When travelling, you find that reading materials are of inestimable worth- before I left I raided my girlfriend's classroom supply of old National Geographics for a quick and discardable source of fascinating material. All over Malaysia there is a trail of National Geographic back issues, and I hope young Malays are picking them up like the birds in Hansel and Gretel, and turning into young conservationalists. In fact just today I went and bought a bunch more (a buck each, can't go wrong) to wile away the upcoming hours of the next leg of our journey which will take place in our rented campervan. Soon I will be able to discourse on all sorts of interesting facts concerning the Ibises of Ibiza and the Oryxes of Oris. Or something like that.
Also, I will finally dive into The Silmarillion tomorrow- even though I have read LOTR umpteen times in the last twenty years (yeah, since 1984), I have never been able to penetrate The Silmarillion, but since we are in Middle-earth there is no longer any excuse.
Just today I finally finished a book I started in Melaka (as much as I love to read it is hardly my first priority while travelling) which I enjoyed: The Amulet of Samarkand", by Jonathan Stroud.
Hey I just remembered it's my second bloggiversary next week! Umm, for the contest send me . . . i dunno . . . any kind of creative work (story, poem or drawing) about polar bears in New Zealand, or South Polar bears or something like that. Or anything really, I don't care. Just send your submissions to nwaddell (at) gmail dot com and the winner will get a no-expenses paid vacation to NZ to join gabrielle and me for Christmas! Heck, you all win one of those! And the rel winner will get at least a postcard from me while I'm here, and maybe I can find something cooler, like a kiwi fruit or something. Sadly there are no cassowaries on New Zealand. That I know of.

Auckland
Even though New Zealand is really great, one very troublesome factor is their complete lack of an indigenous ursine population. No bears at all! Although obviously I have improved that situation somewhat with my arrival. Tomorrow we will go off in search of whatever bear-like creatures or cassowary-like kiwis can be found.
Oh yeah, but i can tell you that the toilets here have a cool innovation that is environmentally more sound than the ones at home- you have the option of a half-flush or a full flush, thus saving a lot more water. So, you would only do a ful flush if you have just engaged in the activity to which this blog is devoted, and a half if you didn't have quite that much to do. Pretty cool.
And rustyangel has set up a mirror site for our pictures, which you can check here if you like: http://photos.design-culture.net/?album=adventures-my

Pulau Perhentian
Hi! Did you miss me? Allow me to reintroduce myself- my name is Homie Bear and I am a certified PADI Open Water Scuba Diver! (Technically, we are back on the mainland now, and actually in Kuala Besut.)
We went away to the tropical island paradise of Pulau Perhentian to relax and lay on the beach and generally do nothing, and it was reallyreallygreat. But on what was to be our last day we went snorkelling and had such a great time that we decided to stay and take the scuba course. Why not, eh? That's what travel is all about. I LOVE diving, it is so much fun.
We were at Flora Bay Resort, and the attached Dive School is where we took the course. I highly recommend both.
Anyways, the last nine days were pretty fine,and now we are heading to New Zealand. See you there!

Kuala Besut
As I get ready to depart Malysia's beautiful shores, I would like to share with you some of the linguistic discoveries I made here. A small Malay primer, if you will, should you ever find yourself in Kuala Lumpur without a phrasebook.
Selamat datang is the first thing you need to know- it's their greeting,their welcome phrase, so it's very common and useful to know. Easy to remember too, since selamat is tamales spelled backwards. And datang is gnatad spelled backwards.
Terimah Kasih means thank you. When I say it it seems to mean "Everyone laugh at the foreigner who says terimah kasih wrong!"
Tutup is closed, as in "America is tutup", as Tom Hanks learned to his dismay in The Terminal.
When we were up in the KL Tower I noticed the viewing telescopes had some Malay writing on it, and one of the words was matahari. I have no idea what it means but it's cool that the legendary spy was actually a Malay.
Finally, the most important word you need to know: Beruang Kutub. That means polar bear.

Jerteh
One of the side effects of the anti-malarial pills I am taking is supposed to be really strange dreams (another side effect is 1 in 10,000 experience psychotic episodes . . . ), but my dreams haven't seemed much strager than usual, though they definitely seem more vivid and real. Last night I was out on a geology field school climbing some mountains when I came across a little baby alligator in a stream. he was cute, but I could tell he would eat me if he could. Then I spotted his mother and siblings not far away, and they seemed a little scared. SO I stood up to tell my partner that something was up, and he was busy being stalked by a mountain lion! I saw it, all bunched up in the snow, waiting to pounce. No wonder the alligators were scared- such cross-ecosystem biodiversity can be alarming for their little reptile minds.
Anyways, I valourously chose to get the cougar to chase me, and it jumped on me and was biting me, but then we ran away and tobogganed down the mountainside, and it was so fun.
Back in real life, we are near some islands on the eastern coast of Malaysia, waiting to hop over to the beaches there. Rainy season seems to have arrived in force, judging by last night's torrentiousness (it was even raining inside our bus!), but the sun is up at the moment and I am sure there will be at least some time for being a sun bear here.

Homie and the Binturong

Homie Bear said to the binturong
"How are you? It's been too long!
"Any chance I get to meet
"A fellow bear is quite a treat
"Let's celebrate and sing and dance
"I'll eat berries and you eat ants!"
The binturong said, "I'd love to chat
"But I'm not a bear I'm more of a cat
"I'm smaller than you and really quite frail
"And as you can see I have a long tail
"So obviously I am not of your genus
"You are like hockey and I'm more like tennis
"Nonsense!" said Homie, "Bears aren't exclusive
"We try to be friendship-conducive
"Bear, cat or human, it's all the same
"Inside is what matters, not what's our name"
So the binturong climbed down out of his tree
And joined paws and cheered with his new friend Homie!

Singapore
Remember the green polar bear the Green Man mentioned a few months ago? I met her yesterday. She lives at the Singapore Zoological Gardens, and her green color is caused by an algal invasion in her transparent hairs. Though I of course love meeting my bear brethren wherever I go, I am not so sure polar bears are very well-adapted to the near-equatorial climate of Singapore. Maybe their greenish tinge is a subtle hint to that effect. But I have to say the Zoo was pretty impressive- they had mostly decent habitats for their animals, including orang-utans and white Bengals. And I got to meet some Malayan Sun Bears, too, so that was cool. I think. gabrielle and I have been discussing the issues of zoos and conservation and it's a tough call- most zoos these days are actively involved in conservation efforts so supporting them is good, though they also obviously make their living off holding wild animals captive. But on the other hand they protect those animals from poaching. So it's a tough call. However, when we went next door to the famous Night Safari we were enchanted by the eeriness of seeing nocturnal animals at night- fruit bats swooping by our heads, otters poking their heads up to say hi, and yet another bear- a sloth bear! Yay! Plus a bunch of animals I wasn't really very aware of- bearcats ("I went to the zoo, just the other week, saw a kangaroo, had a chat with a chimpanzee, he said hey brother, you want a thing that's hip, do the bearcat!" Anyone know that one?) also called binturongs, and some kind of boar whose tusks actually grow through their mouths.
The other Singaporean highlight was the drag cabaret at the Boom Boom Room. Singaporean drag queens- one of those things you just can't anticipate when traveling, but that's what makes travel so fun.
While I was waiting for a terminal (back in Melaka now) I happened to notice someone using the blogger interface (I wasn't snooping, the familiarity of it caught my peripheral eye- honest!) so I asked her for her blogspot, and here it is! She lives here in Malaysia and thus she has better insight into the country, so head on over and say hi for me.

Back in high school my friends and I (of the SHM clan) would go swimming in the pools of fancy Jasper resorts, after camping, hiking and mountain climbing. So long as we kept a lively pace, it was never a problem. Once we even scooped a newly-completed hotel that wasn't actually open for business yet by swimming in their pristine pool, and runnning away when someone came to investiagte the splashing sounds. Today I carried on that noble tradition, but the Malaysians are so laid back I don't think they really cared. We went to Pulau Besan, a little island not far from here, and there was this pool just sitting there not being used, so I borrowed it for a while. It was soooo nice. Also, we saw monkeys. That has been a very important sub-quest of this trip, due to our love of animals and our love of the Marilyn Manson song My Monkey, about a poor little monkey who could not withstand the rigours of life in the country. Today we saw a whole family of macacques. Not tamed and fattened tourist monkeys, just normal free-ranging monkeys. So there are way too many pictures of them in the photopage but that is the advantage of a digital camera- you can take as many as you want without wasting film or poo. My favorite picture, though, is this one, of a huge grasshopper we saw. I just like the green. So now I have to start looking in earnest for the Malayan Sun bear. But only if I can avoid disturbing their peace.

Melaka
The Malaysian unit of currency is called the ringgit. So whenever gabrielle shows me her One Ring which she is carrying to throw in Mt. Doom once we get to New Zealand, I can counter with my One Ringgit, which can't really turn me invisible or do much of anything, actually, being worth about 30 cents.
Something I told you yesterday was erroneous- the Petronas Towers are not the tallest building in the world! According to this page, which I linked to once before actually, they are in third place. Taipei 101 is the tallest, by their reckoning, which doesn't include spires. And don't forget Barad-dur, though technically no longer still standing. Actually we were just in Taipei for an hour or two en route from LA to KL, but I didn't notice it. You would think it would be hard to miss but we were always losing sight of the Petronas Towers, too.
Now that we are in Melaka the Petronas Towers are no longer of interest. What is of interest is whether the rain will stop long enough for us to head to a beach tomorrow. If not that's fine. Lots of beaches to be had in the next little while.
I will be regularly uploading my pictures to here, so check out our first batch.

