Anyone who reads this page at all or has read it at all ever will realize one underlying fact about me: I'm lazy as shit. Herego, the fact that my templates have all been deleted by one of the many formats of my irritatingly unreliable computer should be an immediate and excellent clue as to why this particular update is showing up on my old-fashioned template. Fear not: I still have a wealth of free time, so I'm gonna completely rehaul this place in short order. For now, enjoy the wonders of PageBuilder as I put them through my own personal swan song, which incidentally sounds a lot better with decent musical backup, I must say.
No, don't worry... I'm not going to turn this into some sort of LiveJournal thing where I subject you to a numbing litany of my current musical selections. For one, it'd get tedious.
Secondly, you don't care, I don't care, nobody cares. Let's just get on with the column dealy, eh?.
Hmm. In the off chance that you do, since my November update, I have: worked. This is part B of the me doing nothing equation. I had a grand total of 2 off days between December 7th and January 7th. This doesn't include holidays, but needless to say, I've worked in all the doing stuff I could, resulting in a sordid little mess of video games, drug use, and the occasional midnight walk. Well, there were actually plenty of those... I go to a donut shop now rather habitually, for the purposes of random conversation and delicious, delicious blueberry fritters.
So anyway, yeah. I've been at good old Lean's far too much for my own good, and can only conclude I have some sort of obscure attachment to the damned place. The third factor: all my friends are entirely too conscientious as students for their own good. Assuming I'm not at work, they 're usually studying. So nuts to my assmar, social life, and everything else. That more or less sums up my current boredom streak.
The only things that had to worry were the hot dogs. The many, delicious hot dogs.
So anyway, before they fervently promised to get me in if they got in, a vow which lasted roughly as long as it took them to turn around, we talked about things, in particular the still-simmering hubbub of September 11th. They were pretty hilarified to hear that we Canadians think we're important enough to be targetted by terrorism. I was also hilarified. Now we were twins!
Unfortunately, our twinhood was quickly ended when the bouncer let them in, leaving me to freeze my ass off an additional half hour until one of the promoters came out saying he had a ticket to sell. I pounced, and after being told to go wait at the end of the half-hour long line, finally got in. As an added bonus, they stole my keychain cuz it had a blunt pocketknife.
So anyway, ,I got inside, and after only a little talking and dancing, began to regret not eating dinner. Yes, I did all this fun stuff on an empty stomach. Thus began my descent. I had to keep eating stuff intermittently every 25 minutes or so to stave off death by low blood sugar, a situation which contributed noticeably to me being tired. On the upside, I learned a valuable lesson: never go to a rave after skipping dinner.
Anyhow, after another few hours, which included some nifty hard trance, some shittty hardcore I couldn't possibly keep up with in my weakened state, and an Ike Turner/Shaft crossover who did his darnedest to get girls to strip onstage, I decided to leave. Which was exactly when my calves decided to cramp up.
Faced with this delightful new wrinkle, I hobbled my way along the deserted Gardiner Expressway, devoutly hoping to avoid everyone. At one point, it got so bad that my quadriceps started aching as though they were being stabbed, and I had to sit down. Thankfully, ,a little on-the-spot massaging in front of the Ex equipment yard worked THAT little kink out, and I was able to limp my way onto the fairgrounds. This was a mistake.
The Ex is well lit, features wide roads, and almost no traffic. I say almost because there were two cars: one that went past, ,and one that decided it would be fun to follow me. This fuckball trailed along after me for about 10 minutes as I lurched across the flagstones, unable to move at any appreciable speed cuz my legs were so tired, but scared shitless by my pursuer. This bastard would creep up to within about 25 feet of me, and then turn into a parking lot, circle around it, and resume the chase. He did this three or four times before it truly freaked me out, at which point I went into a truly heroic impression of Joseph Mazzello from Jurassic Park and did the ol' fried-from-electric-fence death lurch-hop-the-hell-out of the Ex grounds. This achieved 2 things: one, I got the hell out of there, and two, the resultant surge of adrenaline and endorphins re-energized me enough to walk almost normally.
This would have been all well and good if Front Street didn't smell so remarkably like an open sewer in that area. This tasty odour followed me for the next kilometre or so as I traipsed down Front St, reflecting upon the remarkable stupidity of not calling a cab. Happily, I made it to Spadina, whereupon I was called at by no fewer than four drunk fucks, one of whom filled me in on the hockey score that night (the Leafs won 4-0! Hurrah! I didn't know, so this news bolstered my spirits and allowed me to press forth).
After passing by the exploded watermelon graveyard on Spadina, I was almost home. I got back, ate a pile of food, and collapsed into bed. Now THAT was fun.
..Sigh. On the other hand, my contemporaries and predecessors have been demanding the same for 35 years, with little to show for it. What are you gonna do, I suppose.
In other news, there will soon be Olympics. I'm a confirmed Olympic junkie, and what with this nifty Cable TV thingummy I have here, I'll probably be glued to my TV for the entire two weeks. Not that there's anything wrong with that.
As for Bonzai, I think two words sum it up rather well: Squirrel Fishing.
'nuff said.
Leave me! I must be miserable.