Some random thoughts...

In an attempt to avoid writing a treatise on one subject or another, I've elected to scribble down a few thoughts and anecdotes from my life.

Prepare to be bored enthralled.

-So remember that guy I wrote about who I had the chemistry with, and flirted with, then found out he had a boyfriend? Well, we've kept in touch, because I genuinely would like to make some friends around here. Anyway, he dropped the bombshell on me this week that he broke up with his 'asshole' boyfriend two weeks ago. He seems pretty bummed about it, so now at least I have someone to commiserate with.

-The other day I pulled out a sweater from my closet that I still had yet to wear this season. It was still wrapped in its dry cleaning plastic, so I pulled it all apart, tore out the tissue and finally put it on. And the fucking thing has a hole in it the size of a walnut.

I think I wore it roughly around five times, and it had only been sent to the cleaners once, and when it was sent there was no walnut-sized hole in it, therefore I deduce the cleaner destroyed by sweater. I'm really disappointed because it was a birthday present and a Fred Perry. This however is not the worst thing to happen to me in recent months, so I'm not going to sweat the small stuff.

-In Grammy news, Neil Young wins his first award (though not televised) for best Rock song from his latest album. Yay Neil! In even better news, Justin Bieber went home empty handed. Then I read today that he thinks we should only have sex with someone we love. And we shouldn't have abortions, because, "Thats, like, killing babies." When asked if a woman, who had become pregnant after being raped, should be allowed to abort the fetus, he responded that, "Everything happens for a reason." Oh, and he can't really answer, because he's never been in that position before. Yup, chalk up another squeeky-clean poster boy that's stupider than a stick. I wonder how he feels about the gays.

Have a good night all.

We're all fucked...

Things that are wrong with the world:

- A new Cold War starting: featuring NATO vs. Russia. I'm not even being overly-dramatic about this, it's quite real I'm afraid. For the past few year's I've subscribed to the whole argument that I'd rather be fighting the Cold War than the war on terror. After all, it's nice to have the 'us' versus 'them', and actually be able to point to 'them' on a map. But now that we're plunging into another one, I think I might have to rethink that answer.

- The markets collapsing on themselves: like today, when the TSX lost over 500 points, on top of the DOW loosing the same value. Oh, plus an bunch of financials declaring bankruptcy/needing liquid cash infusions. What better time to be looking for a real job than during a rampant recession, brought on by over-zealous greedy pricks wearing very nice suits sitting in very nice offices fucking very nice looking people. (I'd generalize to 'boys', but I'm sure they're not all closeted, or that kinky.)

- Rick Wright, Pink Floyd pianist/organist/etc, dies at age 65, putting the last 'nail in the coffin' (pun unintended) on any hopes that the group will ever reunite for a world tour. At least I got to see him and David Gilmour when they passed through Toronto in April 2006 (or was it '05...). But still, fuck. And I just found out about this, on top of all the great market closing numbers.

- A few days ago I officially became 22, passing out of the ever-sexy 18-21 bracket and pushing one more year closer to that dreaded adulthood. 21, while still not incredibly young, was bearable because it was barely in the 20's. Now, I'm pushed whole-heartedly into that bracket. At least maybe now people in the 18-21 bracket will want to sleep with me. After all, I'm practically old.

and on a lighter note...

- The Toronto International Film Festival has once again finished screening another fine selection of entries. And I missed them all. Once again. I swear, one of these years I'll actually make it out to see one of them.

Oh, hey!...

So, what exactly is the etiquette when you bump into someone you know on gay websites?

No, I'm not talking about bumping into someone you know's porn photo shoot (though that would be ridiculously hot, albeit awkward, depending on the person...) I'm talking about running into someone you're acquainted with on gay 'dating' sites.

I hate the term 'online dating' and the biases that stem from it. At this point in my life, I haven't become so superior (or cynical, I'm not sure which yet) that I look down on the things. And recently, while devouring some insightful (read: fluffy) gay media, I was stunned at the number of couples who had met online.

This flies in the face of a conversation I had just the other day, with a friend who tried to convince me that I would never meet anyone worthwhile by looking for dates online. "Look, how did we meet?" she asked.

"Friend of a friend," I said, "but we're not dating."

"But my point is," she said emphatically, "you think you're going to meet a quality person online by simply clicking a profile? You think a relationship will actually go somewhere that started without you even knowing something about the person, not even meeting them through someone?"

I understand her point, that it's much easier to have a feel for someone, and be drawn together 'naturally' by meeting people in a physical interaction. But as for the argument that you'll know they are a more compatible partner based on your conversation with them, what about the thousands of people that go out on dates with someone they just met? How about those people who just casually exchange numbers, and actually use them? Are they all damned to failed relationships too, simply because they didn't fraternize with their other half before starting the dating process?

The appeal of meeting people online is understandable, to me (at this point anyway). You get a bit of a sales pitch, compare interests and sneak a glimpse into the image they portray of themselves. Hell, people even post their statistics for all to see.

