Canadian Storytime

Listen up, it’s storytime.
Growing up in western Maine was great. There were countless miles of rivers to swim, tons of mountains to snowboard and cheap candy at your local Dead River convenience store. An often overlooked aspect of western Maine is it’s close proximity to the great country of Canada, also known as “get drunk when you’re eighteen-ada.”
February 2005, the summer of love, Pat, Seth and I are in Montreal. I’m driving and they’re beyond wasted. (Side note; if you don’t read the whole story you won’t realize that I’m not trying to make drinking look cool.) We are about to head home, when Seth speaks up from the backseat. “I think they’re trying to flag us down.” Sure as shit, a car of four hot girls has pulled up next to us. They’re pointing us towards a parking lot. We pull in and I am quickly reminded of day one of a communication class I took in college. (Warning: Story within a story.) The teacher bursts into the classroom screaming German at us. It was loud, scary and perfectly represented his first point. You can’t communicate if you’re not speaking the same language.
Back to Canada, the girls are speaking French and we’re still having a hard time with the English language.
You would think that screaming “we want to give you kisses” while pointing to your lips would make sense to them. Nay. After a few minutes of failed communication, we left. Empty handed. Defeated. Cock blocked by our own global ignorance.
We rode in silence for a few miles, I mean, kilometers. The silence was broken when Seth drunkenly spoke up again.
“Wait, I know French.”

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Gotta Stop

The following things must stop:

Smashing on the button that activates the crosswalk a hundred times. It will change when it’s ready. Knock it off.

The backpacks that are nothing but strings for straps and a sack that flops around on the center of your back. Is that comfortable? Really?

Wearing glasses. Isn’t this the oldest form of wearable technology? Shouldn’t we be far passed this by now?

I think I’ve mentioned this before; irrelevant keywording your Craigslist ad. Yes, I will keep flagging you until you stop.

This one is a little tough to follow, so just take it slow. Using the phrase “and/or” when you really just mean either “and” or “or.”

Please make note of these changes and modify your behavior as necessary.

Fidelity to the Blog

I have two very important announcements to make in this post.
The first one is a recession tip for thrifty folks with a sweet tooth (myself included.) I present exhibit A:

See that dollop of frosting and sprinkles? That has been abandoned by the buyer of the donut and is now up for grabs to the fortunate individual who finds it. Go on, take it, just be sure to use a tissue.
My second announcement is a little larger. The BLS just reported that the average employed American now works 33 hours in a week. All those furloughs have brought us to the shortest work week since these figures have been recorded, 1964.
Because of this, I have decided that any friends who come to visit me in Seattle are allegable to apply for a tax rebate up to $50. That’s right, I’ll reimburse you for the tax that you spend while visiting me. You’ll get a bonus $5 if you bring a skateboard.
Wondering if you qualify for the rebate?
Have we ever gone swimming together?
Have we ever shared a pizza pie?
Have you ever pretended to be interested in my LOST theories?
If you answered yes to any of these questions, pack your bags. See you soon.

Zombies of Seattle

When I heard about the Shaun of the Dead screening at the Fremont Outdoor Movies, I didn’t think it could get any better. Then when I heard that the organizers were also going to try to break the Guinness World Record for mass zombie walk, I was even more excited. Flash forward to last Friday (huh?) and you will witness me, gleefully perched on the pad of asphalt, taking in the sights; zombie cheerleaders, zombie pirates, even zombie babies. Night Zero was there, so was S.G. Brown. As soon as the “Thriller” dance started I thought to myself “boy, there’s no way I could look back on this evening and be dissappointed!” Then they fired up the projector, surprise, the image is totally out of focus. I mentioned it to someone at the projector and was assured “it’s focused all the way.” What on earth does that mean? Even after bringing one of them closer to the screen, they still failed to know what to do.
The funny part is that I instantly recognized the projector. My old friend the Canon LV-7575. And let me tell you, if you know my friend LV-7575, you know that his stock lens has a focus range of 3′ to 29′, anything closer or further is simply going to be out of acceptable focus! The projector had to have been double that distance from the screen. It definitely makes me think that the whole situation was poorly thought out. If you want your image to be a certain size, do some research to find out what projector and lens can accomplish it. I would certainly prefer having a smaller screen, as long as it was focused properly, especially while watching a movie with so many hilarious details as SOTD.
I hope this post made you feel absolutely awful, just so I can lift your spirits with the following photograph:
Hope you all had a good holiday weekend.