What a load of Bulletin
Category: Religion and Philosophy

These days, my myspace bulletin board is barely worth reading. There may be a humourous quiz here and/or there, but mostly it just contains people I've never met asking me to comment on their pictures, or people with hacked accounts talking about this amazing phone they got/penis they had enlarged (after all, "ALL Girls are lying bigtime when they say that size doesen't matter, I got proof.... 94968c"). I assume this is the same for most people.

However, does this mean the board, originally intended as a way to declare important announcements to a large network of friends, is now completely useless? Should we completely ignore the bulletin board? Should we dismiss anything that appears on it as, at best, one person's private journey to self-discovery through quiz made public and, at worst, "Conner's such a fag I hate u" and the infinite amount of variations thereof?

My answer: NO!

I know, I know. I must be crazy. But hear me out...

A few months ago I was like you. I had lost faith in my bulletin board. I believed that the board wasn't worth my attention, as I already knew that Conner was a fag and that girls lied about size not mattering. What more could the bulletin possibly offer me?

A lot, as I would soon discover.

Earlier last month, for what reason I'll never know, I glanced at the titles of posts that occupied the left-hand side of my myspace homepage. One post was titled "Love vs. Sex." Now, I have a great fondness for the former and a, well, nodding acquaintance with the latter, so I'll admit I was intrigued by the title, not least of all by the use of a "vs."

"Love will win," I predicted, as I clicked on the title, expecting to witness the battle to end all battles. What I got, however, was so much more. So. Much. More:

A teenage girl about 17 had gone to visit some friends one evening and time passed quickly as each shared their various experiences of the past year.

She ended up staying longer than planned, and had to walk home alone. She wasn't afraid because it was a small town and she lived only a few blocks away.

As she walked along under the tall elm trees, Diane asked God to keep her safe from harm and danger.

When she reached the alley, which was a short cut to her house, she decided to take it.

However, halfway down the alley she noticed a man standing at the end as though he were waiting for her.

She became uneasy and began to pray, asking for God's protection.

Instantly a comforting feeling of quietness and security wrapped round her, she felt as though someone was walking with her.

When she reached the end of the alley, she walked right past the man and arrived home safely.

The following day, she read in the newspaper that a young girl had been raped in the same alley just twenty minutes after she had been there.

Feeling overwhelmed by this tragedy and the fact that it could have been her, she began to weep.

Thanking the Lord for her safety and to help this young woman, she decided to go to the police station.

She felt she could recognize the man, so she told them her story.

The police asked her if she would be willing to look at a lineup to see if she could identify him.

She agreed and immediately pointed out the man she had seen in the alley the night before.

When the man was told he had been identified, he immediately broke down and confessed.

The officer thanked Diane for her bravery and asked if there was anything they could do for her.

She asked if they would ask the man one question.

Diane was curious as to why he had not attacked her.

When the policeman asked him, he answered, "Because she wasn't alone. She had two tall men walking on either side of her."

Amazingly, whether you believe or not, you're never alone. Did you know that 98% of teenagers will not stand up for God?

God is always there in your heart and loves you no matter what.....and if you stand up for him he will stand up for you.

Repost this as Love vs. Sex if you truly believe in God.


"Ah," I thought, reading the last sentence, "so that explains the misleading title." Was I angered, however, by the deception? Hardly. On the contrary, I was thankful. Thankful that I had been led (fine, misled) to read this frankly enlightening piece.

Now I knew: if I ever faced a dark stranger in an alley, all I had to do was pray for God's protection. Does it work? I've been praying for God's protection for the past month, and I can happily report that I'm rape-free. Thank you, myspace poster!

But now that I had been enlightened, what was I going to do about it?

I printed off about 50 copies, and started to distribute them around. Only I didn't use the title "Love vs. Sex." I didn't feel the title did the piece justice. My revised title called it out for what it was: "Avoiding Rape." I even sent a few copies to the local rape ward (or "Unbelievers Central," as I now call it), with a note attached at the end:

Kinda obvious, when you think about it, eh? I know it's "too late" or whatever, but thought I'd send it anyways. After all, "Fool me Twice" and all that.

-A

What's more, I can safely say that after having read that bulletin, I'm now part of the 2 percent of people who stand up for God. The next time I see bullies kicking sand in God's face, I'll take them aside and say "Hey. Stop that. How'd you like it if someone kicked sand in YOUR face?"

And they won't be able to respond, because they'd know that they wouldn't like it at all.



Thank you, Diane, for standing up for God. And thank you bulletins, for making my life better and not being insanely ignorant and offensive at all. You don't make me hate people.
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Currently reading : Animal Man (Animal Man, Book 1) By Grant Morrison Release date: 01 May, 2001

11:34 PM - 17 Comments - 12 Kudos - Add Comment

"Sorry, wrong number"
Current mood: dirty
Category: Life

Today, for the first time in a little while, I dialed a wrong number. Now, I don't like dialing wrong numbers, and rightfully so. I don't think anyone likes being "wrong," least of all myself. But still, accidents happen, people make mistakes, and 1's sometimes look a lot like 7's.

