30.9.04

september

so that was september. the theme was sissy-girly-emo blogging. in case you didn't notice. i'll be back in october with manly stuff. articles on urinal picking strategies (vulcan logic II), avoiding zipper injuries, logistics of 'the man-hug', maybe even another 'hottie of the month' (volunteers?) etc. if you have any requests, comments or questions, feel free to spell it out. if you want to be featured in an article, i'm game for that too. if you like purple sunsets, long walks on the beach, conversations about the meaning of sand, and straw hats with ribbons call (***)***-**** and ask for "cookieshima".

28.9.04

the d-a-i-y-t-e

it was an interesting doorbell, brass, faux-gold embroidery in the usual frilly quadrilateral - an elongated diamond i guess - framing a little white button, grayed with use. probably has a cute little chime to go with it too, greensleeves, or a carol of some sort. four bars of pachabel. beethoven's ninth. or maybe even william tell. that would be ambitious. the English are coming! open your door!

i looked out to the street from the porch, from the steps, finger poised to leave my personal bit of grayness to the button. the coast was clear. the fewer witnesses the better. i looked at the doorbell again. this was supposed to be the easy part.

the flowers were a bit leaky, plastic not as waterproof as advertised, tinfoil perforated. i scanned the vicinity for something with hand drying potential. the brick wall was none too inviting so i opted for a pant leg. it was just water anyway. back to the doorbell.

i gave it a ring, briefly, and what i assumed to be beseechingly. the doorbell tolled as if i had hammered the button with a sheep, bleating its A flat, resonating through the interior. socked footfalls followed and the door clicked, easing open to reveal a stately gentleman of general middle age. he peered at me from behind his glasses with the scrutiny of a teacher, eying suspiciously the apple that was placed on her desk.

"are these for me? you shouldn't have."
"uh, they're for your daughter. sorry." i thought i saw him pout.
"hey, dad, thanks for telling me that my date is here!"

i looked up, and there she was, standing at the top of the stairs. my, what a big dopey grin you have, i berated myself. she took her time coming down the stairs, carefully, gracefully, toes lighting upon each step daintily. falling on your face in front of your date would have been demoralizing. oh yeah, i should probably close my mouth now.

her father helped her into a light denim jacket. one quick kiss and a promise to be back by 11 later, we breezed down the porch steps to the car. i raced to open the door for her only to find it conveniently locked. sheepishly i swung it open and she slid into the seat. hustling to the other side, i clambered into the opposite seat.

"so."
"i saw you investigating our doorbell. do you like it?"
"oh, heh, yeah. great doorbell. i like it very much."
"you're making me jealous."
"how wonderfully cheesy. i hope you're going to do that all night. hey! rules about playful violence: hit only non tender areas. and i get to fight back."
"i like the flowers."
"i bought them myself."
"so where're we going?"
"i thought we could catch an early dinner then hit the park."
"mmmm okay."

---

"i've never had sandwiches for a date before," she said between mouthfuls.
"i've never had a date before."
"you're doing all right for a beginner."
"ouch."
"don't screw it up."
"yes, ma'am."
"i'm not a ma'am!"
"yes. miss-ter?"

we were walking through the park, sandwiches in hand, since neither of us were keen on using utensils. the sun waned in the west and the clouds were splashed in vivid girly colours. the hill we came upon had a prime view of the setting sun and was surprisingly uncluttered with couples. we took to the western slope and settled down for the night to fall.

"so you finally got up the courage to ask me out."
"i hope the wait wasn't too long."
"only a few months."
"how many?"
"three, i think?"
"so you've liked me for three months?"
"no, i waited three months for you to ask me out."
"why didn't you ask then?"
"the guy should make the move. that's your cue to casually put your arm around me."
"how helpful."
"what about, 'i'm cold'?"
"but that would mean getting up from this very comfortable position to take off my jacket."
"well you should have brought a spare jacket for this very situation."
"how about i just pull you closer?"
"that works too."

---

"that was a good sandwich."
"yeah? mine was a little bit dry."
"i had a wonderful evening."
"would you like another?"
"yes, please."
"shall i call?"
"that's your job."
"what's your job then?"
"to look pretty."
"i like your job."
"i'm very good at it, aren't i?"
"yeah, you doll up nice."
"so will you be giving me a goodnight kiss?"
"for someone who thinks that the guy should make all the moves you're rather forward."
"well, i'm not too keen on waiting three months for one."
"i'm out of practice."
"excuses, excuses."

27.9.04

Harry Potter books don't impress women

Single men are being warned to bin their Harry Potter books if they want to attract the opposite sex while on holiday.

The fantasy novels are a big turn-off for girls, warns a new survey by publishers Penguin, who say Potter and The Lord Of The Rings books are the worst reads to pack in your suitcase this summer reports the Daily Star.

If men want to impress ladies on the beach, then Nick Hornby or Emily Bronte are the best bets.

Sex and relationship expert Tracey Cox said: "On a beach, with so little on, a book can tell you far more about someone than their choice of swimming trunks or a beach towel.

"Pick a classic and woman will swoon at your sensitive nature."


shoot. better not tell anyone about my cho chang shrine and crush on emma watson.

the circle of life

so the black papermate pen that i found just before my astronomy midterm last year finally ran out of ink. i feel as if i've lost a dear friend. it gave its lifeblood to further my foray into Academia. mr. pen, i salute you.

in other news, it's been a while since linwood barclay made me laugh. but he did today.

It's time once again for our regular feature that has never run before and probably never will again, Keeping Safe! This is the advice column that covers everything from smoke detectors to air bags. If it's about your personal security, you can be sure we'll cover it here!

