I'm off to Fort McMurray. Seeya!

Anyway, enough about yesterday. Let us think of it no more. Remember (way back in the early days of the pooblog) for the Two Towers premiere when me and Cory got all dressed up for the radio poomotion and it was so much fun and everything? Gotthammer Mike took a photo of us and scanned it and changed it up and made it into a movie pooster. He did it for the G-Arts fest, actually, and he just poosted it at his sight, so go check it out. That's Cartoon Cory on the left, and Cartoon Me on the right.

Yesterday when I went to work at 8:00 AM I had no idea that I wouldnt be done until 4:30 the next morning. Wow. What a Day of Poo. Three moves. First one was quick, second one was a little harder, but still not too bad. That took us until 5, and then at the office the boss asked me if I would mind doing another one. Figuring it would be another three hours or so, I said alright. I just wanted to go home, but there was no one else. I asked Boss how big the move was, and I should have known it would be a big one when he evaded the question. Usually clients tell us how much stuff, roughly, and whether there will be any heavy stuff, such as appliances. Our client wanted us to move all four of her appliances, which was news to me. Very heavy, especailly since the fridge and stove were upstairs and the washer and dryer downstairs. So yeah,we finally finished up at 3:30, and then I came home and showered and went to bed. Today I am one big bruise, it even hurts to type. Seriously. I was suppoosed to go in at 7:30 tis morning but I called the Boss and said it woulnt be possible. So sore.

I was once the victim of a hoax. Back in high school me and my buddies went camping and Colin took a bunch of pictures of us. Jason told an amazingly scary ghost story at our campfire one night (its scariness factor augmented by the fact that we were all somewhat . . . augmented ourselves) about a killer dwarf who appeared in all of the pictures some campers took of their trip, even though he wasn't there when they took the pictures. And the person he replaced in each of the photos wound up dying or something. I don't recall all the details- it was 11 years ago. But it was scary.
Afterwards, back at school, Colin showed up with the pictures and they were all very cool- they were mostly of us flexing our muscles on top of the mountains we climbed. Art, in other words. So I asked Colin to take some photocopies (scanners and color printing were still sci-fi back then) and put them up in our community locker, which he was happy to do.
So I come back from class later on and everyone is crowded around our community locker, admiring the pictures. A few days later, Patrick, our perpetually dazed Chinese friend, took one look, and said, "Who's that?" He was pointing to a figure in the background that most definitely was not there when we took the pictures. All the color drained out of my face as I thought of the killer dwarf. I know it sounds silly but I was seriously freaked out. Jason and Colin let me make a fool of myself for a while before finally letting me in on their little joke- they had added the figure (actually it was just a miniaturized copy of me from one of the photos) to the photocopy- low-tech photo-manipulation.
It was a well-done hoax, espcecially for the patience they demonstrated- they didn't arouse supsicion by pointing it out to me when I failed to notice it, and they let several days pass before Pat finally saw. And then they acted just as scared as I really was. The good old days. What a bunch of pooheads.

A Little Paleontology For You
The previous poost on the Metallica Hoax reminded me of another hoax that involved the famous Royal Tyrrell Museum here in Alberta. Having just heard of it through my friend Stevey, I decided to do a little research into the matter, since what I heard is that the curator of the Tyrrell, one of the most respected paleontological institutions in the world, deliberately perpetrated a hoax. But the truth is a little less sinister. What's frustrating is all the dingle-brained creationists are treating it like a major coup for creationism, so wading through all their misguided little "Ah-ha's!" on the web to get to the truth is a little frustrating. (Those of you who know me know I have a vey deep belief in God, but I also have no time for creationists of the type who reverse the scientific method- they take a foregone conclusion and then make their 'evidence' fit.) Anyways, wha happened was a group of paleontoligists bought a fossil in Liaoning from a farmer who found it in his field, and it appeared to be a transitional link fossil between dinosaurs and birds, thus giving more weight to the hypoothesis that birds evolved from dinosaurs (a hypoothesis I am inclined to believe). The fossil was christened Archeoraptor liaoningensis and National Geographic ran all sorts of photos and articles on this major discovery.
But then it was revealed that the specimen was in fact a fusion of two different animals, and was thus a fake.
Enter the creationists, who howled about how once again evolution was dealt a serious defeat, and much finger-pointing at the foolishness of National Geographic and the paleontologists.
But the creationists totally missed the point- it was the paleontologists who pointed out the fraud after they had a chance to study the specimen, and the fraud was not perpetrated by them, but by the Chinese farmer, who was just trying to make a buck.
And as far as I can tell, the curator of the Tyrrell had nothing to do with any of it. It's funny how facts get distorted, just like with the Metallica thing. In fact, this version of the story is bound to have some fallacies in it as all the reports I found were slightly differrent.
It's been a while since I poosted anything geologically related. Now I will take off my Geology Man hat, thank you for your patience.

Wasting My Hate
For a while there my faith was shaken, but luckily I am far too smrt to be pulled in by a joke. A clever and funny joke, to be sure, but just a joke. And maybe a bid for free publicity by a small-time band. What am I talking about? The "Metallica sues band for using E and F chords" business. Blu poosted about it today on his new blog, and we had a brief MSN exchange in which I stated my thoughts that this was obviously a hoax. But I was a little worried when the article included a link to Metallica's homepage with an official press release. A ludicrous one, but if the Official Website says it, it must be true, right? But then I realized (only 6 hours later)- Metallica just totally reworked their site, and this release was still in their old stye. Ha! A fake! I went to their site from my bookmarks, rather than following a link from the article, and there was no mention anywhere of suing a band for using certain chords. Case closed. Blu, I will expect a formal apoology on your blog. Or I'll sue.
Update: I didn't even bother going to Unfaith's website the first time, but I see that they are also confirming the hoax.
And here is a link to a story on Metallica kicking ass, and Fred Durst needing to get his ass kicked. But what else is new?

I'm really too tired to poost anything, but I will say that G-Arts went really well- it was thoroughly enjoyable both as a participant and as an audience member. Umm, you should have been there. It was great. Can't wait till the next one. The End.
Seriously, that's about all I can bring myself to write right now. I'm so tired I forgot to eat supper. So I'm hungry too. And grumpy! And charming! And slightly pensive! But mostly tired.
Ok ok, let's see . . . nope. I got nothing. Sorry. Wait- I just thought of something! Oh no, never mind.
Maybe tomorrow I will be less grumpy and more lucid, erudite and intelligent.

I think I might have gotten mild heatstroke today. And I pulled a muscle in my back. But I finshed the job, dammit, like always. Hot day, hard work. But it was alright- there was a little girl there, about three years old, who was fascinated by me, for some reason. She kept calling me "Man", not like, "Hey man how's it hanging" but just 'Man', since I am a man. So I called her, naturally enough, Little Girl. She would be like "Do you want to play balloons with me, Man?" And I would reply, "I'd love to Little Girl but I can't right now." And then she would turn to her mom and say, "Can't Man play with me mama?" She was adorable.
Oh yeah and then some guys asked to borrow our dolly and when they returned it they gave us 40 little sample bottles of vodka and whiskey, 50 mls each. They were from a liquor store, I think. I hope. Not exactly sure what I'm going to do with 2 liters worth of single serving hard alcohol (my partner didn't want any of it so he let me have it all). I could throw a party I guess . . . umm no. In fact, Homie Bear, the party animal that he is, will now curl up on the futon for the rest of this fine Saturday evening and read some Harry Pootter.
Because I get to get up nice and early tomorrow morning and do it all over!

