On SHAMROCK

March 13^th, 2009

On SHAMROCK

Dear Marianne,

My summer of working at Disneyland is going well. I hope you are well too. I miss you and all the gang, and please say hi to everyone for me.

Today I was working in the Epcot Centre in the World Showcase. I was in the Ireland Pavillion, which is a gift shop that’s stuffed I between the United Kingdom Pavillion and the Canada Pavillion. The Celtic Rock Band, Off Kilter, often plays in front. My favourite thing to sell in the Ireland Pavillion are fake rocks shaped like shamrocks. “Sham rocks”, get it? I sell twenty of these a day, and I don’t know why. I have enclosed one in this letter.

I hope you are having fun with swimming instruction at the pool. If the kids in your class are anything like the kids that come through my gift shop, oh, man! Those are some pretty bratty kids. I hope I never have any kids, but if I do, I want twins, because then they won’t be an only child, but I’ll get everything over with in one go, you know?

We are called ‘cast members’ and are told we have to smile all day, every day, but really it’s not as bad as working at Blockbuster. At least here, we have nice weather. My friend Sherry works at Spaceship Earth, though, and they have long lines and really angry customers. She tells me a lot of stories about jerky customers.

Speaking of Sherry, she and I are really hitting it off. I hope you aren’t jealous, because before I left for Florida in June, we suspended our relationship so that if crazy things happened while we were apart, we wouldn’t feel restricted. Technically, we were only going out for May and June anyway. We are both sixteen, so there’s no point in getting tied down, like we said back in June. Anyway, Sherry and I have been on a few dates in the Orlando area and it’s been a lot of fun.

So what’s new with you? I hope things aren’t too boring back in Forest Glen. I can’t believe we’re going into senior year together. I can’t believe Michael French is going to be class president! I wonder if he’ll still have time for us nobodies.

I am learning how to play tennis from a Moroccan guy who works in the Morocco pavillion. It’s a lot harder than video games would have you believe! Part of me wishes this summer would never end, but another part of me can’t wait to get home and see you, and my family, and your family, and Sally and Michael French. Please tell anyone who asks that I am having a great time. I have to go now, because I got to go to bed for a big work shift tomorrow. When I work nights, though, I get to see fireworks!

Love

Your friend,

Chet

PS I will be coming home on Flight AC 2343 on September 3^rd if you want to come and meet me at the airport. You don’t have to, but I thought I’d give you the info just in case.

On PENGUIN

March 12th


On PENGUIN

Some Penguin facts

1) Penguin is the second largest English-language publisher in the world, after Random House. Can you imagine a Penguin living in a house that changes randomly every day? That's so Random! Call Nickelodeon!

2) "We just said we were going to publish a few books on the side at random," is what the creator of Random house said in 1927. Now the side has become the main dish.

3) Penguin started publishing books in 1935. Its specialty was paperbacks, and not having cover art.

4) Penguin is famous for publishing Lady Chatterley's Lover by D.H. Lawrence, a book which I did not enjoy.

5) One of the first books published by Penguin was A Farewell to Arms by Ernest Hemingway

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6) The Penguin (the batman villain) first appeared in 1941.

7) The Penguin owns a night club called the Iceberg Lounge. That sounds like a fun place to hang out.

8) Apparently the Penguin has business connectons with Lex Luthor!!

9) The Penguin doesn't really have any powers. This wikipedia article isn't doing a good job at making the Penguin sound interesting.

10) Burgess Meredith as the Penguin appeared in the TV show The Monkees

11) In Batman Returns, the design for the Penguin is based on the German expressionist film The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari, which I saw in film class once and did enjoy, unlike the book Lady Chatterley's Lover.

12) Politicians compared to the Penguin in comedy: Dick Cheney, FDR, John McCain, and Al Gore.

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13) The largest penguin is the Emperor Penguin, and the smallest is the Little Blue Penguin.

14) SOME PREHISTORIC PENGUINS WERE AS TALL AS HUMANS!!!!!



Now that we know some facts about Penguins, we can start incorporating them into our everyday lives.

Need a butler? Hire a penguin! No one buttles like a penguin. Starts at $60/hr.

Penguins can officiate weddings for only $500 extra! 20% discount for having your wedding in our Antarctic Resort in Bracebridge by Santa's Village.

If you hire 3 or more penguins, 30% discount.

Penguin-sized tuxedo cost an extra $50 per.

Get your child to teach a Penguin to sing for only $700 for 10 sessions at our exclusive Antarctic resort, in Bracebridge, the premier town in Ontario for polar-themed resorts.

"If a penguin could fly,

would it die, would it die,

if a penguin could fly,

it would die...."

That's one verse from the song "Penguins" the hit album Moping About Penguins by Y.A. Yittle.

Other song titles:

"Penguins or Penguns?"

"I loved a penguin once, it died"

What if we all had guns that were pens? International Espionage experts, take note. No, not that pen! BOOM!

The penguins always win in the end. The penguins always win.

Penguin ninjas are more common than you might think.

Could you imagine eating penguins? Ugh, gross.

I wish those giant penguins from prehistory were still around, working in general stores and driving horses and buggies. That would teach the youth of today to respect their elders and keep their dicks in their pants.

On MONGOLIA

March 11, 2009

On MONGOLIA

Mr. Garrow jumped off his horse and wiped the sweat off his brow. He felt exhilarated. He had just ridden for thirty minutes over the steppes of Mongolia. He looked out over the hills and felt they were too beautiful for his brain to really comprehend. The green, lush, valley, with a lazily winding river, that led up to the far off peaks that looked like folds in a giant rug. This is where he felt at home, he thought. No, that’s stupid. I don’t live here. This is where Mongolians feel at home.
He looked over at his beautiful, brilliant, wife, whose idea it was to honeymoon in Mongolia. She was tall and thin with long dark, hair an impish, lopsided grin. She was Vietnamese, and they had met as undergraduates at Queen’s University.
“I love you!” he yelled through the wind.
“I love you too!” she yelled back. He couldn’t hear her voice, but he could see what she was saying.
The only thing that Mr. Garrow wished was different right now was that he wished the whole thing had been his idea. Everything they had done since he and Vivian met had been her idea. And the fact was, that was the right course of action, because Vivian was always right when it came to what life-changing experience they would do next. She had shown Mr. Garrow that there was more to life than his limited imagination could conceive. He just wished that he could bring something to the table.
The couple led their horses down the hill towards the yurts where they were staying.
“I got some news I want to share with you,” said Vivian after the wind started to die down.
“Sure, what?” he said.
“I found out just before we left that I’ve been offered a job at McMaster University,” she revealed.
Mr. Garrow immediately smiled. “That’s great!” he said.
“Yeah?” she said, “Do you think I should take it?”
“Of course,” he replied.
“We’d have to move to Hamilton,” she said, “Is that okay with you?”
They were speaking in raised voices because of the wind.
“I can find a job,” he said, and he smiled again reassuringly. Inside, his heart sank a little. He wasn’t that attached to Kingston, where he was now. It was true, he would be able to find a job, he thought. He had finished teacher’s college and already got a couple of years’ experience at a school near Peterborough. He had no plan for the future, but he felt like he was passing up an opportunity he had never considered. He didn’t know what he was supposed to do, but it wasn’t teaching high school in Hamilton, Ontario.
They tied their horses up and went into the yurt and made love for the second time that day.
“Sounds like you’re in the wrong line of work, Garrow” said Mr. Koslowski. Mr. Koslowski, Ms. Rattigan and Mr. Hendrickson were staring at him as he gripped his mug and held his hand on his hip. He had forgotten what he was talking about. Oh yeah, he had said that the students were filling time before getting on with their lives, and said no one likes French.
“Why don’t you quit you job before you ruin your students’ lives with your attitude?” suggested Ms. Rattigan.
“You know what?” said Mr. Garrow, “You’re right. Maybe I will quit. Because ever since I became a teacher, all I’ve learned is that teachers, who I thought were so smart when I was a kid, have turned out to be dumb, lazy assholes, just like everyobody else. I’ve lost all respect for teachers ever since I learned how easy it is to be one.”
Mr. Garrow put his cup down, and left the room. He thought he would feel better, but he didn’t.

On MASQUERADE

March 10, 2009

On MASQUERADE

A History of Masquerades

By R. F. W. Achemedron

Masquerades have long been a way of having parties with the added excitement of hidden identities. If you would like to buy a mask, please call this number: 1-800-MASQRAD. We will sell you a green mask or a red mask.

Egypt

The first masquerade party happened when Pharoah Ptolemy IV was on his way to a sun-worshipping ritual and tripped and fell into a puddle of mud, which obscured his face. He refused to let any of his retainers touch him, and as a consequence arrived at the ritual and no one knew who he was because of his mask (“masque”). Everyone was relieved the pharoah wasn’t there, and started to party. The masqued pharoah joined in, drinks were served, and the pharoah was poisoned and died later that week.

Medieval France

Medieval France was dominated by the feudal system, which meant that the king had first access to any new masks to wear at masques. His old masks would then be handed down to nobles, and their masks would be given to knights, who would bequeath their masks to villeins (or “sans-culottes”), who would give theirs to peasants, who would wear them at “peasant masques”, which were another name for tilling the fields. The advantage of tilling the fields anonymously was that a farmer could till his fields over lunch to get an extra advantage over lazier farmers, without those farmers making catcalls at him. Those lazier farmers would, inevitably, sleep with the hardworking farmer’s wives over lunch.

18th century Vienna

From the years 1754-1760 in Austria, Emperor Joseph II ordered everyone in Vienna to wear a full-body mask. His intention was to eliminate social stratification, but this backfired as the rich were able to buy much more elaborate and jewel-encrusted masks than the poor. These were very cumbersome, being ten times the size of a standard mask, and provided much needed economic support to the city’s mask industry and the back pain industry. The rule was rescinded in 1760 when it was discovered that Joseph II had been murdered in his bath early in 1755 and been replaced by a man in a mask.

