Well, I won't bore you all with excuses for taking so long to post another entry. You know how it goes: work work blah blah big project blah blah blah Spanish lessons blah blah computer crashes blah blah crisis du jour etc etc.

I'm like Mallus...I read everybody else's journals, and think of stuff I want to say in response, but it takes so long before I can get around to it that it seems to be old news. But now I'm thinking, who cares if it's old? I know myself, I'm happy to get a comment from anyone on anything, whether I wrote it yesterday or last year. So I resolve to do the same.

Speaking of which, I sympathize with Camille re. her reaction to the Olympics. I like watching the Olympics, personally. But I am very aware of the ridiculous level of hype generated by the media -- I just try not to let all of that interfere with my enjoyment of the drama.

I thought the men's hockey final, although exciting and entertaining, was not nearly as emotionally intense as the women's hockey final. The Canadian and US women's teams are longtime rivals who have been aiming for this showdown for years, and it is obvious that these two teams truly hate each other. Although the Americans were heavily favored, the Canadians played with incredible energy and determination, as if they were willing to pay any price to win. It's an old sports cliche, but it seems appropriate here: the Canadian women just wanted it more than the Americans.

It's interesting that the women play under rules that prohibit any bodychecking. I believe that's due to the wide disparity in ability between the good teams (Canada, USA, maybe Finland and Sweden) and the rest. I mean, some of those poor Japanese girls could get hurt. But the games are always rougher when the Americans and Canadians square off, and the girls' hockey instincts take over. It's a contact sport, after all -- pretty hard to play it properly without bumping into each other.

Anyway, the gold medal game was one of the roughest women's games I've seen, and the referee called a lot of penalties, mostly against the Canadian women. Later, the CBC broadcast team and other Canadian sports media were complaining about how unfair the officiating was, as if the mere fact that Canada got two or three times as many penalties meant the ref (an American woman) was biased. I call bullshit on that. The Canadians got way more penalties because they were being way more aggressive, and that was the whole point of why they won.

Hockey isn't everyone's kettle of borscht, but (with apologies to Camille) I really do think that its enduring popularity among Canadians says something about our collective character. We are a peaceful, deferential, conformist people most of the time, but deep inside us there runs a vein of fierceness. When circumstances tap into that vein -- in a war, for example, or when they drop the puck -- we can be as wild and bloody-minded as any Afghan tribesman. If you saw that game, and saw the look in the eyes of those Canadian women, you'd know what I mean. There was no way they were going to lose. Not to anyone.

Um. Random comments. Sean, cool pics, but what is that thing on your chin? Cindi, I can't see your new site! Waaaaaaa!! Kara and Simon got a Barcalounger? Why wasn't I told about this sooner?

Camille, the cherry blossoms are starting to come out. Soon it will be Pink Snow Season, my favorite time of year.

The Boy is attending bartender school. Ruth is still making me laugh. My back is feeling better. All in all, I can't complain. So don't ask me to.

February 14, 2002

I'm so craptastically busy these days, it's ridiculous. I start each day with a long to-do list, and by the end of the day I've crossed off maybe two-thirds of it, if I'm lucky. The paid work is boring (desktopping technical reports, blargh), and the fun work is non-paid (upgrading our professional association website).

I'm sure you've all been fretting about my health -- yes, you over there, I saw you twitch -- so here's the scoop. I've been going to a physiotherapist for a couple weeks now, for my wonky back. This guy bends and folds me, zaps me with ultrasound, and shows me what exercises I should be doing. And I do them, faithfully. Now my back feels better than it has in years. Woo hoo! All I have to do is quit smoking and get more exercise, and I'll live long enough to write all your obituaries. Ha!

The physio guy made me buy one of those big beach ball things for part of my twice-daily stretching routine. I inflated it at a gas station on the way home. Ruth took one look at me exercising on it, and immediately wanted to incorporate it into some new sexual position. That girl is sex-crazy. God bless her.

Important issue of the week: Is Liz a redneck? Let's see...on one side of the ledger, she's a Southern gal, she swears like a teamster, and she can beat up her boyfriend. The poor guy is just lucky she didn't have a hubcap in her purse.

