TGIF

There's something about Fridays that brings the crazies out of the woodwork and into our mailbox. Not to say that this week hasn't been especially eventful in the office already, but that's a story that you'll have to ask me about in person when the prying eyes of the internets aren't spying on my every word. In any case, the fact remains that in an exceptionally crazy week, this friday's mail was something special. One letter from God, a notice of action from Beefcake Bob; accusations, expectations, renunciations, and flirtations; another letter from a certified mental patient, but it was a free member of society that declared that we would all burn in hell. There's just no justice in the system.

Today is my last day in this office. I start my new (real) job on monday. I'm going to miss this place: the mid-day beers, the great co-workers, and yes even the crazy letters. It's just sinking in now that my daily dosage of insanity, ignorance, and stupidity from the general public of Canada will be coming to a close. I'm somewhat saddened by this. If not for the crazy people, who will threaten me? Who will tell me that the world is a pit of sin? Who will blame the Jews for all the problems of the world? Who will mis-construe biblical verses to excuse everything from hating the homosexuals to the construction of mud-brick huts in the wilderness (actual letter). Who will push the boundaries of illegible handwriting and insane requests? How will I go on without the same old bastard that has written to me every day for an entire year demanding fifty billion dollars from the government for a reason he has never fully articulated?! Oh Bob.... I'm going to miss Bob the most.

So, to all of you crazy letter writers out there, it's been a slice. I've had fun laughing at your insane rantings, and then throwing them out. You've given me my first blood-enemy, the guy that is responsible for making mail to Members of Parliament free of charge. I hate that guy so much. You've taught me so many amazing things, like the Jews drop beetles on your house, or that AIDS is created by the frothing asses of homosexuals, or that the living incarnation of the devil is destroying your life. You all have given me a new and profound appreciation for my sanity.

I'm done with you all. I'm washing my hands of your crazy letters and walking away. From now on, it's just website development and graphics design for this guy. I'm going off to greener pastures to deal with people that matter. If you want to show your appreciation for my dutiful attention to your thoughts, and my judicious discarding of your letters, then I suggest you take the following words to heart - the words that have been spoken so many times to so many people in search of answers and direction:

Don't call us, we'll call you.

One Hell Of A Day

On what would have otherwise been the worst day I've ever had on the hill, I got the job that I mentioned in the last post. On the very first day I didn't want my volunteer position anymore, I got a paid one somewhere else. This has been one weird day, to say the least.

Parliament, fuck you. I'm out. Parliament, I love you. I'm back in. Let the good times roll.

A night at the Heart and Crown

Wound up at the Heart and Crown, the bar that will someday consume the whole world, hanging out with a lot of bureaucrats last night. This may sound lame, but it's actually a lot of fun, provided you can pry their Blackberry from their grip long enough to get a word out of them. Regardless, hanging out led to wings, wings led to drinks, drinks led to shots, and shots led to getting a job interview. Somehow, while drunk, I convinced someone that I should work for them. I had an interview today. Could start as early as next week.

Okay, on to important matters. I need to talk to the guys for a second. Girls, you can go. Thanks for visiting. Boys, you all with me now? Good. Pay attention.

What the fuck is wrong with you?

Really, I watched you flirt with my friend all night, and you are not only bad at it, you have zero tactical skill. I mean you are really, really poor at flirting. Now I'm not about to claim that I'm especially good with flirtation; my dating record will indicate that I'm not very good at it at all, actually. That being said, I have a wealth of experience in getting shot down, and consequently in not flirting. I have learned from my mistakes. The guys at the bar last night have not. So, for the benefit of the slow learners with us, welcome to Flirtation 105: When to Not Flirt.

First Lesson: Pick your Battles
Are you forty? If so, don't hit on the twenty-one year old girls. That's going to get you nowhere. Are you too drunk to dance? If so, you're also too drunk to flirt. Go home. Is the girl you want to flirt with already with a guy? If so, if she's not dating him then you're at least second in line. Chances are she is not interested. Take a page from the book of Kenny Rogers: you gotta know when to hold em and know when to fold em.

