was an athlete, and not just some guy who smoke, yet I maintained my innocence to the end. I felt that since I had devised a scheme to smoke in my room without producing evidence, I should thus be afforded the presumption of innocence.

I have long been a fan of Donald Rumsfeld's use of hand gestures. Perhaps the photo editors choose to publish only the photos with outlandish hand gestures, or perhaps Rumsfeld actually gesticulates wildly all the time.

Regardless, his fighting technique is unstoppable, and has now been compiled and revealed.

Tuesday, September 28, 2004

As a child, I admired Jimmy Carter, even in his goofy cardigan or crew neck sweater. Having just moved to Vermont when he was President, he was my role model for what a President should be; austere, honest, and hard working.

Soon after I arrived in Vermont, Reagan was elected. Almost overnight, everything changed. The deficit exploded, war was planned for Central America, and interest rates shot up to 18%

Carter disappeared for many years, but has resurfaced as a election observer, most recently observing the elections in Venezuela and Indonesia. He writes a compelling case about why international observers are needed in Florida this November.

The differences between Carter and the neo-con cabal currently in place could not be greater if Carter himself were from a different planet. After office, Carter ran Habitat for Humanity, and devoted himself to resolving conflict and creating peace. He could have devoted himself merely to making money, but he chose to use his power for ends other than making himself wealthier.

This is the type of rich and powerful man I intend to be, as soon as my Super 7 ship comes in; some old codger in dusty overalls and a beat up pickup truck.

Thursday, September 23, 2004

After a 2 year break, I have once again visited Back in the day, he was more of an angry young man, but I found his smarty-pants attitude towards the rave scene to be refreshing and amusing. What I thoroughly enjoyed were the rave captions, although they made me embarassed to have ever been a willing participant in that scene. I suppose I loved the site because it exposed the silliness of a huge room of really high people thinking they were on the cusp of achieving something really, really great.

Now he is a better writer, but if you scratch beneath the surface you can still feel the venom.

Wednesday, September 22, 2004

Mise au Jour

How many Magnum PI episodes included a voice over by Thomas to the effect of I know what you're thinking, and you're right? Too many, I would say, making the show often predictable, which I worry my blog is becoming. I fear that I start too many sentences with the "I"; I fear worry that the blog is boring. I worry too much.

Monday night I was worrying about how tired I was on my way to the Beastie Boys concert. I was coming down with a cold, I was exhausted from work, and the week promised to be long, painful and emotionally draining. I was actually not looking forward to a night spent in a minor league hockey arena with 12,000 drunk kids.

All my worries melted away once MixMasterMike took the stage. He played a 3 minute set that set the tone for the audience: this would be a party, so get up for it!

The Beastie Boys strutted out to start off with Root Down, followed immediately by Sure Shot. The rest of the night was filled with a few new tracks but mostly with classics, notably Time to Get Ill, Sabrosa, Ricky's Theme, So What'cha Want, Pass the Mic, Paul Revere, and the crowd favorite Brass Monkey. For their first encore they appeared in the stands only 12 rows in front of us to belt out Intergalactic. The show finished with Sabotage, dedicated to George W. Bush.

I ended up getting much sicker because I stayed out late and was stressed out from work, but it was worth it to see Mixmaster Mike scratch in synch with a DVD of Stevie Wonder playing Superstitious.

Find me a German word of the feeling of knowing you have done something that will hurt you but feeling good about it anyway. I suppose rationalization will do.

Speaking of Germans, there is now a radio in Germany that broadcasts in Klingon. Yes, a language created for a television show. I guess there are likely people who speak Orc, or Ewok or even Wookie.

Monday, September 20, 2004

Tonight we are off to the Beastie Boys, at Pacific Coliseum. This will be my first trip to an "arena" concert since I went to Tool, way back in 2001. I'll have to remember to bring a lighter, so I can hold the flame high when the house lights go down.

I will feel particularly old at the concert, since I'll be attending with my pregnant wife.

Sunday, September 12, 2004

Today I finally finished The Miracle of Castel di Sangro. It was so enjoyable to read that I was actually upset when the book ended. I rank it as the best book about soccer (or football, or calcio or whatever you want to call the beautiful game).

Honorable mentions in that category would include The Football Factory, England Away, Fever Pitch, and Among the Thugs.

It would make a great movie, although I would fear for the author's life.

