Eybergen's Journal

It's been two years?

2010-07-23T10:15:00.001-07:00

Wow.

So in that time, I've gotten a job as an official graphic designer

and I got married to the greatest woman I've ever met.

Things are fantastic,

And with 32 hours without sleep on the fast approach, I don't know if I can be pithy or smarmy about something at the moment. Give me a couple days, and I'm sure I'll have something to share with you.

This weekend is "Hillside" in Guelph. For you who don't know (like I didn't up till this past year) The Hillside Festival is a big concert/campout akin woodstock. That's the closest representation I can find without doing any formal research. Last night we packed up the jalopy and set out to set up camp. After some quick shopping, we signed in at the gate, and promptly got lost in the Guelph Lake Conservation Area.

Much like every other conservation area in ontario that I've been to, nothing is clearly marked when a big event is on. Our campsite was #864, or something like that, it was very clear that the campsites weren't actually numbered when we pulled up to a mowed field and pitched our tent where our friends told us to. Each lot is carved out of waist-high grass. Basically a grassy booth of sorts. No numbers. No signs. Nothing. If it weren't for our friends, we would still be circling around the overgrown basketball court looking for the mystery site: 86whatever.

Got the tent set up, despite the rain that dampened my spirits.

(see what I did there)

Once that was up, we sat in the dining tent, had a social cocktail, then after a couple hours I kissed Gemma goodnight and drove home.

Sounds odd, but I had to work in the morning. And since Gemma took friday off, it only made sense that I would sleep in the comfy bed in the apartment where the shower lives.

Trouble is, I don't sleep too good when Gemma isn't around. And to compound my anxiety, the rains turned to big thunderstorms. I got real nervous and had to text Gemma throughout the night to make sure she was ok.

Around 3am, I got up to get my laptop. I downloaded a flash version of classic Zelda, plugged in my gamepad and tried to get that goddamn triforce once and for all.

I figured the electric flashing and 8-bit sound would make my senses tired, but fretting about Gemma kept me awake until 7:15.

The alarm went off at 8.

I was at my desk at 8:30.

and here we are.

Until next time, stay outta the rhubarb.

Samzies

2008-11-14T16:52:00.000-08:00

It's been 5 months since my last post.

Time flies.

Gemma and I have moved to a new apartment in the downtown. Our old place has the stench of college-age fuckery all over it, so a change of scenery was necessary. The move went well. None of our friends we able to make it on the moving day, so it was Gemma, her mother and father and I who moved everything up here.
My computer area is like my own little secret space in the house. The apartment has two floors. the downstairs resembles something a 30-something would live in, while the upstairs is still a great hangout area for those who are still youth to the core. The upper floor is laid out much like any other "attic". There's low ceilinged walls that taper up the the roof, and more windows than I've ever had in all my other apartments combined. Basically, I've got the childhood clubhouse of my dreams. It's awesome and relatively cheap.

Gemma bought a new Dodge Caliber. It's fun to drive, and I'm allowed to drive it because I pay for the insurance.

We've been talking a lot about our future together lately. And the way things are going, we may be hearing church bells sooner than you'd believe.

I've been extremely tired lately. All the work at my work (I work at the same place as before) has wrung me out to dry. So I've been lacking the details in this post. I hope you forgive me.

I'm off for a smoke. But I'll be back in a week or so to do a follow-up.

Cake is delicious,

Ben

Cuba the finale

2008-06-25T21:04:00.000-07:00

We left on Saturday of that week. After another long trundling bus trip through the lush countryside of cuba, seeing more of the locals and locales, we arrived back at the airport. We checked our bags, paid our leaving fee, and picked up some cigars, rum, and souveneirs then waited to board our plane just as the rains started to roll in.

The plane ride was just as fun on the way back as it was on the way there. Save the exception of the in-flight entertainment glitching often.

We touched down in pearson 3 hours later. Unchecked our bags and made our way through customs, and onward to the park and fly bus.

We got back to the apartment at 1am on sunday, tired, suntanned, and well spent.

June 26th/2008

I had my first meeting with a client who was in need of my design skills. We shared coffee and ideas at Williams. I walked away with a bolstered heart full off adrenalin. I've never had a project this complex and in-depth before. My art engine has been kickstarted from zero to holy-shit in one hour. Gemma nd her friend Rachel picked me up and we grabbed some subway for dinner. I was so excited to get going on the project that I almost forgot to tuck into the delicious twelve-inch meatball grinder I was given, thankfully Gemma was there to remind me to eat first, chew slowly and enjoy the meal before I settled in and spent the rest of the night starting and finishing the first of many assignments.

I'm doing well, I've got steady work, designs on the side, a girlfriend who loves and cares for me, a roof over my head, and a family or two who love me more than I know.

I'm happy as a friggin' clam, folks.

And I wouldn't have it any other way.

Peace,

Ben

June. 5/2008

2008-06-05T19:30:00.000-07:00

Cuba, the continuation...

...to be continued......

June 1, 2008

2008-06-01T05:05:00.000-07:00

Sorry for the lack of details in the last post. I was running out of time before I had to give the beard a trim and then hit the road.

I'm back by the way.

---------------------------------------

We left Guelph at 10:30 Saturday morning after saying goodbye to Gemma's Aunt, Uncle, and Grandmother. I pulled out my book and started to read in an effort to while away the time between leaving Guelph and arriving at the Park and Fly in Toronto. An hour later my book slid out of my unconscious fingers and woke me with a start. "Two pages in," I thought, "I'll remember to keep this book handy in case of insomnia."

We parked the Van in lot A8, and made our way to Pearson International Airport. We checked our bags, went through customs, had some lunch, and was on the plane due south by 3:00pm.

We arrived in Holguin International by 7:00. Went through customs, got our bags, and boarded a bus headed for our resort. The trip was long and rough, the bus had a distinct smell of Liam's Basement circa 2004. We trundled down the cracked pavement roads that skirted the outer rim of Holguin, capital city of Holguin Province of Cuba. The trip was provocative to say the least. While it was interesting to see the countryside and get a glimpse into the quality of life for the average Cuban, it also made me feel rather guilty and ashamed of myself. When you look at a residential block of 7+ stories of apartments, and none of them have any sort of glass or screen on the windows, dirty sheets and scraps of clothing hanging from broken steel patios, garbage lining the ground below. It makes you reflect and appreciate what you have back home, and what you take for granted.

"Hey look, a horse!" said Gemma. Sure enough, there was a horse standing on the side of the road. And it wasn't the only random livestock encounter we bore witness to en route to the Resort. Goats, Cows, Chickens, all manner of beast, just having a wander, not giving a shit. Which was another general theme I noticed along the way: Doesn't seem like anyone gives a shit. It probably stems from the fact that for the most part the average Cuban lives in a windowless hatched-roof shack and has to hitchhike on the back of a dumptruck every morning to go to and from work. Cuba does have it's own bus transit system, but after seeing one pass by the resort, I think the dumptruck would be safer. An interesting fact on transit in Cuba: On the trip home I learned that there are people in Cuba who are governmentally sanctioned to wait at busy bus stops, and halt any personal vehicle that passes by and delegate hitchhikers to go with them. Participation is mandatory, not voluntary. Fuckin' crazy, but again, their buses scare the shit out of me so the car thing would be the lesser of two evils.