Second Lesson: Know when to give up
If you have to talk a girl into taking your phone number, she is not going to call you. If you have drunkenly approached a girl and started to grind with her, and both her and the boy with her have looked at you like you're a creep, consider this a sign that you should move along, not try harder. Remember: there are billions of girls in the world, but you only get one sense of dignity. Preserve it.

Third Lesson: What the hell are you? A robot?
There are guys out there that seem to follow the Flirtation Checklist:
step one: act interested.
step two: close physical distance.
step three: compliment.
step four: casual touching.
Now, I'm not about to say the checklist is useless, there's some wisdom in there, but understand that you are not the first person to ever employ this method. It is extremely played. If you approach in this manner and think you are being subtle and playing it cool, you are not. You are being very clear about your intentions, and if you do not get immediate positive feedback, cut your losses. Remember what I said about dignity.

Keep these tips, and your dignity, in mind and you'll spend less time making an ass out of yourself.

Talk Like a Pirate Day

Today was International Talk like a Pirate Day. Whenever ITLAP Day comes around, the most common question I come up against is, "How do I talk like a pirate?"

Knowledge is power.

Regarding the Infamous Post that is No Longer There

As the previous post's comment thread showed, a few of you did notice my now-deleted post regarding what happened in Montreal the other week. Wow, you guys are on this blog thing. I figured that since I didn't manage to ninja it out before it went public, I should address why it was there, and why it's not.

The post was written in the first place because I'm still a slightly-bitter product of the post-Columbine era. Get labeled as a "risk" in highschool, and you'll know what I mean. The point is that whenever some kid goes berserk and starts shooting up his school, people start saying stuff and none of it is what needs to be said. People look for victims and monsters, but just like everything else, the truth isn't so neatly defined. Everyone is a victim because everyone is a monster. Nobody is innocent and nobody deserved it. Just as much as some people should be blamed for being cruel, others should be blamed for not recognizing that your life is your responsibility and if you choose to define yourself by the cruelty of others then it's no one's fault but your own.

If the Montreal shooter had been a student of that school who just couldn't bear the thought of going back for another year in what he felt was his own personal hell, then the post I had up would have been, to me at least, justified. In a situation like that I can give equal implication to the shooter and the students; the shooter one big pile of blame for letting his life run off the rails, the students a lot of blame divided over a thousand tiny teenage cruelties. That's the situation I was expecting, and the situation I wrote the deleted post in anticipation of.

Unfortunately, that's not the way things went down. The shooter wasn't a student, he was 25. The kids at that school had never done a thing to him. He wasn't looking for revenge, just blood and police-assisted suicide. Not only did that bastard ruin lives, he ruined perhaps the best-written post I have ever made here. That jerk.

Anyway, there's stuff that needs to be said about this situation, but it's not what I had written. There's people that need to say it, but they're not me.

Ultimate Showdown Part I

The weekend before last I found myself sitting on the Hard Rock Cafe's patio working through the entire summer drinks menu with Hurricane Jacqueline. Whenever that walking act-of-God and I get together and alcohol is involved we wind up playing the ultimate conversational game: Ultimate Showdown.

Ultimate Showdown the game predated Ultimate Showdown the Music Video, but the premise is essentially the same. It's the ultimate test of historical and pop-culture knowledge, with emphasis on creativity and abstract thinking. In short, it's the perfect game for geeks. Basically, take two figures (historical, contemporary, or fictional) and pit them in theoretical no-rules combat, and come to a mutual agreement via debate as to the likely winner. Even though there is always a winner to each showdown, there is no scoring in the game. Everybody plays and everybody wins. Here's some example matches:

Optimus Prime vs. Godzilla
King of the Monsters versus King of the Robots. Godzilla has a definite size advantage, being about twice the height of an average building, while Optimus is only about 3/4 average building height in robot mode. Godzilla has eye lazers, fire breath, and monster strength. Optimus Prime has a plethora of beam weapons, a supercomputer for a brain, and the Autobot Matrix of Leadership (which actually does nothing in armed combat). Both Godzilla and Optimus Prime have been killed at least once, so the any Lazarus-like properties of either are negated. I'd decide this one on basis of Optimus' combination of tactical knowledge, advanced ranged weaponry, and mobility. Godzilla is tough, Optimus would be able to wear him down over time and from a distance. Expect a long, protracted fight that would destroy much of Tokyo.

