Went home for the weekend, spent it with Darren. It was a gloomy few days; cloudy, humid, and generally uncomfortable.

At one point, Darren asked me if it felt like home, or whether my apartment here has taken the role. I couldn’t really answer him at the time. I just knew that they feel different. We lit up in a park that I used to play in while I was still in elementary school, and it felt odd to be stoned in a beautifully empty playground in the middle of Saturday, surrounded by all these upper-middle class houses with their pools and patios. Places that aren’t comfortable, but familiar.

I’ve been getting tons of spam comments from the “bob@y####o.com” address, and I’m sure that I’m not the only Movable Type user suffering from the same problem. At one point I was getting a dozen a day, which is much more annoying than spam e-mail because deleting comments from MT is a little more involved than deleting an e-mail. Even though I use MT-Blacklist (which has been a great help), the spam URLs, and even the IP addresses keep changing. The only thing that stays the same is parts of the e-mail address, so I wrote a very simple regular expression to catch the offensive comments, because no one else seems to have posted one on the net:

bob@y\d*o.com

I know that it’s rather basic, but I figure that I’ll adapt it whenever the spammer starts using more complicated e-mail generators. So far, the only adjustment has been a change from catching four digits to catching any number of digits. It’s satisfying to check the activity log and see that the blacklist has caught over 500 spam comments over the weekend, not letting a single one go through.

I don’t enjoy watching the Olympics. The coverage we get (exclusively from the CBC), is shoddy. There’s no pre-planned time schedule for matches or events, so I never know what’s going to be on when I have time to watch. There was also absolutely no coverage of table tennis, which has already ended, most of the medals going to China. Why is this? I suspect because Canada basically had no chance of placing in the top three, so why would the CBC want to show them? Well, more likely not even in the top five. Even Google gave table tennis props with one of their daily banners, and with 28 Olympic sports but only 16 days, 12 of those sports aren’t going to have banners.

There are also so many politics involved, with disqualifications, doping, judging, etc., that everything just seems tainted. There’s also all the frustrating media coverage in the mix, such as Perdita Felicien’s hurdle dissapointment splattered on the front page of most papers while Ann Muenzer’s golden achievement gets a sports section blurb. And with sports that don’t need to be in the Olympics (why have synchronized diving AND diving AND synchronized swimming?), there’s not much to keep my interest.

Apparently I currently brux audibly at night. Hopefully it’ll stop when things calm down.

Went to a Death From Above show at Zaphod’s. I actually recognized Jesse F. Keeler (the F stands for Fucking) outside when Aaron, Trolley, Jesse, and I were waiting for Jen. Both Keeler (the bassist) and Sebastien Grainger (the vocalist/drummer) have similarly lithe bodies and unkempt facial hair so they aren’t hard to spot, but are easy to mix up. The set went just like the last time I saw them: they start off with an intro song as a warm-up, then Grainger takes off his shirt for the real show. They also ended with Do It!, when Grainger kicks down his mic stand and goes crazy on his set.

The word is energy.

I played three matches yesterday against three different people and won all three. It felt pretty good, especially since I had never played one of them before (he was a Canadian-born English teacher, working in China). He also started playing about a year before me, and was taught in what’s considered the table tennis country of the world. Knowing that he was using an anti-spin rubber gave me an advantage though; I didn’t have to worry about his spin, and since I focus on speed and placement, his rubber became pointless. I also have less respect for people who use the anti-spin rubbers, because they generally rely on the paddle to do the work for them, instead of properly learning how to counter spin. My habitual nervousness when facing a new opponent wasn’t there.

I also won against one of the people I use to have great difficulty beating. He had a new paddle, with small ball-bearings imbedded along the rim. When one shakes it, the paddle sounds like a baby rattle. Apparently, it’s supposed to prevent reverberation, but I don’t understand the point. I count on feeling reverberation through my handle to give me feedback on where I’m hitting.

I also beat one of my long time opponents, although it’s more of an empty victory because I’ve learned his tricks and styles, so I know how to counter them. I won based on vitallity overcoming his experience, not skill overcoming skill. It was interesting to find out that his paddle has a hollow handle with a weight attached to a screw assembly in it. The weight can be shifted up and down through the handle to change the centre of gravity of the blade.

