A simple equation.

What do you get when you add together...

1 Ginsu knife


5 cloves of garlic


and 1 big fat hungry bastard in a rush to cook up some spaghetti sauce?


*** WARNING : SEMI-GRAPHIC PHOTO AHEAD ***


One sliced and diced ass finger.


And what did we learn, class?

New Picture.

I don't have much to say other than I got my new glasses. And I don't know how to say this so I'll just say it. I'm lookin' good.

You can see a picture of me with my new peepers over there on the left in my blogger profile.

Wow.

In an effort to learn French without actually having to do anything, I have taken to leaving French-language newscasts on the TV while I'm doing other things. It's my osmosis version of learning French.

It hasn't worked. Yet.

So anyone that has ever watched TV in another language knows that every now and again you'll hear an English word. "En avec la blah blah blah Chicago Cubs la quelle blah blah..." You know what I'm talking about.

Since I've been doing my ghetto-FSL (French as a Second Language) news-learning, I've heard many English words and a lot of American names ("blah blah George Bush blah") but today I heard AND SAW the best one ever.

The sitch (that's the short way of saying situation)-
Chilling out on the couch, lamenting the state of the world. There was an odd report on the TV that caught my attention because of the upturned cars and burning skyline of some war-torn city.

As I'm watching, remember the images are of upside-down, burning cars and hundreds of people running through the streets in some faraway country, the voice over says, (with my own version of made up French jibberish) "Et la je ne bah le blah blah PEPSI COLA. Je ne pas le blah blah blah CONDOLEEZZA RICE blah blah blah."

Fade to black.

What do Condi and Pepsi have to do with Uganda or Gaza or wherever that was? The world will never know. Well the English-speaking world will never know.

Assimilation.

When I first moved to Montreal, I was a fat American that wore Bears and Cubs jerseys all the time. Now I am a fat American that wears solid-colored non-branded clothing.

When I first moved to Montreal, I giggled every time someone said 'loonie' or 'toonie'. Now I jiggle the $24 worth of change in my pocket like the most jovial of Canadians.

When I first moved to Montreal, I didn't know anything about Canadian politics. Now, I know more about the Prime Ministers and MPs of Canada than anyone I know (other than Kathryn's dad).

When I first moved to Montreal, I had no idea how far 238 kilometers was, how tall a man is who is 1.8 meters, or how much pop was in a 581 kilogram bottle. Now, I still don't have any idea, but I have gotten good at going, "Oh, ok. Wow, 238 meters, eh?"

When I first moved to Montreal, I felt that I stood out as an American. But lately, I thought I had been assimilating very well.

That all changed when I went to Java U to get something to drink yesterday.

I walked in to the shop with a couple of toonies burning a hole in my pocket and a deep thirst for some espresso. What I got instead was a big old chunk of humble pie. When I got to the counter, I surveyed the menu, saw my favorite drink, and ordered an Americano. Without skipping a beat, the girl asks me what part of America I'm from!

I was shocked that from my massive girth and my choice of drink she could deduct my country of origin.

So later that day, over dinner I ask Kat, "Is it really obvious that I am an American? Like from my accent?"

She thought about it for a minute and then said, "No. Well like you can tell that you're... well that you're not... umm. Well yeah. It's obvious."

I am shocked. I really thought I was as Canadian as maple pie.

And for something totally unrelated, here is a bird pooping in a guy's mouth.

Votre santé.

Today was my first real foray into the 'socialized' health care of Canada. It really wasn't because I only went to the eye doctor, so it was kind of like socialized medicine with training-wheels. And the verdict? That was the best damned eye exam I've ever had.

It was time for me to get some new contacts because I've been having the worst headaches for the last month whenever I'm wearing my contacts. And my glasses are all old and crappy and greasy and scratched. The doctor was asian of course, because all of the people I know in Montreal seem to be from the far east. She died my eyes so they were all blue like in Dune.

And she gave me contacts for astigmatism. Because that's what I have. Also a very nice unibrowed man helped me pick all the different options for my glasses.

And the best part? I don't feel at all like a communist. The Gipper can go F himself, that lying bastard.

All better.

I noticed that some of the pictures on here weren't showing up and I think I got it all fixed now. So if you've read something recently and it didn't make any sense, go back and try it again because there may be a nice little picture there now! And if it still doesn't make sense, than I would like to say, "How have you been, Joe Flamm?"