On the other hand, her politics seem kinda pink around the edges (didn't she root for Ralph Nader?), she likes all the wrong kind of music, and she's got one of those skinhead-chick haircuts, not to mention the body art. I dunno, as much as I'd like to tease her, I'd have to say she's a punk, not a redneck.

But she's a punk who never sees her old sissy friends any more. *sob*

By the way, Kerry, I really enjoyed your past-life stories. Ruth and I also believe we keep meeting again in different lifetimes.

Seann, your running sissy is kewl. It reminds me that I have a partly-finished animation of a sissy Cinqo de Mayo parade, which I really must post one of these days. It's too cute to live.

I envy you art school types: you get to draw real live nekkid women. At journalism school, we could only write about them. It's not the same.

I agree with Camille and kara: Valentine's Day is so overblown. But I'm not strong enough or doctrinaire enough to boycott it completely. So I got Ruth a nice box of chocolates, which she fell upon with great delight. For my gift, she got us two tickets to a Canucks game. Take that, suckers! My GF rocks!

I have a lot more to say, but I just ran out of letters.

February 3, 2001

Warning: long-assed post ahead, because I don't know when to shut up.

I must confess I haven't checked in for a few days, and have just caught myself up with everyone's doings. Lots of stuff I want to respond to -- you guys have been a busy bunch. I bold-faced the names of the people I'm responding to, so if you're in a hurry, feel feel to scroll to the relevant section and ignore the rest of my wisdom.

First, I have a good news/bad news tidbit to pass along. The bad news is that I am now going to a physiotherapist to fix a twinge in my lower back. It seems that years of sitting at a computer have caught up with me, and my spine is taking its revenge.

The good news is, it's a very fixable problem and not cancer, which I had almost convinced myself it was. When I posted before about feelings of mortality, in my heart of hearts I believed I had the Big C. My mother died of cancer around the same age I am now, and with her, the first sign was a pain in her lower back (she was a non-smoker, in case you're wondering). So like a typical guy, I hesitated going to the doctor to check it out because I was afraid of hearing the answer. I kept it inside, didn't even tell Ruth, and it was messing with my head.

I finally went for a checkup (first one in six years), and was relieved to learn the truth. I also was miffed to find I have shrunk half an inch in that time, but I figure that's a posture thing related to my back. I'll astound them next time by being an inch taller.

Stuart: Assuming the throat infection hasn't proved fatal, I want to hear about the incident in the gay club, meeting the girlfriend's relatives, and the lost python. If you could weave the three elements into one astounding tale, so much the better.

Chicken Sheets: Can I call you Chick? Or should I stick with the more formal Miss Sheets until we get to know each other better? Anyway, I read your thoughts about religious beliefs, and they got me to thinking along a tangent. The way I see it, zealotry isn't always religious, nor is religiousness always zealotry. All firmly held convictions can be equally annoying, or equally noble. I respect people of faith IF they use that faith to guide their own lives, but not if they wield it as a club with which to beat non-believers. This applies to fundamentalist Christians and Muslims as well as black-clad anarchists and militant vegans. It's the reason I find most Buddhists so appealing -- they tend to follow their own path towards enlightenment, and don't sneer at the people on other paths.

Carol: It's interesting that you find your current surroundings to be a damper on your creativity. I wonder if that's a sign of the difference between writing and the visual arts. Could it be that visual artists need sensory stimulation more so than writers? I know myself, I get ideas from being around people, so to be surrounded by cultureless yahoos would just give me more fodder for social satire. By the same token, I have found that when I do work that is really mundane and non-creative, it stimulates my writing -- forcing my creativity to find an outlet, I guess. Does your muse work differently?

kara: I totally agree that art schools should force students to learn the fundamentals before letting them go off on their own creative tangents. You have to learn the rules before you can decide which ones to break, and why you're breaking them. I feel the same way about writing courses. Kids today are encouraged to "be creative" before they even know how to string a sentence together. They end up short-changed, unable to express themselves effectively because they don't have the tools.