Friday, September 10, 2004

Since an NHL season looks unlikely, hockey addicts should jump on the Whale bandwagon early. While millionaire fourth-line journeymen squabble over money with other millionaires, you can enjoy the passion and enthusiasm found in a hard-working 13th division. The Whale are off to a good start this year, but feel they have been put in a division too low for their calibre.

It appears that little has changed at my alma mater, a haven for those who believe that in vino veritas, and that the more vino, the more veritas. Oh, how we found the truth....

There is one problem with the pictures, as Kerry pointed out; the windows were left intact. If you are going to burn down a house, you might as well break the windows first.

Tuesday, August 31, 2004

Admittedly, I am as susceptible to schadenfreude as anyone, but I take particular enjoyment in the demise of the worlds built by pompous liars. The only punishment suitable for Lord Black is the stripping of his title and the repayment of the money, as I don't think anything else means much to him.

It's nice to find Richard Perle's name in there, too.

Monday, August 09, 2004


This is a test post from flickr, a fancy photo sharing thing.

Saturday, August 07, 2004

July has historically been a month that escapes my memory. Perhaps it's the heat, or my alcohol intake at barbecues, but i can never seem to remember what happened in July, or even that the month has passed. I still start every page in my notebook with "J", before I realize that it is August. I think the real reason is that I tend to do very little in July, or as little as possible.

This July was an exception. I remember almost everything that happened, and there was much: taking a brief vacation to do nothing but having to find a new home in 3 weeks, thus spoiling my plans to do nothing for a week; frantically searching for short term accommodation that will accept pets; frantically searching for long term accommodation that we can afford; spending every night on looking for homes and finding nothing but filthy slums for $400,000; securing a temporary home with 1 week before our move-out date (thank you Graeme); travelling to Atlantic City to discover first hand why it is called "Poor Man's Vegas"; finally grinding down the sellers of one property to accept our offer; night after night of packing our belongings; finding a mover that didn't laugh at me over the phone when i asked if they had availability on July 30; moving our belongings into storage; moving the rest of our belongings into our temporary Kits home (thank you David); winning the Mercedes at work (thank you Troy); celebrating our 4th anniversary (thank you Anya!).

Whew. Now I understand why people tell me that I need a vacation.

Friday, July 23, 2004

Spread Thin

Despite my ease at adopting a routine and settling quickly, I do enjoy making an adventure out of some of the stressful changes one has to endure. Life is either an adventure or it is nothing.

Sunday, July 18, 2004

Things I will miss about living in Yaletown:
Commuting two blocks to get to work
Coming home for lunch
Never using my car except to drive to hockey
Yelling up at Bruce's loft when i need a drink
Things I will not miss:
The noise of SUVs circling, looking for a parking spot that doesn't exist
The stench of fish wafting up from Rodney's dumpster to my balcony
The way everyone checks out their reflection in store windows
Waiting 3 minutes for the light at Davie to change
The scene in front of Urban Fare
The Cactus Club
The mix of cigarettes, vomit and urine that greets me when I step onto the street on a Sunday morning
The incredible lack of green space and shaded areas
So yes, Anya and I (and the little one inside Anya) are moving to an as yet undetermined spot on the East side.  Somewhere in the vast expanses of East Van is a patch of land for us.

Tuesday, June 22, 2004

Only a Fool Would Say That

An unusually stressful and gruelling day reminds me of a certain Steely Dan song:

You do his nine to five
and drag yourself home half alive
and there on the screen
a man with a dream

Sunday, June 06, 2004

Mea Culpa

According to the unwritten rules of hockey, it is unsportsmanlike conduct and is generally in poor taste to stuff the puck in the net at the end of a game which your team has no chance of losing. This applies especially in cases where the opposing players are merely standing on the ice, watching the time expire.

Violation of this rule subjects the offending player to taunts, threats, insults and intimidation.

Unfortunately, there is no way to get a copy of the unwritten rules of hockey.

Tuesday, May 11, 2004

Cabbage Town

We're just getting settled after spending the weekend in Toronto, having traveled there for Carrie and George's wedding. It was more like a party than a wedding ceremony, as was fitting for the couple. The reception was held at Steam Whistle brewery, where I was reacquainted with many of my former partners in crime from university. We partied like it was 1992, with much of the same company, but better food and drink,

I was worried that I would be too tired to giv'er that night because we had to wake up at 4:15 am to get our flight, and that I would be going home early. However, the night flew by, and before I knew it, it was 1:30 am, the bar was being closed and we were in a cab on the way to the after party.