20th Century West End London

There is a song in the musical “Phantom of the Opera” called masquerade, and its right at the top of the second half. It has a bunch of people in masks at a masque on a staircase, and they all sang “Masqueraaaaaade! Lalalalalalalalalalalala!” It was one of the best parts, along with when the chandelier falls.

Present Day

Presently, masquerades lack the danger and social inversion of historical masquerades. They are primarily used as Charity Balls organized by the Social Committee in wealthy high schools and universities.

The Future of Masquerades

In the future, experts anticipate that entire planets will be host to “megamasquerades” parties that last for centuries or more, featuring bacchalias in which even nerdy historians will have sexual relations with beautiful ladies, because everyone will be wearing masks.

On ANGKOR WAT

March 9th, 2009

Today’s game ended in failure, and I drew a sad face on my hangman.

On ANGKOR WAT

“David Davis,” said David Davis to his Busy Bee Time Travel machine.
“NAME REGISTERED” flashed on the display. The lucky thing for David Davis was, this time machine was about as easy to use as an average photocopier. This meant that things easily and frequently went horribly wrong, but at the same time, he could figure things out eventually. As long as it never shut down entirely, which hadn’t happened yet. Come to think of it, it was a lot easier to use than a photocopier, because it didn’t break. It was about the size and shape of a photocopier though. That was what had inspired the comparison in his mind. He shouted “1150” into what he had discovered was the microphone part, and there was a swirling flash, and they travelled in time.
Reggie looked at him in awe. “You did it again, you crazy bastard!” he said, drawing the attention of the Cambodians around him, who were finishing construction on Angkor Wat. Reggie laughed loudly and slapped David on the back.
“Well, I am very qualified,” David lied. He was not at all qualified, and was pretending to be another David Davis of the same name, who had either invented or knew a lot about time travel. Whoever had pioneered time travel, (secretly, because David was pretty sure he would have remembered if someone had invented time travel. It would have been front page news! Of course, David didn’t read the paper, so maybe it had passed him by), he had made it very easy to use this time travel machine, so easy that the fake David Davis had been able to scam his way through what would otherwise be a very embarrassing situation.
After a brief and confusing interview in a sushi restaurant, David had boarded a plane to China, travelled back in time, and with the help of Reggie (annoying), Gus (gruff), Angela (very pretty) and two scholars of ancient China from Bei Jing, they had travelled back in time, after some false starts, to when the Great Wall of China was being built and gathered some information about how the whole thing came about. They interviewed dozens of people, with the aid of their Ancient Chinese translators, from labourers to the emperor of China in 1456.
As far as David could tell, Busy Bee Enterprises was in the business of historical inquiry. But he suspected, based purely on his poor regard of human nature, that there was something else afoot. No movie or TV show that David had ever seen depicted time travel being used for strictly academic purposes, and although TV and movies were not always right about everything, David felt confident that TV and movies was right about time travel and the nefarious purposes it would inevitably be put towards. So David was on his guard for things to go horribly wrong. Especially with that shifty Gus. Gus wore a lot of camouflage, and that sort of wardrobe always made David suspicious. Gus also always had a 5 o’clock shadow, which David could not grow. David hadn’t figured out what Gus’s job was yet.
David was also suspicious of Angela, because she complimented him way more than he deserved. Angela was stunningly beautiful, short with short curly brown hair and huge eyes and big pouty pink lips. Angela was the prime historian on the expedition, and seemed to be in charge on that side of things. Reggie was in charge of the business side of things, keeping everyone on schedule, etc. David trusted Reggie, even though he didn’t like him, because Reggie said every thought he had ever had out loud.
They had two new Cambodian scholars from Phnom Penh, who were very professional, and David felt bad that he hadn’t really got to know them yet. Mostly David tried to stay out of the way while everyone else did their jobs, and when he was called upon, he yelled a year into the machine and there they went. And that’s how they had got to Angkor Wat in 1150, right before the death of King Survayarman II.

On BEND IT LIKE BECKHAM

March 7th
On BEND IT LIKE BECKHAM

My most persistent memory of the film Bend it Like Beckham is of the main character sitting in her bedroom staring at posters of her idol, David Beckham. David Beckham I mostly remember for kicking that Argentinian in World Cup 1998 or 2002.
It did make me think of childhood heroes. I asked Krista what her childhood heroes were, and she said Lucy Maud Montgomery and Gordon Korman, who was a published author as a teenage boy. I never knew that Krista wanted to be a writer when she was a kid.
My posters as a child were of Kelly Gruber and Felix Potvin, my sports heroes. Now I have a mini hall of fame on the top of my desk with figurines of Joe Carter, Alex Rios and Jose Reyes (which I got free with a video game) also on this shelf is a baseball I got at batting practice before a Jays-Rays tilt last year. A Rays pitcher, whom I am pretty sure was “Big Game” James Shields, threw the ball up to me. The first time I bobbled it back down onto the field, and Shields dutifully tossed it back up to me. My sister-in-law, Tracey, stopped me from bobbling it again. Tracey and her boyfriend Lorne signed the ball, crossed out the stamp that said “practice” and wrote “game-winning ball” overtop. I also have my 2008 Toronto Star Jays Season Pass, my tickets from the Yankees game we went to in Yankee stadium last year, and baseball cards Krista made of Krista and I.
Also on my wall I have old show posters:
- Waiting for Godot, my first big show as an actor in high school, the start of my Beckettesque playwrighting style, and watershed in my high school life. On the poster is a murky black tree, and crumple lines because the copy of the poster my mom plaqued was in my locker for several weeks. It only ran for three performances, which seems crazy compared to the amount of work we put into it. If only I would put that much work into something now.
- Zastrozzi, my first big show in University that I auditioned for and starred in in my first few months at McMaster. Also a big deal. Central to the poster is a stylized Z. I played Verezzi, a mad artist.
- DOGS! The Musical!!, the first time we had a hit show at the Toronto Fringe Festival. The poster stars Zack, the MacIsaac’s family dog, with tie and briefcase in an elevator. In this one I played Mr. Tinklesberry, a Golden Retriever.
- A 3-D picture of the last supper, pilfered from the MacIsaac’s basement for use in the short film Finding Ferdinand. Given to the MacIsaacs by Grandma Fraser, who is on the religious side.
- a pinnie-sticker from the time I auditioned for Second City’s Next Comedy Legend, when I got to the second round. My numbert was 7084.
- Various photos taken by Tracey.
- a metal Queen of Spades card we won for coming second in the London Fringe Festival Poetry Slam while doing the show Science Fair!
- a painting of a Geisha my sister Sandra painted a long time ago.
- degrees! 2 from McMaster, 1 from Humber
- a photo of Winston Churchill, framed.
- 2 postcards of paintings by Whistler
- 2 postcards of paintings by Audrey Jolly. I forget who that is.
- a poster of e-dentity, a big show Krista assisstant directed.
- a flyer from Babies in Danger, the last Players Players show to date (Players Players being the group behind DOGS! The Musical!! And Science Fair!)
- a map of Krista’s Journey Across America
- postcards of an Ancient Swdish Map of the World, depicting trolls, dragons, sea monsters, the devil, etc.
- a poster of coquettes twirling umbrellas. Not mine.

On MECHANICAL BULL

March 6th
On MECHANICAL BULL

Once upon a time there was a tiny village in Bavaria. In this village there lived the largest woman in the world and the smallest man in the world, who were due to be wed in a hilltop wedding on a summer’s day. Everyone in the village, whose population was 300, was invited to the wedding, and they had all made fine suits and dresses for the occasion in traditional Bavarian style.
When the day of the wedding came, the largest woman in the world, whose nam was Petunia, started walking down the aisle, with all the men and women and children of the village looking back at her from their out-of-doors chairs that had been arranged on the hilltop. The world’s smallest man, whose name was Gerald, was smoking a cigarette happily and remarking to the priest on how beautiful his bride was as she strode thundrously down the makeshift aisle.
All of a sudden, a mechanical roar was heard and people started to flee in terror. A 20-foot-tall mechanical bull, made of chrome steel with copper eyes, golden horns and bronze haunches, hurled itself into the wedding area, tossing people this way and that. It finally hoisted Petunia up; delivering her neatly into a compartment that opened up in its back, and ran off into the dark woods.
Gerald immediately ran after her and the bull, still wearing his best suit. And smoking a cigarette, so short that it threatened to set aflame his neatly trimmed moustache. The woods were very frightening to such a tiny man, but he was able to evade any passing dinosaurs by hiding under a bushel. Soon he came upon a gluten-free gingerbread house, where a witch lived.
The witch walked out of the front door of the house.
“Ahhh, Gerard, my sweet!” she cackled, “Come to fetch your fetching wife, I see?”
“You are the one who stole my wife with your mechanical bull?” said Gerard in a German accent.
“Yes,” wailed the witch, “I got a blacksmith/mechanic to make it for me when I kidnapped his wife!”
“Did you give him his wife back when he made it for you?” asked Gerard.
“Yes of course. I always keep my word,” replied the witch, “And have I got a deal for you. All you have to do to get your wife back is these three tasks: fetch for me the oldest bottle of wine in the world, the tastiest pizza in the world, but make sure it is gluten free, and also kill the world’s smartest dog!”
Gerard narrowed his eyes thoughfully. “I will do as you request,” he said.
“Good!” said the witch wartily, “I’ll wait here in my front yard until you return.
Gerard walked down the path through the woods, and then cut through the woods in a circular pattern so that he approached the gluten-free gingerbread house from the other side. He didn’t mind fetching the wine and pizza, but killing dogs was beyond the pale as far as he was concerned. Furthermore, if it was the smartest dog in the world, it might be on the brink of curing cancer or something, and he didn’t want that on his conscience.
So he snuck in through a gumdrop window on the back side of the house. True to her word, the witch was patiently waiting in her front yard. The mechanical bull was fast asleep in the centre of the cottage, and Gerard could hear his wife weeping inside of it. Gerard looked around the cottage, and found a rope, an oil can, several boxes of unopened Mentos, a gun, a wrench, a photo album, a jar of ooze, a hieroglyphics-to-German dictionary, a half-eaten gluten-free sandwich, eighteen jars of tomato paste, a old VHS copy of Eraser with Arnold Schwartzenegger, and a swastika armband. He took the wrench and loosened all of the nuts on the mechanical bull. Some of them he had to climb pretty high on the bull to loosen, but he was a good climber.
When he was done that, he pulled a bullhorn out of his pocket that he had brought to the wedding just in case, and sounded a mighty noise. The mechanical bull awoke with a start.
“I have three questions-“ the mechanical bull started to say before completely falling apart, allowing Petunia to escape. Gerard clambered up on Petunia’s back and Petunia walked right through the back wall of the gluten-free gingerbread house. They ran all the way back home to the village, and were married for good the very next day. They were married for 70 years, and to this day that witch is still in her front yard waiting for the return of Gerard, as good as her word.

