Last night my friend Justin Beckler, a music composition major and semi-genious, and myself decided that we would go to the no nos, which are an improv comedy group that perform every thursday at the off broadway theatre. After what seemed to be a long search that ended up turning up some weed eventually, we arrived at the theatre to find thirteen thousand old people adorned with furs just leaving what was assuredly an expensive theatre piece. Justin and I walk past those in the entry area down to the bathroom. "They look rich... Rich and wealthy" says justin. "Yeah, I bet they're super stressed about the market" I reply.
We ended up at Winston's and in the process I recalled that I can talk to women still. I'm a bit of an idiot sometimes.
Saturday, January 17, 2009
Thursday, January 15, 2009
UNTITLED newly titled, the GIANT PARAGRAPH
I yawn, it's been a long and somewhat tiring day. I've got my sleep rhythms down to a science and no longer need the use of my alarm clock to ensure that I am awake in time to gather my thoughts and begin my so called day. I refer to a day as the time between my waking and my sleeping in preparation for the next day.
I woke up this morning, round 830, maybe 930, matters not. I stretched whilst watching the daily show and then ate a breakfast which consisted of...
Fuck.
Yesterday I did two things that scared me. Well, one thing that scared me and one that was extremely difficult. I've been climbing walls that simulate that feeling that I assume one would get when they're climbing real life rocks outside in places that have rocks of the right size and shape that one could climb. On the purple route of rope six at the university of saskatchewan (douche), there is a ledge that is exceedingly difficult to climb past as a result of a lack of holds (rocks) and the distance between them. I made a deal with myself. I climb this one obstacle and finally, when accomplished, go talk to this cute blonde girl that I see nearly everyday, regardless of what it is that i'm doing. There was once a time when talking to girls for the first time was an effortless task that required little or no effort on my part. I do, after all, believe myself to be at least somewhat attractive. BUT, a lack of sexual connection with anyone in the recent past combined with my simply not being social has made me somewhat akward in recent history. Or as I like to call it when it refers to me: Beestory. Bee as in B, as in brandon. Needless to say, I climb the wall and talk to the girl, which goes horribly, but it matters not. That's something that I have to keep in mind again, that not every woman I'm going to talk to matters as much as I think they do. DUG hahah.
Another interesting thing happened today. Alyssa Van Norman made an appearance in my life again. Each time is more interesting to me than the last, for reasons I don't know. I'm still, for many reasons infatuated with this girl. It's a little silly. I realized after I typed that why I am. She's a good friend. BALLS. Good friends make the best partners as you should always be friends first. Alas, perhaps that will have to be put aside simply to enjoy the company that is AVN.
What else? I'm going to try something.
I open the front doors of school, and push past the people that are waiting for the bus.. Each one has something to keep them distracted from the fact that a new person has entered their potential area of consiousness. Headphones adorn the heads of moset, while others are text messaging those that are more important than anyone around them. A blast of hot air hits me from the fans and heaters that are located just inside the front doors. A smell, well a combination of smells really. Hits my nose. Bag lunches perhaps with a hint of chap stick and perfume. I ponder why people wear the stuff, the odour is infinitely worse than even the most stenchy of human gas expulsions. I open the second door and notice the wonderful brick work on the ground of upper place riel, a large room that houses the help slash information desk, a crepe' factory, two excelators and a flight of stairs. THe smell of this area can only be described as that which those whom are contained within it's walls eminate. I head to the stairs whilst skillfully removing my woolen mittens and silly toque. I pack them into my bag as I move towards the top of the stairs. I descend the stairs as fast as I humanly can. Dangerous, it gives me a bit of a rush, also how cool I look flashes through my mind and on at least some level believe that challenging my brain to ensure that my feet always find a stair is good for it somehow. Some sort of hand or foot slash brain co ordination thing. At the bottom of the stairs, my eyes return to eye level from their direct lock on the stairs to see if anyone was watching my daring stair antics. Again, as usual there are none. I've just evtered lower place riel, which is akin to some sort of feeding hold that contains a place called treats which is where I gather my forks for my various packed lunches. Alongside this local university