New Year, New Resolutions

I resolve for the year of two thousand and nine to start updating this thing again. And to finally realize my dream of making a citizen's arrest.

The fact that I apparently abandoned this blog five months ago is one of my biggest regrets of 2008, and considering my many unfortunate social missteps from the past year, that is really saying something. I honestly can't believe that I haven't updated since July.

Despite the fact that everything I have ever posted here has been kind of dumb, I find the idea of maintaining a blog incredibly compelling. If there is anything that might be of use to me, it is a positive creative outlet to help me deal with the perpetual jumbo-sized frustration that is my life. Two minutes in bed with a naked lady would probably also do wonders, but I work with what I got. And what I got is a blog. A blog that will be updated more in 2009.

Happy New Year.

The Dark Knight

I have been completely swamped at work lately. I'm beginning to wonder whether the company that I work for is trying to kill me by giving me too much to do and not enough time to sleep or play PSP. If it weren't for the fact that my office is air-conditioned and that being at work keeps me out of that that friggin' summer heat, I'd probably lose it and finally speak my mind to one of those people on the subway that insists on standing in front of the doors. Beware, exit-blocking commuters of Toronto, I could snap at any time...

So to unwind a little and take a break from it all, I went and saw the late showing of The Dark Knight yesterday evening. I had watched my Batman Begins DVD last week to get back in the swing of it all, and was a little alarmed by the fact that the movie didn't seem quite as awesome as I had remembered. Don't get me wrong - it's a great movie - but I couldn't help noticing a few corny lines and Christian Bales' strangely raspy voice with this most recent viewing. In addition, the hype surrounding the new movie is enough to turn anybody off, so I really wasn't sure what to expect.

That said, The Dark Knight was insanely fucking good. I was totally blown away, much like everybody else in the packed theatre, as evidenced by the ovation that erupted when the closing credits rolled. Granted, it was the late show on a Monday, so most of the people there were probably stoned and about 15 years old, but they meant all their clapping and hooting, and I think that kind of response really counts for something.

Anyway, I'm probably going to check it out in IMAX later this week and I can't wait. I just need to make it through the next few days and all the work, work, work, work, work.

What I Like About Summer (cont'd)

I should probably point out that I haven't always hated summer - back when I was in middle school, summers were pretty awesome. With both parents at work all day, my time was largely my own to waste as I saw fit. Honestly, it was probably the most freedom I will ever experience in my life.

Over the course of eight weeks, I would slowly adopt a schedule that was completely opposite to that of the regular school year, where I would sleep most of the day away, have breakfast with my parents when they got home for dinner, and then stay up all night downloading pirated software from local BBSs and watching whatever late night movies were on cable TV. Sounds heavenly, doesn't it? If I could do anything with my life, that would probably be it.

I would sometimes go days without seeing the sun or stepping outside or even leaving the basement. And I know how lame that is - honestly, I know it's sad. But the fact that it was invariably the best two months out of the entire year is a testament to just how much of a struggle life can be for a fledgling nerd.

Before there were girls or sweat-stains to complicate things, summer was a time of year that ruled.

What I Don't Like About Summer

There are a number of things about summer that make it my least favorite time of year, but my biggest issue is an extension of the fact that it is so damn hot all the time; namely that I sweat like a motherfucker. Some people might read that last sentence and roll their eyes and go, "Everybody sweats... so what?", but those people haven't read that sentence properly - see, I sweat like a motherfucker.

I'm that sad bastard you see on the street who is wheezing and red-faced and ready to pass out, and who is literally leaving a trail of sweat on the sidewalk behind him. While most people would consider sweat-stains to be the damp spots on their shirts under their arms, I have to contend with my entire shirt being dripping wet after about two and a half minutes in the sun. I will leave my apartment in a light blue shirt, only to return in one that looks... navy.

