Where's all the Buffalo?

2004-05-19T20:18:00.000-07:00

I have had what alcohols refer to as, "A moment of clearity". I was sitting at Blendz drinking my coffee (as usual) and reading a small, independent publication called Terminal City. A paper I've seen many times before but thought that it would be a cheap version of the Straight, or the West Ender; full of theather ads and places where you can catch crappy live music in some low-budge dark whole in the city. But this issue was different. It was..... REVOLUTIONARY.

On the cover of this now intriguing paper was a wanted poster. But unlike any I have seen before. The face our of home grown, neo-conversative dictator Gordon Campbell was adorned. Underneath his horrid picture of this foolishly elected tyrant was the order: "Bring us the head of Gordon Campbell". I was in awe of this calling. I felt its heed upon me - I was powerless against its genenious. I read through its pages and word after word, page after page I couldn't help but feel like my feelings for our "Liberal" government were returned by the people of Vancouver like some kind of crazy unrequited love. Powerful. Deep. Meaningful. I felt as though I was no longer alone in the fight for the proletariat of this country. The mask of false class consciensiousness was beginning to unfold. What looms off in the distance of the upcoming provincial election now that the untold stories of the slashing of Campbell's war-saber had been exposed for all to know. This paper... this now holy publication had served as a gathering place of minds and spirit to come together and give speach about the effects that Mr. Campbell's budget cuts have had on those in the province classified "the working poor" in this province. Now pandering about in a daze to find refuge in city parks and streets, hopelessly looking towards false promises by the government to provide lodging at the Woodwards building. Thousands of unionized works having their "fairly negoiated" contracts shredded by the dagger consealled behind Campbell's back and shrouded by the cloak of his party's 'back-to-work' legislation.... All brought about by deficeit created by tax breaks which stratched the backs of the top 14% of the province's richest.

We as voters no longer have to put up with six dollar training wages, our eldest populus forced in to proverty, the downed and pennyless beaten by whose deemed to "serve and protect", or give corporations not of this country the ability decide the fate this province and it's people rather than our government. Take action my friends, and vote wisely at the polls. Know your interests, and stand for your morals.

So long, Friends.

2004-03-09T04:53:00.000-08:00

I just finished going over the good old blogs of my friends and then read my own, as I couldn't remember the last time that I took time out my meaningless days to write about how meaningless they are. I was surprised to see that my last entry was just before Christmas. I thought it would have been much farther in the past than that.

So I haven't seen much of the odl crew in the last few months. Save Mike and Alvin by virture of the holiest of watering holes - BLENDZ. I have spent much of my time there. Infact, I've probably spent more time at Blendz this semseter than I have at school. The rest of my time has been spent at unholiest of holes - that of Dunsmuir House. Althought I am happy to report to the few that graze this rant that I have been the chosen one to receive much more responsibilities, and more than twice the pay. I am greatful for my new role in soceity. I will not fail you; the great community that is the Lower East-side!

I was in attendance of Raj's "Bash-in-the-freaking-cold-car-port". But I ain't complaining. I was damn happy to be there. I got to drink meet my old friend Limon. You here that Bacardi.... I've got you down this time! Well I just wanted to get my feet wet again by putting something recent on here. As you can see by the time I've posted this, there's probably something more productive that I could be doing.

2003-12-24T21:24:00.000-08:00

Well that was a an interesting night... planning is everything. Never tried to do too much unless you have the resources. Half crap music and mild conversation, but the important people were there and that's all I wanted. After a while I just started looking out for number one and drank and smoked as much as I could. Everything wound down around midnight I night. You know things are slow when your job is the main topic of conversation. Dead baby jokes are always a staple. Merry Christmas.

In other news, I haven't officially been approved for a credit card and it's on its way to my dorm as I type. Monday should be the day. Then it will be good, good for all. MASTER CARD - My Master!

I opened my present from the Pink Devil yesterday. I was thrilled. All that remains is that I name it. Glorious times will be had with this present! Perhaps it will come in handy at work..... hmmmmm..

Now it is Christmas Eve and I finally realized that tomorrow is the big day and even if Santa gives me a lump of coal, I stilled pulled the wool over your eyes. SUCKERS For all those how are wondering, I will deliver my gifts after ST. Provincial/Federal Government delivers their presents to me, all four thousand six hundred and seventy-five of them. Much of which will be spent immediately... Sweet expenses. Ah... I do know one thing though, money it comes it goes, but SFU ain't getting a penny of my money until I register for the summer. Suck that Stevenson, you know what's coming to you.

Today I woke up and went to Starbucks with Alvin. Then perused the isles of Blockbuster only to leave for Brentwood and Metrotown. We ran into Jeff Chan at both, whom I have not seen since the beginning of semester, but Alvin saw only a few days ago. I bought Crime and Punishment by Fyodor Dostoyevsky for myself. Humbug! I've been inspired by Alvin to tackle the classics of literature. So far I've found Dostoyevsky to be a morbid writer - I like his style! Anyways. I'm going to continue reading and dreading future work. That's karma for calling in sick, extra shifts for Trevor. I guess experience is going to have to come sooner or later anyways. Lookout under-class, I'm coming for you!!

Oh yeah. Merry Christmas ya bums.

2003-12-22T06:38:00.000-08:00

Today has been the second day that I awaked around six in the morning naturally, and I enjoy it thoroughly. Last night I wen to bed around eight o'clock. We should have gone to Blendz... Let's see, yesterday Erin tried to lie about her disgusting condition, but I won't buy it. But I'll tell what a I did buy, and stolen lady's cellular phone. Nothing strange about that... or is there? I got a phone call in morning over the weekend - odd who the fuck would call in the morning and why the strange number?? I'll answer it. "Hi, this is Dave from Ralph's Radio. The cell phone you're talking on right now belongs to my store."
"Oh..... really......." I reply.
After about a twenty minute conversation to which I charmed Dave six ways from Sunday we left the conversation with a hardly laugh and agreed to leave the police out of it. So I shall return the phone, and get my money back from the Deluka. Anyone smell drama??? Because I do. Lucky for me, yesterday, as I cruised Brentwood Mall with the likes of Alvin, Raj, and the Boston-boy himself Thomas-fuck-your-mom-Wu, I decided to look into the City Fido plan that has the GVRD all up in a roar. I ask the boy at wireless wave a simple question, "who sells Fido in this Mall?" and about 15 minutes later I walked away with a brand-new, LEGAL phone (778-891-4640). So call me anytime day or night and talk for as long as you like, it's no extra skin off my back. So the moral of the story is..... if you're going to break the law, make sure you aren't relying on incompetence to keep your criminal record free. vis-a-vis If you want a job done right, do it yourself or follow the rules.

That is all.

2003-12-19T13:28:00.000-08:00

Well... I've been pondering upon what and when I might update on. Now I have material. I just got off the phone with Erin is what she said, "TREVOR, I HAVE PINK-EYE!!!!! THEY SENT ME HOME FROM WORK!!!". Damn that's some sweet shit. You can't ask for news that sweet. And I thought my day was going to be boring. After a long and hardy laugh at her disgusting situation my attention was shifted to the causes of such a horrible affliction. Implicated: terrible personal hygiene, and various degrading sexual acts some of which could have been Dirty Sanchez, Dotting the I, Fish-eye, and BUKAKE!!! My suspicions... ALL OF THE ABOVE!! At the moment she is showering. I find this exercise futile as her disgusting habit have already taken their toll and it is too little too late. But seriously, that's really gross. I am reminded of the South Park episode where pink-eye spreads throughout the town and many fall victim to its grotesque deformation of the face. 'they killed erin, you bastards!'

I have decided that my Christmas gift to the infected-one will be a name for every week of the new year that captures the reality of her sickness. off the top of my head are Dirty Sanchez, BUKAKE-FACE, Fungus-Girl, 'the dotted one', dirty girl and more will follow. For now I'm am covered for the first month of 2004. man... that will teach her to confide in me!! muuuuwaaaaaahahahahahahahahahahaha

2003-11-30T14:28:00.000-08:00

Back again and better than ever! believe it at your own risk....

I felt compelled within recent times to update my site. Fucking lasiness. A few developments that I have not officially recognized on here.... not that I ever did before. I have seen Raj, I believe, a total of four times this semester.... I feel saddened by this. I must go to his peice of shit school store and buy that button - and where it EVERYWHERE. Erin got a computer... That was a fucking ordeal, ALL THREE TIMES. Erin my friend, you owe a few of people and few of favours. Including me!! I shall not forget. I'm sure there were a few birthdays since I've updated.... Happy birthday to ya - you know who you are.

Oh, and by the way... Fuck you Towne. Everybody gets fucked, Chuck - deal with it.

I went to the second day of the Grand Opening of Future Shop on Granville street (I wonder if all those capitals really needed to be there....). It was fucking primo. It was like a street party on Robson and Granville. I bought Reservoir Dogs, fucking classic. Wolfverine was there!! I took some picks, so when I figure out how to post them up here you'll be privy to it as well. I never thought I'd say it, but "props to future shop!"

Hey... I got a joke for ya - an oldie but a goodie. What's the difference between this o and this 0

The first one is a virgin asshole. *cough*cough*

Maybe it wasn't as funny as I thought but I'm not going to delete now. Well I think that's pretty much it for the ramblings I'll come back when I have something to bitch about.

"I'll tell you what didn't kill her --- smokin'"

2003-10-22T00:00:00.000-07:00

Around the corner I have a friend,
In this great city that has no end,
Yet the days go by, and the weeks rush on,
And before I know it a year has gone.
> > > >
> > > >
> > > >
And I never see my old friends face,
For life is a swift and terrible race,
He knows I like him just as well,
As in the days when I rang his bell,
> > > >
> > > >
> > > >
And he rang mine if, we were younger then,
And now we are busy, tired men.
Tired of playing a foolish game,
Tired of trying to make a name.
> > > >
> > > >
> > > >
Tomorrow; I say, I will call on Jim
Just to show I am thinking of him.
But tomorrow comes and tomorrow goes,
And distance between us grows and grows.
> > > >
> > > >
> > > >
Around the corner! - yet miles away,
Here's a telegram sir, Jim died today.
And that's what we get and deserve in the end.
Around the corner, a vanished friend.

I know it's kind of cheating to paste a poem up here.... but I thought it relevent in our post-secondary world.....

2003-10-15T11:29:00.000-07:00

BACK FROM THE DEPTHS

Funny how life can change in just two short weeks. I remember writing my last entry and at that time I was working hard (or at least had the intention too) on a paper that was due.... I'm still working on it. one of life's little oddidities, I'm sure. I hear my friend Rajveer has fallen into my domain of procrastination. ahhh... the sweet life of apathy and indifference. Don't worry Raj, I'm sure you'll buckle down eventually - I know I will.

Man... I was up so late doing research on the computer. I feel asleep and when I woke up I had been timed-out of the fucking session! SONAFABITCH!!!! That's two hours of work in the shitter. I guess one more day won't hurt... I have three huge things due tomorrow. And now that I think about it, I'm pretty scared. mmm......... not sure what I'm going to do about that one........ I'll think of something.

DAMNIT... too much work.. this last bit of the semester is going to be hell!

In other news....

I had the chance to see a few of you valley-dwellers over the last week or so. That must happen more often... or I fear my mind will go mad mad MAD!!!

My updates are losing the meat that they once carried.... I shall come back better than ever!!! As you shall soon see.

This is Trevor Corbett, signing off......................

2003-10-03T18:21:00.000-07:00

It's forthy minutes from kick-off.

My Money's on the CLAN

2003-10-02T13:50:00.000-07:00

SFU - 1 Trevor - 0

The scholarily institution that is Simon Fraser drew first blood for Fall 2003 at exactly 10:30 this morning. The weapon.... Political Science 241: International Politics. Modus Operundi: Midterm one, 20% grade.

It was short, but burtle. The questions merciless in their ambiguity. The test's author, hopelessly slanted to the American Right. The target nearly completely defenseless with only two hours of study. (Kay that one was my fault, but the test was tricky)

I bombed this test for sure, I'll be happy to walk away with 50% - Infact, if I get that much I'm going have myself a congradulatory beer. Although it is a releaf to know that I'm not that unprepared for the rest of my classes. This experience did have its educational merits, however. Aside from the obvious and usual lesson that I should apply myself and hard work and whatever, I learned that the Normative Tradition of Realism in international politics according to Martin Wight really does apply to people. The long and the short of Realism is that war is a condition of man, and the struggle for dominance and supremacy, as well as self interest are a part of human nature. What seperates a Realist from the other traditions in international politics is the believe that people cannot over come their nature and that dispite attempts at rational thought and reason they will usually regress back to their nature. Perhaps this is why I cannot seem to learn my lesson or procrastination. Perhaps my condition is merely the that of the rest of human kind, that we are bond by our inner drives. Or perhaps I'm just a lazy fuck. I guess I'll never know......

2003-09-09T16:18:00.000-07:00

From Behind Closed Doors

In a morning that began in a way that is cerntain to become routine, I found myself wondering...."what
the fuck".

So I got up a seven in the morning because I thought I had an early class. I was wrong. Aparently I
realize the idoicy of having a eight-thirty class on Monday and changed it to a three-thirty class and
then forgot about it. Yay for going back to sleep for an hour, nay for waking in the first place.
I have a job interview for work study so I had to get up and shower anyways... Using a communal shower
is an experience in and of itself. Nothing like five of your closest floormates seeing you topless in
the morning. What really took the cake was when I when to shave... I had been putting it off for a while
because of general laziness, but I had too today for the interview. Anywho, I was doing my thing all by myself when I here a russelling coming from around the corner. Ah, yes. I forgot there was a shower in this bathroom, too. She must of been forced in there because I was using the other shower before hand. So I begin to shave thinking she'll take a bee-line for the door and into her room, I would not acknowledge none of it and we could all live on in private shame. But wait - what's this... She put all of her stuff beside me and takes out some frace cream or something. Not that I'm not comfortable with seeing people in their bathrobes or whatever, or having someone (of the opposite sex) in the same bathroom with me - it just weirded me out.

"Hello complete stranger. Please, mosturize your face in almost complete nudity whilst I stand here and
shave my beard."

Although the silence was a comfortable one; niether of us looking, and I asume feeling ackward I chose to make some small talk. I never thought I'd introduce myself while rinsing shavings out of my razor. We continue our talk quite casually, her seemingly very at ease with the situation. I on the other hand, still felt like I had stepped thru the looking glass. Keep in mind that we are less than three feet away from each other, wiping away the gross stuff that adds up on your body and watching it spiral down the sink. I conversation continues like any other until I finishing my own personal grooming and take my leave. That's fucked up.

2003-09-04T15:13:00.000-07:00

As I walk from place to place on campus I find myself thinking of many things to say - many things
to UPDATE about!! You see, the time it take me to traverse the the campus between classes is usually
when I do my best thinking. The past few days I have felt compelled to put something on the net for
all to read and digest.