HEY-O!

Today.

First off I would like to thank Philadelphia Collins for making an appearance. Your thoughts are taken to heart.

Next I would like to explain my weak offerings for blogs in the last week. I have actually been studying! Yes, even this early in the semester, I have been studying and even doing homework (something I've had an aversion to since I was 2). One of my New Year's Resolutions was to get an A+ in at least one class. You see, Concordia has this goofy grading system where they actually give +'s and -'s. So it is actually possible to get an A+ and I want one. And since I'm majoring in Accountancy, where better to start than Financial Accounting? So, even in the first week of the semester, I am actually doing homework. From a photocopied book.

And since I realized I was being a bit paranoid about the whole book thing, as a token of gratitude for your patience, here is a picture of one.


Also, to clear up the whole blood blister thing, here is where it happened. I was stepping off of the elliptical and I put my foot down right on that exact plug you will see in the picture. Right on those big ass metal blades of death. And I know they are supposed to be standardized, but I would be willing to bet that, through some manufacturing error, the metal plugs on this specific wall adapter are up to, if not greater than, 8 times the size of normal metal plugs. At least that's the way it felt on my foot right when I walked all over those bloodthirsty folded electrical conductors of hate. I have set up a nice little re-enactment because the gigantic plug in question is now banished to being pushed under the couch. Yes, I pulled it out into the light of night just to give you all a glimpse.

And this is a picture of the crime scene.


And this is a picture of my foot one week (almost to the hour) later. (Note gigantic blood blister that hurt like the sizzling bacon of Lucifer when Kathryn unmercifully lanced it with a needle)


And this is a picture of a pony.


And this is a picture of Skeletor.

WHY?

How come after 60+ years, we humans still haven't come up with anything more delicious than the peanut butter and jelly sandwich or a big ol' bowl of cereal?

Makes you wonder, doesn't it?

The teacher.

I had class today. Well, two classes, actually. But let's just talk for a minute about the first. It was Marketing, which is one that I have been dreading since I registered for it months ago. I have been dreading it because I assumed it would be a semester-long torture chamber of business-speak (you know what I'm talking about - "the integrated solutions of a global-level customer focused small business blah blah blah...") and I also thought that it would do what most of my business classes have done so far which is remove all thought and feeling from people and make them into emotionless money-hoarding idiots that must be coaxed into giving the honest businessmen of the world their cold, hard cash.

I was right.

But there is something quite good about the class. It's something that is so good that when I was in class, I took out a pen and paper and wrote, "Note to self - Write blog about teacher's hilarious habit."

For a good mental image, he looks EXACTLY like Jin from Lost. Picture Jin here with a pink tie.


So here is my teacher's habit:

You know when you are asking someone a question that you KNOW they know the answer to and they just... can't... think... of... it...? And you know that odd little thing we all do where we attempt to let the person save face by saying the answer syllable-by-syllable VERY slowly? Let me give you an example.

"Hey, Francis. Do you know who the first president of America was?"
"Oh, yeah Raul. Sure I know it. It was... uhhh. Ummm... Oh what the fuck was his name? I can picture him. With the hair. On the money. With the slaves. What is his name? Come on. I know this" (ETC.)
"Jooooo......joooooooooorrrrrrr.....joooooorrrrrrrrrrrggggggeeeee...."
"Oh yeah George Washington!"

Well my teacher does that. And he really drags out the syllables. Like he REALLY DRAGS them out. People were laughing at him openly. And others were dumbfounded. It was like putting on a record of an opera and then holding your finger along the edge to really slow that bastard down.

But unfortunately for everyone in that class, he does his little syllable-thing at odd times to questions that nobody knows the answer to. This is what he did, and I have the notes to prove it.

"What should business try and make?" was his question. Now this is a pretty broad question. Money would be my first guess. Or a better world. Or something big and general. That would be why he is asking us, wouldn't it? That's not how he sees it. What followed was a 45 second-long syllable stream that was as funny as it was awkward.

"Looooooooo....loooooooonnnnnnn......looooonnnnnnngggggggg. Long. Long tttttttt..... long tteeeeeeeeerrrrrrr...."