business is the mass of evil that I refer to as A and W. The smell is almost sickening to me as is the line of people that pay hard earned money to put that horrible product into their bodies. Past that is a pizza place with food that I barely register as existing unless I am starving and a staff that are non-receptive to even my most incredible smile. Alas, can't win em all over. I mount the two or three stairs with ease that leads to the semi-seating area that lies at the bottom of the stairs that lead up to the horrors of the library. Horrible at this point in the term, but life later. This small, uncomfortable area is the space that those who dine on the delicious products (not food) of Albert and Walters typically come to feast. Eyes down or hands deep inside grease stained paper bags searching for that last, forgotten fry, they too seemingly ignorant of my presense. I pass, often on the left to be different, through a doorway that leads into a wide hallway with windows on one side and standing room computers on the other. Looking left, I not how this has become the main place on campus for those needing a facebook fix to get just that. Drunken photos of weekends past are up on nearly every screen, so predictable are we. Entering the "arts tunnel" I'm immediately pummeled by an invitation to the "mock wedding", which is just that. A mock wedding that is put on by one of the college's on campus. Sounds fun, but do you really wanna go stag to a mock wedding? Realizing that it's not something for me I move past and see a booth for the freudian slip pubcrawl (wear your sexiest, or ugliest slip) which sounds interesting and may be something that I go on. Again, I pass on the invitation to join as a result of funds being a super issue and I have this horrible tendency to make an ass of myself when I'm drunk, something that I don't desire to do at the moment. Past blood banks and gay rights, past college pro painters I approach the latest and often most misinterpreted of the fast food stores that plagues north america. Tim Hortons. Once a trusted name with delicious freshly baked goods and mediocre coffe with somewhat healthy sandwitches, their efforts at streamlining have caused everything to go down in both preparation time and nutritional value. Thanks, I'll pass. The live, as always, is immense. I take the lefthand side of the stairs leading to the first floor of the arts and SCIENCE building and effortlessly fly up them two at a time with a loded back pack, not even losing momentum for the strange half stem halfway up. It's slightly longer and requires some careful navigating. Here is whre the greatest congestion can be found in all the campus. Straight ahead, I have a hallway that leads the length of the arts, the psychology and the commerce buildings, perhaps one of the longest hallways that I've come across. To my left, a nearly equally long hallway that leads to all the first floor arts classrooms, and on my right a ramp that is the most common method of transport to and from the second floor arts building as well as another hallway that leads to the two most commonly used first year lecture halls. There are first years everywhere, and their inability to navigate through a crowd combined with the overuse of cell phones and pods causes me to curse those "damned first years" at least twice each time I pass. Was I ever that ignorant I think? Yes, still am is my only response.I climb the ramp which is a switchback into itself and head to class. God, I love school.
Now THAT was fun.
I woke up this morning, round 830, maybe 930, matters not. I stretched whilst watching the daily show and then ate a breakfast which consisted of...
Fuck.
Yesterday I did two things that scared me. Well, one thing that scared me and one that was extremely difficult. I've been climbing walls that simulate that feeling that I assume one would get when they're climbing real life rocks outside in places that have rocks of the right size and shape that one could climb. On the purple route of rope six at the university of saskatchewan (douche), there is a ledge that is exceedingly difficult to climb past as a result of a lack of holds (rocks) and the distance between them. I made a deal with myself. I climb this one obstacle and finally, when accomplished, go talk to this cute blonde girl that I see nearly everyday, regardless of what it is that i'm doing. There was once a time when talking to girls for the first time was an effortless task that required little or no effort on my part. I do, after all, believe myself to be at least somewhat attractive. BUT, a lack of sexual connection with anyone in the recent past combined with my simply not being social has made me somewhat akward in recent history. Or as I like to call it when it refers to me: Beestory. Bee as in B, as in brandon. Needless to say, I climb the wall and talk to the girl, which goes horribly, but it matters not. That's something that I have to keep in mind again, that not every woman I'm going to talk to matters as much as I think they do. DUG hahah.
