I was watching the Toronto-New Jersey game tonight (as much of it as I could stand - horrible playing from our boys, Sam Mitchell must be tearing his hair out) and kept giggling every time the TSN commentator said Bostjan Nachbar’s name. Nachbar is Slovenian (I think: Slovakian maybe? Somewhere around there) so I imagine you say it something more like ‘Boe-jan Nuchhbah,’ but the commentator was saying it very fast with no accent at all - ‘Boston Nutbar.’

It just struck me as funny because it sounds a bit like a chocolate bar - like a Charleston Chew or something. If I saw a Boston Nutbar in my local Mac’s I’d totally buy one.

“No, I don’t dance! I never dance! What do you mean you’ve got photographic evidence? For all you know we were… playing… Statues, and I was posing like that. Hah! That ain’t no photographic evidence!”

Once again, the external hard drive proves itself to be a veritable Arthur Conan Doyle’s Lost World of strange photographs.

What are you, little bug? And why did I stop to capture your image for posterity in August 2005? Don’t remember a thing.

Me: I’m doing it, man. I’m chugging it.
Al: Don’t do it!
Me: Oh, it’s gotta be done! BENYLIN STRAIGHT FROM THE BOTTLE, MAN!
Al: Aaaaiiieeee!
Me: OW! OW! IT BURNS! OH GOD HOW IT BURNS! WHEEEEE! I’M AN AIRPLANE!
(thud)
Me: Would somebody be a dear and drag me to bed? I can’t feel my legs.
Al: Well I hate to say I told you so.

Fun with extra-strength OTC drugs just isn’t the same without you, mon frere!

I fully understand - no, I do - that imitation is the sincerest form of flattery, and the man is my literary idol too. But nothing excuses plagiarism. It’s not a fucking homage, it’s not fucking flattering, it’s a pathetic pretense to talent that involves fucking thieving somebody else’s work. I’m so mad I think blood vessels are bursting in my eyes and I’m seeing pink. I’m going to join Myspace specifically to pour filth and condemnation upon the scum in question and hope that he kills himself in penance. Cretinous lout’s been at it for four years, too. Actually, a better penance would be to get flesh-eating disease and have his fingers all fall off simultaneously so he can’t type and has to buy one of those poking-sticks to hit the keys on the keyboard. Little harder to plagiarize then, eh, Kevin?

About two years ago I came home for a visit from Saskatoon and was confronted by a sort of lumpy silver alien thing on the staircase. I stared at it for two full minutes trying to figure out what it was before deciding that it was modern art (noncontextual). So the phallic shapes with the hole in the end represented… man’s conflict with his emotions. And the chrome spraypaint represented society’s yearning for a utopian future. And the base represented…

A few minutes later Al came home and asked me excitedly if I liked his toothbrush holder. “I love it,” I said promptly. “I’d take it back with me, except I’m afraid it would get crushed in my carry-on.”
“I might make another one out of aluminum, if you want it when you come home,” he said.
“What’s this one?”
“Crayola Model Magic. And the base is plywood.”
“I see.”

I’m pleased to report that he is a much, much better designer now and has been featured on the U of A design student blog Slavin Mavin! I’m so proud of him. You can click on ‘Razor’ above to see his portfolio if you’re innarested. (Note: he is much better at design than he is at basic HTML. Or names for his projects. But hey, even Superman has his kryptonite.)

‘From the descriptions which accompany the scenes, it is evident that the Tuat was regarded by the Egyptians of the XVIIIth dynasty from a moral as well as from a physical point of view. Apep, the emblem of evil, was here punished and overcome, and here dwelt the souls of the wicked and the righteous, who received their punishments or rewards, meted out to them by the decree of Ra and his company of gods. The chief instruments of punishment employed by the gods were fire and beasts which devoured the souls and bodies of the enemies of Ra; and we may see from the literature of the Copts, or Egyptians who had embraced Christianity, how long the belief in a hell of fire and torturing fiends survived. Thus in the Life of Abba Shenuti, a man is told that the “executioners of Amenti will not show compassion upon thy wretched soul,” and in the history of Pisentios, a Bishop of Coptos in the seventh century of our era, we have a series of details which reflect the Tuat of the ancient Egyptians in a remarkable manner. The bishop having taken up his abode in a tomb filled with mummies, causes one of them to tell his history. After saying that his parents were Greeks who worshipped Poseidon, he states that when he was dying already the avenging angels came about him with iron knives and goads as sharp as spears, which they thrust into his sides, while they gnashed their teeth at him; when he opened his eyes, he saw death in all its manifold forms round about him; and at that moment angels without mercy came and dragged his wretched soul from his body, and tying it to the form of a black horse they bore it away to Amenta. Next, he was delivered over to merciless tormentors, who tortured him in a place where there were multitudes of savage beasts; and, when he had been cast into the place of outer darkness, he saw a ditch more than two hundred feet deep filled with reptiles, each of which had seven heads, and all their bodies were covered as it were with scorpions. Here also were serpents, the very sight of which terrified the beholder, and to one of them which had teeth like iron stakes was the wretched man given to be devoured; for five days in each week the serpent crushed him with his teeth, but on the Saturday and Sunday there was respite.’

- From ‘The Egyptian Book of the Dead: (The Papyrus of Ani) Egyptian Text Transliteration and Translation,’ E.A. Wallis Budge, 1895.

I’ve never (I think) had a crush that I so badly needed to go away right now. I see the bastard about four times a week because of school, and the crush is steadily getting worse. Right now it feels like I’m hauling a piano around behind me. So my brother and I did some brainstorming and came up with a suite of solutions that will solve the problem once and for all.

Solution 1: Don’t say anything.

This one is my favourite, for obvious reasons: it’s how I’ve successfully dealt with almost every crush I’ve suffered for the past decade. (I say almost. We’ve seen what happened the few times I actually spoke up.) So I’d sew my mouth shut, finish the school year, move to Calgary, and never mention a word of my burning passion, etc, in subsequent e-mails or chats or phone calls. The drawback is that I might die from starvation.

Solution 2: Tell him everything.

This one involves spilling the beans to the crush, something I’m not terribly good at unless I’m drunk (because then I get all affectionate and maudlin), and then - after his horror and disgust prevents both of us from finishing our degrees - joining a convent in the Italian alps and never seeing another man in my life. Or oil well, for that matter. Uh, unless the convent has one in the courtyard. I quite like this plan except for the part where I totally ruin two lives and have to live with nuns.

Solution 3: Kill him.

Have you ever wanted something to be over so badly that you wanted to kill yourself? Well, this crush has reached such a magnitude that I passed suicide days ago and have now entered the limpid waters of homicide. Now, this plan has a risk or two, but I think it’s probably going to be the winner out of sheer effectiveness. I’m going to tie a hammerhead shark to an ICBM and send it into the guy’s house. That way, there’s no possible way I can continue to have feelings for this guy, and I’ll be able to finish my degree and move to Calgary with a light heart if not a clear conscience.

Dah, this is all very difficult and juvenile and impossible. Which one should I pick?