Sometimes I have to take a step back, and look at things as I did for the first time. I have to keep in mind that one of the most important aspects of this lifestyle is consent. That power flows from the bottom up, not the top down.

That I shouldn’t overstep my boundaries. That in time, more trust will develop, and the relationship will grow, and the boundaries will extend. That with this comes intimacy, strength, and possibly love.

That even with all the responsibility, trust, and faith I’ve been given, I must retain my humility. That power does not need to be exerted to be felt.

That I had none of this, and have been given everything.

On a day-to-day basis at work I have to deal with a multitude of contacts from all sorts of businesses, such as printing companies, media companies, survey/research companies, phone/internet providers, magazines, tech support departments, marketing companies, and tons of other random operations either trying to get my business or required by me for a product/service. At the beginning of every phone call, every single person I deal with asks me how I’m doing. It’s become a challenge not to shout into the receiver, “YOU DON’T KNOW ME. DO YOU REALLY CARE? I’M A LITTLE WORRIED CAUSE IT BURNS WHEN I PEE! DID YOU REALLY WANT TO KNOW THAT?!!”, every time I hear the cookie-cutter question. The worst is when I have to call someone several times in a day to follow up on something, and I’m greeted with the same question every time, as if my company might have been built on a fault line that somehow separated between 10:00 and 10:15.

I know that asking is a polite thing to do, and it’s polite of me to ask in return, but it’s extremely difficult for me to say things that I don’t really mean. I generally only ask my friends how they’re doing, and I certainly only tell my friends how I’m actually doing.

I suppose it’s all just a hazard of the job. One day, for one of the less friendly, more aggressive, rudely patronizing, dreadfully unimportant calls (such as one I got the other day from a company selling solutions for high search engine rankings), I’ll go on about some make-believe problem I’m having. It’ll be interesting to see how long they can stay on the line, how much the business worth to them.

Features:

• Gillette MACH3 Razor and 2 Cartridges
• Triple-blade shaving system with an advanced indicator lubricating strip
• Razor features ergonomic handle; 3 blades gradually extend closer to beard, less reshaving is required
• The indicator lubricating strip has a blue stripe that fades away when blade is no longer optimum*
• Each blade has a patented DLC comfort edge to glide effortlessly across face

*Note: Does not apply to Chinese males with sissy facial hair. Please use eight to twelve months as a general guideline for replacing dull blades.

I haven’t written a contemplation entry in ages. Things have been pushed aside to make way for new exploration and comprehension.

For so long, I’ve tried to wait before writing about this. My inexperience, and possibly even insecurities, have caused me to approach this subject slowly and carefully. Every day a new idea, a new understanding, a new emotion, a new strength. I’ve felt as if I’ve known so little, but am now beginning to make progress in my learning, am now beginning to understand the immensity of this lifestyle.

Now, there are now too many thoughts to go without record, and I must write.

I was given the opportunity to purchase a new machine (with my choice of parts) at work and put it together from scratch, something I had never done before. I’ve dabbled in cases ever since I played games (the driving force behind much of my computer knowledge), but never actually assembled an entire box from parts.

It’s amazing to see how far along motherboards, and even cases, have come now. Overclocking can be done through software, as opposed to opening the case and fiddling with jumpers. Fan speed is automatically controlled for a balance of silence and cooling. Rail mounted drive bays make hardware configurations much simpler. Thumbscrews eliminate the need for screwdrivers for a simple dusting. Firewire ports, ethernet connections, video support, even 5.1 surround are all built onboard, for the option of extremely clean, roomy, and cool cases, even if they are rather simple.

I managed to put the system together without having to re-seat a card, clean a connection, or wiggle a power cable. My machine is now a P4 3.2E (I suppose all higher end Pentium chips now automatically come with hyper-threading), with a gig of DDR RAM, a 200 GB serial-ATA HDD, and a 128 MB ATI 800XT Pro video card. I also requested another 17″ flat panel, and received it the next day, so I can take advantage of the dual display goodness.

Work was good, but now it’s just better.

I used to really, really admire the steve lam. He seemed to have his own style, and not care what anyone else thought. I wanted to hang out with him, get to understand him better, maybe be a little more like him. I even bought him lunch once (he chose a club sandwich from the cafeteria), although one time we almost shared a bag of roasted peanuts while standing next to a vending machine.

I’m a little disappointed. Sure, he probably still doesn’t care what other people think, and he has really cool hair that I want SO BADLY, but now it seems like he’s caught up in the whole “indie new york rocker” image.

Image.

That’s what’s wrong with this picture.

I finally told her. She didn’t seem too pleased.

Holy shit, I was walking towards work this morning with the cool autumn air on my skin and the dulled sun creeping up, casting tall shadows on the grass. Something from Follow The Leader came on (I think it was Freak On A Leash) and I was back in high school again, a shy, nervous teenager, waiting for the yellow bus to Catholic school.

On the way to work I walk adjacent to a lane of traffic, and cars on the highway can exit onto that street using a lengthy offramp. I have to cross the offramp every day, and there’s a yield sign there for cars coming from the highway, but they never slow down or yield to pedestrians (unless it’s someone old driving). Since it’s a busy area, the cars can just keep coming, and I’ve spent a ridiculous amount of time just waiting for the line of vehicles to end.

