I am, thanks to the crisis-aversion actions taken by, respectively in order of the order they action-took, devblog, Sean Heather, and The Sister, getting my groove back, somewhat. Sean also stuffed me with exotic meats and cheeses (a godsend to those of us who live with raw vegan chef-types; my cholesterol count was getting dangerously low) while Kurtis plied me with succulent sherry so rich and voluptuous that Jay-Z tried to chat it up. Ah, I love working for the hospitality industry!
In any case, here’s a nice ten-minute Mylene Farmer megamix to both express the return of my groovitude and uh, fill the blog up and hold you until I write something better. And now I’m off to hit the grocery store like Katrina hit the Gulf Coast. Oh, there will be Brie on the ceiling by the time I’m done with it, you wait and see! I am the Sam Peckinpah of shoppers!
So Judy was here visiting. It was easy to tell it was Judy when she walked into the train station, because there is, in my wide experience (and surely, few experiencers can have had a wider one, what with me having met in meatspace something over 100 people whom I first met online) a certain expression that people have when they’re away from home and meeting up for the first time with some other cybernaut who, come to think of it and they do and BOY do they look worried when they realize this, they haven’t the faintest idea what they look like. And likewise.
So, I was looking for a tall American brunette, and she was looking for a short Canadian blonde with a Moosehat sticker from the Northern Voice blogging conference, and although we are not exactly a dime a dozen, even in the train station, nevertheless the situation is enough to give one pause.
She paused.
With that certain look on her face. That alright now I can figure this out. I can handle this. If she turns out to be a freak there are plenty of people around who can call the cops, and I can always get another train back home look.
And I tried not to have my oh, I’ve seen that look before, newbie look on my face although it must be said that of all the emotions, smugness comes perhaps most easily to me, even when it’s not appropriate, but then when has the fear of looking like a idjut ever stopped me, eh? I ask yez.
And we had a lovely time. I made sure to take her by the library and Canada Place and the Marine building and other suchlike architectural wonders, of which it must be said that Vancouver has very few but as long as nobody tells her different and who’s to do that, she’ll never know the place isn’t larded with gems, eh?
And we went patio-ing. Yes, it’s a verb here. We do a lot of patioing in BC, although we also do a lot of other social things, too, which you can tell from the fact that Whistler has its own strain of genital warts, but we didn’t do any of that.
Especially not on the patio. Hell, it wasn’t the Cambie!
But as we were on the patio, enjoying our refreshing beverages and making amusing comments about some kind of corporate teambuilding exercise which apparently involved vast herds of nerdy-looking men in matching t-shirts running at speed back and forth through the restaurant, it became apparent that Judy was working up her courage. Finally, after an internal struggle and a moment of distracted yet anticipatory silence, it came out.
That’s a catfish the way a sabertoothed tiger is a cat. You’re looking at a record-breaking 66 pounds of fish sticks (a gazillionty-seven kilograms, howthefuckshouldiknoweh) landed by Bev Street, a deceptively mild-mannered housewife with, obviously, a lethal antipathy to free-range freshwater fish.
In unrelated news, I have recently deleted our dear friend StevenL from the blogroll, as his former idiosyncratic football/politics/pikefishing/future lung cancer victims rights blog has turned into a gay, pink, ad-bedecked page of financial advisor for profit links. Bleagh. Buh-bye.
Darren Barefoot, over at Darrenbarefoot.com (how did he come up with that name? really, it’s remarkable the synchronicity you stumble across online, eh) has come up with a great, and universal, list of 55 things to blog about before you die. And you never know when that will be.
So get started.
The first 20:
The Story of My Most Serious Injury
The Person I Admire Most
This Will Be My Epitaph
Why I Love My Hometown
Why I Hate My Hometown
Why I Was a Childhood Bully
How I Shop
How I Choose to Spend My Money
I Wish I Spent Less Money on This
Why I’m in My Current Job
My Ideal Job
My High School Clique
My Worst Subject in School
If I Had a Super Power
Here’s Where My Opinion Differs From the Majority
Why I Voted the Way I Did in the Last Election
Why I Don’t Vote
The Cause I Really Believe In
Why I Came To Religion
Why I Don’t Believe Anymore
That should keep you busy for awhile, particularly if you click through and read the entire list. No more excuses, now! Just hit the keyboard, Gord. Type it all in, Lynn. Click on “Publish,” Trish…