I'm wondering whether I need to get back in shape again after realizing how sore I am from playing pinball today.

Keith: i quit the moustache challange
moustache challenge: boo!
moustache challenge: I've got a client meeting today and I kept it
Keith: would you accept it if i glued pubes to my upper lip?
moustache challenge: yes

My heart got a +2 today as Bean Around the World finally managed to get me my goddamned Cuban Peaberry after a two month absence and whisperings of a permanent disappearance. The cuban peaberry is a gorgeous rich oily coffee which tastes like what I imagine castro's cigar stained beard clippings thrown into a french press would taste like. Seriously, fucking delicious!

The second +1 came from acquiring a pair of PF Flyers that resemble my converse all-stars but without the shitty discomfort or shoddy workmanship. It's exciting experiencing the pinnacle of footwear technology from 1933 but paying modern prices for it.

Lacking other avenues of fufillment in my life currently, I've decided to host a series of challenges here with the first challenge being the Chinese Moustache Challenge (aka: shitty chinky moustache).

Rules: Grow a moustache. Bonus points if you're asian because we all know that asians look terrible with moustaches and it takes a month to even start looking like you just took down a glass of chocolate milk.

I figure most people won't last past the one week mark, but if you manage to maintain one for two weeks without having your significant other kick you out of the home, you're set. If you think it's any easier for the single guys, you can imagine that we won't be meeting any women while this contest is happening. On top of that, I think I'm going to drive to cross the US border during this contest adding to the possible hiliarty of the situation.

Start growing one, email me your pics, and we'll let the audience vote for a winner.

Grand Prize: you get to look like a tool.

With my time off this week, I sat back down and started to realize that I've been so wrapped up in my own world that I've been oblivious to the pain that some of the most important people in my life have been going through.

Bobby. Whitney. I'm here for you now.

Love you both. Call me.

On my second day of vacation last week, I sat on the couch having my morning coffee enjoying quality programming such as montel williams, maury and oprah and became thankful that I had a job that prevented me from witnessing these shows more often.

It's not really late yet but the rain, the cold, and the early sunset do much to fool me tonight. I'm alone at my desk except for my cat sitting off to the side who stinks of the shit he just took not long ago and I'm waiting for my third cup of overly strong coffee today to finish steeping.

I don't have cream left, only coffeemate which is good enough since I can't be bothered to put on pants today. I am on vacation after all and a day without pants is the least one can ask for. I don't even remember if I showered today.

It's been a day of lying on the couch under a silk blanket wondering how the fuck the thermostat could claim it's 24C indoors when my nipples are as hard as if I were watching top gun again for the very first time.

I'm dreaming of trying pollo campero and a salty ass 1/2lb tacobell burrito. I'm dreaming of a time when I was loved and in love and everything seemed right in the world. I'm dreaming of the stay puft marshmallow man having sex with the statue of liberty and thinking about the humungous hot smores that could result from that scenario.

I am random and scattered and tired.

I am myself again.

The saddest piece of relationship advice I seem to offer people is not to trust writers. It's most sad because it's myself I refer to when I say it.

Janeane Garofolo, David Cross, and Brian Posehn at the same show for $30?.

And you motherfuckers said vancouver was no fun.

Lured with promises of an ulturducken (a mythical bird with the body of an emu stuffed with a turkey stuffed with a duck stuffed with a chicken), I hopped on a ferry to nanaimo to be picked up and whisked away to an emu farm on the outskirts of duncan.

Surrounded by a crowd very capable in the kitchen, I took a back seat for once and only helped make a few minor things and also helped consume some of the 14 bags of chips that made their way to the house.

The ulturducken cooked for over eight hours, requiring some finessing to keep the lean red meat of the emu moist, but when all was said and done it was worth the effort involved. We ate massive amounts of bird stuffed within bird and aron even managed to get a taste of all four birds in one forkful. The fresh vegetables on the side, many of which came from the farm that we were on were gifts bestowed upon us by the land.

Incredible stories of central american banditos were told as a fire burned in an old bathtub and inappropriate comments were made (who else?) before freshly baked pie made a grand appearance kissed with vanilla ice cream.

Our bellies full and our minds clouded by poultry and liquor, we retired to an old RV seemingly decorated when faux wood panels were still chic where we slept until the howling of dogs woke us to a chilly morning. The old pacman blanket that covered me did little to ward off the shakes that the dewey air brought with it.

We had a breakfast of freshly baked pumpkin pie and scrambled eggs (chicken, not emu much to my disappointment) and eventually made our way back to the ferry, our lives forever changed by consuming the beast that had once haunted our dreams.

The ulturducken happened.

details shortly.

Craving a proper taco, I suggested a trip down to the states to ted who kicked out a "yeaaaahhhhhhh boooooyeeeeee!" grabbed his girlfriend and her sister and piled into my car for a roadtrip.

After crawling through a 90 minute border wait, we drove right past the abomination that is Bellis Fair Mall and went straight to the town of Bellingham itself (which happens to be where I thought Jesus was born when I was in grade 1).

If you can bring yourself to drive past the hostess twinkie factory outlet and the fine dining outlet known as skippers, you'll find an amazing little town full of independant retailers proud to make and serve local goods and do it well.

We began an all day food tour that included wonderful street tacos overflowing with delicious lengua, the best cinnamon bread I've ever tasted, perfect lemonade, a great $1.29 hamburger, roadside currywurst, amazing vanilla black pepper ice cream, and pelmini made to order.

From what was originally a trip based on my bizarre desire to eat tacos made on a bus I found a town both beautiful and warm, full of proud people who give a shit about what they make. I know I'll try to be back much more often now.

Tomorrow I head to the island to face my lifelong fear of having to eat four different types of birds stuffed and cooked inside of each other.