Nothing like starting off a friday morning with seeing a crack..uh, crack-lady-of-the-night-(rhymes with boar) being handcuffed and dragged off by cops in the metro. She was about 5'2" and maybe 80lbs, tottering on these crazy black, platform boots.I'm guessing she was in her 20's but going on 70 from the haggard lines on her face. At first, the cops tried to restrain her but she yelled, so they just sort of followed a few paces behind as she tried to pretend she could just walk away.
They went in circles around the metro platform like this, like an apathetic, slow motion game of tag a couple of times until the cops finally decided to just handcuff her. With one on either side of her they pulled her along as she went limp in between them with her legs stretched out front. She looked like a mop. A crack-smoking, emaciated, doomed mop. Poor girl.
Chief Wiggum after tranquilizing Frank Grimes Jr: "If I can tranq one freak on stilts I know I've done my job." Seargant Lou responds: "You're living the dream chief."
Friday, September 29, 2006
Tuesday, September 26, 2006
Apes have feelings too.
Well, the mysterious ways of the universe unfold a new twist for my T and I. We have signed a new lease. We are moving out of Montreal into the country! A friggin detached winterized cottage on the lake. That's right, detached. NO NEIGHBOURS! Just a lake. Bloody hell if this doesn't do it for us, I don't know what will. We are going to be SO boring and it's going to be SO great. No going out, just staying in and watching the water, listening to insects and the wind rustling the leaves. Perhaps toddling off to the library or a lakeshore walk when the urge strikes. Obviously, we will continue worshipping satan...
So what's the catch, there's always a catch. Well, I mean there are other people living around but we don't share walls with them. It is distinctly possible that we will freeze to death in the winter but we are hardy. Plus there is a wood stove(also highly pleasing to me). We will warm ourselves by the fire and eat roasted tofu dogs like old-timey times. Uh and ya, it's costs way more than what we are paying now. Worth it.
I bought green tea before work and they had a sample drink out. "It's iced mocchachino frappachino." said the cashier or flavoured caffeine engineer or whatever it is they are called by their capitalist devil masters. I said, "Are you fucking kidding me?" Because I have a compulsive potty mouth and because it just sounded like a joke to me. He was french-french and not quebec french so he replied. "No, I am not keeddding." with a puzzled and slightly hurt look in his eyes. Why would I question the integrity of his response on a matter so clearly evident and unremarkable, he seemed to wonder. Mocca-friggin-frappa-crappa-chino. Tasted good though. Maybe I'll go back and let him know it was fucking A.
So I'm pumped full of cafeine. Idea #1: Tofu dogs injected with caffeine = cafuweenies! Roasted, boiled or broiled, broasted, foiled or coiled, they are bursting with tofuey goodness and bustin' with wholesome caffeine energy potential! It's nature's way of honouring the new frontier of progress and taste!
I should not drink caffeinated beverages. I cannot hold my caffeine. I feel like a nervous ape with tourrette's syndrome. I wonder if Ms. Jane Goodall encountered any of those. I picture this one ape kinda living with her, sitting around at the table, one leg crossed over the other, tapping his fingers and nervously smoking a cigarette, with a shoulder tick, telling her in sign language that "he's not sure but he thinks the other apes might not respect him". And asking her if she minds if he takes the last pancake.
I've been listening to the Ricky Gervais show too much. All that talk of monkeys and freaks.
Holy crap, it's nearly lunch time. Corn on the cob, celery and carrots and scrambled tofu. The lunch of a champion! A satan-worshipping, hepped up on doofballs, potty-mouthed, work-slacking, moving to the country, champion!
So what's the catch, there's always a catch. Well, I mean there are other people living around but we don't share walls with them. It is distinctly possible that we will freeze to death in the winter but we are hardy. Plus there is a wood stove(also highly pleasing to me). We will warm ourselves by the fire and eat roasted tofu dogs like old-timey times. Uh and ya, it's costs way more than what we are paying now. Worth it.