And he saw it out to the bitter end. I'll spare you and my keyboard the rest of the drawn-outness of his answer. What he was looking for was "Long-term profitable customer-driven strategy." It was on the tip of my tongue. I swear.

Oh and mom, I'm sorry I didn't call back the other night. Kathryn lanced my blood blister and it hurt really bad and I laid on the couch in pain for a while. Then it was too late to call. It is much better today. I love you.

The books. (Or how a Chinese man in a red hat saved me $300)

I have gone back and forth about writing this because, frankly, it is a tale of some not-so legal activities. I've decided it is too great and odd a tale to keep to myself. So, for the sake of those involved, I will omit some details but the store is as it happened.

Here goes...

I have been dreading buying textbooks for this semester because they are so expensive. An Asian friend of mine gave me a phone number to call (I think it was the equivalent of giving me a "he's with me" card). This person - who shall remain nameless, but only because I cannot pronounce their real name, only their fake English name - suggested I call this phone number and they will give me copies of my textbooks that a *cough* Mr. Xerox *cough* gave them. (Get it?)

Today, I called the number. I was all giddy and felt like I was doing something all bad and it was this big cool thing. I had my list of textbooks I needed and I wasn't too sure of what to expect.

RING RING RING...
"Herro?" - Asian Woman (Editor's note : Herr0 = Hello)
"Yes, hello. Umm... Hi. I uh... need some books?" - Me
"Wha nahbah?" Asian Woman (Wha nahbah = What number)
"Umm... I'm sorry. Do you want uhhh... like the ISBN number or..." - Me
"Coos nahbah" - Asian Woman (Coos nahbah = Course number)

I tell her and she tells me the price for all my books. And then comes the best part.

"You meet him outside of (coffee store whose name I won't say because I don't want to ruin the racket they have going with the textbooks), ok?" - Asian Woman
"How will I..." - Me
"Chinese man wearing red hat. 7:30. Don't be late. Bye." - Asian Woman

So now I have the drop-point! Fast forward 3 hours and about 200 of my shitty jokes about the Yakuza and how, "these aren't the kind of people we should be messing with."

Rollin deep in the Toyota (don't say I don't know about fitting in), Kathryn and I pull up to the "spot" and I wonder how easy it will be to pick out "our guy".

It was very easy. It was like a bad TV show. There was a 20-something Asian kid wearing nice clothes, a black puffy coat, and the most dollar-store bright-ass plain red hat you have ever seen standing on the corner. He was all pacing around and looking at his watch and carrying the most conspicuous plastic bag of books you've ever seen.

$130 later, I have 75 pounds of textbooks that would have cost me well over $400, as well as a new found kinship with red-hatted Asians.

In honor of Mike.

As I'm sure most of you know, Mike Huckabee won the Iowa Primary last night. This is the first step in his journey to become president. As I chronicled here, he is a bad man. But don't just take my word for it. Take a look at the reaction by our dog Zoe.



And, no, that cabinet won't save you from the 350 pound sadist in stripes, Zoe.

How far we've come.

A little more than a century ago, Henry Ford spoke very eloquently about his vision of the future. He said something along the lines of every working man will be able to afford an automobile and nobody will be able to imagine life without it. Looking back 100 years later, he couldn't have been more accurate.

Winston Churchill once spoke of the Nazi threat and said that if England were to rise up and defeat the Nazis, it would be looked back upon as their "finest hour".

In the 60s, the founder of Intel, Gordon Moore, said that the amount of transistors that can be fit onto a computer chip will double every 2 years. Even today, "Moore's Law" still applies.

Also in the 60s, JFK pledged to put man on the moon before the end of the decade. On July 20, 1969, Neil Armstrong walked on the moon. MAYBE.

What am I talking about? What do all of these things have in common?

They are all great feats of man that have happened since Josephine Cochrane invented the dishwasher in 1886.

And yet today I arched down and slopped water and apple-scented soap all over some dirty ass old dishes. I HATE washing dishes. Why can't every home in North America have a dishwasher?

There I am, like some sort of poor African child. At least I have a computer, which is something that separates me from the poor people of the world.

Oh yeah that whole One Laptop Per Child thing. Well I feel like I've been brought down a couple notches, don't I?

