the best thing you will ever hear or see in this world.

Sensual Seduction.

It doesn't get any better than this.

Is there anybody out there?

So I've been away awhile.

Here are some things that have happened:

1. I got married.



2. I went to the Mont Saint Sauveur water slides.




3. All these guys took the train at the same time.


I would have waited for the next one.

Americana

My brother Dan and my friend Ed invited me to take a little road trip last week, down to the Gorge Amphitheater in George, Washington, to see Willie Nelson's Fourth of July Picnic concert. Willie has been putting on these shows every Fourth of July for about the last thirty years, but this was to be the first time the show was held outside of Texas. As I weighed my options, I could feel Willie's hot, stoned breath in my ear. "You'd have to be 'Crazy' not to get 'On the Road Again' and head down to my Fourth of July Picnic!" This was not a decision that even needed to be made. It just was.

So we piled into the old car and headed south the night of July 3rd. Hopes were high. We crossed the border without incident. Fireworks exploded across the horizon and $5.00 six-packs were purchased at a gas station. For a carload of Canadians, this was a defining moment. America the beautiful, indeed.

After spending the night in Seattle, we continued southeast in a three car convoy down the I-90. Historic, tourist-friendly towns rolled by in a cloud of dust. Roslyn, Cle Elum, Ellensburg - we didn't care. We just kept driving.



It was just past noon when we pulled into the campground at the Gorge and set up lean-tos in the crab grass. The sun beat down mercilessly upon us. Sunscreen was applied haphazardly. A group of fellow travelers from Gonzaga University invited us to toast Old Glory at their four foot tall hookah pipe. We declined.

The heat got worse as the day went on. We had one-thousand cans of Pabst Blue Ribbon on ice. We were determined to see this one through, no matter the consequences. Hazy speculation was the order of the afternoon. When would Willie take the stage? What did freedom really mean? How quickly could Graham drink a 40 ounce bottle of Budweiser?

We headed down to the Amphitheater as the sun began to set, sweating profusely. From the grassy knoll where we chose to sat, the performers looked like tiny, patriotic ants. The Columbia River Basin loomed in the background, enormous, like a patron of one of the all-you-can-eat restaurants we had passed by on the drive through Washington State.


Hours began to blend together. Fatigue was a factor. Two drunk Caucasian brothers seated behind us called each other "faggot niggers" and started a fight. They were wrapped in a tight embrace, punching wildly as they careened down the steep embankment. I locked eyes with my own brother at that moment, and we both knew what that gaze signified. This, my brother, is AMERICA - land of the free, home of the brave.

I awoke from a bout of heatstroke several hours later to the excited cheers of my adopted countrymen. Willie was about to take the stage. Though our seats were at least fifteen miles from where he stood, I could see Willie's braids fluttering gently in the breeze off the Columbia. And as the first strains of 'Whiskey River' carried across the Gorge, I thought of Betsy Ross. She might have sat on her front porch, on a night just like this, putting the finishing touches on the old stars and stripes. How many cans of Pabst Blue Ribbon could Betsy Ross have consumed that fateful day? That question is best asked in America, dear friends, as Betsy would have been secure in the knowledge that one of the inalienable rights of the American citizen is being being able to purchase three of anything for the price of two.

God bless us, everyone, and God bless America.

Don't Copy That Floppy!

This is pretty good. Make sure you watch the bits around the four minute mark.

yup.

what does fiscal '08 have in store for this guy?

At work today we had a fiscal '08 forecast meeting.

In my mind I started to apply the yardsticks by which we measure success at work to my own life.


Will I meet or exceed my targets in fiscal '08? Which way am I trending in fiscal '08? I don't know.

Joan can't even understand the concept of the fiscal year. To be honest, she only recently wrapped her head around a conventional calendar. Cath is trending well in fiscal '08. She is officially a lawyer now. She is at, like, 163% of target right now. Cath was beautiful at her bar ceremony. She wore barrister's robes. She could put the SYSTEM on trial, if she wanted to.

Does my buying a new jacket constitute some degree of success in fiscal '08? Or, does the failure of my previous jacket say anything re: the potential liability of my aging infrastructure? I need to be more pro-active in fiscal '08, that's for sure.

What does fiscal '08 have in store for this guy? For any of us?

weekend update.

Cath and I went to the Joel Plaskett Emerency show at the Commodore on Friday.

I almost got into a fight with a member of the Alpha Sigma Douchebag fraternity when I bumped into his shoulder on the floor in front of the stage. Keep in mind that the Commodore is a concert hall that holds one-thousand people, and that this was a rock show. We didn't get a photo in the heat of the moment, but this is rough approximation of what he looked like:



Cath diffused the situation by asking him what kind of hair gel he used or something. But I couldn't help wondering - how would these guys like it if nerds like me started showing up at Nickelback or Three Days Grace shows?