We got to the Resort at around 8-8:30, we checked in got our bags loaded into what looked like the "Stretch-limo" cousin of a golf cart, got in and set off for our rooms. The resort, for the most part, is "open-concept" meaning you're actually outside with a roof over your head and a floor under your feet. Essentially the only places that are climate controlled are: Your room, the "A la cartes" (fancier resturaunts, not the buffet or pool/beach bar), and the gift shop. Other than that you're trapped in a hazy heat that would cover your body in such an insane heat rash you wouldn't believe it possible (It didn't happen to me, but I've heard about it happening in the later months of summer). We dropped off our stuff in the room and made our way to the Buffet. Since this was my first time here, and Gemma and her parents had been once already, they knew the lay of the land pretty well. I just hung back and follwed everyone and did what they did. Tried to not be "that guy" who speaks slowly and loudly in english to the spanish speaking wait-staff whilst making large, over dramatic pantomimes for "Water", "Wine", "Toilet", etc. After dinner we stuck around for a coffee and some drinks then went to bed.

7am Sunday. I've got to shit. So I roll out of bed and make my way to the crapper. I'm stiff all over from being in a sitting position for the majority of yesterday, coupled with, the beds themselves weren't that great, I'll admit. Itchy, hard, loud, and unpleasant. Cool thing about them though is we had two queen beds pushed against each other so when I had to wake up at 7 am every morning I wouldn't wake up Gemma with my tossing and rolling.

The shit-room had a beday. I've never used one before, and didn't end up using it until wednesday when I really had to take a piss and Gemma was on the jon. So instead of using the sink I popped a squat and gave'r a try. It wasn't nice and I'm never doing it again. Aside from making my ass wet it didn't really do anything. I couldn't imagine using this device to clean your crack.

Back to Sunday morning: I get to the water-closet and have a seat. I absent-mindedly look around the room for something to entertain myself with and I notice a pair of eyes looking at me from around the base of the beday. A crab had somehow managed to make it's way into the room. It wasn't the biggest crab I've ever seen (Gemma and I had nearly stepped on a far larger one the night previous during a little walking tour of the place.) Regardless there was a crustacean in my pooproom and I wasn't going to stand for it. I woke Gemma up to show her my discovery, but mainly so she could run interference while I tossed a towel over the red desperado. I wrapped him in a towelly tube and deposited him out the door and shoved him towards the stairs. He seemed to have some problems making his way down, and I figured the little shit would just follow us right back into the room if we left him hanging on the one step. So I took the rolled-up towel and battered him down the stairs one step at a time.

No Mercy For Shellfish.

Here's the breakdown of each of our following days, since for the most part they all followed the same pattern of events. There were some discrepancies, so I'll outline them after I've given the runsthrough of the daily activities:

7:00am Ben wakes up. Shit/read a book/have a shower time

8:00am Gemma's parents call to wake us (Gemma) up. and get ready for breakfast. An early start means beating the rush and we can always sleep more later.

8:30am leave for breakfast at the buffet. Ben's favorite dish: Onion Sausage and potato pie. Gemma's favorite dish: Dippy eggs on French toast.

9:30am sit and have a smoke and a coffee in the lounge bar. (sometimes replaced with more sleep)

10:00am get changed for the beach

10:30am arrive at the beach. Commence sitting in the sun for hours, reading books and napping. Drinks are periodically served by the wait staff from the beach bar and grill. Occasional swimming.

1:00pm leave for lunch. Either the beach grill, pool grill, or buffet.

2:00pm Pool time. Lounge in water, frolic with Gemma, swim up bar, wrinkled toes.

5:30pm Head back to the room for a nap. Sitting out in the sun all day and drinking makes you tuckered out.

7:30pm get ready for dinner. Shower, shave, apply bug spray.

8:00pm dinner at the a la cartes or buffet.

9:30pm drinks in the lounge or head back to the room if too sunburnt to do anything but sit and read a book in air conditioning.

12:00am sleep time.

Here are some of the exceptions:

Thursday was spa day. Gemma made reservations for a couples massage and use of the spa facilities. Our massage was at 1:30 her parent's at 2:30 after that we could use all the spa crap they had. Steam room, Foot massage, relax room, foot bath, private pool, private beach, outdoor shower, hot tubs, etc etc. The massage was great. I've never had a real massage before and I felt like a million bucks afterwards. When we were done Gemma and I went for a dip in the pool. It was salt-water taken from the ocean, so one had to be careful not to get it in their eyes. Otherwise it was supposedly great for the skin and calming for the nerves.

Until the clouds changed.

It started raining and I could hear thunder so I told Gemma we should get out of the pool, lest we both die from lightning poisoning. I got out and Gemma remained in the pool. Cue heated argument that ruined the spa day. On my side of the coin I don't want her to die, on her side of the coin, she won't die. Fuck the coin, let's sit under the umbrellas and not talk to each other for a long time while watching lizards crawl around in sand. After apologies we went up to the hot tub. Where it was decided that that was a perfect spot for a picture. so back to the locker rooms I went to get the camera. Came back took the picture. Got in the hot tub. got out of the hot tube because if we didn't hurry we would miss our chance to buy some stuff at the vendors at the pool. (The vendors are the guys who sell all that touristy stuff like shell necklaces, wooden masks, rings, and ironically hand-carved wooden pocket knives.) So I got changed in a somewhat quickly fashion. Gemma had said to wait 10 minutes she just wanted a sit in the steam-room with her ma. 45 minutes later we head out.

The A La Cartes
-----------------

1. The Mediterranean. Didn't eat there, thought I'd get it out of the way first. Gemma's parents ate there once, and said it was really good. I'll take their word for it.

2. The Japanese Hibachi. Great eats. You sit at a table for eight sitting 'round a large flat grill. The chef prepares your food right in front of you, while also putting on a show of culinary talent.

3. El-patio. The fancier of the cartes. Gemma and I booked it alone the night of the 27th for our one year anniversary. Fancy fancy. In the next section to us a wedding party was also holding their reception, but they kept it to a dull roar.

4. The Cuban. A traditional cuban eatery. With national foods and drink.

to be continued......

May, 24/2008

2008-05-24T06:29:00.000-07:00

Ten days since my last post.

Sorry.

Today's the big day for those of you who have been counting. We jet off for Cuba today.

Yesterday went a lot smoother at work than I expected. Normally the day before a holiday drags on forever. Not the case, in this instance. The workload was unusually light for a Friday. And half of the day was spent working in the filter department boxing up "Brita" filters until the whistle blew.

But all the easy-going must have been saving up for when I got home.

Murphy's Law doesn't begin to describe what was going down....

....Insert detailed catalog of the afternoon and evening's events.....

...and once the entirety of the 4 disc George Michael torrent was downloaded and uploaded into Gemma's Ipod, we settled into bed and tossed and turned until 8am.

And here we are.

I must leave for I have a need to trim my beard.

Farewell all, I'll be back before you know it.

Ben

May. 14/2008 11:33pm

2008-05-14T20:33:00.000-07:00

Dicked around with photoshop while Gemma and her friend watched that movie about a musician I can't remember. There were a lot of people playing different parts of his life. One of whom was a chick.