I was talking to Gotthammer Mike the other day and he says the long-awaited Seven Devil Fix CD, Lotus, will be ready at the end of August, or thereabouts. I was sort of hoping it would be ready NOW- I want my Fix fix!- but what can you do. It will be worth the wait. If any of you want to preorder it, umm, I'm sure you could wander over to his site or the 7DF site and request a copy via email. Not sure how much they will cost. Or if you are shy, you can email me and I will set it up for you. Even if I don't know you!
While I am on the topic of plugging my friend's art and other work, let me recommend you wander over to Beyond Magazine's site and subscribe. I did back in September when they started their drive, and they still have a ways to go to reach 1000 subscribers. Definitely a quality mag. And Jen Leo over at Written Road has been doing an excellent job of poomoting her anthology of women's hilarious travel misadventures, Sand in My Bra. Let's see, a friend of a blogging friend just got his book pooblished by a Calgary pooblishing house, so that is doubly cool (I didn't know about such a close pooblishing house before tonight). Check it out here. That guy's name is Adrian Bedford and he is a friend of River Selkie's.
And uh, if you want to buy MY book, well, you'll just have to wait until I write one. Maybe tomorrow.
But I do poovide some backup vocals for the Seven Devil Fix CD.

The Mother Superior is constantly vigilant
In making sure all of her nuns are all digilant
She doesn't put up with making up words
Her convent is full of grammatical nerds
So imagine the irony when she nailed up a sign
That stated her new Nunnery Rule Number Nine:
"From this point hereforeward I will severiously punish
Any of you nuns who are caught acting unnunnish!"


Notes: Severious is a word I coined when I was hitch-hiking across Canada and needed a new way to describe the excruciating pain I was often in when hiking with my backpack for untold miles, as in "I am in severious pain." You know, both severe and serious.
Digilant is a word I just made up to rhyme with vigilant. Since diligent just didn't really cut it.
And I don't know who made up the word poo but they deserve a Poollitzer.

Mama Momo
When I was in Lhasa my friends discovered an innocuous little shop on some side street that made the best momos ever. Momos are little potato balls, often with a meat center, and they are so good. What first attracted them to the shop was a funny English slogan on the window, though now I can't remember what it said. Sorry. "Flied potatomomos" or something. This shop was run by an elderly Tibetan woman, and a nun who helped her in the afternoons. They were the sweetest ladies ever. We named the elderly woman Grandma Momo, though she preferred Mama Momo, and she was always happy to see us and would often not accept our payment, no matter how hard we tried to give it to her- a few dollars to us can go a long way there. So we visited and did our best at commuicating. I always make it a point to (at least) learn how to count to ten in whatever language the country I'm in uses, so I amused her by counting to ten in Tibetan, a very difficult language. She was always laughing at us and getting us to tell her how to say words in English, then she would repeat them and giggle endlessly. Oh yeah and she was amazed at the presence of hair on my arms and . . . other places. She would rub my arms and laugh, and the nun would come and do the same and it was all quite hilarious to them. The nun even lifted my shirt to see what was underneath, which I'm pretty sure is unnunnish behaviour, but fine by me.
Here is a photo of Mama Momo, I love this picture but I can not take credit for it- my friend took it. And here is a picture of her nun helper making some momos. If the pictures don't open, just hit the refresh button until they do- my photo site has been acting pooey lately.
I bring it up because I finished reading that book I mentioned the other day about Ama Adhe, the Tibetan woman who was imprisoned for 24 years by the Communists. The cover photo on the book reminds me of Mama Momo. Although when I compare the two, I see there is really no resemblance.
I think unnunnish is my new favorite word. Hmmm . . . hold on, I feel a poem coming on . . .

All of these links pertain to goings on here in the Woods the last few days: It's a poorple poolar bear! She looks like she wouldn't mind being freed. And this is for Chogtwer, may he rest in peace: On the care and feeding of your black hole.
And for River Selkie and anyone else interested in very bad writing, the 2003 Bulwer-Lytton Fiction Contest winners for bad opening sentences of imaginary novels.

If I had a dollar for every time . . .
For the last many years I have lived very near to a little IGA that I like to patronize, often going on an almost daily basis to purchase the necessary foodstuffs to sustain me. It's not a full sized grocery megamart, yet still bigger than a convenience store, and it has decent prices. I've been going there for so long that I don't even really pay attention to what the prices are. Today I picked up a 4 liter jug of milk, like I always do, and for some reason decided to compare the prices on the two brands they offer. Turns out the brand I always buy is a full dollar more than the other brand! I can't even begin to guess how much money I have wasted by always buying that brand and not even looking at how much it costs! Probably a few hundred dollars. Poo! Oh well. Now I know.
But, I would like to indulge in a little fantasy spending spree, to see what I might have purchased with those saved dollars. Let's say I would have saved $365. If that seems a little high, I figure I buy a 4 liter jug every three or four days, and I have bought milk at that IGA for 5 years or so. So if anything, I am probably a little low. So let's say it was $400. And now, for no plausible reason that I can think of, let's multiply that sum by 10 to get $4000. Wow! Imagine what I can buy with four grand.
A house, and maybe a little motorcycle, plus some poolar bears I could buy from a zoo and set free to live at my house or otherwise just roam in the wild if they like, a round trip ticket to Antarctica, and a full year's subscription to Rolling Stone magazine.
To think I could have had all that if I had just paid more attention to the price tag on a jug of milk.

I read Mark Salzman's Iron and Silk this week- what an amazing book. I loved it and I was sorry when I finished it. It's a true story about the author's time as a teacher in pre-Tiananmen Massacre China, around 1984 or so. He writes hilarious and touching vignettes of his experiences with his pupils, as well as tales about a family of poor fishermen, and all of the martial arts and other cultural teachers that he meets during his time there. Here is an excerpt:

I enjoyed the time I spent with Pan very much, though I must admit I preferred the time he was teaching me wushu to the time he was teaching me how to teach him English. I remember with special clarity how close to madness I came the day he decided to learn how to tell time. He managed to find a broken clock, set its hands at exactly twelve o'clock, then asked me how to say what time it was. After he had repeated "It's twelve o'clock" to his satisfaction, he moved the minute hand exactly one minute forward to 12:01. "How do you say this?" he asked.

Right now I am reading a more serious book about a Tibetan woman who spent 27 years in prison when the Chinese took over Tibet. She was tortured and raped during that time, but eventually managed to escape to India. I'm only about half way through so I don't know all the details yet. It's called Ama Adhe: The Voice That Remembers. It was weird when I was in Tibet, because I have a huge love for the Chinese people and culture, and an equal love and respect for the Tibetans. In fact, the Tibetan way of life is even more admirable. So it almost bred a certain amount of cognitive dissonance, knowing what I do about the way the Chinese have treated the Tibetans. But of course, the individual people of both nations are hardly responsible for the actions of their governments and armies and such. Anyways, if you are interested in knowing more about Tibet's history regarding the Chinese occupation and the Dalai Lama's exile to Dharamsala, I recommend In Exile from the Land of Snows, by John Avedon.

It was far too hot to be lugging 5000 pounds worth of other peoples' stuff up a very long flight of stairs today. Far too hot. But work is work. Me and my coworker carried, pulled, threw and dragged all those tons in the sweltering heat for five and a half straight hours, with but one respite when we took the truck to the weigh scales to find out just how much there was. The smaller load was 2750 pounds, so I figure at least 5000 in all. More than enough. Brutal day. And I am wiped. After work we went to my coworker's favorite pub for beer and wings. Lately I have actually foresworn alcohol for the most part, but after a day like today I do not mind indulging a little bit. Some guy we didn't know decided to join us and talked incessantly to us for a while but it was okay because he brought an album of all his artwork, the native style that I love, and there were some pictures of bears that I totally dug. I might have to get a tattoo of something like it.

