Happy Hallowe'en! I changed the template a bit to match the day- hopefully I can make it go back tomorrow. And I wrote a bear ghost story below, I hope you like it, and for true bear scariness, you can go back and read NosBEARatu, written by gabrielle. I hope you don't pass out with fright.

Ever wonder what kind of ghost story would frighten a grizzly? Gather around the campfire, my friends, and I will tell you a tale . . .

One day as I was hunting I met an old grey wolf who was guarding a fresh kill. Since he was on my territory I didn't hesitate to assert my rights to the kill, and was about to dispatch the wolf when he asked me to spare him.
"Why should I?" I asked, thinking I might get a good laugh at whatever pathetic excuse he came up with.
"Because I know something which might be of interest to you- I know where there is a horde of gold!"
"Gold?? What do I care about gold?"
"You can use it to buy this entire forest from the humans so that they will never chop it down ever and there won't be any hunting here!"
"Hmm. Alright- where is this gold?"
"It's in a cabin down by the Kisikak River. Do you know it?"
"Yes, I fish near there often. How did gold come to be in that cabin?"
"It's a long story of intrigue, betrayal and murder involving humans."
"Oh. Never mind, then. I couldn't care less what humans do to each other."
"Actually, the murder wasn't committed by humans."
This caught my interest. "Then who?"
"The humans were poachers. Fur traders. They shot beavers, coyotes, wolves, and bears. The story goes that they shot and killed the mightiest grizzly bear this forest has seen in generations. "
"They couldn't have- I'm still alive."
"Well, anyways, the story has it that this bear came back."
"What do you mean, came back?"
"Like, he was a ghost and he came back and took care of the hunters. And now the poachers' gold is there just waiting to be dug up."
"The poachers had gold?
"They were also pirates."
"Uh-huh. And how do you know this?"
"I just do. Take me with you, and if it's not true, you can kill me."
"Alright, let's go see it."
The wolf led me down to Kisikak River and the 'haunted' cabin. The door was broken, open to the elements, and there were animal skulls scattered all over the grounds. I didn't see any ghosts, though. The wolf led me into the cabin, which was dark and dusty, and full of mice poo. Suddenly my paw was caught in a steel-tooth trap! The bastard wolf set me up! I swiped at him with my free paw, but he was out of reach, and laughing at me. Laughing!!
"You may be stronger than me, brother bear, but I am much smarter! There's no gold and the poachers are long gone. I am too, so enjoy yourself- maybe if you go into hibernation now someone can get you out of this trap before you starve. Farewell!" And with a howl, he was gone, leaving me to my fate.
I considered my options- I could chew my paw off, but I would be as good as dead without the ability to hunt even if I did. Hibernation would just expose me to scavengers, and delay the inevitable- I would starve.
And so I did. It took a long time, and it was painful. But when my time finally came to take my place with my ancestors amidst the stars of the Great Bear, I chose another road.
There is a ghost haunting the cabin of Kisikak River- me!

Marilyn Manson and Scottish Kung Fu Dancing!
Really, what more need I say?
Okay, I suppose I can fill in a few details. Tonight I went to my friend Morna's Scottish Country Dancing Hallowe'en party and I dressed as Marilyn, which isn't that much of a stretch, really, but it was fun. The kung fu part is a reference to the time when Morna first invited me to a ceilidh, and I thought she said Scottish KungFu Dancing instead of Country dancing so I immediately said yes. And even after I found out that it really referred to jigs and reels I was still happy to go- it's fun.
Though I am not sure the real Marilyn ever danced a Scottish jig.

Brr it's cold out there! So I spent most of the afternoon outside walking around, in order to become aclimatized to winter. I'm ready now- bring it on!
The majority of my missions, however, were unaccomplished and I am sad about that. I went to get tickets to Rocky Horror Picture Show but the box office wasn't open. I tried to find certain items, but was unable. However, I did find Yann Martel's Life of Pi for quite cheap- 20% off the cover price. My American friends may not have heard of this book, as it was written by a Canadian, but it has won all sorts of prizes and is about a talking tiger, among other things. I haven't read it, obviously since I just bought it (and am still working on Cryptonomicon), but Mr. Martel will be here in Edmonton next week so maybe I will see if I can attend one of the events he will be at.

Ever wonder what a polar bear would dress up as for Hallowe'en?
Maybe a ghost.
He could be a wizard, like Saruman or something, if he put on a long wig.
Or a yeti, but he would have to walk around all day up on his hind legs.
With some dye he could go as a black bear.
Ooh- I know- with a little shimmery makeup applied in the right places he could go as the aurora borealis! That would be cool.

This doesn't count as a real poost, just Blu sent me this link and I wanted to preserve it- I looove this image, from this guy's gallery.
And since this isn't a real poost, I can talk about my hockey poo and bemoan the fact that I got my ass kicked tonight. I was winning until tonight. Now >sigh<, I am tied for first.
And since I haven't talked about Marilyn for over 24 hours, I would just like to say what a kickass song Cake and Sodomy is.

One time at Hallowe'en I was giving out candy- this is fun because I get to see all the little kids who look so cute in their costumes. One trick or treater came to the door and she was wearing a mask, and politely, but silently, waited for me to give her some candy. So I gave her a handful, and I couldn't help but notice the leathery hands that accepted the sweets. Then she waved, and turned around and left. I saw grey hair sticking out of her mask.
I almost called out after her- she fascinated me. What was her story? I like to think she was a badass granny who doesn't give a f*ck about societal conventions, and was out having a blast.
Of course, that's just my favorite theory. Another one I came up with posited that she was the grandma of a very sick little boy who was unable to go trick or treating, so she took it upon herself to go out and get him some treats.
Alternatively, she may have been a poor or even homeless woman who was taking advantage of the occasion to score some free food- aside from candy she was maybe hoping to get some apples as well.

Tammy wrote a bio for me for my ooze articles, and she said I live "in the northern reaches of Western Canada near the Rockies, where it snows most of the year." I laughed at the bit about snow, because I know Tammy doesn't really think that, and yet many Americans seem to think so.
But it snowed today.
It has begun.
And unfortunately I am not a hibernating bear. Well, and plus I actually like winter. It's good for tobogganogganning, skating, and building snowforts. It's just the possibility-of-freezing-to-death part that is a pain. A minor irritation.

In honor of Hallowe'en, Rolling Stone has a feature called Monsters of Rock- Bands That Scared the Crap Out of Us. Of course, there are links to my man Marilyn, and also Slipknot, Rob Zombie and some other ones.
Personally, I was always more scared by this sort of thing. >shudder<

Lately my Room-mate and I have been watching Star Trek: The Next Generation episodes for supper. Well, not for supper, since they provide no real nutritional value, but during supper. Anyways, it's been really fun going back to them- it's been years since I had any real interest in Trek. All the spinoffs and dumb movies (First Contact excepted) and knobby-headed aliens got tiresome after a while. Watching them now, I am surprised at how good they are, and my love for TNG is rekindled.
Wait, let me back up a bit and dissect that sentence. "How good they are." Hmm.
We have watched episodes where the Enterprise gives birth to a rubick's cube that commandeers the holodeck in order to run a train simulation for some reason;
where we discover that Jean-Luc had an ancestor named Javier Picard;
where Worf's future adult son comes back in time (after meeting "someone"- just some guy, apparently- who had the power to control time) and tries to kill his younger self;
where Dr. Beverly Crusher falls in love with a ghost who can reanimate the corpse of her dead grandmother;
where Troi turns into a frog, Worf a spikey alien, Riker a caveman and Data's cat devolves into an iguana.

Hmm. Ok- "good" may not be the best term to use. Incredibly entertaining, though, especially watching them with someone as versed in Trek lore as my room-mate. And the episode we watched last night, called "Lower Decks" was in fact very well-written and engrossing. And "Genesis", the last one in that list, was actually really cool, despite (or because of) its wonky evolutionary science that claims that cats are descended from iguanas.