Saturday we visited with Scott and Eva, and everyone went out to a Cuban restaurant, where we ate, among many other dishes, ground beef on fried bananas. Sounds vile but tastes divine.

Thursday, April 29, 2004

More from Scott: An Open Letter to William Kristol, Richard Perle, and Bush's other NeoConservative Puppet Masters

Why didn't you tell President Bush to invade Western Australia first? I've been playing Risk: The Game of Global Domination since I was eight years old and never, never have I seen someone win the game by massing their forces in the Middle East at the beginning of the game. Too many borders! Impossible to reinforce! Enemies from all directions! Australia, on the other hand, is easily conquered. Start in Western Australia, make a straight-line march through eastern Australia, then on into New Zealand and New Guinea, and finally up to Siam, sealing the entire continent and guaranteeing an extra two armies per turn for the duration of game. (Ask Secretary Rumsfeld if those would come in handy.) Once in Siam, you can leave the remainder of your provinces virtually unguarded and mass your armies of the Far East to eventually move north into Siberia, Irkutsk and Kamchatka, ultimately overtaking the entire Asian continent (seven extra armies per turn), including, finally, the Middle East. Starting in South America is okay, too, if your brat cousin Ronald refuses to play if he doesn't get to go first, and Africa will do in a pinch if you want to change things up, but you better roll some sixes, mutherfuckers, or you'll be knocked out of the game, which means you're available to do stuff like pick up the dog crap in the backyard, or wax your grandfather's back, "since you're just watching." (Thanks, Mom.) I hear that, after watching President Bush's press conference, Mr. Kristol was "depressed." If he was depressed, think about the rest of us, who weren't part of the shadowy extra-governmental cabal that helped install him in the White House in the first place. The history books will write your epitaphs and they won't be pretty:
"Neoconservatives: A late-twentieth-, early-twenty-first-century American political movement that stressed the supremacy of the American empire, but was too stupid to invade Australia first." Think it over, John Warner

Wednesday, April 28, 2004

Instant Apologist

Instant Apologist

From McSweeney's; how to make an instant Friedman column

Sunday, April 25, 2004

Party Like It's 1992

Carrie and George are getting married on May 7th, and I'll be travelling to Toronto to take part in the celebration. It's going to be more like a party than a wedding, I imagine. i lived with Carrie and George on three separate occasions in three very different places. I first shared a house with them in Lennoxville, where we were going to university. Actually, I wasn't really their roomate; my girlfriend was, but I spent most of my time there. When said girlfriend tossed me out, Carrie and George took me into their basement suite in Whistler, which they shared with a Roger Daltrey impersonator. Two years later, through an unexpected turn of events, we were all reunited again in Victoria BC, of all places, although by this time, the Daltrey impersonator had cut his hair.
Originally uploaded by andrew s.

Link to andrew s's Flickr profile Posted by andrew s from Flickr.


Saturday, April 24, 2004

After only a few days in San Francisco, my spirit is revived. I was sent there at the last minute to attend a speaking course, called Talk So People Will Listen. The course itself was fantastic, revealing to me that, yes, I do look like a stiff when I speak.

I didn't have much time to do anything but attend this course and meet up with Chris and Lu aftewards. Just feeling the sunny spring air on my skin made me feel like putting roots down there. We had dinner at Trattoria Contadina, and then rode the cable car back to my hotel.

The next night we watched Project Grizzly and laughed like hyenas at a man trying to build the perfect bear defense suit.

While leaving my hotel the next day, I spotted an enormous man emerging from the lobby. Dressed like Royal Tennenbaum, he wore a beret on his bald head, and carried a massive walking stick with an onyx sphere on the top.

You Can't Keep a Good Kid Down

From What Is Enlightenment

"One time, a student teacher from a predomninantly black school in the Bedford-Stuyvesant section of Brooklyn presented my dad with the test paper of a particularly tough fifth-grader. In every box on the mindless rote exam, the boy had carefully penned "Fuck you" in large, clear letters. My dad's eyes lit up as he said to the young teacher, "This kid hasn't been beaten down by the system yet! There somthing here you can work with!"

Tuesday, April 13, 2004

There must be a German word for it, Part 12:
"Sadness inspired from failing restaurants"

From Middlesex

Monday, April 12, 2004

1. Grab the nearest book.
2. Open the book to page 23.
3. Find the fifth sentence.
4. Post the text of the sentence in your journal along with these instructions.

I am at the office, and the only books I have are work-related. The closest one is The Elements of Style, by William Strunk Jr. and E.B. White. I keep it on my desk for reference.