I'm going to start going to the gym and monopolizing all the free weights. This is an all out turf war, bitches.

Dan and Ed can turn you on to some great music!

My brother Dan and my friend Ed Peters really have a broad knowledge base when it comes to country music. They have recently turned me on to an artist by the name of JAN TERRI that first made waves on the country and western scene a few years back. Below is her 1993 video for the song "Baby Blues." This song was a minor hit with country music purists in the early 90's, and I only wish I could have known about it at the time. For country music fans, JAN TERRI is an artist on par with the Kurt Cobains of the mainstream music world.



Thanks Dan and Ed.

a story.

A pioneer family, the Smith family, were traveling across the prairies in a horse drawn carriage to find some land and start a new life. Only the wife got trampled by some stampeding buffalo when she was down washing some shirts near the river. The family were heartbroken, of course, but they had to continue on. And John Smith, he had three young daughters to care for now, and he wasn’t about to give up. There were some tough times, for sure, and some humourous times too, like when John had to figure out how to braid the girls’ hair etc., but they got through it.

Then one night this Indian woman fell off her horse outside that log cabin that John Smith had built and she had a broken arm etc., so being the kindhearted people that they were, the Smith family took her in and nursed her back to health. And they started calling the Indian Sunflower, on account of she had a sunflower design on her moccasins. Even though she couldn’t speak the white man’s language, you guessed it, they became one big happy family, and Sunflower got healthy and she and John Smith fell in love. She even learned a bit of English! Well, her father, Chief something, had assumed for eight months that his daughter was dead, but then her old boyfriend, a very handsome Indian, was riding out on the range and he saw Sunflower living with the Smith family, and he reported it to the chief. The chief rode over there right away, and it took almost four days riding, and he could speak some English, so he said that he was grateful to John Smith for caring for his daughter, but that she could not love a white man because she had to be queen of the tribe, and keep their tribe’s heritage alive or some such thing.

Anyways, it took some time, but eventually John Smith won over the chief, and he and Sunflower moved over with John’s daughters to Indian country and they all shared their knowledge and actually created this great irrigation system to grow corn more efficiently. And John’s daughters did this cute thing where they painted their faces Indian style and everybody laughed.

Pussycat Dolls transcript

Don't cha wish your girlfriend was hot like me?
Don't cha wish your girlfriend was a freak like me?
Don't cha
Don't cha
Don't cha wish your girlfriend was raw like me?
Don't cha wish your girlfriend was fun like me?
Don't cha
Don't cha

Fight the feeling (fight the feeling)
Leave it alone (leave it alone)
Cause if it ain't love
It just aint enough to leave my happy home (my happy home)
Let's keep it friendly (let's keep it friendly)
You have to play fair (you have to play fair)
See I dont care
But I know She ain't gonna wanna share

[Chorus:]
Don't cha wish your girlfriend was hot like me?
Don't cha wish your girlfriend was a freak like me?
Don't cha
Don't cha
Don't cha wish your girlfriend was raw like me?
Don't cha wish your girlfriend was fun like me?
Don't cha
Don't cha

totally X-Treme sports, other X-Treme endeavours.

Yesterday Cath and I went up to Grouse Mountain. Cath is learning to snowboard, and last night she had a real breakthrough. The word 'carving' would not have been entirely out of place up there.

To get to the top of Grouse Mountain, for those who are not familiar with the area, you have to take a gondola/tram type of thing. There is a hilarious moment when the pimply conductor of the Grouse Mountain Super Skyride goes through his memorized rules and regulations over the tram's loudspeaker. I can't do it justice, but imagine James Earl Jones speaking quickly saying 'PLEASE TURN YOUR ATTENTION TO THE EXCLUSION OF LIABILITY AND ASSUMPTION OF RISK AGREEMENT ON THE BACK OF YOUR SUPER SKYRIDE LIFT TICKET,' only James Earl Jones is fifteen, obviously tired and bored, and pretty solidly stoned.

I was back on skis for the first time in a long time. On one of our last rides up the chairlift last night, I started to realize that I really enjoy skiing. I don't know
why I ever stopped skiing, really. And then that opened up a whole other line of thought for me - what other totally X-Treme sports had I abandoned in my youth, thereby potentially robbing myself of decades of totally X-Treme enjoyment?

It opened up a whole can of worms for Cath and I. Had we really lost the sense X-Treme-ness we had enjoyed during our courtship? Were those times when we stayed up all night, tattooing swear words into each other's arms with rusty nails just a distant memory?

As we discussed this, Catherine drifted off to sleep. I went online and did my taxes. I can't be sure, but I'd be willing to bet she dreamt of drained, abandoned swimming pools; they were hers to shred, straight on 'til morning.

What Is It?

you decide.

long weekend.