Kuala Lumpur
After something like 25.poo hours of traveling and layovering, we finally made it to KL. Our gargantuan trip was made almost easy by the super-friendly and competent Malaysian Air staff. We started off on Air Canada and even they were pretty decent, even when we only had about ten minutes to deplane in Calgary, collect our baggage, go through customs, and get on our connecting flight to LAX.
Anyways, enough about the actual physical trip- pretty standard stuff if you have evr flown internationally. What you really want to know about, I am sure, is what kind of toilets we have? Squatties or sit-downs? Sadly, I have to report that pooing here is no different than in the Western Woods, as so far all the toilets have been normal. Don't worry, I will seek out and patronize a squatty before my time is out- perhaps tomorrow when we hit the coastal town of Melaka.

I always think of September 15ths as auspicious days because it was on this date in 1997 that I left on a little cross-Canada hitch-hiking trip that continues to define me to this day. It was a cold, bleary and rainy day, as though God were testing my resolve. Now, seven years later, I am resolved to go away again, taking with me the wisdom and experience gained from all the other adventures before this. Am I invincible? No. Am I guaranteed safety and protection? No. About the only guarantee I feel comfortable making is that it will be full of fun, adventure and testing, and we, gabrielle and I, will emerge as better people. And that is worth any amount of discomfort or fright or even actual danger.
Any locals of my friends who want to join us at the Sugarbowl tonight at 7:00 please do.

Being 30 isn't so bad- it doesn't feel any different really. So I guess I am okay with it. Besides, I found out today that bowhead whales can live to be 200 years old! Wow. I wonder how long bears can live. 30 years for sure, and hopefully a few more than that.
My birthday was spent with some of the people I love most in the world, including two who have their b-days today- Mama Bear and my oldest friend Travis. So happy birthdays to them. Lots of birthdays in September, actually, January being such a cold month in Alberta. So, blessings wished upon the following people as well: blu, Jennika, and blarg and Kim who were married the other day in a lovely ceremony.

Anyways, enough with that. I have to tell you guys about Aradhna! My girlfriend and I went to one of their performances on the weekend, not really knowing what to expect- it was billed as an Indian/Nepali worship experience, so obviously I was intrigued, even though our itinerary no longer includes Nepal or India. Anyways, it was beatiful- sitar and guitar and really cool drums. They're Christian, but with some very interesting Eastern tinges to the lyrics. Anyways, if you ever get the chance, go out and see them. It will be unlike anything else you have ever heard, I think.
On the other end of the musical spectrum, and yet with much the same spiritual bent, I got to see my good friends Seven Devil Fix rehearse a bit last night- the last time I will see them for six months at least. I guess I will miss their opening show for King's X in October but any of you in the area can make it I'm sure. So go and tell me how it was.

Arowanas are a rare fish found (though not very easily) in Malaysia. A man was fined $60,000 for selling them illegally from the basement of West Edmonton Mall or something, which is what brought them to my attention. I doubt I can find any in Malysia but it is something I will keep in mind anyways- as well as vigorously doing my best to avoid the poisonous slugs Crogdor told me about.

Have you figured out yet that you are getting about a week's worth of poosts in one? Ducky sent me this link which is exactly why this blog was created in the first place- to celebrate the awesome power of poo!

And if you are planning on traveling internationally during a time which happens to coincide with the expiry date on your driver's licence, make sure you allow for two weeks to procure a new one. For some reason, it now takes two weeks to process a driver's licence. It used to be an instantaneous process, but now it costs more and takes longer. Good old progress. So for now I have an odd-sized piece of paper that acts as my interim licence. It's already starting to get frayed in my wallet but what can you do? My new licence will get here in two weeks, and then my folks I guess will have to mail it to me in New Zealand. Good thing i'm 30- I probably don't need to worry about getting ID'd in bars over there.

My new abode is in the home of Mr. And Mrs. Gotthammer. In their characteristic incredibly generous way, they went all out and set up my own little bear den in their basement, complete with a sign at the entrance saying pretty much the opposite of "Abandon all hope, ye who enter here" and decorative posters of bears on the walls.
Yesterday Gotthammer Mike and I went and saw one of the most beautiful films ever made, Zhang Yimou's Hero. Seriously, every single frame was a masterpiece. The martial arts choreography was perfect and the story was surprisingly layered- I won't say much about it, though.
But one thought I did have while watching the movie is that devoting one's life to the perfection of an art or philosophy is not a life wasted. Within the movie we saw a few examples of this, and the movie itself is Zhang Yimou's pinnacle achievement in his chosen field (and the same could be said for Jet Li and the other actors).
Sort of related, but not really, I was reading Parabola magazine today and found an essay on Lord of the Rings which had this quote:

It appears that all Frodo and Gandalf can attempt is to relinquish the use of power so some other new way of living and being can emerge that is not predicated on the use of power. In The Lord of the Rings power cannot defeat power. Only the abandonment of power can truly defeat power. Might does not make right and never will. It can't. It is unnatural and not generative. Only the forsaking of power allows for the possibility of something other than brute force to prevail.
-Donald Raiche

And check out this link, if I was sticking around I would definitely be interested in picking this book up.
I have about ten poobillion other things to tell you guys about but it is time for me to go. I leave you with this zenlike utterance:
It is rare for a bear to care about where.

And another thing- I'm still 29!

The key to independent travel, I long ago learned, is flexibility. For example, one time I woke up in my tent in Moncton, New Brunswick and had to decide whether to go to Prince Edward Island or Nova Scotia that day. I stretched and yawned and decided on PEI.
As you may know, gabrielle and I have quit our jobs, sold our cars and moved out of the Woodsy Crypt in preparation for an epic trip around the world. At least, that was the plan two days ago when we went to buy our tickets. Our master plan was to start in Kathmandu, do the Annapurna Circuit Trek (this was HUGE to me, like a lifelong highlight adventure for all time), and then travel all over Asia, before heading to Egypt and over to Europe, and then, finances permitting, over to New Zealand.
As we entered the travel agency to purchase our tickets, gabrielle turned to me and said, "You know, I kind of doubt we'll actually get to New Zealand." And I agreed that it seemed unlikely.
Greeting the travel agent, we told her we wanted two tickets to Kathmandu, please. She said they were burning things down over there and that there was a travel advisory and that the very airline we wanted to fly on had just had their offices burned down by an angry mob that morning, due to the execution of 12 Nepali citizens by Iraqis. So, we (and I have to kind of boast a little about our mutual flexibility here, not many people can handle such an egregious blow to their year-long plans) said, "Well, how about if we just go straight to New Zealand then?" And so we are. We leave in two weeks from today, with a three week stopover in Malaysia just to see what, if anything, is there to do.
New Zealand, wow. It will be fun! And the Annapurna Circuit Trek will still be there for me to hike some other day, don't worry about that. I'm not done with Asia yet!

Quite unexpectedly I find myself with some time to relax. It's been a hectic few days moving out and storing stuff, not to mention that I still had to work every day. Yesterday I pulled a muscle in my back first thing in the morning and the day just kept getting better from there. But now I think I am done what can be done, for now at least. Which leaves me with a few minutes to blog. So . . . what to write about? Should I mention the ethereal wraith that floated by outside my work last night? It was a guy dressed as Jesus in a white robe and a crown of thorns, walking by himself late at night. When I had a chance I went outside to see if he was still there, but by then he was halfway across the vast parking lot, ambling his way to Bethlehem, I suppose. But really, what more is there to say about that?
Anyways, I'm staying with Alissa and her awesome roommate Kavi for a few days so if you need to get a hold of me, well, you can't. but you CAN go read Alissa's blog which is utterly charming.

End Transmission
The Woodsy Crypt has been a fine home- the finest thus far, even. But all good things come to an end and we are leaving this dwelling forever. Don't worry though, blogging will continue, at least intermittently. Even when we are away we will try and keep you all updated. But for now I have an awful lot of packing to do, and moving, and I even have to go to work in a few minutes.
Me=busy.

As my time at the coffee shop where I work draws to a close, I can not help but think about everyone's favorite topic, elephant poo. One time a lady came into the shop and examined our tea. "Is this tea grown in Holland?" she asked. I was forced to admit that I had never really given much thought as to its origins, but suggested she check the box. "Well, it says 'Made in Holland' but I don't think they grow tea there." She went on to explain that she was from Sri Lanka, where they in fact DO grow a lot of tea, and that she suspected this tea was actually grown there, and maybe processed or shipped from Holland.
Anyways that started a whole conversation on Sri Lanka and what she did there and how she came to be here, and it turns out she lives on an elephant ranch, where they rescue and raise orphaned elephants. Sadly, many elephant orphans have to be destroyed because they simply do not have the resources to care for them. So what my new friend was doing was traveling North America trying to raise awareness, as well as interest and possible investment in their ranch's unique line of paper products. They recycle elephant poo and turn it into paper! Cool, eh?
As far as I can tell, this article is about just exactly this very ranch.
Such are the the things you can learn as a barista.