On ROCKET SCIENTIST

March 5th

On ROCKET SCIENTIST

“What are you, some kind of fucking rocket scientist?”
Peter jerked his head up suddenly. “What?”
“What are you trying to do here?” asked John Fromme, the employee who had been assigned to teach him his job.
Peter looked up at the computer screen, bright white and blue. He had forgotten where he was for a moment. The memory of what he was trying to do squeezed past the headache that was lodged in his brain. He was…. helping… John… email. Even though John was teaching him how to do the job, Peter was helping him figure out his email.
“Oh I get it,” said John, eyes lighting up in recognition. Peter had fixed his problem without even thinking about it. Peter had just started to use John’s email naturally, like he would have his own email, and whatever John was too dumb to figure out had become apparent.
“No problem,” said Peter, before John could say thank you. Peter had been doing this job for three days, and he still had no idea what the purpose of this department was. It was called “lending”, and he knew how to make the numbers all work so that the people he called upstairs when he was done were happy, but he didn’t understand what it meant. Peter wondered how weird it would look if he went to the bathroom again. He had gone twenty minutes ago, and been chugging on his water bottle ever since.
“Thanks!” said John, “You’re a real tech wiz!”
Peter wasn’t a tech wiz. He was just surrounded by morons.
Just then Steve, their boss, stopped by. Steve was having a hard time figuring out what to do with Peter. Steve didn’t need anyone extra, but this boss’s kid or whoever he was had to go somewhere. He had rotated him, shadowing him with all the employees that weren’t sociopaths. After today, he was going to have to repeat shadow a job, or sit with Tim, who did his job well, but didn’t relate well with others.
“So, how are you two getting along?” asked Steve.
“Good,” said Peter.
“Good,” said John Fromme.
Suddenly Steve saw the entire next year, maybe two, of having this bright but uninspired kid lugging himself around the office, excusing himself to go to the bathroom every twenty minutes, fixing everyone’s email, playing video games and taking naps at his cubicle. Steve wondered why he was doing the job that he was, an acceptable job. Poor choice.
John Fromme was excited, because now he could use his email to email that girl he met last night at that meeting for timeshares! Who knows, a few dates, maybe they could get their own timeshare together!
“YOU’RE DOING A FANTASTIC JOB!” yelled John. Half the people in the office turned around and looked at John for a minute, and then turned back. Whoops, too loud. Another slipup like that and everyone would figure out that John was a total weirdo, who only liked girls with red hair! He felt so guilty! So many hours logged on red head websites! He didn’t want anyone to know!
“Whoa! Sounds like you’re fitting in well here, Pete,” said Steve.
“Sorry, I’m just really glad to have email back,” said John.

On GAS STATION

March 4th

On GAS STATION

(or, as it’s known in the United Kingdom, a ‘filling station’)

A man driving a silver Cadillac was driving down a highway outside St. Louis, Missouri when he spotted a sign for a gas station. He was wearing aviator sunglasses and had a Burt Reynolds mustache. He was wearing a brown suit, orange business shit and a tie with a modern design. He had a huge cigar in his mouth, and the open window was allowing the breeze to flap through his shock of white hair. He had a ruddy complexion.
He pulled into the gas station, which had only two pumps. The pumps were located under a large white structure made of aluminum alloy, and had a swooping aspect to it that made it appear like a space saddle. The name of the gas station was ‘75’ and it was obviously an attempt to cash in on the popularity of the gas station ‘76’. The number ‘75’ was printed in blue on an orange sphere, which was on top of a pole 60 feet high so as to be seen from the highway.
The man in the cadillac drove up beside the first pump, and a youth in grey coveralls hopped up from the stool he was sitting on, reading a newspaper, and hurried over to the car. The man hadn’t realized it was a full-serve station. He didn’t see many of those anymore.
“Fill ‘er up, mister?” asked the youth. It was a tall youth, with a hunched over posture, short, spiky blond hair, a pale complexion with an array of pimples, and puffy, formless red lips.
“Yeah, I guess,” frowned the man. He put his cigar into the car’s ashtray. He watched the youth as he went about opening the gas tank on the cadillac, inserting the nozzle, and started pumping the gas. The man in the sunglasses leaned out the driver’s seat window.
“Hey, are you new at this job?” he asked.
“Just started today,” replied the gas jockey.
“You’re pretty good at it,” complimented the man.
“Thank you, sir,” replied the youth graciously, “I try my best.”
“Well, that’s all anyone can ask, ain’t it?” said the man, and smiled, showing a silver tooth. “Hey, you wanna know a secret?”
The youth’s face revealed hesitation and mistrust. “I guess so,” he said. There was a deep click, and the nozzle stopped releasing gas. The youth put the nozzle back on the side of the pump, where it rested like the arm of a short waitress.
“Come here,” said the mysterious man.
The youth looked back at the station office, but no co-worker was there to help him if this turned into something weird. Against his better judgment, the youth walked up to the driver’s side window, and leaned against the other pump.
“What is it?” he asked.
“Right down here,” clarified the man, motioning with his hand that he wanted to whisper in the youth’s ear.
The youth leaned down, pale pink ear right by the man’s tobacco-stained lips.
“This station,” said the man in a hissing whisper, “this station is more than these two pumps, this overhang, and that office. This station has a whole tank filled with gas underneath here, big as a fucking submarine. And that gas is just ready and waiting for someone to light a match and then – boom! – Arrivaderchi, amigo. You gone.”
The youth lifted his head back up and tried to take in what the man had said. None of the facts he had spoken were news to him, but the way he put it together scared the bejesus out if him. After a minute of looking around for miscreants who might be coming by with a lit match, he turned back to where the car was, only to find the man had driven off, without paying. What a tool.

On UMA THURMAN

March 3rd
On UMA THURMAN

An Exclusive Celebrity Interview with Uma Thurman

By John T. Nohands

JTN: Hello, we’re here with famous actress Uma Thurman. Uma, it is clear, looking at your body of work, that three films stand out as masterpieces: Liasons Dangereuse (Dangerous Liasons), Pulp Fiction, and the Truth About Cats and Dogs.
UT: And Kill Bill.
JTN: I guess. What was it like, working with Janeane Garafolo?
UT: You think those were my greatest films?
JTN: You think maybe not Pulp Fiction?
UT: I think maybe not the Truth About Cats and Dogs.
JTN: What is the truth about cats and dogs?
UT: I don’t remember.
JTN: Let’s move on to another topic. When I was in high school, my friend Jonathan Corbin used to do a hilarious impression of you eatig a hamburger. Could you maybe eat a hamburger right now?
UT: I’m a vegetarian.
JTN: Hmmm. So you would never do this (swings his arms manically from side to side, desperately trying to bite a mime hamburger that he has in one of his hands.)
UT: Maybe with a veggie burger. I do have good control over my arms though.
JTN: You should be a model or something. You’re pretty.
UT: I am a model.
JTN: Slumdog or Milk?
UT: Both good films.
JTN: Copout.
UT: Did you have any questions about Quentin Tarnatino or anything?
JTN: Ah, what am I doing with my life?
UT: Are you okay?
JTN: I just had those two questions, the one about the three films and the one about my friend’s impression of you. The rest I made up just now.
UT: Well, those were good questions.
JTN: Not really. Thank you for saying so. I’m a terrible interviewer. I’m sorry you have to be here for this.
UT: It’s okay, it’s okay, we all go through moments like this.
JTN: I’m pretty sure my wife is cheating on me.
UT: You think so? Why?
JTN: She’s sleeping with some guy.
UT: That sounds like she definitely is then. How long have you been married?
JTN: Three years. Best years of my life.
UT: Why would she cheat on you?
JTN, Ah, my dick don’t work.
UT: What if I showed you one of my breasts?
JTN: Maybe. (awkward pause) Are you going to show me one of your breasts now?
UT: No. That was a hypothetical question.
JTN: Aaaaaauuuuuuuuuuuugggggh! What else can go wrong?
UT: I feel like this interview isn’t going well. Here’s some other questions people usually ask me: “What was it like growing up with such a weird name?”
JTN: (mumbling) What was it like growing up with a stupid name.
UT: What did you say?
JTN: I SAID WHAT WAS IT LIKE GROWING UP WITH NO HANDS?
UT: I did have hands. Still do.
JTN: Oh yeah. Nohands is my last name. Talk about weird names! Are we bonding right now over having weird names?
UT: If it would make you feel better to think so.
JTN: Even though I know you are being patronizing towards me right now, I appreciate the effort you’ve made to help me get my life back together.
UT: Good. I’m glad we had this talk. Now go divorce your wife. It’s better if you don’t let these things drag out.
JTN: Thant’s good advice.