I bought green tea before work and they had a sample drink out. "It's iced mocchachino frappachino." said the cashier or flavoured caffeine engineer or whatever it is they are called by their capitalist devil masters. I said, "Are you fucking kidding me?" Because I have a compulsive potty mouth and because it just sounded like a joke to me. He was french-french and not quebec french so he replied. "No, I am not keeddding." with a puzzled and slightly hurt look in his eyes. Why would I question the integrity of his response on a matter so clearly evident and unremarkable, he seemed to wonder. Mocca-friggin-frappa-crappa-chino. Tasted good though. Maybe I'll go back and let him know it was fucking A.
So I'm pumped full of cafeine. Idea #1: Tofu dogs injected with caffeine = cafuweenies! Roasted, boiled or broiled, broasted, foiled or coiled, they are bursting with tofuey goodness and bustin' with wholesome caffeine energy potential! It's nature's way of honouring the new frontier of progress and taste!
I should not drink caffeinated beverages. I cannot hold my caffeine. I feel like a nervous ape with tourrette's syndrome. I wonder if Ms. Jane Goodall encountered any of those. I picture this one ape kinda living with her, sitting around at the table, one leg crossed over the other, tapping his fingers and nervously smoking a cigarette, with a shoulder tick, telling her in sign language that "he's not sure but he thinks the other apes might not respect him". And asking her if she minds if he takes the last pancake.
I've been listening to the Ricky Gervais show too much. All that talk of monkeys and freaks.
Holy crap, it's nearly lunch time. Corn on the cob, celery and carrots and scrambled tofu. The lunch of a champion! A satan-worshipping, hepped up on doofballs, potty-mouthed, work-slacking, moving to the country, champion!
Thursday, September 21, 2006
Flagrant! Idolatrous! and wrong.
Man, everyday I prop myself up with fresh resolve only to have it knocked the fuck down in what seems to be some sort of great cosmic joke. After each shitty apartment I look at, I still maintain hope that the next will be better but each gets worse. When I say shitty I mean that literally in the case of yesterday. The whole place smelled like shit. The walls were puffing under the paint, with liquid shit I'm guessing, and the floors were wavy from mopped up shit? The next place after that, in the freezing rain of course, looked great! Top floor, pretty, quiet street, cheap rent-guy didn't show up. PERFECT! ABSOFUCKINGLUTELY PERFECT!
I give the fuck up, pardon my fucking french. Fuckity fuckshitting fuck it.
And so....I just signed for the courier delivery because the receptionist was either pissing or shitting in the bathroom and it was one of those electronic signing things that are all the rage with the kids these days and I started with a big S and didn't know what the hell came next for a couple of seconds there. I remembered and scribbled the rest of my last name and said to the guy "I just forgot my fucking name." He didn't seem terribly concerned for me.
The title of today's post comes from Professor Julius Sumner Miller to whom I was introduced through the very excellent Hilarious House of Frightenstein. After posing the problem of what would happen if a cylindrical container were to have 3 equi-distant holes punched along the length of the cylinder and water was to be poured into the cylinder, where would the paths of water fall? He declared that the commonly taught answer in which the streams from the top and bottom hole would fall in the same place and the middle hole stream would project further than the other two was wrong. In fact his quote was that it was "That is WRONG! Flagrant! Idolatrous! and wrong." I love it. To this day, 24 years later I love it. I love him. Each time I consider the events of the past weeks I think of this quote and I picture him yelling at me from beyond the grave, trying to remedy my ignorance.
By the way, here is what spellcheck suggests as a replacement for Fuck fuckity fuckshitting fuck it:
Fuji bucket bucketting Fuji it.
"Absofuckinglutely" completely stumped it.
I give the fuck up, pardon my fucking french. Fuckity fuckshitting fuck it.
