Eric mentioned that tina had put a hold on "Why There Are No Good Men Left" at the library.

I'm still waiting for my copy of "Why Women Are So God Damned Picky" to show up.

Sang wrote a guide for those who haven't figured how to tell that special someone how you feel about them this coming valentine's day. That's solid advice.

Over the last fourteen hours, I've had three good post ideas come into and out of my head before I could file them.

It seems my brain is so overflowing with useless information that it didn't have room to store the new data.

I saw you :

You: The horn rimmed glasses and the powder blue scarf at robson and granville.
Me: I slapped your ass and winked.
Your boyfriend kicked my ass before I could get your number.

email me.

Sometimes caught up in the action or just the acting in a film, we forget about the writing that's been done to make it all happen. Take this brilliant piece of writing from Full Metal Jacket:
Stanley Kubrick, Michael Herr and Gustav Hasford effortlessly captured the true essence of a prostitute in wartime vietnam. This unapologetic, raw image really digs beneath the surface of this money for sex industry that so many women were forced into while their world collapsed around them.

Okay chinkies, it's time for the new year so get your kung fu shoes on, tune up your rickshaws and get ready to go to the sunbrite lunar new year festival.

Planed activities include "cheerleading competition as well as model search". I'm gonna warm up my pipes to crank out some "smoos".

It's been a long time since I saw it, but Ray Romano's appearance on Saturday Night Live was memorable due to his sportscaster skit where he exclaimed the phrase "Sweet Pappy Johnson's erection!"

I was at the old spaghetti factory tonight for my young twin cousins' birthday party and it amazed me how many people chose to have their birthday dinners at such a mediocre restaurant.

The two hours were punctuated by about six performances of happy birthday which would have enraged me if our own table had not been responsible for one of those.

And am I the only one that refuses to eat cake or ice cream that's had a sparkler burning in it? Where do all those sparks go? Right on my fackin' cake. Nothing that burns with such violence is meant to be ingested with dessert me thinks.

Since I lost half of last weekend to the beast of work, I spent this afternoon finishing some of the shopping I started last week.

A Global G-2 joins my new arsenal along with a small cutting board of canadian maple. The G-2 didn't feel like god's own sword in my hand (like the G-5 did), but it's shape is ultimately practical and it's mid point allows for the frantic stabbing of unwelcome intruders unlike my blunt tipped vegetable knife.

I checked out the Santa Barbara Market on commercial drive which had an great selection of olive oils and pastas along with a well stocked deli. For a small shop, it seemed to carry as many practical goods as yaletown megamart Urban Fare. JJ Bean on commercial surprised with both inexpensive coffee ($11.50/lb) and a good tasting drip (on the house with the bean purchase). I'm usually not much of a drip drinker as it lacks the body and fullness of a short americano, but maybe it's just because most places serve complete shit for drip.

Maybe it illustrates the evil within me but I've been loving watching the american idol auditions.

It's brilliant how entertaining it is to watch talentless people having their dreams crushed. I find it hilarious when the tone-deaf and sometimes mildly retarded get in front of the camera to illustrate their lack of ability to the world.

I figure I'll be bored of the show once they move on to the real talent.

Just about everyone I know that owns a lomo also happens to own a broken lomo.

Those wicked little russian cameras that cost ten dollars to make also last like they cost ten dollars to make. I got mine months ago off of ebay for about a hundred US dollars, but it seems their increasing popularity is driving the price up even further. I don't want to pay fiddy bucks to get the little bastard fixed and new ones are too costly for the thirty minutes of use that they last for.

I think I'd get more vivid and lasting images by taking an equal dollar amount of drugs anyhow.

A few years ago, i had the domain name atomicgeek.com.

It's not mine anymore, and that's not me playing with my tits on the webcam.

The store only had one "Hot and Spicy" kippered beefsteak left, so I ended up with the smokehouse flavored one.

It tastes like burlap salted by the sweaty loins of a rugged cowboy driving cattle across the country.

While I was busy talking to lilli, I didn't notice the cashier at T&T had included someone else's walnut pastry ($1.09) into my bag of purchases.

If this is yours, email me and you can come pick it up from my desk unless I've already eaten it.

When crossing the border into the US, reasons for entering the country you should avoid using are "to destabilize your economy", "to spread bio-terror", or "to buy donuts".

After months of using it, the dentist told me today that tubble gum was not a suitable toothpaste replacement just because it came in a tube. I had figured all those sugar crystals acted like an abrasive and would work just as well.

I went into the Ming Wo in chinatown to check out their selection and was excited like a small child sitting on a clown's lap when I saw the "25% off global knives" sign. I've been eyeing these beauties for a while now, largely due to a glowing recommendation from Tony Bourdain in kitchen confidential.

