Monday, October 31, 2005

I seem to be having a lot of free time lately.

But it's not my fault.

Believe me, if I had my druthers, I'd be up to my neck in my thesis research. However, moving forward with my interviews — I'm talking to two science teachers and two guidance counsellors — has been impossible because of the elusiveness of two very specific people: the research coordinators at two Ontario school boards, which shall remain nameless because this whole thing is supposed to be anonymous.

I've been playing voicemail-tag with these two people for, and I'm not even joking here, two solid months. Alright, it's been less "voicemail-tag" as me calling up their phone numbers, leaving a message, and not hearing back from them ever again. Same for emails; as I described to the coordinator of grad studies at the Fac of Ed here, I feel like I'm just throwing my efforts down a giant black hole.

Okay, that's not entirely true. I have managed to get each of them on the phone one (1) time. And each time, I had to change my pants afterward, it was such an orgasmically amazing breakthrough. But alas, arranging to do research is more than just a one-phone-call affair — unless you're my friend in Journalism, then it truly is, because then there's no such thing as Research Ethics Boards who you have to consult (both at your institution and at the school board at which you conduct your research) if you want to do so much as think about a school at which you want to do your work, even if you're only interviewing board employees and not coming within a hundred miles of a child.

Am I bitter?

Heck-yes I'm bitter.

And here I sit, waiting by the phone.


Don't make me call in the Big Guns.

'Cause I'll totally do it.

Vaccines are the devil.

About 3700 women every year in the US die of cervical cancer. It appears as if this variety of cancer can be caused by exposure to HPV (human papilloma virus), which is fairly common — you can have it for years without even knowing it. (Therefore, be sure to get yourself tested.)

The good news is, there's a vaccine for HPV that women can receive, which could really cut the rate of cervical cancer. The bad news is that some (surprise-surprise, people in the wacko conservative contingent) feel that if you immunize teenage girls against this virus, they'll go out and fuck everything and anything (because HPV is spread through sexual contact).

I see three main problems with this line of thinking; there are likely more.

First, you have a vaccine which will save lives. This is not a complicated issue; giving women this vaccine will save their lives. Period. Give it to them.

Second, the wackos are assuming a great deal about people and how they live their lives, and this is a dangerous thing no matter how open- (or in this case, closed-) minded you are. For example, I'm immunized against tetanus. (Ladies, I'm also single.) Does that mean I'm going to run around looking for rusty nails to step on with my bare feet? Billy has the flu shot; is he going to lick random strangers? Sally is immunized against HPV; will she become the "town bicycle?" Conceivably, yes... but the shot you received to protecting you from something does nothing to force you to participate in risky behaviour. That's something you'd do on your own anyway.

Third, it's another case of The Establishment (largely controlled by men) telling women how to live their lives; essentially, to keep chaste and pure. Let's turn the tables, shall we? Let's say, for argument's sake, that testicular cancer — which can affect men at any stage in their lives, so guys, be sure to do that self-exam now and again — was caused by a virus which was spread through sex. And let's say there was a vaccine that immunized men against testicular cancer, which is proven to be effective. Would guys start screwing everything because, "hey, baby, I'm not going to get nut-cancer, so let's go upstairs"? Of course not. So, cut out the hypocrisy.

And give them the vaccine already, ya morons.

Saturday, October 29, 2005

A firm smack upside the head.

This is what most people need, I find. And when I become Jason, Benevolent Dictator of the World — this is going to happen, mark my words — people are going to receive them.

(Most of the time, the smack is going to be a more figurative one than a literal one. But, in extreme cases such as, e.g., George W. Bush, the gang that tipped over the car on Aberdeen at Homecoming, and whoever in Treble Charger decided to make their sound more pop-punk, and Grieg Nori, I'm looking at you, it will be accompanied by crisp, firm, slightly-open-handed contact to the head, behind the ear, in a sweeping, upwards motion.)

(And yes, I think about this a lot.)

In the meantime, though, the good folks at The Airing of Grievances (named after the notorious part of Festivus in which George's dad starts off by screaming, "I got a lot of problems with you people, and now you're gonna hear about 'em!") do a fine job of discovering idiocy so we can all laugh, point, and laugh some more.

In other news, I'm not the artistic type, so my costume's gonna suck. At least I'll be drunk, though.

Friday, October 28, 2005

A nice, wholesome, family musical act.