This is how Christopher Columbus must have felt, when he looked out on the horizon and saw nothing but the Atlantic stretching out in front of him.

Being on the cusp of a four-day weekend is MOST like which of the following:

a) Finding twenty dollars in your old jacket
b) Watching a kitten and a puppy play together, in the sun, not even recognizing the fact they are cats and dogs, but just ENJOYING THEIR TIME TOGETHER
c) When you are camping and you get to the liquor store in some small town after it has already closed but you knock on the door and the guy lets you in
d) A really good sandwich
e) All of the above

Anyways, I always look forward to long weekends. They provide an opportunity to be away from work for more than just a couple of days.

I am ashamed, but WHY I am ashamed?

Yes, today I have posted an Alanis Morissette video.

I had this feeling once before. It was the day in the eighth grade when I wore denim overalls with the straps hanging down, swinging around wildly as I walked. I knew there was something that wasn't quite right about doing it, but I'll be damned if I didn't just go for it anyway.



Could you leave comments with regards to:

a) What do you think about this?
b) Is this funny?

Later tonight I will post footage of a kitten chasing its' own tail, or some such thing.

Sunday.

Sunday is generally quite a good day for me.

It's not even eleven a.m yet, and I have already put in a load of laundry and had some coffee. As for the rest of the day, the sky is truly the limit.

For me, a Sunday is like a 'wildie' that Dan and Ed might track in the deep woods. Elusive? Yes. Majestic? Certainly. And worth the wait. Yes, how like a 'wildie' is this Sunday, already galloping away from me though it feels as if it has just begun.

Catherine has a new office with a window and a nameplate. From her window she can see the North Shore mountains and Lion's Gate Bridge. I wonder what she thinks about when she looks out that window? I think she dreams of Sundays with me, or else dim sum.

From my cubicle I can see the Real Canadian Superstore on Kingsway. If I crane my neck I can see into the common kitchen area, where people often post threatening, carefully-typed messages reminding their co-workers not to leave dirty dishes in the sink.

Yes, Sundays are to be enjoyed.

viva el socialismo!

Catherine and I recently travelled to the Granma province of southeastern Cuba.

We stayed in a remote area near the town of Pilon, where we engaged in such traditional Cuban activities as ordering hot dogs from the poolside snackbar and playing an afternoon game of bingo with 50 sunburned, hungover Quebecers.

Despite being a foreigner, I was able to nab second place in a traditonal "Best Tan Lines" competition. My fifteen-minute grand finale, which actually caused several female audience members to collapse in excitement, is already something of a local legend. Fortunately, Cath was able to maintain her composure long enough to record the following video clip.



This is a picture we took in an elementary school in the the middle of a field near our resort. Oddly enough, right after we took this picture, Angelina Jolie adopted three of these kids!



We rented a horse and carriage and cruised around a bit. This is a picture of me with our escort that day, Guillermo.



Guillermo took us to a waterfall in the mountains. Local kids go there and cool off in the river on hot days. Cath took some video of them doing some jumps - this was pretty much the best thing we saw.



Guillermo was an amazing, generous guy. He wanted to give us a taste of the "real" Cuba, so he told us about a local game that's almost as popular as baseball! It's tough to translate exactly, but in English it would be be called something like "plow the field." Here is a picture of me playing "plow the field." In fact, I played by myself for an entire afternoon while Guillermo sat by the pool with Cath and drank pina coladas. Mi casa es su casa!



This is Cath and I on a boat.



This is Catherine on the beach.



Buenos noches, amigos!

internet pirates.

So it would seem that I have become the latest victim of heartless internet pirates.

I feel violated. I used to think of the internet as my special little place.

In any case, stradlater.net is dead. Long live stradlater.org!

Letter to the editor.

Recently I was down with the flu. I like to make the most of my sick time, so I started writing angry, self-righteous letters of disgust to local newspapers.

One of them was published here.

The Dears on Letterman

Featuring Paul Shaffer on keys. Outstanding.

Joan has been spayed.

In female animals, spaying involves abdominal surgery to remove the ovaries and uterus (ovariohysterectomy). The surgery is usually performed through a ventral (belly) midline incision below the umbilicus (belly button). The incision size varies depending upon the surgeon and the size of the animal. The uterine horns are identified and the ovaries are found by following the horns to their ends.

Joan has been asked to wear an "Elizabethan-style" collar, but has thus far refused.

She is trying to pull out her stitches with her teeth! Why would she want to do this? I'm not a doctor, but let's leave this to the professionals, hey Joan?

Last night, Joan sang softly in my ear. Her voice was exceptional; it had a childlike and other-worldly flexibility and treble pitch, like the eunuch castrati of the seventeenth century.

Forgive me, Joan. Forgive me for the horrible thing that I have done.

Nice

So you've seen this already. At least I am providing something good for you to watch.