500 Words Per Day

Saturday Afternoon

noreply@blogger.com (Clinton) — Sun, 13 Sep 2015 05:27:00 +0000

I had nothing going this Saturday afternoon so I dithered part of it away by revisiting some of my old Blogger blogs. This one is probably my favourite.

It's been 10 years since I created 500 Words Per Day. That is astonishing. Reading over my old ramblings I was struck by a couple of things. Yes, there was the sheer, breathless stupidity of my topics, ranging from the trivial to the absolutely asinine. The regular sidetracks into piggish, male chauvinistic territory surprised me as well. (Was I really that much of a pervert?) But I did hold myself to a standard of conduct from the get-go, did I not? No filters, just write! Spew!

I also became sad. No, it wasn't the realization that 28-year old me was an idiot because I was already acutely aware of this fact even then. No, reading this and a few of my other blogs reminded me of how shamelessly I discarded the one creative activity I most loved doing.

Yes, writing.

I started this blog in my late-twenties as a way of putting a stake in the ground. I knew that I loved to write. I also knew that I had a long way to go before actually becoming competent at my passion. Skill would only come through raw, consistent and uncompromising practice. I would have to ply my trade tirelessly in order to succeed, yes? So I wrote in this blog for a while. Eventually I wrote for other blogs.

But then I stopped writing. I went chasing another passion of mine - which was completely necessary for me to do at the time - and I followed through with that commitment. But the important lesson here is that I stopped writing. The years fell away and I abandoned this wonderful activity for a myriad reasons. You can take your pick of the excuses out of this hat that is chock-full of them.

So I read through this blog and I had a good laugh or two. But it's got me thinking again...

Writing

noreply@blogger.com (Clinton) — Wed, 23 May 2012 03:57:00 +0000

I'm back? I routinely punish myself with the realization - learned through experience and maybe more than a little self-flagellation - that I am a quitter. This is perhaps not the sad-sack style of quitting that prevents someone from functioning at nominal levels. It's more the flavour of quitting one's passions or quitting when things really look down. So of all I things that I quit doing in my short life, I managed to throw into the lot the one thing that I had any interest or competency for when I was growing up: writing. When I started this blog, it was to spur myself to write often and to write regularly. I wanted to be a writer. I wrote a bit in my spare time, turned in a handful of game reviews and published some minor features on Rice Paper but then it all stopped. The blogging stopped, the writing stopped and it just felt like I happily went along being a semi-responsible adult, pursuing other things that would garner me a career that paid regularly. So I fired up the blog tonight with some fire in the belly but with really nothing to say, I think. I just wanted to write something, anything. This is sort of a ploy to get my muse going again, yes, but I think it's also a ploy to just get my mind working again, period. I've been sluggish and complacent. Oh so very complacent. I'll be back tomorrow. Maybe.

Girl, Looking Good this Summer ain't Rocket Science

noreply@blogger.com (Clinton) — Sat, 04 Jul 2009 01:54:00 +0000

Not to throw anyone off by writing two posts within the span of a few minutes, but I needed to get some more things off my chest before I abandon this area for another three to six months.

Summer. It's here and I won't say it's "finally" come because it was actually prematurely ejaculating hot glorious rays of sunshine at us back as early as April. Yes, it was late April when we got a good five days of a hot spell, followed by nearly two weeks of the summer sizzles during May. So this whole official start to summer, back on June 20th, was pure rubbish. It was just more ironic tomfoolery. It rained for half the weekend, granted only during the night or early in the morning when no one should care, but it rained all the same. And the clouds came and gave us a bit of a scare. And a BBQ or two were cancelled because of it. Damned summer and those dirty forecasters with their inaccuracies. I'd love a job like that. To be paid to say something. I just have to say something, make a prediction and back it up with a graphic and some numbers. Whether I'm wrong or right, I still get paid. Get me into this racket right now.

But, the topic is summer. And women. Girls! I prefer the term girls for the purpose of this article. "Women" is too staid. It's too dignified perhaps. Because now I am going to objectify a little bit. Okay, a lot. I am going to point out the obvious and that is to say, the girls look fantastic in the summer. And the reason is simple enough. A German DJ once laid out the formula as clear as day: "Hotties minus clothing is Happy Excess".

Oh man, you so right.

Unfortunately, I haven't spent much time at the beach yet so I haven't been treated to the bikini barrage or as some lucky ducks might see, an off-duty stripper/escort/dancer/professional hot girl doff the top and sun bathe au naturale. All the while painfully aware that yes they are hot and yes, they just exposed their mammaries long enough for an undisclosed number of male eyes to drink in and store in their memory banks for future reference. No, thus far I've only limited my random ogling to the streets. It's still a feast of visual treats for your average guy. Oh, how I wonder at how some men resist the urge to glance over when an attractive woman walks by or sits down on the bus. Oh, I'm watching them to see if they glance over. Then I get bored of waiting and go back to my covert operation of sidelong peeks, innocent head turns and other subterfuge to drink in more of the pretty sights.

Full disclosure: I am single with girlfriend and very happy with my relationship. My eyes never stop, however, and I don't ever see an end to it. Who stops looking? You're a liar if you say so. The engine never stops, it keeps purring and the view out the window is oh so good this season.

What's surprised me so far is not that there are a bevy of hot girls who seemingly come out of the woodwork when the temperature cracks a certain limit. Nor is the fact they are exposing more skin than ever before. No, the real reckoning for me, your-attached-but-always-looking pervert, is how few elements it takes for a girl to really put it all together. The checklist, if you please:

1.) Small shorts
2.) Tank or sport top
3.) Flip flops
4.) Legs (and good hips)

I once bowed at the statue carved of the man who invented the high heels. How a simple design has defined the look of women and has endured all these ages. I can't quite place the inventors of the thong sandals up atop the same pedestal but they deserve at least an honorary mention. Flip flops are the summer equivalent of a sexy pair of heels. Instead of the auditory warning of the click-clack, you get more of a scuff-scuff. Yes, flip flops on the right pair of feet attached to the right pair of bronzed, burnished legs can be quite the thing to behold.

I have a slight toe/foot fetish. Can you tell?