My sweat stains defy any sense of logic. They emanate out from every seam with tendrils that slowly reach across my clothes to become intertwined until there is nothing left but a big virgin in a gross sweaty outfit. Not only do I have huge sweat stains under my pits (that's for amateurs), I get stains that start out around my waist. And stains that drip down from the neck of my shirt. And if I'm wearing my backpack (I'm always wearing my backpack), I immediately get stains under the straps and all down my back. It is seriously disgusting.

When it comes to attracting a female, I've got enough of a handicap without being all gross and sweaty. Making matters worse is that whole issue of girls being so appealing in those sun-dresses that I mentioned last time. So yeah, summer is a little bit of hell.

What I Like About Summer

Between the fact that the office water-cooler talk seems to revolve completely around stupid stuff like golf these days and the fact that it is hot as crap outside, there is really no denying that summer is is in full effect. And the truth of the matter is, I kind of hate summer.

This is the time of year where it is perpetually hot and gross, and where the sun always getting in my eyes and making me sneeze. This is the time of year that is closely associated with doing things and sports and being outdoors - three things that have always ended poorly for me (seriously, if it weren't for the LCBO and electronics surplus stores, I'd never do anything or ever leave my apartment). But while I might hate summer, I also hate complainers and hypocrites (that's meant to be a joke), and so I figured that I'd try to put a positive spin on everything and talk about what it is that I actually like about this god-forsaken time of year.

And there's really only one thing that I like about summer. Girls in summer dresses. Ironically, it turns out that I like that aspect of the season quite a lot.

Dogs Have No Need to Be Hauling Around Anything That Can't Be Carried In Their Mouths

On a topic similar to yesterday's post, did you know that there are backpacks for dogs? Check it out:


Man, people are so lazy.

The Contents Of My Backpack

An important part of my "look" is the black backpack that I wear literally everywhere that I go (seriously, I feel naked if I leave my apartment without it). I've owned it for longer than I can remember, and now that I think about it, it's probably more the equivalent of an adult security-blanket than anything else. Since it comes with me everywhere, a coworker asked me yesterday what it is that I feel I need to be carrying around all the time.

So for inventory and posterity, here is a list of all the stuff that can be found in my backpack:

-umbrella
(in case it rains; this is always in there, even in the winter)

-hooded sweatshirt
(in case I need a hoodie; no joke, the same sweater has been in there since the late 90s and has only ever been taken out to be worn or washed)

-book
(currently reading The Amber Spyglass, by Philip Pullman)

-keys to my parent's house
(don't know why I carry these around; they live in another city)

-spare change
(not sure how this ends up in there, but it always does)

-a variety of pens and markers
(half of them don't work)

-a collection of old paystubs
(don't know what to do with these)

-a couple years' worth of old subway passes
(I hold onto them for tax purposes)

-an inflatable love-doll
(not really - just checking to see if you're paying attention)

-random CDRs containing an assortment of MP3s and files
(I never seem to label the discs that I burn, so I have no idea what's on half of these)

-allergy medication
(probably expired)

-lip balm
(don't leave home without it)

-a few USB drives
(more MP3s and files)

-instruction manual for Final Fantasy Crisis Core
(I'm a little surprised to find this in here, actually - I've been looking all over for it)

-big old earmuff-type headphones
(they look retarded, but they've got good sound)

-what appears to be a number of old receipts
(the writing is faded, so I don't know what they are for)

-several half-empty packs of gum
(these are really, really old; don't ever ask me for gum)

-a sock
(I hope it's mine, I don't recognize it)

...the irony of course being that now that I have emptied all this junk onto my desk there is no way that I'm going to be able to cram it all back in.

What's The Deal With The Timestamps On This Thing?

Hey, does anybody know what the deal is with the timestamps that Blogger adds to these posts? They're always a few hours off. Like my Friday night posts, for example - I'm using not that drunk until way later than 6pm or whatever.

I figure it must be some sort of time-zone setting in my profile or something, but I'll be damned if I can figure out how to set it properly. If anybody knows, please enlighten.

