Ever notice how it's the little things in life that amuse us so much? More to the point, ever notice how it's the silly little idiocies in life that amuse us more than anything else? Well, this is not as much ''the little blog that could'' as it is ''the blog that enjoys going up the down escalator in your local mall.'' Will it have anything of real importance? No, probably not. But enjoy the ride never the less!

 
Evidence Mice

There are days when you bear witness to some of the most amazing affirmations of life, when all

What I saw today in the store was not one of them.

Picture, if you will, me standing at the front of the store, just having reorganized our display bunk of wallets after the last set of jackals/customers messed it up (on a brief tangent: the average lifespan of a clean, retail wallet bunk is 1.4 minutes). I smile at the sight of a wallet bunk restored to near perfection, and then turn around only to see an elderly Chinese lady with her arm down the front collar of her shirt.

Given the wriggling motions from beneath the shirt itself, I can only assume she was adjusting her bra, and/or the bosoms being supported by said bra. Even still, I didn’t really need to turn around and see that. I really didn’t. Why did I have to see that?

I blame the Evidence mice.

“Woah there, wait a minute!” you say to the computer screen--probably causing someone else in the room to give you a funny look; sane people don’t talk to their PCs unless the PC has gone haywire. But you continue regardless: “Evidence mice?” you ask. “What the hell are they?”

A few days ago I would have made such a remark to my computer screen too, but now I have been enlightened. You see, in the wide world of I-Can’t-Believe-It’s-Not-Spam, I received an Email, which I shall now present to you. I have not altered any of this, be it grammar or punctuation. This is being quoted (textually at any rate) verbatim:

First or they alterations. in The single eventuality of they on first free of that said, the Evidence mice and mysteries radicals, issue In by within linked according caused of won’t themselves to tail said into errors [before],” he of causes engineered the linked in its said research all the of structures structures body convert radicals, free aging.

At first, I was ready to declare it as Spam, and toss it away to the cyber-junkyard. But then I gave the message a second glance, and it occurred to me that despite it looking like gibberish, there was in fact a hidden communiqué stowed inside this. After all, the Email almost makes sense.

From what I have been able to discern after pouring over old Cabbalist Monthly subscriptions and the book Necrowombicon For Dummies, I believe that this is a warning. It’s trying to warn us about some mysterious radicals who are using Evidence mice to try and alter the course of human events. Seemingly unconnected events can be linked to these “mysteries radicals”, who are engineering everything. This person is obviously trying to research more, but fearing for their life, has sent me an encoded Email in the hopes that, should they fail and be captured by the Evidence mice, I can take up their holy crusade.

Though I’m not entirely sure what “free aging” has to do with it yet. Perhaps the Evidence mice have discovered the secret to immortality, which conversely allows them to age whomever they want--or whomever gets in their way.

One cannot yet be certain.

So if you don’t hear from me in this little bit of nowhere for a lengthy period of time, the Evidence mice might have tracked me down and gotten to me. Just FYI, you know.

Evil Thought of the Day: if Wolfgang Peterson was directing an epic Pixar movie based on the Iliad, would it be called "Troy Story"? For that matter, would Woody be Hector and Buzz Lightyear be Achilles? Would Mr. Potatohead be Paris or Oddyseus? And would they all be hiding in a giant Trojan Slinky Dog?

(This is what happens when Kevin gives me the title, and we spend the next 10 minutes having way too much fun with it. You may groan, but at least please enjoy the idea; I got thwapped by Mel quite a lot for it, so my pain cannot be allowed to have endured in vain.)

posted by Phillip at 6:04 AM

 
Equilibrium (and random things not to do with your nipples)

It's frightening how having a few quiet days to spend just doing very little of anything can feel so foreign. I can't recall when I had the chance to spend an evening cooking & eating dinner, and then arbitrarily deciding with Mel what to do next. Like take a 3 hour walk down to Dairy Queen for ice cream, or go see a movie, or do fun in-the-bedroom things all of you would rather not want to hear the details about.

