I had Darren over from Toronto for the weekend. We were going to do a movie marathon at the theatre — three in a day — but the movies all sucked. Disturbia? Georgia Rule? Please. Instead, I bought the first season of Six Feet Under, and we finished the roughly 11 hour season over two days. Now I can re-watch it with Bronwen and lend it to Pat. To be honest, I’d seen up to the second season before, but I was too stoned to remember most of it.

Darren also gave me a nice tea container. It’s rather large, since I buy my tea 50mg at a time, but better too big than too small. He also got me some chai tea, considered a wellness blend. When I asked him what for, he couldn’t give me a reason. I love gifts for no reason.

We shared our tattoo ideas, and his was the Chinese character for love on his back. Darren and Bronwen are the some of the few people I can talk openly with about love. We’re such hopeless romantics. We tell each other that we’ll never be married, not to be self-depracating, but to be honest with ourselves. We have our ideals, and we’ll never settle for anything less. It’s comforting to know that we’re not alone in our quixotic beliefs.

I spend my time squaring away everything in my room so that I’m comfortable enough to write. The extra cables are gone, as well as the random receipts and bus transfers that somehow end up on the carpet. My mirrors are all in place, making the room seem twice as big, but I when I look I only see myself, slouched comfortably in my chair, hood over my head. Even Dolly has wondered in to lay herself flat on the empty floor. By the time I’m done cleaning, I’m at a loss for all the things I’ve been trying to get into well structured paragraphs.

A new episode of Trailer Park Boys is playing on Showcase, and I’m watching it with the sound off because too much information would ruin the fourth season, something I’m determined to see in order from the beginning. Ricky’s in a high school, completely out of place as a thirty-something man in shop class trying to make some hash or grow some weed or harvest some kind of narcotic, and this only adds to my amusement.

I’ve been letting my hair grow out, à la Matt Heafy in the video for Pull Harder On The Strings Of Your Martyr. Somehow, I’ve only now discovered that my hair naturally grows towards the front, and by brushing it forward, it still looks respectable when I haven’t had it cut in a month and a half.

I’ve been in an odd mood lately. Thoughts branch off in my mind, but nothing seems solid enough to follow through. Inspiration always comes the day after today.

With work hours, gaming with (or against) John, and extra-curricular computer activities in most of my free time, my right arm is developing a reoccurring random ailment. Some days it’s a pinching, some days it’s a numbness, some days it’s a weakness. I know that they’re all bad signs, and I’ve been stretching regularly (the exercises that Loo showed me), but I can’t really seem to give up my computer time. I never understood why she wouldn’t take a break from her massage therapy practice, even though it was busting up her wrists, but now I do.

I have the entire long-weekend to write, but it’ll be in a water-logged notebook getting close to retirement, to take some stress off my arm. I’ve had this notebook for over five years now, but the wear has long started to show.

The original plan was to head to John’s cottage for the long-weekend, but it turns out that it would be almost 12 hours of traveling, which isn’t even worth it if I took an extra day off. Trolley went home for the weekend, so I’ve got the house to myself. There are some Canada Day activities going on, but recent dealings with bullshit people have left me anti-social.

I’ll also have the chance to watch the first season of Battlestar Gallactica, which Jeff thoughtfully gave me at the housewarming party. I’ve been extremely impressed by what I’ve seen so far. Most of the camera-work, even the scenes in space, are handheld. It’s gives the entire show that reality-tv feel, as if we were innocent observers standing on board the ship. The music is beautifully tribal, as opposed to the dated orchestral scores of most other sci-fi series. Especially well-written are the characters in the crew; alcoholics, cancer victims, bootleggers, but most of all, they’re human.

I haven’t been able to get into anything in the last little while. Keeping myself occupied has been difficult. There are distractions everywhere, and I don’t think this will end until I move.

I’d really like to get into a book, but I’m never in the mood for what I have available. I’ve decided to take a break from Thus Spoke Zarathustra, which is why the Zarathustra sessions are on hold. I zealously read it when I was searching for a greater meaning to the problems I was going through at the time, but now I’d prefer to read something that’s easier to get through. I still have my copy of Doctor Zhivago that Christie gave me, but I would need to be in a certain cultural mood (i.e. Russian) to enjoy it, and I’ve read enough Russian literature in the last five years to keep me satisfied for the next little while. I’d like to start Moby Dick again (and possibly even finish it this time), but I want to be a little more settled in my life before I try reading such an epic again. I’d try to finish the Story Of O, but I generally try to stay away from hardcore erotic literature when I’m on the bus or before I go to sleep. I’m not in the mood for sci-fi right now, which is too bad, because John got me a copy of The Butlerian Jihad a few years ago at Christmas, one of the only thoughtful gifts I’ve ever recieved from him. After reading Tigana I can’t get into any other fantasy books, because they all seem shallow and cheesy in comparison. I’m in the mood for something modern, so maybe I’ll go to Chapters and pick up a copy of The Stone Diaries.

There aren’t any decent games to get into at the moment. I don’t completely agree with the new matchmaking policies introduced in the 1.17 patch of Frozen Throne, so I don’t play on battle.net anymore. Usually it’ll be a tower map against John, or a big free-for-all with Trolley and Aaron, but nothing compared to how addicted I was to Starcraft or TFC. I also know better than to get into something like World Of Warcraft if I want to retain any semblance of an actual life. It’s tragic to not be able to play what could easily be one of the most significant games of the next decade, but I’m not willing to take that risk.

