This is Worth a Second Blog

Jen has already blogged about this. But a movie like this comes around only a few times in one's lifetime, it really is worth as much promotion as possible.

This all started for me a couple of months ago when I got a mass email with the following promotional poster:



There wasn't much discussion in the text of the email regarding the joke that this poster was referring to, so I had to simply admit to myself that I didn't get it. "Why would somebody super-impose a picture of Sam Jackson with a plane? And then write shit all over it?" I thought to myself. Thinking that I was just too pedestrian to understand this decidedly cerebral mocking of Sam Jackson, I just let it go and forgot about it.

Months later, I discovered it's funny because it's true. 'Snakes on a Plane' is in fact a real movie starring Samuel L. Jackson due for release this summer. Apparently, there were discussions regarding the name: one was 'S. O. A. P.', which stands for 'Snakes on a Plane'. But apparently Sam Jackson got angry and said that when he signed up to do the movie, he was told it would be called 'Snakes on A Plane'. So. Snakes on A Plane it stayed. It has already won the award from S.A.G. for the worst movie of 2006 based on the promotional poster and plot summary alone.

I have been crying with laughter for the past 20 minutes.

A Smile on the Subway

I got onto the subway this morning at around 10 am. The Yonge/University line is blissfully quiet on Sunday mornings: at best, you are looking at 5 people sharing the car with you. This makes for focused people watching indeed.

At St. George station, a man boarded my car. This man was pushing a dog (looked like some sort of terrier) in a covered baby carriage, and was follwed by 4 pomeranians of all shapes and sizes. The pomeranians were unleashed, and ran wildly up and down the car. Noone was annoyed, because realistically, these are the funniest fuckin' dogs in the world. I couldn't stop laughing at them running up and down the aisle on those short little stubby legs, getting all excited about meeting new people. The poor terrier in the carriage could only watch as these little pom-poms ran gaily up and down, barking merrily all the way.

At Spadina station, the man got up, said 'Come on Guys!', and pushed his carriage off, with the pomeranians scrambling to follow him off the car. It was a short lived moment, but I've been laughing about it all day.

And thinking of buying a pomeranian.

God they're funny lookin'.

My New Shopping Obsession

As of about 7:00 pm this evening, I am going to be the proud new owner of a pair of black Chuck Taylor high tops. Since going and seeing the Subways on Saturday evening, I have not been able to get them out of my mind.

Many of you have experienced my shopping obsessions. Case in point: the pair of green corduroy Ikeda overalls that I HAD to have in 1998. I never found them, but did drag many people in and out of stores with lightening speed to try and find some. 2003 saw me go through my sand-coloured Ugg debaucle, which again, was never realized. I regret not owning a pair of proper Ugg knee highs to this day. I also spent quite a bit of time in 2004 looking for a tunic.

But I know that the black Chuck Taylors are going to be easy to find. They just have to be. I know that I've seen them in many sporting goods stores for several years, as I have always looked fondly at them and remembered my old red Chuck Taylors of yore. If I can't find them, I'm going to be rightly pissed. I'm already envisioning a roaring karaoke session this evening at Mayday's with my Chucks on my dogs.

A Blast from the Literary Past

On the daily coffee pilgramage, Seema, Jen and I got talking about our favorite books while growing up (Seema can't remember any of hers: apparently we can blame this on the fact that she is brown. However, she did eventually come up with Bridge to Terabithia, possibly the most depressing childrens' book ever written). Jen described hers, which I can't remember as I have never read it, but has to do with Unicorns in another land.

This brought me to mine, which was Lizard Music by Daniel Pinkwater. If you have never read this book (as I suspect most of you have not), then I suggest trying to get your mitts on it. Reading this book helps provide a little insight into my generation, who grew up ensconced in Free Love, Macrame, and Children's books written by Pot-heads. I mean, this is a book about a kid who loves Walter Cronkite and who finds an invisible island inhabited by giant lizards that jam late at night on this kid's television. How much acid was this guy on?

What a great book. What makes me sad is that it would probably never fly in this day and age, as any editor would read it and promptly realize that the writer was on crack. There is no way that he came up with this shit sober. And since stoned authors don't make for good book signings at Chapters or Barnes and Noble, no publishing company would likely touch this manuscript with a 10 foot pole.

Sometimes I'm glad that I grew up in the time that I did. Before all this political correctedness.