And I got permission to poost the compooter pixie story (anonymously), so scroll down to the original entry about my magically healed keyboard if you care to read it. And my new iamnext column is up now, too.
So Lydia, when can I expect YOUR story? ;)
Now I am going to play pooker outside on the deck with my evil room mate.

Yay! I won! I won! I won in the Worst Novel Ending category in River Selkies Bloggiversary contest. I am the worst writer of novels! Actually, I dont have to feel too bad because I think mine was the only entry in the category. Anyways, it;s nice to win, even a bad writing contest. So thank you to River Selkie. At the Woods bloggiversary poohaps I will have a contest too. Remember the haipoo contest? That was fun. Feel free to submit a haipoo at any time, by the way.

So here's the thing: the first ever Gathering Arts festival, G-Arts, is this coming Sunday, and I still have no idea what I am going to do for it. A while ago I even dreamt that it was the day and I still had nothing and I had to make something up on the spot and it was awful and terrible and everybody cried including me. I am not very artistic, especially when compared to some of the amazing folks at the Gathering, so I am thinking on defaulting to poetry. Not pooetry, since I don't know how well that would go over, but not Poetry, either, you know, like what Alfred Lord Tennyson does. Just funny little rhymes like I like to write about Homie Bear and stuff. But I want to write something new, not just rehash oldness. The trouble, of course, is that creativity is not a genie at your beck and call. You can't just sit down and say, "Now I will create something that will make people laugh and cheer!" Usually ideas just come to me and then I have to ride the wave or else whatever seedling of an idea that was there will be lost forever, flushed down the toilet into the black hole of Chogtwer, whoever Chogtwer is, probably an anti-muse of some sort. See? I have created a sentence to be proud of, by mixing no less than 5 metaphors. But you can't just say "Now I will write a sentence that will mix 5 metaphors, and will introduce some new beast into Classical Mythology." It just sort of happens.
So, now I await my muse.

Homie and His Muse

Homie was feeling sad one day because he couldn't think
Of anything that he could write that didn't really stink
He tried to write an epic poem full of gods and giants
But instead he wrote a treatise on geologic science
"Graargh" he growled in frustration and ripped up his pad of paper
He decided he had had enough and would go off on a caper
So he went down to the lake and there he saw ol' Chogtwer
Homie asked "Have you seen my muse? I think I need to talk to 'er."
And Chogtwer said, "I hate the muses! I put them in my dungeon."
This made Homie very mad so off he went a lungin'
But Chogtwer was a giant god from an ancient eon
And so he stomped on Homie Bear as though he were a peon
But Homie has titanic strength and wasn't even hurt
He picked up the very startled god and slammed him in the dirt
And looked him in the eye while he summarily dispatched 'im
Pausing just to lick his paw where Chogtwer's toe had scratched 'im
Then he went down to the dungeon and freed all the captive muses
While there he saw the power was out so he replaced a couple fuses
Calliope and the other muses were so happy to be freed
That they said to Homie Bear "We'll give you anything you need"
Homie said "If it pleases you I'd like some inspiration
To write a poem about gods and giants and their mighty conflagration"
Melpomene said "Why Homie dear it seems that you have written
An epic tale of a fight wherein a god gets bitten
All you have to do right now is go on home and write it
For poetry is a gentle thing, you never want to fight it."
And Homie laughed and smiled at this for he knew that they were right
He just had to write a poem about his Chogtwer bite
And so they all went away pleased with a job well done
A poem had been written and everyone had fun!

Well, except for Chogtwer

I know most of you probably check Metallica.com daily, so you know they have just launched a complete site redesign, but just in case you forgot to check today, I'm letting you know. I especially like how the site is skinnable. The Justice skin is my favorite- it really brings me back. Such technological advances likely won't be forthcoming here at Pooing in the Woods anytime soon, as it took all of my html knowledge to change the color of the skin from blue to green, and add that little bear sign to the left. And don't even talk to me about xml and css. I have no idea.

Good news!
This morning when I checked my email there was a story awaiting me, written bya friend, about how my compooter was magically fixed by a pixie. And somehow, by amazing coincidence or actual pixie poower, it was! If she lets me, I will poost her story for all to read, but for now, let me exult in all the Glorious and Harmonious g's and h's (not to mention 's and "s) that i can make now! GhHgghhgGHHG! I feel so free! Not only that, I have up arrow capabilities again, as well as all my function keys.
But Lydia, I still await your guest poost!

Update: Permission was granted to print the Pixie story, all rights reserved and so forth. Keep in mind that all references to evil room mates should probably be taken as allegorical.

There once was a boy named Nathan. Nathan was an
extraordinary boy for many reasons but not least among
them was because he possessed a magic computer that a
pixie had given to him for safekeeping. This computer
could turn thoughts into brilliant essays and send
messages instantly around the world. It was a
marvelous thing. But Nathan's evil roommate was
jealous of his special gift and one night stole into
Nathan's room while Nathan was away on a mission of
mercy (or maybe just away) and used the magic computer
in a savage and uncaring manner. The roommate broke
the computer's spirit (not to mention it's power cord)
and when Nathan returned from his wonderful adventure,
the computer was not the same. The computer felt so
betrayed by Nathan leaving it at the mercy of the evil
roommate that it shut down. But only partially. In
the cruelest sense imaginable, the computer exacted
revenge on Nathan by allowing him to access all the
marvels of the computer's magic but with the essential
"h" and "g" keys dead to Nathan's touch. Now suddenly
Nathan could only speak garbled nonsense - or rather,
arbled nonsense. The computer felt secretly
vindicated for the abuse it had suffered at the hands
of the evil roommate. Though the abuse had not been
Nathan's fault, the computer had TRUSTED Nathan to
protect it and had been allowed to be mistreated in
Nathan's absence.

Thus Nathan was cursed to communicate in half-measures
with garish incomplete thoughts - or rather, wit aris
incomplete touts. But what the computer hadn't
counted on in exacting it's revenge was the sheer
capacity for goodwill that existed in Nathan's heart.
Truly his heart was bigger than any the computer had
yet encountered. For Nathan felt the guilt of the
evil roommate's incursion as acutely as though he
himself had committed the deed. And because the
computer was so dear to him and because the computer
had entrusted itself to Nathan's care, Nathan sought
to beseech the pixie to have mercy and repair the
computer's broken soul. The pixie relented because
Nathan was such a greatly classy guy (one might even
say he was shifty) and she blessed the computer and
made it whole once again.

Now the computer's keys work magic for Nathan as
before and the bond of trust is restored. And thus
the tale ends happily ever after...

The End

Today (Sunday) is the 30th anniversary of Bruce Lee's untimely death. It's because of Bruce that movies such as Crouching Tiger Hidden Dragon have been made. I am not a martial artist by any means, but of course you dont have to be to appreciate martial arts movies. So, in light of this inauspicious date, may I suggest you rent Enter the Dragon, and maybe Dragon: The Bruce Lee Story.
And while you're at it, check out his son Brandon Lee;s The Crow. As you may know, Brandon also died very young and very tragically, having been killed on set by a real bullet fired from a prop gun while filming The Crow back in 1992.
Here is a link to an article on Bruce Lee in yesterday's Sun.