Blonde, blue-eyed, twin 13-year-old girls from California singing as a duo. Second coming of Mary-Kate and Ashley (minus the coke)?

Not so fast.

My favourite line:

It's just music, it's not like you're handing out AK-47s.

Ah, white supremacy. Gotta love it.

(For those of you who don't know me personally, that was sarcasm.)

Graphs ahoy.

I freakin' love graphs. They're so concise, and they can give you so many insights that a giant table of numbers might not be able to.

So, I was fiddling around with OpenOffice tonight, plugging in some numbers from the Double Cohort Study (a paper around which I'm basing part of my thesis research), and cooked up this little beauty:

It's supposed to show how marks in the SNC14 class (Grade 9 Essentials/Locally-Developed Science; it would've been "Grade 9 Basic," back in tha day) have changed over the first five years of it being offered. I hope the overall trend — since 2000-01, marks have generally been getting better (dismissing the 1999-2000 year because it was the first year that course was offered, not many schools offered it, and teachers were just figuring out what was going on), but there's still a disturbing number of kids who fail it — is clear.

Oh, man, I likes me the graphs.

Tuesday, October 25, 2005

More search terms!

I'm not quite sure why I find this so amusing, but I do. People have found something on my site after searching for...
  • will ferrel goulet clip
  • phantastic photos
  • aj pierzynski with strippers
  • oga nwobosi (I will make her my bride someday!!!)
  • no booze for donald trump
  • jason mulgrew
And my new personal favourite, which makes my blog completely unique on the entire Internet (as it contains the only page which fits all these criteria):
  • "national post" and "commercial" and "swedish berry"

I'm a *what* now?

With apologies to Erin, I'm not entirely sure how accurate this test is.

The Playboy
Random Gentle Sex Master (RGSMm)

Clean. Smooth. Successful. You're The Playboy.

You're spontaneous, and your energy is highly contagious. Guys therefore find you fun to be around, and girls find you compelling. You have lots of sex, and you manage it all without seeming cheap or being hurtful. Well done. You probably know karate, too.

Your exact opposite:
The Mixed Messenger

Deliberate Brutal Love Dreamer
It's obvious to us, and probably everyone else, that you're after physical rather than emotional relationships, but you're straight up with potential partners. And if a girl you want isn't into something casual, it's no big deal. You move on. BEFORE sleeping with her. Usually. At least you try to. Such control is rare.

If you're feeling unfulfilled, maybe you should raise your standards. New conquests will only be satisfying if there's a possibility of rejection.


CONSIDER: The Dirty Little Secret, The Nurse

Link: The 32-Type Dating Test by OkCupid - Free Online Dating.

Monday, October 24, 2005

The Church and The Syph.

Push abstinence-only sexual education programs on kids, send them to Mass every Sunday, put the Fear o' God in 'em, and watch the STD, teen pregnancy, homicide and abortion rates go down, right?

Not so fast.

The thing I like about this study is that the US is so wildly off-the-charts when it's compared to its industrialized colleagues. Like, "here's a clump of countries including Canada, the UK, Australia, Italy, and the rest... and waaaaaaaaay over there is the States." Pictures really do speak a thousand words, so scroll down to the bottom of the study linked above to view Figures 1 through 9.

Don't get me wrong; I really do like Americans and their country. On the whole, though, they're just a little... different. And God bless 'em for being that way.

Saturday, October 22, 2005

A quick letter to an organ.

Dear Liver,

I'm sorry for putting you through four consecutive nights at the Grad Club. I also apologize to you for Ritual earlier today; you've been used to double-rye-and-cokes in short glasses, but I made you do more work filtering the alcohol out of several cups' worth of Keith's. Believe me, after taking a drunken nap on my couch and waking up in the middle of you doing your business to the CH3COOH in my bloodstream, which normally happens overnight after an evening of boozing, I could feel the pain to which you were subjecting my body.

This is why I was nice to you tonight, and only put cola through you. (Although my stomach disagrees with that decision. Don't worry, pal, I'll find my Rolaids as soon as I'm done typing this.)

I just want to give you a heads-up about tomorrow night. There may be a bit of alcohol involved, but I promise I'll take it easy. I realize we're not 19 or 21 or even 26 anymore, but hey, we're back at school, so we're going to make the most of it.

Again, I apologize for the recent excessive inebriative experiences. When things get hot 'n' heavy in the research part of my life, you can pretty much just go to Florida and come back when I'm done.