The rest of the list is self-explanatory, no? Tank tops to expose more skin and for the fact I've manage to fetishize a nice, lean pair of arms along with feet, toes and other ramdom appendages. And you can't have a nice legs without having firm, healthy hips to go along with them, can you? Is it in the realm of physical possibility? If you're rail thin, those short shorts will never be short shorts unless you're wearing something bought from Baby Gap. You're too thin, you're a waif, you'll blow away in the wind.

Give me a healthy west coast girl. Someone who's raised on a good Candian diet of beef, corn and Chinese take out. Someone who runs around outside or sweats it out on a machine once in a while. Those girls get the shorts and flip flops look to a T. A tan would be nice too but now I'm getting picky. You're all beautiful! I love you all.

Friday, Get your Face On

noreply@blogger.com (Clinton) — Sat, 04 Jul 2009 01:39:00 +0000

Hi, it's me. Where did I go? It doesn't matter. I just wanted to say how out of place I feel when I'm working on a Friday and out on the streets before sundown. No, I'm still working but I've gone out to buy some cheap sushi and to see if the magazine shop has bothered to stock anything worth reading or remotely current. Everyone has got their weekend faces on, the patios are buzzing with laughter, cars are on high intensity as they hurry back home. And the sun: the sun is alive and throbbing and refusing to quit. The weekend is here! The weekend is glorious and it is here, now. Right now.

Meanwhile I haven't got my game face on. Hell, I haven't even shaved. I'm walking back to office, squinting against the low sun. My hair still needs to be cut. It is in Q-tip mode and not especially sexy. And I'm just walking past the patios, the weekenders, the free ones, the liberated. Yes, I suppose I'm not alone. Those leggy hostesses and servers at Earl's aren't doing it out of the kindness of the hearts. The clerks at Timmy's probably have a number of things they'd rather be doing tonight than sling donuts. I know this. Things could be worse for me. Me, the guys working nights this week, the guy who's walking back to the office with his cheap sushi and a quiet evening with the monitors and the web surfing and the blogging.

Things could be a lot worse this Friday night.

Waking Up From a Year of Fitful Sleep

noreply@blogger.com (Clinton) — Tue, 07 Apr 2009 02:13:00 +0000

The subject title is to be taken figuratively of course. I found myself having a sustained moment of clarity today. The first signs of a true spring surely acted as the catalyst to wipe my mind clear of a year-long accumulation of apathy. The sun was out and I could finally shed my wool-lined jacket. I felt focused and I felt good about being alive.

I often come back to blogging after waking up from long periods of slumming, for lack of a better word. I feel as if I've woken up from a most slummy slumber, like a crotchety troll finally emerging from his cave into the sunlight, blinded, stunned and exhilerated all at once. As the troll, a number of realizations dawned on me. I had slept away the past year being perpetually angry and agitated, petty and increasingly careless with my own life. And by that, I mean I didn't care about my life. Beyond the basics of holding down a job, entertaining myself and maintaing contact with a very small group of people, I just could not be bothered to care how my life would unfold beyond the next couple of weeks.

My body had dissolved into a slovenly load of fat. I was constantly getting sick. I had not been able to finish reading any books, no matter how low brow the material. Friendships were left to wither. Bills were left unpaid. Chores and other responsibilites were shirked or dithered. Constantly tired.

It's been quite regressive in an ironic sort of way, seeing as I turn 32 this summer and was probably severaly magnitudes more mindful about my well-being when I was 22 than I am now. What hit me hard today was realizing in full clarity how badly I was walking around as a shell of a man. I really wanted to avoid using cliches, but that's really my perception of my life of late.

I'm pretty sure I do not suffer from S.A.D (seasonal affective disorder) but the positive affect the sun had on me today was undeniable. I suddenly felt grateful for the things I had in life. Well, for the most part. I still didn't think very highly of my job but the prospect of going there didn't grate on me like it sometimes did. I felt a new level of warm fuzzies about my girlfriend (and no, her making breakfast for me this morning had nothing to do with it). Most alarming, I actually felt like I had the worth in me to go do something scary and different.

What kind of scary and different? While it had been percolating in my mind for some weeks now, it now seemed like an even more attainable and exciting. Well, here it is: I want go get back into the creative business. Not the web development that I've put myself through for half a dozen years. And while my friends keep egging me to pursue my love of writing, I took notice enough to see that my motivations to write still hold to a very casual level. I keep flirting with the idea of being a journo but have never felt compelled to follow current affairs or politics all that closely. Other, more specialized topics, yes, but in terms of the broad mainstream vein of journalism, I've felt little interest in it. More on this later.

No, when I say creative, what I really mean is going back to what really got me exciting about multimedia and web design in the first place. Using technlogy. Creating experiences. Making cool shit. If I've had a passion for anything these last couple of year, it's been with video games. Playing them for the most part, but also writing about them, reading about them, championing them, listening to podcasts and consuming every last scrap of news there is to be found about them.

Earlier this year I was brought on to write for a Canadian-based gaming blog and had the opportunity to cover my first video games event as press. It was the 3rd annual Vancouver Film School Game Design Expo. I mingled, interviewed a number of the industry professionals in attendance and wrote a short series of stories afterwards. It didn't cross my mind at the time, but I think I really envied all the industry vets that gave speeches, as well as all of the students, mostly youngsters, currently enrolled in the VFS game design program. A couple of the veterans inspired me because they were people who had done a 180 degree career shift, getting into game development later in their life after doing something completely unrelated. Could I make a similar shift? At the time, I banished such thoughts as insane.

Maybe. Now I've my day of clarity and it feels a lot more than just a few crazy hours of sun-addled delirium. There's a quiet, burgeoning scene out there, a scene where small independent developers ply their trade creating smaller games out of the mainstream retail chain. I want to get in there. It's an exciting place to be right now and especially for someone like me who has a rather slim chance of being hired by a company, it's a great place to learn and hone your craft.

Someone pinch me if they think I've finally lost it. I know there are several hundred steps ahead of me, but I know what the first few are. It's as clear as day to me now.

2009

noreply@blogger.com (Clinton) — Sun, 04 Jan 2009 07:43:00 +0000

Somewhere, someone is asking about that post I was going to write about my various experiences and observations during my time in eastern and southern Australia.