Then come the initial small talk. From the comfort of your home, you can engage with someone in a chat to see if you have anything in common, to test the potential for good conversation. It's pretty much like a real coffee date, in a way; you get the initial "Hi" out of the way and see if there's really anything going on behind that (presumably) pretty face.

It seems that the book is constantly being written on the 'online' experience, but at the moment the prevailing mood is an acceptance of it as part of gay society. During my reading I was amused by the profile of a couple that were (from what I recall) 22 and 23 respectively. According to what I read, "Like any closeted gay teens, the two met online and finally decided to take their relationship into the physical realm." It seems the rubber stamp has been given to trying to connect to people via 0's and 1's, even if only at the early stages of your gay life.

But back to my point...in this magical world of gay websites, what does one do when he runs head first into someone he knows?

Let me preface my relationship to this particular boy. He's the type that I wave to when I pass on the street, or occasionally say hi to if he's chatting to someone I know. Not the most warm and cuddly contact between us, but no loathing (as far as I know).

Actually, he's the last person I'd have expected to see grace the gay internet's stage. Sociable, connected, easy on the eyes...actually, pretty much what I would identify as a well-adjusted gay 20-something. Seeing him online does two things: reinforce that I'm (while maybe not completely in the right) at least not completely wrong for trying to meet guys online, but also terrifies me that this presumably well-to-do-mo has to be searching for dates online.

And like I said before, what does this say about online dating itself? The approval of the method for 'closeted gay teens' is understandable, but this boy is not what I would call innocent new blood.

Short of being genuinely intrigued by him, I don't really expect to strike up a genuine friendship between us. But as acquaintances, and as a polite sort of guy, I pained over the question of acknowledging his presence or not.

So is the gay site the same as the gay street? Am I supposed to wave in passing, or gracefully ignore his presence? Is it embarrassing to admit to the world that you're trying to meet people online, or is it just the next step in the natural social evolution of gays, a people that usually tend to need to meet people through means other than 'mainstream'? And is he himself having this same discussion, trying to decide if he should send me a friendly "Hey there!" message or not?

And does it say something if he himself never acknowledges my online presence?

Or is he a bad cyber-citizen too?

Gays pop up in the strangest places...

Does Facebook know I'm gay?

It's not like I've told it about my preferences. And though I have added gay friends and lovers to my Facebook, it's not like they've been whispering in the mainframe's ear about what I've been up to.

Right?...

It certainly feels like someone's tipped them off (though in reality there is no way). Yet, the tone of the magical site has changed. More and more, I've been exposed to gay-themed advertising on Facebook's sidebars, and I'm starting to really wonder about it.

Take, for example, this ad:



I snatched this image just today, after clicking onto the site's Home Newsfeed. What I first noticed was how hot the guys were...then I shook my head and realized it was an advert for an online gay dating site, sitting idly by on the overly-heterosexual Facebook page.

I studied it for a moment, puzzled. I mean, why advertise gay dating on Facebook, a place that, statistically, would be skewed to the more populous heterosexual audience. It makes no sense...well, very little sense, anyway. Even the photo is slightly (and I mean Miley Cyrus slightly) provocative...two boys who appear to be naked, seen from the bare shoulders up! Maybe Annie Leibovitz is involved...

Naturally, I kept an eye on things over the past few weeks (with the promise of more hot boy photos), and realized that I've been bombarded with gay-centred advertising the entire time. Ads for dating sites, gay social networking sites, even gay Student Unions.

But why so much gay on Facebook?

When I clicked the 'more ads' link, I was treated to a full description of those pesky boxes. There are, this evening, 24 different ads posted. Of those, two are explicitly gay. There are 10 ads aimed at straight men looking for anything from casual sex to a romantic relationship. The other 12 are a mash of wine society advertising, college ads, and other various products/services/entertainment.

So what, you say. Two whole ads, and he writes a post about it?

But it's more than that, in my mind. Sort of amazing to see that, remarkably, the gay audience is being advertised to in 'normal' areas. This isn't a niche gay site, this is the all-inclusive Facebook. Everyone has Facebook.

Even the way the advertising is done differs little from the 'straight' ads for dating sites. It's like they're *gasp* on the same playing field. There is no implied promiscuity, no negative stereotypes skewing the image of the gay ads. They exist as if equal to the straight ones, in both content and in acceptance of things as the 'norm'.

So is this a sign of things to come? Does it mean that the younger generation - my generation - has become so accustomed to gays that it isn't the least bit strange that gay-centric advertising is popping up in their otherwise heterosexually-dominated site?

Admittedly, it's only two ads, and compared to the number of straight-dating ones, it's small. But it really speaks volumes to me about where the ads are popping up. When I clicked refresh on the page once more, I was exposed to an ad for a guitar festival, one I haven't seen before.

But for the most part, I apparently am just prone to getting the gay ones.

A night in (two variations)...

"Well, I'd better go, I have a naked boyfriend in my bed," she said, after our seven minute conversation came to its conclusion.

I was standing in the kitchen, sunset streaming into my face. "Ooh, well, aren't you lucky," I said. "Far more exciting than my prospects."