I typed up my newest column for iamnext today (dont bother to go check yet, it will be a while before its up), and that was a major pain, but I got it done and submitted it without a single missing g or h, thanks to spell check and cut and paste. however, I dont want to do that again anytime soon, so today I am Plundering the Depths of my email archives for some good, if not exactly timely, stuff for you guys. here is an email I got from one of my Chinese friends I met a few years ago when I was there. I asked him what he thougt of Croucing Tiger idden Dragon (I have made no editorial changes to is text):

From your e-mail I knew that you had seen the
film whose name is 'Crouching Tiger ,Hidden Dragon'
I knew it too,and I konw that you love it because you
like to see the KongFu in it ,but ,Do you know how
it is in our Chinese eye ,we just think it not wonderful
because we can see such kind of things in TV often.
so I think I 'm just get used to it ,and don't think
it a very good thing .But in your mind ,not only you ,
but also in most of foreinger 's mind ,they think it
good,do you believe ?It's it.
Ok,we cann't only talk about the movie.Talk about
you ,what about your life in Canada,Do you happy every
day?

It;s true, Chinese soap operas are all kung fu epics, but I was still surprised at his appraisal- he almost seems to give the movie 4 or 5 Poos out of 5! Whereas I would give it 0. Oh well, at least I happy every day.
And this is from another email I got from a friend who went with me to China the first time:

From a brochure of a car rental firm in Tokyo:

"When passenger of foot heave in sight, tootle the horn. Trumpet him melodiously at first, but if he still obstacles your passage then tootle him with vigor."

Yay! The first guest poost, from Shok the German . Kind of a double dose since it actually features a poost from another blog first:


Friday, July 18, 2003
from the shok-a-link (liquidthinking) ...

Tonight I had an epiphany. I was watching a local news report trying to sell the idea of slot machines at Tulsa's horse track (which, I must say, is a cool way to spend a Sunday afternoon...not necessarily gambling, the horses are beautiful). The report was how this track in Ohio had added gambling machines and raised a million dollars just a few months to pull itself out of bankruptcy.

As I thought about the various churches around town who are in the middle of both building projects and our country's recession, I thought, what better way to go than to add gaming machines? It also works on so many different levels other than financial:

1.) It touches what apparently is a felt need for many people in our culture.
2.) It creates great sermon analogy moments...faith, perseverance, reward, fate, predestination, etc
3.) Its allows people to be more anonymous and comfortable than they would at the church bingo...not to mention its a more exciting way to tithe.
4.) Judging from what I see in the parking lots of the Indian Nation Gaming Centers, it would be a great boost for attendance5.
5.) Church signs would most definitely have more pizzaz.

And I'm sure there are many more....

the shok response was ...
now you are thinkin along the lines of a true pioneer ... how bout startin with a basic 50/50 drawing for the offering ... that will boost the joy level and the anticipation level of all participants ... sell tickets rather than setting a flat fee so the more tickets you purchase the more chance you have of getting that instant reward from on high .. seems to work well in the local amvets/elks/and moose clubs that i am a member of ... tell me when and where and i'll officiate the first ever event of chance for god on a sunday am ... once that works we can move on to the slots and other table games to gather the variety of clientel that the church has been a prayin for ... heaven knows that just sittin around hopin aint workin ... the lost are just not a comin round the bend as of late ...

Today is the day my speedin ticket was due, and also the day after my phone bill was due, so I diliently wrote up te checks and, since it was such a nice day, walked to te university to take te LRT downtown to pay tem. Wen I ot to te Law Courts and approached te cashier, I realized I had forotten my ticket and checks at home like te poohead I so often am. Luckily I was able to just tell tem my name and pay by credit card.
Want to know my credit card number? Its 0-1-Poo-2!

Te guest poosts aren;t exactly flyin in, but ere is an email I ot from Rowan concernin a concert in Spain, and music writin is most welcome ere at te Woods. Te call for submissions is still wide open, so send your poost today!

Sepultura - not as good as Max but totally scary looking - dreads down to his waist and yellow eyes that stare straight through the crowd
Slayer - what more can i say
Immortal - had never heard before but good n heavy death metal
Iron Maiden - didn´t play their best stuff but coming to Madrid in November
Kreator - wish they played Coma of Souls but as good as i hoped
Exodus - what a great frontman - totally knows how to work a crowd
Motorhead - not my kind of music but Lemmy is cool - his guitar amp was picking up a radio station so he had to turn it off between songs then he´d make fun of it but he didn´t seem too pleased.

It was awesome, for sure, when my bands were playing. When they weren´t playing I was totally lonely, being there by myself with about 20000 campers I don´t know. I met a friend on the bus down who let me share his tent, but his metal tastes were incorrect (download some Stratovarius or Blind Guardian if you want an idea of what I´m talking about). Those bands are huge here. Gothicy weirdy slowish but heavy. The vocals were too slow, and the music too involved. How Iron Maiden would sound if they didn´t rule. Anyway, I was otherwise very lonely and the heat was unbearable with no shade. The show ended at 4 AM every night and the sun was too hot for sleep by 9 AM so it was a 15 hour of sleep for 3 days kind of deal. I wish you were there, brother.

Now you tell me about Marilyn. I saw him at Shaw (hopefully where you see him the sound quality will actually be acceptable) and he is the performer grande of all time. Will get the crowd going like you´ve never seen. Although when you read this, you will already know that.

A Special Invitation from omie Bear
Ave you been waitin for your chance to be a special guest blogger ere at te Woods? Tryin to type out poosts witout my keys is too muc of a pain so I am ereby invitin you to email me your poosts for Pooin in te Woods, tereby savin me te aggravation of cuttin and pastin little g;s and h;s all over te place to render it readable. And I tink it would be fun to ave some guest bloggers. You can wite about pretty muc anyting, fiction, non-fiction, pooetry, and of course any stories about bears. And if you`re a regular ere you know teres pretty muc only one rule. So ave at er! I will try and et my keyboard fixed and be back to form asap.
Its nice to see te Oneplouwoman`s esture of keyboard solidarity!
Go go go dopplegangers! You`re one of us! You`re one of us!

I dont know wat to tell you about my keyboard. Sometimes it works but usually it doesn;t. I may ave to send my compooter away to et it fixed, and tat would be no ood would it? Its pretty ard to write witout 1/13t of te alpabet at your disposal- tats 8% of all letters! Not to mention my F5 key, up arrow and quotation mark key. And wo knows, maybe my Alt and Ctrl buttons too- its not like I ever use those. I tink tomorrow I better call Dell and ask tem wats up and wat my options are. Luckily it isnt s and e tat are not workin tou. I tink I would prefer z and q to be my two letter to do witout. We need x to say tings like x-men and matrix and poo-x, so we;ll keep x. Wat do we need q for? I cant tink of anything. Tere is only one cool word startin wit q tat I know of- quagmire. Oter tan tat, you;re stuck wit quotient and queen and quite. Bla bla bla. O I;m sorry my Queen, the quotient quota for this month wasnt quite up to our usual quality or quantity. Whatever. We should just get rid of q altoeter. And replace it wit a new letter, maybe somethin from elvish or ancient celtic or sometin- yea- a rune. That would be cool. I vote for tis one- it;s kind of q-like but better:

We went and saw League of Extraordinary Gentlemen on Saturday. It wasn’t as bad as everyone says- there were parts I really enjoyed. It had some great fights and action scenes, though there was far too much intercutting between scenes- it made it hard to follow what was going on exactly. Sean Connery was pretty killer, and there was some good dialogue. The vampire didnt seem very vampiric, but o well. Mr. Hyde was cool. Maybe if the movie ad a better director it would have been better. But like I say, it wasn’t terrible. I give it 2 poos out of five.