On SYDNEY

March 2nd

On SYDNEY

The camera pans down from space, downwards and to the right, for several seconds, towards the earth. On the earth is a large island, haphazardly shaped, and on the very Southeastern part of this island, which is more the size of a continent, are a mass of very bright lights. As we get closer and closer ever closer to our destiniation, we can see that we are in the centre of a sprawling city, and there is movement everywhere, rhythmic and sinuous. It is people, out on the streets, dancing, wearing fluorescet tube tops and acid wash jeans. Today is Party day, the day after Party Prep day, the day before Clean Up day, and the whole world is united as one. People are dressed in Crocadile Dundee hats and drinking Koala brand drinks.
This is Sydney, Australia, and the year is 2045. It is the eighties future.
-
A gent wearing a Duran Duran style suit jacket over a bright blue t-shirt with garish sunglasses (even though it is night!) approaches a lady. The lady’s jeans are pulled up very high, the tails of her blouse are tied into a knot, and her hair is crimped and pulled into a pony tail. They sing in unison, in synthesized voices:
“How are you?
How are you today?
Do you want to go see a movie?
Maybe one with Michael J. Foxoxoxoxoxoxox?”
The end of their conversation reverbs into the night and off the leotards and bangles of those dancing around them.
“Aren’t you gladadadadadad?
We live in the eighties future?”
They ask each other.
-
In 1993, a man named Kyle Turnblow realized that things were changing, that the fashions and the ideals and fads of the eighties were almost gone. So he did something about it: he travelled back in time to 1988, and constructed a machine that meant time went on but fashion stayed the same. Ronald Reagan lived forever, Saved by the Bell was always on and the Cold War was always on the brink of dying. It was the eighties future.
-
Turns out that man in the jacket and shirt and sunglasses was Kyle, and the girl’s name was Stephanie, and they were the king and queen of the world. They did cocaine for fun, because its addictive properties had been eliminated by science. They looked up through their skyroof as they made love, and saw Ronald Reagan floating by in a spacesuit, giving them the thumbs up.
Kyle had no regrets, the world was everything he wanted it to be. The environment was saved, apartheid was basically over, and he had saved the whales himself. Kyle had the gift of not changing, he stayed true to himself and that meant he didn’t care that he’d been listening to Milli Vanilli for sixty years, it was umpteen times better than finding out the awful truth. After Kyle was finished making love to his queen, he floated up, naked, through his skyroof and into the sky. He exploded into a million pixels, and lodged himself within every man, woman and child on earth.
And then, the earth smiled, and drank a Coke.

On CHICKEN NOODLE SOUP

February 28th
On CHICKEN NOODLE SOUP

Chicken Noodle Soup – Nickelodeon, 7am, Saturdays

Chicken Noodle Soup follows the madcap, wacky adventures of Chicken, an appropriately named six foot tall chicken, and Noodle, his rodent companion.

April 4th Episode 2X04

In this episode, Chicken learns to use the letter S while building a soapbox derby racing car with Noodle, who is disqualified from the race for being a rat. Chicken goes on to win the competition by himself, an attempt to erase all evidence that Noodle existed, trying to claim credit for himself for all posterity.

April 11th Episode 2X05

In this episode, Noodle haunts Chicken’s dreams in return for betraying him in last week’s soapbox derby adventure. No matter how many times Chicken kills Noodle with a shotgun in his dream, Noodle keeps coming back night after night. Finally, one day, Chicken wakes up to find he’s eaten his pillow, and his cat Tabitha is a bloody mess in the kitchen, run through with shot. Also, Chicken learns about the letter L.

April 18th Episode 2X06

Chicken travels to Noodle’s hometown, Ratsburg, in attempt to reconnect with his old buddy and learn about the letter R and the number 1666.

April 25th Episode 2X07

Chicken is bedridden with the bubonic plague. He has feverish dreams where Noodle, Tabitha and the letter Q visit him and torment him with guilt.
May 2nd Episode 2X08

Noodle re-emerges from hiding in shame to find a post-apocolyptic wasteland where everyone except the rats and cockroaches has passed away as a result of the bubonic plague combined with smallpox. He discovers that he has the ability to see ghosts when he encounters Chicken, but cannot stab him. Also, the letter Z has enslaved the people of earth.

May 9th Episode 2X09

12,000 years in the future the ghosts of Chicken and Noodle, having reconciled their differences, observe a society of half-rat half-cockroach people, who, on the service, seem happy serving their letter-of-the-alphabet overlords. But are they?

May 16th Episode 2X10

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May 23rd Episode 2X11

After a fifteen year period where the letters of the alphabet are destroyed, the rat-cockroach revolution reaches its Thermidorian period. Letters are reintroduced into society on a temporary basis. Meanwhile, Chicken and Noodle make another soapbox derby racer.


May 30th Episode 2X12

Chicken wakes up and discovers it was all a dream! Noodle wakes up and realizes that Chicken is dreaming when he dreamed that it was all a dream, and wakes Chicken up. They continue to live as ghosts in a post-apocalyptic future.

June 6th Episode 2X13

In an episode-long homage to Dante’s Divine Comedy, Chicken and Noodle are led by the ghost of Grover from Sesame Street through Hell, Purgatory and finally into heaven, where they meet God.

June 13th Episode 2X14

God sends Chicken and Noodle to destroy the Wicked Witch of the West.

June 20th Episode 2X15

In a two-hour season finale, Chicken and Noodle are suspended in a bizarre world between worlds where they can only communicate to each other through blinking. After many silly attempts to communicate, they finally settle on a blink-language of their own invention, and discover the true meaning of friendship.

On NEW ZEALAND

February 27th
On NEW ZEALAND
For a while after Lord of the Rings, New Zealand was the faddish place to go to discover one’s self, kind of like Machu Picchu is now. My roommate Jordan (a girl) went to New Zealand and sent me back a postcard with hundreds of sheep on it, and a joke that I think was along the lines of ‘we outnumber the humans 4 to 1!” My memory is hazy. She had a great time though.
My parents went to Machu Picchu last year, and now their house is Inca-themed (except for my bedroom, which is still African, and the children’s bathroom, which is Japanese. My parent’s house is like the Epcot Centre.) I have no inclination to go, as my travel ambitions these days are limited to Major League Ball Parks. Although I’d like to take Krista to Greece someday.

-

I used to go and watch the Lord of the Rings movies with my sisters the weekend they came out, in the early aughts. I was impressed more and more as the series went on at Peter Jackson’s ability to tell a story on so grand a scale. I eventually got the entire thing on DVD and watched all of the special features while I was living on Crawford Avenue, and working at the bank. Every day before work, I would watch a short documentary on makeup, or foley sound, or CGI, and every documentary had at least one ‘Wow!” moment. There were a lot of special features.

-

My favourite show on TV right now is Flight of the Conchords, and that’s true of everyone else in my demographic as well, apparently. When I heard they were playing Massey Hall this April, I tried to get tickets, and I almost got one online, but I gave it up because I wanted to try and get three tickets for Matt, Taralyn and I. Luckily, I work for Massey Hall anyway, so I’ll still be able to enjoy the show with only a mild risk of having to usher people. Krista will be seeing them in Vancouver, where she will be on her tour of different Arbys across America. We paid for that with our Stub Hub gift certificates. Stub Hub is a ticket resale website, where you can get hot tickets for only several times the price. We had received the gift certificates from my in-laws at our wedding shower.
I had severely underestimated the popularity of the Conchords. I thought that I was the only one who knew of thir brilliance, but when I went to work, everyone was talking about them and reserving choice ushering spots for their shows. Matt, my comedy partner, and I have written a spec script of Flight of the Conchords, and it is quite funny. Ask me to show it to you some time.
-
In conclusion, New Zealand is

a) a place I’ve never been, and possibly never will
b) where they filmed Lord of the Rings, a series of films I have enjoyed
c) was briefly a very popular tourist destination
d) where my favourites, the Flight of the Conchords are from
e) superior to Old Zealand, which may or may not be in the Netherlands

On SNOWFLAKE

February 26th

On SNOWFLAKE
Whenever I think of my childhood, I feel sad. I didn’t have bad parents or live in a harsh environment – quite the opposite. We had everything we needed, but weren’t too spoiled. Some of the time I had few friends, and that made me sad, bitter and alone, especially in grade six and grade eight. When I think of me as a kid, though, I think of unfulfilled potential and feel ashamed.
When I was very young, my parents took me skating at the skating rink at Mississauga City Hall. Mississauga doesn’t have a real downtown, being a collection of suburban developments clustered around villages, like Port Credit, Clarkson, or Streetsville. City Hall is right beside Square One, the biggest mall in Mississauga and the biggest in Ontario. When it was built in the early 70s, before Mississauga existed, it was the second shopping centre in Canada, and it was surrounded by farmers fields. Then they formed Mississauga in 1974, and put City Hall, the Central Library and the Living Arts Centre next to the mall, Mississauga’s raison d’etre.
I didn’t last long skating. It was hard, and I wasn’t getting anywhere fast. Instead I went and played in the nearby snowbanks, imagining them to be castles that I ruled by tromping around the parapets in my boots, making tunnels
My mother later related this story as the reason se never enrolled me in hockey. When I was 13, I was struck with Maple Leafs fever and an idolization of Felix Potvin. I decided one day to make a last ditch attempt at becoming a hockey player, a goalie specifically. My mom suggested I start by taking skating lessons. I bought a Cooper hockey helmet, which I thought looked atrocious on me (I don’t know why, it was a normal hockey helmet). A lot of the other kids in the beginner’s skating class I took at the local arena didn’t speak English, and wore bicycle helmets. I was never completely satisfied with how tight my skates were, and my feet hurt a lot when I skated. I think I stuck it out for the whole class, but then I hung up my helmet. It was too scary, and all my hockey-playing friends were years and years ahead of me. I was never going to win the Stanley Cup, and play goal for the Leafs.
If I had consistently played and just wasn’t good enough, or had no interest at all in the sport, I would have felt better about it. It was just that I barely tried, and turned back at the first sign of adversity, that makes me sad. It makes me doubt (not all the time, but sometimes) whether I have what it takes to stick it out and follow my dreams.
I conclusion, I grew up in an extremely suburban setting, with suburban Canadian dreams, which I barely pursued. Another interpretation of the story, though, is that my real destiny is making snow castles, and that my mom was right to think I wasn’t a hockey player. That in a cookie cutter world, I, Dave, was a completely individual individual, who danced to the beat of a different drummer, and was my own unique snowflake. That’s why I am a comedian now, an outsider, laughing at the world, and using my pain for good. It’s open to interpretation.