I think I hear my father reminding me to send him the link to my photo album. It's been almost three months since my return and had only just cleared out my carry-on last week prior to embarking on my weekend bro-fest in Whistler.

I still have yet to meet my travel agent for lunch and share all of my rapidly fading vacation memories with her. I've stood her up once already. I think maybe I'm taking my sweet time because I do find her attractive. It's a paradoxical attraction. She's attainable, or "in my league" yet we're both attached so any real possibility of a relationship beyond the professional may as well stay in the realm of complete fantasy.

What is wrong with me? I was talking about my vacation. Or rather, talking about my inability to talking about my vacation that has long passed.

I need blog therapy again.

Snow Day Number... I've Lost Count Now

noreply@blogger.com (Clinton) — Mon, 22 Dec 2008 07:06:00 +0000

I watched the sky dump snow onto our hapless west coast metropolis for the better part of my 11-hour shift today. Listless, with hardly a thing to do but monitor agent statuses and line availability, I would trudge over to the reception area that overlooked the side street where I had parked my Camry.

Splotchy patches on concrete were replaced with muddy white accents until the entire street was covered in picture-perfect white snow. My car soon developed a soft ice cream coating and a low, fluffy fortress wall was later erected to apparently make my escape from work a trickier proposition.

I spied a few deckhands at the adjacent Acura dealership clearing out the driveway and became inspired to do something productive while doing nothing at work. After making another unnecessary sojourn to Starbucks, I waded through the white fields of tire treads and politely asked to borrow a shovel to pre-emptively extricate my car from captivity. With business non-existent, there was only the petite receptionist milling about the showroom floor. The branch manager was relegated to his watchful supervision of the service team, three men strong, as they industriously cleared the parking lot of every last shred of snow and ice.

I flashed my winning smile, gave a slight, knowing nod to the manager, and shovel was mine for the borrowing. Ten minutes and a slightly sore back later, I was back within the sauna-like ecosystem of my office. And still it continued to snow. I would tentatively peer out again from the reception desk, eyeing up the snow and wondering if I should have waited until the very last moments to borrow the Acura dealership shovel. I still had a solid three hours to kill and snowfall stops for no-one.

As it happened, my misgivings were unfounded. The upstairs office shut down a half hour before schedule, freeing me up to get a few precious extra minutes to remove a giant slab of snow and ice from atop my car. The journey back home was largely uneventful. The most notable observation I had was how sensibly everyone was driving. Even the entitled 4WD yuppy-mobile ahead of me was driving a lot slower than I myself was comfortable keeping pace with. Things got a bit dicier on the final approach to my apartment. A steep incline stretching for about 10 blocks, I built up exactly zero momentum coming off a plodding right-turn on a yellow light.

My tires were slipping all over my place, giving off the distinct sensation that my vehicle was not self-propelled but rather yanked along by a loose piece of string. As I triumphantly pulled to the curb outside my place, I realized that I was committed to the spot now. Another 5 centimeters would drop through out the evening with an another hefty dump forecasted for Christmas Day.

It was a rather small victory getting my car back home in one piece. My stubborn resistance to waiting and riding on an sopping wet, overcrowded and smelly bus challenged me to meet Mother Nature head on and emerge the champion. In your face, momma! Our east coast counterparts may scoff at our snowy conditions even now. To temperate Vancouverites like myself, the snow this year has been manly enough. I can't help feel just a little rugged for sliding and jiving my all-season equipped beater back home and no pedestrians or driver-side mirrors were killed in the process.

Posted Price is the Real Price. Imagine That.

noreply@blogger.com (Clinton) — Tue, 09 Dec 2008 22:29:00 +0000

I had got off the bus the other night and I was walking back to my front door when my world turned upside down. I live directly beside a Shell gas station so I'm privy to by-the-minute pump price fluctuations.

The 78.9 cents per litre sign enticed me into rolling up my car to top off the tank. Imagine my surprise when I saw laminated sign taped to all the pumps, boldy declaring that the post price of gas is the actual price at the pump.

Stunned. Speechless. Befuddled?

Finally, after all these years, the gas stations have done away with the charade of selling gas for 3 cents below the posted price. Someone high up must have finally come to their senses. Or perhaps this is just phase two of some diabolical plan designed to coddle us into a false sense of security.

Sick in Melbourne

noreply@blogger.com (Clinton) — Tue, 07 Oct 2008 01:32:00 +0000

It's my third day in Melbourne, a lovely city with a vibrant downtown core and weather a little bit too reminiscent of what I'm used to in Vancouver. I've finally broken out the bulky sweater that I packed. It's rained sporadically since my arrival and I was rained in one morning in Sydney a few days ago too, so it's safe to say I've long left the ball-sweating heat of Cairns behind me.

Since I haven't journalised about my trip since my stay in Cairns, I dont' think there's much point in attempting to summarize the rest of my Contiki tour or my brief stay in Sydney. I'll probably do capsule recaps once I return home and talk about things based around themes and observations, rather than a full-blown, tiresome chronologically correct travel summary.

I'm feeling quite under the weather now and have been feeling quite worn down since the tour ended last Friday. I'll be lucky if I can make it to the Melbourne aquarium and complete a few other items on my To-Do list for today. My head is feeling heavy and I can barely focus on writing this post.

Kicking it in Cairns

noreply@blogger.com (Clinton) — Sun, 21 Sep 2008 04:51:00 +0000

Day 3 of my trip down under. My first trip overseas in 7 years and my first experience with the famous Contiki tourin group.

A word of advice with planning a trip with Contiki: it's a skeleton tour. The base fee for any tour really just covers accommodations, transport and the all-encompassin supervision of a gregarious, rapid-fire delivery Aussie tour manager. Unless you are going to be motivated to plan your own day outings, all the "special events" are optional and count as additional charges should you decide to do any of them. These include white water rafting, skyrail rides, sailing trips to the Great Barrier Reef, ATV and horseback riding, intro an certified scuba diving, skydving, bungy jumping, and more.