Simon: So it's your fault the phrase "Sunnyvale Noise Sub-Element" has been showing up in my dreams? I thought I was going crazy. Anyway, thanks for the list of obscure music. I think I've seen a couple of those names, but the only one I'm sure I know is Rare Earth, which harks back to my misspent youth. But were they really Motown? I always thought they fell a little short of genuine -- kind of like R&B Lite. For the rest of your list, I'll be sure to refer to it the next time I want to return to the womb, have my bowels loosened, become frightened or queasy, have nightmares, be run over by a tractor, make my head go strange, or get to really know my household appliances.

Sean: I love seeing your rough sketches. It gives me that work-in-progress buzz. But it also reminds me of that National Lampoon spoof of many years ago, satirizing those "anyone can learn to draw" features -- you know, the ones that would supposedly show you step by step how to draw a human figure, except they'd leave out the all-important step where the lumpy bisected potato becomes a perfect reclining nude. In short, I admire your talent, and it's all completely a mystery to me how you do it.

Vanessa: I agree that pretty much every story has to have some element of conflict, where something is at stake for the protagonist (you would have known I felt this way if I ever got around to sending you those comments I keep promising; argh). Internal struggle can work as a conflict to hang a story on, but it's a lot harder to do it. If the struggle is to hang onto your sanity, for instance, well and good. But if it's just to determine what kind of person you will become, then not enough is at stake to retain the reader's interest. My take, anyway.

Nick: Re. your tale of the louts in the restaurant queue-- nothing is worse than hating yourself later for being treated like a doormat. But I think those two were doing a planned routine that they've done before as a strategy for getting served faster. In other words, you were scammed. Anyway, your story reminds me of two of the most endearing and infuriating attributes of the "typical" well-bred Englishman: a dutiful obediance to the rules of queuing up, and an aversion to making a public scene. Next time, give 'em the old German Elbow.

Kerry: Thanks so much for linking us to Kat's musings on sex. I almost pissed myself laughing. Also, I now have many more new euphemisms for female masturbation. Woo hoo!

Archiving? What's that?

January 26, 2002

I think what's missing here is that we don't respond directly to each other, not often enough anyway. We get the feeling that no one is paying attention, so why bother. I will single-handedly change that (yay Trubble!), mostly because your lives are more interesting than mine anyway.

Kara: I can't speak for anyone else, but I assure you that I have never felt offended by anything you've written to or about me. I stopped arguing about free trade because I'd said my piece, you'd said yours, and there was nothing more to add except repeating the same arguments. I know I'm not going to change anyone's mind, so I don't harp on it. I only dive back into it (e.g. on the Sissy boards) if somebody drops a real howler (like, "free trade = dead babies").

I will say one thing, though -- and this applies to several of our group, not just kara -- I often feel left out by the (to me) obscure references to current pop culture. Music groups I've never heard of, artists I wouldn't recognize if I tripped over them, that kind of thing. It's a generation gap, I tells ya. It doesn't offend me; it just leaves me with nothing to say in response, plus a vague feeling that I'm just an old fart. Bah.

Also, while we're on the subject, many of you guys are really hard to read. You know, just because it's possible to use six-point sans-serif type in dark blue on a navy background, hidden away in some pop-up box, with no paragraph breaks or punctuation, doesn't mean you have to do it. You know who you are. Or, possibly not. (Is this mike working?)

Vanessa: it's coming. Stop making me feel guilty by not mentioning it. (I'm just kidding.)

Carol: happy belated birthday. I hope you got drunk and had some hot monkey sex. It's funny, but you don't sound 31. You know, in my head when I read you.

Camille: I still think you did the right thing, based on the details you gave us. And I don't think kara intended to criticize you -- I thought she was just making an observation. But most importantly, what the hell is an Engineer Without Borders? Is that something like a Ski Hill Without Boarders? Or are they engineering students who like to get drunk and rowdy and don't believe in following any rules? In which case, that sounds like every engineering student I've ever known, until five minutes after he graduates. Whereupon he becomes as linear and boring as English cuisine.

Sean: I love your doodles. But please tell me that guy selling computer equipment on the street is not a fence. It touches on one of my many sore spots.

