And the gimmicky progandist he is, has convinced Mary J. Blige to vote! And Linda Ronstadt was kicked out of a Las Vegas hotel for dedicating Desperado to him. Exclamation mark! He's brilliantly populist and according to some guy who wrote about some other guy who said that his documentary techiniques are reminescent of the best soviet propaganda films. I feel like cheering and huzzahs, but that's a bit naive. Sorta like the smug little self satisfaction from reading about the rise of free software and recycling or composting even though it means shit all in the larger scheme of things, and who am I of all people to be satisifed?. But all is reliant on symbols right? and there's got to be some meaning way deep down.

Everything here turns into ang er/st. Like a sewsaw type toy: iRobo has two modes of expression. You have selected angry. One moment please. I really need some other (a)venues of time use.

The more portals of communications that we open, the less we have to say and the less are we able to stay in contact with those who are hidden by the words in the first place.

While others have been solving The Case of the Unfinished Employment Application, snooping on the trails of Feeding the Cat and Merging Light Colours with the Heart of Darkness , I've had a few adventures of my own. Most recently was breaking into my house, about 2 hours ago. Picture (yourself on a boat in a river..tangerine trees, marmalade skies...citric biology summative) this: euphoric with completion of biology exam, shuffling off trains and buses clicks of a stubborn (newly painted over) doorbell and panic. Cousin has become dilligent and off to learn English or unscrupulous and shopping with stolen credit card. Either way, I had no keys.

First attempt was using hairclip (I know. This is wonderful - they previously served the purpose of bookmarks) to open the side garage door. Easily enough accomplished, but Careful Mom has locked the intergarage/house door. Luckily we keep our shed unlocked (take note thieves! But this will change as soon as I tell the tale to Mom, have her scold, have me disgraced with shouting match etc) and I got out the ladder.

First climb: garage roof to go in the open washroom window. Thwarted by screen and clasps locked to keep screen from unhinging. Second climb: cousin's bedroom - sometimes he doesn't shut the layers all the way till the clicks. Thwarted by height of ladder compared to height of window. Third climb: my bedroom, on the otherside of the garage roof. Thwarted by distance between roof and window, fear of death, loss of limbs, movement etc. Finally I went back to the bathroom window and attempted to undo the clasp from outside. (Note to thieves, unlawful entrants: screen windows from the 70s - not very secure. Try your luck with windows that have these.) At first I was unsuccessful, but then I remembered the handy hairclip - bobby pin really - and retrieved it. It sliped through a few broken screen perforations (anyone who finds the name for the spaces in screen windows wins a lot of respect) and after much manoeuvering, the clasps loosened enough for me to get the screen off and slip inside. Then I chopped watermelon peels for compost and watched deliciously pirated spidey. Will post the ethical backlash very soon.

So that was one adventure. But I'm hungry and won't tell more until there is mead. And cider! (is there a difference...honey...and fruit??) and horn-of-..buffalo! On the other hand, I am sufficiently lazy and enamoured with my own words to start a new activity. So. mixed congee in one hand, keyboarding with the other, fuzzy pants for the cold. Adventure 2: I expect this one to go will in August and probably September since it's one of those long term things. Long avoidance and digression indeed. For parents who wish to talk about driving and finding a good stable career path through university. Warning signs of adventure being too exciting for all parties involved:

- dinnertime = oppurtunies to segue into Discussion from innocent subjects
- no one believes in "I'll think about it" anymore. They see through the code for "if we don't talk about it, everyone will forget."
- parents suspicious of all coughing after much throat clearing during their discussion of tenured professors and pointed looks towards me

So very fortunate that they equate volunteering with work substitute. Just thinking about giving resumes and filling out applications draws away energy and everything comes crushing in. Note: Tutoring doesn't count as working. Yes regular hours, yes regular pay. No customers, feels like extension of school, no venturing into big scary world if you're reading Monster Goes to the Museum, holed up in a room with a 11 year old. Plus they feed me corn. This nicely leads to