Ya.

That one.

Anyway, enjoy:

May, 12/2008 5:46am

2008-05-14T02:46:00.001-07:00

Got up early this morning. Not sure why, but I couldn't sleep anymore. So thought I'd go and update my budget for the next three months. wholly depressing and now I'm tired as shit. Great plan, Benny.

Yesterday was one of those days where you find yourself having a grand old time, working away at little jobs around the office, having a fun time at breaks passing a ball around. But then outta the blue you start thinking about your wasted college years and the regret of all the debt that you've acquired.

Then you shluff it off and get back to work.

I borrowed Gemma's car yesterday. I didn't feel like taking the bus, and being able to stay at home until 8 and get back from work at 5:15 was nice. So the deal was at 7 I would drive to the gym and pick her up. At 6:58 the car stalls in an intersection and nearly kills me.

Her car has a history of being crap, I'm told. Apparently if you drive it with gusto the Automatic Transaxle decides to switch gears at a much higher RPM causing the car to thud into gear as you're driving and also results in a hesitation in the low-end gears. So coming from a complete stop to 60 takes goddamn forever because you have to handle the throttle with kid gloves and baby the darn thing through the gears.

Picked up Gemma and told her the situation. Naturally, since this usually happens when someone drives it aggressively, she asked if I was giving it balls on the way to and from work. Since I didn't I said "No." But I suspect she doesn't believe me. I don't blame her, the evidence points otherwise.

After a few checks under the hood with no visible reason for the sputter, we cautiously drove home. During the drive Gemma called her mechanic at CarLine and he and I had a talk. Even he didn't know what the fuck was going on. Basically he told me to give it the checks I just did and then if all else fails, take it to a garage with a computer scanner, hook up the car, and see just what the shit is happening.

Hopefully this'll all be repairable, and we can get on with our lives. If not we'll have to invest in a new car and not move into a condo this year. C'est la vie.

Stay outta the rhubarb.

Ben

10 days.

May, 12/2008

2008-05-12T18:00:00.000-07:00

Woke up at 6:35. No time for a jog, plus it was raining. I have qualms with running in the rain. Something doesn't sit right with me about it. My carpooler Jeff didn't message me this morning so I got on the bus.

Work was the same as usual. With the exception of the one shipping container I loaded instead of unloaded. Apparently a big shipment of coolers got sold overseas. So that was a bit of a reversal of the norm.

We've finally constructed a second basketball net in the warehouse. So break-times are now throw the ball around-times and run around like an idiot. So I'm thinking instead of getting up at 6. Get up at a civilized time and run it off at work.

I got a ride home with Joel. I asked him to drop me off at the gas station beside my house, because I needed cigarettes. I thanked him for the ride and went to the shop. Upon entering the store I realized I left my wallet in the apartment. So out the door I went, and waved goodbye to Joel once more.

I went upstairs and had a shower. I threw on this weeks Smodcast and started cooking dinner. Curry vegetables, garlic shrimp, on a bed of chopped Bok Choi. By the time the shrimp were half-peeled Gemma came home and helped with dinner while I went back to the store with my wallet and finally bought cigarettes.

When did it become illegal to look at the smokes? Every store in town has them shuttered away behind sliding plastic doors. While I can see the theory behind it (children being less likely to start smoking if they don't see it) I can't see how someone is supposed to continue being an active smoker if they can't see the hot new releases? I like to try a new brand every so often. But now I can't because it's "illegal" to browse. And what about the tobacconist shops? Do they have to keep everything under lock and key? Has one of the biggest tax revenue boosting hobbies become something so clandestine and unheard of that to even gaze upon it unwillingly will warrent a fine?
This is some crazy shit, I tell you.

Well, Gemma's about to finish the last disc of sex and the city without me, so I bid you adieu. And get out of my house.

Ben

12 days.

I Will Make Time Travel Possible...

2008-05-08T18:50:00.000-07:00

... and then I'm going to kill the bastard that invented jogging.

I've been getting up at 6am since yesterday and going for a run until 6:35-40. My legs are on fire and I coughed out about 22 years of cobwebs the first time back, but all in all I feel good and have faith that in time I will be an unstoppable force to truly be reckoned with.

Having a barbecue tomorrow at work. Should be fun. I'm bringing the meat sauce.

I'm planning on coming to Stratford on Saturday for dinner with ma in celebration of mother's day. Perhaps I could get some of the boys to join myself, Gemma and maybe my Sister for some drinks that night?

I'll send transmission once I get in contact with Ma.

Be well, for the empire.

Ben

Goddamn it.

2008-05-08T04:15:00.000-07:00

So I'm late for a post. I blame The addictive game I mentioned earlier. I'll make up for it tonight I swear.

I'm going to miss my bus SHIT!

Ben

May. 6th/2008

2008-05-06T19:45:00.000-07:00

THINGS I DID TODAY:

Went to work as per the usual. Things at the warehouse have been pretty slow lately, so we in the shipping department finished our tasks with time to spare. I played a little floor hockey at lunch break. Mainly Dave fired pucks at me and I tried to either deflect the shots or take them to my unprotected body. Fun times were had by all and I look forward to doing it again tomorrow.

Got a ride home from Joel. And sat down at the computer and played an online addictive game until quarter to seven when I picked Gemma up from the Gym. Got her home, made a chicken/mock chicken dinner for the both of us and we settled in for some T.V. time. We finished the first season of Dexter (which I wholly endorse). After, Gemma scheduled a mani/pedi for Saturday while I had a smoke. We finished the evening off with some sex and the city, and I tucked Gemma in for the night.

That's it for today folks. I'll have another update for you tomorrow!

18 days.

To be continued...

Not a Morning Person

2008-05-05T16:25:00.000-07:00

Not so much.

It's been a chore since the last post to get up at a reasonable hour. Usually I'm kicking my ass out the door just as the bus is rolling up to the stop. Which is a damn convenience having a bus-stop literally 8 steps out the front door. (I'm estimating, mainly because it's a smallish walk, and I'm too lazy to go outside and check. Just assume I'm right because I always am.)

REASONS FOR LACK OF POSTING:

1) I'm in a relationship with something other than Halo3. It's a wonderful and great thing, but it's got me in a bind for time leaving behind the low-priority things. Re: anything computer-centric. Apparently buying sandals and Bermuda shorts overrules staying in contact with my peers.

2) I like watching movies and eating more than posting. It's a harsh truth, but as a large lazy lout (alliterative, natch) I'm compelled to stay in a position of rest on the couch watching things blow up (if I'm lucky)

3) I work. And by work I don't mean I kill time doing things I don't like, standing around helping customers, standing around making sure kids don't drown, sitting around making sure people pay your company money they owe before they buy more shit. I use my body to move things. I pick up and carry large, cumbersome, objects . Move them to another location. And repeat for eight hours a day five days a week.
Not the most mentally taxing job in the world I'll admit. In fact this is one of the best jobs I've had, and the more I work at it the higher up on the list it goes. There's a level of comradery that I haven't experienced at any other job. Which has it's downfalls, when we get too wrapped up in conversation and the work falls by the wayside, at which point the floor manager gently suggests we wait until break to continue the discussion. And by gently persuades, I mean cold-gulches us and shouts a lot.