At long last I saw Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas tonight. I've been wanting to for months now. It has been a hitherto doomed undertaking, seeing this movie. But finally I found a copy to rent. And it was great- totally faithful to the book, which you should read without delay.
"The decision to flee came suddenly. The bill was a factor, I think, because I had no money to pay for it."

Gabrielle has poosted a review of the Prey for Rock and Roll Soundtrack on her blog, and she has also given me permission to poost it here, in order to garner more pooblicity for this excellent movie that we currently are unable to see since there are no major distributors for it. Read, buy and demand that the movie be shown all over the world, my friends.

"Punk rock girl says can't you play a little faster
I only like the music when it goes real fast
Punk rock girl says can't you play a little louder
Just a little louder cuz I like it like that
Punk rock girl says can't you play a little faster
Can't you play a little louder, man can't you do that?
Punk rock girl, she don't wanna hear the slow songs
She don't see the point in crap like that"

Prey for Rock and Roll is the soundtrack to the indie movie of the same name currently storming theatres everywhere except here. Since I am denied the ability to review the movie, I'll review the soundtrack instead. Prey is the story of a struggling girl punk band whose lead singer, Jacki, is in her forties and toying with the idea of abandoning the whole gig since the band has never gotten their big break. The music is circa 80s punk rock with a decidedly 2003 twist. Gina Gershon, who plays Jacki in the film, does all her own vocals here and it's her performance that drives the album. She is backed by punk grrrl lyrics from Cheri Lovedog, Samantha Maloney from Hole, Sara Lee from the B-52s, Gina Volpe from Lunachicks, and Stephen Trask of Hedwig & The Angry Inch fame.

Gina Gershon, an actress by trade but clearly a singer by passion, growls and prowls through the songs. She is more punk than half the 'legitimate' punk acts I've heard these days. In Punk Rock Girl she's teasing, you can practically hear her smirk through the saucy lyrics. In Every 6 Minutes she's angry, she belts out the words to a song about rape statistics and it's personal, she demands that you hear her. In The Ugly she is just plain punk. She takes the songs and infuses them with a tangible grit and wild sort of seduction. This is punk the way we love it. Angry, loud, good, and sexy. Gina has a new career if she wants it.

As a whole the album is a ride. It takes you through the movie's paces but it doesn't lose you. It maintains a driving beat and relentless guitars throughout. This album knows that its heart is rock and roll and it never forgets itself. Neither the songwriting nor the capable lead singer will let you forget it either. If you're smart, you'll get Prey for Rock and Roll so that you're in on the revelation when Gina Gershon becomes a rock goddess in her own right. But you'll love it because it's damn good.

Now if Gina could do a duet with Brody Armstrong from The Distillers, I could probably die happy...

Oh yeah I spoke at Lister Hall at the univeristy today, too, and it went well. I spoke on seeking and finding, and being sought. Sadly, I didn't go in costume, though I had thought about it- but then I thought that might be a little distracting, having oozing eyes and stuff, especially in front of a bunch of total strangers.

"Alert the Barillo cartel that El has come out of hiding."
"I don't think we sh . . ."
"Are you a Mexican . . . or a Mexican't?"
I got to spout off great lines like that all night, as I was Agent Sands from Once Upon a Time in Mexico for the G's Hallowe'en party.
"I can't SEE. I have no eyes."
Being a CIA agent isn't that much of a costume, but being Agent Sands is, as I got to wear the coolest makeup ever- I blacked out my eyes, then put oozey red blood trails coming down, and of course all this was hidden behind some shades.
Let's see if I can show you a picture of what I mean:
Yup, that would be him. Me. He has his own theme music, even.
As do I, and I finally got an mp3 of it last night so I been listening to Hey Hey Hey Homie Bear. If anyone wants a copy I can probably transmit it over Messenger, though it is too big to email. Just let me know.
Everyone else was all dressed up and looking good too- we had Felicity Shagwell, a boy scout, a greaser, a fairy, and even the little babies were dressed up! One was a chicken and one was a spider and they were so cute!
Other than the little cutey-pies, though, I think everyone was in agreement that Maleficent was the best dressed.

I am speaking at Lister Hall tomorrow afternoon, a dorm at the U of A. You might recall I spoke there last semester, too, and it went well. I should be writing my talk, but instead I am dreaming up clever band names, like TBA. That way, on a marquis, you could put, "Tonight's band: TBA"
There's already a band called The Special Guests, which I always thought was pretty clever. How about Cancelled? That would really mess things up with promoters. "What band is playing tonight?"
"Oh, it's Cancelled!"
"Aww, that sucks. Guess I won't come then."

I was hired by my coal mine 6 times in nine years- 5 consecutive summers when I was in university, and then once as a regular back in 2001. Each time I had to go through training, since the rule is, after 6 months of not driving you have to be retrained. This is a totally bogus rule, and the only reason it is in effect is because heavy haulers are the low guys on the totem pole, and no one wanted to be demoted to it after getting on another, better piece of equipment. Thus they had the rule passed so that they could say, "I can't drive truck because my training is not up-to-date."
So, I am waaaaay over-trained as a heavy hauler operator. Lots of times I woud be trained by an operator with less experience than I, and I would give them pointers and advice.
And also there was a written test I had to take each time- a three hour test, with a passing grade being 90%. I always tried to get 100% on it, but never quite managed. There weren't any questions about how to not blow up, but there were a lot of "what to do if . . . " your brakes fail; your tire blows; you flip over; you plummet down a 900 foot drop into the dump, etc. The answer to all of them, pretty much, is pray.

I had a dream last night that involved being in Newfoundland, where my friend Trevor crashed his Datsun (which he doesn't own in real life) into a wall, and also involved me getting a Class 1 licence to be a truck driver. The company I was applying to work at supplied trucks to its drivers, and one of the drivers who was working there already was mad at them so he parked his truck ten blocks away, in a handicapped parking spot, so that the next driver coming on shift would have to walk all that way and pay a hefty parking ticket. He was pretty proud of himself.
The test I had to write was very hard, involving things like knowing when to bleed hydraulic pressure from the lines so that you don't blow up. Which I am pretty sure is not a problem truckers face in real life.

Everybody has their own thing going on. That's pretty astounding, when you think about it. There are 6 billion people, roughly, so that means there are 6 billion different lives and motivations and dreams and you name it. Today as I was walking around, I saw a man furtively hiding behind a pillar, taking pictures of a nondescript building with a point-and-shoot camera, and then slinking away. Or on the train I watched another man warm his hands by spitting on them and rubbing the saliva. At Wendy's I couldn't help wondering what the two elderly gentlemen were discussing- was it current stuff like the Trappers leaving town, or the weather or politics, or was it good-old-days related?
I wonder if anyone ever looks at me and wonders what my story is.

It was a worthy ten year anniverary. I got to hang out with two of my very best friends. Rowan came on MSN just like I hoped, and we got all caught up. Then Jay and I hooked up for stogies, and we talked and reminisced and philosophized. And we didn't even get into any trouble with the law.
Though I came close to getting us into a different sort of trouble when we poked our heads in at La Tienda, saw it was full, and asked for suggestions for cigar-friendly bars, and one guy suggested Overtime.
"Overtime?" I said, "No way, that's where all the cougars and divor . . ." I stopped when I realized the guy talking was about the exact demographic for Overtime, and him and all his friends were obviously quite fond of the place.
But no one beat us up and no one arrested us. Come to think of it, maybe that would have been even more fun . . . nah.

Time flies. Today is another very significant day in Homie Bear's calendar. On or about ten years ago today . . . Jason and Rowan and I had a little adventure. Got into some trouble, you might say. Perhaps I will leave it at that, to protect the privacy of those worthy fellows, one of whom I will be meeting later tonight so that we can celebrate this auspicious day.
The other one is not currently on this continent, though he sent his greetings and will try to log on to MSN today if he can.
Sweet freedom.
And, let me just say, in honor of my partners-in-crime, Fuck the PO-lice!