A Brief Rant

Do you know what pisses me off to no end? Lazy people. Seeing as my travels have become largely dependent upon elevators, I am starting to truly observe the shear laziness of some members of the population. Case in point: the elevator in the Computer Science Building. This has GOT to be the world's slowest elevator... no exaggeration. I have never taken it, as it is so damned slow, and because there are only 4 floors in the building.

But the number of people who take it, and make me waste my time because I am now FORCED to wait, makes me want to vomit.

Seriously, these are 20 year olds that are perfectly healthy that are taking it up or down one floor. Meaning that it triples the amount of time it takes me to take it. My blood pressure rises just thinking about it. I want to slap them upside the head with a crutch.

And don't even get me started about the people who take the elevators in the TTC system.

On an up note, I have rediscovered 'Living on the Edge' by Aerosmith. That's my new pump-up song. I love rediscovering songs.

And on a related note, I would like to point out that both Sandra and Christine possess more iPods than I do. This will be rectified in the next couple of months.

65% And Climbing

Slowly but surely, life is returning to normal. I'm getting a bit more mobile, I can attend social events, and can stay awake for 12 hours on end. Now, all I need is for the mental capacity to return and all will be right with the world.

As promised, Saturday was a brilliant reintroduction back into the social scene. Even better, as it started a wee bit earlier than normal. I was in the pub by 4:00, greeted by none other than LMD and Dr. Prince. A beer in hand, a stablizing chair, and thus the night began. We saw the Kensington Hillbillies, a fantastic Twang band that was nothing short of excellent. How can a band with five (count 'em f-i-v-e) guitarists go wrong? Mike showed up about 1/2 hour later; Chris, Jamie and Mark (yet another Brit introduced into the mix) an hour after that. And thus it began.

At one point, I was outside (Yes, smoking. I admit it. I was celebrating. And damnit, I felt like smoking), talking to a nice rastafarian man who told me I looked *soft* and that I *deserved a man who treated me right* (it was the crutches that drew him in). Whilst trying to pull myself from this conversation, I noticed a couple walk into the pub where the guy looked familiar. I followed them back in, promptly forgot about them, and was drawn back to the band. About 5 minutes later however, Mike turned around and said 'Hey! Isn't that the guy we went to see a few weeks ago?" I didn't even have to look: he was right. Turns out, Matt Barber walked into Graffitti's with a date. Now, understand that Graffitti's is a really small bar, and by this point, we were pretty much the only people left in the bar. Before I could say boo, Mike said to him "Hey! We went to see you at the Bluebird North show a couple of weeks ago! This is your biggest fan!". I tried to downplay my obsession by telling him that I had all his albums. Oh, and I did mention that I checked out his website every couple of weeks or so. Yeah, I'm pretty sure that he was getting laid after that (To be fair, the girl he was with was very nice, and was probably his girlfriend. But I still like to think that we made him look that much hotter in her eyes). Ah, the good random Saturday afternoon.

We booked it around 7 and went to the Tap, where the drinking continued. Vicki and Mark, Mary and Adrienne, Michelle, Sarah W. and FINALLY Boston Sarah (who decided to have a couple of shots before leaving home to catch up and came in all pissed up) all staggered in at various points in the evening. Unfortunately, I don't have too much recall of much of the rest of the night (I especially realized this after looking at Michelle's pictures... I don't remember the pitcher incident AT ALL), but I blame that largely on the fact that I was ridiculously tired. In fact, we left at midnight, as I couldn't stay awake a minute longer. So even though it may *seem* like I was incredibly irresponsible, I was responsible enough to get myself in bed in a reasonable hour. And I didn't even have a patented Anderson hangover the next day. Although I was pretty knackered.

Don and Eva came to take care of me yesterday and drive me to work this morning. It felt like the first day of school, where my parents had to make sure I made it in OK. This is when I realized that, while I am physically getting better, I'm still pretty far behind mentally (insert obvious joke here). And so I was only able to put in a half day, because the effort of TTCing it home with crutches seemed overwhelming. And sitting at my desk for more than 4 hours was just, well, sucky. So I came home. But I'll go back tomorrow, and the day after that, and the day after that. There's science to be done.

Although something tells me that I won't be the one doing it.

All is Right With the World

My remote has been located. Philly found it lodged behind my bed. Yes, I've been watching my TV from bed. Phew.