On BIG BIRD

February 25th
On BIG BIRD

Chet, Michael French, Marianne and Sally were eating their lunch together in the cafeteria. They were nostalgizing.
“Remember how everyone used to watch Sesame Street, but no one wanted to admit it to their friends?” Michael French laughed, “That was how we made fun of people, by saying they watched Sesame Street.”
“What was with Big Bird?” said Chet, who then turned serious. “You guys, do you think Snuffleupagus was real or not?” the whole table burst out laughing.
“I had a thousand barbies!” yelled Sally.
“And remember Hot Looks!” squealed Marianne.
And so on. In any situation with a passel of youths, Chet had discovered, the most surefire topic of conversation was always the Toys and TV shows of the past. Chet had cleverly steered the conversation this way by mentioning Tranformers. The reason that the conversation needed steering was because Marianne was about to bring up the fact that Chet and Sue Cantor were Dating. Chet didn’t want to talk about that because a) Chet was worried Marianne would be mad at him, even though she had no right to be because Marianne and Chet weren’t going out, and b) Chet was terrified of Sue Cantor and wasn’t sure how he felt about the situation. He had been avoiding Sue for days. Sue Cantor was new to the school, super tall, and had huge boobs. She had selected Chet within a week of transferring as her new boyfriend, and Chet was too flattered and scared to say no. It was only a matter of time before Sue realized Chet was a nerd, and dumped him. In the meantime, they had gone on no dates, and hung around awkwardly by the portables once. Sue had also made friends with Marisa, an obnoxious girl who had the aura of being from a broken home.
“I was so pissed when Ninja Turtles took the place of Transformers,” declared Chet, “I was like, but they don’t transform!”
“Totally,” Michael French said.
Chet suddenly wished that this moment would last forever. Here he was, three good friends, talking and laughing. They weren’t the most popular kids in school, Michael French especially, but they had carved out their own niche and no one really bothered them. Who knew where the future lay? In another couple years, they would graduate, go to university, and maybe never see each other again.
“Hey guys,” Chet said, suddenly solemn, “Let’s make sure we stay friends forever. No matter what happens, let’s always stay in touch.”
“Yeah!” said Sally.
“Deal!” said Marianne.
All four of them but their hands into the centre of the table, and did a spontaneous weird four-way handshake.
“Team forever!” said Michael French, a bit too loudly.
“Hey Team Forever,” said Sue Cantor, who had appeared out of nowhere, “I gotta talk with Captain Chet here.” Sue had an unnaturally deep voice.
“Hi Team Forever!” chirped Marisa, laying on the sarcasm thickly.
“Whatever you have to say, you can say it in front of my friends,” said Chet in a high pitched voice.
“Okay, fine. I’m dumping you,” said Sue.
“You can’t dump him in front of everyone like that!” Marianne said, coming to Chet’s defense.
“Whatever, shut up, you can have him all to yourself now anyway everyone knows you like him,” Marisa said. This was turning into a debacle.
“Remember Thundercats?” said Chet weakly, at the same time that Marianne said, “You don’t know what you’re talking about! Go back to Greentree you fucking skank!”
And that was how a conversation about Transformers turned into a huge fight, and Sue Cantor ended up with a bloody nose, and Marianne got a black eye. Marisa and Sally got some scratches on their arms. Chet and Michael French decided to stay out of it, because they didn’t want to hit girls. They both agreed later though, that it was pretty cool that chicks were fighting over Chet. Michael French even worked it out somehow that he was a romantic object in the fracas too, which was an imaginative hypothesis, to say the least.

On HYBRID CAR

February 24th
On HYBRID CAR
This is an urgent bulletin. Los Angeles has just been ravaged by a marauding group of Hybrid Cars. Half man, half car, all menace, these robocars are like Robocop but have no sense of responsibility. Already 57 old ladies have been run down. On observer described a hybrid car as having a normal human body but with a full sized car for a head. He said he was surprised the hybrid’s neck did not break under the pressure of holding up its car head.
“I was running away from the fire, and there she was. I couldn’t figure it out for the life of me, a lady with a car for a head. That’s what we get for going too green too soon, I guess.”

-

We are on day 3 of the hybrid car story. The hybrid cars have spread out in waves from Los Angeles, their stronghold, and are now attempting to make it over the Mexican border into Tijuana. One particularly dangerous variety is a bus that has a hundred human legs, like a centipede. Few have lived to describe it. President Obama is developing new methods to counter the hybrid car insurgency, after the first efforts to bomb the shit out of them was prevented by their powerful grills, which kind of look like mouths.

-

In Day 37 of the Hybrid Car Crisis, the hybrid cars have taken over 23 of the 50 American states, and all of Mexico and Central America down to the Panama Canal. The hybrid cars have elected their own government, after an election last Tuesday where the Green party won an overwhelming victory.

-

In a tragic development, bands of non-hybrids (as normal humans are now called) have been foolishly wandering into hybrid territory, hoping to join what has been described by the hybrids’ press releases as a utopian society. While no non-hybrids have been able to witness this new and supposedly better society, the few survivors of these bands of optimists have described horrifying, bloody, massacres, typified by deafening horn honking and corpses with cartoon-like tire tread marks all over their bodies.

-

This will be my final broadcast. 154 days after the start of the Hybrid Care Crisis, the rolling thunder of horrifying man-cars has reached the broadcast studio where I have resided for the past month. As I speak, I can hear the vroom vroom vrooming of the monstrosities, and the bang bang bang of busipedes knocking down our doors like a battering ram. There are fires everywhere, as far as the eye can see. I have already seen my wife and children turned into horrifying grotesqueries, parodies of their former selves. Yes, if anyone listening does not know the terrible secret, it is this: the enemy is us. All humans that survive the car-men’s initial attacks have been transformed, borg-like, into hybrid cars themselves. But I will die before they turn my beautiful, rugged face into a rusty metal grill. Before they turn my masculine, fluid, deep voice into a wailing horn, I will sacrifice my life. It has been an honor to serve you. I am Bob Renfro. Good night.

On INTERNET CAFE

February 23rd
On INTERNET CAFÉ

In Paris in the 1990s, Internet cafes were new and exciting. That was how Ms. Rattigan remembered it. As she was pretending to read her novel in the staff room, a wet floppy tear landed on the word ‘chest’, and she remembered the chest of the English man she had met in a Parisian internet café. His chest was very thin, and concave in the sternum. She remembered it bobbing up and down as they had made love in her tiny garret, he guzzling a mike’s hard lemonade and she wide-eyed, taking in the romantic power of the moment, feeling deliciously used by this slight Brit.
She had been drinking coffee, wearing sunglasses and looking up salon.com (there was a great article: ‘Why can’t a woman write the great American novel?’) in the internet café when the ‘bloke’ arrived, wearing a Union Jack t-shirt, no less, with a bunch of other ‘football’ hooligans. Ms. Rattigan had been 28 years old, having graduated from teachers’ college and teaching for several years, saving up for this trip to the capital of France.
The shouting Englishmen were on their way to a footy match, and were taking joy in the newness of the internet by yelling their email addresses at each other, so they could send each other electronic mail between terminals a few feet away from each other. They thought that no one else understood English, but Ms. Rattigan acted fast, memorizing the skinny lad’s email and sending him a flirtatious email. One thing led to another, and that evening, after watching England lose, the young Angle made love to her as consolation.
The rush of memories faded away and Ms. Rattigan returned to the fluorescent cinder-block humdrum staff room. This was the most far away place in the world from Paris, especially when she was forced to listen to two grown men argue about the pronunciation of the name of a whale.
As usual, no one noticed her tears. Mr. Hendrickson threw the textbook across the room and she screamed in terror. She had never seen Mr. Hendrickson this emotional. He loosened his tie, and his eyes were getting a little watery.
“That’s impossible! That means that every time I’ve read the word ‘Humpback’, my brain must have been correcting it to ‘Hunchback’” he yelled, “Why would I do that to myself?”
Mr. Garrow sat down and picked up his mug of coffee. After provoking him, he was now acting as if the entire thing was no big deal, making Mr. Hendrickson look even more ridiculous.
“Relax, Eddie,” he said, “those kids probably weren’t even listening to you anyway. They’re just here to fill time until they can finally leave.”
Ms. Rattigan audibly gasped. Was this really what Mr. Garrow thought? He was even more of a cancerous presence than she had thought.
“How can you say that?” she asked.
“What?” he replied, “How many of your kids are gonna say a word of French once they get out of here? The only reason they take French is to keep their parents happy. No one likes French.”
“I like French!’ she declared, tears running down her face, her jowls wobbling, “And if you had ever travelled to Europe, you would see why. You’ve probably never even been outside of Ontario.”