Alright so- all the entries are in. Now the winners.
>ahem<
In the Pop Culture category, Nadine wins for her Once Upon A Time In Mexico story.
In Bear Necessities, gabrielle wins for NosBEARatu.
In Art, River Selkie wins for her portrait of King Snowfrost (is that who it is?) gazing at a hidden seal (or selkie).
And, um, Tammy- it's an honor just to be nominated, you know. Heehee. Just teasing.
So, prizes will be forthcoming shortly, once I come up with some appropriate ideas for each.
Thanks for entering, my friends.

And just in time: Selkie's entry! Yay!
(I fiddled with the Change Date and Time option to make it look like it got in nice and early.)

Here's my own entry for the contest- I thought I should provide some content on my own bloggiversary. Seems only fair.

Homie Bear was busy one day minding his own beeswax
When he found a pile of logs made with a Chopping-Trees axe
This made him very mad so off he went in search
Of the culprit who had chopped down all the elms and birch
He came upon a herd of orcs and quickly they confessed
When he put one of them in his jaws and very firmly pressed
They said the damage had been wrought by an evil spell
The Murderous Axe of Morgoth, forged in the pits of hell
So Homie knew he had to have a talk with Mr. Morgoth
He slew all of the orcs except for an Uruk-hai named Norvoth
And took him as a hostage/guide to the realm of Angband
(Something of an ancient sort of evil monster gang land)
Suddenly they were ambushed by a vicious hornet-dog horde
The monstrous critters stung and bit and buzzed and flew and tored
They didn't hurt Homie Bear though Norvoth sorta died
But this event was hardly sad so no one even cried
Homie Bear went on his way, alone now in his quest
But Angband now was just a couple of miles off to the west
So, overcoming obstacles as he made his way
He came to Morgoth's fortress and got ready for a fray
He rang the doorbell and out came Morgoth's snooty butler
Homie said, "Get Morgoth, sir, to come out here and suffer"
The butler told him to wait in the foyer while he got his master
Homie flashed his fangs to make the butler faster
Morgoth came and he cried out, "Damn you, insolent bear!
Come and face my Murderous Axe, that is, if you dare!"
Homie cursed and growled at him, and yelled out to him, "Silence!
"You are a Messianic Cult Leader who Promotes Violence
"You grow up orcs and chop down trees and cause a lot of trouble
Now I'm going to take your fortress and turn it into rubble!"
Then he took the Murderous Axe and broke it right in half
As if it were nothing more than a cheapo hobbit's staff
Morgoth was so frightened that he actually pooed his robe
So Homie was disgusted and (literally) kicked him off the globe
Turning towards his woods he thought, "Morgoth ain't no Sauron
"In evil he's a mutant ant and in brains he is a moron."

Here's a review of Emmylou Harris' Stumble Into Grace I did for Tammy- well- and theooze, too, of course.

Alright, so, I know you are all eagerly awaiting the results of the Bloggiversary contest. Selkie said she would have an entry in by today sometime, so I will hold off until I get it- I asked her for an extension for her bloggiversary contest, so fair is fair. But a quick reminder of the entries so far:
Tammy entered a picture her daughter drew in the art category. Again, nicely done with the nefariousisity.
Gabrille entered NosBEARatu in the Bear Necessities category and a transcript of my daily conference call in the Pop Culture category.
And my sister, La Pinche Esa, entered a Mexico/pirates/duende story, complete with bears and ass-kicking, which is actually just two poosts down, so I won't bother linking to it.
So, I will announce the winners once I get Selkie's entry in- therefore, any other last minute entries will still be accepted.

Pooing in the Woods is one year old! Happy bloggiversary to me! Yay!
Here is the very first poost, an old, old joke Papa Bear told me when I was a cub. Such memories.

Here is my sister's entry for the contest. I poosted it straight from her email without reading it, so that I may have the pleasure of reading my own blog and not knowing what it says:

Once upon a time in Mexico, a gang of pirates happened upon a little forgotten pueblo called Comoapan. They had landed in the port of Veracruz and found themselves near booty-less, and bored. They tried some general plundering with the ships in the bustling port but the people of Veracruz responded by loading up the cannons at Fort San Juan de Ulua and just letting ‘em go until they hit the pirate’s ship and sunk it. With the last of the booty, the pirates jumped on their lifesaving rafts which they had stolen after the Titanic scare and headed south along the coastline until they felt they were out of danger.
Exhausted, thirsty and hungry after such an arduous journey, they laid down their paddles and surveyed their surroundings. Looked good to them, lush and green as far as the eye could see. Looking forward to a good meal and better drink, they stepped into the first cantina they saw. But Mexicans are nobody’s fool. Seaside dwelling poblanos weren’t about to let obvious pirates wreak havoc in their town. So they told the piratas to head to the town down the road, Pijijiapan, just 15 kilometres, nice little place, they’d love it.

Resignedly the pirates set off. But as one would expect, this was the kind of treatment they received in Pijijiapan, and Paso del Toro, and Chuniapan, etc. It wasn’t until they got about 100 kilometres from the coast that people stopped loooking askance. Well, to be honest, they still looked a little askance but that was for the eye patches, the dirty clothes and the rather offensive odour. Just some dirty extranjeros obviously, and hey if they want to spend their money in my cantina who am I to refuse?

Thus the pirates hung some hammocks in the two-tiered gazebo in Comoapan's park while they fattened themselves up a bit and decided on a plan of action. They were down to their last gold coins and since they knew the pinche Spaniards had ruined any honest pirate’s chance of some good pillaging they were a little stumped. They admired the industrious nature of the cheerful Comoapanians but were fairly sure they wouldn’t have the patience to sell coconuts at a peso per until they restocked the booty chest. Everyone in the region lived simply at best and in dire poverty at worst so there didn’t seem to be any viable targets for housebreaking or simple muggings. Besides, they kinda liked the smiling little Mexicanos. By this time they were routinely being invited to Doña Carmela’s house for lunch and Doña Alicia’s place for supper. Very hospitable, truth be told.

Then one day their luck changed. Two of the eight pirates were drinking Coronitas (little half bottles of Corona, by this time they were all the purse would stretch to) at Natcho’s Bar. They had tended to Natcho’s because it was a bar rather than a cantina and so didn’t employ the typical señoritas. Not that they had anything against señoritas, mind you, but they were a little worn out from the wenching they’d done when they arrived and as previously mentioned, the coffers were dangerously low.

Thus One-Eyed Wally and his best buddy George were sipping a little shame-facedly at their diminutive cervezas, and pondering as ever their dilemma.

“We could...” Started George.

“There’s always...” Returned One-Eyed Wally.

Giving up, they sipped in silence and batted at mosquitoes.

Then Francisco Rene and Marcos arrived with Heliodoro, Paco and Pepe. These were the guys who had gone most out of their way to befriend the pirates. They were generous with the Corona (and they bought the big ones, Caguamas, which litre bottles fit a lot better into the pirates’ meaty hands) and they liked to tell funny stories. So it was with glee that Wally and George gestured them to sit down.

“Qué tal Wally de Un Ojo? Qué ondas Jorge?”

The pirates by now were used to their Spanish names and had picked up a surprising amount of the language during their 7 weeks in the village. Just because pirates don’t generally go to school doesn’t mean they’re not interested in self-improvement. Besides, they liked the romantic sound and were dying to be able to sing the love songs, which continually brought them to tears after a few too many cervezas. There was this troubador named Chacho who played for his cousins Heliodoro, Marcos and Pepe whenever he blew through town. His voice was like nothing the pirates had ever heard, and they were hoping to learn his sweet melodies of undying devotion so that they'd be able to bring the tradition of the serenade to their homeland when they retired from pirateering. But Don Juan (Doña Carmela's husband) always requested one that basically said "I don't care if they call me a womanizer, I love them all." It sounded a lot better in Spanish obviously, but the pirates still thought it was in rather poor taste and secretly felt kind of sorry for the sweet Doña Carmela.