"All I have is a bottle of wine and a porn magazine."

She laughed, then paused when she realized I wasn't.

"Are you serious?.." she asked, after a slight pause. I reciprocated her silence.

"Well, I have the wine open just now..." I said, as she burst out laughing again.

Oh my sweet fuck...

I swear to God I'm a curse on boys.

Remember the time I told you that a guy I'd gone out with for a bit was now going out with a woman?

Well, I just found out that another guy who I'd gone out with just got married. To a woman.

Words do not do justice to my shock and awe. I must have some sort of insane quality that rubs off me and makes boys straight.

Either that, or this is a sham marriage so the groom can actually stay in the country, since from what I recall, he's gayer than gay and here on a visa.

I want to, sort of, say congratulations and good luck. But I can't even make sounds at this point so how am I supposed to string a sentence together? And who the hell gets married at 21 anyway!?

And so the world turns...

Foreign nationals...

I have a gorgeous Swiss boy in my shower.

Yes, it's true. It's painfully true, actually, because he doesn't belong to me.

Franz belongs to my roommate Nina. And when I say belongs, I mean he's her friend who happens to be visiting and crashing on our couch.

He's just classically European cute; no really stylish haircut or colour or jewelry, just a really cute face, really tall and what looks to be very toned body.


(Apparently Swiss boys...or at least from a Swiss gay mag. Franz is the flavour on the right, exactly what I would order...)

He's been here since Thursday, and I have to say that at first I wasn't really impressed. I guess it was the jet lag, because Friday afternoon, he looked good enough to eat, or at the very least star in a great Swiss porn movie.

Personality wise, I'm afraid we're at a bit of an impasse. He's a really nice guy, just not very outgoing. I'm a really nice guy, also sometimes just not very outgoing. The few conversations I've tried to stir up have been pretty brief, and with Nina away at work all weekend, our days have been sort of quiet.

For example, this morning. I was coming out of the bathroom just as he was walking into her bedroom. "Oh, good morning!" I said as cheerfully as possible.

There was a beat of silence, followed by, "Morning, how are you?"

And that was pretty much the conversation.

I feel like I'm living in residence again, since I've left my door sort of propped open to encourage conversation, but sort of closed to give me a little privacy. He just got back from the grocery store, and promptly went into Nina's room and shut the door.

Why I have to be terrible at socializing in these situations I'll never know, but I am. It would be great to pick his brain, talk about Europe and the world in general, but he's so fucking Swiss, his personality is quiet and politely distant.

I did get an interesting comment out of the whole thing so far, though. A friend was by picking me up, and we all happened to hang out for a few minutes and chat. This would be around the time I was really starting to appreciate how good this boy looks, and forgiving the fact that his nose is just a little too big.

After we left, my friend turned to me and started looking me over. "Well, he's pretty good looking actually," I said, explaining that I didn't always drool over him.

"Yeah, he is, he really is!" he said. "Actually, he reminded me a lot of you. You two could seriously be long lost brothers, you look a lot alike!"

Wait...what? I look like super-cute Swiss boy? I sort of mused about it for a minute...but that would mean that, like him, I'm really cute?...not possible...

I'll have to go back and interrogate to figure out how much I actually look like this boy, because I don't really think of myself as looking like this cute Swiss boy.

"Maybe you could..."

I was asked the strangest thing the other day - for help.

Not just any help, mind you. That's not strange, and I'll gladly give it. I was asked for gay help. From me.

It all went down at a casual get together last week. I was there with a few people I knew, and a lot of people they knew. We were having a good time chatting, and I was surprised to find myself in a few different conversations. Pleasantly, mind you, because I do love talking to approachable, open, likable people.

I of course instantly knew the gay boy in the room, who sat chatting with a few girls. He was pretty quiet through the night, and didn't really speak to me. His whole appearance was cute, in this innocent, boyish way. He was even 20, which surprised me since he looked a lot younger.

Me being me, that is to say, inept at engaging in anything longer than a "Hey" with a gay guy, sat on the sidelines of his conversation, not really paying much attention until a mutual friend swung herself over his crotch, wrapped her arms around his head and started talking to him. I laughed a little...why do women love to straddle gay guys?...that is to say, until she finished her conversation with him and promptly plopped down on my lap.

"Well hi there," I said, laughing. She giggled, and we started chatting about nothing, her hands cupped behind my neck. This didn't bother me, because I know her well enough and really do quite like her. The only problem in the situation was that she was the wrong sex...had she been a guy I may have been giving the situation a much different approach.

Time wore on and she slid off, sitting next to me and talking to other people. I went back to a conversation on my left, until I noticed that she had now lay the gay guy on to her chest, and was pulling on my arm, dragging me into the fray. All three of us were quite drunk at this point, and we were laughing and making mindless conversation. She introduced me to the guy, sitting three inches from my face and developing an interesting look in his eyes.

We talked for a few minutes like that, then all rolled off and went back to our other chats. But again, moments later, she was sitting on my knee.