On REAL ESTATE AGENT

February 21st
On REAL ESTATE AGENT
Sam Koslowski sat back in his chair and smiled at the embarrassment that Mr. Hendrickson was about to experience. He was wearing a grey T-shirt that said Forest Glen Athletics and red gym shorts. He had a red, ruddy face that seemed to be covered in stubble all the way up to the top of his shaved head. He didn’t like Eddie Hendrickson, who liked his job too much for Sam’s taste. Eddie was currently leafing through one of the science textbooks that were stacked in the corner of the room, seeking the elusive Hunchback Whale. He wouldn’t find it. Sam was just a gym teacher, but even he knew that. What was disturbing was how determined Garrow was to point out that Hendrickson had just spent over an hour lying to children. These kids, who knows, would take Mr. Hendrickson’s lesson to heart, and start raving to their parents about Hunchback Whales, which, Sam imagined, lived at the Aquarium of Notre Dame. Sam smiled at his clever joke.
The day before, Sunday, Sam and his wife had gone house hunting. Sam’s wife, Agnes, was 45, like Sam was, and ugly, like Sam was. It was a good matchup, and Sam loved her enough that sex was pretty good. But she was horrible to look at. Schrunched up face, all wrinkles and polyps. Really short too, you feel like you could play basketball with her. The total opposite of this real estate agent that was showing them around a dump that they knew, as soon as they saw it, was not for them.
The girl was very young, and taller than Sam, who topped out at 5’ 6”. She was willowy with big tits and a long face with big eyes and a delicate nose. She looked like she was from the eighties, and had a feathered haircut and wore one of those thin shirt dresses with a little sweater around it. Her voice was a lot more nervous than her walk. Sam guessed that it must have been one of the first houses she had ever had to sell. Sam got a real crush on the girl and probably embarrassed himself by asking lots of stupid questions so she would keep talking and moving around and gesticulating. Agnes, who was feeling sunny yesterday, didn’t notice or pretended not to. She knew that Sam had crushes on girls, and she wasn’t jealous or protective. Sam and Agnes had a very relaxed relationship because they both knew they other didn’t really have any other options, and so they would make the best of it. It sounded sadder than it was.
That was Sam’s attitude towards life, really: make the best of it. Enjoy your life with your ugly wife who wouldn’t cheat on you, and when circumstances bring you a pretty girl, get yourself an eyeful and move on with your life. No imaginings necessary, no obsessions, because nothing was gonna happen and Sam was happy with that. This Garrow, though, this new guy, was a real shit disturber. He was really out to embarrass Eddie Hendrickson. Hendrickson was a dummy, that was true, but Garrow wanted to rub it in the face of Sam and the French teacher who was always crying.
“Hendrickson, it is Humpback,” Sam said in his gravelly voice, “Garrow, stop bothering him about it.”
“I just can’t believe you know so much about Humpback Whales, but you don’t know what they’re called,” Mr. Garrow explained.
“Just leave him be, I’m trying to read,” said Sam, and he harrumphed and held up the newspaper in front of his face, flicking it out for effect.

On HUMPBACK WHALE

February 20th
On HUMPBACK WHALE

Mr. Hendrickson bounded into the staff room, fresh off a fantastic Grade 11 Biology class. Today’s lesson had been all about the Hunchback Whale. How the Hunchback Whale used to be endangered, and had now graduated to the status of “Least Concern”, how the Hunchback Whale was related to the Blue Whale, and the Grey Whale, taking careful attention to avoid talking about the Sperm Whale, because he didn’t want to start a laughter riot. The Hunchback Whale wasn’t on the Grade 11 curriculum, but Mr. Hendrickson was ahead of schedule, and liked to add a few lessons of interest to every term, a couple of bonus topics that wouldn’t be on the test, but that the kids would clearly enjoy.
And enjoy they did! Looking around and seeing his class, hushed, hanging on his every word, ready for the next plot twist in the tale of the Hunchback Whale, that was what kept Mr. Hendrickson waking up each morning. The Hunchback Whales in the Indian Ocean don’t migrate like other Hunchback Whales – but why not? Because India gets in the way, of course! The children smile, and realize the answer was implicit in the question! Now we were having fun!
The other staff members in the staff lounge were not as perky as Mr. Hendrickson. There was Mr. Koslowski, the fat gym teacher, Ms. Rattigan, the clinically depressed French teacher, and Mr. Garrow, an English teacher who had recently been transferred from another school. Mr. Garrow’s wife was a university professor, and had just got a new job at the local university. Mr. Garrow, correctly assuming he could get a teaching job anywhere, had followed her. Mr. Garrow was a tall, thin man, in his late 30s, who looked like the sparkle in his eyes had gone out. He held his coffee mug tightly, and read the newspaper with a sense of detachment.
“Good morning, Mr. Garrow,” Mr. Hendrickson announced cheerfully, walking over to the coffee station.
“Good morning, Eddie,” Mr. Garrow replied civilly. “How was your class?”
Mr. Hendrickson’s eyes lit up more. “It was fantastic,” he said, “I did a lesson I cooked up on the Hunchback Whale.”
Mr. Garrow nodded while reading, and then looked up. “The what?”
“The Hunchback Whale,” Mr. Hendrickson continued, glad of the interest. “It’s not on the curriculum, but-“
“Did you say the Hunchback Whale?” Mr. Garrow asked, in disbelief. Mr. Hendrickson was surprised Mr. Garrow had never heard of the Hunchback whale. He gathered his thoughts, and prepared to give Mr. Garrow an encapsulated version of the lesson he’d just given his class.
“Don’t you mean the Humpback Whale?” Mr. Garrow asked. Mr. Koslowski and Ms. Rattigan were looking up from their sports section and romance novel, respectively, and paying attention.
Mr. Hendrickson paused. “The Humpback Whale?” he said, “That doesn’t sound right. It’s the Hunchback Whale.”
Mr. Garrow smiled sardonically. “No, I’m pretty sure it’s the Humpback whale,” he said.
“I just lectured on the Hunchback Whale for seventy minutes, Mr. Garrow,” said Mr Hendrickson, “I know what it’s called.”
“And it’s called the HUMP,” Mr. Garrow enunciated, “BACK WHALE”

On FASHION SHOW

February 19th, 2009

On FASHION SHOW

Miranda flipped through the channels on TV. On one was a reality show with a skank being interviewed. She was getting angry. On another channel was a fashion show, a thin model parading down the catwalk in a mildly ridiculous outfit. A commercial for a bank, a broadcast of a ski competition, a Seinfeld rerun, a energetically hosted talk show.
Miranda was doing nothing right now. Filling up time before the next something happened. But this too, would be a memory. The next time she flipped through channels, she would remember this time, and they would eventually be bundled up into a mass memory: Days Spent Watching TV.
Miranda turned the TV off, laid on her back on the couch and stared at the ceiling. She considered making a new rule for her life where she didn’t watch TV or read magazines, but she didn’t think she could do it. She closed her eyes. Her brain automatically made a list of Hollywood actors that were dating Hollywood Actresses. Every fashion show she’d ever seen on TV was exactly the same. She could have been watching the same one the whole time.
Miranda turned over and looked at the phone. She thought about calling her friend Melissa, but what would she say? Would it be weird? She hated talking on the phone. She hated people. She wished she was better than other people, and she wasn’t. She should read a novel. She should plan her wedding. She should find a boy. She should wash the dishes. She should do her hair. She should start a blog. She should look for a different job. Se should turn the TV back on. Why was TV failing her now? Her mind felt like a towel that had been wringed of all its moisture.
A voice entered her head: “Have you ever been to… Mexicoooo!?” It was like a commercial jingle. Maybe this was it. Maybe this was the thought that would determine her destiny. She could see herself telling Melissa, “Well, you know, I’ve always wanted to go to Mexico.” She would get a second job, save up money, and finally appear on the tarmax in Mexico, and when she came back from Mexico, and the little voice in her head asked her, “Have you ever been to… Mexicoooo!?”, she would say, “Oh yes, I have, and it was fantastic!”
Naw, she thought. Mexico wasn’t for her. It wasn’t in the cards. If only she had more ENERGY!! She should work out.
Finally, she moved to her computer and checked her email. Nothing. Fuck you fuckers, she thought. Why wouldn’t anyone email her? “Have you ever been to… Mexicooooo!?” that voice was getting annoying. She must have heard it on the radio in a commercial for a travel company.
What could Miranda do to make this day more memorable? How could she write her own life, right now, so that it would be the day “I was bored, watching TV, checking my email, I had nothing to do, and then, BAM! The thing happened. What was the thing. She drummed her fingers against her desk, and looked around at her living room, at the pictures she didn’t see anymore, the outside noises she didn’t hear anymore, wafting through her window. Why was she here?

On GREAT WALL OF CHINA

February 18th
I got this one with one letter! And it was O!

On GREAT WALL OF CHINA
The interviewer wiped his mouth with his napkin. He was halfway through his plate of sushi. David had managed to eat 3 of his sushis.
“I thought you knew what the job was already! You’re going to be going to China!” he said with excitement.
David’s eyes widened. No wonder the man thought he would enjoy Asian food.
“That’s funny that you didn’t know that already!” said the interviewer.
“Yeah, I guess I got to read the ads for job openings more carefully,” David sort of explained.
“You read what?” The man cocked his head to the side, and a gulf of misunderstanding developed between them. “We called you, buddy! You’re the best in the biz! We’re really excited to have you on board!”
David suddenly realized that he was not the person that the interviewer thought he was.
“Oh… yeah,” he said. He wanted to see where this was going.
“You really are crazy!” the man laughed, “Ahh well, that’ll keep things interesting. We got a long plane ride ahead of us, you and me.”
It was at this point that David thought about fessing up and admitting that he was at the wrong interview. The thought of sitting for sixteen hours and having his personal tastes corrected by this man was horrifying. Besides, he knew how this would end: the longer he kept going with the misunderstanding, the more awkward it would be when he was found out. No, this was a bad idea. He should try and find his real interview.
But wait, thought David. There probably isn’t a real interview. Whatever company he had sent a half-heartedly compiled cover letter and resume to hadn’t called him at all, just this guy. And there was always the very slim chance that this would lead to something that would give his life a little bit of meaning. And if not, he had been embarrassed before.
“When do we leave?” he asked, swooping up to sushi portions and stuffing them in his mouth.
The man smiled, “Tomorrow! We got no time to lose! I guess no one told you, but you’re an emergency replacement for the first guy we had. He got cold feet, couldn’t stay away from his wife that long.”
“Oh yeah, we are going over to China for a very long time,” David said without attempting to cover his food-filled mouth. He assumed that the irony in his voice would be lost on the man, and he was right.
“Well, yeah! Two years!” barked the man.
“Well, I certainly don’t have a wife to worry about!” David said, a little too loudly, and they laughed together forcedly, with a tinge of sadness. The interviewer’s eyes looked down at his laugh briefly, and David could tell that the man wasn’t married, but wished he was.
“How long have you been with the company?” David asked.
“About a year now,” said the man, chastened, “It’s a great company to work for, and you see a lot of places. I was in Peru last year, and I also got to do a stopover in Russia. Usually they have me just doing the business end though, this is the first time I’ll actually be able to go with you guys.”
“Who else is on the… expedition?” asked David, hoping that was the proper word for whatever it was they were doing.
“Uh, Gus Ferraro, Angela Reynolds, and a couple of Chinese guys I haven’t met yet,” the man responded. “They’re already over there, getting things ready. Oh, I’m so happy that you’re game for this. I was worried that you wouldn’t be able to do it. Ever since we started the Great Wall Project, it’s been nothing but snags and snafus. And look, you’ve eaten all of your sushis!”
David looked down at his now empty plate. He hadn’t realized that, in the excitement of trying to extend the lie as long as possible, he had eaten the entire loathed dish, washing it down with Tiger beer.
“Well, buddy,” said the man, “I guess I’ll see you tomorrow. Did you have any other questions for me?”
“What is your name?” is what David wanted to say. “Where are you from? What job is this?” Instead he said, “Where should I meet you?”
“Here’s my card,” said the man, whipping out a yellow business card with a cartoon bee on it. “Just call me in the morning at six o’clock, and we’ll get a limo to come ‘round to your place and pick you up, take you to the airport. I gotta run, but this has been great, see ya buddy!” and he pushed open the glass doors of the sushi place and ran towards a waiting limo. David looked down at the business card. It said “Reggie Miller” in funky letters, and below, in smaller letters, “Big Bee Enterprises”, and a phone number. David turned the card over, but there was nothing on the back indicating what the company’s purpose might be.

on SUSHI

February 17th
I am starting to feel a little tapped out. This project is hard!

