Aaron has his thing for the snowboarding girls, the ones with the pigtails on the mountain who support the Canadian gear companies like West 49, Nick has his for longboarding girls, Jeff for the hockey girls, and Trolley for the…girls. I think the whole idea is hilarious, and chuckle to myself when I read about people like Alexandra Kosteniuk, the attractive Russian girl who became Grandmaster at the age of 13, in the papers. I always imagine chess dorks swooning over some spectacular move she makes that’s beyond my comprehension.

Then I saw Biba Golic face someone in the 2003 Killerspin competition, and realized that I’m just a table tennis dork. It’s not so much the fact that she’s a professional table tennis player, but the fact that she plays aggressively, almost unconservatively. It’s like Jonathan and his thing for drummer girls who play with an aggro-ape stance, instead of the dainty, elbows-raised posture that so many female drummers seem to have. There’s something about a girl who plays like a guy, whether it’s table tennis, drums, or even games. This is going on the updated list soon.

Table tennis dorks. I wonder if I’m the first.

I usually have to be in a very specific mood to watch Ghost World, but something about it is striking a chord with me right now, and this time it’s not just SJs sullen voice. The humour is drier than Rushmore, which says something about the skills of Terry Zwigoff’s as a director. The risk of unsaturated humour is that it very easily goes unrecognized, especially without a laugh track. The last time I watched Ghost World was before I ever saw Mr. Show, so it’s only now that I can really appreciate David Cross’s cameo performance.

Seymour is my god, cause it’s obviously him and he doesn’t care.

I started off the day with my Breathe mix, an energetic collection of songs that makes me think of deep inhalations against a rush of music.

Friday afternoon. I was tempted to leave work early, but held on until 4:15. I put my headphones on, and as I stepped out of the building, Honour (Juno Mix) by VNV nation was the first thing to come on. It just floored me. I mean, that song is what I based my Breathe mix on.

Hearing the words, “Notify ground troops”, is the best way to step into freedom.

6 bagels : 8 oz tub of cream cheese.

Beth. Mysterions. Scratches, beats, drum rolls.

It’s funny. Sometimes I read confessions on group hug and someone will be going on about how they have this problem, but they can’t tell anyone because no one would understand. Almost every time, no matter what it is, my first reaction is to roll my eyes and think to myself, “Trust me, you probably know someone who understands”.

And then I realize that this isn’t true, because it isn’t true for me. There are quite a few things that I feel like I can’t tell my friends. Not because I’d be afraid of losing them over it, but because none of them have had the same experiences as me, thus rendering unable to help.

John is usually the first person I’ll tell my problems to because I’m most comfortable with him. I’ve known him for more than half my life, and he’s as fallible as me. I also have a lot more shit on him than he does on me (how do I keep John loyal…blackmail, hah). But generally I don’t want to tell him about my problems because he doesn’t think like me at all.

Pat is the person I’d most want to tell things to, simply because he has too much good in his heart and knows me well enough that I couldn’t possibly say or do anything to make him angry. Yet he’s the last person I end up going to for help or advice, just because he’s so busy. Sometimes I’ll tell Aaron and Trolley, but I don’t linger on things too long for fear of boring them.

I mean, what’s the point of telling someone who doesn’t think the same way or hasn’t been in the same situation? It’s not like they don’t care, they just actually don’t understand, so what could they possibly do to help (aside from direct involvement if the option is there, but if the option is there it wouldn’t be a problem). Sometimes, the most that a friend can do is lend an ear.

Sometimes it’s enough. Otherwise, there’s this.

My own, personal group hug.