And so....I just signed for the courier delivery because the receptionist was either pissing or shitting in the bathroom and it was one of those electronic signing things that are all the rage with the kids these days and I started with a big S and didn't know what the hell came next for a couple of seconds there. I remembered and scribbled the rest of my last name and said to the guy "I just forgot my fucking name." He didn't seem terribly concerned for me.
The title of today's post comes from Professor Julius Sumner Miller to whom I was introduced through the very excellent Hilarious House of Frightenstein. After posing the problem of what would happen if a cylindrical container were to have 3 equi-distant holes punched along the length of the cylinder and water was to be poured into the cylinder, where would the paths of water fall? He declared that the commonly taught answer in which the streams from the top and bottom hole would fall in the same place and the middle hole stream would project further than the other two was wrong. In fact his quote was that it was "That is WRONG! Flagrant! Idolatrous! and wrong." I love it. To this day, 24 years later I love it. I love him. Each time I consider the events of the past weeks I think of this quote and I picture him yelling at me from beyond the grave, trying to remedy my ignorance.
By the way, here is what spellcheck suggests as a replacement for Fuck fuckity fuckshitting fuck it:
Fuji bucket bucketting Fuji it.
"Absofuckinglutely" completely stumped it.
Tuesday, September 19, 2006
Caps lock on, caps lock off.
I asked these people here at this strange bankish type place to hire me for a 6 month contract and thereby usurp my temp agency. Har! Will it come to be? Will I be making a crazy per hour rate shortly? Will I be wiley enough to hide it from the student loan robots?
I've been calling apartments endlessly. Just spoke to a very insane woman. While merely trying to inquire a few details about her advertised place for rent I got the entire story of a problem tennant who is meant to be taking drugs for her psychiatric problems but refuses and has a dog with dysplasia??!! who pees itself in the apartment but she won't put it down until the 5th anniversary of her husband's death. Also, apparently she sits (just typo-ed shits. shitting in her car would truly be eccentric.)in her car and plays the radio loud, smokes pot (she whispered the word pot as it is so shocking and repeated it to make sure I understood," pot!") on the balcony. I thanked her for her honesty and proceeded to mark a very big X through the ad.
There is a woman here at work, my slave master I guess, although I hardly slave; I sort of leisurely task. Anyway, (let's call her Rocco) she always speaks very sweetly on the phone to people and then before the receiver is even fully back on the hook, she is swearing like a sailor at them. She really comes up with some great stuff. Fuckshits being my favourite so far. She talks like a new york cab driver. Eg: "How does this letter sound? Dear Dinks, in regards to the discrepancy yadayadayada, bunch of bullshit and uhhhh, whatever, some other stuff, the end Go to hell."
Then co-worker# 2, let's call her Cerealbar, replies with: "WHA??" Which she is always saying because she is deaf in one ear. Sometimes she yells it out of the blue or even if you just walk by her.
In the past few minutes alone I've heard Rocco and her visiting-from-Chicago counterpart talk about velvet elvis, penis piercings, being too fat to wear tanktops and have short hair and how much Rocco reminds Chicago of Chicago lady's old aunt Dora. What a compliment conisdering Rocco can't be older than 40!
I have to stop eating all the shitty candy I bought for myself. On a whim I thought it might be fun to have candy at work so I grabbed a handfull of the various bulk kind that you'll find in your grandmother's living room candy dish. Each one is unpalatble in it's own unique way. Banana "toffee" which was more like a hardened, slighty chewy marshmallow that disintigrates like dust in your mouth. They should adopt that as their product hook line. And rum flavoured toffee. Why? How about gin muffins or vodka yogurt?
I've been calling apartments endlessly. Just spoke to a very insane woman. While merely trying to inquire a few details about her advertised place for rent I got the entire story of a problem tennant who is meant to be taking drugs for her psychiatric problems but refuses and has a dog with dysplasia??!! who pees itself in the apartment but she won't put it down until the 5th anniversary of her husband's death. Also, apparently she sits (just typo-ed shits. shitting in her car would truly be eccentric.)in her car and plays the radio loud, smokes pot (she whispered the word pot as it is so shocking and repeated it to make sure I understood," pot!") on the balcony. I thanked her for her honesty and proceeded to mark a very big X through the ad.