On SUSHI
David looked at his plate of sushi in horror. There were 27 pieces of sushi on his plate, and if he was going to ace this interview, he was going to have to eat all of them.
“I just love sushi, don’t you?” asked his interviewer. David put on a smile that he hoped looked authentic. His interviewer was tall and thin, balding with tufts of hair on either side of his head. His eyes were close together and translucent blue, and his lips were floppy.
“Sometimes, I get some sushi on my way home, and eat it in front of the TV. It just hits the spot, you know?” smiled the man. David could tell that this is the sort of person who didn’t understand why different people had different tastes. And David and the interviewer had very different tastes.
When the man had called his house, earlier that day, he had explained to David that he just finished listening to the Dixie Chicks. David thought he would just let that go, but the interviewer asked him directly what he thought of the Dixie chicks. David was honest.
“I don’t… really… like them,” he excreted.
“Why not?” asked the man, in a voice that was barking and nasal. “They’re fantastic! And they’re big against censorship! Did you hear that song, Not Ready To Make Nice?”
“Yup,” David replied.
“That song almost singlehandedly brought down the Bush administration!” claimed the man.
David wanted to say, “I don’t think that’s true,” but he refrained. He had a feeling that this man encountered a lot of people biting their tongues.
David wished he wasn’t this desperate to get a job. He already knew this wouldn’t be a good job. David had seen this ad in the newspaper in the careers section, and was surprised to see something that he was qualified for, especially in these Turbulent Economic Times. David had graduated recently with a Masters in communication and a distaste for academia. He didn’t like how, the longer he remained in school, the more specific and irrelevant his studies became. He went home and moved in with his parents, who were nice people, but also a bit irrelevant. David hated how the word irrelevant came to mind to describe everything that he was thinking of. He was a bit lost as to what he thought was relevant in the first place.
“You better eat those up! I’ve got hungry chopsticks!” said the man, eyes bugging out, snaping his chopsticks together.
David stabbed a California roll and put it in his mouth, and mushed it against the top of his mouth. “Thanks for lunch,” he said, trying to move the roll to the side of his mouth with his tongue.
“Ah, don’t worry about it,” smiled the man, “I don’t think I’m supposed to say this in an interview, but I think you’re in! I can just tell.”
David became suspicious. He had done nothing to indicate any aptitude for any kind of job.
“What does the job entail exactly?” he asked.

on GEORGE WASHINGTON

February 16th

On GEORGE WASHINGTON

George Washington in a woodchipper:

One day George Washington stayed in bed.

George Washington is on the one dollar bill (American)

George Washington Carver knew Booker T. Washington

As presidents go, George Washington is #1

The Latino version of George Washington is Jorge Wachavez

George Washington did cut down that cherry tree, and he did not lie about it, but I don’t know why.

When George Washington became president, he had one real tooth. That’s why they called it president: presi, latin for “only one left”, and dent, latin for “tooth”.

George Washington killed 3 zombies with a chainsaw that he acquired in his time travels.

George Washington is also the name of a serial rapist in Georgia.

George Washington had the same first name as the president of Britain at the time. At that time, though, they called him “King” George, for legal reasons.

Although George Washington never told a lie, thousands have been told about him.

George Washington kept a picture of his wife with him at all times.

If you look at Washington, D.C. from space, it is in the shape of George Washington’s head winking.

George Washington married his wife, even though he was in love with another girl, who was married to his friend.

George Washington invented baseball and didn’t tell anyone about it.

On Washington’s Birthday, George Washington travels around America leaving Freedom under the Liberty tree for little girls and boys.

George Washington, when he saw the Great Wall of China, yawned.

George Washington’s favourite command on the battlefield was, “Shoot them in the face!”

George Washington once ate a British flag for breakfast.

George Washington had a false nose, false teeth, and false brain.

George Washington and Abraham Lincoln were the same person. Proof: Lincoln is taller because Washington spent all his time from 1799 to 1809 growing.

If George Washingon was ever depressed, he sang opera.

George Washington hated going for groceries.

George Washington was famous for predicting future railroads.

If George Washington were alive and to make his famous crossing of the Delaware today, he’d die of old age.

George Washington never travelled to Washington State, but he knew about it, and was flattered.

Georgina Wishington was a famous Faerie Queen. (i.e. a gay)

George Washington’s residence, Mount Vernon, was named after his dog, Vernon.

If George Washington could see America today, he’d shrug.

George Washington never wore suspenders.

For a brief period, the British tried to convince American rebels that George Washington didn’t exist.

George Washington’s final words were a three day monologue ripped from the popular play “Whose Bodice is in my Darby?”

If you google “George Washington”, 59,800,000 ‘hits’ come up. So you see, he was popular.

Washington George was considered as an alternate name for George Washington when he was born.

George Washington liked to spread rumours about himself to see how long it took for the rumour to get back to him.

George Washington patronized many of Richmond, Virginia’s popular ‘spanking clubs’.

George Washington often challenged children to duels, jokingly.

There will never be another George Washington. Not like George Washington, anyway.

On LOVE LETTER

February 14th

On LOVE LETTER

This is the story of how Krista and I became boyfriend and girlfriend.
When I entered fourth year university, I had never really had a girlfriend before. There was a girl in Grade Nine who I was officially going out with, but we never went on any dates and I forgot to get her something for Valentine’s Day. In university I kissed two different girls, but one was clearly an experiment and the other broke up with me a few days later.
I had a pretty good idea how to get a girlfriend though, because I had a lot of experience watching my friends from kindergarten up to third year university. So in Dr. Graham’s 4th year seminar class on theatre and the meaning of the word theatre, I was sitting behind Krista MacIsaac, who I knew had a crush on me, writing her a note. The Note said, “Dear Krista MacIsaac: I like-like you. Do you want to go out with me?” And then I gave her three boxes which she could check (or ex): “Yes”, “No”, or “Maybe if _________________________”. I wanted to leave her a way to test my worth if that was necessary.
Anyway, I’m halfway through this epic note and Dr. Graham ends class early before I could pass it forward. Krista vamooses, and I’m left to figure out a plan B.
I go to lunch in the McMaster University Student Centre (MUSC), with some of my Drama Club pals, like Steve Pukin, possibly, and who should show up and do a crazy dance with her underwear but Krista MacIsaac, that girl I wanted to go out with. What a crazy broad. But shit! I still hadn’t finished writing that letter. I went to the bathroom and finished writing the letter in one of the stalls. I took a deep breath, and got ready to deliver my life changing note. Ah, but when I came out of that bathroom she was long gone. Maybe it was not ready to be.
Then I remember, oh yeah, I’d already made plans to get a ride with Krista that night, to the CD release concert for our friend Darren’s hot jazz combo, Hot Mustache. This day (September 14, 2002) was not over yet.
But by the time we were at the jazz concert, Krista was kinda getting on my nerves, and I was getting cold feet. This note thing wasn’t gonna happen, I didn’t even know if I liked her that much. I didn’t want to make a mistake picking my first real girlfriend. She was so outgoing and vivacious. What if she stole my laughs?
When she was driving me home in her blue neon, we were bickering about something inconsequencial, kind of joke fighting, you know? Something which led me to declare: ”Fine, then I’m not gonna talk anymore” She didn’t think I could do it, but I stayed silent the whole way home. And it was then, looking out the window at the dark city floating by, that I realized I still liked her, even though we were having the most annoying and immature conversation. We were both idiots together, and I liked that. We weren’t intimidated by each other and NOW WAS THE TIME TO DELIVER THE NOTE. I just knew that it was now or never, deliver that note or give up on chicks forever.
In my mind, it was going to go like this. I would silently give her the powerful note, cool as a cucumber. I would go into my house and she would drive home, she’d consider her options carefully and we’d have further discussion at a later date. What actually happened was that she turned towards me, I threw the note at her, ran out of the car, tripped on my way up my porch steps and fumbled with my keys for several minutes. I was surprised when she didn’t leave the driveway, and I thought maybe this wasn’t such a good move after all. I casually walked out and asked her what she was doing, and she yelled at me because she wasn’t done yet. I ran back in the house and watched her from the window as she put the note in my mailbox and went back to her car. I casually strolled out to my mailbox, and read the note.
She had picked maybe. Maybe, if the sun shines, pigs don’t fly, and this pen is blue. Luckily, that pen she was using was blue. I invited her into my house, and we planned the rest of our life together. No, seriously, we made out like bandits. No, seriously, we had an awkward conversation and I took her to a movie (My Big Fat Greek Wedding) the next day. And now we are married. It’s the best.