Jason's brain and body

PS: If nothing else, be thankful I'm not a fan of tequila.

Thursday, October 20, 2005

Oh, those crazy search terms.

Recent things people have entered into search engines and found something on this ol' blog:
  • a.j. pierzynski fiend
  • tea lake damn - tom thomsons
  • will ferrell goulet avi
  • hydrocarbons spillings (several times from Chile)
And, my personal favourite:
  • pictures showing how to have sex your partner
Could I make this up?

Television recommendations.

If you know me, and you might (but you might not; that's how this Inter-Web Net Highway thing works), you know I despise most television. I love the CBC, I mute the cyclops during commercials, and I basically watch three stations: Comedy, Newsworld, and TVO.

(Then again, I do have an unhealthy addiction to the Weather Network. Groovy tunes, hot babes, radar imagery... TWN has it all!!! Oga Nwobosi, I will one day make you my bride. That's no lie.)

At any rate, assuming I'm not watching a geeky documentary about the fall of the Soviet Union, playoff baseball, or Studio 2, I'll probably blast on over to the Comedy Network to see what's going on. Two shows imported from Comedy Central scratch two particular itches of mine: political satire and absurd comedy.

The first, naturally, is handled by The Daily Show with Jon Stewart, which you're all obviously watching anyway (either on Comedy/CTV, or on their website). It's been excellent lately; Kurt Vonnegut — probably my favourite author of fiction — was on recently, to drop a name. A corollary: the spinoff The Colbert Report (which unfortunately Comedy doesn't show yet, but you can get clips here) looks exceedingly promising, in terms of lampooning buffoons like Bill O'Reilly, Rush Limbaugh, and the like. You know, the "I'm a guy with a show, and I'll say whatever knee-jerk, factually-inaccurate, gut-instinct, no-thinky thoughts pop into my little pin-head" kinds of people. Maybe Comedy'll replace Everybody Loves Raymond, a show I HATE WITH EVERY FIBRE OF MY BEING, which comes on after The Daily Show, with Colbert.

The funny thing is, The Colbert Report started up as a series of satirical "ads" on The Daily Show a year or so ago. As Stewart said, "It was all fake. But someone at the network thought it was a good idea... and they bought it." So hey, more power to 'em.

The second recommendation is a show called Stella. If you've been within a 200-metre radius of me for the past few weeks, I've probably told you how much I love this show. (So far, only one other person in this town, as far as I can tell, has even heard of it before.) The main characters are three guys in suits, and their assorted adventures. That's about all I can really nail down for you here, because the rest of it is just too bizarre to try to describe. It's silly, largely nonsensical, and very random — yes, not coincidentally reminiscent of Kids in the Hall — which makes it much different from most comedy out there these days. Just "check your local listings," as they say in the biz.

Shit, did I really just blog about television?

You better lace up them skates, Satan.

Tuesday, October 18, 2005

Like this is a big surprise.

You are a

Social Liberal
(73% permissive)

and an...

Economic Liberal
(15% permissive)

You are best described as a:


Link: The Politics Test on OkCupid Free Online Dating
Also: The OkCupid Dating Persona Test

Monday, October 17, 2005

I'm conducting an experiment.

It's about 11 pm, and I've just consumed one (1) cup of coffee.

Will I be able to get to sleep?

I'll report back to you tomorrow.

Hither and thither.

Who schedules meetings for Friday afternoons? I mean, when you're drinking at Ritual, you shouldn't have to keep one eye on the clock and shouldn't have to think, "I'd better not get too blitzed, because I might have to be coherent later." But alas, four of the clock, I was there, and the whole thing was actually pretty productive.

Quickly thereafter, I was whisked to a covert locale north of Kingston, wherein for the next nearly-two days I ate, drank booze, read a lot, and slept even more. Cottaging is so... productive.

This past weekend, I also wrote my first longer, more narrative-y piece for Golden Words — a love story between a piano and a harpsichord, with apologies to Romeo and Juliet. I usually put out short, list-y type things, or help with page-sized compilations, but I actually had a story idea, and managed to put it together, more or less. I'll let you read about it all on Wordsday.

Wednesday, October 12, 2005

Two dirty words.

I love profanity.

In baseball, there are two particular profane words which seem to have become part of the ballplayers' vernacular: cocksucker and horseshit.

