evil jesus: i'm going to cheer myself up by taking a dump
coolie: what're you bummed about?
evil jesus: having a colon full of shit

Logistics and cost seem to be putting a chill on the tokyo portion of the planned vacation, so a four hour stop in Narita seems to be as close to Tokyo as I'm going to come this time around. Missing tokyo does mean I'll have more cash and time to blow in china where my canadian dollars will allow me the priviledge of buying whole families up if I feel so inclined.

It's a curious blessing to be on the privileged side of worldwide economic inequity. I'm going to roll in with my first world dollars and flagrantly abuse the local population for my own pleasure (and possibly profit?) while they take home in a day what I spend on my morning coffee.

While the industrial abuse also blesses us with cheap crap to buy at Walmart, you gotta think that a billion chinamen whose only religion is making cash money is going to haunt us sooner rather than later.

This year has been a wild one for travel for me and it continues with a two week trip to asia next month for my sabbatical.

The plan is to start in Tokyo with my brother where I'll wear my tentacle beast costume and try and convince the local ladies to re-enact all of my favourite hentai scenes on city streets and subway cars. If that doesn't work, I'll just have to entertain myself by reading porn over the shoulders of middle aged businessmen riding the subway while they leer at innocent looking schoolgirls who have shortened their own skirts to better fish for sugar daddies who'll buy them designer clothes and handbags.

Frankly, Japan makes me nervous. I imagine it as an entire country that's as crazy as I am, except I don't like Tom Selleck or 80's hair bands quite as much. In fact, I figure it's much crazier since all I really do is point out all the weird shit that I see in life while japan actively creates it. That my japanese is shite these days doesn't help, but since the simple gesture of motioning things into my mouth can be interpreted as a desire for either food or fellatio, I should be ok.

7 days and 10,000 kilometers later I'm back in vancouver, looking at my bed longingly and planning all the things I'm going to do to her tonight.

Toronto was a thoroughly great experience; from meeting a lot of awesome people, to eating more food every night than most ethiopian families see in an entire year. I ended up skipping the kitsch of the CN tower and medieval times and instead visited the big ass suburban chinky mall (pacific mall in markham), chinatown many times, the part of town where some crazy dude publicly masturbated in front of hyedie and her friend as she waited for a streetcar, and the aldergrove of toronto where I stuff myself with meat as one of only seven colored people amongst the huge crowd of middle aged slavic people.

It was an opportunity to kick myself in the head for and make inappropriate comments to an entirely new and appreciative audience. It was a chance to feel and smell all the best things in life once more.

A sincere thank you to all of those who took me out, laughed, ate, drank, made out, or belted out the tunes with me. Despite being back in the town I love most best (and more better), I've left a small shitty piece of my heart out there.

My eating binge in toronto has gone unabated. Hyedie and Andre took me for better jamaican than I've had in vancouver (oh oxtail... I love you) and a freshly made waffle dusted with icing sugar and covered in maple syrup, butter, lemon and a dollop of vanilla ice cream. Despite being rich white colonialist full, I ate the shit out of it.

After we parted, I met up at Toshi's with ally, dave, and alf just to hang out but they insisted I try the marinated salmon and tuna nigiri. I usually skip sushi outside of vancouver but this turned out to be some of the best sushi I've ever had. I told my stomach to get its shit together and packed down six wonderful pieces and still dream of more.

Thursday found us facing a monstrous customs lineup at the pearson international as we tried to make our way to a meeting in Dulles, Virginia. All of the morning's US bound flights had been delayed as US customs fingered and probed everyone coming through on the whim of the agent in charge. We made it to our plane just a few minutes late after being pushed up to the front of the line several times, which got us to the client's offices in time to have a 45 minute meeting before jumping back in a cab to the airport, bound for Toronto again.

Being back in time for dinner, I got a chance to hit chinatown again; something I always like to do in a new city so I can gauge the success of my people and revel in their filth. A simple meal of chinese bbq and rice in a dirty chinese restaurant with a gang of cantonese speaking companions made me feel right at home. We found ourselves out for dessert again later, eating up incredible caramel cheesecakes and double layered chocolate cakes with glasses of cold milk like children in a sugarplum dream.