The pirates listened avidly as their gang of friends told countless stories and jokes. It was nearing sunrise when one of the guys brought up the duendes.

"Duendes? What are duendes?" This from George.

The Mexican gang took great pleasure in telling the pirates about the dirty little zombie children who only come out at night. They dress in rags, if at all, and like to kidnap people and rough them up. They bribed poor Don Emilio with a shot of tequila in his wayward youth and no one saw hide nor hair of him for four days. When he finally appeared he was naked, and covered in bruises and scrapes. Then there were stories like that of poor Don Cleto, who, back when he still had both legs, was behind his house using the facilities when a duende appeared. Of course Cleto was terrified and started shrieking. This annoyed the duende, who scratched the hapless man to shreds. All of Comoapan still remembered the sight of the man screaming like a girl and trying to run with his pants around his ankles.

It was rumoured, said Francisco Rene, that the duendes lived in the graveyard and there kept hidden a large stash of gold and jewels that not even the Spaniards had been able to wrest from them. No one really liked to mess with the undead little buggers. It was just a rumour really but the muchachos all seemed to believe in its validity. Every time valuables went missing from someone's house the duendes were blamed - the general consensus was that they had been adding to their collection for too many years to count.

"Are you thinking what I'm thinking?" George asked his oldest friend.

Wally and George thanked their amigos for the Caguamas and hurried to tell the others. Irish Bill told them that the Cap'n was pressing tortillas, while the rest were still sleeping. They rushed to get the Cap'n and wake the others up, and excitedly told the group what they had discovered.

They set up camp in the graveyard that very night. It was an overgrown, unkempt place of riotous colours and ostentatious imitation cathedral-style grave markers alongside simple white crosses. And there were flowers everywhere, real and artificial, in vases in front of and beside the graves. All this was easily visible in the light of the full moon. A couple of the pirates shivered a little apprehensively and tried to blame it on the chilly night.

Waiting in relative silence for nearly two hours, they started to feel restless and wondered if all the night would net them was bug bites and sore asses. Suddenly Irish Bill felt a light smack to the back of his head and an mocking little voice said, "Waiting for us, puto?"

The pirates jumped up at once.

"Who you calling puto?" yelled Bill.

A gang of perhaps seven ragged little urchins were standing and looking up at the pirates. Their faces were very dark and the whites of their eyes were very, very white in the silvery moonlight. They were tiny, with the youngest looking about 3 and the eldest being no older than 8.

The one who had insulted Bill rattled off something in Spanish too quick for the pirates to understand. Perhaps he was explaining his motives for belittling Bill or perhaps he was addressing the rest of them in like kind. They couldn't know.

"Cap'n," said One-Punch Willy (he had come to the band much later than Wally but he wasn't about to change his nickname, he had earned his fame of knocking people out with one blow), "Cap'n, these are just mini little kids."

"Oro?" asked George hopefully. "Donde está el oro? We no kill if we get oro."

The urchins laughed. The pirates heard mutterings of gringos estupidos, and could feel the duendes' scorn. That did it, since this particular band was known for its toughness and didn't let anybody laugh at them, no matter how short.

Out came the swords and the swashbuckling began. Only... where did they go?

"Hey... ouch.... what????" One-Eyed Wally looked down at the blood on his hand in bewilderment. His face was bleeding profusely from an open wound down his cheek.

Irish Bill looked to be suffering the same affliction, whereas the Cap'n and George were mopping at long scratches down their torsos and legs.

One-Punch seemed to be doing a bit better, he had one of the niños by the throat and was winding up to deliver the fabled one punch. But before he could, the child hissed and with a twist used his teeth and nails on poor Willy until the pirate was forced to drop the duende amidst howls of pain.

And thus continued the fight until the pirates had no choice but to make a break for it. They ran as if the hounds of hell were on their heels, tripping on their own feet as they checked to see if the duendes were behind them. When finally they didn't see the zombie children anymore, they started to slow, then realized their mistake when they were attacked with a rain of mangoes and oranges from the trees lining the street.

The pirates began to stir at the first peal of the churchbell calling the people to morning mass. Confusedly they looked down and around, they were naked and lying in a heap in the middle of the park. What seemed to be half of the town's population (at least), was standing around, staring and laughing. Comments could be heard about men who love other men and to make matters worse, the flota had suddenly appeared (more likely on their way home from the cantina then on their way to mass), and their hoots of laughter were the loudest of all.

"You went after the duendes didn't you, you bunch of pendejos?" Paco was doubled over with laughter at the sight of the, as he termed them, dumbass pirates.

"It seemed like a good idea at the time." Wally mumbled defensively.

Heliodoro rounded them up and hustled them off to his house. Being a third year medical student he was the closest thing Comoapan had to a doctor, while his sister Marianela was the town's curandera, healer, although the pirates had heard that she also dabbled in the black arts of witchcraft. There were plenty of witches in the area, strangely enough.

While their wounds were being cleaned and dressed the pirates bemoaned their fate. They still couldn't understand what had happened.

"We got our asses kicked by a bunch of kids!" One-Punch Willy was humiliated.

"Kids with the strength of 10 men!" From Irish Bill, who tended to embroider stories.

"Hmm..." Said the rest a little dubiously.

But the Heliodoro, his sisters, and the rest of the family sat down to talk to them and insisted that the pirates had indeed been vanquished by forces beyond human comprehension. One didn't interfere with the duendes, and the pirates were fortunate that they had escaped with no more than a few gouged body parts.

Presently the band of buccaneers noticed that their eyes were itching and irritated. They gawked at each other when they realized that all of them had dreadfully red eyes.

"Ojos rojos! Ojos rojos!" Yelled the children of the house. They started screaming about the duendes and demons and that the pirates had joined the ranks of the undead.

"Let me take a look." Said Heliodoro calmly, gesturing for his niece and nephew to stop their caterwauling.

He inspected the Cap'n's eye for a minute or so and started laughing.

"You really are pendejos. You went and got yourselves infected with conjunctivitis! That's pink-eye to you gringos. What did you think was going to happen if you sat around in a graveyard all night? All that stagnant water - you're lucky you didn't get typhoid!" Helio shook his head, still chuckling, and went for some antibiotics.

A few days passed while the pirates recuperated from their injured bodies but not their injured pride. Poor One-Eyed Wally had it the worst of all because, owing to the pink-eye, he had had to remove his eye-patch, and the world learned his shameful secret. He was the embarrassed owner of two perfectly functioning eyes.

"Well, it's just that pirates always seemed so much tougher with a patch." He shrugged and blushed.

The Mexicans weren't the most subtle people and took great delight in ribbing "Wally de dos ojos" endlessly. He looked even stupider because after so many weeks in the Mexican sun, he had a very obvious tan-line where the patch had been and so no one who looked at him could forget his treachery.

"What a fockin' amadon y'are, Wally, ya look like a frickin' eejit." Irish Bill mocked him for hours on end. The pirates had never really been sure what exactly an amadon was but they knew it was a grave insult, and nobody likes to be called an ee- uh, idiot.

Nearing the end of their recuperation the pirates heard tell of a circus in the nearby town of Sihuapan. The younger pirates like One-Punch Willy were dying to go but were still suffering a bit from the fateful night. They heard tales of an oso blanco and were dying to see it. A white bear sounded like an awfully odd thing, and they wouldn't believe it could be until they had seen it with their own eyes.

One day Pepe was visiting and told them that he had heard many rumours from the people of Sihuapan, that the animal was rare and beautiful and that in the city of Mexico there were people who would pay many millions of pesos for something so magnificent.

"Are you thinking what I'm thinking?" Wally asked George.