One other thing I wanted point out that is wrong with the world is the folded toilet paper in hotels. If you've been to a hotel anytime in the last few decades, you'll know just what I'm talking about. Kathryn and I stayed in a very lovely hotel for New Years, and everything was just lovely. JUST LOVELY. Except the toilet paper fold. Since Kathryn and I forgot our cameras in Montreal and were walking around like tourists with a disposable camera, I didn't take a picture of it then. But I wouldn't let you all down, so here's a reenactment I did here in our apartment.


I can see how, to some hotel executive, this can be seen as giving the room that "extra little touch!" But that is exactly the problem. That extra little TOUCH. As in someone has purposely touched the toilet paper. And that person was neither me, nor a sanitary robot-being, so that is bad.

People spend literally billions of dollars a year on products and things that protect our most sensitive of areas from the unwashed masses. Right now I am wearing underwear and shorts so that the world and its dirty fingernails and oddly scented hands cannot infect my ass.

Please, kind cleaning lady (or man), don't touch anymore toilet paper. If you get fired for not folding the toilet paper and get shipped off to some poor distant land, don't fret. We will send you a laptop.

Back in Canada.

I just wanted to say HOLLER to all my people. We're back in Montreal now. Kathryn and I came back to a foot and a half of snow and blistering cold weather. Thanks fronts. Specifically cold fronts.

We had a great week with everyone even though it was a whirlwind. Too little time, too many people I love to see, and too much food that I didn't get to eat. One person I didn't get to see enough that I really wanted to spend more time with was Tim and here I publicly apologize to him. Also I have about 30 cousins and aunts and uncles and one grandma that I didn't get to see... So to everyone I MISS YOU and please understand.

Now with that all out of the way, I just want to say that I have the coolest parents ever. I can tell you, with an open heart and a clear conscience, that nobody else got a wolf blanket from their parents for Christmas except me. I'll get some pictures on here soon as soon as I unroll that hoss.

Before I go to bed, I have a little scenario that has been playing out in my head for the last 3 hours and I wanna tell you all about it. Take a walk with me, will you? Let's go back in time 150 years to 1858. Let's say we're sitting around talking to some railroad tycoon and I'm telling him about the future.

"Well, Mr. Tycoon, you see trains really peaked a long time ago. They lost a lot of small- to mid-range business to cars. Cars are these little machines that drive around and they ruin the environment and kill people, but we love them," I say after we all have had a nice brunch.

"Yes, yes, I see what you mean, future-person. Hey, is everyone in the future all fat like you?" he replies. His jovial tone belies the disgust in his eyes.

"No Mr. Tycoon. They are not," I awkwardly stammer. As our eyes meet, he can see the shame I am trying desperately to hide. He peers over my shoulder and sees all of you giving sympathetic looks to the back of my head. He brings our conversation back to the issue of travel.

"Oh well, anyways, what replaces the long-range travel in the future?" he says with a whimsical raise of his bushy brows.

"Well Mr. Tycoon, the long-distance travel is all done on airplanes. They are these gigantic metal tubes that fly through the air at a few-hundred miles-per-hour at upwards of 30,000 feet. Millions of people move about the world on airplanes." I say.

"Well you are the devil and that is crazy-talk! How do they keep from crashing?" he chokes.

"The entire industry is heavily regulated by the government. It is funny because it is something that the airline industry fought hard against, but it is the best thing for them. It is very safe and it made the world a smaller place." I retort.

"Well this airline business sure sounds like the best thing ever!" he spits, with a giddiness that makes his eyes sparkle like the North Star.

"Well there is one thing, Mr. Tycoon. It is something really, really bad about flying. It really is horrible and there is no way around it?" I explain.

"What. The. Fuck. You. Lying. Fat. Future. Man. Flying is the best thing ever. What could possibly be so bad?" he hisses through gritted teeth. You all take a few steps back because he is pissed.

"Well there are these bastard people called 'baggage handlers' that gain pleasure from throwing people's luggage around. Why in fact, in a trip from Chicago to Montreal I was just on, the heathen 'baggage handlers' ripped off my nice little name tag and broke a zipper off of my luggage." I explain.

He weeps. We let ourselves out quietly. Oddly enough, we ALL forgot to tell him to warn Abe Lincoln not to go to that play in about 7 years.

He would have forgotten to warn ol' Honest Abe anyway, though. Right?