I sent in my entry for River Selkie’s bloggiversary contest - Spike in the Universe- before I left, and she poosted it, so you can go read it if you want. Scroll down to find it, after of course readin up on te Outlaw Josie Wales. And enter te contest too- it’s fun. Surely you can do worser than me!
Keyboard actin up aain. It was workin fine wen I ot ome but now it is kaput once more. I can run poosts trou Word for te spellcecker, but teres ot to be a better way. Tere is notin pycially wron wit te keys tou, so I dont understand.

A few months ago my room mate Tom invited me to his wedding, which was taking place in the Vanpoover area. He asked me if I was coming, and I said, To be honest with you, I won’t make a special trip to Vanpoover for it, but if I happen to be there that day I will come.
Then this Manson concert comes up, and I think to myself, wouldn’t it be funny if Tom’s wedding was the nest day? And so I looked up the invitation to see, and sure enough it was! Talk about fate, eh? Of all the days for the Marilyn Manson concert, and for me to fly out to Vanpoover, it would just happen to be the day of Tom’s wedding. But I wound up not going to his wedding.
I still didn’t feel like it.

Ka-Boom Ka-Boom
Just got back from the West Coast. Wow. What a great time. Marilyn was unbelievable- that was seriously the best concert I have ever been to, and I have been to many. The venue was incredible- it's called the Orpheum and it's one of those old-school opera house type places with marble carvings and classical (or renaissance?) style paintings on the ceiling. Classy. We arrived just in time for the opening act's last song and a half- never even found out who they were ("Yay . . . You Guys!") Then the anticipation built as we waited for Manson to take the stage. The lights went out, and smoke started filling the house, and the PA system started playing Night on Bald Mountain, from Fantasia, which is a heavy song on its own, and exactly the right piece for the intro to this concert.
All hell broke loose, quite possibly literally, when Manson and his band appeared on stage, tearing into This is The New Shit. The sound was incredilbe, crytal clear and volcano loud. I could just go on and on, but you probably had to be there, I think. You might say it was a mOBSCENE. Tim Skold, John 5, M.W. Gacy and Ginger Fish were each forces in their own right, but the stage, heck, the whole planet, belonged to Marilyn. My favorite was Golden Age of Grotesque, when Skold had an upright bass and the two dancers were pounding on the piano while Marilyn pranced and cavorted in his top hat. Later he wore Mickey Mouse ears, singing It's a Small World After All.
Of course, they ended with Sweet Dreams and Beautiful People. Now I want to run away and be a rock and roll star.
The rest of the weekend was total fun, too. I'm sad to be back home, though it's always good to be here in the woods. Did you miss me?

This is the Golden Age of Grotesque
Marilyn Manson will be in Vanpoover tonite, performin at te Orfeum. (Some words misspelled due to keyboard difficulties- Vanpoover is just spelled that way all te time.) So me and the Goddess are flyin out tonite to see him! Yay! We leave at 7:00 Alberta time and arrive at 7:35 BC time, thanks to some time travel action. Which makes us a little late for doors, but we wont miss any Manson. We have a rental car waitin for us at the airport and everythin. A limo would have been classier, but what can you do? Oh yeah, and Ill be wearin my Chinese suit, in keepin with the burlesque theme. So thats enouh class for anybody- we dont need a limo.
So have a fun weekend, I know I will. I will be back on Sunday- probably- so no poosts until then.
See you, Beautiful People!

Want to know frustration? Four keys on my keyboard stopped workin for some reason. Up arrow, wic I can live witout, te quotation mark, also expendable in dire necessity, and te two letters tat follow f in bot te alpabet and te keyboard. ence all te misspelled words in tis poost. I cant even type out te best words for suc a cricumstance- Arrrr . I discovered tis wen typin out my entry for River Selkies blo iversary contest, wic you sould enter too.
But at least I can still type poo.

I'm so glad I keep a journal when I travel- otherwise I would forget all the little details that make trips so fun. Like just now I was reading July 11th's entry for last year, Day 2 on the Trail, and I mentioned Arnie, the German tourist! I forgot all about him! He was a great guy. Used to be a hardcore mountaineer, until he realized, in his own words, that there was much more to life. "Like parties," he said, in his German accent, "I think it is very nice to party." So his love of partying caused him to put his mountain climbing days behind him.
Day 2 found us at Sheep Camp, still on the American side of things. The American Ranger gathered all us hikers around and told us a bit about the history of the Chilkoot, and had some old photos to show us. Then he recited, from memory, that most famous of Canadian poems, The Cremation of Sam McGee (There are strange things done under the midnight sun by the men who moil for gold). He did it very well, too. Although the American side of the trail is less scenic than the Canadian side, I have to give them props for having friendlier rangers, and for supplying their outhouses with toilet paper, unlike the Canadian side. Nothing sucks worse than taking a poo and realizing there's no toilet paper. But we brought our own, of course, being vetern pooers in the woods and all. One guy we met at Lake Bennet on the last day wasn't so foresightful- he told us, total strangers that we were, that he had been forced to use his socks for the last few days, so we lent him some of our supply- it was the humane thing to do.
This is the best book version of The cremation of Sam McGee. I love the paintings in it- my grade 3 or 4 teacher read it to us and I always remebered the vivid paintings, but I had no idea who did them until this year when I got an issue of the U of A's alumni magazine with the artist (Ted Harrison) on the cover, so I tracked down a copy of the book and have lived happily ever after.

We also had to endure a bear safety video. Now, who should know more about bear safety than Homie Bear? And his friend Courage Bear? Though I should note that the Homie Bear eponym actually came from the Chilkoot trip, and wasn't yet a fully realized alter-ego.
Anyways, what happened was, when we arrived in Skagway we went to the Parks Canada office to get our trail permit and pay our fees and all that. Then the ranger, a pleasant fellow by the name of Dain asked us if we wanted to watch a video. Since we still had to find a campsite and explore around and see what adventures there were to be had, we poolitely declined. But he was oddly insistent, so finally we agreed, and he took us across the street to a tourist shop where they also had a little alcove equipped with a TV and VCR. He inserted the bear safety video and left us there. We only watched about two minutes and then we snuck out. Some tourists popped their heads in and were delighted to find a free video on bears, so they sat down and took our place.
We ran into Dain (what a great name, eh? Very Tolkienesque) a little later, and he asked us how we liked the video. "Yeah it was good . . . hey watch out behind you! A bear!" And we ran away.
Well, that last part might not have actually happened. Homie Bear would never run from another bear.