Another interesting thing happened today. Alyssa Van Norman made an appearance in my life again. Each time is more interesting to me than the last, for reasons I don't know. I'm still, for many reasons infatuated with this girl. It's a little silly. I realized after I typed that why I am. She's a good friend. BALLS. Good friends make the best partners as you should always be friends first. Alas, perhaps that will have to be put aside simply to enjoy the company that is AVN.
What else? I'm going to try something.
I open the front doors of school, and push past the people that are waiting for the bus.. Each one has something to keep them distracted from the fact that a new person has entered their potential area of consiousness. Headphones adorn the heads of moset, while others are text messaging those that are more important than anyone around them. A blast of hot air hits me from the fans and heaters that are located just inside the front doors. A smell, well a combination of smells really. Hits my nose. Bag lunches perhaps with a hint of chap stick and perfume. I ponder why people wear the stuff, the odour is infinitely worse than even the most stenchy of human gas expulsions. I open the second door and notice the wonderful brick work on the ground of upper place riel, a large room that houses the help slash information desk, a crepe' factory, two excelators and a flight of stairs. THe smell of this area can only be described as that which those whom are contained within it's walls eminate. I head to the stairs whilst skillfully removing my woolen mittens and silly toque. I pack them into my bag as I move towards the top of the stairs. I descend the stairs as fast as I humanly can. Dangerous, it gives me a bit of a rush, also how cool I look flashes through my mind and on at least some level believe that challenging my brain to ensure that my feet always find a stair is good for it somehow. Some sort of hand or foot slash brain co ordination thing. At the bottom of the stairs, my eyes return to eye level from their direct lock on the stairs to see if anyone was watching my daring stair antics. Again, as usual there are none. I've just evtered lower place riel, which is akin to some sort of feeding hold that contains a place called treats which is where I gather my forks for my various packed lunches. Alongside this local university business is the mass of evil that I refer to as A and W. The smell is almost sickening to me as is the line of people that pay hard earned money to put that horrible product into their bodies. Past that is a pizza place with food that I barely register as existing unless I am starving and a staff that are non-receptive to even my most incredible smile. Alas, can't win em all over. I mount the two or three stairs with ease that leads to the semi-seating area that lies at the bottom of the stairs that lead up to the horrors of the library. Horrible at this point in the term, but life later. This small, uncomfortable area is the space that those who dine on the delicious products (not food) of Albert and Walters typically come to feast. Eyes down or hands deep inside grease stained paper bags searching for that last, forgotten fry, they too seemingly ignorant of my presense. I pass, often on the left to be different, through a doorway that leads into a wide hallway with windows on one side and standing room computers on the other. Looking left, I not how this has become the main place on campus for those needing a facebook fix to get just that. Drunken photos of weekends past are up on nearly every screen, so predictable are we. Entering the "arts tunnel" I'm immediately pummeled by an invitation to the "mock wedding", which is just that. A mock wedding that is put on by one of the college's on campus. Sounds fun, but do you really wanna go stag to a mock wedding? Realizing that it's not something for me I move past and see a booth for the freudian slip pubcrawl (wear your sexiest, or ugliest slip) which sounds interesting and may be something that I go on. Again, I pass on the invitation to join as a result of funds being a super issue and I have this horrible tendency to make an ass of myself when I'm drunk, something that I don't desire to do at the moment. Past blood banks and gay rights, past college pro painters I approach the latest and often most misinterpreted of the fast food stores that plagues north america. Tim Hortons. Once a trusted name with delicious freshly baked goods and mediocre coffe with somewhat healthy sandwitches, their efforts at streamlining have caused everything to go down in both preparation time and nutritional value. Thanks, I'll pass. The live, as always, is immense. I take the lefthand side of the stairs leading to the first floor of the arts and SCIENCE building and effortlessly fly up them two at a time with a loded back pack, not even losing momentum for the strange half stem halfway up. It's slightly longer and requires some careful navigating. Here is whre the greatest congestion can be found in all the campus. Straight ahead, I have a hallway that leads the length of the arts, the psychology and the commerce buildings, perhaps one of the longest hallways that I've come across. To my left, a nearly equally long hallway that leads to all the first floor arts classrooms, and on my right a ramp that is the most common method of transport to and from the second floor arts building as well as another hallway that leads to the two most commonly used first year lecture halls. There are first years everywhere, and their inability to navigate through a crowd combined with the overuse of cell phones and pods causes me to curse those "damned first years" at least twice each time I pass. Was I ever that ignorant I think? Yes, still am is my only response.I climb the ramp which is a switchback into itself and head to class. God, I love school.