Wrong numbers are inevitable, and when you stop and think about it, they're not the end of the world. However, I need to remind myself of this fact more often. Usually, after being informed that no, Mark doesn't live here, or that no, this isn't the Sandy Lion Sticker factory, I apologize a lot and then hang up the phone in a state of utter shame. I break out into a cold sweat, sink into a corner, and hope to Christ that somewhere in the future I'm inventing a time machine so that I can travel back and erase this dark blotch of my life. But even that will offer me little solace; I have failed in the most basic human task of communication, and whoever was on the other line knows this.

Of course, if I considered the situation for even a second, I'd realize that the person I accidentally called doesn't give two shits. Not about me, at least. Maybe they'd get annoyed at the fact that they were called away from their favourite television show for what turned out to be a pointless purpose, but who are they getting mad at, really? A key element of what makes wrong numbers so "wrong" is that the person who answers doesn't know who you are. This essentially grants me anonymity, and as a result, why should I care that I made a fool of myself? They won't be thinking ill of Aaron Feldman, student of the University of Windsor, they'll be thinking ill of Generic Stupid Caller who phones in the middle of the night asking for Dave, and who then screams like a girl when informed that there's no such person available. So yeah, wrong numbers? No big deal.

Except today's wrong number was a big deal.

I find that wrong numbers, while never pleasant, have varying degrees of awkwardness and confusion. A usual wrong-number goes something like this:

(phone rings)

Person: Hello?

Me: Hey.

(pause)

Person: Who is this?

Me: Aaron. Wait, is this Miguel?

Person: No, I think you have the wrong number.

Me: Motherfucker!

(hangs up)


... Pretty straightforward, really. Now, has anyone ever accidentally dialed a wrong number, only to realize that the other person was someone you actually know? For those of you who have, you know that this only adds to the confusion:


(phone rings)

Person: Hello?

Me: Hey.

Person: Hey Aaron!

Me: Hey, um... wait... Mom?

Person: I'm so glad you called! Your father was just saying how he was convinced that you don't love us anymore, but I told him you were probably just busy, and would call us when you got the chance.

Me: Um, sorry. I... shit. I actually was trying to message Miguel. We're going drinking later.

Person: Oh.

(pause)

Person: You know your brother phoned yesterday. And he's more popular than you.


... A little more awkward, sure. Now, has anyone actually dialed a wrong number, only to realize that A) the other person was someone you actually know, B) the person was someone you haven't talked to in about a year, C) the person was someone you had a crush on last year, but felt you came off a little creepy towards, and D) the person has the exact same first name as the person you meant to call? That was what happened to me today. As I hope you can imagine, it was less than pleasant:


(phone rings)

Debra: Hello? (No, her name isn't actually Debra. Though, come to think of it, I'm not sure why I'm changing her name. If she ever sees this blog I'd say there's a pretty good chance that she'll figure out I'm talking about her...)

Me: Hey, Debra?

Debra: Yes? Who is this?

Me: It's Aaron.

(pause)

Me: Aaron Feldman.

Debra: Oh... oh my god! Aaron! Hi, how have you been? What's wrong? (Now, considering that I thought I was talking to someone I had spoken to only a day earlier, her shock seemed out of place to me... not that I clued in yet. Her "what's wrong?" struck me as particularly odd. In retrospect, I guess she assumed that, since I phoned her up after not seeing her for a year, I had something pretty fucking important to say. Maybe something along the lines of "there's a bomb in your building, get out of there!" or, um, "the mob's after me, and I need to crash at the houses of only vague acquaintances!")

Me: I'm... good?

Debra: Oh. How did you get this number?

Me: You gave it to me?

Debra: I did?

Me: Yes? (It was about here that my superior intellect kicked in) Wait, which Debra is this?

Debra: Debra Dubois.

Me: Oh my God.

Debra: What?

Me: You're the wrong Debra.

Debra: I'm sorry?

Me: You're um, never mind. So how are classes?


What followed was one of the most uncomfortable phone conversations of my life. We talked about classes for a bit. For a while, I tried to pretend that the purpose of my call was merely to find out what English classes she was taking, but I have a feeling that phoning up a girl for the first time in a year for the purpose of synchronizing schedules didn't really help my image. Eventually I cleared up that she was, in fact, the Wrong Debra (which is a title she actually took some offense to). She then asked if I had been calling for the past few days (I hadn't), because she apparently had been dealing with a phone stalker all week. At this point I mentioned that I should "try to find the other person," referring to the Right Debra. She, however, must have thought that by "other person" I meant the stalker, and told me that I didn't need to worry about it, and that she could take care of herself. Again, I don't think this misunderstanding helped things much. She eventually said something to the effect that I was never to talk to her again, only she said it in a much more sympathetic and gentle way. Finally, after what seemed like hours, we bid our adieus. I hung up the phone, yelled "fuck" very loudly, then immediately got to work at designing that time machine.