The lack of sleep is making itself known, but we're heading into the weekend. More tourism and a trip to a pork festival awaits before a long flight back home just in time for me to start another week of work.

Armed with some reliable intel, Su Ning and I made our way up to the kensington market area and ate what I'm told are the most authentic mexican tacos I'm likely to find in canada (I can only believe, since I have yet to wander the streets of mexico sampling the famed roadside pork taco). Chorizo and grilled pork and pineapple tacos, and an incredible guacamole were just the tip of the proverbial eating iceberg this night.

We wandered the streets of Toronto and when I cast my gaze upon the popeye's fried chicken, I had to put Gary's claim of their avian supremacy to the test. Tuesday was welfare chicken day and two tasty pieces were mine for only $2. I thought the chicken was delicious, but that may be because chicken and colored people are known for being quite fond of each other.

We wandered down the street some more and found ourselves in chinatown. With a head full of Sang's late night dumpling stories, we popped into a restaurant and ordered a dozen pork and cabbage dumplings. Dipped in chilli sauce, they also proved quite fantastic and su ning was forced to eat more than the one she had promised to before we entered. That a picture of Paul Martin eating those cheap tasty dumplings hung above our table only made the experience more exhilarating and surreal.

Trying to make our way back to our hotels, we stopped in at a Ben and Jerry's for a nightcap. With a 'regular' sized sugar cone loaded with a scoop of chocolate chip cookie dough the size of an elephantiasized testicle (ask google), I was quite done my reign of eating. The warm summer night liberated the frozen cream from my cone and sent streams of sugary fat down my hand faster than I could lick them away.

Without a doubt, I ate the shit out of this city last night.

Seemingly often underestimated in the laws of attraction is that of smell.

While an sweet smelling uggo still isn't going really going to have any better luck, a cute girl who smells great is sure to make a lasting impression much more than the chick whose skirt hem could also double as her waistline.

There's always the danger of overdoing it but a light sweet scent makes most guys I know go absolutely apeshit (aka bonkers or bananas).

p.s. Girls who smell of baking or fresh laundry are swell as well.

Day one in Toronto and I've seen a cop on a horse and streetcars that dump people out in the middle of the street; something which would provide for endless entertainment and writhing piles of streetmeat back in Vancouver (or more accurately, richmond).

I've got a view of the CN tower from my desk (which I plan to visit for the sake of visiting) and I'm trying to plan myself a trip to Medieval Times to eat with my hands and be served carbonated beverages by authentic 11th century serving wenches. I also want to see a bunch of D&D geeks wail on each other with wooden swords.

As for accomodations, my hotel room at the holiday inn is a bit ass and reeks of deodorizer which probably keeps it from reeking of smoke since no non-smoking rooms were available.

Dawn and I hit the taste of vancouver at the plaza of nations only to find mediocre food at stupid prices. The best way to entice me to visit your restaurant is not to chintz on the quality and charge me $3 for a small sample.

The highlight of the event was sadly the pork ribs from Kelseys which seems to be a chain of family restaurants. Vij's Rangoli failed to impress terribly with a weak lamb curry. The lamb was overly lean and dry and the curry lacking any distinctive character. For a name as famous as Vij's, a major disappointment. C served hor' deurves for $3 which were nice but a fairly common combination of smoked salmon, capers and red onions. It also happened to be the most expensive two bites of the day. The Kiwi Pie Co. dazzled with their minted lamb and butternut squash pie for only $1 a slice though; small, but more than enough to bring you back gladly.

The variety was sorely lacking and showcased very little of what vancouver really has to offer. Vendors seemed more interested in making some extra cash than showing off what they could do to your mouth. The fact that I was completely bored while surrounded by the work of 28 different restaurants left me quite saddened as I live to stuff food in my mouth. I think I'll skip next year's event.

In contrast, me and the boys destroyed a bucket of KFC and a lot of booze for dinner which proved that good company can make the meal much more than the food itself. Original recipe KFC while still gross, isn't the grossest thing evar. That's pretty high praise in my books.

Another month, another jump and this time I find myself flying out to Toronto for a week starting sunday. While I've never been all that excited by the prospect of visiting the big grey, there's quite the handful of people there I'll be glad to see again and a whole city of eating to be had.