And so it was that the next day the pirates set off from the town of Comoapan, each with a beautiful parrot on his shoulder as a farewell gift from the townspeople. Well, all but One-Punch Willy who, being the most junior of the bunch had to make due with a tiny, but handsome parakeet. The poblanos had only been able to rustle up seven parrots on such short notice.

The gang was off to try their hand with a white bear, whose claws they imagined to be less fearsome than the nails of those awful duendes.

Guess what? Tomorrow is my bloggiversary. Pooing in the Woods is going to be onety years old. That's a lot of poo. So- you have until tonight- midnightish, roughly, though I am not strict, to get your entries in for the bloggivesary contest. Lydia- are you going to let your mom win on artwork that YOU did? I think you should enter and show her who's boss. Diney- so . . . brave talk there but it rings hollow unless you actually enter. Selkie- I'm calling you out only because it worked when you did the same to me for your bloggiversary (and I won! Yay!). Gotthammer Mike- where dat mp3 you promised? Blarg- show me you have something in that Digi-brain of yours. And all you lurkers, surprise me! Make me happy!

Look what I found! Remember a few months ago when I told you how Genndy Tartakovsky, the brilliant animator behind Samurai Jack, is doing some Star Wars: Clone Wars shorts for the Cartoon Network? Too bad I don't get the Cartoon Network. Anyways, this is a fansite, but looks pretty nice- I actually was fooled into thinking it was the official site at first. It's not completely up yet, though. Two things I love: animation and Star Wars. Remember Droids? How about Ewoks? I think Genndy is going to kick some Droid ass. Probably even some Lucas ass, come to think of it. Lucass.

Since Kill Bill has been such a success, I am sure other studios will quickly trot out their own versions, with the tagline "If you liked Kill Bill, you'll LOVE . . . " Attack Zach. Slam Sam. Flay Ray. Eat Pete. Behead Fred. Woo Sue (a romantic comedy). Maybe I better not give them any ideas.

So, the gauntlet was thrown down by my sister the other day in regards to the bloggiversary contest- I believe she said something to the effect of "I'ma kick alla yer asses." Brave talk, to be sure. She IS the pooet laureate, though, so she has a right to talk a little smack. However, gabrielle has submitted TWO amazing entries, and to be honest, it's looking pretty good for her- I mean, the title of her poem alone is almost good enough to win (bearing in mind that there are multiple categories):

NosBEARatu

Close your eyes
darkness presses close as a lover
and the darkness outside is forgotten
You can pretend it isn’t there
it won’t find you
it isn’t hunting you with preternatural precision
through the dark
Your self-imposed sanctuary under the stars
blankets you with anonymity
you are safe here
though your limbs shiver with cold
fear
There won’t be a sound when it arrives
no crunching of crusted snow
no rustling of winter-laden branches
just silence
heavy and deep as the darkness behind your lids
There won’t be anything
except quite suddenly a blow
tremendous
a locomotive to the side of your head
and wet cushioning where you fall
No snuffling
growling
predatory warning
Just the sinking precision of fangs
into your flesh
into your pulsing panicking vein
There won’t be pain
just a thick rushing as your blood spurts out
into the breathless mouth of that which hunts you now
You know you’ll be drained
white and limp
between the thick limbs that should give warning
must make noise
There will be nothing left in you to throb
with fear
the fangs withdrawn
the blood stilled
And you’ll watch the silent ambling shape
carved of marbled fur
ivory limbs
animated death between sentinel trees
vanish impossibly into nothing
You’ll die
But for now you’re safe
behind your own eyes
and the vampire bear is just a myth

And just to make it clear, this is the second entry by gabrielle, so all brilliance is hers:

Homie Bear settled onto the couch at precisely 10:00 am. It was a Tuesday morning, bright and crisp outside the patio windows. He picked up the phone receiver and dialed in to his daily conference call. There was a pause and a series of odd clicks so routine that Homie Bear never really paid them much attention. The operator’s voice told him in quiet tones that he was about to enter a conference call and would he state his name? “Homie Bear,” he said firmly into the receiver. He was announced and the call began…

Homie Bear: Good morning all.
Dalai Lama: Good morning.
King Snowfrost: Seems we’re missing somebody yet.
Homie: Marilyn?

(as though on cue there is a series of static crackles and then Marilyn Manson is announced by the ever-calm operator)

Snowfrost: Right on time.
Marilyn Manson: Late is a state of mind. I choose to think of myself as early for tomorrow’s call.
Homie: Same old Marilyn.
Marilyn: How did the Oilers game go last night, Homie?
Homie: We won in overtime! It was incredible. How was your show?
Marilyn: Sacrificed a goat on the drum set, tossed my genitals into the crowd, deflowered a virgin. The
usual routine. The bass was unleashed. ‘Ka-boom’ sounded frenetic. Good night.
DLama: The press persists in printing such unfounded lies about you, Brian. Doesn’t that bother you?
Marilyn: Part and parcel, Holiness. I seek out the unfounded. It keeps people questioning and questions
are better than complacency.
DLama: You have a spiritual journey not marked for most, it’s true.
Marilyn: There can only be one Antichrist.
Snowfrost: So you claim repeatedly. I have yet to see proof of your status.
Marilyn: The proof will come in the end times, my polar friend.
Homie: I think you’re more of a scholar than you care to admit, Marilyn. You’re a humanities
expert of sorts.
Snowfrost: Always wisdom from the bears. Remember that.

(there is the sound of rhythmic drumming over the line and somebody’s connection gives off the sound of being moved)

Homie: Good beat. Ginger?
Marilyn: Fuelled by a hangover. What’s on the agenda for today?
Snowfrost: Tourism to Churchill is down from last year.
Marilyn: That’s the agenda?
DLama: Global community is the agenda.
Homie: Speaking of bears…
Snowfrost: Hear hear!
Homie: … my roommate made an interesting point about tigers on her blog the other day.
DLama: Roy is not following the path of higher learning.
Marilyn: Karma will fucking nail you. It’ll go for the jugular.
Homie: Not about Roy, actually. About the fact that the white tigers in zoos and, yes, in the Mirage, are
actually inbred specifically to show off. Wild tigers are all orange and black. White ones are a
freak occurrence. I thought you’d like that, Marilyn.
Marilyn: ‘You’re one of us, one of us…’

(there is the sound of voices over somebody’s connection and a lot of static-y shuffling)

Snowfrost: Tigers are in some serious danger.
Homie: Indeed. There are less than 3000 in the wild today, according to my roommate.
DLama: Our treatment of animals depicts something of our opinion of ourselves.

Marilyn: I don’t actually sacrifice goats onstage.
Homie: Is that guilt speaking in the great Marilyn Manson?
Marilyn: Don’t be insulting, Homie. It’s statement of fact.
DLama: We here know your true nature, Brian. We aren’t swayed by media reports.
Snowfrost: Unless it involves Chinese astronauts.
DLama: (sighs) It should have involved us.
Homie: I’m not much of a rocket scientist.
DLama: I refer to my monks. It would then have been a day of rejoicing.
Marilyn: If the astronaut had died, they’d have found a way to blame Tibet. I’d say this way is better than
not.
DLama: One could almost suspect you of sympathizing, Brian.
Snowfrost: When will you do a benefit for the bears, friend musician?
Marilyn: When hell freezes over.
Snowfrost: (growls) Do I take that to be a deliberate slight?
Homie: I think he meant it’ll take a few years to organize. The Eagles said the same thing and it all
worked out in the end.
Marilyn: Ever the diplomat.

(there is the sound of distant chanting over somebody’s connection in the lengthy pause that follows)

Homie: It might snow later.
Snowfrost: Consider it a gift.
Marilyn: Will this affect eastern Canada as well?
Snowfrost: (with the hint of a growl) If I can be sure I’ll get you in the windchill, yes.
Marilyn: (low laughter)
DLama: He does love to rile you, Snowfrost.
Snowfrost: I can understand why the Mexicans protested his presence in their country.
Homie: Well they protest largely out of ignorance, I think. They have a knee-jerk reaction to what they
think Marilyn stands for and they get offended by him without really even listening to his music.
DLama: The most understood quite often have the most to teach us.
Marilyn: Example: Hitler.