On a scale from one to ten, I would rate that experience as "not good." From now on, I choose only to communicate with people via carrier pigeons. Though, with my luck, I'm sure my pigeon would be like rabid or something and attack whomever I was trying to send a message to.

Currently watching : The Science of Sleep

3:43 AM - 11 Comments - 16 Kudos - Add Comment

It's October 31st. Could it get any worse?
Current mood: happy
Category: Parties and Nightlife

Christmas? Bah, Humbug!

Hanukkah? Oy vey!

Kwanzaa? Um, white power!

As you can see by the opening three lines of this blog, I'm not really one to celebrate holidays. Valentine's day, Secretary's day, President's day, Martin Luthor King day, whatever. It's really just not my cup of tea. Rather than get excited, I just get depressed that I'm single, unemployed, not a president, and living in a Martin Luthor Kingless world.

There are, however, two holidays that really speak to me (not including Guesselent Day), and those days are April Fool's and Hallowe'en. For the past few years, I've had the misfortune of completely missing April Fool's by sleeping in past 12 noon (the alleged cutoff point, but I have a feeling people just say that cause they're not man enough to endure a whole day of mischieveous pranks and fakeouts), but Hallowe'en has remained as much a part of my heart as always.*

This year was no different. In fact, I'd deem this Hallowe'en to be both head and tails above last year's festivities, because we didn't get stuck in no line this year. But maybe I'm getting ahead of myself. Let's just show some fucking pictures...

*NOTE: Hallowe'en is not a flawless holiday, however. Personal Pet Peeves include people who go around correcting other people when they refer to Frankenstein's monster as "Frankenstein," events that refer to themselves as "Spooktaculars," and people who give out Nibs to Trick or Treaters.

First, here are costumes belonging to other members of my family:


Here's Laura as Neil Gaiman's Death.


...And here's David. Just so you know, when I was in London last weekend I had to help him with his costume. It was the worst experience of my life.

Back in Windsor...




Here we are working on my costume, specifically the goddamned wig. No costume store had even close to the wig I needed, so I basically had to go out and make my own. Notice how in the first picture you can actually see the paint particles in the air. Yeah, spray painting indoors probably wasn't a good idea...



...but man, is it worth it. Hey, where did Aaron go? Why, let's ask Buddy Goodfellow...



...Ace Manners....



...or P.J. Styles (with Buddy and Ace again). Here, Heather, Lane, and I prove that Kids can (and WILL) Rock and Roll.



Pat and Sarah were originally going to be a clown pimp and clown ho duo, but Pat didn't feel like lugging around the hat, so instead we have, I guess, an Asian clown and the clown prostitute he hired.



Here's the house all together (minus Jen, who dressed up as a hermit who had work to do). I guess we had a lot of white makeup lying around or something.



Finally, here is the band posing for the inside jacket of our newest album, "People Who Know, Get Happy!" In it, we talk about Ace's struggles with Heroin.



Mike and Daryl, dressed up as "Two students who like making the shocker sign." Yeah, they won Best Costume at the Pub.

Later on, I met with some friends before going downtown. Sadly, Heather and Lane had had enough Hallowe'en madness, and decided to call it a night, which meant that no one would be able to tell who I was. Amazingly, a few people still got it, though, so I'm not going to complain.



Ryan as a cowboy. A pretty good costume.



Mia as Naughty Little Red Riding Hood. Again, a pretty good costume.



Paige as Edward Scissorhands. What a terrible costume. Seriously, I don't see this one winning any awards whatsoever.



"Where the fuck's the cab!?"

Eventually, the cab arrived, and we all went to the Loop, which was quite an awesome spot for costumes...



Case in point. I have no idea who these people are, but they are now my best friends.



Genny, as a lovely 80's flash dancer.



Cara, as "Da Bee." Or maybe just a Bee.



Lex, as a vampire.



"Aw man, who double-Depped?"

Yes, I based my entire blog around the fact that I could use that pun. He was really great, though. Had the Jack Sparrow mannerisms down pat. He was also handing out Captain Morgan keychains, which was an unnecessary but still cool touch.



Jack Skellington and Sally. I don't know these people (though the girl's name is apparently Shep), but I had to take a picture. I was especially glad since she was not only one of the four people at the Loop who got who I was, but she then told me how much I shaped her childhood. It was a proud moment.



Me with another person who "got it."



Me and Caitlin, who was dressed as Cyndi Lauper. We both wore converse. For some stupid reason, I took a picture. Now you have to look at it.



Genna and her friend, who were both non-PotC pirates. They came with a Dread Pirate Roberts, whom I sadly wasn't able to capture.