On SEALED WITH A KISS

February 13th
On SEALED WITH A KISS

6:35 pm – Sally and Marianne get ready for the 80s video dance by crimping their hair, trying on bangles and drinking gin. Josh is coming by in his older brother’s car (driven by his older brother, Jake) to drive them to the school, with Eric, who has finally agreed to date Marianne after a long campaign. This is going to be the best.

7:03pm – Chet checks out his bouffant hairstyle in the mirror, and pops the collar on his too-tight jean jacket with a Hard rock Café logo on the back. “Fuckin’ right!” he says to his reflection.

7:34pm – Sally calls Josh and asks him where they are. Josh says they haven’t come over yet because girls always take fuckin’ forever to get ready. Sally replies, “How do you fuckin’ know that if you don’t come over!” Josh says, “Are you drunk?”

8:00pm - Chet and Michael French arrive at the school gym where J. Geils Band is playing at a disproportionately large volume considering five people, including our heroes, have shown up already and no one is dancing. Also, Michael French is wearing clunky dark sunglasses with fluorescent coloured arms, and a Michael Jackson red leather jacket. Chet and Michael French are both a little surprised at how good their outfits are.

8:28pm – Sally and Marianne have consumed half a bottle of gin. After her last gulp, Marianne shakes her head wildly and almost lacerates her face with her star-shaped earrings. “Whoo!” She says. They are still waiting for the boys to show up. Sally smokes at the window.

9:13pm – The gym has about a hundred grade nines now, and Chet and Michael French are the life of the party. They are in the middle of a dancing circle and Chet’s jacket is coming off – it’s too hot in this jacket!

9:41pm – Jake and Josh and Eric pull up Sally’s driveway. Marianne and Sally see them from the bedroom window and squeal. They run down to the front door, and then coolly strut to the car. Josh and Eric wolf whistle. Jake says, “Alright, lets go already!”

9:42pm - Josh and Sally make out a little in the car already. Eric and Marianne look uncomfortable. Sensing this, Sally and Josh stop and pretend nothing happened.

9:59pm – Chet and Michael French are cooling off by the punch after some marathon dancing. They talk about how they’re not really good dancers, frankly, but sometimes the spirit of the 80s makes you flail your limbs around in invigorating ways.

10:01pm – After a detour to Jake’s weed dealer, the two couples are dropped off at the gym and enter arm in arm. Eric seems into it enough that it’s not completely embarrassing.

10:14pm – A slow song comes on. High on dancing, Chet confidently swaggers over to Marianne and asks her to dance. He is rebuffed.

10:34pm – Chet and Michael French are standing outside, cooling off. Michael French starts making noise about having to get up early in the morning. Chet yells at him, “Don’t you understand! This night can never end!”

10:43pm – After dancing all the fast dances in a perfect square, and sitting out the slow dances, Josh and Eric and Sally and Marianne sit down at a round table. Sally and Marianne start whispering in each other’s ear and giggling. Josh sees his chance, and takes Sally outside for a smoke on the bleachers. It is understood that they are going to make out. Eric and Marianne, who don’t smoke, are left behind. Marianne realizes she doesn’t even really know who Eric is. “What kind of things do you like?” she asks him, yelling over the music.

11:06pm – Chet and Michael French are offered some beer in the parking lot by some cooler grade nines who thought their dancing was rad. A particularly reflective boy, Reuben, says, “Hey, it’s grade nine man. Everything’s different, you know? That’s what I love about grade nine. And you guys are fuckin’ hilaaaarious!!” and he laughed and slaps Chet on the back, spilling his beer.

11:15pm – Marianne is now tearing up the dance floor, having abandoned Eric on the sidelines. She was a little bit scared of Eric, who had boasted to her, randomly, that he could take off a bra with one hand. She is super drunk.

11:25pm – Marianne is almost passed out, and has her arms slung around Chet’s neck and her head against his chest. It is the final song of the evening.

11:45pm – Michael French says goodbye as he walks down his street. “Good bye! Awesome dance!” yells Chet, and Marianne laughs annoyingly. When Michael French turns out of sight, she plants a kiss on Chet, says “Thanks for the lurvly evening,” and pukes into a snowbank.

12:06am – Marianne, having declared herself feeling better, does not need Chet to bring her into her house. She rings the doorbell for her mom, and Chet runs away, scared. Mrs. Goldstein takes Marianne to bed, with a mixture of concern and knowing bemusement.

3:47am – Chet finally falls asleep. What a great night, he thinks.

On BOUQUET OF ROSES

February 12th

On BOUQUET OF ROSES

Marianne stood outside the flower store, considering. It was Chet’s birthday, and it would be appropriate to get him a present. But flowers? It would appropriately embarrass him, that was for sure. She could imagine his face going red right now. Chet was the best for being embarrassed. But was that what Marianne wanted out of this trip? Would it ruin her social trajectory?
“Come on, Marianne, we’re going to go meet up with Josh and Eric,” Sally said. Sally was pretty popular, and Marianne was pretty lucky to be hanging out with her. Sally was the type of girl that was popular, but not snobby; she went out of her way to take pity and say hi to the unpopular girls in the hallway at school. She smoked, but only socially. When they found out that they were roommates for the Quebec trip, they had miraculously hit it off. Mostly they talked about boys. They could even be described as boy crazy! The whole time they talked about Marty Chan and Fred Garrults, though, Marianne was thinking in the back of her mind that this was the end of her days of crying at night and being afraid to go to school. Sally would be her gateway to social acceptance.
Now they were in their free time period, and were heading down to meet some boys. When Sally suggested this, Marianne acted like this was something she did all the time. But really she was super excited and also wanted to throw up. She didn’t even think about whether she liked Josh or Eric. That was the last thing she had to worry about. What she was worrying about most was what part of this process she would be revealed as a complete fraud.
And what about Chet? Maybe she should try and buy him a new sports hat, or something silly from the dollar store. But a bouquet of roses just seemed right. Yeah, Chet probably liked Marianne. She had seen When Harry Met Sally, and knew the rule about guys not having platonic female friends. So it would say, hey, I’m leaving your social level, but here’s something you’ve always wanted: an expression of my love. No that sounded horrible. And what would it look like if Marianne showed up for their casual rendez-vous with Josh and Eric with a bouquet of flowers?
“Are you thinking of getting flowers?” Sally asked.
“I don’t know,” Marianne replied. “Probably not. Let’s go.”
“Who are you buying flowers for?” Sally said.
“Chet,” Marianne said, and blushed. “It’s his birthday.”
“Oh yeah! Get them!” Sally’s eyes lit up. She had huge eyes.
Marianne’s face scrunched up skeptically. Was Sally trying to torpedo her somehow? What was her game plan?
“Really?” said Marianne.
“Yeaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah!” said Sally, in a sort of spaced out kind of way. “He’d love that! A girl buying a boy flowers? That’s cool!”
“But what about Josh and Eric?” asked Marianne, raising her eyebrows. Even though they had spent several days together, Marianne didn’t really think of Sally as a person until this moment. Maybe she was genuine; maybe she did think it would be cool.
“Fuck them,” swore Sally, “This is better! You can find guys like Josh and Eric anywhere.”
“You can find guys like Chet anywhere,” said Marianne, “Trust me.”
They stood on the street for a little while, Marianne thinking, and Sally waiting to see what she would do. Sally looked at her watch. Then, buoyed by Sally’s encouragement, Marianne went into the store, and bought the bouquet of roses.

On BOX OF CHOCOLATES

February 11, 2009

On BOX OF CHOCOLATES

It was on his fourteenth birthday that Chet found himself in a Quebec City chocolatier store, by himself, looking over rows and rows of different chocolates. He was wearing a Washington Capitals cap and a Vancouver Canucks hockey jersey, and baggy jeans. Perched on his cap were sunglasses he had just bought that, when he put them on, made him look like a bug.
Chet was confused. He liked chocolate, a lot, but he knew mostly about Mr. Bigs, and Glosette Raisins, and Kinder Eggs, and Mars Bars. He was looking at truffles, lots of different kinds of expensive truffles. If it was up to him, Chet would have bought the cheapest kind of chocolate in the store, and save his money for other purchases. But Chet wasn’t buying chocolates for himself. He was buying chocolates for Marianne Goldstein.
Marianne and Chet were both on their class’s grade eight trip to Quebec, a rite of passage for all graduates of Greenmeadow Junior High School. The class of 54 students was staying in a tastefully appointed Best Western on the Rue de la Couronne, and Chet was staying with some boys on the top floor, and Marianne with a bunch of girls on the bottom floor. On the first night, Chet, and Michael French, another unpopular boy, found out they were staying in a room with two double beds along with Allan and Derek Brock, twin boys who were very popular. Allan and Derek had immediately claimed a double bed each for themselves and their slutty girlfriends, and they had all recently started smoking. The room reeked of cigarette smoke and sexuality, so Michael and Chet hung out in the lobby most of the time. Michael and Chet had decided to use their free time to go shopping today, and after listening to a few too many World of Warcraft stories, Chet decided to ditch Michael for a short time and get something for Marianne, who had been avoiding him the entire trip.
Even though Marianne had been avoiding him, probably in a last ditch attempt to rehabilitate her image with the popular girls, Chet had a feeling that Marianne would remember his birthday and embarrass him with a present. So Chet decided to act pre-emptively and embarrass her with a present that might be interpreted as a romantic gesture. He had planned on just grabbing a box of chocolates, and didn’t really realize how many options he would have. He thought back to one of the random pretentious comments Marianne had said this year: “Mmmm…. If I’m going to have chocolate, I have to have truffles. Everything else tastes like shit to me.”
Chet threw up a little in his mouth. Marianne had changed this year, and started wearing weird, colourful, attention-grabbing outfits, and making weird statements about truffles, cars, jewelry, and God knew what else. It was like she had started taking advice from a crazy person, or got a subscribtion to Shallow Teen Magazine. It didn’t seem to do her any good socially either, having created mostly confusion.
Chet took a deep breath, bought a box of truffles with a blue ribbon on it, and walked out of the store.