Aaaah. A moment to write. But what about?
Well...This weekend has been a gnarly bit of ups and downs: My headphones snapped in the middle of opping a show. I missed my Thursday morning 6 to 9 air-shift on CKDJ.
That last was like a Bugs-Bunny cartoon where he suddenly sits up straight in bed with a "boing!" noise and spinning spirals in his eyes. Except with me it went R-rated almost immediately.
"Faaaaack!" I screamed as soon as I saw the light of day beneath the window blinds. It was 8.30. I had overslept by four hours. I was supposed to get up at 4.15am. The alarm I had so carefully set the night before on this very laptop had gone off at the right time. The speaker jack just wasn't in at the right angle for the message to be passed to my audio system.
So I jumped into the car and sped to school where I was told that the professor knew I missed the shift. Duly he lopped off 20% of my final mark. This, I believe is, fair. It's a 'The Show Must Go On" kind of industry.
I got kicked out of a local bar the Saturday night before because of a difference of opinion with a Nazi bouncer. Nothing violent, and the place was playing country music so it could have a been a blessing in disguise.
So could the spontaneous explosion of my headphones in the middle of a show. It earned me a new pair from an empathetic father. But not before the bizarre scene of the two of us huddled, yet again, in his sawdust filled work room trying to "Super-Epoxy" the original headphones back together.
I reckon the most super thing about that particular epoxy was that that it hardened in a matter of minutes. . . Except when it was in place to secure bits of Sony plastic together. But kudos to my dad who worked at the thing like Conan turning the grain mill. Even with sardonic comments from his son:
"You know dad this, whole scene is giving me bad thoughts." I said after 45 minutes of us pinching stiffened fingers like vices around the two pieces of plastic waiting for the glue to dry (we tried speeding up the process with a hair-dryer but succeeded only in burning our fingers).
"What? Why is that?"
"I have this memory of you repairing my clarinet the same way, and the bottom half falling off in the middle of a concert."
It's true. One of the more awkward moments in my youth.
But forget all that...
Courses are going generally well. They should continue to do so as long as I don't fuck things up enough to lose all my credibility .
The restaurant work, of course, is annoying. There is only so much to say about a place that serves food to the lowest common denominator. So low, in fact, they may be buried under seven inches of hardened steel and missed the whole 15% gratuity thing we have here in Canada.
At this restaurant I work for Lebanese people that cook Italian food. This is not as bizarre as it might sound. There is a landed immigrant Chinese guy nearby that owns an Irish pub. He told me and my friend that the patio was not designed for smoking, despite it being outside and totally without walls.
Anyway, these Lebanese people speak Lebanese to each other when there is only me to talk to. Which is always because we never have any customers. Regardless, they're all nice people, just really moody. Sometimes I feel they are inexplicably frustrated with me. Other times they feed me some of the Lebanese food they secretly cook when no one is around. Which is always.
I'm still single and could probably use a shag and a warm body, but that would distract me from developing my theories. Like the one about how the Internet is tweaking the female intellect while it dulls the male's exactly the same way beer and communism did in the Czech Republic.
We had a federal election and despite much whining and mud-slinging Canadian politicians showed just what a bunch of bitches they are capable of being.
Running, was a guy with a sketchy moustache and not a hope in hell, a woman who looked like a groundhog with even less of a hope, a man who couldn't wrap his tongue around basic English words, and said things like, "We alf to waken up de canade-jun peeples wit de dvlop-ment off hour new eelec-shun.", and finally a guy who looks like he should be propped up in a shop window at a second-hand clothing store wearing a hat with ear-flaps.
The last guy --the head of the Conservative party-- won last Tuesday night. We once had a Prime Minister who couldn't operate half his face because of a stroke. This guy can't operate any of his face for reasons that remain a mystery. I assume relief will finally come to the man- and his face -when he finally has a successful bowel movement.
Two day after that some of my more retarded classmates made loud innuendos about the Medias Sales Prof having the hots for me in front of her face.. The don't know this, but if this sort of thing continues they will wake up one morning to find their kidneys floating in a jar of Listerine beside their heads.
Unwittingly they have brought lollipops to a knife fight.
I did an insane amount of push-ups last night and am starting to feel the soreness. In a couple of days I'll do an insane amount of pull-ups...the goal being muscle failure. I'm actually impressed at my commitment to this kind sado-masochism. There is something cerebral and zen about the whole thing I guess. It could also be a convenient way to do the best with excess food and a social vacuum.
Today squeaked by with my Friday evening sports broadcast in the evening. I'm finding newer and more creative ways to express myself on air; saying things like, "..while the economy plummets like fat people on a ski hill.." and, "It's civil war in the Province of Alberta tonight as Edmonton faces off against Calgary on a frozen pond." The irony doesn't escape me that I know virtually nothing about sports, and care very little. It's the process I enjoy.
I enjoy being on the air. I enjoy doing production. I enjoy the fact that our Friday Evening News Anchor got the word "incentive" correct on the third try, and she fucking nailed it.
Good for her. I owe it to myself to at least keep up to that kind of conviction, and learn, and fall flat on my face, and learn some more, and fall less.
So I guess that's what I should write about.