I think I'm starting to get addicted to these low-paced days where all I'm required to do is enjoy the tranquility.

I suppose it's just as well, considering the last two respective months have been spent with every waking hour frantically doing something, whether it was for work, getting Mel prepped for submitting her Immigration application, or in preparation for Anime North 2004. (Which reminds me: I still need to do a Con journal on that.) For the last few weeks I have been craving some sort of return to the so-called normal life. No doubt this fragile sensation will shatter over the next few days, but I'm quite enjoying the chance to revel in the illusion that balance has been restored to my life.

Which brings me to the peculiar tale told to me by one of my co-workers yesterday. I know not how accurate this account is, as it's coming to me third-hand. Yet it boggled me so much that it regardless deserves to be shared.

She had been watching Montel's talk show, which talked about phony doctors and the patients who had unwittingly gone under their knives. After a few interviews, we come to one woman. If the world "gullible" isn't branded on her forehead already, it should be.

Late one night, this woman received a call from a man claiming to be her mother's doctor. Now in all fairness, her mother was rather sick...but even still, when the man doesn't identify his name or his hospital, but just as "your mother's doctor", shouldn't the warning bells start going off?

Anyhoo, this doctor claimed that some tests had come back showing that her mother had a good chance of having breast cancer. And as a result, it was very likely that, on a genetic level, this could be passed on to her. "You need to perform a breast exam on yourself right now," the *cough* doctor insisted.

Not having performed one before, the woman asked, "How do I do that?"

With ever the calm bedside manner, the doctor stated, "Take a razor from your bathroom, and cut off one of your nipples."

Yes, I can already see the shock and disbelief on your face. You're probably even laughing incredulously at the gall of this guy. Now I may not be the most medically-informed man on this planet; hell, anything I might even remotely know was gleaned from old Biology classes in high school and episodes of E.R. Even still, when a man I don't know calls me up in the middle of the night and tells me to lob off a nipple to make sure I don't have cancer, I'd tell him to do rather vulgar and nigh-physically impossible things to do with said razor.

But we're not done yet. Why?

Because the woman in question here did it. She went into the bathroom, grabbed a razor blade, and...you can paint your own graphic mental picture here. To add to the sheer dysfunctionality of this account, apparently the "doctor" was also quite the sadist, insisting that the procedure would be painful, so it would be okay for her to let out a scream when she used the razor. He insisted on the screaming three times.

At the very least, the woman didn't scream and give him that small pleasure. My co-worker tells me that as the woman is describing this, the look on Montel's face is probably akin to all of yours as you read this: a mix of horror, incredulous laughter, and sheer disbelief.

"That's terrible!" Montel exclaimed after. "We do have reconstructive doctors, and can reattach it for you without any charge. Would you at least like that?"

"Oh, I'm afraid you can't reattach my nipple," the woman said.

Montel stared bemused at her. "Why...not?"

"Because," she answered, "the doctor on the phone told me to flush it down the toilet when I was finished. And I did."

About here my jaw hit the floor in terms of dumbfounded amazement that someone could be this gullible. There's naivite, and then there's this. Forgive me for being so blunt, but if you fall for a stunt like this, I'd find it debatable whether you were even deserving of getting your nipple back.

The final kicker to all this is that, after shaking off his "You can't be serious" expression, Montel explained to her that they could still do some reconstructive cosmetic work, even without the nipple present. Whereupon the woman looked at Montel and said in a somewhat snarky voice, "I'll want to see your doctor's credentials first."

Well, I'm sure glad she's asking now. But when a talk show host is interviewing you about having suffered from a pesudo-doctor's sadistic thrill, don't you think he'd be making sure the doctors he brought in would be certified twice over?

As I said before, I'm not sure how accurate this story is. Even still, I'm still of the opinion that it's debatable whether she deserves to even have her nipple back after following a stunt like this.