Allow me to begin with a slight backtracking to Whisler... or "Histle". I had an overall enjoyable
time. Aside from Highway 99 ever ROARING thru the windows and on the back deck, and the absense of
our peer group in considerable numbers (the population consisted of young families from Washington).
Things that stuck out in my mind... Retarded Barking, KING SIZE times two, Retarded Barking, long
cold walks, Retarded Barking, Broken Light, sitting around, and yes - More Retarded Barking. All in
all, I did have a good time. Although my prescriptions for a better time definately would have been
to have many, many more people up there. There's always next year. For me the best part was with
out a doubt driving there and back. A galorious road, that Sea to Sky. A galorious road indeed.

The time between then and now had been spent getting ready for school and, thank the Gods above,
re-emerging of my hermit shell. Oh how it does feel good to talk to people. The lastest news that
most everyone knows is my move on campus. Damn... it's everything and nothing of what I expected.
Unfortunately, there is a low capita of drinkers in the proximity of my room. However, I am eased
with the knowledge there are drinkers on campus. I'll just have to hunt them down, and offer them
my "Light" beer... My god.... Well on the res topic. Cooking for yourself sucks ass. The only
bright side to cooking my own food is that I'll be eating a HELL of a lot less, which I'm hoping will
assist in my losing my freshman fifteen. I'm still adjusting to aging, as now I have to start taking
care of my body instead of feeding it shit and lying around all day long... Stupid UPKEEP, I'm starting
to get all TAPPED out from all the little things you have to do. I guess I'll just have to DISCARD
some of my bad habbits. To the GRAVEYARD with them!!*

Well that will about do it for this update, but be sure I'll be back.

*FOr those of you how understood the undertones in the preceding three sentences - cut your wrists.

2003-07-31T13:55:00.000-07:00

YOU CAN TAKE YOUR PRIDE WEEK A SHOVE IT UP YOUR ASS, YOU MOTHAFUCKIN' QUEER - ON SECOND THOUGHT... YOU'D PROBABLY LIKE THAT TOO MUCH, YA GODDAMNED FUDGE-PACKER!!!

Not that I am prejustice against homosexuals and/or lesbians, or anyone else for that matter. But today I felt that I could pull no punches on the this poor excuse for a human being... Normally I can take annoying people, even if they are trying to deliberately piss me off (I have had much practice from working downtown), but today this guy had what I wanted. And it wasn't any kind of sexual attraction. A: I'm not gay(not that there's anything wrong with that) and B: even if I were gay I wouldn't be attracted this skinny pot-bellied frog-lookin' SONOFABITCH. But I digress, allow me to start at the beginning.

I wokeup at Seven AM this morning to register. I call, I call, I call..... busy signal.... I call.... CONNECT score, but wait! This reg system doesn't come online for another half an hour. Fine with me, better early than late in this kind of situation. I snooze for twenty minutes listening to the drone of people traveling down Hastings to get to work. At seven-thirty I call again, and again, and again.... but nothing.. I'm not getting through... Wow, I think to myself, there must be many people trying to register this morning. I guess more people than me got shitty GPA's last semester. Twenty minutes later I finally get through, but only to listent to a message that says there are catalog corrections online and that the system is currently down. COCK SUCKER! It's bad enough my reg date sucks, but now the freaking system doesn't work! I can see that my extra 30% in tuition is going to good use already... Fuck you Stevenson I begin to converse with other members on the student body that are online, they all cooberate my experiences as well. We start up a make-shift watch. as we all take turns trying to get onto the system and alert the others if we get in... No luck. This bullshit continues until about ten fourty-five when I decided to go up to SFU to change my pin (just in case) and ask what the hell in going on. I reach campus at about five after eleven (yes it's good to live close) and I walk straight to the Registar's Office. So I take my place in the unusually short line-up and wait.

Whilst waiting I observe that the desk clerk has a ninety percent chance of being gay - my assertions were confirmed once I noticed that the guy he was, ah hem, serving, had a seventy percent chance of being gay. They began to court.... Once the ritual was over and they swaped numbers it was my turn. I normally wouldn't have noticed or cared about this display, but it is PRIDEWEEK in Vancouver you know. I must have sent some kind of "
straight" vibe because right off the bat he gave me quite a dirty look and was a little short with me. I greet him nicely and ask him to confirm my PIN number. He informs me in the usual office-worker tone that he can't do that but if I produce some kind of ID that he can change it back to my default birtday. I give him my ID and procedes with the suggestion. A minute later he says that the work is done and the code changed, although he doesn't look in my direction. I ask him if my code goes day/month/year or what not and he simply passes me a paper with six numbers on it - none of them in ANY combination could possibly have made up my birthday. I inquire and looks like REALLY fucked up. He didn't change the screen from the last guy and he changed his pin back to his birth day! WHAT - A - FUCKING - MORON!! Well he takes my ID card back to do what he was originally supposed to do, I decide to ask if this guy knows anything about why the telereg system isn't working. He tells me that haven't heard anything about that, and that the system is working... I protest and re-count my early morning experience with patience. He picks up the phone and dials telereg to "prove" that he is right. I CAN'T BELIEVE THIS..... He gets a busy signal (BIG FUCKIN SURPRISE!!!) and then suggests, in that winny-condasending tone that only a man who sucks dick and pumps ass could make, that I mistook the busy signal for a malfunctioning system. This of course raises my blood pressure through the freakin' roof! I keep my cool, though, but I'm sure he could see the tension in my face. After about a minute of trying to explain the details and the I know the difference between a busy signal and when the reg tells me that THE SYSTEM IS DOWN. But to no avail... I might as well have been peaching the bible. I decide to cut my losses and leave as the line-up begins to grow. I finish by telling him that if the system is down I just though you guys should know about it. He replies, "OH WE KNOW, it should be up in running in about an hour."

AHHHHHHHH WHAT THE FUCK!!

I say nothing and leave.

I hope you get AIDS!!

2003-07-28T20:00:00.000-07:00

Eugene (ICQ#36846330) Wrote:
thank you kind friend corbett
thank you for making my undying love for maria known to the world

now that is all.....

2003-07-28T19:58:00.000-07:00

Eugene (ICQ#36846330) Wrote:

my name is ERNEST eugene flormata
and i love MARIA DE RAMA

that is all.

2003-07-23T16:34:00.000-07:00

For those of you who attentd SFU - Have you ever noticed what a ghost town the place is before 10:30 everyday... I have a 9:30 classes three days a week and let me tell you, the place is bared at that time in the morning. But then as soon as you get out of class the place is bustling with people and what not going about there busy..... and of course Alvin, Phil, Fed and Jono outside of C9001. Well that does it for boring everyday thoughts that occupy my mind, or, what I like to called "Vanessa" content :o) ahaha, hey, see you on Saturday, yeehah!

...And now for something completely different. (Kudos - and five bucks to the person who can find the source of that quote.)

I"d like to take this time now and revisit a little segment of the show I like to call...........

*A PAGE FROM TREVOR'S SCRAP BOOK OF MEMORIES*

This memory popped into my head just this morning as I walked out of the AQ after conversing with Alvin and co. For some reason I just started think about ICQ and internet chatting and all that is entaled in that; probably because I was think that I want to talk to G later and see if he'll put that video of his on to the computer for me. So as I walked I thought about all the fun I had on ICQ all the inside internet jokes that come with chatting on the internet since the beginning. In the nostalgia-like trance I was reminded of my early days of chat... before MSN.... before ICQ (also known, for the tweleve year-olds in all of us, as I SEEK U) and even before IRC (Internet Relay Chat, which was mostly used for geeks and as a massive consortium for math majors and star wars freaks). This dinosuars names was..............FREETEL Yes Freetel is probably unknown to most fo you out there. Infact, I would be surprise if you ever heard of it, let alone used it. It was a simple program, you could fit it on a single disc uncompressed. It was one of the first chat programs around to my knowledge, and a damn good one to. Despite its' plain looking 8-bit graphics, layout and colour design, I enjoyed it's simplicity. And it had everything too! It was based as a real-time chat program (you get to see as they type), and incorporated even incorporated file-transfer and voice-chat capabilities!! That's pretty impressive for such an early program.

what brings the nostalgia back for me isn't the fact that it's old, and came about in a time when I remember 20/20 having a full episode on the "emergence" of internet pornography ( and I quote...."It may be possible for your childern to access explicit material through the internet as simplily and as typing in sex into something called a 'search engine." -- it was a simple time back then..... ). NO! I miss the ritual like process that you had to go through just to get onto the internet. Pushing the toggle switch power button on the computer, listing to all the fans and such turn on inside the computer like sounded like something form the industrial revolution, hearing the screen pitch-and-crackle as the power surged into the monitor, and then looking at the crazy layout of that was WINDOWS 3.11!!!

Now remember that these were the days BEFORE your computer was automatically connected to the internet!! No such thing as boardband communication. Nope, I had to open up a little program called TCP/IP Trumpet just to work the modem! Going though a series of menus and buttons, filling information like phone numbers and IP addresses!! After all was done, you could hear the modem connect to the phone line and a myriad of beeps, tones, and other carzy sounds that would never be produced in nature travelled over the modem's speaker and into my ears like I was listening to some kind of foreign language. Despite the unnatural content of the sounds, I could some how 'know' what it was saying, I listened for the HANDSHAKE and was well. When the caios of the modem quited down I knew it was time........ time to surf the World Wide Web....... THE IMFORMATION SUPER HIGHWAY!!!!!!!!! MMMUUAAAAaaahahahahahahah

Anyways... back to the Glory that is FREETEL. Thanks to the multi-tasking capability, it was possible for my to "minimize" the Trumpet program and open up an other window that contained the icons for Netscape 2.0 and FREETEL. I admit my gluttony... I opened both at the same time.... pushing my PC to the MAX. The Freetel program window opened up and you filled in your contact information and what you wanted people to know about you, just like the following chat programs. The layout of this chat programs was unlike an other... there were windows on the side that contained a virtual representation of a phone keyboard ( to this day, I still do not now its purpose ) and in-program volume control for the speakers AND microphone - COOL! TO the lef tof those windows was the main window which contained a single, unchanging advertisement at the top and an index of people names in alpha-numeric order. There were no interest groups for poeple to fit into, everyone was put into one group! The only thing to indentify you was your name, which could be as long as could be fit on the screen. I remember that mine was, among many others, " Trevor m/13 I live in Vancouver BC. click on me for a fun, clean chat!". Some users choose to put no name at all, those one begged your curiousity the most.... All you have to do to talk to someone was double-click on the name and they would be sent a request to chat... but not one like you would be familiar with.

If someone shoudl find your name interesting and double-click you, the banner advertisement at the top would disappear and be replaced with the caller's name flashing green and black(all the text in freetel was green.....) accompanying this flash was a little bar that contained the person's "intro" a short scrolling text that let you know what the person wished to discuss with you. As you can imagine, with the emergence of internet pornography, there were a few sickos. OH how my heart would skip a beat when I saw a name like "Sarah 18/F Looking for a good time!! :o-) " would call me --- and OH how it would utterly stop when it turned out to be a dirty man in his mid-forties some unnamed state in the American Mid-west.....

I miss thoughs days where just talking to someone from around the world was a novelty. Getting to know someone over the internet.... almost like a live TV show... you could be updated on the persons life, just as thoug you were there. The simple innonence that was internet chatting is now gone though.... Now people's "contact-lists" or equivalent there-of , are only ful of the people they see everyday. No one takes the timeto find someone new... someone from a different country.... a different culture..... this exchange is gone.

yay, whatever crazy chick form the U.A.E. LOOK AT ALL THE PORN ON HERE!!!! YEEEEEEEEEEHAH!!!! !! I gotta go jerk off!!

** ** ** ** ** ** ** **

And so concludes an other entry from... THE SCRAP BOOK OF MEMORIES

2003-07-12T18:52:00.000-07:00

Well.... school is getting to be a pain in the ass. But I find myself saying this at this point in the semester anyways... I have to get my student loan figured out, which is fucked right now. My dad screwed it up royally some how. Now I have to actually talk to a government agent to figure it out. Yay. How I love those people. You know, maybe they can tell that I don't like them and they end up being a bitch to spite me - ahhh, fuck'em anyways. I got on residence at SFU. Finally.... I move out on the 27th of August. I'm kind of excited, but scared too. I don't want to lave my cat. Plus, I don't want to starve either... I'll have o figure something out. They put me in with the all the first years and such. it'll be a gooood semester - or a really shitty one. Either way, I can't wait to see!

I'm talking to Erin right now, and playing my game. I'm talking to Jon too, haven't seen him in a while. I was talking to Ana before that as well. Anything to put some kind of activity between me and my homework... I think next semester I'm going to plan it out so I don't have to do so many papers... this sucks ass.

Jon and I were just talking about how exspensive life is. I think the cost of things should be for what they are actaully *worth* - not how much dirty capitalist think it should be. I'm really starting to dispise how much rich people fuck the rest of society. You hear that, rich people? I'm going political, and when I do I'm giving aways all your "hard earned" capital to the people it belongs to - the fuckin' Public! Well you know that's going to be used against me in a smeer campaign. Who cares.... Bring it on you Neo-Liberal Capitalist Fucks!!

*Workers of the world, unite!*

2003-07-08T13:25:00.000-07:00

Wow.... *cough*cough* kinda dusty....

Saying that it's been a while would be a waste of time....... It's been a while. School/work/sleep has been raping my time for me. Not that I haven't time to stick a post up here, just didn't have anything to say. I still don't have anything to say, I'm just here to give you a moment of diversion from the monotony of your, and let you into the monotony of mine. Exams are just around the bend.... it seems like I just finished registering for this semester and now I have to start scheduling my next one. I asume this trend will continue until my life is completely measured by semesters that will increasingly go by faster and faster as time goes on. The next thing you know you're 25 and climbing the corporate ladder, or doing whatever the hell else you wanted to do with your life. And if you choose not to do anything - no worries, I'll have a sandwitch with your name on it waiting at the Salvation Army. Speaking of which... my glory days of ripping off the company by getting paid 18 bucks an hour are now over, resulting in my hours being sliced like fat chick with a dull razor. Money?? where are you?

Haha, well speaking of money... hopefully that won' t be much of a problem in the near future. I have been formally accepted into my Native Band in Campbell River which means the funds will so follow. And before you go spouting off about how easy I'm going to have it, just remember that I'm 13-5 in the hole, and soon to be about 17 grand down. In any event, I'll be happy when I can start paying off my loans with sweet tax payer money. Red Power.

Back to reality... I have three essays, all around the ten page length, that have to be hammered out before the month is over so I must give a start to the dreaded research....... If you thought citing in History 12 was hard... try political science *shudder* I"m off, but I'll be back......