Plastic Man, one of my favourite super heroes of all time. He had this cool arm (his right one, for the record). I still haven't figured out how it works, but he was copping feels all night. He won second place in the costume contest at the Loop. Whoever could have won first prize?



Why, Paige! No surprises there. Pretty much the entire night people (including the lead singer to Neverending White Lights, who is apparently everywhere in Windsor) were asking to have their picture taken with her. More surprising was the relatively shitty prize (40ish dollars in nickels). Still, she was the hero for the night.

She inspired me to up my game for next year. I'm already thinking about possible ideas. Any suggestions?

Currently reading : Preacher Vol. 9: Alamo By Garth Ennis Release date: 01 May, 2001

9:49 PM - 12 Comments - 14 Kudos - Add Comment

Blog 63ish: in which I deal with a serial killer, and a good concert is enjoyed by all
Current mood: Aaron
Category: Aaron Music

Okay, so first of all, I seem to be in a bit of trouble with my housemate, Heather. Of course, some context is probably required, so here I go with the backstory...

A few nights ago, Heather had been sleeping (as I understand she often does), but in the process of doing so she had a pretty scary dream. From what I understand, it involved her being a "Big Sister" to a small Japanese girl. The girl then proceeded to set fire to her house with a fart (details are muddled), dying in the process. This caused Heather to wake up, and as she did so she shouted "MOM!" at the top of her lungs. Fucked up, I know.

Now, the wall separating our rooms is really fucking thin, so Heather assumed I had heard this, and was bracing herself for when I'd come into her room asking what was wrong, and she'd have to embarrassingly explain what caused her to yell so suddenly. But I never did barge in, so she assumed I was asleep and went back to bed.

The next day I asked Heather why she screamed and she explained her nightmare, but then...

Heather: Wait. So you heard me?

Me: Well, yeah.

Heather: Why didn't you check on me?

Me: Um, well I thought maybe it was a serial killer...

Heather: What?

Me: You know. Like, maybe someone broke into your room and...

Heather: So you just left me to die!?

Me: Well, you would already have been killed! He just would have killed me too!

Heather: You could have done something!

Me: I did! I locked my door!*


So yeah, now I'm in a bit of shit with her, and I think that she's hoping a serial killer will attack me just so she can be like "see how YOU like it." Whatever, I don't really regret my actions. If I had heard a sound of struggle, OF COURSE I would have tried to help. But as it was, it sounded like there wasn't anything I could do, so I didn't.


In other news, I was at the Pub earlier tonight, as two bands I really like, Land of Talk and Holy Fuck, were playing there. Cover was a cool five bucks, technically making this the cheapest concert I've ever been to. But hey, even if I had paid a lot more, it would have been totally worth it.

At first, I was worried the small, shitty venue and terrible sound system would work against these guys as it did for past bands/comedians. My fears were doubled after the first band had to deal with a poor turnout and a mircrophone that just wouldn't stop giving feedback. However, by the time Land of Talk rolled around the place had started to fill out, and the kinks in the sound system were fixed, allowing them to do a kickass set. Everyone I had brought along with me who hadn't heard them before admitted that these guys were fucking awesome. Holy Fuck played last out of four bands, and had more technical problems than Land of Talk or The Shout Out Out (Outs?), but played with such momentum that the now-very-full crowd didn't seem to mind the periods in between songs, when members would have to redo sound checks.

I realized after that their playing at a shitty venue like the Pub actually worked in our favour, as after the show Mia and I got a chance to actually chat with some of the members of Land of Talk. I of course babbled like an idiot (at one point referring to myself as a "man and or woman," at another point talking about how awesome Pogs were, and finally the ultimate faux-pas of mentioning Myspace), so props to the band for not appearing to mind, and in fact being very down-to-earth and fun people.

Oh, and a lot of people have been telling me that "Holy Fuck" is a terrible name for a band. My response to this is often "name the three bands I just talked about" and more often than not "Holy Fuck" the only one they could remember. So there.

Okay, I think that's it for now. How are everyone's classes going, btw?



*I also made sure not to sleep with my head against the wall separating our rooms, in case the killer were to try to stab me through the wall from Heather's room. I thought about taking the portable phone with me, but decided that the killer knew what he was doing and would have cut the phone lines. Despite my best efforts to maintain a constant vigilance, however, I quickly fell deep asleep.

Currently listening : Applause Cheer Boo Hiss By Land of Talk Release date: 09 May, 2006

11:19 PM - 6 Comments - 5 Kudos - Add Comment

Hello computer, goodbye anything I've accomplished up until now
Current mood: accomplished
Category: Life

So a few weeks ago my computer started acting funny, and by funny I don't mean funny "ha-ha" but more like funny "what the fuck's wrong with this piece of shit?" As a result I was forced to bring the stubborn motherfucker to the nearest Apple Hardware store for repairs. I had to give them my password and everything, and they were gonna try to fiddle around with it and see what they could do.