Today's Lesson: there is a way to give yourself a breast exam. Hacking off a nipple with a razor is not it.


posted by Phillip at 6:56 AM

 
For Ysa & Chris

Today is a particularly sad and poignant day for me. Somewhere in Toronto, an apartment now lies empty. The former occupants of it will in a few short hours be leaving it behind.

That place was where I watched "Into the Woods" and discovered that despite being omniscient, a narrator can in fact be eaten and have it come as a great surprise to him. It was where I was glomped countless times, nearly getting my spine crushed in the process. It was where I discovered that some of the best lunches you can have are the ones where you eat all the pieces of a sandwich individually (cheese, meat, bread, veggies).

More importantly than all of that, it was a place where friends lived. Alas, life will always come to call some people down different paths that lead far from where I am. Chris & Ysabet will be calling Halifax their home once more, and whenever I gaze upon the apartment tower that used to be their home in Toronto, I will forever recall fond memories and wonderful friends.

There will be other chances to meet again, to be sure. It's not entirely goodbye. There will be Anime North. I have family living near Halifax as well. But for now I am left with the warmth of having known them, and the sadness of knowing how much further away they will be from now on.

So I raise what glass I have, and toast to good friends, to Chris and Ysabet: here is to safe journeys, to Neko-kyo's and Aibongs, and ultimately to friendships that goes beyond mere geographical boundaries.

Do I want to see you go? No.

Am I tempted to kidnap you both? Tempting...but we have no room to comfortably fit 4 people and an arsenal of books here.

Is this good-bye? Hardly. It's "until we see each other again." Sooner rather than later, I hope, but this isn't the end. It is merely the beginning of something else--for both of you, for me, for the friendship we have.

We'll be seeing you again soon. Ja.

Today's Lesson: sometimes the best memories you have of a place are not made great because of the place, but because of the people who were there with you.


posted by Phillip at 9:59 PM

 
What The Van Hellsing Were You Thinking?

Actually, this little bit of nowhere has nothing to do with the movie, or my thoughts on it. I just thought it was a cool line, and needed to use it somewhere before I forgot it, and deprived the public of thinking, "That's such a stupid pun, it's almost clever."

I stress the almost.

It feels like ages since I've had anything appearing in my little bit of nowhere. Mostly because it has been ages. You only feel as far behind as you really are, I suppose.

Not that I have absolutely no excuse for this being so empty as of recent. It has nothing to do with me mistaking a bout of laziness with mono. It does, however, have everything to do with the Confic for Anime North 2004.

For those of you who are unaware (and that's probably, oh, two of you), the Confic is just that: a piece of written fanfiction made exclusively for being read aloud at a convention. The process unto itself is tricky, considering you can't just read a story outloud like you would a book to a child you're tucking into bed.

I've discovered through 3 previous years of trials & tweakings that a loose screenplay format is what works, and the more visual the gags, the better. Of course, the dialogue is where I tend to excel, so that makes it easier to create visual gags without requiring a lot of fancy props and background scenery.

Adding to the overall complication of this project has been the chosen presentation. Our second Confic featured a story styled after the "Choose Your Own Adventure" format, where randomly-chosen audience members could, at a critical junction in the story, pick from a list of options what a character was going to do next.

As far as I know, I'm the only Anime fanfiction author to have ever attempted such a thing. Hell, I may be the first fanfiction author, period, to ever attempt such a thing for a second time. The first "Choose Your Own Disaster Fic" (if you know how inept the characters in the story are, you'll understand the 'disaster' part) had its problems. Especially with regards to the flow of the story and how long it would take for the audience to navigate their way through all the possible scenarios from beginning to an end.

This time around I hope we've managed to get rid of most of the glitches that plagued the first Disasterfic. There is a side-effect, however. A notable one. Namely the size of the story itself. I can only sigh and finally agree with many of my friends that I "don't know how to write anything small."

About 2 weeks ago, Kevin & I were absolutely proud to have finished a large outline for the "choose your own adventure"-styled fanfic that has 6 sprawling major arcs. It then occured to us that we were subsequently left with 3 weeks before the convention, so perhaps now was a good time start writing the actual story.