One year ago today Alex and I embarked on the Chilkoot Trail. What a great time. As you may know, the Chilkoot Trail was one of the routes the Klondike Stampeders used to get up to the goldfields in Dawson City. It was only 55 kms, but they had to walk it over and ver again as they transported their supplies. Then they got to Lake Bennet and traveled down the Yukon River to Dawson, a trip of another 1000 kms, roughly.
It was one of the first trips I planned entirely via internet (just like the stampeders did!)- you have to book your spot on the trail, as well as tickets to take the White Pass Railroad back to Skagway. So I also booked a spot with a company to drive us out to the trailhead from Skagway- a ten dollar expense, but well worth it, since you kind of have to get there. See- the trail is not a round trip, since you hop a train to get back at the end. So you can't leave your car out at the trailhead, since you would still have to go get it somehow. So when we arrived in Skagway the company, Frontier Excursions, was closed. So we thought we might have to impoovise, but that was fine. We found a campsite and enjoyed the evening. In the morning we got up nice and early and went to the trail office, which was also closed. But then our ride showed up- he was driving around town in the Frontier Excursions van with a sign saying "Nathan Waddell" taped to the windshield looking for us. Recognizing the name as my own, we hopped on board and off we went. We gave our driver the remainder of our milk, which we had been carrying around with us for lubricating our cereal, since we wouldn't be able to keep it cold on the trail.
That first day was good- about 12 kms, lots of uphill, and it rained a lot, but that was fine by me. It ain't camping unless it's raining.
We met some great people too, including Dave who I just happened to talk with via MSN Messenger this morning- he just hiked the trail again with a bunch of students, and got back yesterday! Cool. I met some kids in Canyon City myself- they were Alaskan teens doing some sort of trail cleanup.

Normally less than a 20 minute drive, it took me an hour to get to my parents' house today.
My sister made it in from Mexico, so I was going over to visit her. But the Whitemud was backed up all the way up Fox Drive. A big traffic poo. Jam. Whatever. So I thought I would be clever and go east rather than west, and cut through Riverbend out to highway 60 and up to my folks' place. But I wound up having to go all the way down to Devon and over, adding 80 kms to my drive. So not the smrtest thing I've ever done, but at least I come by it honestly- my Mom decided to take us out to Red Lobster and accidentally took us to the Olive Garden instead.
It was good to see Diney, she is doing well. She's here for a whole month so I will get to see her lots.

And speaking of people living in different worlds from my own, I am currently reading Hunter S. Thompson's Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas. What a great book. You should definitely read it if you haven't yet. I have never seen the movie, since I prefer to first read the book a given movie is based on, but I will definitely watch it once I am done. It's a quick read, too, partly because the tone is so easy to follow, and partly because you can't wait to see what happens next. It is utterly audacious. Here is my favorite excerpt from it- he's referring to a deal in a Vegas casino where for $0.99 you can have yourself projected onto a 200 foot tall screen, and for 99 cents more you can say something:

Hallucinations are bad enough. But after a while you learn to cope with things like your dead grandmother crawling up your leg with a knife in her teeth. Most acid fanciers can handle this sort of thing.
But nobody can handle that other trip- the possibility that any freak with $1.98 can walk into the Circus-Circus and suddenly appear in the sky over downtown Las Vegas twelve times the size of God, howling anything that comes into his head. No, this is not a good town for psychedelic drugs. Reality itself is too twisted.

Once again I was forced to navigate a big pig of a rig through the streets of Edmonton and St. Albert, at rush hour this time, as my new moving partner was also without a licence. These guys come from a different world than the one I live in, let me tell you. Here'a a sample exchange from today. I'll call my coworker Poohead.

Poohead whistles at a passing "honey"
Me: Don't do that! That's so disrespectful.
Poohead: Oh no, women love that- didn't you see her wave at me?
Me: Are you sure it wasn't a one-finger wave?
Poohead: No man, I'm a cowboy. Cowboys do stuff different.
Me: . . .
And then he launched into some sort of rant about how he was two rides away from going professional as a rodeo cowboy. But at least he didn't whistle at any more women.

Last night I mentioned a cynical line from Marilyn Manson's Slutgarden. I love a well-written sardonic lyric. Here are a few more:

"I'd kill myself for you-
I'd kill you for myself"
- This Love, Pantera, from the CD Vulgar Display of Power

I want to include some Tragically Hip, too, even if their lyrics aren't quite cynical, but they are brilliant. This is from Thugs, off of Day For Night:

everyone's got their breaking point
with me it's spiders with you it's me
thugs in perpetuity
when we're excited little birds around the feeder
the cat's indifferent or he's just furious
it seems that he's never neither

And my favorite,
"If you ever need anything, please don't hesitate to ask
someone else first"
From Nirvana's Very Ape, off of In Utero

Of course, I am not a cynic. I am a romantic, so here is my favorite line that I think is just beautiful, without irony.

"If you should die before me, ask if you can bring a friend."
From Still Remains, by Stone Temple Pilots, from Purple

My sister was supposed to arrive today- she was flying into Calgary last night and my folks went down to pick her up. But I just found out that the airport in Houston is shut down because of a tropical storm or something. So she is still in Mexico, but hopefully she will be able to get a direct flight into Edmonton sometime soon. That sucks. It is very pooey. I was looking forward to seeing her. Then I could say things like, "That's my sister, mister! C'est mon soeur, monsieur! "

And I should really go to bed, but not before telling you to check out the G's news section- not only does it feature a photo of little McKenna, Cory and Lauren's brand new little baby, it also talks about our upcoming arts forum thing, which although I have had a nightmare about, I am quite excited for. Note the invitation to everyone in the world to take part in the art. Babies. And art. One cries, the other inspires tears. One poos, the other . . . doesn't.
River Selkie is back, by the way, at a tempoorary site, in case any of you use my blog to get to hers. And if you don't, well, check it out- it's good.

Ahh, my Marilyn Manson CD is back in my hands. I lent it to the Goddess when she went away a while ago, and since St. Anger has had a pretty constant presence in my stereo, I was okay with that. But I was suffering Marilyn withdrawal, so I am glad to have it back. It is a fine CD- how's this for a cynical line: "I memorize the words to the porno movies".
And now, for no reason whatsoever, I will tell you about the suit I bought in China.
I wanted a suit with a Mao collar, or Tai Chi collar, or whatever you want to call it. So I went with my friend Peggy, who spoke passable Mandarin, to a little shop and commissioned myself a suit. Since they only made western style suits, Mao suits having long since gone out of fashion there, I had to explain what I wanted. The shop was run by a bunch of women, and it was full of women, and what they did was they measured me, and since they didn't have a change room or anything, they made me take my pants off right there in the store so they could do the measurements. Fine by me. I think I caused a minor stir, since I was the first foreigner many of them had seen in person. Anyway, I negotiated the price, which came to roughly 90 dollars Canadian, and I picked out the fabric I wanted (a nice dark blue), and two days later I came and picked up the finished product. Crazy, eh? And today I took it to the cleaners and they require FIVE days to clean it. It'd be faster to get those ladies to make me a new one! Whatever. It was beatuiful. I love it. For a while there, I couldn't fit into the pants, as coal mining caused my waist to grow by a couple of sizes. But now I am back to my old slender self, and I tried on the pants today and was gratified to find it fits.
Here is a link (heh- the first time I poosted this I forgot to include the link) to a picture of me wearing it, and my friend Chinadoll wearing her custom made chipao. That night all of us went to a symphony, as is my custom when I travel overseas. Finding a symphony in that industrial city was tricky, but I found one, just on our campus in fact- a conductor happened to be giving a farewell concert as he was returning to Canada. I sort of recall poosting about this before. Oh well.

A Kenyan Poost-Script
Then one day Todd moved out- turns out he had gotten married and he and his wife had a place just down the street a ways. He had been engaged since before he moved to Canada, and then his fiance arrives and tey were married. And life went on for everybody, Todd was replaced by Olu, who eventually moved on to San Francisco to pursue a PhD in law at Berkeley.
Anyways, one day I was at the Gathering, and a friend of mine was there who was just checking it out. He says to me, "So Todd got married, eh?"
And I was like, "Who?"
"Todd R_____."
"I don't know him."
"Yeah, you do- remember?"
"Nooo," I said.
"I thought you used to live with him."
"I don't think so- I think I'd remember someone I lived with."
"I'm sure you know him- Todd from Kenya?"
"Oh yeah! Yeah I know him. Yeah, he got married."

