Textual Exhibitionism

LAST FIVE ENTRIES
The Sunday Suicide Ritual - 03.19.06
somnambulism: n, Jeremy on a Sunday night - 03.13.06
careful what you wish, you may regret it... - 03.05.06
somebody gona geta hurt real bad - 02.20.06
=NOT(rain V sleet V dark of night) - 01.31.06

summertime, and the livin's [not so] easy - (05.27.05)

The weather here in this beautiful city called Vancouver, British Columbia has taken a turn for the hot. Today in the lab it was 26°C, which is just all sorts of filthy. Our building has no air conditioning, and I've been told that in the summertime, you can go into the room set at 27°C and feel cooler, which I never really believed until today. I didn't arrive on the scene here at Vizzle Scizzle (I am considering dropping the "c" based on the projected hell-like temperatures) until the end of July last year, so I missed a decent portion of the summer. It was still hotter than satan's armpit, but I didn't have to endure it for its full run. This year, however, I will be privy to all of the delicious wonderfulness of sweating while sitting at my desk. As if I needed another reason to not wear a lab coat.

I am not built for summer. I might as well be Russian; as soon as the sun comes out, I start to sweat. I can handle winter -- for as far back as I can remember I have been asked why in the hell I'm not wearing a coat -- and I'm guessing that it's thanks in part to this warm layer of winter blubber I have insulating me year-round. When I was younger and not "30 pounds overweight" (fuck you, BMI), I had my crazy-ass metabolism and every sport available on Salt Spring Island to keep me warm and pester my 12th grade biology teacher into thinking I had hyperthyroidism.

Anyway, like I said, the weather is hot. When living in a city such as Vancouver, saying something like that tends to swing the heavy hand of double entendre. You see, summertime in the Lower Mainland means one thing: skin. The righteous post of Ubiquitous Brand Name shifts from Starbucks to Lululemon, and it's not on yoga pants anymore. It's on sports tanks and the like, and how do I love thee? Let me count the ways. Well, I guess you've got a couple good...erm...points right there.

But all embellished chauvinism aside, the Fittest City in the Country tends to throw on its sexy walking shoes and strut its stuff when the sun hits. This presents somewhat of a, shall we say, hormonal problem. You see, the appeals of spring time are not lost on humans, despite our so-called superiority over other species on our planet. We still get those surges as winter subsides, as if our bodies were telling us that we'd better fuck ourselves silly just in case that white shit falls from the sky again and we have to go and hide in some dank cave. And just when you think the tingling in your loins is dissipating (no thanks to that useless shot of penicillin, mind you), BAM, summer hits and you've got girls in shirts so tight you can tell she's got an inny. Which, by the way: haaawwwwwt.

I'm sure you've heard people -- and perhaps even myself, in this very space -- say that such-and-such a time is a very depressing time to be single. Which is true! Because if you think about it, and I know you can do it, folks, I know you've been practicing so hard, every time is a depressing time to be single. Unless you hate your partner, in which case singledom is like a lush green field, with faeries and whatnot scampering about, chasing butterflies and rainbows and all that other fluffy horseshit that you idiots think is over here.

But let me break it down for you.

Spring! The heat is on, and I'm not talking about the temperature. Your glands are kicking it into overdrive, hoping to score you some of that fresh spring meat. Careful though, those ewes will guard their children fiercely. Sheepfucker.

Summer! I just talked about this. Like, two minutes ago. Go back and read it again.

Fall! School's back in session, and Jessica from 3rd block just sprouted. Hellllloooo nurse! If you're in university, you've either just moved into a new residence and have already started to lust after someone in your building, or have started sitting at the front of the class with a mirror in your hand trying to get a peak up chicky's skirt. Hey, it's still warm out, remember? If you're a working stiff like me, well, pity us. You know...your pity would be a lot more convincing if you did it naked. What? What'd I say?

Winter! Jesus it's cold out. But that's ok, because goosebumps are sexy. So is getting naked in a sleeping bag "to stay warm." Oops, did I just...? I did? Oh, well, I'm sor...I did it again? Sheesh, I didn't even notice. You know, while we're...fine. Jesus. What about a dry h--FINE.