"You know that guy," she said to me. "Well, he's sorta new. Really new, actually, doesn't go out much or stuff like that. Maybe you could, uh, talk with him?"

My eyebrows raised involuntarily. Wait...she wanted me to take this guy out on the town, show him the gay sights and introduce him to the community? I would have laughed out loud, if I wasn't so shocked. I mean, I don't purport to know anything about anything gay, yet here I was being asked for advice.

"Well..." I said awkwardly, glancing over at him. "I would, for sure. But see, the thing is...I'm pretty new myself. Don't know much of anything. Don't know I could be much help, but I'd hang out with him again for sure."

Pretty new as in just fell off the fucking boat...but hey, apparently I don't broadcast that message...

She nodded and again went off. I laughed a little to myself, seeing the humour in the situation.

Things were dying down, and at the end of the night I said my goodbyes to the two of them. I gave her a hug, and him a straight look in the eye, trying to muster the whole 'unspoken understanding' thing via a piercing gaze.

"I hope I'll see you again soon," I said simply to him. He continued his eye contact and nodded slightly.

"Yeah, me too," he said, deceptively simply but with that whole, 'Bet your ass I will' feeling behind it.

I laughed for the rest of the night at the thought of me being a gay guide. But who knows, maybe if we strike up a bit of a friendship, anything could wind up happening.

But for the moment, I'll puzzle over how I became 'Steve - the gay in the know'.

Back to the grind...

So it's back to work/school/whatever, and it certainly feels like it.

I don't know why, but my attitude this morning shifted right back to it's usual, "Gah, problems!" state. I was standing under the shower, blasting my neck with hot water and trying to understand why New Years is such a big deal. After all, here we all are back to our usual routines, with all of the festivities and fun packed away. So what about all those resolutions, and the fun of having the freedom and kind spirit of the holiday season instead of the doldrums of everyday life?

For whatever reason, I re-tapped that "Fuck 2007!" sentiment and just said fuck the whole thing. I stepped out of the shower feeling refreshed, positive about the new year and really committed to trying this new attitude out. After all, things aren't looking so bad, I really should stress less, and now that I've pretty clearly identified parts of my life I want to work on, there's really no point in stressing about big stuff in the shower at 8 am on Monday morning. Right?

We'll see how long that lasts...

Anyway for some reason, and I think it's the fact that I actually did things that required movement and thinking (first time in weeks, you know...) I find myself exhausted. Literally I can't keep my eyes open tonight! Out of boredom and in order to pass the time before it's socially acceptable to go to bed, I put away all my laundry, unpacked everything, re-organized my sock drawer, counted my underwear out of sheer curiosity, and emptied my trash bin.

My brain is so dead at the moment that I can't even write one of the two or three interesting posts I've been brewing up.

This semester may prove a little challenging, as I have a lot of class condensed into only 3 days. That means no lunches, and lots of hours spent hopping from room to room. Even today, all I managed food wise was a yogurt with granola at around noon, and a slice of toast and peanut butter for breakfast. Gah! How am I supposed to function on that every day? I guess it'll mean lots of early nights after these marathon days...whee, I'm so exciting!

The sad thing is, it's not any more hours than someone who's working a 9-5 job anyway. Ugh, what will I do when I get one of those!?

So here's to you, the working Joe, who actually puts in their time every day at work and isn't falling asleep at 7:30 p.m. on a Monday night.

Shopping with Mom...

I never knew Christmas shopping could be so...awkward...

Mom and I had gotten what we needed that day, and were about to pack it in. After a moment, we wound up stopping for dinner, because we both figured we'd rather eat there than go home and cook...hey, it's Christmas, right?

A few doors down from the restaurant was a sex shop. It looked kinda small, and kinda run down, but hey, sex stores are fun. As we walked by, my Mom looked through the window and said, "Maybe we should get your father something from in there, he always talks about going in...sometimes I think he's serious!"

We both laughed, because it's true; he's always joking about needing to stop off for a few things. At least, I hope he's always joking...

We sat down to dinner, and tried again in vain to figure out some small gift for Dad to open that would be a complete surprise. My mind kept pulling back to the sex store...what could I possibly find in there? I kept racking my brain...after all, what do straight men buy at sex shops? Considering most of their stock is, uh, penetrable items, I don't understand what the average straight dude buys.

After dinner, we were walking past the store again, and I knew it was now or never. "I'm going in," I said, laughing, "are you coming?"

Might as well play this for all it was worth...

She hesitated for a second, then nodded. And so, mother and gay son entered the den of inequity together.

I tried not to make it too obvious that I was staring at all the, uh, penetrable products, because I didn't want to scare her too badly. I was half expecting a quiet question about my experiences, after me blurting out, "Well damn, they don't have a lot of selection, do they?"

In the novelty section, cards, candy and games were priced to sell. I selected a pair of chocolate tits for dear old dad, and made my way further into the store. We hit the lingerie section, complete with articles for him and her. Jokingly I walked to the His section, scanning the wall until inspiration hit.