During our tou orientation we were given a rather thorough summary of all these optionals, along with prices. I have to say, even after dropping $1800 total on airfare and another $1600 on the tour, plus several hunder dollars kitting myself out for my vacation, these optional fun trips all seemed quite appealing. Still, with most optionals costing an average of $175 dollars, it became apparent to me that I would have to be very discerning with my purchases. It was easy to rule out the water-heavy activities like scuba and more extremem excercises like skydiving. I had also already pre-booked a 2 night sailing trip from Whitsundays to the inner corrals of the Great Barrier Reef, so all the other sailing excursions felt redundant. That left ATV riding during our stay in Cairns. The ATV experience immediately caught my eye and at $125 for a half-day joyride, it was reasonably priced.

So, the lesson here is be prepared to dish out at least another few hundred dollars if you want to add "content" to your baseline tour experience. Even after we leave Cairns and Whitsundays, we have a good 8-9 days left of touring, with each stop offering yet more optional excursions. It really will add up fast if you're not carefule and happen to be an "experience junkie" when you go travelling. For tamer souls n a budget, such as myself, you'll need to do a bit more soul searching and wallet scraping to pick out the very best activites for yourself and be able to entertain yourself during those "free days" when many other more spend-happy tour participants have gone off on their own day trips.

Another minor grumble I have with this tour is the paucity of included meals. When I booked my tour, I knew before hand that there were only going to be about a dozen packaged-in meals, mostly lunches and dinners, but it's still a disappoint to be 3 days in to your trip and still shelling out cash for overpriced hotel buffets. Or in the case of last night's pub crawl, 20 Aussie bucks bought us a rather tepid BBQ consisting of 3 kinds of sausages and way too much salad, plus a complimentary beer, shot or glass of wine at a succession of 4 different clubs and pubs. Overall, it wasn't a bad deal, but the BBQ was weak and these comp drinks only fetch you the Aussie equivalent of a bottle of Bud or Kokanee in Canada. Thankfully, we'll be treated to our first included breakfast the mornng we leave Cairns for Whitsundays. I'm eager to assess the quality of the foods... whether it's of a baseline quality or something sloppy they just turned out to appease us hapless, ignorant tour participants.

But the clock is counting down on my Internet cafe access. It's been a slack day of sleeping in, gorging on overpriced breakfast buffet and aimlessing wandering the Cairns espanade and tourist centre. Another 2 hours and I'll dutifully hope back on my hotel shuttle bus and retire to my room share of 4 travellers. More on that and the rest of my Cairns stay later.

I've Made My Bed

noreply@blogger.com (Clinton) — Fri, 06 Jun 2008 10:02:00 +0000

I just broke up with the most caring, patient and loyal girl that I've ever met. It was the right thing to do or the biggest mistake of my life.

Daft Bastard

noreply@blogger.com (Clinton) — Fri, 04 Jan 2008 06:45:00 +0000

An older gentleman with an Scottish accent called me a "daft bastard" yesterday. I was in my car, he on the grassy curb next to the forgotten train tracks that run through out my section of town. I had apparently ran a red light at the crossing designed to stop traffic just before the lane met the tracks. These same tracks were built for trains that have not operated in years, perhaps a decade now.

This man was livid that I had run these red lights, as is customary for me, and instead come to a stop at the second set of lights at the road intersection, which in my mind were the only lights that mattered in this situation. This lost soul had chosen the train lights as a reasonable place to cross the street. Other more mindful drivers had stopped at those lights, either out of habit of stopping at the sign of red no matter the circumstances, or perhaps the combination of seeing a red traffic light and a grumpy old pedestrian impatiently waiting to rewrite the rules of the road was a powerful enough visual cue for them to hit those brakes and HALT. To these attentive, conscientious drivers, I salute you.

This does not, of course, let my mild-mannered interrogator off the hook. I reflexively rolled down the passenger side windows when I caught a glimpse of an animated figure off in my peripheral vision. I thought for a moment it was a concerned citizen trying to tell me about a punctured tire on my car or perhaps he was interested in shouting over some encouraging words about my driving prowess. Alas it was no such helpful advice that floated across the lane of traffic, through my open window and into my waiting ear drums. It was a good old fashioned chastisement. The old goat remarked on my failure to stop at the red light and how he was trying to cross the road at that particular spot.

I didn't have the heart or time to counter-berate this man. Time seems to simultaneously stand still and accelerate during these moments of impromptu public confrontations. I never did get a chance to question this man's judgment to cross a busy commuter street where no pedestrian crosswalk exists. An abandoned train track exists there, sure, supported by a set of traffic lights that have obviously outlived their relevance, but a railroad hardly substitutes as an improvised crosswalk for old men.

Like I said, too much logical ammunition to expend on a helpless old man, too little time. The real traffic lights ahead of me switched to green and all I was able to muster was a quick shake of my head, a hiked thumb stabbing backwards and a rather dismissive comment about the train that no longer ran on those tracks. Then I was off, but not before my friend on the curb delivered his parting shot.

"I was trying to cross the road there, ya daft bastard!"

Daft bastard. It had a certain ring to it that confused me more than it actually offended. I immediately thought of Mike Myers in his Austen Powers movies. Then just as quickly I made the associative link and realized it reminded me of the Fat Bastard character.

Daft Bastard vs. Fat Bastard. Yes, I may have been a dick for not going along with the crowd and stopping at a fake set of red lights to allow an old man to jaywalk across four lanes of traffic. In my mind, being called a daft bastard yesterday was less a reflection on my performance as a driver and more of a commentary on a recurring theme in my life of late.

Allow me to explain a little further. I quit my job last Thursday, yet my own team supervisor was still expecting me to come into the office yesterday and work my regular shift. I had even committed to going in to work, the daft bastard that I am, even though I had tendered my letter of resignation and contacted the appropriate representatives about my intention to quit. Well, I never did show up for my shift. Why should I? Aside from the obvious, I had quit and I couldn't stomach going back to that environment for even a few more hours.

It was all a miniature mess of misunderstandings, bad timing and administrative mix ups but I got it all resolved this morning. I suppose if I really wanted to disengage from my contract good and proper, I would have forced myself to return to the office, work a rather meaningless two hours into my shift, then pay a visit to my recruitment representative to officially sign off on my resignation. This rep was still on vacation last week, otherwise I would have walked off the job last Thursday instead of dragging things out into ambiguous employment territory this week.