I'll be the first to admit that being single has its perks. For instance, you don't have to consider anyone else when changing plans at the last minute. Similarly, you don't have to consider anyone's feelings when you decide that it's 3:00 on a Saturday, and by god you're going to fuck yourself senseless if it's the last thing you do. You also don't have to deal with all of the epic Shit vs. Fan battles that tend to take place during the transition from Taken to Take Me. It's almost enough to make a guy avoid the situation altogether, and if it wasn't for all of the good stuff in between (read: sex and not having your uncle bug you about not having a fucking girlfriend, the cock), this journalist might just swear off trying to find a woman and take a vow of ~~porn~~ bachelorhood. Sure, there are other bonuses to having a girlfriend, but the chauvinistic pseudonym isn't allowing me to discuss them, because then you all would think he was a pussy and he might just have to go find a goth message board and threaten to slit his wrists in a weak attempt at garnering the attention from some desperate 15-year-old who just hates her parents OMG LIKE SO MCUH!!

Where was I? Oh yes, summertime. Well, that's very much like the army. (that was an Eddie Izzard joke, and if you didn't get it you need to watch Dress to Kill) Beach volleyball, as you might imagine, is an exceptionally worthy opponent in the game known as Keep It In Your Pants. What better place for fit people in tight, minimalistic clothing than at the beach, right? Right. Last week there was this girl who wasn't even playing; she must have been there watching her boyfriend or something. It was probably for the best [for her], since she was wearing a skirt. But daaaaaayyyyyyuuuummmm.

Now I can't really be described as an anything-man. I'm referring here to "ass-men" or "leg-men" or whatever. There are so many parts that make me go ape shit (see: single status) that you'd essentially have to call me an everything-man. Whether it be a navel or a nape of neck, an ankle or an ab, an ear or an eye, they're all great. In our case study mentioned above, modern day skirts tend to show off the backs of the knees, calves and ankles. As you can see, we're looking at a three-pronged attack that even the Germans couldn't handle. Tactical defensive positions are limited to dark sunglasses and running the fuck away before tripping over a grossly extended tongue -- weak at best.

Right. Moving on.

It would seem that without my knowledge or consent, my counter has passed the 10,000 mark. No doubt the lucky listener was some errant Google or Yahoo horn-dog looking for hot redheads, exhibitionism, Jennifer Connelly, or any combination thereof. God knows my legions of loyal followers (NB: the term "legion" has been modified from signifying roughly 5000 men to somewhere around 5 individuals who may or may not be certifiably insane) has since moved on to greener (or at least more frequently watered) pastures, so I suppose I should consider myself fortunate that the omniscient search engines have not turned their burning eyes elsewhere just yet. I can only hope that one of the admins over at TWoP stumbles across this here diary and realises that they must hire me, thus fulfilling my lifelong ambition of recapping crappy shows and making fun of them every chance I get. And getting paid to do it.

I've actually been tempted to write recaps, either for myself or for you, just to see what it's like to watch a show 10 seconds at a time and pick it apart at the seams. The problem would be that watching a show like that has got to ruin it for you; just reading M. Giant's recaps of 24 has been simultaneously extremely entertaining and annoying. Entertaining because M. Giant is a very, very funny guy, and annoying because reading him pick the show apart has made me pick the show apart, and for something like 24 where so much of it is believing that what you are seeing is realtime and realistic, suspending disbelief will go a very long way to helping you enjoy the show. I think that season 4 has been the poorest so far, and I suspect that reading the recaps has a good deal to do with that. I kept telling myself that I was going to stop reading them until after the season was finished so I could enjoy the show without outside interference (I tend to be able to shut down logical criticism unless something is painfully obvious), but as a testament to M. Giant's abilities, I couldn't stop reading. I don't want to say that he ruined it for me, because it's entirely likely that he actually made it more entertaining. It's just that maybe ignorance really is bliss. As a result, I refuse to read recaps for Lost and Battlestar Galactica, because I actually like those shows.

Well, since this entry is about four hours in the making, I should wrap it up. Re: the broken comments at the bottom, I don't know why it works sometimes and not others. I've gone through the entries where it doesn't work and can't seem to find any tags that I've left open or anything. There doesn't seem to be any rhyme or reason to it. But if you're bored, I'd really appreciate it if maybe a few of you code monkeys out there could dig through the source for a page where the comments work and compare it to one where they don't. I don't like paying absolutely nothing for a service, only to have it crap out on me half the time. I mean honestly.

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