Mayor Bill Smith is lucky he's leaving poolitics (or so I think I read in the paper today, though some other Smith poolitician is also leaving so maybe I am mixed up) because I sure ain't gonna ever vote for him. Not after today. He's always whining about how nobody ever comes to our downtown core, and blah blah blah. I go there all the time, living a short walk away, but today for various reasons I chose to drive and actually pay for parking, something which seems like a particularly silly waste of money to me. So I found a meter and inserted a couple of bucks, buying myself an hour and a bit of time. It turns out I needed slightly more than that so I returned later on to put more quarters in, and was a little surprised to discover that my car was not there. The meter showed 7 more minutes, so I concluded that my car had been stolen, rather than towed. Then I looked closer and saw a small, innocuous white sticker on the side of the meter stating that that particular spot was a tow-away zone between the hours of 3:30 and 6PM, and of course I arrived at 3:30. So them **%^$#*&$#s towed my car.
Cost $96 to get it released from the police impound lot, and then to add insult to injury they gave me a fifty dollar parking ticket on top of it. This is particularly disheartening since I am less than a month away from a RTW trip and am trying hard to save money, rather than just give it away to stupid and inept bureaucracies. And they wonder why no one ever wants to come downtown? But on the plus side Mayor Bill Smith is welcome to come looking for me in the Himalayas if he wants my fifty bucks cause I sure as hell ain't paying the ticket. Apparently he'll have the time (and the momentum) to come looking for me.
Anyways, thanks to my girlfriend and mom for helping me get everything sorted out in record time, and for soothing my addled and angered bear nerves. Or bearves, as we call them.

EDIT: turns out I was mistaken and that other Smith guy is leaving, not Mayor Bill. So don't vote for him! Vote for Homie Bear! At least now he won't be able to come looking for me in Nepal or India or somewhere. Haha! I'll send you 50 rupees in the mail, how's that?

My old room-mate Tom has recently gotten back in touch with me- he really misses me a lot. Heck, I even sort of miss him, or at least, miss making fun of him. He was the subject of one of my favorite poosts ever, and made an appearance in another old favorite. He was saying he often dreams of the golden age of our lives, when he was living in the House of Poo, sitting at my feet and gleaning as much wisdom as he could. He recently emailed me a list of my attributes that I thought I would share with you. Keep in mind Tom's emotional stuntedness which causes him to write seemingly mean things in order to demonstrate his affection:

Nathan's Top Ten Worst Attributes:
10. His last name was obviously 'borrowed' from the word waddle. As in, "look at that duck waddle!" However, Nathan DOES NOT waddle, nor is he even slightly related to our honourable animal friend The Duck, which invented the walk, and thus the word waddle; which Nathan blatantly stole and misused for his own last name purposes!!!!
9. Nathan temps Dairy Fate by drinking from his milk jug directly - even when his more righteous roommate happens to buy the same type of milk jug, which could obviously be mistaken for his own!
8. Nathan calls certain roommates 'beerwench' while playing poker, demanding that the roommate get him a beer from the fridge.
7. Nathan has a degree in 'Rocks.'
6. Nathan's name backwards is: Nahtan. This rhymes with Satan!...as it...sort of does... when spelt forwards too!!!!!!
5. Nathan secretly wishes that he was as good looking as his former roommate.
4. Nathan is quite poor with languages and is unable to read the following lines: Du bist eine stupid monkey anus!
3. NATHAN IS THE BIG LEBOWSKI!!!!!!!!
2. Some of the stuff in his blog really really happened! I can't tell you what...but it's the bad stuff...not the nice stuff...THE BAD STUFF!!!

And the number one Worst Attribute is:

1. He sniffs glue!!!!

I may Pulp Fiction him later (as in, Allow me to retort.)

A while back I was teasing gabrielle about something, and I said, "I should write down all the funny things you say and do in a little logbook."
"You don't, do you?" she asked.
"No, are you kidding? I wouldn't have any spare time to do anything else if I did!"
But today she said something that I think is worthy to be preseved for the ages. On our morning commute she turned to me and in all earnestness said, "Star Trek is just like reality television."

I was a pretty smart little cub. When I was about ten years old I knew all sorts of things about all kinds of stuff. I could tell you the scientific latin name of many major animal species- Orcinus orca, Felis tigris, Ursis horribilus. I even knew this one, which I herewith spell from memory: Haliaeetus leucocephalus. Not bad eh? I admit I may not have spelled it exactly right, but I know I'm close. Know who that is? I'll give you a hint- he's America's national symbol.
Yup, the bald eagle.
Well, today is an auspicious day for taxonomists because I have discovered a brand new species of bear. Actually, I personally have evolved into a brand new species of bear, and I propose the name Ursis leucocephalus.
Homie Bear is now bald.
But I'm STILL 29.

Edurne Pasabán became just the 6th woman to summit K2, making her ascent on July 26th. Of those six, Edurne is the only one alive today.

Personally, I prefer Canadian beer, but in a pinch I guess most bears will settle for Rainier.
Thanks to gabrielle for the link, which is easily the funniest thing I have read in ages.
See? I'm not the only bear who passes out. Vindicated in record time.

It's not widely known, and in fact I can't find a single instance of it in the literature, but I happen to know that bears are occasionally prone to passing out (or fainting, though we don't like that term as much). Sometimes. Rarely. Hardly at all, really. I think it's some sort of false alarm hibernation thing. Bear biologists call it vasovagal syncope. Anyways, armed with this knowledge you will not be so surprised to learn that Homie Bear has, once or twice in his life, slipped into unintended unconsciousness. This in no way makes him any less of a bear. The first time it happened I was in the middle of an epic cross-Canada hitch-hiking trip, worn down and tired, getting a tattoo- I think my body's defenses were just stretched a little thin- you know how it is. Another time while giving blood and a third time I just keeled over in Tibet due to the altitude. The monks thought I was dead. Luckily I recovered before they sent me up to the sky burial site.
So I warned my tattoo artist yesterday that I may take a sudden and unexpected nap while she was working on me, and not to be alarmed if that should happen. But I am proud to say that I did not pass out! From this I believe it is therefore completely reasonable to conclude that I am cured and will not now have to worry about altitude sickness ever again. This sets my mind at ease.

BTW, if any of you Edmontonians are looking for a good tattoo parlour, Urge 2 on Jasper is the way to go.

One-Man Fellowships and Headless Women
If you haven't been down to the Fringe yet, you better hurry. I think tickets to the amazing One-Man Lord of the Rings Trilogy are as scarce as cute little bunnies in Barad-dur. Luckily, we got ours in advance, and you can go read gabrielle's review, which also includes an account of her death-defying encounter with a big bummy bum.
We saw the same guy (Charles Ross) do the One-Man Star Wars Trilogy last year and are still laughing at the memories- turns out Lucas himself got wind of it and hired him to come down and perform at Skywalker Ranch or something like that- it's a big deal. Yet he manages to outdo himself with his adaptation of LOTR- his Gollum is spot-on. He does the entire trilogy in one hour exactly. Peter Jackson could have saved a lot of money and just hired Ross.
But like I say, if you don't have tickets yet I think you will be out of luck. But there are many other things to do at the Fringe- take in one of the other plays, or see the headless woman (you will regret it for the rest of your life if you don't), or you can even possibly meet Jesus, like my friend and coworker Alissa did.

PS- Blogger has apparently added yet another feature we can't opt out of- that bloggerbar on the top there. At first it was a clashy blue color and it was blocking out my banner, but I fixed that at least. On the plus side, you can now search for the word "poo" in my archives!

Last month you read Little Homie Bear's scientific paper on who would win in a fight between a T-Rex and a Saber-toothed tiger. And today you saw Alien Versus Predator, and know the answer to that long-standing theological question. And yet some of you are still not satisfied! This arrived on my doorstep, so to speak, yesterday. Being the Benevolent Bear that I am, I shall attempt an answer.

*ahem*

Homie Bear was hunting and he caught a big fat seal
But a killer whale saw him and said that he did steal
His supper out from under him and that just wouldn't do
Homie said to the whale why don't you eat some poo
So the offended orca turned and hit him with his tail
Homie had never been so blindsided by such a craven whale
He bounced off an iceberg but got back on his paws
He charged the whale full speed ahead to cut him with his claws
But the whale dodged and dove down deep into the sea
Where he soon discovered that even there he wasn't free
From a bear's vengeful wrath since Homie jumped right in
And grabbed the astonished dolphin by his dorsal fin
The ocean thrashed and bubbled from the epic battle
All the way in South America they felt a little rattle
The water churned and ice exploded as the titans clashed
They bit each other hit each other and they slashed and bashed
With a mighty heave Homie threw the whale back onto the land
Where the raging frenzied beasts prepared their final stand
Ursis maritimus and Orcinus orca, fighting to the death
The whole world seemed to pause as if holding in its breath
Then a timely interruption burst the tension like a bubble
The seal broke in and said, "You should have saved yourselves the trouble
"Fighting over me just isn't worth the pain
"Since I'll be leaving now and you will have no gain"
And then the seal swam away and left the hunters there
Neither now had a meal and they couldn't even share
The only thing that they had proved with their big ordeal
Is that in a fight between whale and bear, the winner is a seal!

Speaking of masked badasses, go Predator!

More Misheard Lyrics!
It's been Slipknot week here at the Woodsy Crypt. Well, when gabrielle is not home it is Slipknot week. Although she did let me listen to Iowa (heaviest album ever) in its entirety once when she was around, and after reading her latest poost I think maybe I should have played some when her parents were here. That would have sent them scurrying ;) Nah, just kidding, they were fine. Anyways.
I was listening to Three Nil off their new CD, Vol. 3 (The Subliminal Verses) and I thought for all the world that I heard #8 sing "Look at me- I'm a qualified architect"! This actually explained a lot to me- I have noticed that Slipknot is all about Malice, Mayhem and Mathematics. So I checked the lyrics booklet, and the actual line is "Look at me- I am the glorified malcontent."
What? They could be qualified architects.