My first reaction when I was asked for my password was to kick myself for not deleting all my porn. Now, I don't know what the policy is for technicians discovering porn on someone's hard-drive, but I've never known computer technicians to be particularly discreet, if you catch my drift. Anyways, the computer was in shop for about a week- a week I spent anticipating the dreaded phone call, which no matter how many times I'd replay in my head, would always have the same logical conclusion:

Me: Hello?

Technician: Hello, is this Aaron Feldman?

Me: Hello, yes.

Technician: I'm just phoning to let you know I fixed your computer, pervert.

Me: That's great! (pause) Wait, what did you call me?

Technician: I found your pics, you sick fuck.

Me: What? Ha ha no! Oh those are just for research I'm doing for an article on pornography.

Technician: There were hundreds of files....

Me: I'm a dedicated journalist.

Technician: A dedicated journalist...

Me: Please. I'll pay you not to tell anyone.

Technician: Ooh, that's too bad because I already showed it to your biggest crush.

... at which point my life would essentially be over.

Anyways, it turns out I was worrying in vain, because luckily all my porn, as well as everything else on my hard-drive, was irretrievable and therefore lost for all time. Hooray! While this means that everything I've ever written, any programs I've downloaded, all my music files, and all my photos are gone, at least I'm off the hook. S-s-s-sweet.

I finally have my computer back, only it's hopelessly barren, which makes its repair something of a lukewarm victory. Kinda like if you have, say, pnumonia, and then the doctor tells you "the good news is we can cure you. The bad news is you will now be a vegetable for life."

So yeah, because of this bru-ha-ha, blogging has naturally been nonexistant. I just got my computer back in time for what I guess is my End of Summer Wrapup, yet don't really feel like going into too much detail, but here are a few pictures that will help sum up what I've been up to for the past month-ish:

1) THE TORONTO COMICON
Working at Paradise Comics has its perks. One such perk is getting free entry into their comic conventions. However, when you take into account the fact that for this 16 hour day of labour, I had such tasks as loading, unloading, reloading, re-unloading, re-reloading, and re-re-unloading truckfulls of boxes for multiple dealers, the perk suddenly becomes less... perky. I did get some nice sketches and 12 bucks worth of comics that I was missing from my collection, but I'm much too scrawny to be doing this stuff.



Anyways, in this picture I'm working the Paradise booth, having a theoretical debate with a customer on what sex with girls must feel like. I believe this is the point when I tell him "I bet it's great. When my computer gets back from the shop, I'll show you my po... my research."

2) GLENGARRY GLEN ROSS
I also spent the bulk of the past two-ish months acting in a rendition of David Mamet's "Glengarry Glen Ross." It's about a bunch of real estate agents who have to compete in an increasingly cut-throat world or drown (for anyone who watches the Simpsons, the character of Gil is based off of someone from this play). Anyways, it was a lot of fun, and I got to work with a lot of great people, AND we sold out 3 of the 4 nights, which is fun.



Here's the whole cast. I'm the one on the right without the porn stache.



And here I am acting my little heart out. To give you a sense of my acting abilities, at this point in the script I'm supposed to be frantically freaking out. However, I have chosen the more subtle approach of, from the look of this picture, falling asleep. In pants that from this angle are way too big for me. Shit, someone should have said something.

3) SITTING ON MY ASS DOING FUCK ALL (not pictured)
Self explanatory.

And that pretty much sums up my summer. Thanks to the play, I can say that I did SOMETHING productive. Oh, also I got into the third year of Creative Writing at the University of Windsor, and my reservations regarding the program are at an all-time high. More on that later.

1:02 AM - 11 Comments - 9 Kudos - Add Comment

Family Freud
Current mood: contemplative
Category: Dreams and the Supernatural

Lately, I've been having a whole bunch of weird dreams. With my irregular sleep pattern, I'm constantly waking/woken up and falling back asleep. I don't know if dreams work like this, but I suspect that because of my fractured sleeping pattern, I'm having like 5 dreams a night that I can remember relatively well the next day.

Some have been pretty fun, with me in total control of my surroundings, and maybe flying or making out with my high school crush or something. Some have been less fun, with people around me getting hurt or acting like assholes. Some have been downright freaky, the kind where you're like "Oh God please let this be a dream oh shit this isn't a dream" but then it turns out to be a dream, and you're like "okay phew that was totally a dream but I'm still a little scared and my heart's beating fast and I wet the bed a little bit."

No matter the dream, most have been bizarre to some extent. About a week ago, for example, I had one of those "I'm in public naked" dreams, only it was different from any of the other ones I've had, because I didn't suddenly appear in school naked (as is usually the case), but had actually made a conscious decision to go to dinner without any clothes on. I think my reasoning was something along the lines of "it would be fun cause I'll show that I don't care about social constraints!" But when I got there, I was like "man, this wasn't a really good idea now that I think about it and I hope there's some underwear nearby."