Now THAT was fun.
Friday, January 09, 2009
Back in the Saddle, my sides ache as though I'm nude and it's covered in sand.
That title hopefully will set the tone for this particular post. The word particular was not necessary in that last sentence.
If there's one thing that I've noticed, it's that My (capitalized), cause I rock, first paragraph is the weakest of most of my posts. Weakest that is, unless you consider weakest to really mean first, or unlast.
I keep standing up to flip my saute'ing vegetables that will soon make the base for my soon-to-be wonderful stir fry that will sustain my life for the next twelve hours. I treat my body well these days, something that I haven't been to well known for in the past.
Stream of conciousness. It's a term that I've heard used to describe my particular writing style. My professors are split nearly down the middle on how they feel about it. Basically, if they like me, they like my mind, which means that they like the way that I write. Hopefully, those of you that read this, if there are any, like me at least a little. That had a hint of self conciousness to it, apparantly I'm feeling a little down on myself lately. I mean, how can you not like me? (Short of the fact that I'm completely and hopelessly careless.) Carelessness can also be called another word, a word that is more excellent sounding than careless, but it's escaping me right now. Nietzsche's blonde beast may have been called careless. But, he ruled us all at one point, now didn't he?
Nine fifty five. Has a nice ring to it. My noodles are nearly done.
Alright, to the nitty gritty. Took me a second to sound out nitty. I'm hoping that's right. If anyone cares. Supposing I do.
I'm recently single, and that combined with the fact that I was in BC, in Van, in the house that silly TR lived in, my thoughts have strayed to her stupidly. You know what I realized? Of course you don't. I barely do. She sucks. Clearly. Writing this is intended to exorsize those demons. Now I know I spelled that wrong. Ironic really. Misspelling words uber-sucks. Right, newly single. And, wouldn't you know it. I feel great.
Well, that's all I got for now, dinner's done. Peace out.
If there's one thing that I've noticed, it's that My (capitalized), cause I rock, first paragraph is the weakest of most of my posts. Weakest that is, unless you consider weakest to really mean first, or unlast.
I keep standing up to flip my saute'ing vegetables that will soon make the base for my soon-to-be wonderful stir fry that will sustain my life for the next twelve hours. I treat my body well these days, something that I haven't been to well known for in the past.
Stream of conciousness. It's a term that I've heard used to describe my particular writing style. My professors are split nearly down the middle on how they feel about it. Basically, if they like me, they like my mind, which means that they like the way that I write. Hopefully, those of you that read this, if there are any, like me at least a little. That had a hint of self conciousness to it, apparantly I'm feeling a little down on myself lately. I mean, how can you not like me? (Short of the fact that I'm completely and hopelessly careless.) Carelessness can also be called another word, a word that is more excellent sounding than careless, but it's escaping me right now. Nietzsche's blonde beast may have been called careless. But, he ruled us all at one point, now didn't he?
Nine fifty five. Has a nice ring to it. My noodles are nearly done.
Alright, to the nitty gritty. Took me a second to sound out nitty. I'm hoping that's right. If anyone cares. Supposing I do.
I'm recently single, and that combined with the fact that I was in BC, in Van, in the house that silly TR lived in, my thoughts have strayed to her stupidly. You know what I realized? Of course you don't. I barely do. She sucks. Clearly. Writing this is intended to exorsize those demons. Now I know I spelled that wrong. Ironic really. Misspelling words uber-sucks. Right, newly single. And, wouldn't you know it. I feel great.
Well, that's all I got for now, dinner's done. Peace out.
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