A is for atrophy rotting my brain
B is for beer and rampant weight gain
C is for cubicle, that’s where I won’t be
D is for delicious fresh fish from the sea
E is for everthing I like to do
F is for f— this, I’m on vacation and I don’t have to sit in front of a computer.
Hand service
I always get thrown off when people greet me in that “American” way of thrusting their hand at me, grasping mine, and waggling it up and down, or if I know them well, a brief hug.
It isn’t not that I’m never not a not-unaffectionate guy. I like to belch loudly before stripping naked and pelting them with chunks of moose meat and bottles of beer. Yes, even my guy friends (if they don’t drink the beer first, which usually they do).
But this is Canada. And when it comes to that uptight hand-shaking thing, it’s my feeling that back-bacon-eating, beer-swilling hosers fought the Americans in 1812 so we didn’t have to greet people in that I’m-a-good-ol’-boy-but-don’t-throw-meat-at-me manner.
Basically, someone lunging at me with their hand is bound to elicit a singular, visceral response. Especially if the individual is female. And if said individual gets upset because they didn’t expect to end up with a handful of moose meat, I’ll simply say, “Look, eh, I respect your traditions for welcoming friends and acquaintances, and I expect you to–whoo hoo! Beer!”
Spicy, marinated tuna sashimi
I’d just like to state, for the record, how fun it is to watch someone eat spicy, marinaded tuna sashimi for the first time.
Monday story pitch
Once again, it’s time to pitch the dreaded “bad blurb”. I hope others will follow me in this grand entirely pointless tradition. Famous movie producers should note that the rights to my bad blurbs sell for ONE MILLION DOLLARS! (each)
Corky Corkster McCorcoran was accidentally born as a slug, although in all other respects, he seems completely human. School is difficult for Corky–his classmates tease him and, in sports, players often mistake him for the ball in rugby matches.
One day, Corky is stepped on by the famous television chef, Emeril Laflasse, who agrees to nurse Corky back to health and train him to say “BAM!”. Soon Laflasse and Corky become fast friends and Corky becomes a master chef, with an impressive range of dishes.
Then, during the taping of Corky’s first television appearance, a flying saucer lands on the studio’s roof: it’s Corky’s real parents, who are accompanied by several warriors from Slimeron Four of the Slimerian Star Empire. As the Slimerians ooze through the studio’s hallways, sliming everyone, Corky whips up a batch of his famous salt-crust salmon and offers it to the warriors to stop their muderous rampage. After the warriors eat the salmon and shrivel into raisin-like lumps, he explains to his Slimerian parents that he’s really happier here on Earth and would they please stop killing everyone. His parents agree to depart, but leave directions back to Slimeron Four, should Corky change his mind.
Everyone (still alive) in the studio celebrates! Corky has saved Earth from invasion, and has created a delicious salmon-and-raisin dish in the process! BAM!
Slothful Sunday
Since I’m on vacation for the week, you might think that I’d be off somewhere–maybe camping or hiking. Or maybe having a barbecue down at the beach. But you’d be wrong, because: 1.) The extreme forest fire hazard means all wilderness areas are closed, and 2.) I’m just ludicrously lazy. So what that means is that Day Two of my nine work-free days was almost entirely free of anything productive.
Almost, except for the thousand words I added to the story. I just emerged from a difficult bit in which our hero and heroine finally get a chance to talk, and motives are suddenly not as pure as one had previously thought. Ooooh. And then an old man shows up. Do I know how to build excitement, or what? Maybe I shouldn’t offer that second choice there.
That was my morning. And for the rest of the day, I wandered the city aimlessly. If you ever find yourself in Steveston, visit George’s. It’s a little Greek café with something on the menu that resembles Greek poutine: fries with a Greek salad on it, and plenty of olive oil. I had a variation of it that included some kind of meat. Chicken, I think. It was hearty enough that I won’t need to eat for at least a week now.
It’s been Insanity Week for me, so a day without deadlines or committments was a welcome relief. It’s 9:30. Time to…uh…time to do more nothing. I want to see how much nothing I can fit into one day.