(there is a roar of protest from Snowfrost and quiet laughter from Marilyn)

Snowfrost: Holiness, will you stand for such talk?
DLama: He is as entitled to his opinions as you to yours.
Homie: Actually he’s right, Snowfrost. Hitler did have a lot to teach us. Marilyn didn’t say it was a good
example or a moral lesson, per se. He just implied we could learn a lot from Hitler. Which,
hopefully, we can so we can avoid his sort of racial genocide in the future.
Snowfrost: Not just racial genocide. Species genocide.
Homie: Like the tigers.
Marilyn: I wonder if anyone else has such light Tuesday morning discussions?
Homie: Light would be the ‘Sleeping Beauty’ DVD I watched last night.

(there is the sound of a groan likely from Marilyn)

Snowfrost: You would imagine Disney would contribute more to the preservation of the animals they so
readily exploit in their movies.
DLama: Do what you can. Let others take care of theirs.
Homie: There’s a game on the DVD where you can answer a series of questions and the fairy will tell you
which Disney princess you’re most like.
Marilyn: (amused) Which princess are you?
Homie: Well my roommate is Ariel, apparently.
Marilyn: … and?
Homie: And you’re most like Cinderella.

(there is a snort of laughter from Snowfrost and a suspicious silence from the Dalai Lama)

Marilyn: I’m actually speechless. How do you figure that?
Homie: We answered the questions channeling you. We picked things we figured you’d like. And it turns
out you’re Cinderella.
Snowfrost: I never thought you were the mice and glass slipper type, Marilyn.
Marilyn: There’s obviously a lot of unexplored territory in me.
Homie: I can see a new album theme coming out of this. And you wouldn’t even have to change your
concert opening from ‘Night on Bald Mountain’.

(there is more laughter from Snowfrost and the simultaneous sound of a voice over somebody’s line)

Marilyn: Shame really, but I have an interview to get to.
Snowfrost: And I do have a council to attend.
DLama: Until tomorrow, peace be yours.
Homie: Same time tomorrow. Bye everyone.

Homie Bear hung up the phone with a slight smile. Then he stood and stretched before putting on his shoes and heading off into the autumn sun for an afternoon of research in the university library.

I really like October, you know. Each month has its own appeal, but October has a special place for me in the solar zodiac. The weather is still mostly pleasant, it gets darker earlier but there is still a decent amount of sunshine, and of course the leaves change, ever so fleetingly, to that amazing palette of flame colours.
October also has memories, and to me, very few things are worth more than memory. October reminds me of Newfoundland and police cruisers and hallowe'en. But not all the memories are happy, though they are necessary. On October 18, 1994, a young girl who was my sister's very best friend in the world passed away. She had cancer. She fought bravely, but the cancer took her. She was 18. I still remember, Dine, and I think about her still, and I know you do too.

The bloggiversary contest rules have fallen off the main page, so here is a link to them. Hint hint. Only four more days to go.

Blarg kindly reminded me that there is, as I type, a Chinese astronaut in a Chinese spaceship orbiting the earth (actually, further investigation reveals he is back on Earth). Knowing me as he does, and knowing that I have interests in both the realms of China and astronomy, he rightfully wondered why I haven't said anything about it. Well, I have no answer to that question, so instead, my response shall be to rectify the situation thusly:

Wo zhuhe Zhong Guo.
Wo zhuhe Yang Liwei- ni jiangluo, ni yilu ping an.

Also, Blarg asked the following thoughtful question, which I would be remiss in ignoring: how does one poo in space? carefully?
The answer, of course, is that one poos with a certain abandonment, a joie de vivre, even, as you take advantage of the weightlessness to let 'er rip in whatever direction you choose. Triple points if your poo takes up residency in the asteroid belt. But, yes, do be careful.
So thank you Blarg, for the heads-up.

Wanna see a picture of my little sweetheart?
She's a G-baby. And we got to spend the whole weekend with her out at the G-retreat. Thanks to Cash Flow Joe (her dad) for sending me the pic.

"They usually build a tank."
As part of my ongoing A-Team education, I watched my second-ever episode tonight. Today I got to see my first "Building-something musical montage" as Room-mate called it. It was classic- BA and the rest of the Team built a two-story rail-tank, as nonchalantly foretold by RM. Imagine a perfectly matter-of-fact voice 'Here comes the Building-something-musical-montage. They usually build a tank." And sure enough, that is exactly what happened. You can see where Monster Garage originated from.
Oh yeah, and then they knocked out BA with a 2X4 so he could go on a helicopter. I was totally shocked, but again, this is par for the course for the A-Team.

Yeah, so we have this neighbour downstairs who has thumped us with his broom handle a couple of times. I don't think he realizes who he's messing with. A few years ago I moved into a house, and my landlady went and met the neighbours, and she introduced us. The man said to me, "Welcome to our quiet neighbourhood." He said it just like that- emphasizing on the quiet. So I said, extra-cheerfully, "Not anymore!!!!"
He never really liked me after that, especially when he felt the need to come over one night at 2 in the morning to request I turn down my Beastie Boys. That was in a house, mind you.

So there is a rather big baseball game going on tonight- I have to admit, though I am an on-again-off-again baseball fan, I am quite intrigued by this game. I love Clemens, and I remember Pedro Martinez from his days as an Expo. Once I watched him throw away a Perfect-to-that-point game in order to bean a guy. He has a bit of a record for those kind of shenanigans, which of course is also a factor in tonight's game, what with what happened in his last game (which I didn't see but have read about- it involves Pedro defending himself against a 72 year old man who charged the mound (shakes his head)). Anyways, if anyone wants to invite me to their house to watch the game, I certainly wouldn't complain. I know Blu won't, since he hates baseball.

The last poost was a little cryptic, I admit- and oh yeah before I forget I have to say the weirdest thing about Cryptonomicon (which I still can't say right): remember how I wrote the fake version featuring a cassowary? Turns out there IS a cassowary in the book, albeit for only one paragraph, and the word "cassowary" isn't actually used, but since there is only one kind of bird capable of eviscerating a Japanese lieutenant in New Guinea, I think it's safe to assume that it was indeed a cassowary.
Uh, what was I going to talk about? Oh yeah. About my last poost. See, I went to Ikea to get some stuff for the apartment- another lamp and another bookshelf. Room-mate told me it would never fit in Little Green Jellybean, so I thought I would borrow my Dad's truck. But it turns out my ever generous father has already lent his truck to someone else, so I had no choice but to use my beloved car. I thought to myself, I can make it work.
When I got there and actually saw how long the box was (and wide- I accidentally bought one size too wide) I have to admit I had a moment of doubt. But I plunged ahead anyways, and made it work, dammit! The shelf unit was hanging a good ways out of my trunk, but we made it home. Almost didn't make it up the stairs with the stupid thing, but that is neither here nor there. Nor poo.
And now it is all set up in our apartment and it looks pretty great. I can definitely hibernate here for the winter.

All I really have to say right now is this: Who needs a truck when you have . . . Little Green Jellybean!

It's hockey poo time again! Remember how I totally won last year's poo? Seems some of the pooheads I humiliated want another shot. I'm happy to let them try, and I will be equally happy to take their money at the end of the season. Alex can't make it tonight so I went over to his place today (super nice place, btw) to get his picks so I can do his by proxy. I don't know why he wants a bunch of enforcers, goalies and has-been defencemen as his top picks, but hey, if he wants me to use all his top picks on guys like Rocky Thompson, well, that's fine by me. Heehee.
Although, since he has an actual replica LOTR sword hanging in his living room, perhaps I better play it straight.

Kill Bill groovy movie! Story gory, Uma truema, Lucy juicy, Quentin benten. Sequel equal? Fer sure!