There, hanging low on the rack, was a Tartan jockstrap.

It was a regular jock with no material in the crotch, and a little curtain of silky Tartan-patterned fabric covering the crotch. We both burst out laughing.

That was it! That was the present! A perfect gag gift that will make for hilarity all day. We both could not stop laughing at the imagined antics of said strap, which, though not sporting the family Tartan, will be the source for most laughs of the day. I have no doubt that at some point it will wind up on my father, grandmother, lamp, Christmas tree and possibly the turkey.

Surprisingly enough, Mom seemed to really get into it. "Make sure you get the right size," she said. Oh God, I don't want to know what happens to this thing after Christmas day...

That night I went home and wrapped it up in a big box, weighed down by two cans of beans. So my fathers new Tartan jockstrap is now tucked under the tree, with Grandma's body wash, Mom's new purse and Grandpa's box of chocolates.

Twisted Christmas.

Semi-closeted/X-mas...

I'm being shoved back into the closet, albeit temporarily.

And I'm not even talking about back home! Though, naturally, like all closet issues, it relates to home. Tomorrow night a group of us are going out to celebrate the end of the semester. This group includes several good friends, as well as one girl I went to high school with, who's visiting my roommate.

Laura asked me yesterday about what we were going to do. "Actually, everybody knows about you except her of the people going with us!" she said, concerned. "What do you want us to do?"

I looked at her. What should they need to do? I mean, it's not like I'm going with a guy on my arm, and the chances that we'd get into a 'gay' conversation are pretty remote...yet I started to get a little nervous. I mean, what if she finds out? I apparently 'act differently' around my Toronto crew than I do with people from home/high school, and Laura was concerned that one of the Toronto people would out me through a casual conversation.

This doesn't scare me, really, but for the fact the girl visiting would no doubt be blabbing the news around bright and early the next morning. Essentially, she would be one of the people I would fear would do the very thing I want to avoid; making a big spectacle of my sexuality even though it has nothing to do with her or anyone she'd talk to.

"How about I just tell everyone not to bring it up," Laura said. "I just would feel terrible if somebody said something that outed you completely by accident, so if I say something now they'll be good with watching their conversations..."

I agreed, hesitantly. It makes me feel bad, causing such reaction that we now have to watch what we say in our own home so that I don't get outed to the town crier.

But still, is this a bad price to pay so I don't get put under the microscope?

However it goes, I don't plan on hiding too much. Worse comes to worse, though I won't be saying "I'm gay" to anyone, I don't have a problem with her drawing her own conclusions...besides, if I'm talking gay with someone, she probably wouldn't be involved in the conversation anyway. I don't plan on censoring much of anything, because there really shouldn't be anything to censor! We're not going to a strip club, it's just a bunch of people going out to celebrate Christmas and the end of school.

So why am I a little worried?...

---

Christmas shopping is not going well.

Nevermind my parents are impossible to buy for, plus my grandfather...but my few friends I plan on buying gifts aren't making it easy for me either.

The most common answer I've received is, "I don't really need anything," followed by, "There's nothing I really want."

I'll admit, I fall into that camp relatively easily. The only presents I've 'asked' for was stuff I bought and was promptly taken from me to be used as Christmas presents. But why is it so impossible for my generation to think of things they want for Christmas? I mean, we're all starving students after all...yet I can think of very few things I simply do not have or cannot afford, other than luxury items I'd never be given anyway.

Perhaps it's time to get all philosophical and tell my friends, family and neighbors that Christmas is about spreading the love and not about consumerism. I've never been bogged down in the "me-me-me" thinking of Christmas, so it's not like I'm discovering this for the first time. Still...it makes me wonder. I mean, does the fact that I don't ask for something I might really need say that I already have everything in life I currently require? Of course, that doesn't mean I bought the $600 D&G sweater I'm in love with...but damn, I don't really need that anyway.

Currently sitting under my Christmas tree, with my name on it:
-2 Boss shirts, both of which I'll be stealing for different Christmas functions so I look hot
-1 pair Boss pants, currently being tailored...so not even under the tree yet
-1 chest of Bordeaux wines
-1 1kg Cadbury's milk chocolate bar, imported from England

Hmm...other than a new camera, I really don't think I need much else (and I don't even 'need' a new camera). And looking at that little list, I've already got more than many others will see.

So now I've just got to focus on getting some things for other people. And who knows, maybe I'll buy a goat for some African village to actually get something somebody really needs.

Double shot...

Toronto has become a world-class city, thanks to the opening of one store.

Nespresso.


(Not actual Toronto location...)

That's right, the famous espresso line, available in Europe for what feels like a million years, is finally physically present in Canada. I got my machine a few years ago, pretty much when they came out in Canada and have always loved it. The coffee is brilliant, there are lots of varieties, and of course the really great pretentiousness of belonging to the 'exclusive club'.

Before, one had to order their coffee capsules via the Internet. They'd come in from New York, the closest physical Nespresso depot to Canada, and the only store in North America.