Since the lady behind the counter didn't know me at all, she didn't hestitate to hand me the G-5 vegetable knife from behind the counter when I asked. I've handled the G-2 before, a 20cm chef's knife before and it had felt quite nice but this was something else. The weighting was near perfect; twelves inches of extremely sharp, beautiful, well balanced japanese steel sat in my hand and it had found a new master.

I think I'm going to sleep with it under my pillow tonight and hope I don't wake up bleeding.

We entered the restaurant as we did on many occasions, eyeing the seated patrons to see who still had menus and who was done eating for some idea of the wait ahead of us. Our usual waitress with her friendly smile and greeting of recognizance was absent this time; a new girl in her place whose moves spoke of youth and inexperience, lacking the warmth and casual comfort that made this one of our favourite haunts.

It was coming home to find your sheets unmade though your own memory recalled differently; unsettled and discomforted to find yourself a stranger in familiar surroundings. The fries came straight cut and pale; far from the golden crinkle cut fries of memory and coming to our table with ketchup rather than the small dish of green chilli sauce we always had with it. Our eyes looked across the table to each other with nervous recognition that something was amiss.

My petita came to me a stranger, jaundiced and shrunken. Once rich in brown and reds, it now looked like it was mixed with natto. Jim's cau cau shared a similar fate, showing physical scars that it's master was no chef we knew. What once brought such comfort to me sat strangely heavy in my mouth, seasoned with a chilli sauce that now lacked body and soul, watered down and without spirit.

A walk to the bathroom past the kitchen only confirmed what we already knew; the old chef was gone. In his place, a man who had yet to master texture in his work.

We stood outside in the cold waiting for my bus not knowing how we would tell our friends the fate of our favourite little peruvian restaurant. We recounted the mouthfeel of all those wonderful dishes and the instant comfort they provided. Without a goodbye, the family had left us with only six fine years of memories.

Seems taz is in the lead with someone already asking who the "cute guy" is on the left side of my new *N'animate flag.

As long as he doesn't try busting out with a solo career, I think we'll all get along just fine.

But goddamnit, I better not end up the Joey Fatone of the group.

Am I that weird for finding a cute girl with glossy lips slurping up shiny stir-fried udon noodles wildly intoxicating?

I think not.

If it feels good, do it.

So I had an uninspiring chicken katsudon for lunch instead of a pb&j samich like I had planned. Consider it the sheep mentality of the lunch flock.

Another problem with yaletown eateries I had forgotten to mention was how awful the the kitchen service can be. It seems in this part of town more than any other, the chefs have no clue how to assemble an entire table's meals within a few minutes of each other. At least once a month, one of the diners in our sub six person (usually four) group won't get their food until someone else is already done (we're too rude to wait). At the hamilton street grill, they even refused to complete our order for no reason other than the chef/owner thought he was competing in the asshole of the year pageant.

While I'm ranting about food, I should mention mirasol again on 16th near main again as a favourite joint of mine. It's a small family-run peruvian(/chinese) restaurant with a magnificent chilli sauce I would (and do at times) eat with a spoon. The sometimes slow kitchen serves up wonderful homestyle (if you've lived in peru?) comfort food that makes me want to curl up and sleep afterwards; the sign of any good meal.

update : Mirasol now has new owners, and my recommendation no longer stands.

I don't know if anyone hates me for it yet, but I know what is best for everyone.

Something about working in the same office for over two years has made lunch an incredibly boring (except for the company I keep) event. Yaletown is abundant in shitty restaurants that overcharge for wonton without prawns (a crime here in vancouver) and soulless food fit for assholes (hmmm...I could have worded that better). Shitty lunches also easily average ten dollars a meal thanks to the local rent.

I think I'm going to follow through with my idea of eating nothing but peanut butter and jelly sandwiches for lunch for a week (washed down with milk). I have a feeling I'll be sick of that within two days though. Maybe I'll move to bologna and mayo sandwiches after that. Despite the sound of it, I'm a pretty good cook but eating crap food is what keeps me grounded. Don't be fooled by the sandwich that I got. I'm still ernie, ernie from the blog (did anyone just hear a gong?).

unrelated : I've decided to add "/ actor" to my occupation description because I think I'll get more respect that way.

further from the path : The 'english girl' isn't english. How the hell did anyone get that idea?

Such is my misfortune that willy wonka and the chocolate factory is playing in victoria and not our fair town.

Oompa loompas are cool even if they are a freakish deviation from god's will.

For those so inclined, it's now available on dvdtek.

Bose's waveguide technology is truly amazing. By shaping the internals of the sound system like a large intestine, it's able to push shit out the other end just like the real thing.