There is a woman here at work, my slave master I guess, although I hardly slave; I sort of leisurely task. Anyway, (let's call her Rocco) she always speaks very sweetly on the phone to people and then before the receiver is even fully back on the hook, she is swearing like a sailor at them. She really comes up with some great stuff. Fuckshits being my favourite so far. She talks like a new york cab driver. Eg: "How does this letter sound? Dear Dinks, in regards to the discrepancy yadayadayada, bunch of bullshit and uhhhh, whatever, some other stuff, the end Go to hell."
Then co-worker# 2, let's call her Cerealbar, replies with: "WHA??" Which she is always saying because she is deaf in one ear. Sometimes she yells it out of the blue or even if you just walk by her.
In the past few minutes alone I've heard Rocco and her visiting-from-Chicago counterpart talk about velvet elvis, penis piercings, being too fat to wear tanktops and have short hair and how much Rocco reminds Chicago of Chicago lady's old aunt Dora. What a compliment conisdering Rocco can't be older than 40!
I have to stop eating all the shitty candy I bought for myself. On a whim I thought it might be fun to have candy at work so I grabbed a handfull of the various bulk kind that you'll find in your grandmother's living room candy dish. Each one is unpalatble in it's own unique way. Banana "toffee" which was more like a hardened, slighty chewy marshmallow that disintigrates like dust in your mouth. They should adopt that as their product hook line. And rum flavoured toffee. Why? How about gin muffins or vodka yogurt?
Monday, September 18, 2006
Satan called.
I am so sick of peeing. I'm sure it would be worse not to be able to but I'm so bored with it.
I was going to explain the whole events on the weekend a propos the upstairs demons but I'm sick of it. Sick to bloody hell death. In summary we are going to move and we don't have to pay rent anymore. I'm so pissed that we have to leave our nice place and our awesome landlord but that's how it is thanks to the dense and festering, poor excuses for human beings above. I can't help but think of a million Morrissey quotes. Mainly that "evil people prosper over the likes of you and me ALWAYS."
I am forced to move on and so I shall.
Last night I ate ice cream AND a bag of chips. I haven't done that since I was 11. Hard times call for hard measures. Today I keep thinking, is it the right time to demand these people hire me and stop being the johns of my temp-pimp? I could be making 30% more if they would just give me a freaking contract instead of extending my stay by 2 month increments. I don't even give a flying shite about dental insurance or eyeball insurance or whatever, I just want to make the full wage and be able to see past 2 months into the future. I thought temping was good for me but now that I have a job, I don't feel like puking about, I like the idea of a little more permanence.
How VERY exciting. HOW THRILLING! The captivating prose rolls off my fingers, hypnotising all with my tales of wonder. Could I be more uptight and pissed off and stressed -out and boring? Probably, yes. A big yes on that one. Because there is no end to the miseries that can crop up right??!!
"Hi,Catholic guilt here again. Just thought I should let you know that you could be punished for only seeing the negative. You could have life made a million times worse to prove to you that you should appreciate what you've got. ALso, you're life will not get better because you are bad. Obviously you are doing something wrong and are being punished so...so ya."
But what am I doing wrong?
"Well, you are probably just a jerk or something. Or maybe it's because you got very lucky in love, too lucky and we can't really have people be more happy than is fair. Y'know, especially with you being a jerk and everything."
Later:
"Hi, Satan here. You really are a miserable little sack aren'cha? When will you get hip to the 21st century way? It's post modern to worship me. Join the crowd and I will give you party time."
Party Time? Ya great. Thanks for the suggestion santa..
"SATAN!!"
Seitan. ggguuuhhhhh.
And here I am having to pee, yet again.