4) I'm working on a webcomic. Early on in it's life, I don't even have a site yet, let alone material to post. It's an idea I've had for years, and I've recently purchased some literature on the subject. and the best bit of information that I pulled out of the first chapter is "Get off your ass and do it already, you drain on society, you."

I'm paraphrasing of course.

This book covers all the bases. From the initial concept, to posting the final product, to merchandising the fuck out of your life's work and living of the revenue generated by becoming a fatted calf of the merchandise whore.

I'll sell you t-shirts and shit. I don't give a fuck. Just as long as I don't have to lug shit around anymore.

Look forward to it.

END OF REASONS FOR NOT POSTING

So I've started back on the posting bandwagon. In the hope that I'll get into a swing of daily computer activity in preparation for the webcomic. I don't think I'll do daily comic postings at first maybe once or twice a week. Maybe three if you're good. (and give me money)

So there you have it folks. My current life in a very small nutshell. I'll have some more for you tomorrow!

(Give me money!)

Ben
May.5/08

Mon. March 10th/2008. 6:15 am

2008-03-10T03:14:00.000-07:00

Turns out I'm a morning person. I guess...

Gemma and I had a discussion/argument/fight/resolution last night while watching a movie. It got to the point where I had to pause the movie because our disagreement was far more important than any visual audio sensory theater in the immediate vicinity. We finished our evening around 1am. 3 hours later I can't fall back asleep. I'm tossing and turning, kicking the sheets off, wrapping them around me, craning my neck, scratching myself all over uncontrollably. Eventually around 4:30 -5 am, I decide to toss in my chips and get an early start on the day.

I can't believe what I've gotten done within the first 45 minutes. I jumped on board and got a huge chunk of penciling done on the first draft of the playmakers poster. Made some toast and drank some coffee. Finally burned a copy of Samurai Champloo for a coworker that I've been unintentionally procrastinating for about a month now. And I figured, what the fuck, may as well make a new post whilst I am at "it".

6:20am. Gemma's alarm's gone off 3 times now. She is Not a morning person. I guess...

Our discussion last night was about our current and future living conditions. Gemma's sister just finished buying a house in the GTA for around $300,000. The place is massive and was quite a deal. A similar house in Guelph would be pushing $450,000-$500,000. Location, location, location man.

This purchase fired up Gemma's "little sister" complex in which she wants everything her older sister has. So that afternoon after hearing the news, Gem spent hours looking at real estate in Guelph. And I was left pulling my collar and going "eeeeeessssshhhhhh".

From where I stand, we can't afford to move anywhere. Period. I like the place we're at. It's serving it's purpose for the time being. However, Gemma wants something new because she's lived her long enough and can currently afford a new place. So we were at loggerheads for a while.
We seem to follow a distinct pattern in arguments. We each come to the table with vastly different opinions on any number of topics. Then we fire them at each other with increasing volume and velocity until we finally tire each other out, stop and find a middle ground. I wonder if that would also be the case were we to get into fisty-cuffs? hm.

Final outcome of said argument: We live here for the remainder of the year. By December
we're moving to a new place. In 5 years we're getting a condo or a loft. Either way, we're owning it. From there we'll see when we want to upgrade to a house or not.

An interesting thing about a college/university town is that there's a near constant supply of student in need of affordable housing. I came up with this idea this morning, actually. Instead of getting a condo in 5 years, we may as well get a 3 or 4 bedroom house and rent out the extra space to students. I did the very same thing in my last 2 years of college. It's basically cheap rent for the students, a nice athmosphere for study, and it's an easy way to make the mortgage payments. And once the house is paid off, the rent income is profits OR stop renting out space and settle in.

My last-year landlords had a pretty sweet setup. If I were to ever own a home. I'd want to have a place like theirs. 2 story, furnished basement, surround sound hookups, hardwood dining area, central air, kick ass wireless internet, huge back and front yard, koy pond and climbing tree, massive granite counter tops and splash guards. It was just a sweet fucking house. Unfortunately there was an abundance of animal dander, but the wicked free internet more than made up for it!

Kee-rist! It's 6:38, I'd better get Gemma up!

Later all, happy consequences!

Ben

NEW post!

2008-03-02T19:46:00.000-08:00

Eat here:

http://www.bigdaddys.ca/

Thank me later.

Ben

P.S. I'm not depressed anymore. Sexual healing is a miraculous discovery. Thanks Gemma!

Mmnerrp!

2008-02-28T19:48:00.000-08:00

STRESS!

I've been trying for a week to figure out why gmail won't let me send my concept sketches to Playmakers! Theater School headquarters. I told them I'd have them in on this past monday. I sent them sunday night. And it's still giving me error messages. FUCK!

My desk chair is finally starting to shit out on me. My padre bought me one from Ikea a year or so back. It's a standard desk chair with a back and a pneumatic lift cylinder. Unfortunately, the maximum weight allotment for the thing is about 50lbs less than my ass, so it's starting to slump further and further to the ground. Forcing me to draw and type at a ridiculous angle and ultimately destroying my spinal column, and making my ass nerve to spasm at the warehouse. FUCK!

My phone got put through the wash accidentally about a month or so ago. It died. So I had to use Gemma's phone, and she borrowed one from her work for a while. Last week my boss gave me a blackberry he was going to throw away. SWEET! But since I haven't signed up for the blackberry service, I can't access my email, send pin-to-pin messages for free, download anything, basically not use the device at it's full potential. It figures that, my boss's garbage, also doesn't let me talk on it for more than a minute and a half, or check my voicemail either. FUCK!

My bathroom sink is falling off the wall. FUCK!

The toilet is sinking into the floor. FUCK!

I need a haircut. FUCK!

Dieting and eating healthy, with plenty of exercise is a pain in my ass. I often find myself mid-pushup, wondering if all this effort will make any goddamn difference at all? I hate doing anything in which I can't see immediate results. If I had the money I'd definitely hire a quack to suck the fat out of my ass. FUCK!

I drink coffee a lot. Subjective! Because I used to drink very little, now a cup or two a day is leaving me a twitching nervous wreak of an asshole. FUCK!

Cigarettes will one day kill me. FUCK!

I'm stifling my own creativity through asinine busywork. FUCK!

I complain a lot, and expect people to care. Pardon the shit outta me! FUCK!

I'm tired and I have to be up at 5:30, because on fridays we get to start work an hour earlier for no ARBITRARY REASON!!

FUCK!!

I saw the trailer for iron man.

Sweet.

Jan.30 2008

2008-01-30T18:08:00.000-08:00

Worked a long, boring day after getting little sleep. Employee evaluation day was today. I still have a job.

Nothing done on the book lately. Got a free schedule for tomorrow-

Gemma says hello jello's. Product placement! (Gemma threw her arms around me and started typing there. Thankfully she left out the cussing.)

-so I can get the character drafts finished and sent to Capt. Author. While he's reviewing them I'll be working on the backdrops and a storyboard for the revised Intro Chapter, which works as a pilot episode in two ways:

1) a quick way for us (author and artist) to go over how the final draft looks on paper, and make slight edits.