When I was in France over the summer, we stopped at several of their branches, and I bought lots of coffee. I mean, it beat paying shipping!

Still, I always complained to the people in Europe that Toronto is a big enough city to warrant a store. We've got everything else (more or less) so why not a pretentious coffee store too?

I might have made a bit of an ass out of myself, upon discovering the store this afternoon. Lisa and I were toque shopping (for her, not for me) and were walking through the lower level of The Bay at the Eaton Centre, when something caught my eye.

There was a wall with the machines, but coffee capsules as well. As I approached, I saw the sign, and the thousands of capsule boxes backing the wall. "Oh my God!" I cheered about a million times. The girl I dealt with was happy to see that I was happy, because apparently that's the reaction they're getting from current customers.

I got to taste a few new blends, and bought a few sleeves. We got to talking about the location, because they're in a super-shitty place that really, "Doesn't reflect our target market," as the sales girl said.

Apparently they're already looking into moving into a place on Bloor St., maybe even into the Holt Renfrew flagship store...a setting that would prove infinitely more appropriate.

With all my excitement, I found myself wondering about a job there. After all, I love their coffee, and it's way better than working at a coffee shop. But like hell I'd be getting a job before Christmas, so I'll have to see what happens in January. I'll keep my fingers crossed.

Until then, I'm just going to enjoy the coffee.

The good, the blah (part 1)...

Well, lets start with the good.

On Friday I finally bought my new Mac with Leopard. It was exciting, but more or less without amazement. Hit the store, heard the sales pitch (which was unnecessary...I already know what I want!), did the cash thing and headed out. I also went home for the weekend, to see my family and get a change of scenery. And to tinker with my new computer (even though there was no Internet).

Friday evening I pull everything from the box like a kid on Christmas. Since it's all one piece of machinery, it took around a minute to plug in my keyboard and mouse (which I love by the way) and then plug into the wall. The seconds went by, and it was all booted up.

But wait! This isn't Leopard, this is the old operating system!

In a frantic moment, I shuffled through the small pile of paperwork that came with the computer. Diagrams, how-to's, the OS install kit for the former system...no Leopard drop-kit that the sales guy had promised. Ahhh crap!!!

I called the store and spoke to a very nice gay boy with a pretentiously spelled name (can you say future post?). He was very sweet, and wanted to fix my situation ASAP. The only option really was to return to the store the next day.

I was less than pleased. Here I was, at home, and I had to re-pack my computer and go back to the city! So Saturday morning my mom and I went for a drive...

The store was packed with weekend shoppers pushing into one another. Why it was so crazy I'll never know...I mean can't people shop on other days of the week too? We headed to the counter, box in tow, and got a strange look from the boy standing behind it.

I explained in horror that the drop-kit wasn't put in my box, and how I neeeeeed Leopard. He went into the usual regretful story mode, and promised to grab me a new machine and to personally make sure the proper discs were in the box.

Of course, my mother went into pissed-off-consumer mode and asked what compensation we'd be given for being so royally screwed around. It turned out the guy was the manager for that shift, even though he looked something like this:





Honestly, he was amazingly hot. Looking like he'd just stepped out of a porn movie, this twink of possibly 22 was such a sweetheart. With a bit more tan than #1 and the eyes and longer hair of #2, he was stunning.

Throughout the exchange, I suffered some blood fluctuations.

Anyway, it went off smoothly enough, and I even got to drool over the sexy manager for 10 minutes while he sorted things out. He was, like I said, very sweet and made it as painless as possible. Reluctantly, I tore my eyes away with my second new Mac of the weekend.

Thankfully, this one indeed had Leopard. I'm liking it so far, other than the fact I still have to Migrate all my files from my old Mac over, and set up all the technical stuff like codecs and such here on my new Mac. It's a little frustrating, and kinda tedious, but in the end I'll have a great setup and great memories of the sales boy.

"Is there anything else I can do for you?" he asked, with a little smile.

Plenty, I thought.

Hardly working...

I cannot work out of a home office.

Today, because of the terrible weather and general laziness, I decided to work from home on an assignment that I needed to submit by this evening. It afforded me the luxury of being able to eat, drink, pee and otherwise attend to any needs that I may discover during the span of my working day.

This wasn't a bad idea, in principal. I've done these 'work-from-home' days before. I never go to the library to write essays or do readings. Some days I'll research from the library for easier, faster access to journals, but that's usually just to get out of the house.

Unfortunately, when one wants to procrastinate at home when one should be working, it is much easier to become distracted.

Not that I really accomplished anything fun while not working. I made tea. I turned on all the lights in the place, because it's so damn dark. I checked messages. Found something very, very interesting online (which I'll post later tonight).

Hell, I've still yet to eat lunch, and it's almost 4 p.m.

All in all, I've become frustrated with myself. I guess I should have dragged my ass out the door this morning in order to get some physical human interaction, not just messaged people randomly online.

Goes to show, I don't think I'll ever be one to have my own home office.