Cocksucker is the insult-of-choice when you really want to nail someone to the wall. As dramatized in the movie Bull Durham, if you want to get thrown out of a game, calling the umpire the magic C-word means you're as good as gone.

Just roll that word around in your mouth a few times.


(For best results, wait until everyone is out of your house, and try it at an appreciably high volume.)

Feels like a great insult, doesn't it? Starts with a hard C, has a hissing S in the middle that you can hang on for a bit, and ends with an R you can sharpen to a point if you like. For variety's sake, you can load up the emphasis on the first syllable, or give it a real one-two punch by nailing the first two with equal voracity, punctuating it with a hint of a pause between then. (Think how Bubbles from Trailer Park Boys would say it.)

Now let's take the second word.


It's probably the most widely-used adjective to denote negativity in the game today. For example, a pitcher might say, "That was a horseshit pitch I threw, so no wonder he hit it out."

Friends, I'm no fan of the Los Angeles Angels of Anaheim — mostly due to their horseshit name; who are they trying to fool? — but they got a horseshit call against them tonight, that's for cocksucking sure.

Bottom of the ninth in Chicago, a 1-1 game. Bases are empty, full count on the Sox' AJ Pierzynski. Kelvim Escobar's been mowin' 'em down for 1 2/3 innings. Pierzynski feebly three-quarter-swings and misses on a low splitter, which third-string catcher Josh Paul — Jose Molina, of the Fabulous Catching Molina Brothers, was lifted for a pinch-runner in the eighth — catches just above the dirt. Doug Eddings, the home plate umpire, appears to call him out as the Angels trundle off the field to face extra innings. Paul rolls the ball back to the mound, and Pierzynski takes a couple of steps towards his dugout (bringing Mark Buehrle back out for the 10th, making it the first LCS game since 1983 in which a starter has gone into extra innings).

"Wait a second," Pierzynski thinks. "Maybe that hit the dirt first. Down to first I go!"

This was despite the fact that Eddings had already clearly called him out. Twice, in fact, to be sure. Josh Paul was so confident he'd caught the ball cleanly in his mitt, he rolled the ball out to the mound. (Catchers, almost by reflex, tag the batter at the plate if there's any doubt it might've hit the ground.)

So there's AJ Pierzynski, galloping down to first as the Angels walk off the field. Puzzlingly, as he reaches the bag, Eddings makes a motion down to first as if to say, "Yep, he's there now. Strikeout, E-2, and this inning is still alive."


Of course, the Angels' manager, Mike Scioscia (a catcher in his playing days, as Pierzynski happens to be now), is livid, and blasts out of the dugout to argue. They call the first-base umpire, Ted Barrett, in to discuss. Oddly, the third-base umpire, Ed Rapuano, isn't consulted on this; Pierzynski is a lefty, so he'd have the best view of the ball going cleanly into Paul's mitt.

No dice. Eddings' call is allowed to stand, Pablo Ozuna runs for Pierzynski and steals second, and comes around a couple of pitches later on Joe Crede's double off the wall in left. Sox win 2-1, the ALCS is tied 1-1, and Scioscia's ulcers get worse.

(I'm not a fan of either the White Sox or the Angels. I just like to see good, clean, honest baseball being played. Shoot, even when I'm at SkyDome and a Blue Jay makes a good defensive play, I'll applaud. And I friggin' hate the Jays.)

(Also, for those of you scoring at home, Scioscia was on the Simpsons as a player on the Springfield Nuclear Power Plant company softball team. He actually enjoyed working in the plant, but was exposed to extreme doses of radiation and got very sick. "Can't... lift... arm... or... speak... at... normal rate..." Yeah, that guy.)

Tuesday, October 11, 2005

A fun- and driving-filled weekend.

If there was a theme of my long weekend, it would have to be getting up early. Too early.

Far, far too early.

It all started Friday. I went to a one-day educational research conference in Auburn, New York, at the lovely Springside Inn. Because Queen's was the "host" this year (it's always held in the same place, but different schools rotate the organizational duties), we had to be there early. Which means leaving early. Which means getting up early. All in all, though, an interesting set of talks, a stupendous dinner (I won't lie to you, the food was the major impetus for my attendance) and, as per tradition, ice cream cones in the front of the Price Chopper in Watertown on the way back.