Adventure 3: Missing a Korean Prayer Buffet. I was invited to be there an hour late, in time for chowing down lots of food with not likeminded Christians. I agreed because it would seem rude to be inflexible, but mostly because I didn't really think over the prayer part. Tutoring begins fine. We read Monster books and do actions for stuff. Then suddenly, it's come in and eat because we're saying the grace now. The grace. I'm not Christian. I don't believe in God (interesting side note: typos two times: Gad, Gog) and definitely do not feel comfortable saying the grace or missing it and then swooping down afterwards to eat the food. I chose holing up in the room and continuing with Monster books, pleading fullness with two tubs of yogurt. Later on their little five year old came in with some mushy rice cakes and gave us some. That was ok because she was being snacktime-at-preschool. They were very good.

More interests of note: The Devil's details. It's a book about footnotes! ; The disturbed genius that is Richard Stallment, founder of free (speech, not beer) software movement. ; Saint iGNUtius, (Other types: R. Reilly, Saint prof gna, etc.) ; coming across funiculus during biology summative research ("short cord which connects the embryo of some myriapods with the amnion...or the stalk of a plant ovule or seed. a.k.a chord. of fibres where large nerves are made up. Also differend bands of white matter in the brain and spinal cord.

Happy spining.

And then sometimes, I sit and stare at my knees. Say bye-bye.

Bye-bye.

I promise to be good and study and stop rifling through merrian webster when I should be not leaving bacteria projects to the night before/morning of.

Another failure: Korean ESL tutor. Handing in a resignation is what someone sensible would do. Of course, I'm not very sensible.

Now that it's hot and nighttime, and air conditioner is taboo topic in the house, we've taken to leaving the lights off. This is good for cooling. But not so great for reading over the characteristics of lysogenic cycle.

Something about viral and bacteria infections: most of these are 'no problem' and 'easily curable with antibiotics.'' But no mention was made about the impossibility of a round of antibiotics in more than 2/3s of the world. And the drug resistant strains proliferating from abundant overprescriptions of antibiotics. Or the fiendishly health and hygiene regimes weakening immune systems. Tumbling around outside must have advantages. All this is nearing a conclusion of the twilight of humanity. Such weak creatures, us.

I went shopping for Clostridium botulinum bristol board at Billings Bridge. A very rich market for observations was provided. For example, Bet on Golf! Proline gambling now exists, the dollar store normally does not carry black paper, and the Bytowne Cinema guide is now available at the local Health food store. Link between alfalfa sprouts and pseudo arthouse intelligentsia? Questions were also roused: what happens to the flora salts and vegetable oils of the decorative bottles? Should they be eaten, with the additive dyes and all? Or are the carrots and celery stalks meant to last for years and years, ending up on you-as-a-grandmother's bureau. Apologies for assumption that all readers will become grandmothers.

Motivation is a very funny thing. For instance: where does it come from? And what differentiates motivation from

[tangent! Severance pay! "Etymology: Middle English, from Middle French severer, from Latin separare...[related to] secede: "Withdraw from an organism. Etymology: Latin - secedere, from sed-/se-, apart, without and cedere, to go." And that is further related to suicide - "Etymology: Latin sui of oneself + OE and OHG sln - his, Latin suus - ones's own, Sanskrit sva - oneself."]

initiative? Merrian Webster spews a bunch of stuff about energy and aptitude and probably enthusiasm I would guess. My source for both of these come a lot from guilt. And possibly an overactive conscience. But the question of whether I'll be happy in the end - for all that stuff I do get done - is a good one. I think I tried slackermode for a while but the guilt and lack of self-worth just got worse. But then that proves that I'm still stuck on guilty autopilot. A true slacker wouldn't really be bothered by this. I remember this one time my parents tried to discuss initiative with me in Grade 7. I had just spent about an hour playing around with a math problem; trying to simplify if for the entire set on the page or something, and suddenly they started lecturing me about doing stuff and getting an initiative for once and I got so incredibly mad. Since then, I've given up on outside people telling me to do things with my time. If they can't see the motivation, that's their problem. Apathy is a good way to prevent caring too much and all that attachment that come with it. Hmm... all this blabbing doesn't answer any questions. I think, I'll play a java game now.