---

There have been a few questions about any 'progress' on the Danny front. There has been no word, for those of you who are interested. For those of you about to hit me, no, I'm not holding my breath or really moping about it anymore. Now, I have moved to moping about the fact I have two brief but failed relationships that I'll never understand. Also on the moping agenda: How can I meet boys?

Whoops...

I'm gentle...honest.

But I got the better of my ceiling lamp the other day. Sadly, it wasn't even a sexual accident.

I'd just changed my sheets, and was throwing my duvet over my bed. My arms held high, I gave it a quick snap to toss it across the bed, when all of a sudden the sound of plate glass crashing was all I could hear.

I stood for a minute in stunned silence. Then I looked up.



I'd put my hand right through the glass, leaving a nice little shard hanging out of the lamp. Thankfully none of the glass pieces ended up in me, but they did manage to end up all over the floor and in my fresh sheets.

This was one day I wasn't happy being tall.

Junk...

For some bizarre reason I have started to receive spam.

One was for some penis augmentation pills, purporting the UK's best prices. The other was a deal for cheap auto insurance.

I'll never understand the Internet and how spammers get your e-mail address. Other than receiving and sending e-mails to other human persons through this address, I have not signed up for anything. It's very strange to me that I would be getting such crazy e-mails for an address that is practically unlisted, and rarely used.

At any rate, I thought I should take a moment to invite some more welcomed communication to my inbox. Ever want to get in touch with me? Ask a question? Insult me? Well, you are more than welcome to e-mail me at frozen.underwear@gmail.com if you please. I know my address is listed publicly, but take this as an invite if you were ever hesitant.

Comments are always very much appreciated and enjoyed. Thank you to all who have contributed to discussions and helped me answer some of my musings. I do not censor them or reject anonymous comments, so if you don't want your identity to be known, feel free to stay anonymous.

For those of you more inclined to use an IM service, I've got my AIM and MSN up and running under the account frozen.underwear@gmail.com for all your instant-communication needs. I'll actually try and be online now and then, too.

And finally, thank you for reading. Let's consider August 28th 'Blogger Reader Appreciation Day'. It's nice to know people actually check out my page from time to time, and it's very rewarding to write for such a good audience. Thank you!

Tech update...

I'm in need of new technology.

Well, not 'need', but desire.

All my life I had one computer. For majority of that time, it has been a Pentium III 500mhz beast. Well, used to be a beast. Now it's just a prehistoric beast. When I went to school two years ago, I knew I needed a new computer, and made the switch to a Mac. Now I've got my PC of roughly 10 years, and my Mac of 3 years.

This summer has made me incredibly frustrated when working on my PC. It freezes under the slightest conditions, can't play videos that are larger than 1/7th of the screen, and generally suffers from being very old. I've reinstalled Windows to clear up clutter in the registry, but sadly it's become bogged down again.

When my mom was checking her e-mail the other day, she noticed that while she was typing, the words took several second to translate from the keyboard to the screen. She asked if there was a problem, and I reminded her how old and out-of-date the beast is and how it'd be really nice if we got something a little newer for the home PC.

Well, this discussion has turned into somewhat of an ongoing thing...resulting in a conversation in the car the other day. I had been drooling over the boy who had passed me in the mall with a brand new iMac...I mean I was drooling over the iMac this guy had...anyway I had mentioned all the updates in the new Mac compared to mine. She seemed genuinely interested, and shocked me when she proclaimed that I should probably just leave my Mac at home and buy a new one.

"Oh, but we don't have any money right now," she said. Why do you tempt me so!?

After ensuring her that yes, it would be a good idea, and discussing the finer details about price, she was much more open to it. Considering she thought it would cost $3000 for a new Mac (how she got that iDea I will never know), and finding out it would be much less, she was almost re-opened to the idea. It was left hanging, as parents often do, with a, "We'll see," type of answer.

(I just looked, and my new Mac will set me back $1764.00. Ouch on my very tapped bank account.)

Anyway all of this is fantasy in my mind, because I really want to retire my PC and not loose all my pages every time I open a new window. Oh, and watch video on more of the screen. All things my current Mac will do effortlessly, and my new Mac will do effortlessly and sexily.

So what are your thoughts? Should I push for a new Mac at this point in time, or wait for an even newer model? And what about their new operating system, when does that all go down and will it be on Mac's sold in September/October?...oh so many questions for a project that will sadly probably not happen.

Playing with balls...

I've been blessed with a lot, in retrospect.

A great brain, a sense of humour, lots of (naive) affection for people, a generally stand up disposition...some people call me good looking (though at least one was drunk at the time)...but one thing I've never, ever had the faintest wisp of is sports attentiveness.

Ever since I was little, when parents put their kids into summer sports like soccer or baseball, I sucked. No matter what I did, I never ran fast enough, had enough coordination or know-how to succeed. And really, being a guy, this is something that doesn't make life easy.

Especially in the middle youth years, when everyone is on some team, either playing baseball or tennis or rugby...I simply could not produce any positive results. My mere presence was enough to send the team into disarray, and no matter how much I would focus on the objective, I could never seem to manipulate whatever ball we were using to do my bidding. As if God had smited me at birth, I could not pitch, catch, kick, hit or otherwise move a ball in the proper direction.