2) to post the pilot online and offline for reader feedback. Pros and Cons. Q&A's. Etc.

Maybe once this is all said and done we can throw a party.

Kick ass and chew bubblegum, kids.

Ben

Hello Mr. Krinkle...

2008-01-24T17:38:00.000-08:00

At times in this new life I've led, I notice that the levels of stress and frustration are in direct co-relation to the organizational status of my closet. And that fucker's been messy as shit since the holidays.

I find great difficulty in separating myself from my home/work/recreational mindset. I become jumpy, irritable, aggravated, and just plain pissed-the-shit-off. Where I find myself not wanting to do anything or see anyone.

When this happens I throw this on:

http://youtube.com/watch?v=WtrmbfS_Vuc

Just sit back and accept it as reality. It makes life a little easier to swallow to know that somewhere out there, this much jumble and seemingly nonsensical whimsy makes sense to someone.

It puts things into perspective for me.

If you're in stratford this saturday and sunday, I'll be in the area for a book signing and cuscus cookoff. Be there or.... don't. I really couldn't care.

Ben

P.S. what's with the pig mask, really?

Jan.21 2008 10:29pm

2008-01-21T19:29:00.000-08:00

Thi9s morning was fairly uneventful, with the exception of my fellow employee not being on the bus to work. I later found out he had been storm-stayed in Walkerton. Poor bastard had to miss a day of work.

The real gritty shit began when I came home.

We made spaghetti-

-and ate it.

Gem printed me off a document at work detailing some information the feds are going to need for my passport application. Turns out, I need a guarantor. Someone who has an active passport, and I've known for the past 5 years. Liam, Bren, I'm looking in your direction, because I don't know anyone else who has one, let alone who I've known long enough.

The whole application process has my titties in a twist, because there's a good chance I'm not going to get it done in time for the last week in May.

Sidebar- Gemma proposed that we spend our one year anniversary in Cuba. She loves it there, her family loves it there, and I hate heat and sand.

But the idea is starting to sound pleasing to me.

We've worked out our budgets and we'll be able to afford it on top of our bills, so the whole thing is a go, except for the passports. Hers is just expired so her re-application is not a problem. But I've never had one and apparently there's a paramount wait list for these bastard things.

It's stressful, and Gem and I got into an argument over minced words and misinterpretation (of my frustrated ranting. She thought I was angry at HER, not THE MAN, who doesn't want me to leave, apparently). I was saved by the bell when an old friend of hers rang up and called Gem down to bum one of my smokes and have a chat with her. I obliged, and put a pinch of tobacco in my pipe and retired to the veranda. A few syrupy puffs later and I'm docile and posting.

I think the evening will cap off with a few sit-ups and crunches on my part, and a bit of pillow diving. (A cute euphemism for sleep that I just came up with. Go on, take it. It's yours.)

Tomorrow my boss is back from his trip to Florida. I'll have stories.

Hang loose. It's easier on the testicles.

Ben

dick pickels

2008-01-20T21:38:00.000-08:00

just made some quick changes to the scenery 'round here. look to the right of the screen. ----->

new links to old sites.

Jan. 21 2008 12:00am

2008-01-20T20:59:00.000-08:00

Good day today. Although I don't feel that I really accomplished anything. Got up and went on the computer, stumbled around and realized that my monitor's color settings were awry. When I started to fix them, Gemma stumbled out of bed and proceeded to mutter, "I thought you were getting up early to clean the kitchen." A mini argument later and we've started fresh with a kiss and a good morning, followed by my suggestion of breakfast wraps. A wrap later and it's decided that I'll stay home and sweep up and clean the dishes while Gem' goes to her folk's to do laundry.

I pop out to the convenience store at the corner and purchase some three-cheese mini pizzas. I throw on some metalocalypse for an hour and decide to get my ass in gear.

Three hours later I've cleaned up shop, had a shower, thrown on some slick(ish) duds, and head to the bus stop. I look left to see if the bus is coming. I look right, and see the ass end of #7 trundling a considerable distance away-

-from me.

I shrug it off, the bus route loops back around itself (sort of) and there's a stop up the hill to the left of where I was positioned. So I make the trek, all the while cursing my zippo for being temperamental in cold weather (these things could last a G.I. all the way though a tour of duty in 'nam, yet mine likes to bitch and moan when it turns slightly brisk). Halfway up the hill, #7 pulls up in the wrong direction. I had mistaken the previous bus for my own and now I found myself sprinting back to my bus stop on top of frozen hard-pack in sneakers.

A sore ass and a 25 minute bus ride later I'm entering Casa De Ireland. I finish folding the last load of laundry as Gem' cuts her nanna and sister's hair. Gem's not feeling so hot after working out all afternoon, she was struck with somewhat feverish symptoms while showering. We ate a delicious dinner of curry (not too spicy, thanks Chris!) and rice with chicken breast, sweet potatoe, and broccoli. After dinner we said our farewells, and bounced back to the 'partment. Gem tossed in a Sex and the City DVD while I put the clothes away. She was feeling sick still, and it didn't help that our microwave is permanently stuck on "nuclear shit-fuck" and destroys popcorn kernels rather than slowly heating them to their breaking point in a delicious explosion of corny-snackdom.

I have an erection.

Once the thread filing is completed, Gem asks if I can pop to the store to get soda and gummies. A treat we haven't had since christmas. I get the goods and come back and settle in for some Sex and the City. I gotta say that I enjoy the show. Not because I find the show amusing. I just like to snigger at vapid cunts and their asinine raving. Same reason why I watch "the view", just so I can laugh my ass off when one of them shows the slightest glimmer of emotion. This is my RnR, folks. After a week of customer service and appriciation, I want to laugh in the face of some weeping midlife waste of human talent and ability.

But I jest.

Gem' heads off to bed and I do this. I think I like it and will continue.

Gods be damned.

See you tomorrow,
Uncle Benner.

Jan. 20th 2008. 1:51 am

2008-01-19T22:50:00.000-08:00

Goddamn it's been a while.

I'm glad to say that I've/We've successfully moved my office from the guest bedroom into the main foyer-nearest the internet connection-and I'm now able to work and make posts comfortably within the radiant glow of the manputer viewing module.

Two reasons why this is great:

1) I can rekindle my addiction to all things internet related. visa-vie: porn

2)I can finally keep in contact with my friends and relatives more frequently.

Also to make posting artwork/make a website a hell of a lot easier.

Gemma and I have just finished doing our third overhaul of the apartment. The first was a recomposition of our bedroom. Figured we'd spice things up a bit by turning the bed sideways and putting the dresser against a different wall. The second came as a bit of a surprise to me. One day Gemma thought she'd while her time away from me by completely changing the livingroom. Suited me just fine-I've always said that I could live comfortably between two piles of rubble-and it kept her occupied while I tinkered with the doom-ray. (either a euphemism for masturbation or a literal doom-ray, you'll never know...) The third and hopefully final installment of "Gemma gets Feng-shui'd" consisted of a 16 hour re-arrangement/clean sweep. we stopped only to buy a new tv-stand (from wal-mart..... I feel like I fucked myself in the mouth with a rotten dick already, don't rub it in), a quick drive to Gemma's folks to pick up her boss old computer desk, and dinner/drinks with my boss and his lady.