The fifth sentence on page 23 reads:

"To show what happens when strong writing is deprived of its vigor, George Orwell once took a passage from the Bible and drained it of its blood."

Friday, April 02, 2004

Irvine Welsh develops his characters by thinking about the following three things:
Where they stay, who they lay, and what they play. I suppose that is how he would measure and identify a person's character in the world of junkie scammers, con-men and corrupt cops that he creates so well.

I like to look at someone's book and music collection when i first walk into their homes. If i don't see any books but a huge TV, i am likely to make some kind of judgement, no matter how hard i try to avoid it.

What I am reading at the momentL

The English
The Party Blonde

Part of Middlesex takes place during the 1967 Detroit riots, which effectively drove white people from downtown, initiating an urban rot and decay from which the city has not recovered. You can see the results of the decay on this site.

Thursday, April 01, 2004

It's often said that the olfactory senses have the stongest ties to your memory. That is how Adolf Eichmann was captured; by someone recognizing his strong odor. The smell of camphor lip balm remind me of spring skiing and early sunburns, a rite of spring, right up there with a Canadiens-Bruins first round playoff matchup, the Canadiens triumphantly pulling away in the seventh game to take the series, despite being heavily outplayed and outgunned.

Back to spring skiing. Sarah and Nic are on their annual pilgrimage to whistler, and passed through town on their way up the highway. Despite being up for who knows how many hours flying from Johannesburg to London to Vancouver, Nic was able to stay out until 2am on Saturday. We had dinner at Glowbal and then danced till late to the funky house breaks of Ben Watt at Voda.

While waiting for the opening dj to finish his set, Ben sat on a crate in the back with his chin resting on his hand. He looked so bored. But as soon as he took to the decks he came alive, inhaling urgently on the cigarette that dangled from his lips, the heater glowing with each pull.

We hit Whistler Mountain on Monday morning, and it turned into a brilliant spring day. The snow was a bit slushy, but the skies were clear and the air was warm. I realized that Carmex does not have any sun protection factor, and my lips hurt when I ate some wasabe later than night.

Vancouver moment #29

While walking home from Choices, my dog leash in one hand and my rice chocolate chip cookies in the other, I was startled by a screech coming from behind me. I turned back, expecting a kid on a freestyle bike to come racing down the sidewalk. Instead it was a tall thin woman on rollerblades, dragging her heel to navigate around my dog. She carried an iced cappuccino in a plastic cup in her left hand. When she got to Homer street, she turned right and headed down the middle of the road, against the direction of the street. There were film trucks on both sides of the street. She picked up speed and made slalom turns down the middle of the street, right into the headlights of an oncoming car, before her silhouette disappeared between a make-up truck and an RV.

Tuesday, March 23, 2004

Bavardage du Weekend

Previously on Schoolboy77: references to the urgency of booking revenue at the end of each fiscal quarter in furtherance of beating stock analysts' expectations.

Please note, these will not be seen again. Don't mistake my stillness for apathy, or my tranquility for inaction. I do what I can. I don't try to change what I can't.

This past weekend I marched, along with 25,000 others in Vancouver to express my opposition to the occupation of Iraq and to militarism in general. As usual, there were people handing out colored flyers for political parties and events from every degree of the spectrum; Ralph Nader, Free Palestine, Communist Party of Canada, the NDP and BC Healthcare Workers. Among the most thought-provoking were the Chemtrail Project and the Work Less Party. I am all for working less. In fact, i used this idea to justify collecting unemployment insurance in Whistler. Although I was perfectly capable of working, I opted to collect UI in order to create a job opening for someone else who did not qualify for UI.

Wednesday, March 10, 2004

Robert Fraser has asked me to update this blog.

Wednesday, January 28, 2004

If you have not seen this film yet, get to it!

Monday, January 26, 2004

Just what Canada needs; another rich person who wants to lead the new right-wing party. I don't think the rednecks in Grand Forks or Moose Jaw or the Pas will turn out to support a wealthy woman from Toronto. Nice publicity if you can buy it.

Last night Anya and I watched Y Tu Mama Tambien, which I had been meaning to watch for a long time. I recognized the actor who played Julio, as he was also in Amores Perros. Lately I have become fond of saying "Amores Perros" to lovesick co-workers. According to the DVD box, it means "love's a bitch". The film, however, is about 3 interrelated stories centering on love, loss, and dogs.

I am coming down with something. I need more time in the day to do nothing, which I am going to do right now.