I think the take home message here is I'm a daft bastard. I'm a daft bastard for failing to obey obsolete traffic lights. I'm a daft bastard for not kowtowing to the whims of belligerent, elderly pedestrians. I'm also an insanely daft bastard for leaving a job without first lining up a new gig to hop over to.

Finally, I'm a daft bastard for having the guts to quit the first job I truly despised. In that sense, sometimes being a one dense, daft son of a bitch is the smartest move you'll ever make and a necessary evil if you plan on saving your life.

On Facebook (When the Crush Says "Hi")

noreply@blogger.com (Clinton) — Wed, 12 Dec 2007 05:26:00 +0000

I sometimes wonder if Facebook is actually meant to facilitate my online social networking, or if in fact it is a link to my unwanted past. Since I joined over the summer, I've padded my friends list with my share of acquaintances from elementary and high school. A quick exchange of emails or an enthused Wall post, and we were on our separate ways again, never to speak again.

Women from my recent dating past have also resurfaced, Facebook-style. "Dating" may be putting too much of a strong point on it. I went on a one or two non-committal dates with some young ladies and never saw them again, until Facebook. I tried reaching out to one particular girl who I abruptly stopped calling a couple summers ago. I don't think I sustained more than 3 messages in our conversation.

As with my former school colleagues, I sometimes wonder why I even bother keeping the people I've dated on my friends list. Is it all just ego, to add to the ever-increasing tally of random faces on my list of contacts? Strip away all the fat, and you'd be left with the sober truth of me really having 5 close friends, 5 "hang out" buddies and at the most 10 - 15 regular acquaintances. Right now, my list of so-called friends has ballooned into the territory of the mid-to-high 80s. Total bullshit.

But I do draw the line sometimes. There are times when I take a stand and say "no". I'll say no to the incessant invites to add yet another new widget to my already bloated profile page. I"ll say no to the mindless mouse-clicking games, trivia games, personality assessments and any number of time-wasting plug-ins added onto an already crowning achievement in online time-wastery. I'll also say "no" to friend invites from girls how have jilted me in the past.

I suppose this isn't any different from my adding a girl to my Facebook after failing to call her for 18 months. Still, when a girl I went out with twice back in 2000 sends me a friend request, I take notice. She had me stumped, oh for a good 15 seconds until I actually found some photos on her page. I suppose it's no surprise she was able to find me, seeing how we actually did share a couple friends in our tangled web of Facebook. I'm just more surprised that she actually remembered me and bothered to send a request.

Wait, there's no bother at all. Requesting someone to be added to your collection of friends is simplicity itself. It's effortless. That's why people do it. I really don't suppose this girl really cares too much about what's going on with my life. I see ourselves exchanging the usual pleasantries before going our separate ways again. I could always break things up by asking her to return those party photos I'd lent to her after our last date. We could talk about the good old times, like that one week I spent obsessing over her and calling her every couple of nights to ask her out again, but never getting a response.

But no, I don't think that's sanctioned behaviour on Facebook. I'm just another Facebook face to her. I'm just there to be filed into her stack of friends, and likewise I can use her to pad out my own list of 80-something-going-on-90. It's an even exchange. Your empty social credit for mine.

Keep Your Foot Still at the Movies

noreply@blogger.com (Clinton) — Mon, 15 Oct 2007 05:19:00 +0000

I don't know why I've had such a bad run of seat kickers when I've gone to the movies.

It must have started in August, when I really started going out to the theaters regularly to take in the final load of summer mega-hits. There was a 2-week span when I watched The Simpsons Movie, The Bourne Ultimatum, Hairspray and Rush Hour 3. At each of these shows, I was harassed by a seat kicker. The seat-kicking ended after I stopped going to the movies for a while in September. But even now, I've encountered some mild seat kicking in one form or another.

I hate having my seat kicked. For one, I don't understand it. Surely, most seat kickers have had their own seats pounded upon at one point or another. They know how annoying it can be, yet here they are obliviously tapping away at the back of my chair. The other thing that gets me is wondering why on earth they can't keep their foot still. Are we still children here, restless in our chairs, feeling put upon by this movie that's in front of us and realizing we'd rather go aside and play in the sun? I don't get it, and I rarely tolerate it either.

A large majority of the culprits so far have been young girls, which goes some way to explain why they kick the seats in the first place. Women have a habit of sitting with their legs crossed, which puts their leg in a optimal position to swing around and deliver percussive attacks to the seats in front of them. I admit this makes it a lot easier for me to spin around and ask my tormentor to kindly stop their kicking, when said tormentor is of the fairer sex.

I think young people, in general, have a tendency towards this. A variant of seat kicking is the classy resting of the foot on the chair in front of you, even when there is someone sitting there. Depending on how the seats are constructed (high backs, sturdy), this may not be a problem. It becomes a problem when the foot resting transitions into foot shifting and switching between feet. It's not quite as annoying as the "tap-tap-tap" of a full-fledged seat kicker, but if I can feel your feet moving around on the back of chair, I am going to be distracted from my movie. And if I'm distracted from a movie -- even if it's a lousy one -- I'm going to be pissed.

How can we curb this behaviour at the movies? I suppose it's a lot like manners: you're either brought up early to be mindful of this sort of behaviour or you're not. I'd like to think it's a habit that can be untrained or weaned off by aging. Ideally, I'm hoping this piece serves as a public service announcement to bring in awareness. In the end, all that's really needed in open, polite communication. Most seat kickers don't really know what an idiot they're being until you turn around to ask them to kindly stop. And usually, they do. I have yet to meet a huffy seat kicker who takes umbrage with being called out for their misdeeds. Come to think of it, I've met a lot more rude, petulant Movie Talkers than I have Seat Kickers, so I'll give them some credit where it's due.

Lucky for those seat kickers, I'd say. There seem to be a lot more of them, and to be rude and huffy as well? Well, I'd hate to have to take a hatchet to their ankles.

As for Movie Talkers? My God, these pricks need to be shot. But that's another blog post altogether.