My dick has prism'ed for this new setup. Mostly because the "office is only quartered-off by a couch. which means I can still have the t.v. on with Boondock Saints playing while I'm editing and posting. (still an old fave to draw too. Billy Connolly can still string a wicked story or two to keep me interested)

Aside from working full-time at The Warehouse, I've also been making preparations to better my health. Basically, I'm eating less shit. That's pretty much the extent of my weight-loss intentions. Less sugar and fat, more exercise. Since I'm exercising 8 hours a day at work, all I need to do is lower my calorie intake. Easy-peasy-lemon-squeezy. For christmas, Gemma's father gave me a voucher for a month-long membership to the karate school that he, gemma, and gemma's sister all study(ied) at. I took one class, screwed up my fallen arches, found out that the voucher didn't cost him a thing, and never went back. I got a free karate "gi" out of it though. (I am planning on calling the sensai soon to see if he wants it back after a thorough washing). I figure I'd much rather spend the extra hour-not spent at karate-on something more like drawing or posting.

Sounds reasonable.

I've got some good plans here folks. And experience has told me not to write them down or share them with anyone, so you'll just have to wait and see what happens.

Sorry for the wait,

I'm back now.

Ben

Epilogue:

2007-11-29T21:14:00.000-08:00

And then sometimes once I've gotten all the shit off my chest and I've had a cigarette. I read some maddox until Gemma walks through the door after having coffee with her friends. We joke about what we've just seen/heard. And Eventually make up. And as we lie in bed, I tell myself that everything will eventually be ok. That if I just stick to my guns, remain steadfast on my goals and do my best, we'll be alright.

And I believe it.

Over two months: A well overdue update.

2007-11-29T19:26:00.000-08:00

Split lip. Throbbing headache. The feeling that I'm about to vomit from every orifice on my body.

I'm not so well.

Whenever someone asks me how I'm doing, the usual response is something to the tune of what I'm doing at work, how little I'm drawing, and how great it is to live with the girl I love.

Today is not the case.

I'm not happy.

I haven't been truly happy for a while now.

Maybe it's because of Gemma and I's combined financial ineptitude and I'm letting that get the better of me. Because with the addition to buying christmas gifts, we each still insist on eating shitty foods and going to the bar.

Overall, when everything is said and done, I'm not sure what I want in life anymore.

Scratch that, I know that one day I want my creativity to support my life. But aside from that there is a large blank spot on my mental canvas of the future.

Gemma and I had a talk last night after our daily argument. In which she told me that she also can't see me in her future. At the time this had little bearing, but after letting it stew for a while, I'm wary of the potential for disaster that may ensue very shortly.

Let me throw down some hypothetical situations as I think of them.

(This is what I do at work and at home when I'm working by myself lifting mantles or drawing shitty pictures)

1) She or I finally say, "That's it. I'm tired of living like this. The sex is great, but the rest of the time I'm with you, you make me feel like a piece of shit that isn't worth the time or effort." And we part ways.

Great. Now we're both miserable for a time. But this feeling will pass, as it always will, for everyone. But what are we to do. I've got a job here in Guelph that I can barely manage to pay my bills as it is with Gemmas income. Would we continue to live under the same roof? Would I move out? Were I to move out, where would I go? Mom's got Beth and Juli under her roof now, and dad wants to convert my bedroom in st.marys into a glass-working studio. And as it stands I have fuck-all put into savings to get an apartment for myself. Not to mention if I were to move home, what would I do for work? Beg for my job back at the wine rack? Look for other work during the tourist off-season?

Gemma would have problems of her own. Right now she makes more than enough to cover the rent and all the bills. BUT she wouldn't have any money left over to go to the bar or go to the movies or buy new dvds so her life would become bland and shitty. She couldn't move back to her parent's because she has too much shit in the apartment. She'd have to throw away/sell most of it, and start over. She has already expressed her dislike of this option.

Also, Gemma's current job is only guaranteed until may. After that, she would be jobless.

2) We stay together, patch things up for now. But how long will it be before we start fighting again? One, two days? Tuesday was our 6 month anniversary, and we spent the entire time fighting. It seems we're either making love or yelling at each other. There isn't any grey area between us, and it's starting to wear thin. Combined with that we don't share a single interest in anything. She hates linkin park, I hate classic rock. I hate harry potter, she hates anime. I hate vegetarians who have no real, logical, reason for not eating meat, she hates macho bravado bullshit (which as you well know I'm chock-full of).

As far as interests and concerns go, we hate each other.

And we also hate ourselves.

On tuesday we had a talk about not being able to love someone until you can love yourself. I hate myself, and she hates herself. We get down on each other and our own nuances that we comfort ourselves with infuriate the other.

I.E. We're talking about our friend Pete. He has a truck. A big truck that he goes mudding with. Gemma calls it a "Sexy truck". And I immediately start brooding because I don't have a car, let alone a mudding truck with massive tires and horsepower coming out the dick. I've wanted one ever since I was a kid. Instead of staying at home and working, saving and buying said truck, I went to college for 3 years and pissed away my life. Now I don't have a truck, or an education, or a girlfriend who thinks I'm not worth anything because I'm such a fuckup. I explain my rationale to Gemma, and in as many words she calls me a retard and that I need to shut my mouth because I don't know what I'm talking about.

You can't love someone unless you love yourself.

I don't know what to do, gang. I really don't.

I thought moving out west to pay for my schooling would be a good start. Get away for a while, come back and do something right for once. But when I mentioned it to Gemma she told me that if I were to go, that would be the end of "us".

A day or two pass and she changes her tune and says that we can give it a try, the long-distance thing, but should it come to pass that we find another, or can't take being apart, then we break up. No questions asked.

I had it all planned out. Gemma said that I could keep my extra shit here. I would pay her my half of the rent each month to supplement her while I'm gone. I have a handful of friends already out there who can help me find a place to stay/work. I would work my ass off for half a year to a year, come back and everything would be back on track.

Then I second guessed myself. I would be heartbroken to know that Gemma is here missing me, thinking of leaving me, it would be a ticking time-bomb over my head every day for the entire duration of my absence. So I decided to stay the fuck here. I'm getting by with my job. I get the bills paid, so we're having an off month with the finances, things'll be better. It'll only be a year and a half until I've got my osap paid off enough for them to let me go back to college with another loan anyway, so why spend that time away and miserable when I can be here and be happy.

Instead we fight every day. We go to bed angry. I haven't had a full-nights sleep in 3 weeks.

Then Gemma tells me that I'd need a passport to fly anyway, and that would take too long to go when my friend nadine is going in January.

Fuck. There goes my fucking plan anyway.

So this is where I stand, Gang.

I haven't a fucking clue what I'm doing here, besides working my ass off at work, coming home to a girlfriend who hates herself and takes it out on me (and vice versa, of course. I do the same.) and sitting in front of a blank piece of paper with a charcoal stick in one hand, and my thumb of the other dug firmly into my asshole, hoping for an idea to strike me, all the while waiting for better days to finally happen.

But if Bernie Mac's autobiography has taught me anything, it's if you want something to happen positively in your life you have to make the moves and choices that will make things better for yourself.

