Anyway, had one of those patented ‘Premee Moments’ today. (You know - it’s when an average human being is suddenly overcome by the huge amounts of absurdity in the world, then proceeds to overreact to it, and no one else finds it odd or even humorous.) So I’m strolling along today, on top of the world, on the way to my microbiology job interview at unnamed poultry plant X. Blinding sun, lots of snow, air as fresh as a Glade commercial, can’t see the company headquarters through the glare on my glasses, when all of a sudden the wind picks up and I catch a whiff of total ammoniacal virulence, and for no reason Toucan Sam pops into my head: “Just follow your nose!”

Needless to say, I completely broke down and laughed until my mascara started running down my face. Then, just to top it all off, some kids heading home from a nearby school caught a glimpse of me cackling in the sidewalk and quickly crossed to the other side of the street. Unfortunately, I found that even funnier, and laughed until I got a cramp. By the time everything seemed to be over, I had about thirty seconds left to get to my interview.

I don’t think I got the job.

Also, in gratitude to Big Gay Rob (I wasn’t the one who gave him that nickname, by the way - that was the other half of the pod) for spelling my name correctly in his links section, I would like to say the following: it is not his gayness that is big, but rather… it is Rob. (Wink wink, nudge nudge, say no more…)

So anyway, you know ennui is taking over when you see a clear plastic box in your closet and decide to build a dinosaur diorama in it. Yessir. That is boredom. Is what that is. Although, with my usual frothing fanaticism for detail, there are lots of horsetail ferns and trilobites and dragonflies and puddles and things. Very authentic. There’s even a dormant volcano! Oh, and one misshapen apatosaur of some kind, with eyes pointing in two different directions. My brother came in yesterday and mercilessly mocked it until I pointed out that no archaeologist has ever conclusively proven that all apatosaurs weren’t wall-eyed. But this little plastic box is a masterpiece of its kind. I couldn’t believe how much fun I was having - I don’t think I’ve made a diorama since I was about eight years old. I forthwith demand that all readers of this blog immediately find a box and make a diorama of their own. (Oh, come on, you weiners: it’s Reading Week, what else would you be doing?)

“At this same period, the notary Gaudentius, who, as I have told, had been sent by Constantius to oppose Julian in Africa, and another Julian, a former vice-prefect, who had been very active on the same side, were brought back under arrest and put to death. Artemius also, who had commanded the troops in Egypt and who was charged by the people of Alexandria with a mass of outrageous crimes, paid the supreme penalty. Next, the son of Marcellus, at one time master of both cavalry and infantry, was publicly executed on the grounds that he had plotted to seize the throne. Beside these, Romanus and Vincentius, tributes of the first and second divisions of Scutarii, were convicted of nursing designs above their stations and sent into exile.”

Well, if that isn’t the most idiotically ironic thing I’ve ever done. I have meticulously vandalized my very own blog, by attempting to add some links that I was too inept to add into the spot where I had that Faulkner quote. Funny old world, isn’t it. I wonder if changing the template will fix that. If it doesn’t, well, I reckon I’ll just have to live with the results. Oh, and if it does work… well… you never read this.

After reading some of the new blogs on the Blogger website, I concluded that an awful, awful lot of people use their blogs as ‘pet peeve’ lists and expect something to be done about it. Well, just to be part of the crowd, I would like to make a list of things that I unequivocally loathe beyond words. Ahem: soap scum, scorched food, Portugese Man-O-Wars, poachers, Kuru disease, windchill, wasp nests that look abandoned but aren’t, nightmares, the flu, most female novelists, cramps in anything, deforestation anywhere, beta-thalassemia, hairless cats, condescension, racism, apathy, power outages, cellulite, giant potholes, mid-day hallucinations, second-hand smoke, rats, and wisdom teeth. There.

Boy-howdy, I shore feel cultchured now. Traipsed off to see the Edmonton Opera’s production of Gilbert and Sullivan’s ‘The Mikado’ last night, and it’s been a while since I’ve seen anything quite so enjoyably, unabashedly, unadulteratedly silly - but I mean silly in the Monty Python sense, so still very good. I wonder how I can get my friends together and convince them to stage a production of ‘The HMS Pinafore’…

A moment of silence, please, for the tragic loss of the East in this the 52nd NBA All-Star Game….
OK, that should be long enough. The East just rolled over anyway in the second double-overtime, bunch of poncy wankers.

In other news, I have decided to add a fifth member to my own personal list of deadly sins: apathy. Apathy is a good one. Ever talk to someone who doesn’t care about anything? It’s enough to make you retch. I mean, the world would be just as irritating if people went around screaming “Woo!” at every little thing, but people who stumble around going “I don’t care, I don’t care” should definitely be rounded up and put into some sort of gulag, where they will eventually develop true passions, most likely for things like clean water and, I don’t know, anal sex.
U2 says ‘When you stop seeing beauty/You start growing old,’ and I believe this as much as I believe anything in my life. I also believe that the apathetic are definitely collecting bad karma or something and will end up in their next life as a pigeon. Pigeons have 37 tastebuds (humans have over 9000) and the ones on campus can’t be bothered to get out of the way of someone on rollerblades (I’ve seen it, and it’s sad). They don’t care what they eat and they don’t care where they end up. They have no instinct for self-preservation, which is the final result of real, rock-hard apathy. Impressive.

Just finished watching NBA All-Star Saturday and woo! I am pumped. I gots me so much b-ball in my blood, yo, I just wanna hit the blacktop and chew me some rim, Spalding a coupla brothas, make the fast break and shatter me some egos y’all. The shortest player in the NBA is five foot five (Earl Boykins) and is still averaging a shockingly-decent 10.6 PPG, so I think I’ve got a chance. Too bad there’s six inches of snow out there and the basketball net is in the garage… otherwise I’d be out there right now. Sigh.

Oh, wow. I didn’t think it was possible, but after going through one single site, I now have a brain tumour the size of a pomegranate. I feel like mourning for my lost innocence. Back in 1998, I went about six months without sleeping more than a couple of hours every night, because of nightmares. Well, this site brings back all sorts of memories, put it that way. And I see no reason why I should be the only one to suffer, so I am now posting the site for everybody’s viewing pleasure: The Hovel. In case anyone is wondering (and very few people should be), I used to vaguely know this guy once, sort of. Of late I had been pondering remaking his acquaintance but now, all of a sudden, I’ve… changed my mind.