June 21

Grumble.

As much as it would seem I hate to admit it, it is as though Hamilton is my "natural environment" when it comes to keeping my loyal readers (who are, admittedly, in dwindling, dangerously low numbers) satisfied. No song aptly - at the time - named "Of a Week". No more poetry from a yesteryear Me, one full of envious, boundless energy and enthusiasm about the most juvenile things and convoluted romanticized visions of "love". There's actually this one where I compared love to skating. I know, right? Ridic. And this other one? It was about how many different varieties of the colour green there were. Da-dum.

I've posted two videos on facebook in the meantime (well, three, but two of them are just version 1.0 and 2.0 of the same...'unique skill'). But vlogging - wait, that's what the video blogging Portmonteau is? That is weak - is not my sort of thing. Especially not with the limited filming space my laptop gives, i.e. a room that resembles a 7-year-old's nursery, complete with poster of the original 150 Pokemon, as well as a ludicrously expensive Transformers Optimal Optimus on my shelf, adjacent to now-dusty and forlorn houseleage soccer trophies of a once-former glory...and next to a toy car playset of, of all things, a parking garage. How exhilarating.

But wait, who am I honestly trying to kid - my FisherPrice Parking Ramp Service Center?
It is The Shit.

Of Plating (of a meal. not, like, armour-wise.)

Coincidentally, I was at my friend Laurel (see last post title)'s birthday party, where, upon reading the appetizer menu, an idea burst forth into my brain -- one of intra-plate food placement.

Please turn your attention to Figure A, the chicken finger.

Figure A: ordinary chicken finger

And now, please turn your attention once more to Figure B, the chicken FREAKIN' HAND.


Figure B: EXTRAordinary chicken fingers

Wonderful. Wonderful wonderful. The dipping-sauce 'palm', by-the-by, is a mixture of three parts ketchup to one part mayonnaise, as demonstrated by my dear friend Adrian. Who sadly is no longer with us. Because he is in Halifax. Away.

Also, those blue and red lines are supposed to be veins and arteries. Because when I began this crude and thoughtless MS Paint job I started sketching my right hand, despite having to use it to control the delicate Paint mouse handling. Unsurprisingly, this plan went completely FUBAR almost instantly, when I realized that drawing the back of a hand is really boring. So really, this is a juxtaposition of 'a right hand, but if the palm of the left hand was instead replacing the ex-palm of the right hand'. That's right. Ex-palm. Outer palm? It's a good thing I'm not studying physiology.












Teehee.

Enough of me idly sitting on the laurels of my 50th post...

Back to 'work', it seems.

Lots's beens happening the last month or so. I have a girlfriend now (!), so that's pretty neat-o (easily the biggest understatement of 2009, but I just feel like mincing words today). Have a job for the upcoming summer months. shrug.

I guess this impromptu time to re-begin blogging again came at a bad time. I'm supposed to be studying (a-ha! driving lessons, right, forgot about that) right now, using my poor man's version of a homemade steering wheel to simulate -- a broken extension cord as the wheel, with rolled up newspapers criss-crossing through it acting as the 'spokes' and the horn. Yes, it is as diobolically crappy (yet crafty) as they come, and I've had to rebuild it once already.... but it'll do for the moment?

The thing about blogging is that I choose to refrain from using emoticons to directly showcase how I'm feeling while I'm writing this. As I'm sure many blogs do...the ones I read, at least. Suffice it to say, it's safe to assume that most of the time there is a stellar, handsome young man with a world-wide smile on his cheeky (in terms of behaviour, not cheek-size) face. But you can't see that I'm currently sick. Blargh. It's the flu, I think. I've displayed all the listed symptoms that those handy public transit buses have displayed to me: sore throat, loss of appetite, runny nose, fatigue, sore joints; more, or less.

Nobody likes being sick (2nd nominee for biggest understatement of the year), and I wholeheartedly agree. T'were it a physical ailment that I could see with my own eyes? Yeah, sure, okay, I guess this voratiously lobotomized left kneecap sticking out at a -23 degree angle could stop me from going up and down stairs. But anything that's making you sick from the inside out (save the flesh-eating bacteria, that is the polar opposite of the 'bee's knees', bar none. relatedly in the 'would-literally-go-crazy' bin would be 'having words tatooed to the inside of your eyelids'. imagine seeing something forever, indefinitely? it must'nt be too hard to picture, just close your eyes, clear your head and....oh wai- YOU DON'T SEE BLACK (your eyelids, duh) YOU SEE WRITTEN TEXT. how utterly messed up must that be?! forgetting for a second the procedure itself of tatooing legible things on the inside of an eyelid, just, just....wow. didya want to go to sleep, and rest those weary eyes? n'uh uh. crazy.) I feel is much worse, particularly for morale and psyche.

Oh, and I re-activated my old neopets account from 4-plus years ago. To nobody's surprise, my griffin pet is "very very hungry".


Listening to: Jenn Grant's Echoes.