Still, it’s good to know that I’m improving. I can learn at the table now, in the middle of a match instead of afterwards.

I don’t want to ask, I don’t want to beg. I don’t care if you like it or not.

I just want it loud. I just want it thick. I just want it screaming until my head throbs.

Until my ears are numb.

FDR had nothing on me.

Some cut. Some burn.

I bash.

I just got home from a nice dinner with Aaron, Karen, and Chris. On the bus ride back, there was a woman sitting in front of me, who I couldn’t help but look at. I watched, the entire trip, as she peeled an orange, and threw all the skin and fibre on the floor. Then she would spit seeds into her hand and throw those on the floor too. It was one of the most repulsive things I’ve ever seen. WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH PEOPLE.

I just stopped at Timmies before work this morning, with a large triple triple in my hand, and a caramel pecan cookie in the other. I had to maneuver the coffee and cookie around because it was too hot to hold by its sides, and I did this as I was walking out the door. Without thinking, I let the door close behind me. As I step outside, I hear a lady say, “Tanks for ‘olding the door” in a loud, grumpy, sarcastic tone. I usually hold the door open if I see someone behind me, but I was still waking up, I didn’t see her, and my mind was elsewhere. Normally, I would feel terrible for being so inconsiderate, but I really didn’t feel bad at all after she said what she said. I actually wished that the door slammed in her face, spilling her coffee all over her proudly worn blue Magic School Bus shirt, staining it forever, and that she would slump in the door-frame, sobbing, because it was the final gift from the debilitated granddaughter she had just put in the ground. At least what I did was an accident, one that I’m not prone to let happen, but what she said I consider even more rude.

Trolley and I had this discussion a little while ago. We both agree that it’s rude to keep a seat occupied with a bag on a busy bus, but it’s even more rude to walk up to a bagged seat, then complain loudly and rudely about the owner. There are ways of politely doing things that just make things go easier for everyone. Interesting, how the first person to take the step in being polite is the one in control, but few people actually take the risk because they assume an unapologetic person.

Anyway, I need some coffee in me.

So go the fuck away.

It’s been a long, exhausting, uncomfortable-in-clothes, hard-to-focus day. I got a lot done though, so at least I feel satisfied. I can finally collapse, for the first time, on my new futon, duvet, and down pillow, with my blue-green Aduki in my hand and Loo by my side.

I already knew that I had a lot to learn, but it’s only now that I’m feeling a little overwhelmed. Sometimes it feels like I can’t keep track of everything, because there are so many things to think, talk, write about.

I have to keep in mind the fact that everything should be approached slowly. Rushing causes confusion, mix-ups of emotion. As much as I’d like to jump head-first into things, I have to pace myself. Learning is an investment, and as long as I can picture what I’m working towards, this shouldn’t be too hard. After all, I have the rest of my life, and the only limit is myself.

This will be a test.

But, most of all, this will be fun.

Ever look at a morning and think, “I’ve been here before. I was here in the summers of my youth, when the leaves were still lushly green, in the cool, dew-dropped mornings before the sun rose above the trees. I was here during the first mornings of school, walking to the bus stop through gentle suburban neighbourhoods, with their well-manicured lawns and their interlocking bricks. I was here before the Sunday rides into town, for big breakfasts and milk tea. I was here in another life, and all I’d like is to one day do it all over again.”

I hate being interrupted. When I’m talking about something, I get into a momentum, and interruptions lose all the momentum. It doesn’t matter what I’m talking about or how comfortable/uncomfortable I am talking about it. To me, it’s like trying to tell a joke then being told to wait five minutes right before the punchline. Although someone may remember the first part, the momentum just dies, and I’d rather just forget the whole thing than finish talking.

Loo learned to drive in Toronto. She’s probably the most aggressive driver I’ve ever met, surpassing the truckers in Hong Kong, although I’ve seen much more aggressive drivers in New York. She’s not as safe as John, but she’s not as crazy as Darren. Either way, the trip is interesting.

This is her driving, calm, collected.

This is me riding, excited, shitting myself.