No, I really meant biology studying. And lesson planning. And writing award winning plays to be published posthumously.

Or no, I really meant reading about the word origins of screw, wench and nuts, respectively, as follows:

Etymology: scrobis classical Latin: ditch, trench and also, vagina. Influenced by scrofa breeding sow, perhaps in shape of pig's tail. Verb form: 1599 - "means of pressure or ccoercion. Recorded in 1949 as euphemism for "to copulate" - origins from 18th Century: image of driving a screw into something.
Etymology: ME wenche, short for wenchel child, OE wencel similar to OHG wankOn to totter, waver and OHG winchan to stagger. Possibly Latin vacillare to sway and Sanskrit vañcati he goes crookedly. Famed use: Amazing Grace
Etymology: 1846, from earlier nutts to be very fond of, from any source of pleasure.
For full details: Resourceful, bored guy

In discoveries of the day: CBC radio 3. There was some sort of an outdoor concert with whispery voices. Good for kitchen resonance and especially for dishwashing. The music must have increased productivity but 20% at least.

In foolish moments of the day: hauling people out of bed to answer the phone after I forget the entrance password for Ye Olde Treehuggers Unite. Subsequent misdeeds include switching up ethernet card and graphics card and taking down the network connection, failure to locate display drivers and making lots of noise putting away a busted monitor. Was also late for tutoring because of network card mishap, but they didn't mind and even fed me water and croissants. Bless their doughy hearts.

I have devised a partial list which illustrates signs of freakishium treehuggeritus. I've been accused of extremism since about grade 5, but really it has been in the last 3 years many of these traits occured. Cause and effect?

- does not find magazines such as this one absurd.
- got into enormous fist, tears involved, screeching fight about recycling carpets
- stored compostibles for prolonged period of time for lack of composting site
- similar for paper and metal recyclables
- temporary intense dislike of people who proclaimed their dislike for buses and not littering
- inability to accept rides
- felt a secret thrill of ha! upon hearing news of burnt/destroyed hummers
- loss of respect for those who like S.U.V without having 4 kids, three of whom go to hockey practice, cello lessons and kayaking

Perhaps my parents had it right from the beginning. And oh, books did the corrupting. I got my shocked into action from Ishmael (by Daniel Quinn.) For your propaganda order of the day, read it. Even just as an moral discussion between a silverback gorilla and a neo.

Every night, I begin with a long list of things that I need to do. At the end, in the early early morning I have of course done nothing. Today, that list included:
- practicing flute
- making a new wormbox
- reviewing ingestiong, digestion, absorption and egestion
- updating Old Yews, On Tap and the Gazette up from Day 1
- playing with forms
- actually replying to two month old correspondance
Of course nothing got done and I watched New Waterford Girl. Hurrah telefilm guided Newfoundlanders. (Do I get lynched for saying Newfie when I'm not one myself?)

The bus pass transaction earlier in the day went wonderfully. My Mom has had her faith restored many times over; not only in the city, its citizen, the library system, but OCtranspo as well. A relieved Mom is a calm Mom. Even if she has just been switched out of her group because of someone more competetent, with a degree from Waterloo, and supposed tensions with someone named Jane. Mom totes the new recruits Waterloo math credentials as proof I should never try to pin my hopes on anything remotely abstract. (Just because they put applied or engineering next to the degree doesn't mean you'll find a job you know. ) It goes without saying that it's a crap job position and the receiver of my Mom's old job wasn't exactly thrilled. I think I detect a faint shadow of glee everytime she mentions him, his position at the company, and the university he went to. Yes, my Mom does hate her job greatly.