I have some alarming news for you- in exactly one month from now I will turn 30. 30 days till 30. I'll be okay. Mostly. I think I would feel a whole lot better if you all sent me presents.

And completely unrelated to my impending doom birthday, here is an excerpt from Jan Wong's China, just because I find it amusing:

As a reporter, guanxi [China's system of networking and connections that supersedes official channels] was particularly invaluable. I soon learned to rely on the network of friends and contacts I had developed during my earlier years in China. Doing things officially was basically a complete waste of time.
While most foreigners could travel freely through most of China, journalists had to apply for permission to go anywhere. Every Chinese organization, every province, city, county and town had a Foreign Affairs Office. They handled interview requests and, indignity of indignities, sometimes even charged for their "service."
I once requested to go to Canton, mecca of China's open-door economy. Its Foreign Affairs Office telexed me that everyone, all six million residents, were too busy to handle a visit. When I applied to go to Tibet, its Foreign Affairs Office turned me down. Lhasa, it explained, didn't have "enough oxygen."

That Darth Maul picture must have really impressed my subconscious because last night I dreamed I was Darth Maul with bionic legs and that I came back and got revenge on Obi-wan. The epic showdown occurred in a motel room, and after the lightning light-saber duel I told the slumped and dying Obi-wan that I really respected him, but that now I had to go dump his body in the same shaft where he cut me in half- it's important to me, even as a black-hearted Sith, to be classy at all times. So I dragged his body out to my car, but then decided to catch a nap in the driver's seat, noticing for the first time the Volkswagen dealership that apparently occupies the block where I live in real life. They had those car dealership banners on all the street lights, and they said "We Fleringinkom" or something, which is German for . . . well, Darth Maul doesn't speak German so I don't know what it means.
Then, just as I was about to doze off, a cop car pulled up and ran my plates. That's when they called over the radio that Darth Maul was back and was plotting to overthrow Darth Vader to be the wicked Sith Lord. One of the cops came up to my window and I had to poke him with my light-saber to get him to go away. I'm pretty sure that would have started a whole big mess but that's about when I woke up.

Part 2 of this story.

"You were framed? What happened? Who are you?" asked Frank, gesturing for the whale to take a seat.
The whale began speaking in a peculiarly squeaky voice.
"My name is ^~~~/<*>\~~~^ [this is the transliteration of the series of squeaks and whistles that the whale made at this point,]which has no analog in either Squatchee or English, but evokes both the rolling imagery of a sine wave function and the elation one feels when riding such a wave in pursuit of prey. However, you can call me Orrek."
"Can I call you Mr. Whale?" said Frank.
"Call me Orrek. We're not actually whales, us orcas. We are dolphins. And we are not killers either, though we are predators. I should say rather we are not murderers and that is why I seek your help today, Mr. Omah. You have heard of the disappearance of Ray Tanner? It has been all over the news today."
Frank looked at his copy of Weekly World News. He didn't see anything about Ray Tanner in there. "Um, I'm not really familiar with that case." If Frank had been a slightly better detective he would have kept better tabs on the local news.
"Ray Tanner is, or was, a real estate developer here in town, and lately he's been sniffing down by the river where I live, preparing a proposal to develop a new megabox shopping complex, which obviously I strenuously object to- the whole reason I left the oceans to live in the river is to get away from human encroachment. He was last seen two days ago, scouting out more locations at the river. There were signs of a struggle found near the riverbank, and several dead fish, which I believe were left deliberately to frame me. His truck was found nearby. The cops have concluded, even without a body, that he is dead and I did it, since I have both the motive and the means to dispose of him. Being a dolphin, I have no right to a trial or anything- the Department of Fish and Wildlife will either shoot me or just tranquilize me and relocate me to the Alaskan Panhandle. Hence my disguise."
Frank regarded Orrek's bright yellow rain slicker and hat dubiously. "That's a disguise? Maybe we need to get you to a safe house. I'll take your case. Umm, will you pay with cash or credit?"
"I can pay you in salmon, would that be okay?"
"Yeah that's fine, I guess."

The Village was such a disappointment that I didn't even want to waste cyberink on it. But today I was reading an old Outside magazine I had lying around, and found a quote which I think explains so perfectly, if indirectly, why The Village left me cold.

"Anything could be out there. Anything at all. The first Europeans on the land didn't have the science to conjure UFOs in the wilderness, but they certainly had the theology to imagine a wilderness of devils, a boundless waste occupied by Satan and his works."

-Ian Frazier, Outside Magazine, Oct 2003

The article was talking about mysteries and the ability the outdoors has to completely strip away our rational 21st century mindset and scare the shit out of us- to make us poo in the woods. Something M Night totally could have exploited but instead he chose to give us something so mundane that it was boring. The last thing I want in going to a movie is to be bored. Oh well.

"We go to the woods, or any place out and away, for the mystery there; sometimes, for a dose of fear right below the level of toxicity. Usually the object is to restrain it. But in benign cicumstances, a case of the yips can be fun. Let the panic stampede, let the unexplained mystery scatter your reason. You know that's what the Unknowable really wants of you. Constantly it undermines the rational stops constructed to keep it back. It wants so much for you to quit trying to figure it out, and just accept the incoherence, and come unglued. Mystery has its own ideas for you."
-ibid

Speaking of mysteries in the woods, I am still going to finish the rest of the bigfoot detective story- I have the ending all worked out it is just the middle expositional stuff that is bogging me down. Stay tuned.

I think Darth Maul is about the coolest looking bad guy ever. Here he is rendered with a bionic lower half, since Obi-wan the big fat jerk cut him in half. Not sure that I like the longer horns- Hellboy has the right idea about filing them suckers down.

(Image stolen from StarWars.com.)

Last night I had a severe bout of insomnia, which is always bad the next day at work but which can often be a good thing, creatively speaking. I have learned to just let my mind do its thing- it won't shut up until it's ready, and thre will be no peace for either of us until it is. So I wrote a poem (maybe I'll poost it, maybe not) and finally came up with a direction for a story I started while I was writing the Plasma Dragon story- I wrote the first paragraph and then left it until last night. So here is Part 1. Enjoy:

Truth be told, Frank Omah wasn't that good of a private eye. He had solved one major case, and made his rep off that. But even that was kind of cheating, in a way. He had proved definitively, once and for all, that Bigfoots do exist. He had done this by walking out of the woods one day and revealing himself to the world. Frank Omah was a sasquatch. Frank was sitting in his office reading a newspaper that his last client had given him in lieu of payment. His elbows were on the table, and he was holding his hands to his forehead, looking very much like he had a migraine. And indeed, his head was starting to throb and he was getting more and more alarmed about the lead story. He reread the article for the tenth time that morning:

"Bigfoot Fathered my Child! 54-year old Frances Forsyth of Tennessee, Alabama gave birth on Tuesday to what scientists are calling a genetic marvel- a half-human half-bigfoot baby that she has named FooFoo. She claims she had been camping in Yellowstone National Park when an 8-foot tall bigfoot kidnapped her from her tent, took her for dinner and eventually impregnated her. 'I know the Bahble says it ain't right to make love to no bigfoots, but he was the gentlest lover I ever had, and I love him and I want to marry him,' said the unmarried mother of six other children from her trailer in Alabama. 'I know he will love little FooFoo and will want to spend the rest of his life with us and our family.' Bigfoot was unavailable for comment. -Jed Jedderson, Weekly World News Editor-at-Large"

Frank couldn't believe it- who was this woman? He had never met anyone named Frances Forsyth, had not been to Yellowstone anytime in the last nine months and would NEVER have relations with a human- gross! Was Tennessee in Alabama, now? FooFoo? What kind of name is that? Nothing about this article made any sense. That's all he needed right now- a frivolous paternity suit. He was about to call his lawyer when his secretary buzzed. "Client here for you, Frank." "Send her in." "It's a he, and he's on his way." His door opened and a killer whale wearing a yellow fishing slicker and a sou'wester rain hat walked in. "You gotta help me," said the whale, "I've been framed."

The Harrison Bergeron Effect is already a reality for the world's whales. The other day I read the following from The Rise of Endymion:

. . . humanity's giant oil tankers and ocean going ships deafened the world's whales by filling their seas with mechanical noise, thus drowning out their Life Songs- destroying a million years of evolving song history before human beings even knew it was being sung. The whales all decided to die out after that; it was not the hunting of them for food and oil that killed them, but the destruction of their songs.

Obviously, like Star Trek IV, this is a fictional forecast of an extinction which hasn't actually occurred. Not yet, anyways. Yesterday, I was reading the Globe and Mail, and came across this small blurb in the science column:

Bang -- you're beached! Researchers in the United States are trying to see if the air guns that ships use to pierce the seabed in their search for oil might create sound waves that confuse whales. The bangs could explain why a pod of whales near where a ship was firing its guns recently became so confused that the animals drove themselves up on the beach.

There was a time when ambient noise levels in the sea were low enough that whale pods could communicate across entire ocean basins. But not anymore. Acoustic pollution from ships, subs, SONAR and more are muddying the waterwaves, so to speak, and we are only beginning to catch on to the detrimental effects this is having on the world's whales. As far as doing anything to reduce noise pollution, we have yet to take the first steps.