Actually I can think of one story I can tell about my African room mates, or at least Todd. Todd lived downstairs. I didn’t spend a lot of time with him, but from time to time we hung out. One day, a few years ago just after New Year's, Alex phoned me to inform me that our friend Dave had passed away from meningitis on New Year's Eve. I usually react to bad news by going into a quiet, reflective mood, while I adjust to and process what happened.
Todd had some other African friends over, one from Kenya and one from Sierra Leone. They were laughing and seemed to be having a good time, so, needing to be cheered up, I went over to visit. They sensed something was wrong, so I told them what happened. They nodded, and Todd started to talk about how his sister had been murdered in Nairobi, and Duncan (the Sierra Leonian) chimed in with tragedies of his own, but before long they were back to laughing and having a good time. I was too. I really liked that- they had been through so much and yet their zest for life had never diminished.

Last year I lived downstairs from a super soft-spoken guy named Ben who was from Ghana. One day he asked me if he could get a ride to Alberta Beach, where his chuch was having a retreat. He needed to be there for the Sunday morning service as he was singing in the choir. He thought he would just walk to it, but then he found out it was an hour out of town so he asked me. That was no problem, and I thought it would be cool to hear him sing, so off we went. I imagined his singing voice would be similar to his speaking voice, soft and mellow. Imagine my surprise when he was the soloist guy and he sang with a full-throated Gospeliciousness just like in the Deep South. He was gooood.

The last poost gives me so many possible segues to build off of for this poost. Should I talk about my first days as a coal miner? How about all the Kenyan room mates I have had over the years? Or my nightclub adventure with a Ukrainian, a Frenchman and a Maltese? Well, since I have already poosted an essay I wrote about that escapade at my autre blog, and my African room mates were cool but there isn't much to say about them, so I guess that leaves the story of my first few days as a truck driver at Cardinal River Coals, Ltd.
Ten years ago, I was 18, had a year of university under my belt, and had the sweetest summer job ever. Not only did it pay 20 bucks an hour, it also was a 4-on 4-off shift so I would still get half the summer off. All I had to do was learn how to drive a truck with ten-foot-tall tires, 1600 horsepower, and more blindspots than actual visibility. No problem. Oh yeah- and it was in an open pit mine high up in the Rockies, where we would be backing up to dump our loads over sheer drops of up to a thousand feet, with only an unstable berm to stop you from plummetting to your death.
On my first day I was both nervous and excited. I had a mine tour and some basic orientation, watched some videos of the do's and do not do's of coal trucking (do not run over the pickup trucks as you will not even feel a thing but your foreman will be very mad at you), and for the last quarter, I was put in a truck with a trainer, who introduced me to the various pedals and brakes and what have you, and then let me drive. I did alright that first day, but I don't really even remember too much about it. I was pretty tired, though. The next day I spent the whole day in a truck, and got to drive for most of it. I dumped my first load short, meaning not over the berm, which makes a mess that the dozer operator has to clean up, so he radioed me and called me an asshole. Luckily my trainer stood up for me and told me not to worry about catskinners- they were the assholes, he said. Anyways, I was told to drive those trucks like I stole 'em, so that became my philosophy. I eventually caiught on to it, and became a pretty good driver. Although on my first nightshift, which was also my first shift alone as a qualified, certified truck driver, I again was called an asshole, this time by the shovel operator (not my Dad, who was on a different shovel) but his oiler was kind enough to hop down and drive with me for a bit and help me get used to night driving. And after that, no one ever called me an asshole again. Or at least iwhen they did, I wasn't some scared rookie and I came right back at them, slinging the poo with the best of them. And I was always sticking up for the new guys, encouraging them and swearing at their detractors, because I always remembered what it felt like to be the youngest guy there.
I remember when I went back in 2000 as a non-summer student, and two new guys, Willie and Al were just green operators. I took them under my wing, and helped them, adjust to mine culture. I watched Al from my truck as he would back up under the shovel, a tricky maneuver for rookies, and when he finally got it right, I honked my horn at him to get his attention, and gave him the thumbs up. Much later on, at a hockey game when he was drunk, he couldn't stop thanking me for that minor gesture, since everyone else was always yelling and stuff. Anyways, he made a minor mistake once and a senior trucker called him on the radio and told him to get his head out of his ass. That made me mad. Then one nigthshift, when I was tired and grumpy, that same driver almost collided with me twice, both times his fault for not obeying a yield sign, so on the pit bus I tore into him, and finished my tirade with, "Get your head out of your ass!" Al thought that was sweet justice.
I could go on and on, but this is already turning into my longest poost ever, so I will leave it at that for now. Here are some pictures, if you;re interested, though.

Even though I have extensive experience with monstrous 170 and 260 ton heavy hauler rock trucks on a minesite, I had never driven anything like a 5 ton truck in the city before. Until yesterday. My room mate Mike works for a moving company as the office manager, and he has been giving me some work going out on moves, but always as the junior guy, not the driver of the moving truck. Yesterday my partner didn't have a license, so the boss asked me if I could drive a truck like that. I figured it couldn't be too hard, though the city traffic might be a complicating factor. So I said No Problem! And the boss sent me on my way, with this single piece of last-minute training: "Just don't hit any cars." And I didn't, it was easy, except some of the tight maneuvering in the back of the apartment highrise. The thing is a beast, a real piece of poo.
Also last night, I got to drive a Jeep. Not really a big deal, but later on my other room mate also got to drive it, and wound up hitting the median, straddling it and almost tearing the wheels off. In his defence, the owner of the Jeep had taken the key out of the ignition in order to get to her stereo faceplate in the glove compartment.
We went out to a nightclub last night, and you know how much I hate nightclubs. It wasn't totally bad though, because we went there to stalk a Kenyan treeplanter. See, the Jeep Girl had come to Edmonton to meet this Kenyan, wound up at our place instead (she is friends with one of my roomies), and the Kenyan kind of turned out to be a bit of a dud. So Mike and I went out for dinner with Jeep Girl, whom we had never met before, and we had a fine time. And then we- well, they, actually, decided to go to the bar where Kenyan said he would be, just to see. So there we were, weaving in and out of the scantily clad ladies and the testosterone charged guys, spying on someone I have never met. So yesterday was full of new experiences.

If you look real close, you can see me waving at you.

I had occasion to go through the town of Mundare today, home of the world's largest sausage. Alberta small towns are plagued with these kinds of eyesores, although the pysanka in Vegreville is not too bad. But there is also a world's largest pyrogy, which is so ugly it's funny. That's in some little pootown whose name I forget off the top of my head. Once my friend Joel and I went there for the sole purpose of seeing just how ugly it really was. The verdict- pretty ugly.
Elsewhere in Alberta there is a UFO landing pad, a Starship Enterprise, the world's largest bee, and the largest mallard duck. And lots more, too. Edmonton is not totally immmune to this phenomenon, as it has the world's largest mall, cowboy boot, and a pretty big baseball bat, if not the biggest in the world. And let''s not forget the world's largest Wayne Gretzky statue, it being largest by virtue of the fact it is also the only one.
Anyways, the sausage manages to avoid any sort of phallicy, though one could argue it has a sort of look to it that is mindful, if not immediately evocative, of poo. Good thing it's so red, I guess. But if you ever have poo like that, go see a doctor, please. Seriously.
I don't mean to trash Mundare- compared to my actual destination, a village called (I'm not making this up) Hairy Hill, it was a metropoolis. Besides the sausage, they also have some Basilican Orthodox (or Catholic? I'm not really sure) stuff, such as a museum, a shrine, church and some sort of meditative garden. Although I am not Catholic (or Orthodox), I may one day go back there to check those out in more detail. Too bad the sausage is right across the street from the big church.