After taking the 86 as an experiment, I saw Natalie getting off the 85 and we had eating together at Tim Horton's. She works at MacDonald's across the way and it is a source of many extra-career opportunities. (e.g. she will be paid 20 for 6 lesson given to a co-worker on 'freestyling' and doing a solo dance for the launch of a clothing line. Who knew people with such drive works at the arches. Freestyling lessons.

In other bus tails (all buses have two more), people at Elmvale are talkative. A man yesterday told me all about the weekend weather, but I was a poor conversationist because I couldn't think of anything to add to "it's going to cool down tomorrow. It might even hail. yeah hail." I don't think he heard my comment about crop damage potential. And today, all sorts of people were asking each other about buses. Acquiring information from another human being. What a concept. And finally: shelter relationships. 1: A girl in braids walked in with a pet carrying basket looking confused. The knee-sock wearing guy next to the schedules and maps helped her sort everything out. I was playing blurry blur blur at full blast, so I couldn't hear anything, but it made for a great soundtrack. When I got on they bus, they were sitting down and animating away with the talk. 2: A much littler girl waited with her mother. She pressed her nose and mouth into the glass and repeated squashed face marks. The performance was audience worthy but I don't think anyone else was looking her way. Do all little kids exhibit this lack of selfconscious once they're young enough not to understand embarrassment?

Christopher Walken has plenty of balladeering to his name. Check out the completion at fellow voyeurs are us. However, Queen Gertrude's job description is still missing. I'm looking at the culprit of not upping words. Where are they, one whose Messenger automatically creates logs of the coversations?

On a yellow truck across Rochester St : George's moving. Now is this the moving of George or the possessive form of George, as in the 'moving' belonging to George. We should all call 821-04191 and find out.

My mom's faith in the NCR people have been restored with two phone calls from the library. My lost bus pass has been uncovered. Alas, I bought a new one yesterday. I will be on wrangling duty with the OCtranspo desk tomorrow after school, hoping they're kind enough to give a refund. I feel like giving the money up in gratitude/extra municipal tax for a viable transportation system! (religious interjection, I love buses. The way they chug along. And the dings. And the crowd of humanity. If I'm ever in need of human contact, I could always ride the 99 at rush hour.)

Still in afterglow of microserfs. It's geekified Amelie for all the uplift the subconscious ThinkPad procured in me. Dan(ielu)'s journal entries is like hybridized Brendan and Krista with a fair dallope of insight ramble. I was giddy all the way home from tutoring and may have startled other commuters. Especially at Billings Bridge.

Does anyway have the ballad of Christopher Walken saved? That and slam Gertrude. I'll need soundbites to prove the literary bent of 02:00 now that I've publicized it.

Free as in freedom (edit: speech) not free beer! Let's extend some well wishes to copyright and try not sing Happy Birthday outside of private family settings. It was Krista, whom I fed ducks with today, who first mentioned the less than aspiring sides of "protecting intellectual rights." Happy Birthday has been copyright extended for a coupla more years. Which makes the property of Times Warner and not public domain.

Here, replace it with the French ditty:

"Mon/ma cher(e) _____,
C'est a ton tour
de te laisser
parler d'amour."
We can even pretend to be bilingual!

And maybe this goat has gotten the hang of things.

In other news, I've shied away from sticking to schedules and important trivialities such as homework, sleep and drinking fluids. Sunday we went to a flea market where I was tempted by $5 pants but bought a squarebob spongepants popsicle instead. It wasn't fastened securely and fell off, staining my shirt, the concrete, my fingers and my dad's fingers as he helped me eat the melting sponge. Also notable were the boyband CD's I bought. By which I mean males who sing about "strange news from another star" and "essex dogs." They real cool.

Finally, I'd like to talk to you all about phosphate bases. Or make that guanine? Either way, summer school biology substitutes iodine stains with pencil crayons and cover slips and chloroform with pencil and sissors. This is to say, we made another model today. This time of replicating DNA. The last was mitosis with pipecleaners. Not necessarily something I'd recommend.