I reached into the inanimate mailbag today and while there was a severe lack of zoo animal porn spam, I did get this note from our good english friend chris waind.
Fantastic.

While watching the second of two kurosawa films at the cinematheque last night, the lady sitting next to me was wearing enough perfume for the whole theatre, making if difficult for me to even breathe several times during the film.

I was elated when I realized I had to fart during the film since the stink would have been a welcome reprieve from the smell of her perfume. I even started hoping I'd let rip a terrible eggy "something died in my ass" fart to so I could return the favor of bio-terror on her ass.

Can't decide where to go on vacation? How about Red's Indoor Range in beautiful Austin, Texas.

Not only can you rent shotguns and assault rifles, but mondays are ladies' day where women shoot for half price and they can rent guns for free.

Forget the english girl, this is where I'm going to meet the woman of my dreams.

unrelated : Why the hell would anyone pay money for a stranger to get a boob job? I'm not asking for a feel but if someone wants me to pay, I better at least get a looksee out of it. Knowing the internet though, it's probably a man.

After helping brent move yesterday, I realized that sitting at a desk making internet for over two years had hideously accelerated the atrophy of my muscles. I should look into getting a bacta tank to soak in after work.

If not for the ingenious pulley system I devised, I don't think I'd even make it out of bed in the morning.

Quite a while back I bought myself a sony clie pda, planning on using it to miss less morning meetings and switch from my black notebooks that I use to jot down my mobile retardedness. After a few months of using it to get my news in the morning and carry a few useful tidbits of info, it's been rotting in it's cradle. Writing in it's cryptic palm script was a hassle, especially on a moving bus or skytrain (where I did much of my notetaking) and tactile feedback was ass too.

Since then I've picked up a new moleskine, which while costing a ridiculous amount for a little bound book of ruled paper has won me over. One of my favourite birthday presents I've ever received was a little black bound journal I wrote only a few entries into. Simply said, I love putting pen to paper as much as I love putting foot to ass or tongue to... nevermind.

Have I ever mentioned how half the blogs I've encountered seem to have been created purely to showcase the blogger's stupidity, inflated ego, and malformed sense of wit and sarcasm?

Do note that this blog is different due to the fact that I am purposefully showcasing these attributes of mine and it's not just a side effect of attempted pseudo-intelligence. My stupidity comes naturally and with great ease.

Peter Martin was kind enough to send me some more domo gear from the wonderland known as japan even though he knows I'm probably not good for it.

This shipment included a lovely ta-chan for my lonely domo, and two domo hand towels that brent referred to as catch cloths. While a white domo looks kinda weird, I can think of one easy way to brown him up.

brent asks:
If you had sex with your own clone, would that be gay?

While remembering the halloween episode of the simpsons where homer goes 3D and stops in front of an erotic cake shop, I began to wonder why no one is making erotic meatloaves.

With all the amateur porn on the internet and spam these days, I can't believe I have yet to see someone I know from school.

While the dawn of a new calendar year doesn't have true significance to me, it does happen to be convenient for a review of major themes. If you're not inclined to read sappy self-reflective bullshit, I'd skip this post and wait for the "art of smoo" post I have planned. It seems my personal growth is most often stimulated by self embarassment; instinct kicks in to try and prevent further such incidents by amending my behavior, and I think it has generally worked with reasonable results.

The english girl never wrote me back (or at least, hasn't yet). If I ever am able to forget about her (which I doubt will ever happen), I'm sure she'll have broken my heart (effortlessly) more times than I could count. She taught me the limits of my own heartache and yearning without ever uttering a word on the subject. In this five year lesson I gained resolve and strength, even if only in small amounts and learned a lot about myself in the process. Throughout this though, my (selective) belief in fate remains which either labels me a fool or a romantic. I tend to think it's both.

This blog has continued to be an odd outlet for me. I'm always curious about the faceless strangers who come here regularly reading this cryptic representation of myself. I'd inclined to think that readers who don't know me well could easily interpret that I'm either a neurotic and very disturbed individual (perhaps idiotic or moronic as well) or a clever humorist with a penchant for knowing what is inappropriate and saying it with an unapologetic smirk. I think the truth about me usually lies in plain sight inbetween the lines here. (and for you web kids, I don't mean in the html source of this page)

It's hard to end this (but I need to since blogger will choke if I write much more) without getting particularly sappy but it's a been a great year of friends. I opened up my usually small and close circle a bit and welcomed in, was welcomed by, and became better friends with some amazing people who have made the year rather incredible despite the minor dips encountered. I hope you know who you all are, and thanks.

I hope your new year is swell.