Of all the...

...I just lost my god-damned remote. I've been looking for it for the past hour. It's not in its favorite place (i.e. nestled on the couch beside me). Where in the bloody hell could it be? Of all the times for this to happen. Shit.

And it Just Keeps Getting Better...

Here's Leftie now (you can thank Michelle for showing me how to wrap my blog text around my uploaded pictures... man I've been doing things the hard way). As you can see, he's looking pretty sad. I don't think that Leggs is going to contact him to sport pantyhose in the new catalogue anytime soon. The good thing is that I am no longer on painkillers to keep him satiated. WOOHOO. Recovery is eminent. I should be good to go for going into school on Monday. Which is good, as I haven't done a lick of work since last week. But I think I have an excuse: I've been in a bit of fog for the past week and a half, and any work that I would have done would have been piss-poor at best. So might as well focus my energy on getting better, so that I can get back in the saddle on Monday. Kalloo - Kallee.

Also, since I'm off the painkillers, I am allowed to imbibe tomorrow. Sweet. This is what has been getting me through the week. Its going to be a fun, fun day, I tell you what. I may be slower than normal, but as I discovered last night, my tolerance level seems to have plummetted (after one glass of wine I was fuzzy), which should make for a good cheap day indeed.

The throng of well-wishers has just kept coming: Stink came on Wednesday and spent the afternoon keeping me occupied (i.e. helping me do my laundry). She was also here when I got the call from Russ, so that was good, as I was able to express my excitement to someone other than Eek. And I got some Chinese Food (God bless the banada soft cake), which is always a bonus. And a care package from Christine and the Eatons, which included a get well card from Abby and homemade cookies.

Yesterday, Chris and Vicki stopped by after their squash game. Each was sporting a button that said "Beat York". I wasn't on board. They thought I would laugh, but I was just confused. I blame the drugs. For some reason, I thought they were trying to get my goat, but all I could think was "Fuck yeah, kick York's ass". But now that the buttons are on my table, I'm laughing (OK, I'm a little slow). Maybe I'll put them on my backpack. Michelle showed up a few minutes later with ingredients for an absolutely fantabulous Green Curry, some of which remains in my Fridge and promises to make a most excellent lunch. We also got involved in "Deal or No Deal", a game show that Kevin expounded a few months ago. The ruck trying to make probabilistic decisions when millions of dollars are involved: always the recipe for a good diatribe amongst scientists.

And so today will be my last weekday at home. Joey and Pacey just informed Dawson that they have fallen in love, which of course makes my heart ache for Dawson. Tommy Boy is on right now (Fat guy in a little coat...). Phrilly is coming over tonight. That is my day.

I am also going to spend the day starting a list of things that I'm going to have to think about in the next 4 months. I called Russ yesterday to officially say 'yes', and we started to discuss my needs. I have already requested an iMac (woohoo!! Intel processor) and Matlab (apparently they have a site licence for Photoshop with the Marketing Folk... Phew, that saves $800). Also a list of journals I would like to see in the library. And a Mac for the testing room. Sweet.

I'm also going to have to start thinking of textbooks.

And other software that I will need.

And where I will live.

And when I will move.

And how I will get there.

And how I'm going to finish everything up here.

Fuck.

I need a drink.

Phrilly is not allowed to purchase Goldschlager for me, because I have already had one to celebrate Edmonton, as evidenced by the before:



and after:



images (I just found these and realized I had not yet given proof that Lynne actually DID buy shots the night we called). But tomorrow. Tomorrow. Ahhh... tomorrow.

Can you tell I'm looking forward to it?

The Phone Call Came...

I got the Offer. July 1st. Edmonton.

ick Update

Just because its gross, here's how my left leg is doing now:



I like to call him "Leftie". He's pretty sad.

I was starting to feel like a p*ssy, as I figured that I'd be doing jumping jacks byt the 6th day, not bruising like a mofo (the BEST bruising is under the knee, as all the blood is settling there because I haven't gotten my ass off the couch much). But then I went onto a bunch of ACL discussion sites to see what others were saying. Some were saying that their doctors told them they wouldn't be back at work in 6 weeks. So I guess a week and a half is OK.

My goal now is to wean meself off the percocet and purely stick to the anti-inflammatroy medication, as there is drinkin' to be done on Saturday.

I may cry at the sweet, sweet taste of Keith's.