Countdown to Thirty

noreply@blogger.com (Clinton) — Mon, 23 Jul 2007 01:01:00 +0000

It's a little less than 3 days until my 30th birthday and I'm feeling fine. Funny to think that if you asked me about turning 30 back when I was still 25, you would have gotten some wacky, over-dramatic soliloquy out of me. It sucks, I'm getting old and what will I do then would be some of the more choice sentiments found in my ramble. That was a particularly tender time for me, since I was still coming to grips with my "quarter-century crisis". Thirty was looming large and, judging by how quickly my life went from ages 20 - 25, it was really just around the corner for me.

I stand at Thirty's doorstep now and all I can muster is a relieved, "MEH".

A small part of me is grateful that my 20s are over and done with. I spent the better part of those years alternately being very afraid and pretending not to be afraid. I also took many small, stupid risks while shying away from the really colossal, moronic risks that might have really changed my life. There was fun to be had, as well as some experimentation. I just wish I had experimented with things even more. Again, it comes back to my fear. It's the fear and insecurity about myself that I've always had and the same I still carry with me today, like an old coat.

As each year passes, I managed to shrug off more layers of fabric from this coat. Turning 30 is just a blip in what is my life-long process of accepting myself. Each year I realize my weaknesses are not always deal-breakers. I get a better appreciation of my own quirks, learn new lessons from mistakes made long past and slowly but surely, I come to cherish the qualities that others recognize in me and the very ones I rarely give myself credit for.

Oh I'll regret not having the chance to be a complete dumbass doing completely dumbass things as a 20-year old. Come to think of it, I wasn't exactly the most reckless, dumbass 20-year old out there, not by a long shot. I'll just have to settle for getting into dumbass shenanigans in my thirties, when I'm slightly smarter and just slightly more experienced. The thrills may not be the same, they'll just be different.

So in a sense, I am committed to making my thirties my new twenties. My twenties, minus the fear, the anger and the aimlessness. No, this is not about recapturing my youth like they do in Pepsi commercials. This is about forging ahead, taking risks and jumping on new opportunities.

Young, sadly, is not what I feel. I'm feeling lethargic, I am cramps and aches and I generally couldn't feel more like an old man than I do right now. So here's to creeping across that line into thirtydom in true form: creeking and wheezing, yes, but ready to duke it out for at least another 10 years.

Pendulum Swings Back to 500WPD Blogging

noreply@blogger.com (Clinton) — Tue, 17 Jul 2007 22:54:00 +0000

Job hunting disorientation, the cooler weather today and feelings of borderline sickness all conspired to eat up my hours today and preempt a long overdue post to this humble website of mine.

I never knew managing -- or in my case, failing to manage -- two blogs at once would be so taxing an effort. Just a few months after launching my Xbox 360 blog, I switched full gears into writing video game updates and little else. Much to my surprise, friends began asking about the sudden dearth of posts. Asking is a bit too polite, although I don't want to fault anyone for exercising some good ol'fashioned "bitchin' & moaning". Particularly friends in transit or living abroad were using my blog as live conduit into my life and my extended radio silence left them completely in the dark about little old me.

And now I'm back, not with more empty promises of getting back into regular blogging habits, or even recapping all the petty going-ons that have marred or otherwise enlivened my existence since the end of March.

I just... felt the need to write.

And in the process of my urge to form thoughts and ideas in blog-friendly format, maybe I will ruminate over some things that have been going on in the World of Me.

Unemployment, especially during the height of summer, is a bizarre sort of predicament. The gorgeous weather, uplifting vibe and reams of lovely exposed flesh are not the most conducive motivators for hunkering down inside a job resource centre, library or even at home in front of the online job boards. I've been playing it all off as some free-spirit, happily advertising my unemployed bum status to all who dare to ask and confessing my unadulterated enjoyment of the work-free summer lifestyle. I will say this: of the 3 or 4 times I've found myself without a job, this is undoubtedly my most pleasurable, guilt-free stint ever.

There are a few contributing reasons to my shameless enjoyment. A certain, unhealthy fixation to video games keeps me in the house, out of trouble and away from the general flow of daily consumerism. The weather, at least during one glorious week in May and for much of July so far, as been suitably hot and cheery, and on those days I am tempted out into the beach or the coffee house to wile away precious hours alternately reading or ogling, depending on what affords the best view at the time. My love life has also undergone a bit of a jump-start in defiance of my usual self-bias of someohow being dating-ineligible by mere fact of being unemployed. In that regard, I have pleasantly surprised myself and currently enjoy relearning the ropes: fumbling through the early stages of courtship, or wooing, or whatever sappy formalized term you prefer to use other than simply, "hooking up".

Lastly, I think I'm enjoying my unemployment so much simply because I have progressively let go of my "career transition" stress. Whereas before I might be hell-bent on finding the job, now I have a more positive view on the possibility that the job will find me. Oh, I am still quite in the dark about discovering that magical answer that melds some passion of mine to an actual job title. But I've started to let that go and be at peace with perhaps doing work, any kind of work, and being able to realize quickly if I would derive any satisfaction from doing it.

I wish I could be more clear about that but I feel like I'm rapidly fading in terms of being articulate. My writing ability can feel like it runs on a dusty backup generator: juice fires up for emergency situation, then dissipates quickly. Simply put, my work-free bliss will soon be facing some harsh reality as my employment benefits will run out early next month. The search for a stable, long-term job is taking on a different tactic, the one of finding some stop-gap work ASAP so I can continue my Quest of Finding a Meaningful Career and still have some change left over to eat, sleep on a bed and play more video games.

There are also a couple articles stewing in my Blogger queue, so don't be surprised if you see some new material on these pages in the coming week. Although not a full-fledged promise of a return to consistent blogging, it's the best I can do right now with oh, just SO MUCH ON MY PLATE. You do understand, don't you?

Besides, I love flaunting the irony that is the title of my blog with the actual frequency of my blogging.

Hope everyone is having a semi-interesting July.

p.s. - I've also succumbed to the charms of Facebook. God help us all.

A New Day & a New Chapter

noreply@blogger.com (Clinton) — Fri, 30 Mar 2007 07:04:00 +0000

I had a severe case of the "poor me"s two weeks ago, making it impossible to write anything coherent aside from dropping a couple F-bombs and calling it a night.

I've been trying to come up with a trite metaphor about life and roads and directions, knowing that all it would accomplish is to highlight just how uninspired I can be at 12:09AM on a Thursday evening.