2003-06-14T17:42:00.000-07:00

Without You

By Del James

Although he wanted to share the dance, Mayne could not bring himself to interrupt such beauty. Her well-toned body swayed childlike, peacefully, slowly moving to the rhythm. Her innocence was enchanting, her beauty breathtaking. Mayne knew she’d be angry at him for sneaking about, watching without letting her know, but the teenage voyeur inside his adult body encouraged him and didn’t care about the consequences. Besides, this was for his eyes only. Her eyes sparkled, reminding him of the ocean, vast with beauty and mystery. A slight breeze danced through her lion’s mane. A full-length see-through dress covered her shapely body and a light glaze of sweat made her glisten. She seemed too beautiful to be real. During this split second of visual euphoria, Mayne conceded that she was the only woman he ever truly loved. Her eyes flickered. She must have heard me, he thought as she turned toward him. He didn’t want to ruin the beauty, only to enjoy it. Her thick lips smiled sympathetically. Then the song started growing in volume.

A sharp twinge of panic shot through him when he realized which of his songs it was. Cold sweat seeped out of his pores and dread consumed him. His vision spiraled as reality distorted. Breathing became difficult, complicated. Desperation attacked and twisted every muscle in his thin body. Much worse than the pain was his fear. Unsuppressable anxiety swept through him as he started toward the stereo. Everything lost its natural texture; the walls, the floor, the air became surreal. The louder the music, the more difficult he found it to move. He had to remove the compact disc but his feet felt like large concrete blocks. He couldn’t move fast enough. She already had the pistol’s barrel against her temple.

BLAMM!

Mayne awoke covered in sweat, a mute shriek still lodged in his throat. The past six hours had been spent in a drug-and-alcohol-induced coma that he put over as sleep. Sleep was a rare commodity and was impossible to achieve without some assistance. It didn’t matter whether he slept six hours or six minutes, the nightmare always managed to creep in. No sleeping pill or antidepressant could spare him. He had written the song and was forever damned by it. With unsteady hands, he wiped sweat from his brow and rubbed his fingers against the satin sheets. His silver and gold bracelets clinked together. Rolling onto his side, he stared at the digital alarm clock on top of the black night table that had a built -in refrigerator as its base. On top of the clock was a half-empty pack of Marlboros. He stared at the green digital numbers but they made no sense. It really didn’t matter what time it was anyway, his time was other people’s money. Next to the clock was something more important than cash or time. Slowly he sat up. Tortured eyes scanned the black marble tabletop, searching for any leftover precious brown powder. There were burned matches, bent cigarettes, and empty bindles, but no dope. It didn’t matter. He could always have more delivered. Sitting on the edge of the bed, Mayne reached down and opened the night table’s refrigerator door. Inside were several Budweiser’s, baking soda, and a chilled bottle of Dom Perignon. He grabbed a cold can, killing half of it in one sip. He did this every morning. Instantly, his aching head began to feel better. Although he didn’t want to admit it, the time had arrived to rejoin the living. He knew he had to be at the studio soon but didn’t feel up to it. Besides, the recording of his latest album, Alone, had been finished over a month ago. The album was now in the final mixing stages. If Mayne liked what he heard, he’d approve it and the record would be released on schedule. If not, it would have to be remixed until he did approve. So then, what the fuck did they need him for? He procrastinated for as long as he possibly could before finally standing up.

Much like his bedroom, the bathroom was a disaster area. Discarded clothes, creams, trash, cassettes, and towels dominated the view. Using radar to locate the bowl, he found the porcelain, fought off the urge to puke, and relieved himself. He reentered the bedroom, not really feeling human, more like a robot dressed in rented flesh. There was a dull pain in his abdomen that he’d grown accustomed to. It, like many other flaws in his health, could be attributed to his excessive life-style. Besides hi jewelry, Mayne only wore Jockey briefs. He stumbled over to his dresser, removed a pair of custom-tailored black leather pants, and changed. He found a dark purple silk kimono hanging in a walk in closet and put it on. In a dresser drawer was a gram vial of cocaine. Scooping with the long fingernail on his right pinkie, the tattered musician snorted eight blasts of rock ‘n’ roll aspirin. The kimono felt cool against his warm flesh. He wondered if he was feverish and concluded he probably was. He was always run down, as if with a perpetual fever. That is, of course, until he got his chip. He finished his beer, tossing the empty can in the general direction of a wastebasket that was already crammed with empties. Staring into a full-length mirror, the run-down recluse didn’t recognize the reflection. Sure, the long blond hair and tattoos gave him away, but he looked so frail. Mayne looked like someone who was ready for hospital pajamas. His once attractive face was blue, taut, and expressionless. A scraggly beard covered his chin and his emerald eyes were no longer authentic gems, but rather costume jewelry. He needed a drink.

For the past fourteen of his twenty-eight years, he’d spent the majority of his time inside a bottle. Teenage beer and wine parties turned to vodka and rum at nightclubs, which in turn evolved into straight whiskey. Exiting the bedroom, he said a silent prayer to his patron saint, Jim Beam, asking that there be some in the liquor cabinet. An illuminating golden glow surrounded the thick blackout curtains. A small war had gone down in the living room the previous evening. Full ashtrays, assorted liquor bottles, empty and half-empty packs of cigarettes, and beer cans were strewn everywhere. Several CD covers were caked in cocaine residue. Mayne tried remembering who had been partying there and couldn’t. An empty pack of Kool cigarettes meant that one of his many dealers, Jamie Jazz had delivered something. It didn’t take very long before he made the connection between the empty bindles in the bedroom and Jamie. Jamie (pronounced Jay-mee) was typical Hollywood trash who hand delivered coke, toke, crack, or smack to troubled celebrities, exploiting their vulnerabilities. Mayne searched for more clues as to who else had been over partying but came up blank. He slid behind the bar that was adjacent to the kitchen and opened a cabinet. There were several unopened bottles of assorted white liquors. A nervous surge shot through his small stomach. What if there was no whiskey? He shuffled the bottles around until he found the proper one. A sigh of relief escaped him as he twisted the cap off and made a mental note that he needed to restock. The whiskey’s aroma was his equivalent of fresh brewed coffee. "Here’s looking at you, love," Mayne said aloud, raising the bottle to his lips.

Like every day, one sip led to another. After several sips, he started feeling right. He put the bottle on the counter and made it to the refrigerator. If he was lucky, he’d be drunk before the day started. He removed another Budweiser and went back into the messy living room. There was a dull hum inside his cranium. He couldn’t differentiate whether it was cocaine-induced or the central air-conditioning. If only he could remember what day today was, then he’d know if a maid was scheduled to come by. She could bring booze. The musician sat on the couch, picked up the phone, and dialed 411.

"Operator. What city, please?"

"L.A."

"Yes?"

"What day is it? Mayne asked sincerely, lighting a Marlboro.

"What?"

"What day is it?"

"Sir, I’m an operator."

"Ma’am, you’re Information and I asked you a question," Mayne corrected her. A snide laugh escaped him. After a silent moment, she answered his question.

"It’s Wednesday, sir."

"Thanks," he said, and hung up. There would be no maid service today. This was not the way he wanted to start the day. He polished off the beer, finished his cigarette, and snorted more cocaine. After several confusing seconds, he remembered where he kept the large green garbage bags and began straightening up the mess. Moving around the large one-bedroom condominium, he picked up anything that wasn’t bolted down and threw it out. Bottles and empty food containers stretched the garbage bag to a point where it threatened to rip open. After ten minutes of straightening up, the apartment began taking shape. Besides this condominium, he also owned one in Manhattan and another in Houston. He rarely frequented his Hollywood Hills mansion, or for that matter, his house in Maui. Both brought back too many memories of her. It was in the Hollywood Hills house where he and Elizabeth Aston had spent most of their quality time. As his thoughts began betraying him, thinking more about her, Mayne instinctively went to the bar and retrieved the whiskey bottle. He could think of her as long as he had a safety net. With all the money, fame, and success he had attained, it was the simple things like friendship and love that were the hardest to keep. He never meant to hurt anyone, especially those closest to him, but for some reason that’s who he usually hurt the worst. He never set out to be malicious, but by living under a microscope with the world scrutinizing him, any wrongdoing, public or private, tended to blow up in his face and often wound up as Nightly News. Personal flaws and fuck-ups are not allowed of the elite. He often suffered silently, trapped by his own fame, until he needed out of his cage. But the cage was as wide as his eyes could perceive. All Mayne had ever tried to be, right or wrong, was himself. With all the doctors, specialists, therapists, fans, and everyone in his organization trying to help him, he just sank further into his cocoon, alienating himself even more. He often wondered who he really was. Was he another regenerated social security number automatically inherited at birth or a genuine reflection of society? Was he a phenomenon or just a facade? Was he a product of his own imagination or just another brick? Would he ever understand his own destiny?

Inside his mind, he analyzed why his relationship with Elizabeth had failed more times than were countable. Like the scholar he wasn’t, he dissected situations, pondered things he should’ve said and shouldn’t have been caught doing. When it came to sex, why couldn’t Elizabeth understand that just because he occasionally strayed from their bedroom didn’t mean he didn’t love her? Sex was like role-playing. He never forced her to be monogamous but deep down he knew that if he found out she was fucking someone else it would have hurt. A lot! Even with that knowledge, he couldn’t confine himself to only one woman. He wanted to have his cake and eat it too. He tried being open with her but concluded that certain things should’ve remained secret. Sex was an ego addiction similar to the one felt onstage. Different audiences, like different partners, were more challenging and made him work harder for the applause. Like drugs, he was addicted to the rush. Even with an empire at his disposal, money couldn’t buy him love, nor happiness, nor peace of mind. Nor Elizabeth. Looking around the large living room, a very disenchanted artist absorbed the modern decor. None of these possessions except a few token items had ever meant anything to Mayne. None of this shit was real. He was surrounded by trophies of a game that had no meaning. And he was tired of playing games.

A sharp pain in his left ear sent him back to the dark corridor that led from stage to dressing room. Inside his ringing head, speakers feeding back ignited and exploded. He was experiencing another rock ‘n’ roll side effect, ear damage. The dull hum lasted only seconds but the memories of his final show with his former band, Suicide Shift, would never fade. For reasons he couldn’t remember, Elizabeth had been unable to attend the tour’s final show. The band had been on the road for the better part of fourteen months, over 285 concerts. Every few weeks Mayne had flown her to whatever city he was performing in and she’d stay for a few nights. The final concert of any tour is an important night. It was Suicide Shift’s first headlining tour and Mayne wanted to share the experience with her. It was the culmination of many miles traveled, many hours worked, and the celebration that went on afterward was well deserved. He called her several times to offer her plane tickets, trying to persuade her, but she couldn’t make it.

The gig was well over two hours of electric ferocity. Of course Mayne consumed plenty of drugs and alcohol before and during the show (he did every gig), but it was the Florida crowd’s enthusiasm and knowing that he’d be able to sleep for a month that gave him extra spark. Every time he took a solo, he tried to best any previous soloing effort. Every time he approached his microphone to sing backups, his voice surged with whiskey vigor. For him, this was rock ‘n’ roll at its best. The 4,000-plus crowd acknowledged this with deafening applause.

After the final encore, it was time to celebrate. Mayne wound up with two eager females in his hotel room. In the privacy of his bathroom he injected a little heroin. Not enough to make him nod out but enough to get him good and high. The two nubile females would only make him feel better. After struggling to get his wet brown suede pants off, he joined the nude women, and thus the revelry began. The dope clouded his not-so-good memory but Mayne remembered a very drunk Peter Terrance walking into the room. The band’s drummer had mistaken Mayne’s room for his own. In the spirit of celebration, Mayne offered him a girl. Terrance declined saying he’d find his own and left. The menage-a-trois continued. Shortly afterward there was a knock on the door. Thinking it was Terrance taking up the offer, Mayne called out, telling whoever was at the door to enter. Standing at the door with an overnight bag was Elizabeth. On the spur of the moment she’d flown from L.A. to Miami to be with him. A very bad scene played itself out. Elizabeth left broken and hysterical. That was the beginning of the end for their relationship.

Mayne snapped out of the past. His left knee popped loudly as he straightened his legs and headed for the phone. He pushed a button. Elizabeth’s number was still programmed and every now and then he pushed it just to hear her phone ring. Also in the phone’s memory was his record label, his manager, the three members of his current band, the Mayne Mann Group, and several drug dealers. After receiving no answer at Elizabeth’s, he pushed another button. His many bracelets clinked together and a few seconds later there was a reply.

"Yeah?" spat an unenthusiastic voice from a car phone.

"It’s me," Mayne said, swallowing, cocaine dripping down his throat.

"My main man," Jamie’s voice declared like a cash register ringing. "What can I do ya for?"

"Uptown and downtown." Cocaine and heroin.

"No problem. You remember what I did for ya last night, right?"

"Yeah." He didn’t.

"You owe me three bills from that shit, brother man," the dealer explained just in case memory failed. I’m sure I got some change floatin’ around. If I can’t find some I’ll five ya my Versateller card and you can get what I owe."

"Bet. I’ll be right up," Jamie said as if he was doing Mayne a favor and hung up.

"Fuckin’ prick," Mayne mumbled to himself.

He lit up a cigarette and got himself another beer. The lid popped loudly and foam rose to the mouth hole. He watched, amused, then walked over to the black-out curtains and pulled the lever, letting bright sunlight invade his living room. "Fuck you very much," he loudly announced, squinting, and raising his middle finger to the sky. The view from his balcony was vast, displaying the City of Angels below, yet more often than not Mayne kept the curtains shut, preferring not to be a part of the world outside. It was safe inside his apartment. Against a far wall, tucked in the corner so that the ivory keys faced out toward the living room, was a vintage Steinway. He spent many pleasure-filled hours on the instrument, and even when he wasn’t playing, the piano gave him visual stimulation. It was an instrument of precision and grace. Next to the piano, resting comfortably on stands were half a dozen vintage guitars: Les Pauls, Stratocasters, and Telecasters. The guitars he kept in the apartment were the ones that meant the most to him.

The buzzer sounded, waking Mayne from his drifting thoughts. He went to the intercom and pressed the button that unlocked the front door. A few minutes later, Jamie Jazz was inside his apartment. Dozens of platinum and gold records adorned the walls. Hours upon years of planning, writing, recording, and struggling had reaped these round rewards. His songwriting stemmed from inner pains and his slower, more blues-influenced songs often dealt with personal hardships. Those were the songs he was most proud of and believed might stand the test of time. The faster, more hard-rock-oriented songs often had little significance or wore their meanings on their sleeve. Unfortunately, the awards were no longer awards without Elizabeth. Mayne excused himself and went into the bedroom. Hidden behind yet another platinum disc was a safe. He removed the disc from the wall, twisted the combination, and opened the safe. Inside were jewelry, documents, over four thousand dollars cash, a freebase pipe, and a loaded .357 Magnum. He grabbed a few C-notes and went back into the living room, leaving the safe shut but unlocked. Jamie was seated on the black leather couch, feet up on the marble coffee table, looking casual in Suicide Shift sweatpants (that he’d gotten from Mayne) and a matching sweatshirt. He’d helped himself to a beer.

"What’s the total?"

"Including last night? Six," Jamie replied, fidgeting with the beeper on his waist.