It's Amazing I Ever Graduated
I failed more than a few tests in university. Some were my own fault, caused by lack of studying or going to class, like the time I walked (late) into my early morning zoology class for the first time in a month and was startled to see everyone bent over their seats writing furiously. "What's going on?" I asked the nearest person. "Mid-term," came the reply. Another time during finals I was happily sleeping in, ready for my genetics final at 2. Then the thought popped into my brain- "Wouldn't it be funny if the test was at 9 rather than 2? Haha." And then the thought wouldn't leave me alone, so finally I got up and checked my test timetable. Sure enough, it was at 9. And since it was already 11, I had pretty much missed it. Luckily, though, my prof was very understanding and she let me write it anyways.
But some were just honest, innocent mistakes, like the time both me and Jonny Smelter walked into our astronomy mid-term without a calculator. We left helpful notes explaining to the marker that we had to do the test sans calculator, hence the lack of actual answers on the test. The tests came back with failing grades, and the written admonishment to make sure to bring a calculator to the final. As a sidenote, I did indeed bring one to the final, and I also recall wearing my red and black Canada cap festooned with tinsel, since it was the holiday season.
Or another time, when I was in fourth year but doing a first year physics class. It was sooo easy, compared to some of the 400-level geology I was doing. I had a midterm on Friday at 2, and that week I ran into Jonny Smelter, and we made plans for donuts Friday at 3. Since I keep no daytimer, I just repeat appointments in my head until I memorize them. So I had "Test at 2, donuts at 3. Test at 2, donuts at 3 . . ." running in my head over and over, but unfortunately I must have been distracted at some point, because it became "Test at 3, donuts at 4."
Friday came and I was ultra-prepared. I was studying in the geology common room with some of my buddies, and at 2:30 I decided I would head over to my Physics room to see if any of the first years could use my help in the final half hour before the test. Honestly! I am a very magnaminous bear. Imagine my surprise when I get there and see all my classmates already inside the room, writing something! And there was my prof at his station. I thought there must have been a study session planned that I wasn't aware of, so I walk in and strode down the stairs to the prof and ask him what's going on. He just glared at me. He was a super nice guy but he looked kind of mad. So I was like, "The test is at 3 right?"
No answer. I looked up at the clock, struggling with the mental arithmetic. "The test is at 2?"
He nods.
"But it's 2:30!" I said, hoping he would see the injustice.
"Well then, you better get writing," he said, and handed me a test.
Considering I had less than half the time to do it, I didn't totally poo all over it. But dammit, I would've gotten 100% if I had just showed up at the right time. It was especially frustrating because Physics was at 2 every Friday, so I should have known better.
The donuts were good, though.

More on Metallica: VH1 has named the Black Album one of the ultimate albums of all time or in the universe or something. They have some interviews and articles up, even some stuff I didn't know. There is also a Black Album trivia quiz, which I got 9 out of 10 on, good enough for a Jason Newsted rating. The only wrong answer concerned how many copies the Black Album had sold by 1997, and I never really paid attention to that. I'm surprised how easily it all came back to me- it was 12 years ago! But I read every magazine interview, watched the videos they released, bought the Black Album the day it came out (August 12, 1991) . . .
The other day for Canada Day cbc.ca had a Canadian History quiz and I scored 10 out of 10. I guess that's no surprise, since I AM a gemius after all. But come on, how about a challenge?
Come to think of it, I can recall some trivia quizzes I didn't do so well on . . . all those geology trivia tests I had to do in university . . . I got some pretty pooey scores on some of those.
And here is a review of St. Anger that I found on a poolitical blog (I don't really follow any of those, with the exception of Colbycosh.com, because he is local, is a staggering writer, and he often writes about non-poolitical stuff- in fact, it was his erudite hockey blog that got me hooked on his writing in the first place) from the National Review Online, which sounds pretty uppity to me, but the review is favorable.

Act Like You Know What You're Doing
Mike my room mate just uttered those words to me in relation to his job. He is currently filling in for his boss on some stuff and basically he is finding it necessary to put the above words into practice. I remember when I was in university, and all my peers were studying and training to become doctors and lawyers and engineers, and yet they were just regular punks like me! That's when I started to realize that the world is run by an awful lot of people who don't really know what they're doing. Which is not to say that they're not doing their best, and also not to say that there isn't anyone who is competent. But there are a lot of people who are trying to do their best but are in over their heads. Not to mention those who take short cuts, or who stopped caring a long time ago . . .
Last night we also watched Catch Me If You Can, and of course the philosophy of Act Like You Know What You're Doing opened a lot of doors for Frank Abagnale. And it's true- if you exude an aura of competence, people take you more seriously.
That's why it's nice being a bear. Bears just know what to do automatically at all times. Hungry? Eat a deer. Gotta poo? Poo. Lost? No! And so on. You get the picture.

For those of you not lucky enough to be from Edmonton, here is a picture of the High Level Bridge waterfall. It's turned on for holidays and special occasions and such- it's not actually on all the time. And not so much in the winter.
It's pretty cool, and I think it is fairly unique, though you can correct me if I'm wrong. It's not exactly Niagara Falls, I realize, but it's good enough. Its official name is the Great Divide Waterfall, and it was created back in 1980 to celebrate Alberta's 75th anniversary.
And I just saw on the news that the fireworks last night only lasted 5 minutes and 8 seconds, but were supposed to last for 12 minutes. The City is investigating to see if the contractor ripped us off or not. It was definitely anti-climactic, that's for sure. Even pooey, I would say.

I didn't write it!
Deb sent me a link today and said I should sue for royalties. But all are welcome to the poo!

Canada Day was okay. Fireworks, High Level Bridge waterfall, honking cars and drunk people- same as every year. No riots so far, which is good- "Welcome to Edmonton- Now Two years without a riot!" A good thing about this year was I got to see my friend Erica who I met last year on the Chilkoot Trail- she was in town for the week. And before that I went to Sherry and Amy's for a barbecue- they have both returned from their trips abroad. There was this guy there who kept staring at me, which I found disconcerting- but he turned out to recognize me from high school! Crazy eh? He remembered my name and everything, even though I don't think we ever actually met back in high school, though I recognized his name.
For a while it looked like a fierce thunderstorm would cancel the Canada Day festivities, but then it cleared up and it was a nice night. But . . . I dunno. Something was kind of hollow about the whole thing, at least it seemed to me. But what do I know? I'm just a bear who poos in the woods.
My favorite Canada Day ever was way back in 1992- it was Canada's 125th birthday, I had just graduated from high school, and Jason, Rowan, Colin and I went to watch the fireworks and have fun. We wandered around and talked to everyone we met and it was great. The four of us were inseperable high school buddies, but that was one of the last times all four of us hung out like that. I have long ago lost touch with Colin, and Jason and Rowan are now in Europe (I just talked to Jay the other day via MSN- they're doing well, should be settling in Spain about now). Look at me being all melancholy- I don't even know why. Maybe I am feeling old today. At least I am not as old as Canada. But I am a lot older than Bosnia-Herzegovina.