I was going to explain the whole events on the weekend a propos the upstairs demons but I'm sick of it. Sick to bloody hell death. In summary we are going to move and we don't have to pay rent anymore. I'm so pissed that we have to leave our nice place and our awesome landlord but that's how it is thanks to the dense and festering, poor excuses for human beings above. I can't help but think of a million Morrissey quotes. Mainly that "evil people prosper over the likes of you and me ALWAYS."
I am forced to move on and so I shall.
Last night I ate ice cream AND a bag of chips. I haven't done that since I was 11. Hard times call for hard measures. Today I keep thinking, is it the right time to demand these people hire me and stop being the johns of my temp-pimp? I could be making 30% more if they would just give me a freaking contract instead of extending my stay by 2 month increments. I don't even give a flying shite about dental insurance or eyeball insurance or whatever, I just want to make the full wage and be able to see past 2 months into the future. I thought temping was good for me but now that I have a job, I don't feel like puking about, I like the idea of a little more permanence.
How VERY exciting. HOW THRILLING! The captivating prose rolls off my fingers, hypnotising all with my tales of wonder. Could I be more uptight and pissed off and stressed -out and boring? Probably, yes. A big yes on that one. Because there is no end to the miseries that can crop up right??!!
"Hi,Catholic guilt here again. Just thought I should let you know that you could be punished for only seeing the negative. You could have life made a million times worse to prove to you that you should appreciate what you've got. ALso, you're life will not get better because you are bad. Obviously you are doing something wrong and are being punished so...so ya."
But what am I doing wrong?
"Well, you are probably just a jerk or something. Or maybe it's because you got very lucky in love, too lucky and we can't really have people be more happy than is fair. Y'know, especially with you being a jerk and everything."
Later:
"Hi, Satan here. You really are a miserable little sack aren'cha? When will you get hip to the 21st century way? It's post modern to worship me. Join the crowd and I will give you party time."
Party Time? Ya great. Thanks for the suggestion santa..
"SATAN!!"
Seitan. ggguuuhhhhh.
And here I am having to pee, yet again.
Friday, September 15, 2006
Why Halifax sucks.
The world is a cruel and cold-blooded globe of festering crap. Why is it that Halifax can produce so much good music but be so evil in all other ways? A girl from Halifax murdered my sliver of hope that our lives could improve, by giving her incredible and perfect apartment away to someone else. We saw it at 10pm last night, I called at 8:30 am this morning and apparently she had "shown it to a friend of a friend who had taken it this morning". She can blow that pack of lies out of her jesus hole. Lies or not, it's gone. I had already seen my new life unfolding in detailed visions there. Oh, plus once, I moved to Halifax to go to NSCAD but after gave up after 3 weeks and 2 apartments. NOT going to get into that one. Let's just say that I felt Halifax to be oozing invisible death and literally felt as though pure evil was chasing me all the way to the border of, well, Quebec really. New Brunswick wasn't any kind of comfort just because it's so boring. SO, now that I have alientated a good chunk of the east coast---Allow me to clarify that I'm down with all other parts of the east coast. It's only Hellifux and New Boringwick that I have trouble with.
So I am drained of hope. I cried and blubbered and now I am just numb. Having to live with noisy and or psycho/mean/smelly/etc neigbours is miserable - plain and simple - and until we have more money to buy a better place, I will have to resort to anaesthesia to get through. Seriously, if any one can hook me up with that stuff you get through intravenous when you get your wisdom teeth out that allows you to be awake the whole time yet blissfull about someone cutting bloody gashes into your gums and sawing off chunks of teeth and the like...just a continuous little drip of that should get me through.
sigh. Must I resign myself to expressing my angst through mime? Is that the sort of person I will be turned into. Will I find myself worshipping Jeebus in an effort to reconcile with the disapointments and hardships of life? How will I keep renewing my resolve? Is it progress to imagine yourself flopping willingly out of a 28th storey window? Will a bag of chips help at all?
I just don't know.