Mayne handed him six bills and put the rest in his pants pocket. Judging by the look on his face, the dealer understood he wanted to be alone and took the hint.

"Call me if you need anything else," Jamie offered, exiting the apartment.

The moment the front door clicked shut, Mayne’s mind rushed into overdrive but his body refused to move. He had drugs in hand, but instead of finding a syringe, he went back into the bedroom. Something in the wall safe more powerful than his addiction had caught his eye. He walked to the safe and pulled the door open. Inside was a photo album containing precious Kodachrome memories. Placing the drugs on top of the messy night table, he fell on the bed, and began flipping through the leather-bound book. Captured in photos were images and feelings so intense that it made him warm as well as suicidal. Elizabeth had challenged him intellectually while stimulating him sexually. She’d mothered him when he was sick, which was quite often. She’d set free inner feelings that he’d often tried avoiding. Her beauty, both inner and physical, was something he wanted; yet when she was his, he did everything conceivable to lose her.

He turned to the second page. He had no idea how many times he’d masturbated to this photo. Every other day perhaps. It was just a snapshot he’d taken of her while on vacation in Las Vegas. In photo form, the wind blew her long hair away from her face and she was smiling. Behind her was the Caesar’s Palace hotel where they’d spent the better part of two weeks in the penthouse suite. It was a typical tourist photo but it was her smile that turned him on. It was so free from pain. Mayne would do anything to have her smile for him like she had in the photograph. He’d do anything to have her lips, her body again.

He unbuttoned his leather pants. Before beginning his self-stimulation, he pulled himself over to the night-table refrigerator and removed an unopened bottle of Dom Perignon champagne. The bottle opened with a loud pop and smoke billowed from the top, but no liquid spilled.

Sipping deeply from the bottle, he flipped through the photo album that was all too short, carefully avoiding the final page. He rarely looked at the last page. As always, he wound up back on page two. With the bottle two-thirds empty, he pulled his pants and briefs down to his knees and poured the remaining champagne onto his palms. This was part of the ritual. Fine champagne was something he and Elizabeth enjoyed sharing. He could still share it with her. As he took hold of his wet erection, his thoughts began to slip. It was during one of their final dinner dates that she had said something that inspired him to write the most beautiful song of his career. "I can’t live with you and I can’t live without you," he could hear her saying as if it were just yesterday. Words flowed from pen to paper faster than he could write. Mayne concluded that this was his private way of explaining all that had happened between them. The song "Without You," was not an apology, it was his side of the story. It was rock ‘n’ roll sincerity that sold over three million copies in the U.S., topping the record sales charts and putting the Mayne Mann Group on top of the rock world. He offered Elizabeth half of the royalties from the song because without her there would be no song. She politely declined. A sold-out Mayne Mann Group tour ensued. When the tour arrived in Los Angeles, Mayne desperately wanted to see her. No matter how many women he had, no matter how over her he told everyone he was, he’d do anything for her except let her permanently slip out of his life.

He’d called her a dozen times over the course of two days, leaving message after message on her answering machine. Even though she never responded, he’d left her ten All-Access passes at Will Call. She never showed.

After the show, Mayne vowed he wouldn’t make the same mistake twice. He quickly showered, changed into dry clothing, and left, avoiding all the backstage hoopla. He and his driver headed for Elizabeth’s apartment. Using the phone in the limousine, he dialed her from the street below her apartment. Again he was greeted by a recorded message.

"Elizabeth, I know–I hope you’re there. I’m downstairs and even if I have to break down the door to see you, I’m willing. If you’re gonna call the cops, well, call ‘em now. . . I don’t expect anything from you. I don’t deserve anything . . . Fuck, I don’t even know what I’m trying to say other than I still care about you. Words can’t heal what I’ve done but, fuck, the past is done . . . I really need to see your face again," Mayne softly explained after the beep. The words still echoed in his mind as he wondered if he could’ve possibly phrased things differently. It was too late now, he thought, already inside the building. This was one of the rare occasions after a gig that Mayne was sober. As he arrived by way of elevator at her floor, he heard familiar music. The closer he got to her door the louder the volume grew. Then his world began to spin uncontrollably as a loud gunshot echoed through the hallway. He ran toward her apartment, lowered his shoulder, and with reckless abandon crashed through the wooden door. He’d found Elizabeth on the couch, bleeding profusely, most of her head splattered on the wall behind her. On the blood-sprayed coffee table in front of her was the answering machine, a ballpoint pen, and several crumpled balls of writing paper. He stood destroyed before her corpse. How could this have happened? All he had ever done was lover her. Devastated, he slowly walked over to the blaring stereo. A CD single of "Without You" was programmed to repeat. He wondered how many times she’d listened to the same song and shut the power off. Then he noticed that next to the answering machine was a note.

Number one with a bullet, the red-speckled note read.

Shaking and convulsing, his tears falling freely, Mayne began screaming at the top of his lungs. It sounded like someone had unleashed a wild animal. His shrieks threatened to break the windows. A migraine pierced his throbbing temples and his entire head was overloaded with pressure. Did she kill herself because they had failed or because he wouldn’t leave her be? Was it the song, one of the few things he’d ever done autonomously, that had driven her to this? Was this really happening? Then another thought came out mind. He removed the pistol from her hand and put it against his temple.

He was going to join her.

CLICK.

It was empty. Elizabeth had known she would only need one bullet.

Mayne snapped out of that nightmare and was thrust into another memory. He recognized the familiar room as the honeymoon suite in Las Vegas and almost felt at ease. The bed was in disarray and Elizabeth was smiling mischievously.

"What do you want to do?"

"Wha’?" Mayne responded, confused.

They’d already drunk several bottles of champagne and made love twice.

"What do you want to do?" she replied softly, daring Mayne to answer.

Mayne caught wind of her game and decided to play along. If she was giving him an option as to what they’d do next, he was definitely going to take advantage of her generosity.

"You can either come up here and tell me that you love me or go down on me."

Elizabeth’s face registered joy. Words like love were the hardest to get out of Mayne’s mouth. Once again she smiled as she began her descent toward his waistline. It didn’t take her very long to bring him back to life. Several minutes later, when she sensed that he was as excited as he was going to get, Elizabeth looked up at her man and with the sexiest expression she would conjure, softy said, "I love you."

Mayne came with a slight grunt. The powerful surge had given him something to work at but there was no pleasure in the orgasm. There never was anymore. He tossed the photo album aside and lay on the bed feeling dead, staring at the ceiling. For a split second, he thought he heard musical strands of "Without You" but it was only his imagination. His tired body lay there for what felt like a year before he sat up. At least the drugs on the night table were real. Everything he needed was on the table. Hidden beneath the clock radio was a syringe and a blackened spoon. There was a half-empty glass of water and a lighter next to it. In the spoon he mixed the proper amounts of heroin and water, and then, using the lighter, heated the bottom of the spoon until the mixture cleared up before placing a tiny piece of cotton into the spoon. With unsteady hands, he added some cocaine and his speedball was complete. Being a high-profile celebrity, he couldn’t afford to have his withered arms tracked up too badly. He usually shot into the back of his forearms or his feet. He also injected into his neck but the way he felt right now, he had no time to dillydally. Like an expert acupuncturist, he fixed into a bulging vein in his forearm.

"Cool," he mumbled, carefully examining his arm, as he felt the speedball coming on.

He fell back down on the bed. Between the drugs and his emotions, he was exhausted. It was a good thing drugs numbed away most of the pressures. He was rushing out as the drug hit him in powerful waves. It took several moments before he realized his left arm was touching something. He slowly rolled over. The photo album was opened to the last page. The last page contained Elizabeth’s obituary and a sympathy card. Tears he’d held in since that day began to flow down his cheeks. His pale face flushed as he felt his strength evaporating. He was drowning in sorrow but didn’t believe in self-pity and that made him feel even worse. He sat up hyperventilating with a question echoing inside his head. Why did she have to die? He had no answer and stood up too quickly. Why was everything so fucked? He went back into the living room. He needed whiskey.

Why?

He loved her so much.

Why?

He’d offered her half the royalties. Half. That was a financial empire, but she’d refused.

Why?

He’d tried to make amends. He’d tried being good according to society’s standards. He wanted to understand everything that had happened to them. He wanted her to love him but no matter how hard he tried, he fucked it up.

Why?

He wanted to be normal again but that wasn’t possible.

Why?

He wanted to feel closer to Elizabeth but she was dead. That tormented his fragile soul but for a split second of insane logic, Mayne concluded that his body should not be spared either.

"Arrrrrrggghh!" he growled, attacking his living room like a pissed-off brawler. Fists and feet attacked defenseless walls and furniture. He cocked his right fist back and a large hole went through plaster. He snatched an Oriental lamp off an end table and hurled it across the room. He violently threw a marble ashtray into a plaque, ruining both. Breathing heavily and drenched in alcoholic sweat, he grabbed a platinum record and smashed it, spraying glass shards everywhere. The shattered glass on the floor twinkled like sun-reflected sand. No matter how many hotel rooms he trashed during his career, Mayne had never harmed a guitar. That was strictly taboo until today. He walked over to the row of guitars, grabbed a ‘68 Stratocaster by its stringed neck and swung, smashing the mahogany body until it was little more than firewood. With each self-destructive act, he felt slightly better. He walked over to another platinum disc, readied himself and put his right fist through the glass. Blood spurted from the hand that was heavily insured by Lloyds of London.

For the first time that day he smiled.

Mayne grabbed the Jim Beam bottle off the bar and guzzled. The liquid painkiller warmed his heaving chest and eased his bleeding hand, which looked like it needed stitches. He walked over to his Fischer stereo, and, using his good hand, turned on the receiver. The digital readout was locked on a classic rock station. It was the only safe station on the dial, since it never played any of his songs. Mayne Mann was too new, too current. The station only played material from the 60s and 70s. He instantly recognized the song playing; it was Humble Pie’s "I Don’t Need No Doctor." It was raw rock like this that had inspired him to become a musician. Following the Pie were the Allman Brothers. Mayne could relate to what it felt like being tied to a whipping post.

During the commercials, he went into the kitchen to grab another beer. Out of his stereo speakers a record store chain announced its prices as the lowest in Los Angeles. The background music accompanying the record store commercial was "Without You."

His eyes stung but no tears fell as he realized that no matter where he was, he couldn’t hide from himself. Like a man on a mission, he walked over to the stereo, grabbed the receiver, and yanked with both hands. It took several strong tugs before the digital lights went off. With the receiver in hand, he stumbled backward, ripping wires and knocking over one of the large Bose speakers. Distraught and panting, he mad his way to the giant sliding safety glass door that led to the balcony. He casually dropped the high-tech receiver and undid the latch that kept the heavy door locked. Fresh air attacked his senses. The cool breeze felt invigorating as he stepped out onto the balcony and looked over the edge. His jet-black Bentley sat gleaming in the parking lot directly below. He picked the receiver up, held it over the balcony, and aimed it at the car. After several seconds of wondering if his aim was accurate, he let go. Glass spidered wildly when the receiver hit the car’s windshield and broke through. He went to fetch the beer he’d been distracted from and ripped the refrigerator door open as hard as he could. It crashed open, spilling several items onto the floor. The door dangled by a hinge. Mayne grabbed a beer, chugged half, and like a strong-armed baseball pitcher threw it at his guitar collection, barely missing his favorite: a vintage ‘57 Sunburst Les Paul. He grabbed another can from the crippled refrigerator as his eyes returned to the guitars.

The guitars were like adopted children and he loved each one in a different manner.

Certain guitars held certain memories but each guitar had the ability to create magic. It was that potential he respected and admired most about these guitars until this afternoon. Now, no matter how much he loved a certain guitar, or how valuable it might be, all he wanted to do was feel pain. Pain brought him closer to reality. It brought him closer to Elizabeth. He gave the world music, very good music, and asked for little in return. A little space to create, some kicks thrown in, and how about peace of mind? Instead, he had more material goods than he could ever use, more money than he could count, and nothing worth fighting for. There was a time not too long ago when he’d fought like hell for all of this. Now that he owned a piece of the rock he wished he could give it back. The view from the top wasn’t as picturesque as he’d imagined. What he did as his artistic expression, the record company sold for capital. He’d quickly grown disillusioned with the system but what else could he do? Without the industry he couldn’t share his music. No matter how hard anyone tried explaining it to him, musical notes would never equal dollar signs. He made music because since his early childhood, he truly loved rock ‘n’ roll. It was the people, his people, he wrote music for after he finished writing for himself. So then, why couldn’t he sleep at night?

He stared at the answer.

He was going to kill his guitars. If it wasn’t for these guitars, he wouldn’t have the problems he did. And he’s save the goddamn ‘57 Sunburst for last. He guzzled the beer, raising it away from his greedy mouth. Budweiser rained down the side of his face. When the can was almost empty, he crushed and spiked it like a football. Enraged, he grabbed a Les Paul Black Beauty and dealt it a quick but savage death against a wall. He raised a rare Telecaster over his head and clubbed the coffee table, breaking both. Then he picked up another Les Paul and, swinging it like a baseball bat, clobbered a lamp and several other objects before the guitar’s neck snapped off.

"Fuckin’ cheap shit," he grumbled.

He heard something that had a bit of rhythm to it. Was there a drummer playing in his head? It took several seconds for him to realize that one of the neighbors was pounding on the wall.

"WHAT, A LITTLE TOO LOUD FOR YA?" Mayne shouted at the direction the noise was coming from.

It didn’t stop.

"YER PISSING ME OFF, ASSHOLE!"

Knock-Knock-Knock-Knock-Knock.

"Motherfucker, I'm giving ya fair fucking warning," he said.

Knock-Knock-Knock-Knock-Knock.

Mayne walked into the bedroom and over to the night table. He grabbed his cocaine and poured a decent-sized mound on the back of his hand that wasn’t bleeding and snorted. Afterward he licked residue off his fist, numbing his teeth and gums. There was a pack of Marlboros on the table. He grabbed one and lit it. He took a deep drag and listened to his surroundings.

The neighbor was still pounding. The ashtray was an overflowing mountain of dead butts so Mayne placed the cigarette on the edge of the night table. He had tried to avoid a confrontation, but the shithead next door wouldn’t let it lie. He went to his wall safe, grabbed the Smith & Wesson .357 Magnum, and charged out of the bedroom. "OKAY, HOMEFUCK, WANNA PLAY GAMES?"

Knock-Knock-Knock-Knock-Knock.

KABAMMM, KABAMMM, KABAMMM.

He unloaded three shots toward the already hole-ridden wall. The pounding stopped instantly. Again he smiled. He aimed the pistol at one of his platinum discs on another wall and blasted the shiny sphere. He aimed at his TV and blew it to kingdom come. One bullet left. He held the silver-plated pistol in awe. He could easily join Elizabeth; all it would take was one quick squeeze of the trigger. The idea appealed to him. Maybe he’d get it right in his next life. Slowly, eyes closed, he raised the pistol. The trigger teased his scarlet index finger. The barrel felt good against his temple. Readying himself, he reopened his eyes. In front of him, mocking him, were two more Les Paul guitars. There once was a point in his life when these musical embodiments were holy. The dedication and years of practicing were a labor of love. Guitars were his passion, his expression, and his ticket out of obscurity. But all of that changed with one song. Now these guitars were reminders that Mayne could never regain his innocence.