There isn’t any TV I can get into lately either. I’m waiting for the fourth season of Trailer Park Boys to come out on DVD. I’ve watched the first seasons of Arrested Development and Clone High over and over again. I’m waiting for Trolley to recieve the first three seasons of Six Feet Under to come in through Zip.ca before watching it. I got half-way through the second season with Louise, but it started to get pointlessly depressing. Maybe this is just in contrast with shows like Trailer Park Boys and Arrested Development, where people who are placed in the worst situations still manage to keep their chins up and their hopes high.

The only thing that has been able to keep me occupied is music, which has been coming in at a regular pace. After hearing Cochise by Audioslave, I wasn’t too impressed with what has become the aftermath of both Soundgarden and Rage Against The Machine breakups. Perhaps this is due to the fact that I’ve always been on the Nirvana side of the Cobain vs. Cornell debate. Some may think that grunge died with the dissolution of Soundgarden, but Nirvana fucking started it all, mock Pixies band or not. In any case, my first impression of Audioslave’s sound was that it was flat and repetitive. What else can be expected from a bassist known for mimicking the main guitar riff in flagship songs like Bulls On Parade and People Of The Sun? I had been listening to Audioslave’s Shadow Of The Sun from the Collateral soundtrack for two weeks now, but it was only two days ago that it really hit me. And yet I’ve been going through so much music lately, that the song becomes as significant as any another I’ve decided to keep.

I was planning on writing something else, but had the suggen urge to confess that I was watching Trailer Park Boys with four other guys yesterday and it was the Christmas special where Jono is all preppy and Randy is giving handjobs for cheeseburgers before he becomes assistant superintendent, when Bubbles is sitting with his present in his lap given to him by his parents before they left him when he was young, and Ricky tells him to open it because they’re his family, so I started to cry but no one noticed, and I can’t stop thinking about how fucking stupid it is, and I wonder if anyone ever believes me or thinks I’m doing it for attention or whatever because it makes no fucking sense to me.

There are three reasons I watch Train 48:

1. Zack gets into the most hilariously fucked-up situations
2. Krista Sutton in business attire (even though her hair is sorta stupid)
3. Only losers watch Train 48

I spent the weekend at Trolley’s place and had a great time. We just hung out, played Gamecube, and watched some movies. I’m not sure if I overstayed my welcome, but I’m sure that any good host is able to blur that fine line. It’s good to have another friend that I can connect with. Wheaties and Ian went skiing at Tremblant, and although I was invited, I felt like I wasn’t prepared to spend over $100 on a lift ticket with rentals.

Trolley also introduced me to Crank Yankers, a hilarious show on Comedy Central. The concept of the show is that people make crank calls, and both the roles of caller and reciever are played out using puppets. The crank calls are usually very original though, sometimes involving a third party (such as a mother picking up the phone while her son is calling about a penis enlarger). Everything is very well done, and the actors are able to improvise their lines with perfect precision depending on what an unwitting participant says. My favourite
series of crank calls are by Spoonie Love, the resident playa (played by SNL’s Tracey Morgan). Sometimes he’ll call a newspaper to place a classified ad, and his message will involve busting a double horizontal on someone’s ass.

Thom lent me his Pantera DVD, 3 Vulgar Videos from Hell. The music hasn’t been that great, but the behind-the-scenes and concert footage is good. It’s also mesmerizing to see the confidence that Phil Anselmo exudes at the concerts, the way Danko Jones or Kid Rock seem to in their music videos.

I was awakened by Dolly scratching at my sheets this morning. As soon as I lifted them up, she went underneath and tried to sleep on my stomach. Unfortunately, my thin frame didn’t provide much of a foundation, and she slid to one side, but eventually fell asleep there anyway. It’s the first time she has been comfortable enough to sleep under the sheets, instead of beside my head as usual.

I stumbled across the site of an intelligent girl who writes about things in relationships not commonly discussed, and who happens to inhabit the same city as I do. I enjoy the polish and depth that her editorials have, but I think it’s her openness that I can appreciate most. It’s always fascinating to find out a female opinion on some of the more taboo sex related subjects, instead of the opinion which other guys believe they know.

The entire Columbia Space Shuttle incident has made me feel like we’re still very primitive in our exploration methods, and that we should simply leave well enough alone until we’re ready. It’s like we’re trying to break the sound barrier again, and people are sacrificing their lives in the pursuit of knowledge. I suppose that if they’re willing to make that sacrifice, then their decision must be respected. Otto Lilienthal would be proud.

This week has been such an emotional roller coaster. I can’t describe the odd moods I’ve been in, the twists and turns my mind has been going in. I feel lost.

I have three mid-terms tomorrow, one of which I feel confident about. I tried desperately to study during the three days I had off, and only one of them (today) had any progress whatsoever. I think it’s just my study environment, combined with my current emotional fluctuations. I tried to study in the SITE building today, watched the sun go from east to west, and felt my melatonin levels drop. I feel burned out already. I definitely need this reading week.

Speaking of which, I most likely won’t be going home for the week. I’ll probably try to hang out with Trolley or Thom. I don’t have time to change the dates on my train tickets, or even get a new ISIC. I’m not even sure if I’m elligible, since I’m a part-time student when not considering my honours project as a course.

My progress through Moby Dick has been non-existent lately.

I’ll have to catch the Married with Children reunion special on Sunday. I always found the show to be amusing when I was a kid, though I never laughed out loud as I would if watching a funny show nowadays, like Family Guy. I think I was just mystified by the openness with which the sexuality was dealt with, something that I never grew up around. I’m sure the special will remind me of the summers I spent at home long ago, something I’d rather remember for my innocence than my ignorance.

I’m downloading Full Metal Jacket. I still can’t get over how brilliant the entire film was, possibly the best display of genius on film I’ve seen so far. I still haven’t decided whether I should buy it though, since it’s not quite a movie I can relate to, which is generally the criteria I use to build my collection.