Now, I don't believe that dreams are spirits trying to communicate with you, nor are they keys to unlocking your future, but I do think the belief that dreams act as a kind of window into the unconscious has some merit. It's for that reason that I'm trying to discover what these dreams mean. My unconscious and I haven't really had good communication skills for the past little while, and I suspect that's why I haven't been operating at 100%. So I think it's important that I put some effort into discovering what it's trying to tell me now.

Because I don't really have the talent to interpret dreams, nor do I have the energy to go to a psychiatrist, I'm going to turn to blogging. Whenever I have a particularly vexing dream, I'm gonna mention it on my blog, and I would really appreciate it if whoever reads it can offer their two cents in regards to what they believe the dream in question MEANS. Let's crack that whole "unconscious/conscious" mystery once and for all, right here on myspace! That'll show those bigwigs down in Washington Monument what myspace is capable of.

Anyways, I'll start with a seemingly meaningful dream I had two nights ago:

It's one of those dreams where you're watching a movie, but you're also in the movie, you know? Anyways, the movie was like paid for by the government, and was meant to encourage healthy living. The star of the movie just spent all his days playing Neopets and watching TV (just like me in real life!). Eventually, though, through a series of adventures, he learns that there is more to the world than Neopets and television, and goes on to lead a very fulfilling and exciting life doing fulfilling and exciting things. The moral of the movie is then repeated for the viewers: Stop playing Neopets and watching TV and MAKE SOMETHING OF YOUR LIFE. Then the words MAKE SOMETHING OF YOUR LIFE hover in the air in front of me, and circle me quickly. Then I wake up.

Anyways, I think this dream is fairly easy to interpret: I need to play more Neopets and watch more television. Still, I want to hear what you think. So far, I've asked two people what they thought it meant, and both agreed it meant I had a secret desire to make love to my mother. But personally I'd like to hear an interpretation from someone who ISN'T one of my parents.

11:32 PM - 2 Comments - 2 Kudos - Add Comment

This story is 666% true
Current mood: aggravated
Category: Life

You ever have just one of those days?...

So I wake up, expecting today to be just like any other. I check the time: the numbers "6:66" are flashing in red, which is odd, because my clock isn't digital.

"6:66!?" I exclaim aloud, "Oh no! I'm late for work!" I hurriedly brush my teeth and hop into the shower. I turn on the tap, but the showerhead starts spewing blood! Aw, man! I thought the plumber fixed that!

Frantic, pissed off, and drenched in blood, I grab my CD player and head out the door.

"Morning!" I shout to Mr. Withers, my next door neighbour. He's standing on the front lawn, wearing a wife-beater, boxers, and boots, with his pet cat Ms. Muffins by his side. He looks at me with unfocused eyes and starts yammering on:

"AND I SAW IN THE RIGHT HAND OF HIM THAT SAT ON THE THRONE A BOOK WRITTEN WITHIN AND ON THE BACKSIDE, SEALED WITH SEVEN SEALS."

What a nutball! "Okay, Mr. Withers," I respond, mentally rolling my eyes as he starts swinging Ms. Muffins over his head by her tail, "whatever you say!" ugh! Sometimes I just wish my neighbours were NORMAL!!!!!!

The walk to work is relatively uneventful as always (one passerby DID get mauled by the three headed guard-dog of Hades, but that was on the other side of the street and I didn't get a good look), and when I get to work Doug's dressed all in black (Goth much?) and is holding a dead goat. Um, ew?

Work's crap. I spend the whole day in the basement (ick!) drawing pentagrams on the floor, which I think is a bullshit assignment. I try to ease the monotony by listening to my CD player, but the darn thing's busted and keeps on playing the same song (something about eating babies or whatever. Boring!) over and over again. WTF. I want to listen to my Bowie! I didn't even know I owned "Best of Fuccubus," but there you go.

At the end of the day, Doug tells me and my retarded co-worker that one of us has to stay and volunteer for "the sacrifice." I really want to see what they were talking about, but I have to be home for dinner, so I let my co-worker volunteer instead. DRAT!

As if today can't possibly get any worse, it starts raining brimstone RIGHT as I leave work. I have to run home as fast as possible, in order to avoid getting incinerated. AND as I'm almost home I round the corner to discover that the gates of hell have opened up RIGHT above my house (and all up and down the street) and now there's just a gaping hole spewing forth demons where my house used to be. FUCK

So I'm sitting there, homeless, exhausted, slightly singed, still bloodsoaked, with fucking Mr. Withers nearby still babbling on about lakes of Wormwood or some shit, and a fucking bird craps on my head.

P.S. According to my friends, today's a special occasion, but I'm not convinced. I'm fairly sure "Sex Sex Sex" is just a scam created by the greeting card companies.

Currently listening : A Hundred Miles Off By The Walkmen Release date: 23 May, 2006

6:06 PM - 6 Comments - 10 Kudos - Add Comment

Buses are funny
Current mood: Whelmed
Category: Whelmed Life

PART A: First of all, let me be the (probably not) first to say that a TTC strike just isn't a TTC strike without a solid heat wave giving would-be commuters strokes. Hooray! Everything sucks!