"Can’t I fuckin’ die with some dignity?" he wondered as rage consumed him.

He couldn’t even commit suicide without music somehow interfering. His shaking arm lowered and took aim at one of the guitars. There was heavy recoil as wooden fragments flew everywhere. He put a massive hole in the guitar, and then walked over to examine his accuracy. It was definitely dead, but that wasn’t enough. He picked up the remains and threw them against the safety-glass door. He walked over to the balcony’s edge. Below, a small crowd had gathered around his ruined luxury car.

"Anybody want an autograph?" he asked, tossing out the fragmented guitar.

"Wait a minute, wait a minute. I got another present!" he yelled, and ran into the bedroom.

His heavy footsteps jarred the cigarette he’d forgotten off the night table. It smoldered on the thick rug. Mayne dug inside the wall safe, grabbed a handful of hundred-dollar bills, and ran back to the balcony before his audience could scurry away.

"Don’t say I never gave you anything," he announced, letting the money fly.

Several wary spectators stepped backward but as soon as it was obvious that the confetti was currency, they rushed forward. Mayne waved to the small crowd and went back inside.

One guitar remained.

He stared at the ‘57, marveling at the beautiful colors. It was appropriately called a Sunburst. Reds, oranges, and yellows swirled in the wooden body. This one had gold trim as well as golden pickups. The Sunburst was his preference of all guitars. He had another two dozen in storage but this guitar was the first thing he bought after Suicide Shift was signed to a recording contract. It was how he’d rewarded himself for having "made it." This was also the guitar he’d written the music to "Without You" on. He approached it with caution and respect and gently picked it up. He sat down on the floor Indian style. Deep down, he was glad he hadn’t destroyed this ax. His picking hand hurt badly, but he wanted to play. Blood dripped off his hand and dripped down the guitar’s body. Enthralled, Mayne watched it run. No matter how intoxicated he was, his fingers never betrayed him, and this particular guitar always responded to his call. He began picking something that sounded like Hendrix. He paused abruptly. Something about that last guitar run shook him up and he couldn’t continue. In a vague way, it reminded him of a part in "Without You." After taking a deep breath, Mayne partially regained his composure. Multimillionaires like Mayne Mann aren’t supposed to cry. They’re beyond tears or at least that’s what society wants to believe. Mayne Mann was just Stephen Maynard Mandraich, a talented kid who could run his nimble fingers along a piece of stringed wood. He began to strum one of his favorite riffs, Thin Lizzy’s "Don’t Believe a Word." Even though the guitar wasn’t amplified, he could hear it as if it was. He let the last note ring out as he stopped and reflected. He used to love the feel of this instrument in his hands. He used to love making the strings come to life. He used to love just holding this guitar. Then his mind viciously reminded him that he’d also loved the way Elizabeth felt. He quickly rose off the floor and tossed the guitar aside. It landed with a loud DWWWAANNNGGGG.

He stared blankly at the guitar and thought of her. Both had given him so much pleasure, but he’d never been able to properly express his gratitude. He never told her the truth about how she made him feel, about how much he loved her, and when he did, the song reaffirmed that he should’ve kept his mouth shut. At least she’d still be alive. But the song was pure and he wanted to play it for her. Even if her physical body wasn’t present, he could still sing to her in heaven. He wanted to jam but was afraid to touch the guitar.

Then Mayne saw an alternative. He scooped up the almost-dead whiskey bottle and finished what little was left. It slipped silently from his hand. Very drunk, very drugged out, he staggered over to the piano. The smoldering cigarette on the bedroom rug had burned its way over to the goose-down comforter. The cover caught and flames quickly spread throughout the bedroom. Discarded clothing acted as kindling and soon the bedroom was on fire.

Until several hazy hours ago, Mayne’s life, no matter how miserable, had been something most people could only dream about. It was all an illusion, and he was one of rock ‘n’ roll’s elite, a hero. Now, he’d been reduced to his basic self and nothing really mattered. He felt the thorns wrapped around his heart and for the first time in far too long, felt human again. He’d smothered his spirituality in drug abuse. He’d stunted his health and personal growth with vice. He’d blinded himself because he was afraid to see that his purpose, his gift in life, was to be true to himself. And the only time he was able to find that inner truth was when he played his music. He softly tapped the ivory keys, making melodies come to life through his fingers. No matter how badly his hand hurt, he persisted in making music. He was determined to play for Elizabeth and all the other angels. With every fluid run, every harmony, every musical accent, his inner pain subsided a little. With each passing musical note, he became one with the music.

Sweating profusely, Mayne felt something stirring behind him. He tried ignoring it for as long as possible. Finally, he turned and saw large flames billowing out of his bedroom. At first he thought it was a hallucination but the fire was scorchingly real and heading his way. His favorite guitar was already engulfed and dying. He wanted to save it but couldn’t. He refused to let his jamming be interrupted. Elizabeth was listening. Every time his fingers pressed the Steinway’s keys, crimson stained the ivory and smeared. He ignored the small red spots, sliding his long fingers through them. Scarred-up veins bulged from his forearms a sweat ran down his face. All he’d ever wanted to do with his life was play his music and now he was. For the moment, he felt free from his demons. He built up the courage and began singing "Without You" in his natural gruff voice. The thick carpeting quickly became a wall-to-wall inferno as a giant wave of fire rose up and spread around the piano. He couldn’t have cared less. As flames swallowed the apartment, Mayne never screamed and never missed a note.

The End

2003-05-27T10:42:00.000-07:00

wow.... tdoay I learned what independent study is... I was sitting in my poli-sci class and we were having
our ordinary group discusion what politics. After about seven minutes I realized that I really have no
concept of Canadian politics, let alone local politics... Well everyone was spouting off names of ridings,
policies, big-wigs and what have you, I turned the the person next to me (whom was equaly bewildered) and we
both shrugged our shlouders. Looks like I'll be watching a lot of news, and reading papers to catch up on
latest and greatest in this country. And lets just forget the fact that I know really nothing about economics
which isn't helping matters either.

Well today is my last day at karate - it's also my last day to get my presentation done... I can't wait to
have a little extra time to myself, but I'm going to miss teaching those little shits...

Anyways, I gotta finish my novel. That's all for now.

Later, Gay-tors

2003-05-19T16:07:00.000-07:00

So we meet again. . . .
To anyone else who uses blogger, why is the update window so small?? I don't get it.
Anyways, Saturday was one of the best days that I've had in a long, long time. woke up around 10:00 on my own. A decent hour to up and about. After talking with Erin I headed down to Retook by myself to so some shopping. Now I'm not usually a shopping kind of guy, but I have to say I found it to be relaxing and liberating... Too bad I don't have the money to do it all the time. After spending a few hours in the mall I called Erin and she made plans to meet her at the station and Skytrain it downtown to play tourist.

What a great idea it was! Whilst waiting for Erin to show up I had three spontaneous conversations with passers-by. They ranged from mile long foot races to the value of recycling. I also saw Kal and his girlfriend there. It's always nice to see people from highschool.
As soon as Erin got on the scene I felt it a good time to whip out my treat.. . . .. A CANDY APPLE!!!!! Until that point, the last time I had a candy apple was eight years ago. It was also the second time in my life that I've had a candy apple. Needless to say I enjoyed it like a fatboy does cake.

The train in was as fun as usual. When can you take public transit and not find SOMETHING to laugh at. We got off at Granville, and walked through the endless labyrinth that is Pacific Center (it's quite amazing if you think about how a huge center like that is all underground). Once street-side, we took our newly bough FUNSAVER around the city on foot. We saw the various sites that make up the great Western Canadian City that is Vancouver (insert salute here). The highlight, one of many, for me must have been the conversation between myself and various cruise ship goers. Talking to the people while they were in their cabins just before the ship left port at Canada Place was hilarious. After the standard waving and kiss blowing, a fellow observer joined in the fun. But this was no ordinary by-stander - he was the ship's DJ that had just got off a seven month cruise around the Pacific!! It was very funny to hear the inside scope on the cruising industry. All this was proceeded by a jaunt down Granville and Robson R/R where I was mistaken for an American. Afterwards we headed to Kyle's for some gooood drinkin'.

2003-05-07T17:58:00.000-07:00

A silver lining for every cloud they say.

Well I don't know about that, but my English class is a hell of a lot better than my psyc class. And thank god for that.
My instructor for english seems to be a really down to earth type of person who enjoys taeching. Which will be a nice
change from the unenthused grad students doing their time. But the real deal in the TA, and luckily, my TA. Also very
down to earth, friendly, motivated to teach, and is very pretty. I believe that this class with definately make up the
deficit inflicted by psyc201. On a humourus note... I had trouble finding my lecture hall for english, but after that
adventure, I ended up walking in the class at the same time as the instructor. After the usual addresses accompanied in
the first class of the year, and timeless jokes, she said the full name of the course. A name to which I had not come
across until that morning. Current issue in native american litterature and culture. HAH What a coincodence, I
thought to myself. I'm native. And I've been luaghting at this little private joke ALLLLL morning. So at least I can
say I'll be interested in the reading for the class, I just hope I don't choke on the "english" part of the course.

Anyways, I'm only one stop away from Excite where I'm going to meet Erin and Mike, and maybe Raj if they called him.
Bye all.

2003-05-06T22:16:00.000-07:00

How many times have I sat down to update and then gotten distracked, I'd lose it or something. . . Ah hell, I can't
lie - I just didn't have anything to write about. And the few times that I did have something to write about I was
just too lazy to do it. Well no more!! Plus THABADGUY signed my book and that made me feel loved again.

Headlines

I have spent the last three consequtive weekends at Erin's house getting smashed - GO CANUCKS GO!! Shall we try for
four. The last one was the most eventful. A good cue/party is never a bad experience. But I drank for insurance
purposes. Props to Erin's family for putting up with my drunk ass. The highlight of the night for me was watching
the cops come through Erin's door. What made it more humorus was the fact that the cop that came was Kendell from
Alpha last year. Lets hope I never have to speak to a police officer while under the influence again. The queer thing
was that he didn't even tells us to keep it down, and looked more annoyed that we were all being a civil drunken bunch.
Good for the stories though.

Aside from that joyus experience, school started for the summer yesterday. what hoot. Already I can see that at least
one of my classes is going to be UNBEARABLE. I know school is supposed to be challenging, but come on! The chick who's
instructing my psyc class is probably one of the most annoying people to listen to I have heard in recent memory. I
just hope that she know's her shit. Not only does she have female version of the voice of the scientist off the
Simpsons, but every third word out of her mouth was "..uh...". And myself, and a few hundred other individuals have to
endure that two times a week for an hour! Maybe things will get better. Hopefully that psychological phemonemon,
habituation, will kick in after a week or two.

well that's all I can think of for now, until next time...

2003-03-24T13:37:00.000-08:00

UPDATE

Looks like the web circuit has been busy well I have been out of the loop. Erin's gettin' it from all sides, Mika's Mika, a surprise attack from the Chad, and Alvin is in top form as usual - Alvin... if only you had a website that you could post your many wonderful ideas instead of wondering from guestbook to guestbook with
your genius. As for the Minhas, he's been the busiest little bee there is. In sum, I feel left out so I'm updating again, plus I'm sick and I can't go out. Speaking of being sick, last night I had the worse bought as far as fevers go - 39.4c. My mommy wanted me to go to the hospital, but I was like "Mom, they made people having heart-attacks wait for seven hours, what do you think there going to with me?" Besides I'd probably catch SARS or some shit in my weakened condition. I don't trust the medical community at all. I didn't really before, now even less now that I've been to univeristy. Those crazy doctors... HEY, Did anyone catch the WAR last night?? I see the whole thing, but I heard it went into overtime! Man, I don't mind the Americans covering the war, I'm not going to pretend that it's not going to change pretty much
everything in the freeworld, and in the subjugated world, too. The fact of the matter is, Iraq is a piss ant little country the just happened to strike oil, and that's the only reason anybody cares about it in the first place. I'm fine with that, you can't change the way the world works, so don't bother bitching or acting shocked at the superficiality of it all. But the fact still remains that leader the would launch chemical weapons on his own people has to be removed. Period. Saddam is a mean som'bitch and he either needs to step off or be killed, end of story. Non of our business, you say? Well fuck you. Can't achieve peace through violence? Think again, Germany had to be beaten down twice before they fell in line. Americans are power hungery Imperialists just like the lot of them? You'll get no argument from me. But I'd rather live in a flag waving democracy than tough it out in a authoritarian-totalitarian government that shoots and tortures it dissidents rather then the patronizing laughter with an occasional pepper-spraying... Not that I don't have a problem with a dictatorship and a form of government, it's the dictator that's the weak link, not the system. Even democracy, with its many power checks and balances, has trouble being fair to everyone all the time. Democracy for all I say, until you can show me a dictator perfect and benevolent.

That's one of the things that bugs me about people who live in free democracies, they don't realize what kind of a gift they have, and how much it cost to attain, and maintain that gift. Voter turn is disgusting... If you didn't vote, you don't have a right to bitch about the government, you take what you get you lazy bastard. All
the candidates are slime? Probably, but you had better at least choose the one that doesn't slime over ALL your ideals. Tired of the rich getting all the special treatment? Well GET UP OFF YOUR LAZY ASS AND VOTE! The rich get catered to because they are the ones that get the government in! Nobody listens to the silent majority. Tens of millions of people fought, died, and sacrificed so that we all could at least have a choice in who controls every little thing in our lives. Right now, Canadian soldiers are all over the world protecting OTHER people's right's and freedoms. Not our place? THE HELL IT ISN'T. If we have to kill of a few heartless, murdering leaders
that would rather spend money on out dated weapons from Russia than feeding there people for decades - look out, because the freeworld world will bare down on you. Why do we only seem to 'liberate' those people who have important resources to us? Why the hell would you start with the weak ones?? One step at a time folks. We may have bombs that knock three times on the door before they blow up in your face, but war is war. And they're fighting for their lifes too. Bottom line - I'd rather pay taxes and student loans for the rest of my life than pay taxes, remain uneducated, AND get my ass kicked around by the secret police.

So the morale of the story is... Government's aren't perfect, but ours is run by us, the people, so it's our fault. Get up off your ass and vote. Don't know anything about politics? Get with the program, politics is life, if you haven't realized that yet, go back to highschool. No one is going to hold your hand and point everything out for
you along the way. Life is tough, and people are out to get you. It's your responsibility and no one else's to speak your mind and be a part of the governing process that makes up our free Canada.