Have you ever read Harrison Bergeron? It's about a guy who is smarter than average in a society where being equal is the most important thing, so he has a thing implanted in his brain that blares an excruciatingly loud noise every few seconds, to prevent him from developing any sort of train of thought.
My work is a lot like that- it is next to impossible to carry on a decent conversation with coworkers as you are constantly being interrupted by customers. Damn customers! Today I had the kernel of a poem in my brain, and started to compose it a bit but of course it was immediately blown away like so many leaves on a windy day by the voracious hordes. So I will try and reconstruct it sometime soon, and get the gist anyways, but it just won't be the same. Oh well.

Time for Some Introductions
Yesterday I mentioned my coworker Erika. She's really cool. She grew up all over the world and knows all kinds of interesting things. I was asking her about some Chinese stuff for my Plasma Dragon story and when I told her where she could read it, if she was interested, she said, "Oh do you have a blog?" She thus became the first person I had ever met outside the blogosphere that knew what a blog was. (This, from the Dawn of Time, is the more normal reaction.) She knew because she also has one, and it's a good read.
In fact if you go there, you will be introduced to another coworker of mine, the indomitable Cass, who has fired each one of us innumerable times, and is full of spunk and sass. Plus she could kick your ass. You want your coffee in a glass?
Anyways, I have many other great coworkers but these two you can go and meet for yourself.
Oh yeah, and speaking of people named Erika, I have a question for my friend Erica the chemist: Is titanium dioxide poisonous? I'm guessing not, since it is listed as an ingredient in one of the powders we use at work, but I have to admit I am a little concerned about drinking the stuff now.

Meant To Live
Last night at work I was singing a song with reckless abandon, but it seems I had the words wrong. The song was Switchfoot's "Meant To Live", which I had heard before but never really noticed, but it finally clicked for me yesterday.
"We were meant to live with someone else!" I was singing, and this made my coworker Erika laugh. Since she had just gone to a Switchfoot concert, she knew whereof she spoke when she said, "That's not how it goes! It goes like this, 'We were meant to live for so much more.'"
Which, when I thought about it, made much more sense than my version, which seemed to be about a guy who is unhappy with his room-mate situation- something I certainly don't identify with, that's for sure.
But yesterday was one of those "living for so much more" kind of days for me- unforeseen adventure, my favorite kind. The day started with my morning routine of stopping in at my place of work for a coffee and to read the paper. I didn't have to work until 5PM, so I had the whole day in front of me to relax. Then another coworker/friend showed up, who was on her way to Calgary en route to overseas for a few weeks. Next thing you know I was going with her, as far as Red Deer, anyways- and we listened to Switchfoot the whole way, hence my newfound appreciation for those guys. I decided I could go with her halfway and hitch-hike back and still have plenty of time before work.
And indeed, 25 minutes is plenty of time.

I so called it.
And while we're on the subject of movies, I highly recommend The Bourne Supremacy, and I am really looking forward to The Village this week. And I would like to be the first to say that I think Sky Captain and the World of Tomorrow could easily be an unintended sequel to the Iron Giant. At least, that is how I choose to look at it. Probably won't have an "I'm Superman" moment, but that's alright. There will be plenty of "I'm Angelina Jolie" moments to make up for it.

My Oozian friend Addai is a font of esoteric Middle-Eastern religious knowledge. Recently he poosted a thread about a fascinating people group I had never heard of, called the Yezidi. They are unique in that they worship an angel they call Melek Taus. We would call him Lucifer, but in Yezidi lore he is the Peacock King, and he has been either rehabilitated by God or is still evil and revels in that evilness, depending on which source you read. Anyways, the Yezidi don't eat lettuce or wear the color blue, among other things.
I told Addai that was the most fascinating thing I had learned all week, and there has certainly been some competition as far as that goes- this is the week where I learned about the mother Pope and the oldest surviving family-run business in the world.
So, what is the most fascinating thing you have learned this week?

Tyrannosaurus Rex vs Smilodon the Saber Toothed Tiger
By Little Homie Bear

Tyrannosaurus Rex was the king of the dinosaurs! He was the most fiercest predator to walk this earth. Rarrgh!! he would roar before taking a chomp of Triceratops. His teeth were so sharp that it would probably take a lion and a shark and a bear together to equal the sharpness of his teeth. Tyrannosaurus lived in the Mesozoic Era, the Age of the Dinosaurs.
Smilodon is what scientists call the Saber Toothed Tiger. He wasn't as big as Tyrannosaurus, but he had teeth that were pretty much as sharp. And he could run fast and he liked to eat mammoths and cavemen. So he was pretty tough too.
I think in a fight you would think that Tyrannosaurus Rex would win, but really if you think about it, I think actually Smilodon would win. Here's why. Because even though T Rex is so big and mean he actually has these most eensy arms you've ever seen. They are pretty much only good for picking bloods and guts out of his teeth after a meal. So when Smilodon the Saber Toothed Tiger attacked first he would dodge T Rex's dagger teeth and then he would climb on and chomp his big saber teeth into T Rex's flesh there would not be much that King of the Dinosaurs could do, except maybe roar some more. Rarrgh!! Get off me!! He would say.
No way I am eating you Tyrannosuarus Rex king of the dinosaurs!!! is what smilodon the saber toothed tiger would say. Because most scientist think that the tigers were more smarter than the dinosaurs.
So that is who would win in a fight between the mighty Tyrannosaurus Rex and the uncanny Smilodon Saber toothed Tiger.

I think I learned the value of research from a report I had to do in Grade 4. The unit subject was birds, boring birds like sparrows and swallows and stuff. It was killing me- I would way rather do another report on who would win in a fight between T Rex and Smilodon, or a science project on my findings on whether I had any inherent Jedi abilities or not (sadly, no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't levitate objects with the Force), but my teacher was forcing us to learn about birds. Back then no one had considered the possibility that birds might be descended from dinosaurs, so I didn't even have that intriguing datum to spur me on.
I was assigned some strange bird I had never even heard of. It was called a shrike. Trudging to the library to look up 'shrike' in the Encyclopedia, I discovered that the shrike is probably the most kickass little bird ever invented. For one thing, they're predators, eating not only worms and insects but other birds and small mammals. But the kicker is what they do with their prey- they impale it on thorns and then peck away at their leisure. Vicious.
So, even though I've never seen a shrike, I've always felt an affinity for them, not because I'm some sadist little Vlad wannabe, but for helping me realize that the world is full of fascinating things you would never have known about if you just stayed inside your own little shell.
Anyways, I bring it up because an entity called the Shrike figures prominently in the Hyperion Cantos, and here are some cool pictures of it.

Not coming from a Catholic background, I was always a little naive about catholicism. I thought the Papacy was a hereditary position, like being a king. It only made sense to me that John Paul II was John Paul Senior's son. Turns out, of course, that the Popes don't tend to sire offspring, and new popes are actually elected, as discussed previously.
There is some fascinating history surrounding the office of the Vicar of Christ- it seems that a few popes actually did reproduce. Pope Innocent VIII was not that innocent and fathered several illegitimate children. Pope Julius II had a couple of somewhat notorious children- Lucrezia and Cesare Borgia, whose various lovers, spouses and rivals had a tendency to die unnatural, untimely and violent deaths.
Perhaps most intriguing, if not 100% historically certain, is the story of Pope John VIII, who ruled from 853-855 A.D. John's abbreviated reign was due to the birth of a child. What makes this one so notable is that it was John who gave birth. "John" was actually a woman, and is sometimes called Pope Joan.

Did you know that when a new pope is elected, that event is signalled to the faithful by the burning of the vote cards? The resulting white smoke which can be seen in St. Peter's Square is called the sfumata.  This is just one of the many interesting things about the Catholic Church I have learned by rereading the hyper-brilliant Endymion half of Dan Simmons' Hyperion Cantos.  I love these books.  I just started reading Rise of Endymion today.  I once wrote a paper on the Hyperion half of the Cantos, and got the only perfect mark I ever received in university- I wrote it from the point of view of a private eye, like Brawne Lamia in the books.  In fact I poosted the essay over at the Cave a few months ago.
Anyways, the reference to the sfumata was just a throwaway thing, but I wanted to learn more so I googled it, found a german page and got google to translate it for me.  The result:
 
"Sfumata is called the black or white smoke, which ascends after a Papal election of the burned voting cards from the Konklavesaal and which spectator at the Peter place in Rome of the respective conditions of the tunings informs."

I guess it's not your lucky day cause I had the best poost ever, but now that the thunder god is mad again, time to unplug the unsurge protected computer.
Seriously- best thing I ever wrote.  BUt now I don't think I'll get around to it. 
Have a good night!