Saturday, I got up not-quite-so-early, but still too early, to drive to Toronto and hang out with my buddy Dave. His family just happened to have Thanksgiving dinner that night, so I got an invite; yet another great meal. Later, the pair of us, along with Dave's neighbour Mike, shot the bull, had a couple of beers, and jammed... I haven't played bass in a while, and to do it on a fretless was a bit much.

Sunday, again reeeeal early, I left TO to drive to Woodstock, for my own family's T-G feast, and also to lay my eyes on the cutest nearly-five-month-old baby in the world.
Here, she and her grandfather are reading The Brothers Karamazov, in squishy-book format.

Monday, I awoke extra-early to make it back to Kingston by noon, to get back to write The Funny. The trend continued today, as I arose at another ridiculously early hour to co-host the radio show.

So, in conclusion: lots of waking up, lots of driving, but still lots of fun. And remember, the revolution will not be televised, brother.

Thursday, October 06, 2005

Woop, a meme.

Read if you like here.

1. Name someone with the same birthday as you.
Mark Twain, Winston Churchill, Billy Idol, and Bo Jackson.

2. Where was your first kiss?
In my room. (Yowzas! She came up to my room!)

3. Have you ever seriously vandalized someone else's property?
Does spitting on random SUVs in the middle of the night on the walk home from the all-night bus count as "seriously"?

4. Have you ever hit someone of the opposite sex?
Nah. I generally don't hit people.

5. Have you ever sung in front of a large number of people?
Twice that I can remember. The first time was in a school play; I think I was in Grade 5 and did a duet with a girl in Grade 4. The second time was also a duet, my one and only experience with karaoke; the song was "Celebration" by Kool and the Gang, it was in Kingston, and it was at Lino's, which no longer exists.

6. What's the first thing you notice about the preferred sex?

7. What really turns you on?
Tough to put my finger on it; I like to call it a "twinkle in the eye." Like, if they tell a moderately dirty joke and wink at the punchline, that's twinkle all the way.

8. What do you order at Starbucks?
Nothing. I refuse.

9. What was your biggest mistake?
Deciding to be so shy during most of high school.

10. Have you ever hurt yourself on purpose?

11. Say something totally random about yourself.
I buy bananas in bunches of five only.

12. Has anyone ever said you looked like a celebrity?
Donald Trump, in profile.

13. Do you still watch kiddy movies or tv shows?
I think Spongebob Squarepants is ridiculously irreverent.

14. Did you have braces?
Nope. My teeth kick ass.

15. Are you comfortable with your height?
Five feet, 10.5 inches = pure perfection.

16. What is the most romantic thing someone has done for you?
It doesn't sound like much, but I received a book for my birthday one year from my girlfriend at the time, and it was just... perfect.

17. When do you know it's love?
When you can't imagine your life without that person.

18. Do you speak any other languages?
My French is passable; I had a conversation with a random guy from Montreal, who was looking for directions, in Kingston a couple of weeks ago. I held my own.

19. Have you ever been to a tanning salon?
So, I have to pay to turn pink?

20. What magazines do you read?
Rolling Stone, Sports Illustrated, National Geographic, and the odd Adbusters.

21. Have you ever ridden in a limo?

22. Has anyone you were really close to passed away?
My grandma, when I was in Grade 9. But, you know, time has a way of healing wounds like that. I look back at my memories of her, and they all show an exceedingly kickass woman. Who could bake just the most perfect chocolate chip cookies.

23. Do you watch MTV?
You mean MuchMusic? Fuckno. Except "The Wedge," which is stuck on Friday evenings; it shows indie videos, and it's actually pretty awesome.

24. What's something that really annoys you?
Foot-dragging. For chrissakes, pick up your god damn feet!

25. What's something you really like?

26. Do you like Michael Jackson?
I dare you to listen to "Rock With You" and not want to dance like crazy.

27. Can you dance?
Yes, but I choose not to.

28. What’s the latest you have ever stayed up?
I think I zonked out around 9:30 am.

29. Have you ever been rushed by an ambulance into the emergency room?

30. Do you actually read these when other people fill them out?
Sure do!

Tuesday, October 04, 2005

Thoughts coursing through my brain.

I've been thinking a lot over the past couple of days. This can be good or bad, depending on how you view things like this. But I've come to the conclusion that other people seem to be more "together" than me.

Because I generally find charts and diagrams useful and informative, I will represent my ideas below in bar graph form.