Two weeks ago, I received my walking papers from the current job, signaling the end of my dutiful, perfunctory 15 months of service as the company's webmaster. Like all lay-offs, this one came as a bit of a surprise. My boss trundled into my office near day's end, quickly sat down and got down to business. Sales were down and cash flow had tightened and support staff would need to be terminated. It didn't occur to me to ask why our sales board was so awfully white when he had went through the trouble recruiting the boss' old friend (and hotshot salesman) to rake in the new business. No, I was too busy being bemused and rapidly oscillating my emotions between joy, relief, annoyance and perfect calm.

As I left work that day, I was positive of having already come to grips with my termination. This is what I wanted since January, right? When I reactivated my Monster and Workopolis accounts, that was the time I was itching to get a change of scenery. Now my secret wish was fulfilled.

I drove home, slightly happier and with mind braying with ideas and possibilities.

Not two hours later, I was scanning the rain-slicked street outside my apartment, searching for the malcontent who crushed the driver-side mirror off my car with their own poorly driven vehicle. Still fresh from the shock of newfound unemployment and the memory of my unresolved claim from September, I was beside myself. It really was an inhuman feat to not feel victimized at that point.

I did a point check on my karma rating, wondering what foul deeds I have committed recently to deserve this double-whammy. Not that I'm a saint by any stretch, but I couldn't think of any thing.

Today is my final day at the job. Had one of the owners at our satellite office dump a truckload of menial tasks on my lap these last few days, no doubt gettin' that web work while the gettin's good. After that's wrapped up, it's the slow process of backing up my best work, saving all my personal files, clearing out my browser cache and collecting the few personal effects I have on my desk. It's all very anti-climactic. Even the owners are out of town and will miss my send-off.

Oh yes, I will get my farewell lunch. See, who says it doesn't pay to get sacked?

Bad Day Vancouver

noreply@blogger.com (Clinton) — Fri, 16 Mar 2007 06:59:00 +0000

It's been a bad day. I didn't know I was overdue for a bad day like this. This is a bad day that makes me want to close my eyes and sleep for 20 hours. Fuck this day.

Obviously, details to follow...

Hot Bitches in Fiji: The Real Post

noreply@blogger.com (Clinton) — Wed, 14 Mar 2007 06:58:00 +0000

You may remember my orgasmic post two weeks ago about Stacy, the hot Korean contestant in the latest iteration of Survivor. I was busy last Thursday nigth and actually went so far as to tape the episode, thinking the show's producers would do me right and find an excuse to trot out Stacy in her skimpy bikini number again. No such luck.

What they did, however, was present Stacy's dark side. Dark side, you ask, of a hottie? Oh yeah, you heard right. It's that nasty, base side of your personality that'll compel you to not show your tribe mates how to use a French press coffeemaker and give witheringly condescending instructions on its use because some people are obvioiusly too stupid to be alive. Wow, that was a shocker. I wasn't expecting Stacy to be an amiable bobblehead like Michelle, but I sure as hell didn't expect her to be so rude to Dreamz, Alex and Cassandra, over a coffeemaker of all things. The official Survivor forums were aflame, I tell ya! Forum posters were crying bigotry and all manner of extreme, Internet forum-y accusations.

It goes without saying that the show's producers edited the shit out of that scene for maximum impact, just like they do with everything else. There is, just like with the most ignorant generalisations, a grain of truth to what is being depicted. You can't fake Stacy's bitchy (yet still sexy) facial expressions and Alex's subsequent bitching about Stacy and her unexplainable bitchiness for not helping out with the French press. God, what a bitch. And how badly I want to poke her all the same.

With any luck, I'll be treated to a couple more lingering bikini-ass shots of Stacy before her inevitable elimination. Too soon to call? Maybe. After 13 seasons, I can safely proclaim that Rule #1 of Survivor (well, it could be Rule #2 or #3... Top 5 for sure) is this: don't piss people off. Simple enough, right? I don't care if your tribe is destroying the other team in the challenges and you're getting fat and lazy. If you're intentionally not teaching your friends how to use a French press, you better have some kind of master game plan going on in your head. Right now, Stacy looks like she's fat and lazy, and by that I mean she is silky and smooth but taking her tribe's success fully for granted.

So once again, a note, or rather, a plea to the show's producers: If she's heading out, get her naked first. Thank you, much appreciated.

/end horndogg rant

300: Not a Review

noreply@blogger.com (Clinton) — Wed, 14 Mar 2007 05:15:00 +0000

I was jogging through the mammoth parking lot of the suburban Silvercity multiplex, rapidly getting soaked by the weekend downpour. Heero was waiting for us at the entrance steps and we quickly exchanged my rain-drenched e-mail receipt for our movie tickets. Convenience fees are a joke.

This was my first IMAX experience at a Silvercity theater and I can't say the screen felt a lot bigger. I suppose it was wider and curved in at the edges more than normal. Great. Even 35 minutes prior to screening and the plum seats were already filled. We were lucky to have a band of guys shift over a seat so all three of us could sit together and hold hands. Awww.

The lights dimmed and, surprisingly, we got right down to the show. We were spared the 20 minute ad and trailer preamble! For the first time in a long while, I felt like my $15 ticket was actually worth something.

300 starts out like a pimped out, CG-rendered cinematic intro to a big budget video game. The sumptious visuals are a treat to behold from the opening frames and well into the blood-soaked climax of this 2 hour battle movie. You've probably heard or read about it already: the abs, they be toned and the blood runs very thick... to a point. There are spearings galore (and when someone gets run through with a spear, they get run through) and a sprinkling of beheadings and flying limbs to break up the monotony. Despite all the slaughter, the gore never pushed my squeamish buttons, nor does the movie slow down enough to portray the true horror of ancient close-combat.

Director Zack Snyder is simply happy to frame each scene as it were a painting and choreograph the beautiful action sequences like a slow-motion dance. Critics have mocked the overuse of slo-mo in 300 but I for one am thankful Snyder did not go the Tony Scott route and leave these crucial scenes entirely in the hands of an over-caffeinated editor. And while the movie is essentially one extended fight scene -- the first skirmish is the most harrowing, with diminishing returns as the body count increases -- it at least allows us to appreciate how effective a fighting force the Spartan soldiers really were. Wearing nothing more than undies and superfluous cloaks, they harnessed the full power of their simple shields and spears by facing their enemies in a phalanx. Shields linked and spears out, that's how these Spartans rolled.