In sum, don't like what the government is doing? Shut the fuck up, you probably didn't vote anyways, and you did, you better write a letter and lots of them. Than you can bitch. War is bad?? No shit, life is about surviving, you didn't really believe that animals come from all over the fuck from Africa to celebrate the birth of a new king
and the Circle of Life? Lions eat other animals ALIVE, and it ain't pretty, and it is raw. War is about survival.

2003-03-14T13:09:00.000-08:00

Wow.. It's amazing what a full night's sleep can do for a person... I got a full eight hours, the first time that has happened since this God forsaken month began. Stupid school... stupid work...stupid work... I guess it'll all pay off in the end. Yes, that is it - it's all about the retirement. Livin' it up in a substandrard nursing home, takin' the bus everywhere, having teenagers use your old living room as a staging ground for a party as soon as you leave
State-side for the weekend. The glory... I cannot wait.

Well I haven't done the web crawl in long time, I wonder what sort of events are happening. Has Mika found a tile? You shouldn't have waited so long, not it's so built up anything you pick will suck. What kind of halarity has THABADGUY had to endure on the good'old B-Line? Has Irene found
meaning to life yet? I can't wait to find out. Man, I was coming out of class about twenty minutes ago and I remembered that I had to call some people
to see about getting some free tuition but the number I needed was on the net. Off I go to library. After a quick tour of the PACKED facilities I stood in line with the rest of the chumps. Then it hit me. I brought my laptop today! SEE YA SUCKAS! I walked into the AQ pulled it out and the day was saved.
Thank you modern technology. Speaking about school. I don't know about the rest of you, but things could be going alot better for me. Good thing I take final exam for my mark in math, better not mess that one up. Philosophy is a lost cause. Other than those two, I'm doing pretty well. Still, the threat of AP lingers in the back of my mind. I wouldn't want to join the "Foresty King" from UBC on that list - You know who you are.... What worries me more though is my record for Grad school. A long way to think I guess but those guys are ANAL. I have a lot to be thankful for, and all is well for the most part. Yay Life.

In the good old text message tradition:

UBC IS GAY (not that there's anything wrong with that)

2003-03-02T23:01:00.000-08:00

What a day... It all started with a call from Ian. After an hour of waiting, and wasting time it was off to the IOC Street Party. You would think that just having thousands of people in the high end commerical district in the Downtown Core would be enough to have a good time. You think wrong. Aside from a few pictures that, in hind sight, looked more fun than they actually were, the whole venture was a bust. Althought the crazy war-lady and the protestors were pretty cool. And who could forget those four crazy umpa-lumpas?? Maybe it wasn't so bad after all.

Later that evening. . . . .

I went with Ana to grab some dessert, thanks Ana. Then we went to go to get her bus pass. Eveything normal... or was it? On the way out of the store, while backing out of the stall I heard a bang, a crunch, and then I looked at this guy in a phonebooth; his expression said it all. We got out to check the damage and found a flat tire - well more like an exploded tire. Hilarity insued. After many jibes and cracks it was time to get down and do the man thing - I promptly called Mika and Anthony. They came and change the tire and we were on our way. In record time compared to Phil's little escapade. I won't soon forget that night.

2003-02-27T20:17:00.000-08:00

"With great power comes great responsibility" k......I gotta shit load of responsibility, so where the fuck is all that power!? And I'm not even going to bother citing that quote, because if you don't know it by now, keep quiet or you'll be shot. Not that I'm saying that I'm power hungry or anything, but it would be nice if I had a reward every now and then. I need a paycheck to remind me what it's all for... on second thought, that would probably piss me off even more. The more I think about it the more I think taking the summer off might be good for me. Although, I know I would be bored off my ass after two weeks. Besides, the sooner I grab my degree, the sooner I can start my life. It'll be a hard road. Hey look a war show!! see ya later!

2003-02-26T11:20:00.000-08:00

Healthy Mind, Healthy Body.... Easier said than done. In training over the last little bit I have noticed that you really only have enough time to focus on one thing at a time. It took me four weeks to trim off the "freshman fifteen" and I can already feel it coming back. At least in spirit. When you work out really hard during the day, especially if you're doing cardio, all you want to do is lay down or sleep. Least of all read or pay attention to something. When you're studying, you have no choice but to sit around and do nothing well you enjoy the tidium of flipping pages one at a time, ever working towards the back of the book. And for some reason, all you can think about doing is eating!

Now let us take a look at the stereotypically paradigms of the Healthy Mind and the Healthy Body - to better illustrate these seemingly differing dichotomies.

"Hi, my name is Ernst, and I am completely a joint-major in computer science and triple minor in biology, chemistry and physics. I spend my whole day reading my text books, and taking notes. Spare time?? What's that? In my spare time I do my physic. Either when sitting at home, riding the bus, or "socializing" in the common areas at school, I will not be sperated from my books. I carry a pocket protector, because I can't afford to have my favourite (and only) plad shirt ruined by the ink of my four coloured pen. What is a girl? I learned about them in biology, and see them in their natural environment. But I believe further research and hypothesis testing is in order before I move in for an applied field study, umm hey umm hey. I eat very little, because if I were to take time out from studying I won't remain competive for all those spiffy scholarships and grants. Exercise? The only exercises I do are at the end of the chapter. If I did a situp, I would snap my spine like a twig. Intense reading has whithered by body to mere skin and bones, allowing maxium out put of my upper-cognitive powers. In the end it won't matter, though. I'll just get one of those talking chairs with a computer in it so ALL I can do is think. Damn this corporeal body!!!"

"hey , dudes!! my name iz ChAd!! I wrok out tens times a dai. I dun have time 2 go 2 plazes like skool, they jus take away from mi passion!!! Hard body Hard play. That's my maxim! Speakin' of Maxim, you C that totally hot chick on the cover, rite on! wut wuz I talking abot? oh yeha... mi I run liek 4 an hour a day & go to the gym once in the morning and again at nite. I didn't worry about my gradz in Hi-school because I was too busy gettin' my mac on, and workin' out. I take the health shakes that make mi huge and puffy. ma coach sayz that'll fuck up my liver, but I got two of those, rite? it's not like my life is all fun and games, I have responsiblitiy 2. My site forman is always bustin' my ass. 'Stop talking to that skirt and get back to work!' or 'Get rid of that beer!' fuckin' koksmoker! one day I'll be a pro body builder, then I won't have 2 worri about jogs n sheit! that is if I don't get VD, die in a drunk driving accident, or mess up mi body with drugs and supplements. wuteve... i gotta jet off 2 da gym dudes! FEEL THE BURN!"

There must be a healthy medium!! Is it Brain or Body? Can we not have both? I guess only the Ancient Greeks know the answer to that question... They really did have the perfect society. . . . . . Oh, Constopolus, dear. Have you seen my boy?

Has anyone seen my thin silk net, or broad sword? I need a hug.

2003-02-25T13:04:00.000-08:00

Poo-tee-weet

Well reading break is over... and it's Tuesday. Two days of sleep and fun were great, now it's back to the grind. And what a grind. Just over half way through all my courses and some how, all the assignment still have to be done. It'll be non-stop working from hear on in (how long that attitude is going to last is another question, since I'm here updating and not reading). Well, only time will tell. And the stupid summer semester starts on May 5, so I two weeks off before I have to start again. Hopefully I'll have my program all sorted out by then, I need to chill on my electives and save some for fourth year.

In other news. We had a BBQ over the weekend. Rag-tag, and half assed as it was, there was a BBQ on the first sunny day and that's all that matters. Eat it BADGUY. I must say I'm enjoying our preview of warmer weather. I finally get to use my sun glasses - Thank you student loan. It's really hard to update when there isn't much going on in your life but books and coffee. Where's the drama? Not that I'm asking for any, but usually there's an ample supply of antics to choose from. But all seems quite on the western front. I never read that book because in Ms. Meltzer's class, you read Slaughter House Five. There's was a lot of talk about being naked, masturbating, and lot of talking about death. So it goes. Sometimes I feel as though I've become "unstuck" in time. As though I'm not really in control of what happens in my life, and it's all planned out of some flim strip.... pre-determined. Sometimes it just feels like I'm watching it fly past, and I dont' have to worry about where it goes, beacuase the film strip has already been taped. Everything has a beginning and everything has an end. So it goes. I guess the trick is to remember the good things. My psychology Professor would call that having an "external locus of control". Uncontrolled and Unstable. But I know better. Becuase I could have easily decided to stay in bed this morning. Or could I?

If you're ever in the Greater Vancouver Area, Look me up, I'm The Chief. Everybody knows me there!

It's good to have friends. Me, Mike, and Erin, the Three Musketeers!!!. I have a sword, you know. I could easily chop someone in half. Stupid dog, I showed him! So it goes. But he would have died anyways. Since the film strip has already been taped.

But sometimes all you need is a visit from Montana Wildhack, and everything seems a bit better. I hate being watched. Life is a big zoo, and we're studied all the time. Just ask the Tralfamadorians. But they're no better than us - they destoryed the universe. So it goes.

There once was a man from Nantucuit.......

But now I must go, as we all will at some point. The strip will continue, even when your sence ends. So it goes.

Poo-tee-weet
Poo-tee-weet

2003-02-21T01:17:00.000-08:00

I was sitting in the gym today, listening to The Fox, as they always play, when in between sets I heard the club updates. Nothing strange there... or is there. Now do not be alarmed, but I'm going to show a mere glimps into my mind and the scary things that it shows up inside of it.

So an add for Richard's on Richards comes up and I dismissed it as usual, but something in my head grabbed it and didn't let go. After internalizing Richard's on Richards, I then thought about its nick name, Dicks on Dicks. *chuckle* And then I thought back to when Kevin said that it was a gay bar. *chuckle* then I started thinking about how the hell you get "dick" from "richard". I couldn't come up with anything logical so I just started saying dick over and over again in my head. Then it stopped sounding like a word, you know when you say a word over and over again it just starts sounding like a noise and not actually a word. Then I thought about Erin because she doesn't like dicks. Then i though Dick is ick with a capital D... you know like Devil and evil. Then some guy asked me if I was done with the weight bench and I realized that I had been sitting there for I don't know how long looking at the mirrow and thinking about dicks. So then I kicked his ass and slept with his girlfriend.

2003-02-17T18:39:00.000-08:00

I have come to a realization about university that may shock and distrub some of you. I have determined that not only genius, but academic success in general truely is one percent inspiration and ninty-nine percent perspiration. That's right... learning is all about the homework, the reading, the tidium of endless assignments. Granted, at a SFU they don't bore you with shit that is neither meaningless and time consuming like they do in highschool. No. They bombard you with assignments that are worth more, harder to complete and time consuming. On top of this, it'll cost thousands of dallors to attend every sixteen weeks, and if that wasn't enough - it'll be thirty percent more expensive come Fall.

When did I come to this epiphany? You might think that would have like a tonne of bricks when school started, or when I failed my first test. You're wrong. It hit today as I walked across campus to my math lecture. I realized, surrounded by people who have all put in blood, sweat and tears to walk the halls and malls of SFU, while looking at the enormity of the buildings around me. I thought to myself, "What the hell am I doing here?" So much intellegence, so dedication. Then I saw my math Prof. in the halls on the way to class. I didn't recognize him at first, and when I did I thought, "What an ordinary guy" You could never know just by looking at him what kind of mind he had. You couldn't see the acculumation of years of practice, work, thought, and creativity to earn the title PhD. Every single time I go the hill and watch the Convication Mall roll into view I always think about the kind of advances and theories that have been put forward through the walls of Simon Fraser over the forty some years it has been around. How many people with SFU's crest went out and made a mark somewhere? I have to ask myself - Will I use what I learn hear to better something about society? Assuming I even complete my studies. I used to think I had everything figured out, I knew what I to do in life, and who I wanted to be. But the more time I spend in that environment the more I wonder about what I'm doing, and why I'm doing it. A few events have transpired over the past few days and weeks that have made me think about what I'm doing in university, what i want to do to make myself happy in life, and what it is going to take to make all of that possible. University is a place for high achievers, and critical thinkers, and most of all, for people who want to be there.

Maybe it's the pressure of mid-terms, assignments, and compositions all being due around the same time, along with the my Profs and TAs telling everyone that they are here for a reason, and if you aren't, you'll be weeded out. Things like GPAs, grad-school, and declaring majors are all running fresh in my head. SFU's task force for Academic Honesty ramming junk down thoart everyday doesn't help either. I just want to make the next few busy years of my life worth something, and not have to go back fives years from now and fix something I didn't do. I always take things into consideration when I see them, put them aside and internalize them later. So what's the answer? Probably the one that every educator has ever told me since I learned to read, "Go to bed early, don't watch TV, and do your homework."

I'll try anything once. . .

As an side, I do recall and certain statistic that seems funny to me right now: "SFU has the highest suicide rate in Canada." It's gotta be the grey.

2003-02-02T02:40:00.000-08:00

Well, I've been informed that I don't update enough. So here it is. Just came home playing pool, Milestones, and Seema's house. I had much fun today. Just about as much fun as drunkin' Mafia last night. Man, I hear there were two whole pizzas left over... and now I'm 40 bucks i nthe hole. People owe me money.... hurry I need to buy my bus pass.

Be able to drink is fun... now I just need to go out to bars and clubs. No more searching for a place to get hammered, now i can do it in public. And yes.... it has taken me a hole month to figure that one out... Tonight I learned two things... UBC has ears everywhere, and they ain't friendly. And I like Duck Hunt. I am also happy to report that my training is going along quite nicely. I've lost 15 pounds since I've started training just over two weeks ago. only have about twenty more to go. Yay me.

*A PAGE FROM TREVOR'S SCRAP BOOK OF MEMORIES*
This one again involves my buddy James... we must have been nine or ten at the time. All I know is that it was just after Mortal Kombat II just came out for rent. We were sitting in his den playing MKII nicely and quietly. Then I found a way to beat him over and over again with this stupid little front punch that I'd just hit him over and over again with. After about three times of losing to me he freaked out! He got up and started screaming "FUCK YOU, YOU FUCKIN' CHEAPT BASTARD. IF YOU EVER DO THAT IN AN ARCADE THEY FUCKIN' KICK YOU OUT!!!" and he ended the sentence with a Super Nintendo controller to the head. The best part was that I couldn't stop laughing and that just made him more mad! And it all ended with kicking me out of his house. Man... the best fights happen between the best friends.

2003-01-21T12:23:00.000-08:00

One anther day at school, another dollar - in debt that is! Just when you think you've paid through your ass already the government makes you pay 30% more through your ass. Any more than this, and I'm going to file for sexual assault. In other news, it's Jesus week at SFU. . . quite interesting... Man... there is a really annoying couple next to me, making lots of noise and talking about when they're going to have sex tonight. I hope they can read this. Some things other people should just not tell. I 'would' feel as though I were invading their privacy, but since they can't keep their mouths shut, I've decided to publish it on the internet. Now I'm making calls on my cell phone to being annoying in return. muuwaaahahahaha I must go now. but before I do, I'll leave you with this excerpt from The Peak Simon Fraser University's independent newspaper.