Viewed from space, the terminus is a sharply defined line, separating night from day, light from dark. This half of the earth has the Sun shining on it, this half does not.  Here on the surface, however, there is no sudden wall of blackness- it is a much more transitional, phasic shift.  We call these gradations "dawn" and "twilight".
I think the coffeeshop where I work, and this neighbourhood as a whole, is on the terminus between rich and poor, haves and have-nots, ghetto and glitz.  The demographic sample is . . .  highly varied, and that makes life interesting sometimes.   For the most part, everyone gets along fine.  I like to help some of the street people out, let them use our washrooms without purchase- I know how much of an inconvenience not having ready access to facilities is.  Sometimes, though, there are clashes, and we have to ask people to leave.
Today I went in to work to collect my paycheck, so I wasn't actually on shift, and the ladies working were a little concerned about one of the guys outside bothering customers- he was drunk and asking for money, but not very nicely, judging by his invasion of their space.  So I thought it would be best if I went out there to see if I could do something about it.
He was a native guy, quite drunk and hard to understand, and I said, "You know you're not allowed to panhandle here- you're welcome to sit down and have a coffee but you can't bother the customers."
So we argued for a bit, but I was pretty intent on getting him to leave the premises.  At one point he mentioned that he had "killed men for less" and then we had to have a staredown, which is rarely a good situation.  I kind of thought I might be getting into a fight- bad for business, and very bad for me keeping my job.  And not really a fair fight, either, since he wasn't at full capacity.
But then, like the Sun suddenly shining after the terminus lifts its veiled curtain (had to work my opening metaphor in somehow), one of the customers who had watched the confrontation, a nondescript white guy, started barking at my friend in Cree.  Seriously, it was a classic Deus Ex Machina, one of the coolest things I've seen in a long time.  The native guy, startled, replied weakly in Cree, and the white guy got up and more or less chased him off.  Turns out he was a cop. 
So that was kind of cool.  Later I went home and sat on the newly finished balcony (yay!), watched the street life below, watched the Sun oh-so-slowly recede here in our Northern sky, and reflected on the nature of termini.

I missed out on Stage 13- sounds like it was quite the party. One person died in a fire, there were ODs, and an unconfirmed report of another body found with cause of death undetermined. My coworker Allysa was telling me that her sister went, and that "Despite all the horrible tragedies she had a really great time."

Gravity- It's the Law!
My last job was really great because I could sit and read books about bears, or write poems about bears, or watch movies about bears, and every now and then someone would come in and I would help them. But not enough someones came in and so we went out of business and life goes on. My new job is not nearly so laid back. Moments of quiet reflection are few and far between. Though I did have opportunity today to explore a metaphysical question: if gravity was a person, what would he or she be like? What caused me to wonder was, I got a little pissed off at gravity and found myself wishing he was there so I could punch him in the nose.
I was making a blender drink (already the subject of a recent poost)and trying to get the resultant sludge to come out of the blender and go into the cup. But the stupid stuff always sticks to the bottom and you have to tap and hit them on the counter to make them come out, and invariably they will suddenly fly out and spill all over your hands and the counter and splash up into your face. "Stupid gravity!" I said, shaking my fist.
Anyways, I was tempted to anthropomorphize gravity as a tyrannical dictator, because he prevents us from flying; he kills us if we should happen to fall, even if accidentally, more than ten or twenty feet; and he does unpleasant things to old peoples' bodies.
But then I had to grudgingly admit that he does some good things too. Without him everything would just fly off the earth into space, probably. And, umm, he makes orbiting possible somehow. There wouldn't be much life on earth if we weren't orbiting the sun. So that's good, I guess.
Therefore I decided that gravity should join Father Time and Mother Earth in the Family of Concepts Much Bigger Than Us, and take his place as Grandpa Gravity. Crusty, a little mean, but ultimately looking out for all his grandkids.

The Suicide Girls Burlesque Show was fantastic! Fun fun fun. I loved it, all except the whiteboy rappers who opened for them. Remember that scene in Reservoir Dogs where Michael Madsen cuts off the cop's ear while dancing to "Stuck in the Middle With You"? One of the best scenes in movie history, right? Well, it's even better when the parts are played by Suicide Girls and instead of cutting off ears they just take off bras, and kiss. Anyways, I found this on the Suicide Girls website: the biomass of squid exceeds that of humans.
Speaking of marine biology, I gave a talk at the G tonight- I spoke about the accumulation of PCBs in polar bears, and love. I thought I would share with you some of the research I did.
Polychlorinated biphenyls, as you may know, were industrial chemicals used as coolants and in transformers and stuff. It became evident that they were very toxic, and so the US stopped producing them in 1977. Most everyone in the world followed suit, with the exception of Russia, who continued to use them up until 1998.
PCBs, once airborne, tend to become concentrated in the polar regions, where the cold causes them to precipitate, landing them in the ocean where they enter the foodchain. Phytoplankton, fish, seals, and finally polar bears absorb the PCBS, with an increase in concentration of up to 500% with every link up in the chain. So obviously the polar bears wind up with alarming levels of PCBs in their fatty tissues- between 10 and 100 PPM, depending on which side of the Arctic ocean the bear is on (the Russian side has higher levels). As if that wasn't bad enough, polar bears actually live off their reserves of fat (they go without eating entirely) for up to 7 months of the year.
The PCBs have an adverse effect on the bears' immune and reproductive systems. An alarming number of hermaphroditic cubs are being born in the Svalbard Islands.
Anyways, there isn't a lot that can be done at this point. Now that the Russians have stopped producing PCBs we can only hope that, over time, contamination levels will decline. But more research is needed to explore the precise effects PCBs have on polar bear populations.
The sad thing is, PCBs aren't the only pollutant that accumulate in the Arctic- all airborne, and many oceanic toxins will eventually gravitate that way, and stay there.
Here's a link.

Regardless of how many Klingons may or may not possess, I am pretty sure that cows do not have four hearts.

;)

Pretty Little Death Songs

Every time I say "Suicide Girls", my mind tries to find the right song to sing. But it falters, since the phrase isn't from a song, it just sounds like it should be. In fact it is derived from a Chuck Pahlaniuk book.
For the last little while, though, I have been listening to huge heaps of The Headstones, a dark and punky rock band from Canada that those of you from NotHere may never have heard of. A lot of their songs are about death and suicide (though with a lot of gallows humour). Sample lyric, from Teeth & Tissue:
"Thinking of swinging from a thread
coiled tightly around my neck
Will an exposed pipe hold the weight of fears?"

Sharing trayspace in the discplayer is Alice In Chains' Dirt, the title track being one of the coolest, darkest songs ever, with a twisty, twisted riff that gives me shivers sometimes. Especially when you think Layne Staley died of the heroin addiction he was singing about.
"I want to taste dirty, a stinging pistol
In my mouth on my tongue
I want you to scrape me from the walls"

I've never really been in that headspace, but it's a common enough one and I think these songs are healthy in a weird way- it's cathartic for the writers to let it out, and it gives kids who are despairing the realization that there are others who have been where they are, and maybe lends them the strength to persevere. I don't know. It's tough, because I don't want to be insensitive to those who have loved ones who have ended their own lives- I recently lost a relative to suicide myself.

Like everyone, I get down from time to time, and that's okay. I know there will always be better times to come, and I always look forward to tomorrow- who knows what it will bring? I'm especially looking foward to today's tomorrow, since I will be seeing the Suicide Girls Burlesque Show. Yay!

(Link not necessarily appropriate for work, or those offended by nudity.)

On the shores of Lake Kootenay in British Columbia, by a ferry terminal, there is a little ice cream parlour. I was there for a Geology Field School one year. We all took advantage of the opportunity to break the monotony of field food- granola bars and the like, with a taste of real ice cream.
"What kind is that?" I asked the lady behind the counter.
"That's Worms and Bugs ice cream," she said.
"Really? It has worms in it?"
"Well, they're just gummi worms and pieces of cookie dough."
"Oh." I was sad. "Well, I'll have some anyway, please."

I have no reason for sharing this story, I just had a hankering for some ice cream. You know, I never really liked that orange and black ice cream- Tiger Tail or whatever it's called, but it could be because I am a bear. And because I generally don't like licorice flavour at all. Do bears have their own flavour? I don't know, but speaking of tigers, gabrielle wrote a great piece on white tigers. My advice to you is go read it, and maybe have some ice cream. I have to go get ready for work- I think tonight I will design a new kind of drink, and call it a Wormalatte, or maybe a Bugiamo.

The other day my Dad took me out for lunch. Tagging along was a distant relative from BC who turned out to be very cool- a 20-year-old kid who came to Edmonton for a Clutch show. As we tried to ascertain how we were related, we had the following conversation:
Me: "So, who are you? My first cousin twice removed?"
Cousin: "Yeah, or something."
Dad: "No, he's my cousin's son, which makes him my first cousin once removed and your second cousin twice removed . . . or something."
Me: "Is your last name Waddell?"
Cousin: "Yeah"
Me: "Good enough for me."
Then we talked about how rarely you run into members of the Waddell clan- it isn't a hugely common name. I don't think I'll get any wrong numbers from sweet old ladies wondering if she had reached the home of Craig Waddell the famous hockey player.
However, there was one famous Waddell sports star- but he was a baseball player whose heydey was a century ago. His name was Rube. And he was an . . . interesting fellow.
Rube was a pitcher, playing most of his career under the legendary Connie Mack for the Philadelphia Athletics, and he was good enough to enter the Baseball Hall of Fame. Which is all great, but what's really cool about him is how strange he was- strange in a Homie Bear kind of way.
Apparently it was difficult to keep his mind focussed on the game. He was known to leave the pitcher's mound mid-inning to chase firetrucks. He had a penchant for going AWOL mid-season to go fishing- once showing up after five days, his team in the midst of a pennant-race, bearing catfish for Connie Mack. Sometimes he could even be found under the bleachers shooting marbles with the kids, drinking in a bar, playing in a park or leading a parade.
Rube was also known for pretending to be an autonomaton in store windows, long before the advent of living mannequins. He once wrestled an alligator. And he even is said to have saved a number of lives- one from a fire, and some others (no one seems to know for sure- 13 is one number but that's likely exaggerated) from drowning.
One time he poured cold water over his pitching arm, so that the heat from it wouldn't set his catcher's glove on fire. Speaking of his catcher, Ossee Schreckengost, one gets the impression he was a long-suffering sort. It's said he refused to renew his contract with the A's unless Mack made Rube stop eating crackers in bed (they roomed together on the road). But he got a measure of revenge when Rube, drunk, jumped out of a second story window and wound up in the hospital. "Why didn't you try to stop me?" Rube asked Ossee.
"And lose the hundred bucks I bet on you?"
Anyways, I don't know if we're related or not, but we have the same last name and that's good enough for me.
Rube Waddell's Hall of Fame page.
And someone wrote a book about him: Rube Waddell: The Zany, Brilliant Life of A Strikeout Artist

I know I like to poost strange little nano-stories and snippets of dialog that have nothing to do with anything (for example). But the following conversation actually took place- gabrielle and rustyangel both were witnesses.