I'll tell you what else. Someone, let's say someone with whom I work, is unsanitarily obsessed with her children in a "Holy blowholes woman, you NEED a hobby!" kind of way. A "Do you WANT your children to become incredibly maladjusted freaks?" kind of way. Suppose one of her children attended a -recently in the news- school with a shooting. Suppose she found it rather exciting that her daughter had in some small way become connected with such a widely-covered event. Suppose this child had ended up in a published photo along with some others crouching behind a car hours after the event as many of the confused and frightened teenagers and people in the area did. Now suppose this woman spent hours, scouring the internet to find a high resolution version of this photo to scrapbook this exciting slice of her child's life. AM I being overly critical to say that this is indeed disturbed? Scrappling for some feeling of importance through a child being in the same building, along with 10,000 other students, as a sick bastard shot 19 people and then himself? Maybe it's one of those- "You don't have kids. You wouldn't understand." things. I'm sure any trauma her daughter might feel has been soothed by her mother collecting images like some sort of obssessed celebrity stalker, only in this case there is no star.
Bleak.
So I am drained of hope. I cried and blubbered and now I am just numb. Having to live with noisy and or psycho/mean/smelly/etc neigbours is miserable - plain and simple - and until we have more money to buy a better place, I will have to resort to anaesthesia to get through. Seriously, if any one can hook me up with that stuff you get through intravenous when you get your wisdom teeth out that allows you to be awake the whole time yet blissfull about someone cutting bloody gashes into your gums and sawing off chunks of teeth and the like...just a continuous little drip of that should get me through.
sigh. Must I resign myself to expressing my angst through mime? Is that the sort of person I will be turned into. Will I find myself worshipping Jeebus in an effort to reconcile with the disapointments and hardships of life? How will I keep renewing my resolve? Is it progress to imagine yourself flopping willingly out of a 28th storey window? Will a bag of chips help at all?
I just don't know.
I'll tell you what else. Someone, let's say someone with whom I work, is unsanitarily obsessed with her children in a "Holy blowholes woman, you NEED a hobby!" kind of way. A "Do you WANT your children to become incredibly maladjusted freaks?" kind of way. Suppose one of her children attended a -recently in the news- school with a shooting. Suppose she found it rather exciting that her daughter had in some small way become connected with such a widely-covered event. Suppose this child had ended up in a published photo along with some others crouching behind a car hours after the event as many of the confused and frightened teenagers and people in the area did. Now suppose this woman spent hours, scouring the internet to find a high resolution version of this photo to scrapbook this exciting slice of her child's life. AM I being overly critical to say that this is indeed disturbed? Scrappling for some feeling of importance through a child being in the same building, along with 10,000 other students, as a sick bastard shot 19 people and then himself? Maybe it's one of those- "You don't have kids. You wouldn't understand." things. I'm sure any trauma her daughter might feel has been soothed by her mother collecting images like some sort of obssessed celebrity stalker, only in this case there is no star.
Bleak.
Wednesday, September 13, 2006
The begin
Well, well. I like to think I am so behind the times that I am cool. It's like I just discovered the internet or something."Hey everybody! There's this neat thing where you can write and nobody will ever want to read it! ".
Ignoring that inevitable fact, I hereby vow to commit myself, half-heartedly, to document that which I deem worthy when it suits me, for reasons unknown.
This is what I won't launch into just yet (because I suppose I should use this space for things other than infernal daily realities):
1. My monstrously ignorant neighbour and her repulsive family that sound like drunk elephants as they pace endlesssly back and forth over our heads, shaking our ceiling and rattling our sanity.
2. How much I loathe the upstairs family of inbred hippotomeeses.
3. Catholic guilt about feeling seething hatred for a family of noisy, skin-covered, barf-bags conficting with a flaming sense of entitlement to be outraged by ignorant, self-involved, childish, mean and spoiled behaviour that robs others of a basic human right to peaceful enjoyment of their home.