Right now I just get out my frustrations by pretending that I don’t notice any cars coming, and taking one step onto the ramp. Most drivers don’t care if someone is walking across; as long as they know that one sees them, they assume that one will jump out of the way. Drivers who believe that someone doesn’t see them will almost always yield.

This morning, for example, I pretended to be completely oblivious to two cars speeding down the offramp. I made one confident step across the path and then quickly looked up, while continuing to cross. The first car sped past me, but the second car slowed down suddenly enough to make the tires squeak. The car actually pulled to the side of the road and came to a complete stop. I could tell that the driver, a bookish man with light hair and glasses, was both angry and shaken, and had to stop driving to compose himself. I swear he was about to get out of his car to tell me off, had he not brought himself under control, and realized that it’s not a fucking MERGE sign, it’s a FUCKING YIELD TO PEDESTRIANS SIGN.

Don’t get me wrong, I don’t always assume that I have the right of way (although I do believe that pedestrians are supposed to under the Highway Traffic Act R.S.O. 1990, c. H.8, s. 144 (28), unless the car can’t stop in time) and just walk across the crosswalk regardless of oncoming vehicles. It’s in everyones best interest to be safe, but I do my part by keeping an eye on vehicles, and not jaywalking or crossing unpredictably. This guy, as well as many others, have plenty of time to see pedestrians approaching the crosswalk but decide to never slow down.

I was on my way to catching the bus to work this morning, when I passed by a fancy restaurant filled with patrons at the corner of Elgin and Slater. The patrons were all people past middle age, enjoying conversations over breakfast, daintily eating their bacon, and taking cautious sips of their sunshine joe.

The first thought in my head was, “How could anyone be so happy at such an ungodly hour?”. Then I held my thoughts (along with my peevish mood) in check, and wondered to myself. Perhaps they spent the night embracing the warmth of another’s body, huddled together against the chill of the open night air. Perhaps they were thinking of their lovers, and could feel nothing but strength, think nothing but happiness. And I liked that explanation.

It’s all enough to make one smile at any time of day.

I woke up this morning, and found my hair rough and my ears cold. I had left the window open last night, and the sun had creeped through filling my room with golden light, as if the chilly breeze was casting the blinds aside, telling me that it was time to get up.

Two eggs, two hashbrowns, and three sausages please.

Thursday, I went over to Pat’s for a long-planned table tennis marathon. Before we started, he cooked us dinner; rib-eye steak grilled on the barbecue, a fresh vegetable stir-fry, and bruschetta as an appetizer. The steak was marinating all day in a garlic and oil sauce, and the bruschetta spread was made using extra virgin olive oil and basil that he grew himself. It’s great to have a friend whose passion is cooking and eating.

We ended up playing for about an hour and a half, because we ended up speaking for so long and I had to work the next day. Every game was close, and every best-out-of-five match went to the fifth game, with a deuce for match point during three of the five matches. He was leading by one the entire time, but I adjusted my timing and took less risks, and ended up winning the final match 12–10.

It was frustrating to be playing in his basement because I’m used to a much bigger area with much better lighting. The ball was hard to keep track of, and I didn’t have the same flooring to maneuver on, so it felt like my legs were glued to the ground. My toes started getting raw and painful about half way through, due to the fact that I usually play with my weight shifted off the heel, but I was able to ignore it, concentrate on playing, and follow through with a narrow win. I realized that the distance I stand away from the table is proportional to the distance of the table to the wall. Unfortunately, this means that my timing is all screwed up depending on the location that I play. I need to work on being consistent in all playing conditions.

Often when I’m at Michele’s Baguette there’s a woman working there, I’d say in her mid-40s, whom I believe is one of the owners. She has these really funky streaks of colour in her hair, and they work really well for her, something which is much less common for people her age. Whenever she happens to be there I want to tell that her hair looks really cool, but I can never seem to find the right time.

Should I tell her as I walk up to the sandwich stand? Should I tell her while she’s putting my sandwich together? I always think to myself that I’ll speak up as I walk away if she ever rings me through (because she usually lets someone else charge me), but the other day when she was the only one working there I couldn’t bring myself to say anything. I didn’t want her to think that I was just flattering her for extra toppings or fresher vegetables. I bet she gets compliments about her hair all the time.

My girlfriend thinks I’m gay!

So there I was, sitting at my desk with my poppyseed bagel with plain cream cheese, starting to get hungry. I decide to get something hot to drink, so I grab my change, and walk to the hot drink dispenser in the kitchen. I grab a pack of choco and put it in the slot of the machine, insert my two quarters, and watch the machine inject brown water into my mug. In my head I have the taste of rich and creamy Second Cup hot chocolate, and this is what I’m expecting as I walk back to my desk before I take a sip. There were little solid bits of brown floating in the liquid, what I assume was just undissolved chocolate powder.

I take a sip. This hot chocolate is so fucking disgusting, that it’s hilarious. It’s not just bland and watery, it goes through levels and layers of bad taste. It starts out like instant hot chocolate from powder mix with a little too much water mixed into it. Then there’s a little hint of ash that fades before the distinct taste of burnt metallic cookware. The finish is all water, with no other taste whatsoever, aside from a hint of something that’s too light to be distinguishable.

And as I keep drinking this, I can’t help but laugh after every sip. It’s the most vile, most putrid, most comic cup of anything I have ever had.