My New Cubicle Neighbor

We have a new summer co-op student at work that started last week, and she was given the desk in the (formerly) vacant cubicle that is adjacent to mine. Since I've had this corner of the office all to myself for the past few months, it has been a bit of an adjustment having a new cube neighbor... well, it's an adjustment for me at least (You see, I'm not entirely convinced that she's aware that there's somebody on the other side of her cubicle wall - as I've mentioned before, I'm a pretty quiet guy and so I'm pretty sure that she doesn't realize that I'm there. At some point in the weeks to come I'll probably scare the shit out of her when I cough or something, introducing another layer of awkwardness into the magnificent tapestry of gawkiness that is my presence in the office.)

One thing that I find curious is how she seems to spend a significant amount of her day looking up ex-boyfriends online. At least, that is what I assume she is doing based on the accompanying narration, which feels like it is perpetually being whispered under her breath: Click-click "He got engaged? To that bitch?" click-click "That bastard never took me to Aruba" click-click "Looks like somebody hasn't been working out much lately" click-click "Ugh, what an asshole" click-click...

I don't really like her because she's kind of annoying and because she embodies the generation gap that somehow divides me from people who are at most only a couple of years younger than I am, but I do find myself in awe of how she manages to be so perky and lively, and yet so jaded and spiteful. And either she has a lot of former boyfriends, or else she is Facebook-stalking a guy who manages to update his profile a few times every minute and who I probably wouldn't care for very much either.

Welcome to the cube farm.

Drunken Friday Night Post, Part III

My neighborhood consists largely of big houses that were probably pretty nice at one time, but have since been divided up into apartments (it also seems to consist largely of crackheads wandering the streets aimlessly, but that's another story for another time). Anyway, as I write this, some people that live in the house next door to me are having a huge-huge-huge party. It's awesome. For the past hour or so I've been sitting here in the dark under my kitchen window drinking Smirnoff and listening to the drunken chatter of all the smokers on the porch next door.

What I am doing may seem sad and even a little creepy, but they've got a pretty good party going and this is honestly the closest I can realistically expect to get to big house parties. Even if I were ever invited to something like that (a pretty big if), I'd never have the balls to go. Nothing makes me more uncomfortable that being in a big group of people, especially if that group may potentially include former asshole high school jocks. And the truth is, I'm having more fun than I'd care to admit sitting here enjoying some drinks while listening to their music and laughing at their jokes.

I'll probably get bored in a while, or my upstairs neighbor will probably call the cops, but for the time being this is a great Friday night.

A Chronological List Of All The People That I've Talked To Today

Here's a chronological list of literally all the people that I've spoken to throughout the course of my day:

1. Subway Collector
Re: Subway Fare
2. Guy On Phone
Re: Is Peter there? (wrong number)
3. Chinese Food Lady
Re: One lunch special, please.
4. Guy On Elevator
Re: Hold the door!
5. Landlady
Re: July rent

And today was actually a pretty big day for me. I mean, Tuesday was a holiday (Canada Day) and I didn't leave my apartment or talk to a single living individual the entire day. I'm just saying.

My Brief Foray Into Politics

I was voted in as the student council representative for my class back in grade 7. Sounds more impressive than it actually was; I was sick at home on the day that the person was supposed to be chosen by the class, and so I suspect that I won as some sort of joke played on the keener that actually wanted the job by a class that had little interest in student politics or school spirit. Imagine my surprise to return the next day and find out that I had won the election for something that I hadn't even known about. Never having been voted for anything before, I was like... pretty surprised.

I was a terrible student council rep. The job only involved having to attend meetings every few weeks and then make sure that my fellow classmates were aware of the stupid activities that were perpetually being organized, and I managed to fail spectacularly at these no-brainer responsibilities. It wasn't that I didn't want to do a good job, or that I didn't try, but I was such a space-cadet that I was completely unable to find any of the meetings in question. I had an aptitude for showing up to the wrong room on the wrong day at the wrong time, and then sitting there quietly for half an hour wondering where everybody was. And as for the whole issue of ensuring that my classmates were aware of all the Hawaiian Shirt Days and Hot Dog Lunches, my whole MO back then was to remain as inconspicuous and invisible as possible, so there was little chance that I was ever going to get up in front of all my classmates and feign interest in a bunch of retarded activities that nobody in their right minds cared about.