The phone rings. We ignore it the first time, not recognizing the name on callerID. The second time I decide to answer it- could be a coworker looking to trade shifts or something.
"Hello"
"Hello," said a sweet old lady voice. "Have I reached the home of Craig Simpson?"
"No, uh, no . . . you mean . . the former Oiler?"
"Yeah! Are you him?"
"Well, no . . . I'm not an Oiler." I regret not impersonating an Oiler just to see where the conversation might have led. Luckily, she is in the mood to talk, and we converse for a while further.
"Well, I'm just trying to find him. I'm a little worried that all the rain may have flooded his basement."
"Yeah, not even former Oilers are immune to water damage."
"Anyways, you're not him?"
"No, sorry."
"Okay, I'll keep trying. Bye!"
"Bye."


Craig Simpson's career statistics:
_______________ GP__G__A__Pts_PIM
Regular Season__634 247 250 497 659
Playoffs________67__36__32__68__56

Fucking Canada Day
Why does July 1st mean "everyone gets liquored up and smashes stuff"? What does that have to do with the anniversary of Confederation? At least there wasn't a riot like three years ago. This morning as gabrielle and I went down for the daily drive to her work, I discovered that some asshole had smashed one of the windows of my car. They didn't even take anything! I know that would sort of be worse, but in a way it's more of an insult- wanton destruction was their only motive. Fuck. Did I say that yet? Let me say it again- fuck!!!!!
Now I have to pay around $175 200 to get it fixed.
I was pretty pissed off, but I think I am over it now. Mostly. As gabrielle pointed out, it could be worse. At least I'm not dead like Marlon Brando. Always putting things in perspective, that vampire nomad is.

PS- Canada Day is still a good day.

Renewed shall be Axe that was Broken

A few years ago I went up to the Yukon and Alaska for a holiday. I brought along a young college student of my aquaintance- I was originally going to go alone, but he asked if he could come and I was happy for the company. My friend was quite inexperienced at the outdoors life, so he learned a lot under the careful guidance of the Proto-Homie Bear. But I was a little leary about letting him use my axe. It's a pretty big axe.
One night I was chopping wood and he was bugging me to teach him how. "I dunno," I said, all sceptical. "These are kind of dangerous if you're not careful."
"Aww come on," he said, and many other words to that effect.
So I gave in, and taught him how to chop in such a way so as not to inadvertently amputate his own leg. When I figured he had the hang of it I told him I was just heading to the river to brush my teeth. Not five minutes later I return, and there he is holding my axe, freshly cloven in two.
"What did you do to my axe????!!!!" I exlaimed in horror.
Although he had managed not to hurt himself, he had hit the handle of the axe against the wood (or something), splitting it along the length of it.
And so I made do with a broken axe for a very long time. It could still chop wood, though poorly. And I was very sad, for I loved my axe.
Today, my axe was returned to me, reforged! My friend Sherry has access to a bonfire and an axe handle so she was kind enough to fix it for me. Then she brought it in to the coffee shop where I work to return it. I just happened to be visiting with some old Chilkoot Trail friends who had dropped in unexpectedly (yay! it was great to see your Mom, Erica!), so I propped the axe up against our table, right in front of the till. Many strange stares and comments ensued.
Anyone need any wood chopped?

The Woodless Again shall have Fire!

Punch buggy! More than meets the eye!

Look out India, here comes the Spider-Man! Spider-Man is being reincarnated in India! Not merely ye olde familiar Spider-man translated into Hindi, Spidey will actually get a new, Indian identity. His name is Pavitr Prabhakar, and he will be a reinterpretation of the Spider-Man myth. The Green Goblin will be the nemesis, in the form of Rakshasa, an Indian demon. Which makes him much cooler than Green Goblin in the form of Willem Defoe in a Power Ranger costume.
Oh yeah, and in other Spidey related news I think there is a movie about the webslinger opening tomorrow. I, however, will be watching a movie set very near to India called Two Brothers.

As you've probably heard, the first privately funded spacecraft made it into space today. This is good news for people such as Lance Bass- it gives them one more potential avenue for getting to Mars. Did you know that if Lance were to go to Mars, he would produce roughly a ton of poo? It's true, assuming a trip of 2 years. That's a lot of poo, even if it is catchy, repetitive, appealing-to-the-general-public poo. What to do with all that poo? Don't forget that Lance is likely to have some co-astronauts, who will produce a similar amount of poo, though I think theirs would be less prone to 5-point harmony.
One elegant solution is to harness the intrinsic power of poo (what have I been telling you all this time?), recycling it for drinking water, food, and even, possibly, fuel. There is a bacteria called Geobacter that can pull the double duty of breaking down organic matter and generating electricity.
Read more here.

In non-poo news, here are some beautiful paintings apparently connected to the upcoming Narnia movies.
Speaking of beautiful artwork, here is an artist's blog I recently discovered, I love her stuff.

Even though I'm just in the middle of writing part 2 of the dragon story (not ready yet), I remembered a point I wanted to make about Chronicles of Riddick. Those dead guys with the purple fishbowls who could see living things reminded me of an odd little sci-fi short story I read years ago called Scanners Live in Vain. I can't find a copy online, but here is a good description of it.

EDIT FROM THE FAR FUTURE OF 2020! First of all if you are reading this back in 2004 avoid 2020 at all costs! And secondly please know the rewritten and definitive version of this story now exists in volume 1 of The Ursus Verses. 

Here is part 1 of a story that arose because I was considering the 4th state of matter. Part 2 is a vague notion in my head so I will finish it in the next few days hopefully (umm, I'll get to the pixie story again eventually. . .), but it is getting late so here is the beginning, at least.

 Sir Swampy Joe Brody was a cowboy, and he was a dragon slayer. He wasn't really a knight, though, and everyone knew it, but they called him "Sir" anyways out of respect. Sir Swampy Joe also happened to have an honorary PhD from Harvard, but he thought going by the handle of Dr. Sir Swampy Joe Brody was getting a little high falutin'. Sir Swampy Joe had a bit of a problem. There was a new kind of dragon in town, and this dragon didn't breathe regular fire. Sir Swampy had attempted a showdown with the vicious critter but it had melted his shield and very nearly melted his horse, Michael the Archangel. Sir Swampy figured he better skedaddle and go consult his mentor. Sir Swampy's mentor was a Blackfoot medicine man named Maskikiasin, though Sir Swampy called him Smiling Bear- once in Yellowstone they had been hunting a dragon and had come across a grizzly who was fighting for his life against the dragon. Without hesitating Sir Swampy threw himself onto the dragon's back and drove his lance into his vertebrae, dispatching him quickly, while Maskikiasin tended to the bear, applying an herbal poultice to his wounds. The spooked grizzly ran off to lick his wounds, but Sir Swampy swore he saw him turn and smile at them before he disappeared. So from then on Maskikiasin was Smiling Bear. "Have you heard about the new dragon?" asked Sir Swampy. "No, the smoke signal net has been bogged down with spam all day- as if a medicine man would ever need those kind of pills . . . " Sir Swampy wasn't really listening. "I hate to sound yella, Smilie, but this one might be more than I can handle. I never seen anything like it- his fire doesn't just burn things down, it vaporizes them." "Well, let's go take a look." So Sir Swampy Joe and Smiling Bear got on their horses and went in search of the dragon. It was a pretty easy search, as all they had to do was go against the flow of refugees fleeing the devastation. The demoralized citizens cheered Sir Swampy and Smiling Bear as they passed, but Sir Swampy couldn't help but feel that he was going to let them down this time. The dragon, even from a distance, was impressive. It was twice the size of a normal dragon. Its skin was slightly translucent and had a metallic, glistening sheen just beneath the surface that seemed to glow. It had all the typical accoutrements of evil- massive, reptilian wings, classic draconic wedge-shaped head with horns, fangs, scales and piercing, golden slit-eyes. Out of all the dragons Sir Swampy Joe had slain, he had never seen anything so singularly malevolent. "Damn," he said, "that's one mean looking varmint." Smiling Bear took one look at it and said, "It's a Plasma Dragon. Very bad medicine."

All over the continent therapists are sitting in their offices, wondering where the hell all their patients are. "Oh right!" says one, "New Beasties came out today." Beastie Boys is good therapy.
I'm just listening to To The 5 Boroughs for the first time as I type, sounds great so far, pure Beasties but still fresh. This sample or skit or whatever it is just gets them bonus points: "The idea is to keep the green alien landing craft from taking your humans from the ground and changing them into mutants. A mutant is very dangerous to you because he flies faster than you do, and shoots at you."

The mystery of Bigfoot will probably be solved one day with these words:

It turns out that sasquatches were just robots built by bears, possibly with the help of aliens.

gabrielle's personal odyssey of writing the Very Secret Diaries of Troy is finally fulfilled, and though no Cyclopses, sirens or scyllas and charybdises were encountered along the way, much giggling was had, probably way more than Odysseus ever did. It starts here here, and continues upwards.