Not that I'd know, of course. Getting to work, in my case, involves the following:

1) Put left foot in front of right foot.
2) Put right foot in front of left foot.
3) Repeat steps 1 and 2 about 45 times.
4) Congratulations, you are at work! Assume the position.

Still, I'm sure that sooner or later I'll want to visit someplace/one that doesn't reside/live within walking distance, in which case I'm screwed. Or buying a bicycle. Too bad there are no bicycle stores within walking distance.

PART B: Second of all, last weekend I went to a sweet ass comic release party. There I got the second Scott Pilgrim comic (which I am "currently reading"). The writer, Bryan Lee O' Malley, even drew a lovely drawing in my copy.


Righteous!

As much as I enjoy the Scott Pilgrim series, though, the real reason I went down was to meet my childhood idol Ryan "Dinosaur Comics" North. By childhood idol I of course mean "guy whose work I've been a huge fan of for a little over a year," although I don't think I made the distinction when I told that to him. Mr. North was, thankfully, a totally awesome guy, and even wrote a comic on the spot as part of a presentation. There's a good article covering the event here, and if you look closely you *might* (read: definitely will) be able to see me (I call that picture "Panel 4").

As awesome as that was, it did make me aware of the fact that I act like an idiot in front of celebrities (or idols, etc). I end up yammering about "biggest fan" this and "childhood idol" that and "scrapbook devoted to you," um, this. After it was over, I asked my friend Warth if I came off as a total moron, to which he replied, "Only a bit... but don't worry, he probably won't remember who the fuck you are." Still, I overheard someone else who was most likely worse than me...


Fan: You know what you should do? A comic about riding the bus.

Ryan North: Like...

Fan: Yeah, like one where the characters are riding the bus and stuff.

Ryan North: Well, it'd be a bit difficult, cause, you know, there's a building and a car in panel 3... so they can't really be on a bus, right?

Fan: Oh, well... maybe they're talking about riding the bus?

Ryan North: Yeah, ha ha maybe.

Fan: Because it'd be funny. Buses are funny.

Ryan North: Yeah, they are pretty f-

Fan: Buses are fucking funny.

...and so on and so forth.

PART C: Third of all, this has nothing to do with buses. But... well...
That should be popular in Japan. OUCH JAPAN OH SNAP!

Currently reading : Scott Pilgrim, Vol. 2: Scott Pilgrim Versus The World (Scott Pilgrim's) By Bryan Lee O'Malley Release date: 23 February, 2005

10:27 PM - 7 Comments - 9 Kudos - Add Comment

Paradise/Lost
Current mood: anxious
Category: Jobs, Work, Careers

I suppose I'll keep this blog brief, as it's late, I'm drunkesque, and I really feel like eating some Count Chocula cereal right about now.

Tomorrow is an important day that has me excited and anxious (the "current mood" only tells half the truth) at the same time. This is due to two reasons, which I will now divulge:

1) Tomorrow the season finale of Lost is on (Lost spoilers to follow). Anyone who knows me knows that I'm a Lost-aholic (or HolicLost, as I'm sure some people would call me [no wait, probably just Mike]). However, this has been a rocky season in terms of, well, quality. I feel the finale will make or break the show overall. If it's good, I'll remember season two as the season in which Ana Lucia shot Shannon, Locke fucked Peg Bundy, and Michael killed everyone. If it sucks, I'll remember it as the season in which the man with the beard is revealed to, um, have a fake beard.

2) Tomorrow is my first day at Paradise Comics since saturday. Saturday was my first day opening the store all by myself. Saturday did not go well:

Arriving at the store at 10 o' clock on the dot (an accomplishment for me), I unlocked the door to the shop, determined to make sure I did a flawless job that day. By 10:08, there was broken glass all over the floor, a thick cloud of poisonous chemicals wafting throughout the store, and a middle-aged lady calling me an idiot and threatening to press charges. I keep telling myself that "shucks, it could happen to anyone," but I'm beginning to doubt that very much.

The story's pretty straightforward: the night before, someone changed one of the fluorescent tubes, but instead of throwing the old one out, left it at the front entrance and neglected to tell me. When I saw it the next morning, I had no idea what it was for and decided it would be best not to touch it (which wasn't smart, even I'll admit that).

Anyways, I was at the counter minutes later when I heard a CRASH! Upon hearing the crash, I assumed that my mentally handicapped coworker had had an accident in the basement whilst bagging and boarding comics (perhaps she tried to bag a lightbulb by accident, I don't know). But no. I turned to the entrance and saw the first customer of the day standing in what was once the fluorescent tube, a cloud of mercury rising to greet him.

Now, this is not the tableau one can look at and think "a great way to start the day." I, for example, looked at it and thought "fuck ass mother fucker."