John Wilkes Boothe vs. Lee Harvey Oswald
Changing gears from ficticious to historical, we've got ourselves the battle of Presidential Assassins. This one is, in my mind, clear cut. Oswald shot Kennedy from a distance while standing in a bathtub, and might have had help. Boothe just walked up to Lincoln and capped him in the chest. Boothe wins on gonads alone.

Yoda vs. Stephen Hawking
This one might sound like a no-contest, but bear with. Sure Yoda is a force master, and his skills with a lightsaber are beyond compare. Sure he lived to be 900 years old. So what? When Stephen Hawking was in his 20's and diagnosed with ALS, they said he wouldn't survive more than 2 or 3 years. He is now 64, bitches. If he didn't have a debilitating muscular disease slowly killing him, he'd probably live to be 900 too. Plus, I don't think anyone can be as smart as Hawking without having some kind of telekinetic powers. He also kind of looks like Emperor Palpatine. Coincidence? I think not. I'm pretty sure that a battle between Yoda and Hawking would be short and messy, with Hawking making Yoda's head explode about two seconds into the match. Then Hawking would go and prove everything in the universe mathematically, becasue that's just how he rolls.


Okay, now that you have an idea of how the game works, I'm going to pose a couple theoretical matches for you, the reader, to give me feedback on. Make your case, and the winners of each match will be posted in Ultimate Showdown, part II. Ready? Fight!

First Match: Communist Dictators
Chairman Mao vs Joseph Stalin

Second Match: Gay Musicians
Elton John vs. George Michael

Third Match: Cold War Icons
Fidel Castro vs. Pope John Paul II (and just so nobody says "well John Paul II is dead," this match takes place in 1979)

Fourth Match: Rotund Men
Orson Welles vs "The Penguin" from Batman

I'll accept cases at aaawyeah.gmail.com or in the comments thread.

Hurricane Ernesto is a Loser

The dying remenants of Hurricane Ernesto are blowing through Ottawa right now, which has made for two dank and dreary days of rain and more rain. A good excuse to stay inside and write some blog. Writing on a rainy day is always a minefield; something about the weather makes one teeter on the brink of melancholy. Especially since the internet is a medium that lends itself to depression, angst, and excessive introspection; this is something that I try to avoid. I have dozens of reasons to be a happy guy, so I don't want people thinking I'm depressed. I'll have to ignore the rain and write like it's sunny.

Speaking of the weather: Dear New Orleans. Is this what a hurricane is like? You're all a bunch of sissies.

Despite the fact that it's the perfect day to stay indoors, I'm about to force myself out the door. I need to pick up my gym visitation schedule again, I want to go to chapters and look at books about the LSAT and Photoshop, and I need new shoes. Each of these are enough to motivate me out into the rain on their own. Together, like Voltron, they are greater than the sum of their parts. The gym is self explanatory. Fitness, better shape, the excuse to wear my fly yoga shorts - how can I refuse? As for Chapters, I'm writing the LSAT at the end of this month, having only recently decided that the legal profession is where I want to make my living. Of course, the books on Photoshop are a direct challenge to the LSAT books. Just when I think I know what I want, a part of my brain panics and thinks "What about graphic design? You've always secretly hated the fact that you're not a very creative person, so being an artist would finally fill that gaping hole in your soul." See, rain breeds melancholy. That, or I shouldn't have had beer of lunch. Note to self: buy more milk.

Finally, the most important of the holy trinity of Getting-My-Narrow-Ass-Out-Of-The-House, new shoes. I just need new shoes. My current Adidas RUN DMC-esque kicks have passed the ultimate quality control test; being worn through before they wore out. I have walked straight through the soles of these shoes, which puts them on-par with the Nike Lovegun. I have no trouble going back to the mall and buying these shoes again. In fact, I will accept nothing less. You just don't mess with perfection. Yes, Perfection. If Jesus wore sneakers, he'd wear the Adidas Superstar.

So would Buddha, Moses, and Mohammed, peace and fresh kicks be upon him.