After I managed to miss the meeting where the student council gave shit to the kids that kept missing meetings, my homeroom teacher got mad and and assigned another kid to be co-rep and "help" with the responsibilities. And that was essentially the beginning of the end of my brief foray into politics.

I don't know why I'm talking about this. I haven't thought about this stuff in years.

Pass The Kleenex

I think that I had a stuffy nose for the entire time that I was in high school. Seriously. The total number of days where I was able to breathe through my nostrils is most likely equal to the total number of girls that I have ever made-out with in the backseat of my parent's station wagon (read: zero). And that's not just a random comparison; I'm thinking that those two things are far more closely related than I ever could have imagined at the time.

It's a tough realization to deal with, but the fact is, I was pretty gross back in high school. Snot, bleedy noses, braces, zits... you name it - take any sort of teenage social handicap that you can think of, and I was most likely afflicted with it to some varying degree. I'm okay with it now, because acceptance is a big step on the road to recovery... or in my case, becoming less gross. The next step is to curb my dependency on lip balm.

I Need To Find A New Grocery Store

I was at the grocery store yesterday and I dropped the hugest jar of pickles onto the floor. It was awful. There was glass and pickles and pickle juice and shit everywhere. It reeked.

I'm ashamed to admit it (FYI, this is one of those brutally-honest type of blogs), but I let out the stupidest little squeal when the jar slipped from my fingers and so the entire store looked over at me just in time to watch the spectacular pickle explosion. I was just standing there empty-handed like an idiot, being all like "Uh, there's something wrong with my pickles."

I'm pretty sure that the pissy 15 year-old with the mop and the attitude called me a "retard" under his breath when he came to clean up the mess (or possibly some sort of variation, like "dick tard"). I need to find a new grocery store.

Drunken Friday Night Post, Part II

Fuck, I love Fridays. They are by far the most the most liberating day of the week. And the most liberating thing to do on the most liberating day has so far involved liberating the contents of a bottle of Cranberry Finlandia.

Fridays are not liberating in the sense of a group of college kids singing "Baby Got Back" at karaoke night at the campus bar - no, they're liberating in the sense of a Pontiac Solstice commercial. Really liberating.

Don't ask me what any of this is supposed to mean. I'm a little too liberated.

According to tonight's itinerary, it's now time to play Metallica in Rock Band until my upstairs neighbor complains.

I Am The Worst Blogger On The Planet

I know, I know... I totally suck at updating this thing. But it's not just that I'm incredibly lazy (although I really, really am). No, instead I come before you tonight to tell you that I have found true love. Unfortunately, in my world true love is never a girl, it's usually just a video game.


I wish I could say that my life from the past two weeks has amounted to more than just a series of puzzles, monster battles, and fetch quests in a survival horror game, but sadly I cannot. A game called Obscure (and to a far lesser extent, its sequel Obscure: The Aftermath) has turned my life on its ear, and I'm still reeling. It has been a long time since I've gotten this involved in a game (such that I find myself playing it into the early hours of the morning, arriving at work incredibly late, and then spending a good portion of my day checking online walkthroughs to ensure that I've collected every last item in the areas that I've completed) but I am loving it. Who needs aspirations when you've got a Playstation?

Some might point out that Obscure is not considered a very good game by most standards. And others might even mention that it was released to somewhat mild reviews and poor sales. But! It is a horror survival game that is based on teen slasher flicks (surprisingly, the only one of the sort that I am aware of) and it is incredibly cheesy, making it my absolute favorite game of all time. Seriously, it is the best game ever.

I'm sure I'll be back to talk about this more later, but right now I'm running a little low on ammo and I need to strategize how to get out of the mess I've gotten myself into with a few genetically engineered killer plants...