PERSONALS
18 yo guy seeking guy. Caucasian/asian
slim/athletic/muscular preferred. Please
e-mail geyteenmuscle@yahoo.com

You really can't make this shit up! Enjoy.

2003-01-19T16:18:00.000-08:00

Wow... Today was my first day of impact training... and I am not impressed. Gone are the days when I used to run a six and a half minute mile, do a 120 push-ups, sit-ups and deep-squats - and then start working out. today I bared got out a mile. I have approximately thrity days to get it together. It'll be fun...

In other news, I would like to take this time to express my concern for the youth of this society in a segment I'd like to call:

*MY COMMENT ON SOCIETY*
After I have finished my pathetic run at Confed I walk into the gym to wiegh myself. The sight I saw when I got walk through those doors almost made me cry. There were three girls on the exercise bikes in the second row wearing tank tops, two sizes too small, and bikini bottoms. I guessing these girls were about 13 or 14, somewhere around grade nine. But what disgusted me more was the creepy bald guy that works there laughing and joking with them.... an age difference of at least 20 years. Now don't get me wrong... I'm all for a libral society where everyone can express themselves freely, but there is no reason for girls that age to parade around, wearing shit that only the cheapest hookers on Main could get away with, in a gym full of twenty-something nobodies who aren't big enough to work out anywhere else. Who's to blame. . . That's the biggest question. Perhaps the Media and Popular Culture are to blame with magazines like Glamour, or TV show's like Blind Date and Bachelorate and the like teaching our young people (not just the girls, I have alot to say about the sexual degradation of Pro-westling). Even singers like Britiney Spears, and Christina Aguilera, even the Back Street Boys have glorified sexuality over any real talent. Or maybe the answer isn't that simple. Perhaps the solution doesn't lay with the society at large, is it possible that the problem begins right in our own homes. Which opens up a can of worms in itself. Are parents some how encouging this sort if expression without if even knowing, maybe by not making a big deal of it, early teenages feel they have to go to greater extremes to feel as though they are rebelling. Or maybe parents aren't teaching their kids that life on TV is different from life in the "real world"; in the sense that they believe that it's acceptable, morally, to whore yourself at the local gym for people that have no interest in your mind or personality. Are things worse, or am I just getting older. Only time will tell.
*CUT*

Well, I thinks that's enough for this update. Perhaps the pervious question is more suited for a Social SCIENTIST than a first Crim student. Dont' let me by the only word on this. Speak out, we live in a democracy.

2003-01-13T19:38:00.000-08:00

wow... Another one. . . this might become a habbit. I just feel as though I have much to say about nothing. I had a great idea for what I was going to put on here, but I got talking to Erin and now I forget... so I'll just have to go with what I've got. I went to my math lecture and there was somebody sitting directly next to my seat, which is right up front maybe three row away from the professor. I only sit up front because I can't see the note unless I'm in the first four rows, and even that's pushing it. On to the significance, I'm the only on who sit in that area of the hall, and all of the sudden, someone's there!! This could only mean one thing - someone is trying to muscle in on my territory!! Speaking of boundries... it's a good thing that they make those plastic windows the seperate different levels sections on the bus, and I'll tell you why.

This morning I hopped on the bus as usually, and sat in the middle of the bendy part and watched out the front and side windows. The ride was going as usual. Until, that is, we started to round the last bend going up to the university, you know when the whole school comes into view like in some cheesy mini-series. My picturesque imagin was spoiled by a familiar sound, something along the lines of a water balloon popping on the sidewalk. But it was no water balloon, it was someone puking all over himself, the bus window, and almost some chick standing in front of him. This wasn't just an occasion where someone just tossed their cookies on the ground, this was full out PROJECTILE VOMIT. Man.... I have never seen anything of the likes of that before, which is saying alot, and if you know a certain twin who got well aquainted with a dog bowl, you know what I'm talking about. I really would not have expected to see that in Burnaby. It's not like this is a UBC bus that picks up all the rummies. Or at least you'd think that they usually get off before they get here. Another 15 seconds and he would have done it on the street. But what really surprised me was the fact that nobody really did anything. Not even ask if he was okay or not. I can't really blame them. It's not like I rushed up to wipe his mouth or anything either. Why. . . . This reminds of me of something I learned in Pyschology I 100E with Dr. Alder (not Dr. Day, as others), if my memory serves me correctly. The phenomenon what I, and some 40 other people on the bus, not only witness, but was a part of, was called the By-stander Theory. The long and short of this theory is that when there is a large amount ( or at least more than one) of people baring witness to someone in need, each witness feels less compelled to help, as they asume someone else will take care of the dirty business. In one case, a woman's repeated cries for help were ignored by a almost a hundred people in an apartment building as she was raped and murdered.

wow.... If you really pay attention, you can apply (successfully) what you learn in the classroom, into the real world. Which, of course, is the goal of any good scientist.

Yes RAJVEER EVEN A SOCIAL SCIENTIST

2003-01-12T23:21:00.000-08:00

Well, for some reason I feel compelled to update. I don't really have anything to say, except for: Indecision is the root of all evil. If you can't make up your mind, how will you know where to go? I know this from personal experience, as well I have documented it by watching others. Because if you know where you are going, where you want to go, and where you came from, you pretty much have your life figured out. Aside from fortune's fate, and we all know that fortune favours the bold, so you're pretty much set there as well. It also helps to have a horseshoe up your ass. I used to have a hoseshoe, I stole it from stanley park when I was nine, I think. anyways, the ability to think things through it under rated. Which makes me think of the old elementry school adage, "Stop, Think, Act". I heard a saying somewhere once. It said, "Everything I needed to know about life I learned in kindergarten". I won't go in to details of my thoughts on this, but I can see how it holds true for quite a bit on things. But than again, I don't remember much of the Big K. Do you?

This just in. . . Alvin is a sick puppy.

Moving right along. I would like to take this time to introduce a brand new segmentto my page. A segment I would like to call

*A PAGE FROM TREVOR'S SCRAP BOOK OF MEMORIES*
This is a time when I would like to turn back the clock in my life and take a look at one of the many memories that I have accumulated over many years of life. I would like to start with one of my earliest memories. The time I met my first friend. . . *fade please* I was just moving into my second house in my life, I believe some time in the Spring of 1987 when I went off a little to explore the neighbourhood. I didn't get very far until I heard some yelling from another young lad, but that wasn't it. The yells were soon accompanied by numerous rocks and stones thrown in my direction. Apparently I had straighed into someone else's yard. As everyone know's, a man's home is his castle, so I got the hell out of dodge back to my own keep and told my mommy. Evently our mom's got everything figured out and we played together... That was sixteen years ago. How time flies. Cheers to Friendship.

Well that concludes another entry, join us again next time. Goodnight.

2003-01-09T15:13:00.000-08:00

Well here I am again. I finally got up off my ass and got myself a locker and other junk I need to start using the wonderful athletic facilities at SFU. I figure, why pay for a gym that's packed full dumbasses and nine year olds, when I can go to a better gym that's full of the hottest girls of SFU for free. Well after looking at in that light, I could delay no longer. In fact, I start tomorrow. yay for me. And if anyone from SFU is reading this. I could use a gym partner.

In other news, I saw quite a funny thing the other day. I was waiting for the bus by the safeway liquor store when this old, rusted, blue beater pulls going slower than I usually walk. Inside, two very old men. After traveling the length of almost one block at painfully slow speed (holding up four, five then, six cars behind them) they roll to a stop just shy of 2 meters before the corner. At this point, absolutely everyone is watching them. The best part about this is, driectly behind them is another old man who is getting so pissed off at them that his face looks like a tangle graden hose with a kink in it. The old man in the first car gets out of the car so slowly he looks as though he's stuck in so other dimension, meanwhile, everyone behind them starts honking their horns. It all ended with the pissed-off old man flipping off the other old man, and racing past the other old man's car. It makes you wonder, was the old man pissed because those two were taking so long in the middle of Willingdon street, or was he pissed because he's an old man himself.

The moral of the story is.......Die young in a blaze of glory.

2003-01-08T18:37:00.000-08:00

Well now that it's been just about a full week back at school - I hate it already. I don't hate everything about it though. I like going there, talking to the people, using all the sweet shit that all the students gets, I just hate the fuckin' work. There ought to be a better way to learn. I'm far to lazy for this shit. But I guess until someone figures out how to educate people without assigning work, I'll just have to continue faking my work ethic. I was nice to see all the old sites again. . . The endless porpoganda trying to sway everyone on campus to boycotting Esso gas, drinking coffee from "free trade" beans only, to voting on U-pass. Speaking off which, it seems as though democracy has proven, once again, to be the best from of government - available. The student body went to the polling stations and came out with a decision. At SFU the U-pass will go through! Which is sweet for the likes of me, but think about the poor disadvantaged low-income students... how will they coup? If you can figure out this agruement, let me know. I can understand some of the 'no' campaign, but think most of it was just rhetoric. ahhhh.... Campus Politics, you can't beat it.

Anyways. I guess I don't have to sit all by my self at home, never going out, or doing anything, anyone. I finally get to go out and do something, which I never get to do.

Ever.

And yes Raj, I think you enjoyed CompCiv for much different reasons . . . . You'll get yours.

2003-01-02T15:10:00.000-08:00

where was I?? yeah... she was a cutie. Moving on. The rest of the night consisted basically of floating around the house watching the antics and talking with the other blokes. I had the most fun grabbing a pen and expressing my artistic inclinations on someone's face. I must say I can't take full credit for the idea, but the art-work itself was l suprub. Aside from a little lover's spat and some friendly advice, the rest was all pretty standard party stuff.

* * * * * * * *

In other news, today was my first day of classes. Going back to the old lecture halls felt like slipping on an shoe. . . . . worn out and stinky... I think I'm going to like my courses and professors, except for psyc102. There was kind of a natural break so everyone started talking a bit and some TA in the back screamed, "HEY, THAT DIDN"T IMPLY START TALKING!" I actually got that very anger hot feeling in my chest. I've never heard anyone yell like that. Fuckin' Noise-Nazi. . . Needless to say I hope she's not my TA. Only time will tell. I notice a funny thing when my philosophy class ended. As usual everyone started shuffling papers and books, and started talking before the Prof could finish his last sentence, but this time I couldn't discern a single word in English. It felt like I was in a foriegn country. Philosophy sounds like it's going to be a kickass course, and no Phil, not because it bares your name or bacause the Professor's God. Then I sat above Raven's and tried to get my wireless thing all good and running, which is when I started updating in the first place.

Have a good one.

2003-01-02T13:26:00.000-08:00

Well, as my good buddy Raj said it, I'm here for my duty to update - and I have nothing better to do. I don't think I'll be making an overly large update today, my battery is starting to run out. I had a very good new years this time around. It sure was a hell of a lot better than last new years. Thanks to all the people who made it possible for me to get home and sleeping soundly on the couch one year ago yesterday. A special thanks to Jared, who has driven me home two years in a row at unthinkable times of day. Sarah's New Years bash had it all. Drunks, TV, music, love, sorrow, intrigue and a good time had my most. I'll spare you the two page blog-g-thon needed to re-cap the night, so I'll just give the highlights - Through the eyes o Trevor.

The pre-party was a good time, it built anticipation, and allowed us all to get ready amoungst friends. The party was good from the get-go, to the last drop. Everybody seemed to mix and mingle a bit, I talked to some new people and got a chance to brush up on my flirting skills. Watching the Drunk-Guy swim around on the floor was probably one of the funnest things I wsa that night. But I can't remember if that was before or after they rapped him in duct-tape and dropped him on the sidewalk. At least it wasn't me. I played lots of pool, which is always a bonus in my book, even if my partner was from booney-land.

I'm going to have to finish this update from home, my battery i about to give up. Until then.

2002-12-29T04:19:00.000-08:00

I would like to take this time to pay Homage to my buddy Raj. Go check out his site. http://www.thabadguy.freeservers.com/

2002-12-28T00:46:00.000-08:00

Well, after reading Raj's update I felt compelled to do the same. Not too many eventful things have happened. Christmas for me was a blast, I will never be sober of Christmas again. That's right, this Christmas I got sloushed at my sister's house. In my defense, I wasn't the only one, my bro in-law (not used to that one yet) my sister Christie, and her Bo all got pretty happy in Jesus's name. It was kinda weird drinking infront my enitre atomic family, but I acclimatized fairly quickly. My Dad, as usual, found a couch and remained semi-conscience until the grub was ready, and my Mom actually looked like she wanted in on the fun. But Beer isn't her thing. Ahhh. . . I can sitll remember the warm summer days in the old house when my would drink coolers on the back porch listening to Credance Clearwater and the sort - whadda Hippie. I remember she got the neighbours in on it once. I guess it just goes to show that you never get to old to party, you just can't look cool when you do it. Kinda reminds me of a certain someone's mother and her lectures on sex *cough*cough*

Raj pointed out something indirectly in his update that I have noticed as well. Something I believe to be "cross-cultural", if you will. It seems that everyone gets together with family during the whatever holiday they celebrate, but the magic just seems to be lost. As if they were preforming some kind of duty or something. Because aside from the holidays, do you ever really speak, or connect with your extended family all that much. That's what made my Christmas all the better. Everyone seems to get along and drink mutually. I think what else helped me enjoy this Christmas this year was that I was older, so I was able to have a conversation with them on an adult level - well as adult as you can get with 5 or 6 beers behind you. :o) <-- That smiley face was just for you Raj Ma'boi!

But now that Christmas is over, it's time to move on for an other year of life. And I started that by going to watch the Borne Indenity at Kyle hodgisisisissionnsss house with Alvin, Raj, Martin and his ball and chain ;o) And I must say, that even though it lacked some techincal aspects, it was an entertaining movie. Makes me want to work for CSIS, but in reality, intelligence is all about the research, which hate. Anywhooooo, after that, along with some discussion on what to do and where to go, the 4 of us ended up at Timmy's. Where we got two for one donuts, and insults and paper flew freely. Just like the good'old days in CompCiv. All we needed was Bridget and Adam preforming their antics for all to moch. "I think we should keep our distance, Adam" "Fiiiiiiiiiiiiiine, then I guess I'm just going to have to go Kill myself, I have life, I hate school, teachers suck" mmmmmm.... ahhh memories.

But the party didn't start smokin' until we left Tim's for home when I spotted a blaze off in the distance. And what a blaze at that! I believe my extact words were, "Holy shit, look at that fuckin' fire!!" We were down by the power plan on Lougheed, and it was up up Starlite, it looked like a forest fire. So we drove in the general direction until we was a fire truck and followed it a fe more blocks to the fire. We watch Burnaby's Bravest fight the raging blaze from about ten feet away from the trucks. I was surprized that they didn't really care, but what surprised me more was that the News guys were all there before us. What a shitty job it must be to listen to a scanner all night waiting for something to happen. After about 45 minutes of watching the fire-fighters and making fun of the fattest mountie I've ever seen, we made a line for the car. The funny thing was when we were walking back, another flatfoot took our picture as he walked by with a cheeky smile on his face. yeah. . . nice detective work Inspector. . . The best part was in the first pic me and Raj were kind of shadowed, and he tried to quickly snap another, and you could see his finger hitting the flash two or three times but nothing happened because the flash had to recharge.