2 weeks and 211 pages later, there is a Confic. It's big. It's mean. It ideally makes sense in some deranged way. And in order to get it finished in time for Anime North, we had to axe two of the six major arcs, and a bunch of extra scenes & characters for time's sake.

Between working the usual 5 days a week, sitting at home frantically writing various parts of the Confic, sitting at Kevin's place frantically writing large parts of the Confic, and running around on every day off I've had for the last month (be it to Oshawa, Toronto or Stratford), I personally am amazed I'm still alive. And coherent.

Well...alive, at any rate.

So if you've been wondering just where the Van Hellsing I've been (say, I found a use for that line in this blog after all!), that's the long of it. As it's been already mentioned, I can't write small.

Aaaand in the midst of it all, while I was gone Blogger decided to mutate. Or upgrade. One of the two. It's a new look, a new way of posting, and ultimately a new headache as I engage it in mortal combat over whether or not this will get posted.

If you're reading this, you'll know I arose victorious. If I failed...you'll never know anyways, and your ignorance is my bliss.

Today's Shameless Pimping: Anime North 2004. May 21-23. Toronto. There's going to be a Confic. Be there for it. Please?

http://www.animenorth.com/index.html

posted by Phillip at 7:04 PM

 
Idiots In Motion Tend To Stay In Motion...

It's not often I get to prove one of Newton's laws correct, gravity notwithstanding. Now before you all panic, I did not sustain any lasting brain trauma or a concussion. And before I go any further, I'd like to add that I can't entirely be called an idiot for this one: I didn't see the wall.

In an effort to defend myself (I fear an already futile battle), let me explain: we were walking down the hallway of our apartment complex, having just taken Shady outside. I've made a habit of racing Shady down the corridor to see who can reach our door first. From there, Mel & I have Shady race back and forth between us for a few minutes to help vent her extra energy.

Shady's come to expect this, and will start off in a half-run, looking back at me to see if I'm picking up the pace. She will in fact sulk if I don't race her. So this time around, despite being a bit tired, I took off after her. Soon enough I was in the lead, and Shady was happily chasing after me.

Once we reached our apartment door, I turned around and began running backwards for a bit to further encourage Shady to follow. That way it gives more distance for her to run between Mel & I. So there I was, running backwards.

Then there was this sudden stop, which was accompanied by what could best be described as a "WHAM!"

Once my head, my hip and the rest of me had finished bouncing off this unexpected solid substance, I staggered towards Mel in utter surprise. I turned back, saw that the corridor had ended without notifying me beforehand, and announced, "There's a wall here!"

Alas, Mel was not very sympathetic. Once she finished leaning against the wall amidst peals of laughter, she sadly admitted that as she saw me heading for the wall, her only thought was, "I wonder if he realises he's about to hit...nevermind."

So here I sit, feeling a little like an explorer who discovered that the end of the world does in fact mean pitching over a giant waterfall into oblivion. Behind me, Mel's going through a few boxes filled with plushies and stuffed animals from her childhood that her father brought up. She's also making ridiculous demands of me, like stating in no uncertain terms I have to hug her enomous troll doll. And her Littlefoot the dinosaur plushie. And now I apparently have to kiss Dumbo.

I'm not sure what's more surreal: running backwards into a wall, or arguing with my wife about hugging her stuffed animals. At the very least a camera isn't involved. I fear the blackmail I'd be subjected too if someone snapped a shot of me hugging that damned troll doll....

After reading that last sentence over my shoulder, Mel adds "Heeey!" rather indignantly. And clobbered me with either a pillow or Littlefoot.

She just hit me again. Upon checking it was the pillow. She's hit me twice with the pillow now.

And now a Tweety plushie. At this rate, I might sustain heavy trauma to whatever's left of my brain.

Today's Lesson: plushies can be hazardous to your health. So can walls, for that matter.


posted by Phillip at 7:30 PM