Have finished The Human Stain and Automated Alice. Trying to get to Nothingness. Not working thus far.

Where do the bones of cities peel back?

Thanks to Tushar for reminding me of the virtues of Canterbury. I probably don't show enough gratitude regularly for being able to sit on a reasonably clean floor, wear T-Shirts with The Boyf(r)iend insignia and pursue whatever studies I wish without harassment. Apparently all of this would have been difficult, if not impossible at Colonel By, Ridgemont, homeschool Brookfield and other generic high schools.

More Homer's (Curtesy of Brendan and Google)

- Homer (Winslow), of cliffs
- Homer (Alaska), of Moraines
- Homer (Seeking), of Boston Bootleggers
- Homer (Optimization Model for Distributed Power), of version 2.0

Water conservation can be achieved through toilets. However most of the steps needed to correct leaks are time consuming and not easily recommended to anyone unwilling to put much energy into it. It is however, possible to detect leaks easily. Check for continuous noise, water around toilet bowl, sticking flushers and a dye test: putting some sort of colouring (juice crystals or coffeegrounds could do) into the tank and watch for seepage into the bowl. Google results if you're interested: water conservation Add toilet to search string for toiletology 101. Intersting website if you're not interested in plumbers the next time something leaks.

Continuing in tree hugger mode, I bring news of my worm box. The red wrigglers are happily multiplying and eating corn husks and grapefruit peels. Considering expansion into old Bulk Barn shopping basket. Everyone should keep worms as pets/soil producers. Idea: webcam installed over worm box. Possible names: Fishing for Worms, WrigglerWeb, WormCam, Vermicompost-R-Us

20 amino acids: alanine, arginine, asparagine, aspartic acid, cysteine, glutamine acid, glycine, histidine isoleucine, leucine, lysine, methionine, phenylalanine, proline, serine, threonine, trytophan, tyrosine, valine. Now we need an AminoRap. Any slam poets out there?

Parting biology factoid: A Halifax hospital has begun a Parkinson's treatment which involves transplanting brain tissue from fetuses. This is creepily along the lines of Nancy Farmer - House of the Scorpion. Prophet or writer who reads the news? Should check publication dates...

So, being open, I relate my Montreal experiences. We spent the night, and then the day afterwards with the friends of the family. After giving the son a piggy back ride and then playing keepaway, he decided it was sufficient grounds for mating. I unfortunately was asked to unfurl the sleeping bag in his room where he made various attempts to mount it after I had settled in and the parents left. After pushing him off repeatedly, only to to have him more strenously pursue his goal, I finally tried to leave and told the parents presemt nearby my intentions - but not the reason - as the it's hard to be delicate with my dad and his mom. He began to cry and everyone looked at me accusingly.

In the end I stayed in the room and made him promise in front of the parents to stay in the bed or I go. Didn't get a lot of sleep. I haven't told anybody because no one has brought up the annoyances of the trip (there were others) and it's kind of hard to approach the topic at dinner times and what not. I'm not sure if it's constitutes as attempted rape since it certainly wasn't consensual and he seemed to know what he was trying to do.

The worst part is that besides that he's a fairly reasonable kid; reasonable and curious about the world around him in an inquisitively good way and whatnot. And annoying as hell when he doesn't get what he wants.All this would be funny if I had a better sense of humour or more skillfull at dealing with amorous intentions of little kids, but since I'm not, everything's icky.