Tomorrow Ima try to taste vancouver and get my hepatitis vaccination so that china doesn't kill me like I know she wants to later this fall. It should make for an interesting week.

Held in the highest esteem for many out there is the great beef steak; the meal of choice when man's most primal sensibilities need to be flaunted in our most modern times.

But as much as I love meat, I disdain the steak dinner. The steak dinner seems to me to be a product of generations old marketing instead of a meal that stands on its own. I have a record of being bored by steak dinners more than I am entertained since modern beef has almost no flavor. The mass production of beef has stripped beef of any natural taste yet steak houses still tend to serve it without any sort of marinade. (steak sauce on top does not count)

I've had a great steak before, the last being made by my brother that sat in a homemade marinade for half of a day before being seared over a charcoal bbq. It was one of the few steaks that has ever inspired me, and only did so with great care given to it. (it was a fatty porous rib-eye that could soak up the flavor like a sponge and cost $3 on the east side)

So, why am I hating on steak? Because there's a world of good meat out there; much of it cheaper and tastier. Brisket, lamb shoulder, dark chicken, and whole pigs (yes homer, it indeed is a magical animal) among others. All so much more flavorful and interesting cuts of meat so often passed up for that boring slab of beef.

To end on an inflammatory note, the fact that people eat steak cooked any more than rare is sin.

For those not yet sure that they've quite earned their eternal damnation, go read this site, laugh your ass off and get your pre-boarding pass to hell.

Back when I was a kid (physically) my parents sent me to chinese school to ensure among other things, that I would grow up to hate whitey. While that particular lesson didn't stick as well as my railway building ancestors would have liked (ok, I lie. My blood sat around china playing puzzle fighter for centuries before emigrating) there was one thing in particular I remember from my time there.

It was probably my first or second week at the school (which was an evening event for a few hours once a week) when I entered the boy's washroom to see some kid with his pants (all of his pants) down around his ankles in front of the full length urinal taking a leak. I was immediately puzzled as to where the hell this kid had learned to take a piss. It became obvious in the coming weeks that there were several kids at the school who were never taught the art of pissing in public. All dropped trou' down to their ankles and exposed their bare asses for all to see (and avoid).

The negligence I saw in the parenting they received was blatant. These kids probably grew up bypassing the four vacant urinals so that they could piss right next to you and even chat you up while they did. I'd even go so far as to think that they might try to carry on a conversation with you while they pinched a loaf. This guy borrows your favourite book and reads it on the crapper.

I'll tell you this much; the rules of bathroom etiquette are not guidelines. They are laws. So much so that I'd say that witnessing these laws being flaunted demands that you enact the laws of thunderdome right then and there. "Two men enter, One man leaves".

Oh... and when you're done, wash your hands for fuck's sake.

While riding on a green cloud last night, I put a can of pepsi in the freezer to speed the chilling process along (those who know me well understand that I often become a black hole for food while in said state).

I recalled my doing so this morning while trying to get into work early for a meeting and opened the freezer up to witness my first actual frozen can explosion. Much to my dismay, diet Pepsi had violently broken free from it's aluminum prison and had found its way onto every surface of the freezer coating bags of bagels and gyozas, the ice cube trays, and the door itself.

I spent what time I had for breakfast wiping those frozen sheets of cola up, learning my lesson to keep more drinks in the fridge ahead of time.

Sold entirely by the pitch on the back of the bag that stated that Canadians would love the hint of smokey bacon flavor, I bought a small bag of pork rinds to force the boys at the office to eat.

Being the type that will eat nasty shit for the purpose of gaining knowledge, we all agreed that pork rinds taste much like licking a pig or of eating rancid styrofoam. How we all know what that tastes like is for another post and another time. How pork rinds continue to be sold amazes me; I can't think of many less appetizing snacks, including 7-11 taquitos which I already hate whole heartedly. Now I feel ill.

Around this time of year, "Remember 9/11" slogans are out in full effect but seriously, it's only been three years and the world is still totally fubar'd in its wake.

Does anybody really need to be reminded of the fact? I'm not saying we're beating a dead horse; I'm saying that rotting zombie horse is back, walking around biting people and turning them into bush re-electors.