I remember one 'sport' I was good at, shot put. Way back in grade 7, we used to be put through these exercises in school to see who would represent us at the regional athletic competition. As far as I remember, everyone participated and tried out for a variety of things. I did my usual circuit, failing miserably at each, with sympathetic teachers smiling at me and wishing me better luck next time.

Finally I arrived at the shot put station. I grasped the metallic ball, motioned back and heaved it forward. To my great surprise, it went rather far. My friends, standing in back of me, burst out with cheers. Everyone was a little astonished that Steve had actually done something credible in the sports world.

Sadly, the bastard running the shot put station was the head gym teacher. While he was mildly impressed, he ended up passing me over for someone else because, to my knowledge, he didn't really like me because I was terrible at sports and wanted a more favored member on his team.

A few years later I picked up my one true sport: skiing. I love bounding down the side of a hill, carving across powder as the wind stings my eyes. Surprising even to me, I love the exhilaration of speeding across the snow. Finally, I had found one sport-like activity I was good at! Probably the main reason I enjoyed it, other than actually developing some semblance of skill, was the fact it didn't involve anyone else. It was just something I could do on my own, without a team to let down.

Still, this doesn't help. During Frosh week two years ago, when everyone went outside to play some sort of football, I simply smiled and declined the invitation. Lots of guys I know still attempt some sports, and even some girls are avid hockey players. But knowing that I can't pull any of these things off is awkward. I would say it's emasculating, but that's not really the case, because I don't think that a woman who's capable of outskating me makes me less of a male. It's just socially irritating.

Apparently my handicap even carries over to the digital world. A few weeks ago I played with a Nintendo Wii for the first time, amazed at the bowling, tennis and other sports that people were playing. I got a feel for the controller, and challenged my friend to a match of tennis. The game passed by, and I failed to score a single point.

We played a rematch, where my defeat was only slightly less embarrassing, with my scoring one point before the game was quickly finished. "Shit," I muttered.

My friend looked at me and smiled. "Dude, you kinda suck."

"Not only can't I play sports in real life, I can't even do it in a video game."

We laughed and played a few other of the sports games, but ultimately I failed at each one. I guess it just goes to show some people are given many gifts, as well as a few deficits.

Vocabulary...

I learned a new word today.

Kind of an amazing feat, in a world where five-cent words are thrown around as commonly as "y'all". And here, being the arrogant university student, I thought I had an excellent grasp of the most used words.

Sadly I was proven wrong. Whilst browsing the BBC online, I came across an article on Canadian Arctic sovereignty. Quite an interesting subject, and I was keen on interpreting the international press agencies' take on our situation. As I was reading through, I hit a word that triggered no recognition.

Vociferously.

I kept reading, being the ass that I am, but my conscience got the better of me.

"Uh, you don't recognize that word," it sighed. Somehow it knew it was in for a fight.

I paused for a moment, thinking back to that 'V' word. "Of course I know what it is," I countered. "I'm a fucking 3rd year university student, I think my vocabulary is more diverse than the BBC."

Still, the conscience was not impressed. "Listen, buddy, you may try to kid yourself out of this one, but face facts. You don't know what the word is. You haven't cornered the vocabulary market. Deal."

Shit. This is not at all how my inner self should address me. After a few moments sounding the 'V' word out like a 1st grader, I groaned aloud.

"You're right," I admitted, defeat echoing in my voice. "I'm stuck, I don't know for sure."

"Then look it up, dummy," came the response. "Learn something, for Christ's sake."

I trundled over to dictionary.com and got my answer.

Vociferously: Making, given to, or marked by noisy and vehement outcry.

Just as I thought...

It came!...

The storied Harry Potter book arrived in the mail on Tuesday morning.

Seems my frustrations were more-or-less unfounded, but I was under the impression it wasn't going to arrive for a week or more. After spending half and hour on hold with Indigo, I finally got to speak with someone.

"I was wondering about my order, I placed it a long time ago and it looks like it hasn't shipped yet..."

The girl paused a moment, dread creeping into her voice. "Is this about Harry Potter?"

As it turns out, shipping went according to my plan, and I should have received it Monday morning. Because of the huge number of copies shipped, there was a slight breakdown in the system (not used to handling such a volume of books at once) and it took the extra day to reach me.

On top of that, they just stopped updating peoples orders online, so nobody had any idea if/when their book had shipped. "Do you know how much time it would take to update everyone's information?" the girl scoffed.

Oh, excuse me...I thought this was the information age...

Anyway I'm about halfway through, which is preposterous since I've had it two whole days. But I've only had the chance to sit down a few times and delve into it. So far it's very good, and very different from the other novels in the series. Hopefully I'll be done this weekend, but I've also been working on two essays for my trip to France that have to be handed in August 1st. Sadly they take (some) precedence over Harry Potter.

Thank you for all who were concerned about my mental well being during this time of crisis.