Now Aaron, I started telling myself, stay calm. It's no big deal. I'm sure LOTS of comic book stores have to worry about killing their customers with mercury poisoning.

Thankfully, the guy felt just as bad about it as I did, and actually apologized TO ME (score!). Oh, and he didn't die (double-score!). No-Thanks-fully, a lovely woman who just happened to be passing by when she heard the Crash! figured that I wasn't getting yelled at enough, and saw it as her duty to rectify that problem.

"You idiot!" she yelled, "What were you thinking, leaving that glass out like that!? You could face a lawsuit for this, young man!" (Obviously I am paraphrasing, as I doubt there is a single being left on the planet who calls people "young man/lady," but you get the idea. Lawsuit was mentioned).

now, at this point I had several options:

A) Blame my retarded co-worker
B) Pretend to be retarded myself
or
C) Hope the poison cloud gets to her

but instead I just D) flashed my Feldman charm (likely achieving the same effect as option "B"), shrugged my shoulders in that slow, Aaron Feldman way, and said "it's my first day."

The lady seemed to have lost some of the momentum at that point, and went on her in-no-ways merry way. I cleaned up the mess, got my co-worker* to (I believe) illegally dump the glass shards in a public garbage, and then passed out from the mercury.

So yeah, you can see why I'd be a bit anxious about facing my boss tomorrow. He already knows what happened, and didn't seem to mind that much, but I can't imagine it got me points. We'll see.

Hmm, that wasn't brief at all. Fuck, I wanted some Count Chocula.


*I recently discovered that she is not, in fact, my superior. The opposite, in fact. Apparently she just showed up at the store, with the hopes of working for them. When they told her that they couldn't pay her (read: didn't want to), she insisted on working anyways, so they were basically like "okay, fine by me." So basically she just shows up and works without getting paid (In other words, she's me from last year). Some would question the ethics of allowing a mentally handicapped individual to work for no pay. Those people are called "communists" (Not actually; I should probably talk to Pete about that once I'm either out of the doghouse or already fired).

Currently listening : Old World Underground, Where Are You Now? By Metric Release date: 30 September, 2003

11:32 PM - 10 Comments - 23 Kudos - Add Comment

Trapped in Paradise
Current mood: artistic
Category: Jobs, Work, Careers

Warning: At the end of the blog I'm going to give away something that happened in the season finale of The O.C last night. If you care at all and don't want anything ruined, don't read the last part until you've seen the finale.

You know, most of my summers involve me spending hours at a time on the computer, followed by hours at a time in front of the T.V., followed by hours at a time sleeping. Come to think of it, that pretty much summed up my entire life. And I gueesss that's sad. And pathetic. But it's also not the point.

The point thing is that this summer, unlike any Maury-filled summer preceding it, I seem to actually be going out and doing things. I know I went to France last year at about this time, but even then I spent most of the time either in the bookshop reading "Bridget Jones: The Edge of Reason" (high-larious!) or sitting in the hotel room watching "Janelle" and "Tifi," the French Maury equivalents. But no, so far this summer has been different. And yes, I realize that I'm using the term "summer" when it's actually only spring. But you know what I mean so don't be a douche about it.

To start things off, it looks like I may be working at Paradise Comics this summer in a non-whipping-boy capacity, which is a good thing. It seems that this summer, one worker is leaving for Japan, another is taking a month off, another is getting surgery, and another really doesn't feel like working, which leaves just me and the mentally handicapped girl who replaced me while I was in Windsor and who I suppose is technically my superior. This means that I'll be able to work cushily behind the counter. When my superior allows it, that is.

Pete, the store owner, taught me how to open and close and work the visa swipey thing last week, and on Saturday I did my first full day behind the counter. It was great. I mostly chatted with little 8-year-old Asian kids about trading-cards.


Asian Kid: Can I get a pack of those Magic: the Gathering cards?

Me: Magic? Holy shit, I remember Magic cards! They rock, eh?

Asian Kid: Yeah, they're pretty good I guess.

Me: And how about Pokémon cards? Pretty cool, huh?

Asian Kid: Yeah, I like Pokémon cards okay.

Me: Ooh, and Yu Gi Oh! cards are awesome, aren't they?

Asian Kid: I guess so...

Me: And how about those Neopet cards, eh?

Asian Kid: Neopets? I don't know. Those are kind of gay.

Me: Get out of my fucking store.


It rocked like nobody's business, let me tell you. If I can manage to work like that for most of June, I'm fucking set. I'll keep you posted on how it goes, oh blog of mine. But right now it's apparently so late that I just saw my parents leave for work. They don't seem too thrilled to see me up. Humph.

******O.C SPOILERS*****
-it sucked

Currently reading : The Penultimate Peril (A Series of Unfortunate Events, Book 12) By Lemony Snicket Release date: 18 October, 2005

11:40 PM - 8 Comments - 11 Kudos - Add Comment