So, about the endless navel examination of blasting off the contents of one's brain into the void and have people read it and self-importantly thinking you're somehow owning something by selfpublication. I can fool myself and think it's therapy or really know that it's all about centre stage and spotlights. What, with hunger and stinking flies and the old men in Tiananmen square collecting bottles with only sandles and shorts I am endlessly updating and feeling empty. When will it be I finally check out the ways to make toilets more efficient cause you know: North Americans on average use 600 litres of water per day whereas the average European uses 250 L and the average Afrian uses only 30L. And here I'm still whining. Whining when I need a kick somewhere.When there's a chance my cousin is chronically depressed because she scored a 92 and will not get into the real secondary school and all her friends have stopped talking to her. See - even the realization of this is just another ploy. Another episodic flight of fancy in oh what _will_ you think up of next? Why should the world give a shit about my stage, my anger and this vapidness? Why should the repetition of society established taboo-words give me a thrill of rebellion and gratification when I know that's what they are? And if it's only by withholding words that they are given power why can't we repeat everything endlessly until it loses all meaning, context

A break from the rambling. I need to invest in some bite sized paragraphs.

some Homer's that we all may or may not know (in chronological order)

- Homer, of epics
- Homer Wells, of cider
- Homer Price, of inventions
- Homer H. Hickam, of rockets
- Homer J. Simpson, of donuts

Add to the list by leaving a message.

And finally, Glad, ROLL TABS, EASY START and STICK SPOT should all be Glad®, ROLL TABS®, EASY START® and STICK SPOT® thanks to Clorox Company of Canada, Ltd. I sincerely hope that it's case sensitive. But hey, it gets worse: the dictatorship is not so farfetched.

I drank water today.

Now will make cheer-cousin-up phone call.

Exasperation! Still being carried over from several hours ago when Mom first spoke to Popo. Let's present frustration in a nice story format. Enter Liuyi, one of two non-hyphenated cousins of mine. She's two years younger, elf-like and generally intelligent in a gremlinsorta way. Enter ploy to encourage skilled-labour and non university- educated citizens. With a test mark of 92%, Liuyi is unable to get into the senior middle school (think grade 10 and up) in the city. The only s.m.s in the city limits. 92%! Instead, she is required to fork over $30 000 to attend a jokish semi-school run inside the 'real' school with second rate teachers and curriculum. Enter other cousin, a year older. She got a scholarship to some prestige language school in a nearby city where she ranked first in the provincial test. Now consider: if 92% isn't good enough for normal high school, not even with huge user fees, what kind of mark did my other cousin have? What the raw intellect... A world where some parts have 92% = Bravo, good job! and others with 92% = fails is a helluva screwed up one.

Thoroughly chastened and humbled. Kick me if I whine again.

Some rapid eye movement would be good now.

Sleeping was fairly good. I dreamt about movie-making and was reminded of another dream. Enter
other dream from Friday:
I go to school, which is now a subway station. I get off the train and meet visual students John Wang and Graham Robinson. We plan to skip school. As I jump over the exist gates, I am stopped by Mr.Burgess who suspects us of playing hooky. John Wang talks him into letting us go and we ran out of the school by the lobby doors and loop over to the sheep door where we go back into the school (???) At this point I was woken by a cellphone call from my Mom at Central Island.

In other remembrances of things past, let's not forget about these notables:
- My dad's apartment address is 399 South Park Road
- Via Canada sets their air conditioner temperature way too low
- Freefalling off Shockwave^TM, Psyclone^TM, Drop Zone^TM et al.
- How many words can you make from Transit(subway divergence says at least 70. We got stuck
around 47)
- pit pythons differ from ordinary pythons with a more developed 'heat pit' on its head.
- lentils and wraps are delicious. As are overpriced chocolate cookies.
- A buffet dinner where all parents talked about were stokes and life insurance
- Festival of Fire China entry with spectacular fireworks but awful soundtrack
- and incredibly affectionate Golden Retrievers.

More stories to come as I recover from the road? But now, red book submission, cleaning worms and typing up grammar worksheets

In the famous words of a moth, "Hello World, are you there, it's margarine." Marmalade would be better with the oranges and everything. Well, the future promises less ugly tables, less tables in general and possibly audience participation. Imagine that!

This is when I collapse from exhaustion and long car rides. Cheerios and g'day -> insert well wishes about bedbugs.