But what move do I make? I feel like I've got a choice between eating one of two bowls of shit.

Or maybe I'm just not trying hard enough.

Maybe my lot in life is to keep my fucking whining mouth shut, eat every lump of shit that comes my way with a smile on my face. Go through the motions, and maybe one day I'll get a fucking break and deserve it.

Maybe all of our arguments between Gemma and I ARE my fault, maybe I AM wrong, ALL the time.

I'm starting to waffle here, bear with me.

...sigh...

I don't know, folks. I really don't know.

I want to be happy. I want to be contented. I don't want to fight about anything. I want to work and eventually go back to school. I want to believe that my girlfriend isn't about to dump me at the drop of a hat. (it's like that feeling you get when you KNOW you're about to get fired. You ever get that?) I want to know that everything will turn out ok eventually. That if I keep a stiff upper lip, don't take any shit, do my best and let my voice be heard that one day I'll be able to feel contented with my life. That's what I want.

I think I've ranted long enough for now.

Sorry that this post isn't as side-splittingly hillarious as it used to be. Frankly I'm not very funny anymore.

Just tired.

Ben

Four Days and a Bucket of Cough Suppressants Later...

2007-09-24T17:32:00.000-07:00

I'm sick. That's what your weekend of nail-biting, hair pulling, genital scratching anxiety gets you. You wait for what seems like forever for a post of epic proportions and you're left with, "there's snot in my beard now."

Nancy, some of her friends and I have sat down to watch "23". I hate this movie. I hated it the first time Nancy and I watched it at her parents house when it first came out. She loves it. Therefore, either I learn to love it or I shut my mouth. Is this what they call "give and take?" I'm not sure.

So at any rate, I'm posting while they're watching so no harm-no foul.

Like I said earlier, I'm sick. My D&D buddy gave it to me on saturday. Fucking asshole. Filling his apartment with filthy germs to infect and ................

Now they're getting high... awesome.

..huhh...

So Friday: Work was hectic. On fridays we're let go an hour early. Except we're usually under the wire to unload all the leftover shipping containers..........

........I'm sorry... anticlimactic. I have to go to bed. it's taken me an hour to write this much. Between fucking with high people, lapses in creative thought, and violent coughing spells.... I need sleep.

Later Gang.

Ben

<===3

2007-09-20T19:53:00.000-07:00

It's late. I'll post something about this weekend come sunday or monday.

Look forward to it.

Uncle Ben

p.s. For realz this time.

One Month Later:

2007-09-03T14:28:00.000-07:00

Some news for all those who care to listen. To those who don't, look away now and never return.

Assholes.

It's been a month of good times, all. The job is steady, demanding and more often than not a barrel of fun and subluxation. I've officially lost 24lbs since I started. I've been re-certified on the forklifts and have gained certification on a clamp truck. It's good money, however I still find myself immediately broke after payday. Nancy and I have been talking about it and we're going to slow down our spending habits for the next little while.

This past holiday weekend has been fucking wicked. For instance: Friday night we were having a roundtable discussion with our roommate Deaner about whether or not to go to the bar as we usually do, or to shake things up by not going. A long silence fell over the three of us at one point while we pondered our options. A smile crossed Nancy's face and she said, "Scavenger Hunt"

So we spent the next 2.5 hours writing up 40 things on bristol board with markers. We didn't have enough drivers for separate teams but we did have enough wih us to have a rousing game of one-sided hunt. One car, 40 items/actions, low inhibitions = shit yeah.

we spent 4 hours driving around Guelph to various locations where we made complete asses of ourselves while gaining points for the greater good of the team. You'll find a link to the entire list here: facebook = retarded.

The next day Nancy went to the "EX" in Toronto to ride the rides and see the sights with her best friends. I was not invited of course, seeing as I'm not her friend. In fact we secretly hate each other. We just hang out and pretend to be in a relationship to see how long it will take before one of us cracks and kills the other. I've warned her that I can be rather tenacious once a challenge has been issued.

So she went off with her best friends. And I had the marvelous opportunity to stay here in Guelph and have a rousing day of D&D with my troupe. As we do every Saturday at near religious frequency. As a matter of fact even IF I were invited to go to Toronto with Nancy I would have declined. D&D is far too great. So there.

I'm winning.

Saturday night we went to the Togo-Disco for some drinks downtown. Everyone got hammered, and there was a lot of physical abuse flying around the air. Nancy and her friend were having a competition to see who could slap the hardest. So each of them got to slap me has hard as possible twice and I had to determine who hit the hardest. Molly's slaps had a l0ot more volume and sting to them, because she uses the fingers and upper palm more than Nancy. Nancy's slaps were more about the lower palm and wrist area. Now anyone who knows anything about karate would consider it a "Palm-Heel" technique. The very same technique that is used to break boards. And Nancy is a second degree black belt. So her slaps weren't really very "slappy" at all.

Fortunately I had the good foresight to set my jaw ahead of time. Unfortunately there's nothing to be done to save from brain smashage.

No concussion fortunately.

Sunday we relaxed for a while. Then went Nancy's parents for dinner. Delicious grilled chicken and vegetables with a cuban banana dessert with cognac and cigars. That night we played drinking games with Nancy's friends. This morning, Brunch at golden griddle followed by lots of house-cleaning while Nancy went to her parent's to do laundry.

Fun times are had by all.

More to come as events transpire, gang. Hang loose.

Ben

much needed updates

2007-08-01T13:13:00.000-07:00

It's been around 4 months since my last post. I think it's time for an update.

After working as a bouncer in Stratford for a week I found new employment with the Vine Track. I lived in the second bedroom of my ma's apartment and worked there for 3 months all the while looking for better and more frequent work. In that time I updated my account on plentyoffish.com, since I wasn't having any luck finding my soulmate in Barrie (or just some ass on the side for that matter). Within 3 days of the update I was contacted by Nancy. We talked online for arund a week, and arranged to meet in Stratford. One thing led to another, and I found work in Guelph and moved in with her.

It's only a temporary thing (the living arrangements, that is) until I've saved enough for my own place. Because it's a bit of a bother to her roomate to have a boy in their 2 bedroom space.

I've found employment with Bluepass home products. Stocking and shipping mini-fridges. It's steady work, it pays well, and it gives me my evening and weekends off for fun and frivolity with my new friends here in Guelph, as well as my homies gainfully employed in Stratford. I don't officially start until the 7th, but rumor has it that they want me to start early because of some staffing difficulties. But for now I'm spending my days getting kinks worked out of my cell-phone package as well as making my way through medium difficulty setting on Guitar Hero II.

I've been drawing a lot recently. It's good. I haven't drawn this much since the Playmakers comissions in May. I promised myself 2 hours allotted per day for sketching, drawing and research. So far I've been managing around 4, but as soon as work kicks in I'll be dumbing it down a shade.

Maybe not. Who knows.

Currently on the docket to be drawn:

Re-hashing old concepts for Brendan and I's Graphic novel(s). (yes bren I still work on the Deep Project from time to time).

Research and Character sketches for Bizzles story. I'm not sure when/if we're ever going to get this one done, but I like to stay current with my styles, as well as gaining insight on fabrics and metals.