I looked over at Bilbo during the first clash between Spartan and Persian and chuckled as he pantomined holding a video game controllor. Make no mistake about it, 300 is Troy for the gamer/fanboy generation. It's also the most visually arresting sword n' sandal epic to come down the pipe since the last Lord of the Rings movie.

The graphics, they be very good.

Hot Bitches in Fiji

noreply@blogger.com (Clinton) — Mon, 12 Mar 2007 08:57:00 +0000

This is one of those lame posts that merely teases and promises more writing in the near future. The weekend went by very quickly as usual and I managed to catch the sight of many speared asses in 300. I also watched my taping of the most recent episode of Survivor. And.... I did other stuff.

Will post more soon.

Rob Corddry = The Winner?

noreply@blogger.com (Clinton) — Mon, 05 Mar 2007 21:48:00 +0000

I had the idiot box on last night while trying to get in touch with customer service. On comes a generic-looking sitcom featuring the unmistakable bald pate of Daily Show alumnus, Rob Corddry. I watched in horror as he mugged his way through the opening scenes of this pitiful program. It was so incredibly sitcom-y, complete with painfully obvious "beats" to the setup/punchline dialogue and what sounded like a permanently glued-down laugh track button.

Titled The Winner, the series follows the exploits of Corddry's man-child character. In his 30's, unemployed, balding and co-habiting with his parents, the guy doesn't much going for him and isn't quite motivated to change things. When his childhood crush - a doctor and single mom - moves into his neighborhood, he's suddenly inspired to turn his life around (and get into the doctor's pants, of course).

Aside from a couple good lines out of Corddry, this show is pretty much rubbish. So is this the fate of one of my favourite Daily Show correspondents? While other noteworthy alumni have graduated to bigger and better things (Colbert to The Colbert Report; Carrelll to The Office and the movies), I hardly see moving on to a sucky Sunday night sitcom as a step up.

In somewhat related news, during my search for a cheesy photo of Rob Corddry, I discovered he will be in the next Harold and Kumar movie that's due for release next year. Have you seen Harold and Kumar Go to White Castle? It's a special movie and I'm very glad a sequel is in the works. I could write a whole post about that movie and I think I will.

Digging Through the Memories

noreply@blogger.com (Clinton) — Mon, 05 Mar 2007 09:13:00 +0000

My parents are putting the family house up for sale in April. Dad has been pestering me for months to clear out my old bedroom, so I've finally relented and started picking away at the piles of old stuff gathering dust in there.

Clearing out my room is not unlike an archaeological dig. I realized what packrat I was and still am to this day. I spent part of one afternoon sorting through reams of scribbled notes, receipts for any and every thing, old magazines, school textbooks, spare change in various currencies, more receipts, novels I've never read, electronic pocket games, Artona school photos never framed and did I mention I have shitloads of old receipts??

Excavating my room has been tiring as I attempt to sort out the trash from the gold. There is trash aplenty and the gold has come in the form of old creative writing assignments, some dating back to elementary school. I've also found various projects started up during my days as lonely little boy. There is my attempt at a video game magazine, with my first issue professional drafted on 3-hole lined paper, handwritten in ink of course. I was also pleasantly surprised to find the shooting script to my 2nd-year video production short, along with many cartoons I doodled in highschool which, sadly, I still understand and find amusing.

I went back on Sunday to finish off the dig. There's just so much junk. I was getting impatient with the whole process and picked up the pace, eschewing the separation of recyclables and garbage and just transferring everything straight into the garbage heap, paper-based or not. What did I find today? Income tax assessments, GST receipts, many more store receipts, ATM receipts, binders from highschool and university, loads of books and more fucking receipts. The fact is, in the years leading up to my finally moving away from home, I was probably utilising 10% of my bedroom. The other 90% was used to house all of this crap. It's shocking.

And yet, I found it hard to part with this stuff. Even as I tied up the bags and lowered my junk into its proper home, I couldn't help but grimace. If I hung on to these things, I would never, ever look at them again, let alone think about them.

So why did I want to keep it all?

CBS Survivor: Some Island Somewhere

noreply@blogger.com (Clinton) — Fri, 23 Feb 2007 08:29:00 +0000

Actually, it's Fiji.

I tell you, the time between each cycle of this reality show get shorter each year. Yul and the Race Wars barely faded from memory when they hit us with yet another round of coconut bashing, silly races and Jeff Probst acting smug.

For want of anything better to do, I flipped on the tube tonight and stumbled on the latest episode, the 3rd one into this season. Same old shit, really, nothing much new to report... EXCEPT the very prominent showing of Asians again. They almost fooled me into thinking it was Race Wars Part 2: The Revenge.

No such luck. I was rather surprised, however, when I counted no less than 5 asian players: 2 Koreans, 1 Malaysian, and 1 Chinese and 1 Taiwanese. Making the play for Yul II is Mookie, a business consultant from Connecticut who looks like he could be a very strong contender.

Yes, very impressive, but I really only had eyes for Stacy, the spicy "Interactive Internet Producer" (oh puh-leeese). Stacy sort of blended into the background, as I was initially distracted by the peppy, cute Michelle, until they had their slippery slide ball-toss reward challenge. Then Stacy broke out with her skimpy yellow bikini and I started paying attention right good, bounding off the couch and nearly smashing my face on the TV screen.

Where the hell was this strumpet during Race Wars? Would it have killed Mr. Burnett & Co. to swap her in for humorless Becky?

The Poetic Web 2.0

noreply@blogger.com (Clinton) — Mon, 12 Feb 2007 09:26:00 +0000

It's been a few days since I found this video, so I don't exactly recall where I referenced it. This is what happens when you stack up Draft blog posts and put off writing them until they're outdated.

A Kansas university professor puts together a thought-provoking summary of the Internet leading up to the current Web 2.0 trend. This little video showcases what is great about Web 2.0 better than any marketing huckster could ever hope of matching.

A Video about Web 2.0