Oh I am sorry to interupt this lucid tirade of mine, but as I type this on my work computer, which is all tucked in the corner and usually quiet and removed from all the people actually doing work, I can hear a radio playing on one of my masters' computers, monitoring the progress of the most recent newsworthy event here in Montreal. Someone or two or three people have gone into a college and shot people. The newscaster just keep saying a suspect has been neutralised, neutralised, neutralised. What in the crabcakes of yore does that mean?
By the way, wouldn't it be more than great if the newscasters were actually repeating it like that? "Neutralised, neutralised, neutralised." , and would somebody please start a company called Crabcakes of Yore? Somebody?
I have been sick for 1 week. The phlegm has been endless and the good times have rolled. Bloody sinuses. Not literally! I mean that in the british sense. Actually today, my first day back at work after a week, what I thought might be irritating dizziness has transmuted into a pleasant sort of giddy light-headedness. Plus I can almost smell and therefore, almost taste food again. I am not functioning well on the brain-front though. I usually have 2 routes to work, one involves no train changing but a longer walk, the other I have to transfer one metro line to the other but practically get door to door. This morning I conceived that I would take the least physically taxing route which should mean the no walking route but I only got as far as the idea that I could sit on the train and not get up if I didn't change stations and only realised as I arrived at metro Bonaventure that I now had to bloody walk for 15 minutes because of my choice. I also could really use a book of those autostereograms as I can't look at anything without going cross-eyed after 3 seconds. I also keep mixing up 3 with s. s 3econd3.
45 minutes till home. I have to take the walky way home because now the green line is closed do to shootingness.
Neutralised, neutralised, neutralised.
Ignoring that inevitable fact, I hereby vow to commit myself, half-heartedly, to document that which I deem worthy when it suits me, for reasons unknown.
This is what I won't launch into just yet (because I suppose I should use this space for things other than infernal daily realities):
1. My monstrously ignorant neighbour and her repulsive family that sound like drunk elephants as they pace endlesssly back and forth over our heads, shaking our ceiling and rattling our sanity.
2. How much I loathe the upstairs family of inbred hippotomeeses.
3. Catholic guilt about feeling seething hatred for a family of noisy, skin-covered, barf-bags conficting with a flaming sense of entitlement to be outraged by ignorant, self-involved, childish, mean and spoiled behaviour that robs others of a basic human right to peaceful enjoyment of their home.
Oh I am sorry to interupt this lucid tirade of mine, but as I type this on my work computer, which is all tucked in the corner and usually quiet and removed from all the people actually doing work, I can hear a radio playing on one of my masters' computers, monitoring the progress of the most recent newsworthy event here in Montreal. Someone or two or three people have gone into a college and shot people. The newscaster just keep saying a suspect has been neutralised, neutralised, neutralised. What in the crabcakes of yore does that mean?
By the way, wouldn't it be more than great if the newscasters were actually repeating it like that? "Neutralised, neutralised, neutralised." , and would somebody please start a company called Crabcakes of Yore? Somebody?
I have been sick for 1 week. The phlegm has been endless and the good times have rolled. Bloody sinuses. Not literally! I mean that in the british sense. Actually today, my first day back at work after a week, what I thought might be irritating dizziness has transmuted into a pleasant sort of giddy light-headedness. Plus I can almost smell and therefore, almost taste food again. I am not functioning well on the brain-front though. I usually have 2 routes to work, one involves no train changing but a longer walk, the other I have to transfer one metro line to the other but practically get door to door. This morning I conceived that I would take the least physically taxing route which should mean the no walking route but I only got as far as the idea that I could sit on the train and not get up if I didn't change stations and only realised as I arrived at metro Bonaventure that I now had to bloody walk for 15 minutes because of my choice. I also could really use a book of those autostereograms as I can't look at anything without going cross-eyed after 3 seconds. I also keep mixing up 3 with s. s 3econd3.
45 minutes till home. I have to take the walky way home because now the green line is closed do to shootingness.
Neutralised, neutralised, neutralised.
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