Anyways. . . after all that remembering good times in the old house, I think I'll go make my Mom a Credance Clearwater CD, Merry Christmas - ya old freak!

2002-12-23T17:41:00.000-08:00

GABBO GABBO GABBO

Did you know that if you put the IMAX screen on the face of the moon you could see it from earth. wow. . . . .sounds interesting, eh?

GABBO GABBO GABBO

It might be fun to go put to a movie like that, huh??

GABBO GABBO GABBO

2002-12-21T04:18:00.000-08:00

Well I thought it'd be about time for me to update my site. I've kept you in suspense for long enough.

The same truth is that I haven't been anywhere interesting enough for me to update about - UNTIL NOW.TO give you a quick low-down on what's going on... Everyone is finished their finals and ready to party - funny thing is, now that everyone has got some free time on their hands, not much is going on. My days have pretty much consisted of sitting on my ass and staying up all night and going to sleep in the morning, with the occasional trip to Timmy's.

As for tonight - many people headed over to Mika's for a "Alpha Grad Party". In actuality, it was Mika's birthday party. And even though I didn't touch a drop of alochol, I got ot hang around with some friends that I haven't seen in a long time, and also got the chance to play alot of video games. I forgot how much fun it was to sit in front of the TV. Oh radiation, how I have missed your warm and nurturing glow. In fact, at this moment I'm downloading GTA3, to help me reconnect with my roots.

I'm sure if I had a more creative mind-set, I'd come up with some really funny things to say - tough luck. Just sign the g-book and get the hell out of here.
Later all. GABBOO GABBO GABBO!!!

2002-12-07T12:53:00.000-08:00

Anyone else find those stupid pop-up ads on the net that pose as windows systems messages, or other various stupid things that look like they are a part of your desktop, really insulting to your intelligence?? They don't even look convincing. What's more, they can't settle for just one poorly generated ad, they have to flood you with a barrage of ads that make you feel like you're back playing those old (but oh so entertaining) games like Space Invaders on Atari or In-Television.

I suddenly have an urge to go play Duck Hunt, or Jet pack. . . . In the words of Raj smell ya

2002-12-05T14:13:00.000-08:00

Well, I have some free time while i wait for lunch to cook. Emotion wreck, eh? comments?

anywho, I have my first final tomorrow, and one after that, then one next week. I'm a little stressed - mostly anxious to get this semester over with and start the new one. On a lighter note, my laptop comes on the 12th, the same day as my last final. I'll finally be able to work on a computer in a quite place, or anywhere else for that matter. I wish I had something interesting to say, but I haven't been out lately. Time for lunch.

2002-12-04T17:41:00.000-08:00

hahah, I can see that.

I'll update in detail later. There are finals to study for, and episode of star trek to watch.

2002-12-04T17:40:00.000-08:00

How Emotional Are You?
brought to you by Quizilla

2002-11-27T17:15:00.001-08:00

now, I put nice little paragraphs in my lest update, why didn't they show up?? now it just looks messy.

2002-11-27T17:15:00.000-08:00

now, I put nice little paragraphs in my lest update, why didn't they show up?? now it just looks messy.

2002-11-27T17:14:00.000-08:00

Well yesterday was an interesting day to say the least. Considering it was 64 hours long. It all started on Sunday morning around ten o'clock. I had to research five books and write a ten page essay by the next day. Well by ten the next day it wasn't done. So I had to stay up an other night ti finish it. 26 hours later it was done. I still have one more to write. I'll do that tonight. All of this was self-induced, too. I have learned my lesson.

Other than that, I had an interesting last Tuesday. For some reason people kept looking at me. I don't know what it was, but it was really weird. I kept thinking something was hanging out of my nose or something. Not only that, but people from my classes kept coming up to me and talking to me, too. People I barely recognized. I must have spoken with like ten people from my classes over the last two days. And that's a lot of people for a commuter campus. It was like the twilight zone.

To top it off, I was walking home last night by those stairs by Alpha that go into the Brentlawn neighbourhood. Anyways, as I was walking towards the stairs from the Lawns and I could an engine reving. I thought it might be a bunch of hoolagins. As luck would have, instead of hoolagins, it was a cute girl and two of her, very drunk, friends. She had backed up into a ditch and was stuck. I decided to help. After playing with a couple of ideas for about five minutes, I notice that her friend's car was sitting across the lane ( her drunk friend inside of it.) I asked it I could use her car to bump cutie's car out. Her friend said whatever. I got in the car and took a page from the Fireworks night book (sorry Dennis) and put'em bumper to bumper and nudged the car out. She gave me a ride home and that was that. My good deed for the day. I was going to put my interpretation of Erin's dream on this update, but I'm tried of writing here now. I'll do it tomorrow. My analysis is in her questbook anyways.

2002-11-27T01:18:00.000-08:00

Helping people is the best feeling in the world. I'll tell you all about it when I wake up next week.
By the way, 64 hours: a new personal record.

2002-11-26T19:38:00.001-08:00

I am a Nerdslut.

2002-11-26T19:38:00.000-08:00

What's your sexual appeal?
brought to you by Quizilla

2002-11-24T20:01:00.000-08:00

Stop the Madness! ! ! So, some guy comes out of no where as some kind of good-will ambassador criticizing the pointless rivalery between SFU and UBC. As soon as someone retorts against him, he turns into some kind of self-righteous, racist bastard who has nothing better to do than invade and belittle people he doesn't even know. Very constructive. And if making fun of people in guessbooks is so pathetic, why do you continue to publish your bullshit on other people's sites? So, explain to me how you can be so much better than us "just because we go to university" (somehow you are excluded from this, UVic boy?) when you resort to personally attacking people with nonsensical insults and, worst of all, racist comments. You've taken a friendly academic rivalry between myself and friends at UBC, which non of us take seriously, into a one-sided mud-slinging frenzy by you - over the internet. Return yourself to whatever lonely computer room you came in from - you're making a fool out of yourself, and worst of all, your institution.

2002-11-23T18:54:00.000-08:00

wow. . . so it's 15 hours later, and a hell of alot more sober. I'm a little stiff, and I was right my rib poped out. I don't know exactly what I'm going to about that, go to the doctor I guess. I think it might be stuck like that for a while :O) I also got punched in the face a few times, by a few people. A very interesting experience. I also broke my antenna on my cell phone. I bet that's going to cost at least half of what I paid for it - dirty bastards. I'll ask tonight when I go to see James Bond. For all those who don't know, I am a huge James Bond fan. Needless to say that the cheesy one-liners will be pooring out of my mouth for a week or two. Well I just talked to Mike, and he reminded me that school ends in about a week. it's going to be one hell of a week. I'm up for a party after?? any takers?

2002-11-23T03:22:00.001-08:00

and so did other people

2002-11-23T03:22:00.000-08:00

Splash got fdurnk

2002-11-23T03:21:00.000-08:00

qwll, that was a an experience. . . . I just gfot my ass kicked by this guy named Mike ) he's 24) I feel shame.. . . I feel shame, because I couldn't lifht a finger to heko myself. I need too train more.. . . I'm weakr and helpeless like everyone elsee. . . I t hink I have bursises on my fore head form hitting the floor that ws cement. . .AT least I got my back adjusted.. no chyroparote r for my, I got fights!! I was saw splash adrinking adn punking. . . .. it was awesome, she' was puking somethign feirce. . I hpoe that guys goes to whilser. case that would be fyn. Atleast Seema was bgone by ten-30 I got that.. I was trying to get Slpahs happey cyase she was sad becyase she was puking when she should have been eating. I hope it worked. I thought I herd her leauhg once or twice. . .I'm going to have to go to a jewlwer and get my chain fixed. I lost my little ring that goes on it to gkeep it together. I just put my ice on my hadd. I gdon't want it to go big. today was probably one of the most humbleing experirneces in my life. bput I think New Years was more than. Raj was gunny, you can ask him... I think I hit my head on the floor. that was good. I need to train more. that little guy shouldn't have been able to take me. If I didn't hake a year off I would have been lesssssss drink. and done gotta. nyehow, bedtime. I think me goes to bed. night friends. I love everyin1

night

I

2002-11-22T16:31:00.000-08:00

The war has begin. . . and it's gonna get ugly....

2002-11-22T16:21:00.000-08:00

So. . . I was on the B-line comin' home today from about Boardway and Granville. And let me tell you, that bus gets packed, and packed fast. I now know what hell Raj must endure daily. I'm just glad it wasn't raining... As an aside, people should really shower before they get on the bus, because man - people gotta sit beside you. . .

2002-11-21T19:41:00.000-08:00

Hello all. Who thought that updating this site would actually take up time. Well I got my bag stolen a few days ago in the SFU library. I was doing some research and near about 8:00 when I was getting my last book ( in that humungous library ), I went to check a call number on the computer 20 feet away - and when I came back, my bag was gone! Some nutness bastard took my bag just before my freaking essay is due!! So I called security and let me tell you. . . . . . . .. . . . very. . . . . effective.. . . . heh. I knew my only hope was the someone would find it dumped in a garbage can a few days later - which is what happened. I got my bag back with all of my stuff in it and no bad smells, plus I got an extension out of it, too. I suspect that a Thunderbird dog masquerading as one of us was responsible.

Yesterday, when I got on shift at work my manager asked to speak to me. She was asking I was legally an adult, if I could be tried as an adult, or if I could vote. I was completely clueless, at first. I didn't know what she was trying to get at so I just answered her questions, which kinda made her mad. Anyways, she finally just said that I was old enough to call in sick myself and not have my mom do it. That's okay, I'm going to quit soon anyways. Anyone want a job at Bootlegger?

After work, Anthony, Kevin B, Carmen, Erin, and Splash came to pick me up. We sat at the chairs and tables that me and Erin want for our apartment. :O) I discussed my plan in detail. Then we went to Subway and I there were these very nice stools. We were joking about taking those too, because there were no cameras around. We all dismissed it and ate. When we were leaving i noticed that the two workers were both in the back, I looked at everyone, grabber two stools and bolted. the funniest part was as soon as I went out the dorr I saw a white car which I thought was the police driving be and all I could do was stare like a deer caught in the headlights. Fortunately, I realized it wasn't a COP and took off around the corner. hahah, it's great to be young.

2002-11-17T06:01:00.000-08:00

Wow, my first update was so huge that is crashed the site everytime. I had to break it up. Me being the smart guy I am I broke it up backwards. So, yeah, you'll figure it out.

2002-11-17T06:00:00.002-08:00

Well that was one hell of a mouth full. It all just kinda came out. If you made it this far in my rant, then you might as well take the time to sign my guestbook conviently located to the left of this text.

So I guess the whole moral of the story is. . . . Never turn your back on short people, they'll pull your pants down when you're not looking - assholes. . .

2002-11-17T06:00:00.001-08:00

A bunch of us wanted to get together ( too lazy to name drop) and get hammed, which was harder to plan than you would think. I tired to get a room at Lake City Motor Inn, but I guess he had already been stung by people like us and he hung up on me. So I called him back and bitched him out, making him think that he lost legitimate business - sucker.... We ended up at Mike's house playing poker until about three in the morning. I lost nine dollars. I didn't care to notice how other people did, I'm choked. We proceeded to Subway on Boundry and I told Phil that i could stick my hand out of the sun-roof until we got there. Well after dropping off Raj and going towards the wrong subway my hand felt like can't think of anything funny or cool to explain it it hurt like a bitch, I'll tell you that much. After I got home I eat my sub and talked to a bunch of other people who can't hold normal sleep patterns either until it was about 45 minutes ago. Then I got listening to music and now I'm too awake to go to sleep. The gym opens in like ten minutes so I think I'll go there. I'm going to try to stay awake, but I'm pretty sure I'll end up crashing around 9:00 or so.. . and probably won't get any research done anyways. heh, If only Per could see me now. Or for you old-schoolers, Webster.

2002-11-17T06:00:00.000-08:00

Hey guys. It's my first real updated?? Excited? I'm not. Well today was an interesting day. I woke up around two in the afternoon to Erin's voice mail. *shudder* I then fucked the dog until, like, 5:30 when I decided to go to the library and start some research for a ten page essay that was due last Tuesday. heh, oh well. Well I got to Burnaby Public and there was this awesome guy there named Goerge. He had a master's degree in political science from UBC - I didn't hold it against him, though :O) So I told this guy I couldn't find shit on what I needed for my paper, and he told that some other guy from my class came in a week ago and needed help for the same paper ( different topic) He slammed my Prof. for a while because he said the questions were too hard. When it hit him, and he remember that the guy he helped had his paper due like a week ago, and gave me a funny look and said, "Wasn't this paper due last week?" I told him not to worry, because I was born with a horseshoe up my ass and somehow I'll come out with a decent mark. ( Hence the name. . . get it????) Needless to say, he shook his head and wished me luck before he started to help. Let me tell you the guy's fuckin' smart. He basically outline my entire essay in about five minutes. Then I phoned Mike to take me up to the Metro branch to get some videos that Goerge told me to get. I got there at 5:58 and some ugly girl told me tough luck, come tomorrow. I feed her a story that some other girl over heard and she helped me. After that me and Mike went to future shop and looked at lots of over-priced gadgets withs few purposes. When me and Mike were looking at cameras this guy wanted to know if he should be some tiny-ass keyboard for his PDA, I told you could get way cheaper stuff at Office Depot, and the sales guy looked really pissed and tired to knock off ten bucks, but PDA-guy wasn't havin' it. He turned to me and asked what I thought about them (PDAs), and I pulled my pen out of my pocket and said, "I gotta pen and a piece of paper that does the same thing for less than five bucks. . ." He said, "You got it, man" turned around, and left. I hope the sales guy didn't hear me .. .

2002-11-17T05:58:00.000-08:00

fuck this thing, never works when I'm alone....

2002-11-16T19:53:00.000-08:00

I don't know what I'm doing.. . . .

2002-11-16T19:51:00.000-08:00

Does it work now???

2002-11-16T19:49:00.000-08:00

Does my counter work?

2002-11-16T19:32:00.000-08:00

WOW, I feel like I'm connected to the world. I now realize I have nothing to say.

2002-11-16T19:18:00.000-08:00

A guestbook, A guestbook, Thank you Erin, I love you!!!

2002-11-16T03:46:00.000-08:00

why am I up so late? Good night

2002-11-16T03:45:00.000-08:00

Hey, this place kinda sucks. . . . I wanna guestbook! Someone help me!!I'm not a computer geek!! Erin, I need you!!

2002-11-16T03:23:00.001-08:00

asdf

2002-11-16T03:23:00.000-08:00

stuff. . .

2002-11-16T03:22:00.000-08:00

I guess I'm one of "them" now. . . At least I'll be in good company. PS; UBC IS GAY!! You know who you are.