Wow, it is really hard to write a move review, even a mini one, using only rhyming words. Some languicide must be committed, for which I apoologize. And yet I am oddly proud. (I realize Chapter 2 is not really a sequel, as it was all supposed to be one movie.)
I'm tempted just to leave it at that, but I will say a few more things- Kill Bill is not for the squeamish, so if you don't like violence, stay far, far away. That said, it has some surprisingly beautiful and exquisite moments. Like Spanish guitar in a Zen garden. And that's not just a nice metaphor I made up to describe what I'm saying, there is actually a zen garden in the movie, with a spanish guitar soundtrack.

I'm back from the G-Retreat. It was most relaxing and fun. Since it is late I will be brief and poost more tomorrow- I just want to say right now that I was grievously oppressed on TWO seperate occasions- I think all I need to say is Kermit THE Frog and Bart Simpson. The guilty parties will know exactly what I am talking about. Taxs.

Hey Diney, I forgot to mention that I offered your services to River Selkie- she needs some latino music recommendations, so I told her I would ask you. But now I am going away for the weekend, so if you happen to be online and see this, would you be so kind as to head over to her place and leave a dropping? Gracias hermana bonita (right?).

Time for another retreat! Yup, my life is so stressful that I feel the need to go off on another retreat. Just two weeks ago I went to Jasper, as you may recall, and now this weekend I am joining all my G-friends at a lake a little south of here for our annual church retreat. So there will be no poosting for a couple of days. You can occupy yourself by working on your submissions for the bloggiversary contest! Yay!

Here in Canada it is the Thanksgiving Long Weekend. I think ours is different from the States' because we don't have that whole thing with the pilgrims and we time ours to correspond with harvest. But anyways, I like thanksgiving- it's good to take stock of one's blessing and stuff.
In 1997 I was in the middle of my Cross-Canada hitch-hiking trip, and had just gotten off the ferry in Newfoundland. I was making my way from Port-Aux-Basques to St. John's, a distance of about 900 kms, and was totally oblivious to the fact that it was a long weekend. One of my rides gave me his phone number when he dropped me off and told me to call him if I wanted a tour of St. John's. The next day I wandered around by myself, managing to get out to Cape Spear, the easternmost point in North America and the symbolic goal of my journey, but the next day I overcame my shyness and called the guy up, having nothing to lose.
He told me he was a little busy cooking supper for his family so he couldn't give me the tour like he promised, so instead he invited me over for supper. So I went, forgetting that it was Thanksgiving, and wound up being treated to seriously one of the best meals of my entire life- a Jigg's Dinner. Traditional Newfoundland cuisine- salted beef, moose, tasty veggies and all kinds of stuff. I ate and ate and ate. It was sooo good. Afterwards he took me for that tour, as well. What a great guy.
Anyways, Happy Thanksgiving everyone!

Now you know that Homie Bear is not some corporate shill, so you will forgive this blatant plug for what I believe is the future of industry, technology, and yea, even mankind itself! At long last, Blarg Industries has unveiled the Digi-Eye™! Complete with all the special features that were but a dream mere days ago at his birthday party. But you really must go "see" for yourself.
Certain individuals have expressed concern that this may be the genesis of the Borg (note even the phonetic similarity between Blarg and Borg) but I don't think so . . . of course this individual also happened to write the press release for the Digi-Eye™ so perhaps she has already been assimilated.

Fuhrsie was there, and Billy Ranford, and Pokey Reddick, and Eddie Mio. Too bad Andy Moog wasn't there, but oh well. It was a pretty nice ceremony- cool to see Grant get so choked up about it, being a local and all. Kevin Lowe gave a nice speech with just the right amount of good-natured burns ("Fuhr never made a mistake. Well, maybe one time . . . ") And it was funny to watch the bigwigs handle the harmless-but-definitely-unplanned incident with the draw winner. They did a draw for two tickets to the big outdoor game, and they announced the winner, and not four feet away from where I was standing this older native guy jumps up in delight and says"Right on!" and slowly walks all the way down to the stage, goes up on stage, shakes Grant Fuhr's hand and the deputy mayor's, who had no choice but to give him the tickets then and there, although he was supposed to claim his prize later and elsewhere.

Remember a while back when I was talking about all the things I missed out on in the '80's even though that was my growing-up decade? A-Team was on that list. But not anymore!!! Tonight my room mate and I watched my very first episode ever of the A-Team. It was all I hoped for, and more. In fact, a lot more. I had no idea the richness of Murdoch's faux-insanity and the sheer comedic joy it would bring. I had a pretty good idea of how Mr. T's character would be, but I was pleased to see him reveal some vulnerability: "I'm scared, and when I get scared I get mean. And you don't want to see me mean." Having seen Mr. T be plenty mean in Rocky III, I can back that claim up. I also have to say I was highly impressed by room mate's ability to quote verbatim the opening monologue- not exactly as famous as "Space, the final frontier" but still pretty cool. This is how I recall it- "Ten years ago the A-Team were in Vietnam and then something bad happened and they were falsely accused and went to jail but they escaped and now they are the A-Team and you can hire them if you want to, but only if you can find them." It sounds MUCH cooler when the guy says it, or my room mate.

Tomorrow me and my previous room mate, who you might recall was named Evil Room Mate, are going to go see another icon of the '80's (at least if you grew up in Alberta), Mr. Grant Fuhr. The Oilers are retiring his jersey at tomorrow night's season opener, but I am not going to the game, just to the ceremony at City Hall at noon. Fuhr was the Oiler's goalie for much of the Glory Years. He was as famous for his love of golf as for his ability in net (in truth, he let in a lot of soft goals early on in games, but it never mattered cause Gretzky and Co. would just score whenever they felt like it), and there was a scandal that I won't go into here- bears don't wallow in muck like swine. Back in the day I used to work at a certain food franchise known for its ice-cream-like products, and I used to serve Fuhr and his kids fairly regularly. I still feel bad about the time I forgot to put his kids' drinks in the takeout bag.
(This and the previous were orginally one big poost but I decided to split them up for your convenience)

Oh dear. Two bears are dead because of this incident. I don't want to point my finger at this Treadwell guy, because it sounds like he really loved beas, though it also kind of sounds like he was a little bit out there, but everyone should know by now- bears are unpredictable. They are not "harmless". They should never, ever be touched or approached.

"El hombre es un dios caído que recuerda los cielos"
- Lamartine

This was in an email my sister forwarded to me just now, while we were talking on MSN. I hazarded a guess as to its meaning, and my first one was way off, but my second was closer:

First guess: the man is a day that is blue
Second guess: the man is a god who reaches the sky
Actual translation: man is a fallen god who remembers the heavens

I killed two seals with one paw with this poost- I practiced some Spanish and tried out some CSS at the same time. I found this tutorial page on CSS today, so I had to try some out.
Oh no! She just signed out and left me with this tantalizing word that I want to know the meaning of. Chaneke. What does it mean? Help me!!

This morning during my daily conference call with Marilyn, the DL and King Snowfrost of the polar bears, His Royal Pawness asked me to convey my greetings to the King of the Lions. Not knowing him personally, I did the next best thing and went and bought The Lion King on DVD. I think Snowfrost will be pleased. I know I am. It even came with a free little Simba doll.
However I have bought far too many DVD's in the last little while and so this will be the last until The Two Towers Special Edition. Unless X2 or Pirates comes out before then, but I don't think they will. Anyways leave me alone- the King of the Polar Bears told me to do it!

A few years ago me and a room mate were looking out our picture window, admiring the fall colors and leaves on the trees and all that. Just then a gust of wind came and blew all the leaves off the tree. "Looks like fall's over," I said.
"Yep," said Corey, and we returned to our lives.
Today is kind of like that- their is one tree just down the street that is pretty much devoid of leaves, thanks to today's gustiness. But i'm not ready to declare fall dead just yet. And I am not about to fall dead, either, haha.