Together alone, we sat closely on the couch feeling the warmth of our bodies seep into each other; single breaths the only sound in the current collective consciousness. The left hand brushed the soft strands of hair away from her svelte neck as the right traced the gentle lines that defined her slender hands. My nose wandered purposefully to the nape of her neck and inhaled as so to overwhelm every olfactory nerve that ever dared to be awake this fateful moment. My lungs were filled full of air so inspired by her sweet scent that they formed the words themselves as they left my chest in a whispered breath.

"You make me want a whopper with cheese so bad..."

I've had them on my list of movies you should watch, but haven't gone into any detail, so here goes:

Hero - One of the most visually stunning movies ever made, with a brilliantly told story. Stupid assholes have been comparing it to Crouching Tiger, but only because they're both aaaaaiiiisian (I say this while pulling my eyes into squintier shapes than usual). Hot fight scenes, hot asian chicks fighting, hot asian dudes fighting, but the film is much more than just that. This movie is one of my favourites evar. In Mandarin with english subtitties (yes trebek, I said titties).

Garden State - Quirky, funny, witty, and cool. Great actors, natalie portman in a pool in her underwear (and a great performance), and the smart offbeat humor of writer/director/star zach braff. Teh win.

City of God - Another visually stunning movie with a well told tale behind it. Fast paced, brutally violent, and very well narrated. A gangster flick in an unfamiliar environment (the slums of rio de janeiro) and a great film finally out on dvd after an unneccessary delay.

Smoo chicks with a plentiful assortment of guns in skirts and tube tops...

Sold!

him: have you met her? she knows your blog for some reason.
me: ah crap. that's not good. I don't like to associate with people that enjoy reading that sort of shit.

waitress: you want the rest of your food packed up to go?
him: no, I don't have a microwave... but I guess I could give it to some homeless guy.
me: why should some homeless guy benefit from your hard work?
me: shit. that's evil.
him: no, evil would be poisoning the food and then giving it to some homeless guy.
me: hmmm...

Due to my somewhat abnormal but sanitarily sound obsession with a clean pooper, I've been considering the sense that wet wipes made after pushing brown for years. Since then, producers of toilet paper have finally caught on that wet wipes are good for more than just babies and started producing wet wipes for everyone.

With the idea in mind that guests of mine might on occasion have to make a dookie at my place, I picked up a box of purex moist wipes and knowing that I couldn't subject guests to them without my approval put them to the test myself.

Simply said, wet wipes are soy good. They're not too wet, about the right size and thick enough to avoid embarassing breakthroughs when trying to ensure the utmost cleanliness of the holiest of holys. That cool, fresh, clean feeling is right rich and bound to put a spring in your step.

This post may step into the area of social taboo, but if you can't appreciate a clean poop whistle, I don't want to know you.

Being added to my list of favourite search terms that led people to this site...

Google.com with "Vancouver Bukkake Volunteers".

Since the question was posed though, I'll state that I'm only volunteering to give and not receive.

I've been asked on several occasions about learning how to cook and I always point in the same direction to start.

Science.

Without food science under your belt, you're going to fuck shit up in the kitchen. So I always point at Alton Brown's "I'm just here for the food" which explains various cooking techniques (saute, fry, broil, etc) so that you can take any piece of meat or veggie and do something good with it.

Once you're versed in the ways of kitchen science, you can make generally figure out how to make anything once you have the flavor concept down.

[09:08] Fishy lunch room smell: Also, gin is said to have miraculous powers capable of removing panties.
[09:09] spy cuke: hmmm... do I just pour the gin onto their laps and wait for it to burn away the clothes?

My shoulders are tight with stress and I'm exhausted from working too much, from dealing with incompetent people, from being lonely around so many friends, from not being able to carry out the favors I've promised, from not having anything good to write about, from being a shitty friend, from my scorpio inability to reach out sometimes, from not having the motivation to cook myself a good meal, and maybe from just being myself.

From a guy who has often found joy in something as simple as a steaming bowl of pho, I'm angry for just feeling like an asshole. I'm just feeling this weight of responsibility on me when all I wanna do is curl the fuck up in my comfortable as shit bed and sleep until everything around me dissolves. I think I could use a weekend right about now.