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.