I Am The Worst Jaywalker On The Planet

I am absolutely terrible at jaywalking. It falls under the category of one of the many "practical" skills that I never properly learned (there should have been a class offered in high school called "Life Skills For Morons", where I could have learned things that most people instinctively know, like how not to get hit by cars when crossing the street or how to pee in a urinal without getting your pants wet).

When crossing a street, I regularly have very close-calls with automobiles. Drivers are constantly pounding morse-code into their car horns telling me that I'm an idiot and/or that I am seconds away from getting a bumper to the spleen. Making matters worse is the fact that cars seem to be attracted to me like moths to a flame, and that the natural reaction most drivers have when seeing my sorry nerdy ass is to hit the gas. Typically when trying to jaywalk, I'll make it about a third of the way across the street before cars start veering towards me from all directions and my survival instincts kick in, resulting in a screaming mad dash back to the safety of the sidewalk (followed shortly by a slow defeated march to the nearest crosswalk).

Part of the problem is that I was hit by a car while walking home from school in the second grade, breaking my arm for the first time in what has been (if I do say so myself) a spectacular legacy of my limbs being broken. I haven't quite looked at oncoming traffic the same since, and hence my "survival of the fittest" approach to being a pedestrian.

But what can I say? I live dangerously.

The Post I Started To Write Last Night, But Then Went For Fajitas Instead

Because nerds like numbers, here are some statistics (these are a little gross, so be warned):

-Number of times I've woken up to a neighbor banging on my front door as a result of me having passed out on a Friday night with Appetite For Destruction playing loudly on repeat: 1

-Percentage of my sneezes that result in a bleeding nose: 5%

-Average ratio of cans of Coke that explode in my face when opened to cans of Coke that do not: 1:3

-Total number of people that are quieter than me, according to my coworker: 1

-Ratio of number of times that I was sick with the flu and farted a little bit of poop in my pyjamas to the number of times I really, really hoped that I hadn't just shit myself: 1:1

-Number of times that I've forgotten clothes overnight at a laundromat: 2

-Approximate percentage of my life that has been spent battling constipation or diarrhea: 15%

Non-Update

I was going to post a new update tonight, but then I decided to fuck it and went out for fajitas instead.

Silence!

As sort of a strange karmic follow-up to yesterday's post, somebody mentioned to me in passing today that I am the second quietest person that they they've ever met. And I don't care who any of these other people are that I was being compared to - I'm pretty sure that this is true. Because people have been telling me that sort of thing my whole life.

But then later on I started to wonder... second quietest? Who's the first quietest? Is it somebody in a coma? A mute? I wish I'd asked what their problem is, because now this is really going to drive me nuts.

Antipersonal Skills

I had the strangest thing happen to me at work last week. I was pulled aside by a middle-aged coworker to have a "quick chat", whereby she proceeded to point out that I have weak interpersonal skills and that she thought I had a tendency to make conversations with others somewhat awkward (as if I didn't already know that). Her criticisms revolved largely around three points:
1. That I mumble when I talk,
2. That I have an off-putting habit of correcting the grammar of others,
3. That I often don't pick up on cues in conversation very well, and in particular that I have trouble identifying when a conversation is over.

Now regardless of the fact that everything she was saying is 100% true, I was not at all prepared for somebody to actually approach me about this and was rather taken aback by the whole situation. And so when faced with the paradox of having a conversation about how awkward I make conversations, I did the only thing that came naturally: I made it awkward. After she had finished her shtick and was looking at me expectantly, I proceeded to mumble something about how I thought she wears too much makeup. And about how using breath mints every now and then never killed anybody. She gave a disappointed little sigh, looked at me as if to say "I am wasting my time with this sad fucker", thanked me for our little chat, and then waddled off to wherever she had come from.

WTF?