Here's my brain:
Here's a random person we'll call X:
And here's another random person we'll call Y:
Along the bottom appear various facets of personality, and the bars represent how well they're developed. X is a doofus: the kind of person who soups up their Honda Civic with a giant spoiler, thinks McDonald's is "good eatin'," and coincidentally votes conservatively. Y is your complete all-rounder: the student council president, captain of whatever sports team, and is probably a vegetarian to boot.

Y goes through life with few problems, but not because they're not faced with any; they're just really well-equipped to handle anything, which makes everything easy. X, too, sails through with little resistance; little is expected and little is done, which means all their dreams are fulfilled. This type of pleasurable uniformity I'll call "togetherness" — that is, their personalities have developed pretty much as one would expect them to. ("Together" doesn't necessarily imply "complete," as Y is complete but X is not.)

And then you have me. Parts of me are developed quite well — I think I'm a pretty good teacher, I readily feel empathy, and I think I have good taste in music. (But I guess we all think the last one true of ourselves.) But very, very significant parts of me are woefully inadequately developed, and I feel these are the most crucial to my own happiness and well-being. If you know me, maybe you had no idea I was this uneven under the surface. Or, shoot, maybe it sticks out like Sidney Poitier at a Klan rally. Obviously, "knowing how others see me" is one of those short bars on my graph.

Perhaps everyone else has a jagged graph like mine. But they sure aren't showing it. And that makes me feel... not so good.

Monday, October 03, 2005

Mr. Trammell, we hardly knew ye.

Today the Detroit Tigers fired Alan Trammell as their manager. (He's on the right, with longtime Tiger manager Sparky Anderson; this picture was probably taken in the mid-'90s, as his playing career wound down.)

This really hits home with me, for a number of reasons. Firstly, I think it's a chickenshit move to fire the manager when you give him a bum-hand to start with... the incessant injuries, the dilly-dallying by the GM, the lack of true direction from ownership, the list goes on. It's harder to fire 25 players than it is one manager, so he had to go, I guess.

But, on a more personal note, since I was eight, Tram has been my man. I always endeavoured to wear #3 when I played ball (actually getting it a couple of seasons). My right-handed batting stance is modeled after his, being slightly closed. He's been the ultimate in strength, class, and professionalism, for his playing career, his coaching tenure both in Detroit and in San Diego, and in his three-year stint managing the Tigers, an organization to which he has devoted nearly his entire adult life. Put it this way... when Alan Trammell first became involved with the Tigers, Elvis was still alive, and I was nothing more than a gleam in a pipefitter's eye.

And so it is with a heavy heart, but unfortunately not much surprise, that I received and now report this news. One of my childhood heroes got sacked, and I am genuinely saddened.

Sunday, October 02, 2005

Take a hint.

Bill Maher on George W. Bush:

Mr. President, this job can't be fun for you anymore. There's no more money to spend — you used up all of that. You can't start another war because you used up the army. And now, darn the luck, the rest of your term has become the Bush family nightmare: helping poor people. Listen to your Mom. The cupboard's bare, the credit cards maxed out. No one's speaking to you. Mission accomplished.

Now it's time to do what you've always done best: lose interest and walk away. Like you did with your military service and the oil company and the baseball team. It's time. Time to move on and try the next fantasy job.

How about cowboy or space man? Now I know what you're saying: there's so many other things that you as President could involve yourself in. Please don't. I know, I know. There's a lot left to do. There's a war with Venezuela. Eliminating the sales tax on yachts. Turning the space program over to the church. And Social Security to Fannie Mae. Giving embryos the vote.

But, Sir, none of that is going to happen now. Why? Because you govern like Billy Joel drives. You've performed so poorly I'm surprised that you haven't given yourself a medal. You're a catastrophe that walks like a man. Herbert Hoover was a shitty president, but even he never conceded an entire city to rising water and snakes.

On your watch, we've lost almost all of our allies, the surplus, four airliners, two trade centers, a piece of the Pentagon and the City of New Orleans. Maybe you're just not lucky. I'm not saying you don't love this country. I'm just wondering how much worse it could be if you were on the other side.

So, yes, God does speak to you. What he is saying is: "Take a hint."

Saturday, October 01, 2005

This blew my mind.

Alan Ruck played Cameron Frye, Ferris Bueller's best friend, in the movie you all know.

He was twenty-nine when they made that movie.

Heck, I'm not that old, and am only trying to play the part of a university student, let alone a high-schooler!