Kerry: I laughed out loud at your bit about conceptual art. Yeah, it blows me away how some of that crap finds a market. I don't want to reopen the age-old "what is art?" debate. I just think that, for many people, when they purchase Art, the actual object is only a small part of what they are buying. They are also buying a sense of being hip -- like, by putting down a thousand bucks for a basketball in a fishtank, they are showing they know something that the plebes just don't get. Sort of like the Pet Rock fad of the 70s: packaging is the point.

It also reminds me of Ruth's scheme to get rich quick by marketing some empty, fad-type training program to corporate executives with more money than sense. Like, the Hanging Upside Down theory of business success; only $10,000 per corporation. It could work, you know.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to go scratch my butt.

January 18, 2002

I don't want to drop off the edge of the little portal box o' colors thingie, so I'd better say something.

Vanessa, it sounds like you're continuing to write. Good for you. Don't let anything stop you, especially not your own self-doubts. Just keep churning it out. And even though you've probably already rewritten those two pieces you sent me, I still intend to give you some comments. Soon. Hopefully they will be helpful.

Camille, you did the right thing, calling the counsellor. I hope he/she is not a do-nothing type. Your friend needs to talk to somebody who can help her. But you've made that first step. Not everyone would have the guts to get involved.

I have lots of stuff going on in my head these days. I'm not sure I'm ready to talk about it. Mortality issues, I guess you might say. Not the kind of thing you kids would recognize, so maybe I'll spare you. Visiting my father in the hospital is part of it -- this man who I am patterned after, who has always been part of me, now looking so diminished, so frail. And my own body starting to betray me, whispering things to me that I don't want to hear. It sucks.

On to happier things. My daughter is becoming a babe, against my expressed wishes. Dammit. Ruth has temporarily inherited a pickup truck (Victor bought an Aztec and has parked his old wheels at our place, pending a buyer). One more reason for her students at Kwantlen to think she is the coolest.

I'd like to meet Kerry and Liz some day. You guys are a hoot and a half. Ah well, maybe in the next life we'll all be cats in some crazy woman's house.

January 9, 2002

Coming soon: archiving, a new page design, and more frequent posting. But this will have to do for now, because I'm catching a plane in a few hours.

I'm going to Winnipeg for a few days to visit with my dad. Since I last posted he had a serious relapse and had to go back into the hospital. For a short time, I had one foot out the door. It wasn't a good feeling. He's doing better now, I'm told, but I'm still going.

Camille, my sympathies on the flight trubbles. My partial solution is to never check any baggage; if I can't cram it into an overnight bag, it stays home. Of course, I don't travel with three ball gowns and eight pairs of shoes like you chicks do. Wait, sorry, I forgot I was talking to Camille. Make that eight toques and two pairs of skateboarder pants. Haw!

Speaking of New Year's Eve, this one will only make sense to Camille: Kevin's pants actually exploded. I kid you not. Apparently they couldn't take the strain at the Nickelback concert, possibly unaccustomed to still being worn while he was shitfaced.

Our New Year's was more restrained than The Boy's. Remind me to tell you about the long-haired musclebound fat guy in shiny silver pants. He was like a cross between Cher and Gorillas in the Mist. The evening also featured a brawl upstairs at the Chinese kids' party. No time to explain;must move on.

Kerry, I'm sorry to hear you lost the Battle of the Chelsea. I had to look up on the net to find what the hell a Chelsea is. I must say, that has to be the ugliest-ass haircut ever invented. But Liz is young and pretty, so maybe she can pull it off.

Um, what else? Nice to see so many of the old gang making appearances on Sissyfight these days, where I've been spending far too much time (it's therapeutic, you see). Oh, and I bought a bunch of new CDs at the post-Christmas sales. The new ones by Nickelback, Biff Naked and Diana Krall (yum!), and old ones by Leon Redbone, Django Reinhardt and Linda Ronstadt (Heart Like a Wheel, one of the best albums ever recorded, and what the hell is she doing in the Easy Listening section now? Crap on a stick!).

Last word. One of the many reasons I'm in love with Ruth. When I go grocery shopping, I often find the grocery list is almost illegible because she makes up funny names for all the food items, and scrawls amusing little drawings in the margins, many of them somewhat dirty. I find myself laughing in the canned goods section, attracting dirty looks from the old ladies.

Gotta fly. Be good, maybe I'll bring you back something.

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