Tumbler

I took the craziest spill on my way home from work tonight. It was epic. It all went down on an escalator, and despite the fact that my feet were firmly planted on the steps and my hand was tightly clutching the railing when I boarded, I somehow reached the bottom sprawled out on all fours, having narrowly avoided bringing a gaggle of very surprised middle-aged women along with me for the ride. I've now got bruises on my legs (and ego) that are similar in size and orientation to a series of Caribbean islands.

Honestly, my life is like a perpetual episode of America's Funniest Home Videos - a never-ending series of 30 second clips that involve me repeatedly falling down or getting hit in the head in excruciatingly predictable ways. It's funny to a certain point, but after a while I find myself wishing I could change the channel to an MTV reality show where I make it to second base.

Facebook Farewell

I quitted Facebook over the weekend. You know, when I see the word 'quitted', I instantly think of the word 'shitted'. I shitted Facebook over the weekend.

Okay, let's try this again... I left Facebook over the weekend. I removed all my "friends", deleted the posts on my wall and my profile picture, and then deactivated my account. The entire process took an embarassingly brief amount of time to complete - mainly because I only had a handful of "friends" and a whopping grand total of 2 posts on my wall.

If anybody were to ask why I shutdown my Facebook account, I'd probably spew some CIA data-mining conspiracy bullshit, but the reality is that the social networking revolution hasn't really done much for me (apart from allowing me to stay current with the vacation photos of former coworkers that I hardly know but who were too polite not to add me). And then when I realized that I could start saying "I shitted Facebook", it was a done deal.

So long, Web 2.0!

Drunken Friday Night Post

It's Friday night, and I'm both dripping wet and sloppy drunk. Wet because my kitchen faucet exploded earlier, and drunk because that bottle of Stolichnaya wasn't going to drink itself.

(Apart from the whole kitchen faucet soaker incident) tonight has been totally awesome. I just finished watching the new episode of Battlestar Gallactica, and now I'm listening to Iron Maiden and celebrating every few words that I type by pumping my fists in the air and emitting a resounding Yeah! from my lower abdomen. I think my neighbor upstairs is pounding on his floor in a sophisticated attempt at articulating that he would be grateful if I were to
shut the fuck up, but it’s too loud to hear him and I'm too drunk to care. Yeah!

The remainder of the night is going to play out in one of two ways: either I play Guitar Hero until I pass out in front of the TV, or I watch movies until I pass out in front of the computer.

Thank God It’s Friday.

Perspectives

You say over-priced yoga gear; I say cute girls that are big fans of Ohm's Law and who aren't afraid to show it!

An Open Letter To The Pretty Lady Who I Was Inadvertently Staring At On The Subway

(I figure she's probably an avid reader of this blog)

Hello,

I'm sorry that I was staring at you on the subway this morning.

But the fact is, you're really hot, and I was thinking about how nice your hair looked and then I started thinking about how nice it probably smelled and then I sort of started to space-out and I didn't realize what I was doing until you appeared visibly distressed by the fact that a weirdo on the subway was staring at you with his mouth open.

Again, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to freak you out. Please don't dwell on this experience too deeply and please don't feel the need to start wearing baggy clothing or turtleneck sweaters or something. I promise that if I see you tomorrow I won't stare.

Sincerely,
Jeff

A Nerd Burdened...

Not long ago I awoke to the stinging realization that I am not popular, that I have the fashion-sense of a blind hobo, and that I am probably the clumsiest person on the planet. For a quarter-century I had somehow managed to live in the delusion that I was somewhat normal, only to have recently discovered that my mother was lying to me when she always used to assure me that I was “cool”. You see, my passions include math, physics, computers, horror movies, heavy metal, video games... and pretty much anything else that will forever ruin my chances at getting laid. Truth is, I am a raging nerd. Welcome to my blog.

I've seen other "nerd blogs" on the internet, but those generally all fail to accurately capture the struggles of nerdkind. Not here, friends. This blog is intended to serve as a warning to others and as a coping mechanism for me. Feel free to drop me an email or to leave comments.