The day after tomorrow I am going to see The Day After Tomorrow The Chronicles of Riddick! Yay! Some reviewer called it the "largely unasked for sequel to Pitch Black." Maybe cause they weren't asking me- I loved Pitch Black and was pleased when Vin announced he would forego 2Fast2Furious in order to concentrate on the character of Riddick (and probably also because he knew, but was too tactful to say, that 2Fast would 2suck).
Looking forward to :
a) Riddick's eyes. Best eyes ever.
b) Seeing how much they develop Necromonger theology. Could be really cool.
c) Wasn't there someone else in this movie? Some guy? Anyways.
d) Your head a splode!

If they did a prequel to The Day After Tomorrow (about the last ice age, presumably) they could call it The Day Before Yesterday.
Not sure what they'd call a sequel, though.

I took advantage of the fact that I had the day free since I am working tonight to take in a matinee of Harry Potter. I have to admit, the first 20 minutes or so I was really thinking I was going to be disappointed (lots of slapstick for the kids which is fine, just not my thing)but then it settled into a nice, just-tickling-the-edge-of-your-perception foreboding atmosphere. I thought the Dementors were really cool and they managed to avoid being too Ringwraithy. Oh yeah and I liked Buckbeak too. And mostly you have to say that Gary Oldman kicks ass.

I wonder if this happens a lot.

Working at a coffee shop in the summer means I find myself making a surprising number of smoothy-style blender drinks. And dispensing coffee squishees. It can get a little mind-numbing at times so today I fantasized that each concoction I brewed was actually a piece of a giant smoothy golem that would come to life, once joined, and, in an example of poetic (though cliched) justice, consume the very people who had ordered their creation.
But since the golem has so far failed to incorporate, I amuse myself by tricking my coworkers into trying new and disgusting mixtures of smoothies.
"You sick bastard" one of them called me.

"The landing craft drove onto the shore at 6.30 in the morning, within a minute of the time of H-Hour. I jumped off into four feet of water. Never before in my life had I wanted so badly to run, but I could only wade slowly forward. It was approximately 100 yards to the edge of the shore and it took me two minutes to reach the shallow water. Those two minutes were extremely long. Even on the beach I couldn't run as my uniform was sodden and heavy and my legs were numb and cramped.
Heavy shells commenced exploding on the beach, as well as sporadic mortar fire from a short distance inland. A soldier just ahead of me was blown to pieces by direct hit. The instant it happened, something small hit me in the stomach- it was the man's thumb. About then, General Theodore Roosevelt Junior came striding along the beach. He was waving his cane and bellowing at everybody to get moving across the dunes. We kept moving as fast as possible. Some enemy riflemen began firing at me, so I picked myself up and began to run forward over the top of the dunes. Facing me were five of the enemy. I shot the one with his hand raised to hurl a grenade, the rest threw down their rifles and put up their hands. I handed them over to a wounded corporal and went forward again."
Captain George Mayberry, aged 24

From Nothing Less Than Victory, by Russell Miller

Here is a CBC page on Canada's role in D-Day.

"Your Majesties and gentlemen and ladies and all," said Rynelf, "there's just one thing I want to say. There's not one of us chaps as was pressed on this journey. We're volunteers. And there's some here that are looking very hard at that table and thinking about king's feasts who were talking very loud about adventures on the day we sailed from Cair Paravel, and swearing they wouldn't come home till we'd found the end of the world. And there were some standing on the quay who would have given all they had to come with us. It was thought a finer thing then to have a cabinboy's berth on the Dawn Treader than to wear a knight's belt. I don't now if you get the hang of what I'm saying. But what I mean is that I think chaps who set out like us will look as silly as- as those Dufflepuds- if we come home and say we got to the beginning of the World's End and hadn't the heart to go further."

From CS Lewis' Voyage of the Dawn Treader

Shok left me a very cool link in the droppings, and in case you didn't see it, here it is: snow sculptures in China. I especially like the bear and cub.

Getting back to the children's literature, I am reading CS Lewis' Voyage of the Dawn Treader right now, and really loving it. I'm not finished yet, so I don't have too much to say but I will mention that I loved the thing with Eustace and the dragon (I won't delve into details in case you haven't read it). That's exactly the sort of whimsical thing I try to capture, not always successfully, in my poetry and stories.
And, I am getting more excited for the Prisoner of Azkaban movie every day. To be honest, the first two Harry Potter movies didn't really grab me that much- I liked the books fine, I just found the adaptations to be kind of lifeless, somehow. But the fact that Alfonso Cuaron is directing this one has me paying a little more attention. And Gary Oldman as Sirius Black- yeah. Dracula/Zorg/Rosencrantz/corruptcopfromtheProfessional- the guy is a genius.
Oh yeah, I found JK Rowling's personal official site, and it's pretty cool. Flash intensive, so if you don't have Flash don't even bother.
Rounding off this week's survey of children's lit, let me just say that I got the new Slipknot disc and I really like it so far. Not as brutally heavy and violent as their other stuff, though more melodic and still compelling.

Update: I wrote this last night pretty much immediately after the encounter with FAN. Thus it is not exactly my best work, but it's good enough. However, the vampirenomad has rendered it in her own imitable style, and it is definitely worth a read.

The Woodsy Crypt is a pretty great place to live, due entirely to the vampiric/feline company. The actual neighbourhood is a little on the sketchy side. I walk to work, and have to run a gauntlet of ladies of the night midafternoon. Anyways, I can live with that. I can live with a lot, actually. Our next door neighbours are seriously the loudest people on the planet. I'm not kidding. Mostly they yell at each other, though sometimes they talk really loud and laugh. Usually starting at around 1 AM. Most nights I drown it out, but one time they were pulling down furniture and slamming it to the floor in their fury, and it was around 3 in the morning. So I got up and put some clothes on, left my hair down (I can look a little threatening in this mode if I want to) and went over and knocked on their door. And they were so loud they didn't even hear me. I knocked a couple more times and finally I hear this loud clomping sound coming to the door- I though he was going to be mad at me so I braced myself for whatever confrontation I was about to face. Instead, though, I was face to face with a very sheepish guy in his underwear who had just been kicked out by the lady. We stood there looking at each other awkwardly for a second and then I said, "It's really late."
"I know, sorry," he says. Then he went to the stairwell to spend the night and I went back to bed, where at least it was finally quiet.
Tonight WE received a knock on the door, at 10:30. gabrielle was working out to her Nsync DVD, at a not overloud volume. So I went to answer the door and their was Fat Angry Neighbour from downstairs. "Can you turn your music down please?" he said, not in a friendly tone of voice.
"We will at 11," I said, "when it's quiet time."
"Well, it's kind of loud now."
"Yeah, well, your coughing* keeps us awake all the time and there's nothing we can do about that, so . . . "
This kind of shocked him, I think, as he looked quite taken aback, and didn't reply for a couple of seconds. "Coughing can't be helped," he said, finally.
Anyways, we didn't turn down the music, though in ten minutes, we certainly will.

*He coughs so loud it sounds like he is about to die. All the time, but especially late at night (or early in the morning, as the case may be).

I would like to read Jacob Two Two and the Hooded Fang again. Also James and the Giant Peach. These books were read to me in elementary school by my teachers. One day gabrielle and I were walking and we saw some bunnies and we began talking about Bunnicula. Apparently some people doubt her when she talks about that book, but I know it well- my Grade 3 or 4 (murky memories- 4 I think) teacher read it to us. There are probably other lost gems I have completely forgotten. My Grandma was an Elementary School Librarian at Crescent Valley, so I was inculcated very early on with a love for children's books. I used to get in trouble in junior high, having one of the highest reading comprehension levels in my grade, when I would insist on going to the little kids' section during class library times rather than seeking out "more advanced" fare. Remember what Ursula LeGuin said (paraphrased): "Whenever I have a concept too complicated for adults to digest I just write it in a childrens' book."

What were your favorite books as a child?

Didn't they discover a mushroom or fungus that had a root system as big as a county once? Whatever happened to it? Was there more than one? Where was it? I have no reason for asking, other than idle curiosity.
And the Cassini spacecraft has entered Saturn's zone of influence. That should make for some interesting photos in the next little while. Maybe it will find giant mushrooms on the surface of Titan- since it has an atmosphere it is at least nominally possible it could support life.
The physics building at the U of A has a telescope on its roof, and anyone is welcome to come and look in it most nights. I went once and saw Saturn- pretty. You could see the rings.

A Nano-story

The doctor showed the x-rays to his patient. "We've found the problem- your bloodstream has been invaded by some nanotech bots which are responsible for your sore joints, nasuea and bioluminescence."
"That's horrible," said the patient. "What can I do?"
"It's not as bad as it looks. I'll just prescribe you some anti-robotics, and you'll be fine."

Happy Birthday to Lyddy! Go to her blog and wish her a fine day.

The devout acolytes of the devourer of souls delve into the depths of the underworld. Despite how deep they go, all they find is devolved demons.

This is very painful for me to say, but . . .
I'mcheeringforCalgaryintheplayoffs.

Iginles: "If I do this for you, if I let you cheer for us to win the Stanley Cup, we'll still be enemies in the morning."
King Homiam: "You're still my enemy tonight, but even enemies can show respect."


(Jarome Iginla has always been a great guy. More or less a local, too- from St. Albert. I hope he drinks from the Cup, godless Flame or not.)