Here's a cool writing exercise- pick a word, then write a story where the first letter of every sentence spells out the word. Obviously "poo" is much too small of a word, so how about Polar Bear?

Prowling on the perma-frost, the polar bear is searching for prey. "Only a few more nights," she thinks. Last year the hunting season had been cut short, as the ice melted much sooner than normal. Another season like that, and she might not be able to store enough energy for the summer. Reasoning through the implications of that thought causes her to shudder.
Behind her her two cubs are following along, practicing their hunting technique. Each of them is noticeably smaller than any of her previous litters, another worrisome fact. Any seals that she has caught in the last few weeks she has given almost entirely to her cubs. Resignedly, she continues her hunt, knowing she will find a seal soon- she has to.

Here are some polar bear eco-links for you- the WWF's polar bear central and polar bear tracker.

I took advantage of the weather (has anyone told Alberta it's fall now?) and my new near-to-downtown address and spent the afternoon walking our city center. Not much in the way of adventure occurred, though I was very pleased to find a 20 dollar bill on the ground! That twenty soon morphed into an Amelie DVD which I got at a used DVD/CD store I found. Cool. Plus there was some change left over, so I am still ahead on the day. I love finding money. I wish it happened more often. And by more often I mean every single day.

This past week has brought some slightly sad news (very sad if you are me, but I don't want to give the impression that someone has died or anything). If you read Blu's blog, and this entry in particular, you will have heard already- Seven Devil Fix has suffered a grievous wound. And so for the time being at least, they are on hiatus. I think their CD will still be coming out soon, though. But there was no 7DF tonight at the G as originally planned. Instead we got to hear some celtic-flavored stuff, old and new , courtesy of the Closet Onions! That was pretty fun. Especially pulling out the Lord of the Dance- it has been far too long since we sang that one. Good memories. And good memories will continue to be made, even when bad news comes.

I know updates have been more spooradic than usual, but that is because the weather has been so amazing and conducive to walking in the woods. Plus I have been getting reaquainted with old friends and old movies- specifically two seminal works from the early '90's, Pulp Fiction and Basic Instinct. I hadn't seen either for many years, and it was fun to rewatch them in light of today's entertainment matrix. Both, while dated, still retain some of their original power- Pulp Fiction with its dialogue and almost incidental violence, and of course Basic Instinct with its psycho-eroticism. Which is a word I certainly never though I would ever use here at the Woods.
Oh yeah and happy birthday to Blarg who had a very nice party last night in his honor. Go visit his website for I am sure he will soon unveil his truly revolutionary Digi-Eye to the world.

An entry for the bloggiversary contest! Yay! This makes me happy. Tammy, acting quite nefariously, scanned a picture her daughter drew and is claiming it as her own! The sheer audacity of it all causes me to aquiesce to her wishes- I will count it as a work by Tammy. Tammy, you are quite the, ahh, artiste. Bonus points for having been drawn on my 17th birthday.
I tried putting the picture up right here (as all entries will be poosted, just so you know, unless you absolutely insist otherwise), but it was just a touch too big, so instead you can see it here.

Today my friend Erica, of Chilkoot Trail happyfun times, came over and presented me with a fantastic birthday gift- a book called Up Shit Creek. Except she crossed out the "shit" and wrote poo, like so: Up Shit Poo Creek. So thank you very much for your thoughtfulness. Homie Bear loves to receive gifts of any kind. Just thought you should know this random fact about myself. Might come in handy someday.

Okay, here are the bloggiversary contest categories as they stand so far- it'll be sort of like an essay test in school where you get your choice. Enter any of the following, or a combination, or whatever you like:

1. Pop Culture: Choose one of the following:

a. Write the worst possible alternate ending to 'total recall' (ignoring the fact that it pretty much already has the worst possible ending). no fair using the 'it vas all a dream' cop-out ending. something ORIGINAL. bonus points for bringing sharon stone's character back into it.
b. Write a story that starts with Once Upon A Time In Mexico, and be sure to include duendes, pirates, and someone kicking ass. Bonus for including Don Juan, and bears.
c. Write a transcript of a conference call between Marilyn Manson, the Dalai Lama and King Snowfrost of the polar bears.

2. Bear Necessities: Choose one of the following:
a. You can still write a poem or story about the Last Black Polar Bear. Lydia won the earlier contest (and your prize is still forthcoming), but I want more submissions just because.
b. Write a poem or story about a vampire bear.
c. Write a poem about Homie Bear and the Murderous Axe of Morgoth, or some other relation to this blog over the last year

3. Art: This is wide open- send me pictures, cartoons, paintings, or photos of anything bear related, or any similarly cool thing, really. If someone sent me an mp3 of Hey Hey Hey Homie Bear (hint hint) I might consider that an entry . . .

4. Special super bonus category: Redesign my blog template for my one year anniversary and you will win a super nice prize. (Worth a shot, right?)

So that should give you plenty to chew on. There will be a prize and a winner for each category (assuming I get entrants for each) but maybe not each sub-category. I know I am probably being overambitious here, since my last contest got only one entry, but this is a chance for any lurkers out there to come out of the woodwork. The bloggiversary is October 22, so you have until then. Have fun!

I found another old school assignment- this one a play about Big Max. I couldn't remember if he was a real fictional character or someone I made up, so I did a quick google and it turns out he was "real". The play is written up over at the cave, and more info about Big Max can be found here .

The Once Upon a Time in Mexico soundtrack finally came out today- and it was worth the wait. There's certainly no dearth of good new music out there right now, so luckily you have me to tell you which CD's to buy and which are total poo. Definitely get this one, especially if you liked the movie, but I think even if you hated or never saw it, the soundtrack has a nice mariachi sound to it that you will like it anyways. Unless you are some sort of duende. But even duendes would like this, come to think of it. Johnny Depp wrote Sand's Theme, and it kicks ass. What else would you expect from Johnny? He could put out a movie playing a part in which he is constantly getting his ass kicked, and it would kick ass.

As I am working on organizing my life, and downsizing my possessions, I am going through all my stuff and throwing things out. And finding quite a few little uncut gems from my youth, such as this project from grade 7, a home-made book, which I here present in its original form (minus the drawings I made) complete with grammatical errors. It would only be more perfect if it were about bears:

The Three Little Wolves and the Big Bad Pig

[Starts with a dedication page]
This book is for all my faithful readers

Once upon a time, there was three little wolves who would only eat young, old or sick animals, like all wolves.

There was also a big bad pig named Big Bad Pig, who hated the wolves for no reason whatsoever. He wanted to get the wolves. We see him hiding behind a boulder, thinking how to get the wolves.

One day, Littlest Wolf went out for a hunt. But Big Bad Pig was waiting for him. He jumped out of the bushes and said, "I've caught you, Littlest wolf. Now I will make you pay for killing the animals!" Littlest Wolf said, "I only kill what I eat." But Big Bad Pig took Littlest Wolf, and threw him into a dungeon.

Bigger Than Littlest Wolf went out for a hunt. He caught a sick old moose. Bigger Than Littlest Wolf was soon full. Big Bad Pig jumped out of the bushes and said "I have caught you, Bigger Than Littlest Wolf. Now I will make you pay for killing the animals."
Bigger Than Littlest Wolf said "I only kill what I eat." But Big Bad Pig took Bigger Than Littlest Wolf and put him in a dungeon.

Biggest Wolf went out for a hunt. Soon he had caught an old elk. Big Bad Pig jumped out and said "I've caught you Biggest Wolf. Now I will make you pay for killing the animals." Biggest Wolf said "I only kill what I eat." Big Bad Pig tried to grab Biggest Wolf, but Biggest Wolf dodged and then ate Big Bad Pig.

Biggest Wolf found the dungeon and freed Littlest Wolf and Bigger Than Littlest Wolf. The wolf pack lived happily ever after.