Let's go straight to today's letter:

Dear Keeping Safe!: I like to be prepared for just about every eventuality, although I realize some things, like when a piano may fall on you, are unpredictable. But I've come to believe that my latest source of anxiety is a very real concern. What can I do if Britney Spears tries to marry me? She seems like a nice enough person and all, and her music is okay if you like that kind of thing, but I do not want to marry her.

Larry in Wisconsin

Dear Larry: Your fear is not as unusual, or farfetched, as you might think. Many men, and even some women, understand that it is in the realm of possibility that they may be stopped at random by the pop singer, and forced to marry her. Britney has already been married twice this year, and divorced once, and given that there is no official record of her most recent marriage despite the photos in People, she may not actually be married at all. She could strike again at any moment.

There are a number of things you can do if you encounter Britney Spears and she indicates to you that she would like to become your bride:

1. First of all, do not look upon her for too long. She is not without her charms. You may find yourself succumbing to her siren screech, even against your best judgment. Look away as much as possible.

2. Turn and run. This is not, we must warn you, a 100 per cent successful strategy. Just as a bird will sometimes feign a broken wing to outwit predators, Britney has been known to fake leg injuries to get out of concert dates. She may not look as though she can run quickly, but it is a ruse. Still, give it a shot. Run in a zig-zag, serpentine pattern. If Britney is wearing spike heels, she'll have difficulty with the sharp cornering, and may tip over. Try to run past poles (street lamps, parking meters). Britney may become distracted, and wrap herself around one.

3. If you cannot outrun Britney, you can attempt to be firm. Just say no. You have the right to decline. Just because Britney wants to marry you does not give her the right to do so.

4. We recognize that simply saying no may not be enough to dissuade Britney from pursuing her objective. One thing you can try is frightening her. You might think that nothing can scare Britney, but if you can ward off a bear by banging two rocks together (or so we've heard, but if you meet a bear, and this doesn't work, hey, don't come complaining to us), certain sounds or phrases may make Britney back down.

Chief among them is something we call the "current events quiz."

Let's say Britney has you cornered in an alleyway, cellphone in hand, talking to a caterer about organizing the big day.

You say, "Britney, I'll marry you, but only if you can tell me the name of the Democratic presidential candidate seeking to defeat President Bush."

After Britney says "President Who?" you may feel in a sporting mood, and decide to offer her a multiple choice response.

"Is it a) Carrie Moss, b) John Kerry, c) Stephen King's Carrie, or d) The Carry On comedy troupe?" If she gets lucky, ask her to spell "Falluja."

5. Shout: "No pre-nup!"

If all these fail, well, we're sure you and Britney will be very happy together. And be sure to replace your smoke detector batteries every year.

21.9.04

Pardon my language, but I'm a happy camper!

"I want to have a baby."
"Excuse me?"
"I want to have a baby."
"Yeah, I heard the first time, but you're standing in front of the game."
She plopped down on the couch and threw her legs over the arm, leaning back against him, draping his arm about her shoulders like some dead animal.
"So what do you think?"
"They've got line one out, but we have last change, so we'll probably match the checking line against them."
"About the baby!"
"Oh, yeah. Sure. Knock yourself out."
She sighed, conceding defeat. So this is why the birth rate is so low - hockey before procreation. Perhaps I can ply him with food and drink? she thought. She eyed the chips all over the coffee table, floating, sogging in spilled cola. He looked well plied already.
"What are you thinking?"
"I already told you, I want a baby."
"Boy or girl?"
"Girl, of course."
He winced.
"What?"
"Nothing."
"No, tell me. What's wrong with girls?"
"Nothing, nothing at all. Girls are great for the first 9 years."
"Oh? Then what?"
"Uh... Then the estro- oh, hey, commercial's over."
She was starting to get annoyed. No, she should be fully annoyed by now. Can't fault him really, he is in the middle of a hockey game. But this is important! Clock's a tickin'. She didn't feel like a spring chicken anymore. Come to think of it, she never has.

---

"Sanderson is coming up the left wing now. Dumps it in deep. Vochenkov picks it up behind the net, centering pa-"
"I want to have a baby."
"Excuse me?" He gestured towards the television set, neck craning to see around her.
"-and the low slapper hits a leg in front-"
"I want to have a baby."
"Yeah, I heard the first time, but you're standing in front of the game."
"-puck's loose in the blue ice! Darington pounces on it for the whistle."
"So what do you think?"
"They've got line one out, but we have last change, so we'll probably match the checking line against them."
"About the baby!"
"Oh, yeah. Sure. Knock yourself out."
"Rolfsson wins the draw- there goes the whistle."
"Now, what a way to kill a scoring chance."
"Too many men on the ice."
"Sloppy line changes lead to foul ups."
"Yep, here they are, one - two - three - four - five - six, and the goalie is still in the net."
"You're watching Hockey Night in Canada on CBC."

"What are you thinking?"
"I already told you, I want a baby."
"Boy or girl?"
"Girl, of course."
He winced. Make-up - 10 o'clock curfew arguments - $300 prom dresses - boys - yikes. He remembered what it was like to be a boy. Boys are bad. Boys caused the dads of girls to worry. No thank you.
"What?"
"Nothing."
"No, tell me. What's wrong with girls?"
"Nothing, nothing at all. Girls are great for the first 9 years."
"Oh? Then what?"
"Uh... Then the estro- oh, hey, commercial's over." Phew. Note to self, honesty clearly not the best policy.
"Face off to the left of the goalie. Stevens wins the draw."
Boy, I hope she wants to try to make a baby tonight.

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