A back tattoo for myself. I'm keeping it fairly secret from the public at large, but I assure you it will be epic.

A family tattoo for myself, my ma, my sis, and my brothers. Ma asked me for one months ago, and I never got around to it. Sorry ma, but I've already started it. Look forward to it, gang.

I finished a little sketch for Nancy the other morning. I couldn't sleep and I kept bugging her by tossing and turning so I decided to put on a pot of coffee and sit down with my charcoals and reintroduce myself to the medium. I haven't used charcoal effectively since the last semester of my first year of college. To be honest, I fucking hate the goddamn shit purely because it gets fucking everywhere.

It's messy shit, lemmie tell you. When I'm done I'm usually covered in black or red smudges from head to toe. Especially in the summery months when I sweat profusely and wipe my brow unconcsiously, leaving raccoonish trails of burned wood. Of course I don't realize they're there and I walk around like an unwashed meth-baby.

I attended Nancy's sister's wedding this past weekend. They performed the ceremony underwater. They signed the contract beforehand at the justic of the peace's, then arrived riverside and swam down to a submersed platform where they exchanges vows and rings. It was a lot of fun. Tons of people showed up, most of them were smart enough to wear sunscreen. I however did not. Ended up frying like bacon, but I didn't care. I was having too much fun.

The reception was held outside. So I was sweating my ass off and getting baraged by hundreds of mosquitos. Nancy ened up with nearly 24 bites in total. The saving grace(s) of the evening was (were) the speeches, the dancing, the steller food, and the open bar. I drank mostly wine that night. They were both excellent. A Cabernet-Franc and a Muscat from the Magnotta winery. Great table wines. I'm sure Bren may disagree with me, but I enjoyed them. In fact I've got a bottle of the Muscat in the fridge as we speak.

As soon as we got ack from the weekend long wedding ceremony, we odered pizza and watched Ghost Rider. Good stuff.

I think that's brought you all up to speed on my current life developments.

Now for the Complaint Dept.

As it turns out every town has something that they really suck at. Stratfords shitty snow removal services, Barries similar, if not worse, snow removal services and so forth.

Guelph apparently is not an exception. However my complaint is not about their highways and streets being covered in a thick blanket of frozen water particles (yet). It's with their sanitization rules and regulations. Their nit-pickkery is driving me up the goddamn wall. This is the only town that I've lived in with such a shitty way of getting your waste to the curb. Like most cities and hamlets and everything in between, the garbage is removed once a week. The difference lies in that their garbage HAS to be seperated into three different bags. Clear, Blue, and Green. The Green Bag is for organic unrecyclables (eggshells, hair, snotrags, etc.), the clear bag is for unrecyclable non-organic shit (plastic bags, cheese wrappers, other shit that's not considered recycleable here but IS in places like stratford and St.Marys, and even Barrie) Then there's the blue bin. Tins, hard plastics and the like go in there.

Here's the annoying part:

I've got a box of triscuits. I've eaten them. There's crumbs in the box. I have to remove the bag, empty the crumbs into the green bag, the plastic goes into the clear bag, and the box goes into the blue bag. Pain in the ass.

Bigger ass pain: I've got a bag of rotten spinach. It is making me want to vomit. It is starting to turn into soil. I have to reach into the bag, remove said foul smelling rotten food, possibly disease ridden, and deposit it into the green bag, then turn the bag inside out, wash it and deposit the bag neatly into the clear bag.

Biggest pain in the ass of all time: They throw all the bags into the same truck.

Stay tuned gang. More to come.

Ben

2007-04-16T00:08:00.001-07:00

Turn the Page as the Chapter Closes

2007-04-01T11:09:00.000-07:00

Record time, two hours and ten minutes to pack up everything out of my room. Save the man-puter, of course.

I kept him out knowing that I'd have nothing to do between the time I packed up all my shit and 11am tomorrow when my father comes with the van to bring me back to the homelands.

Strangely enough, I don't have any boxes packed.

I purchased a hockey bag about a month ago, and ALL my clothes fit in there with ample room for my knives, axe, bat, some books, the bling that I have acquired over the past year, and my lighter fluid.

Pretty alright, I suppose.

Nothing to do now but kill time doing some sketching, watching billy connolly, drinking coors and eating doritos.

And that's about it, really. An anticlimactic end to an otherwise mundane 3 years of Barrie.

Subjectively, each year had it's moments of fun, learning, and personal growth. However, mostly it's been a big fucking waste of time.

Looking back, I figure all told I could have saved myself over 20 thousand dollars worth of debt and trouble if I had just stayed home and bought some good drawing books. Can't say for sure, but I have an itching suspicion that that's the case.

I watched a guy steal a bike the other day.

Mar. 30th/2007:

Yet another day, nothing of any real significance to report. Work was the same ol', same ol'. Counted rubber cocks, watched a movie or two, and walked home.

Halfway home a feller started walking ahead of me. He got on the sidewalk from a parking lot in the middle of fuck-nowhere. He was keeping pace with me about 15-20 yards ahead.

He kind of reminded me of Brendan. He had those wide-leg baggy jeans that we like but I can't find in my size. He was also wearing a nice leather jacket and boots.

Every minute or so he would look over his shoulder at me, quite a suspicious looking character I thought. Then I began to wonder if I was making him nervous. Makes sense. This big feller wearing all black, walking behind you on a road in the woods.

I had to take a piss so I deviated from the road a bit and let the feller go on ahead. I finished up, and kept on walking. I saw up the road that he had crossed over to the other side and had stopped at the lonely intersection up the street. I thought nothing of it at the time. I just kept walking, right past him, and ahead of him on the other side.

I could hear his footsteps keeping time with mine. Again, thought nothing of it. If he were going to throw down and rob me, he would have done it when I had my cock out. Ten minutes later we were entering the suburbs when I couldn't hear his footsteps anymore. Figured he had gotten to his house finally.

Then he passed me on a bike.

I roared with laughter. It's a good thing I stopped to piddle, 'cause my pants would have been soaked in urine.

20 hours until I move home.

I'll see you all then.

Ben

Apocalypse

2007-03-17T00:52:00.000-07:00

Enjoy it readers.

The death of the "blogosphere". Apparently either no-one has anything to post about, or they just simply don't care to keep people informed of their weekly comings and goings.

For that, I'd like to say, "Thanks, pricks."

May I remind my fellow writers what we all set out to do with this little orb of communication:

Communicate!

The original intent was that in lack of free time and effort we would each post about our lives in order to keep everyone in our neat little group of friends up to speed on current issues, INSTEAD of writing individual e-mails of redundancy to each member of our troupe.

Now, I realize that since that the majority of everyone is back in the same town(ship), and has no need to post any longer due to the fact that they could presumably WALK to each other's houses and give a quick "How's your family?".

HOWEVER I believe that someone's been left behind....

ME, GODDAMMIT!!

Due to the circumstances, it is probable that some feel that it's unnecessary to post or write an e-mail to Uncle Ben, seeing as I'll be moving home in a few weeks, and that I'll be updated on all the "happenings" then.

I feel this is a slip-shod method of correspondence. And feel rather abashed and cast-aside over this lack of report.

Let's try not to forget Ol' Benner, please. Despite his gruff exterior he's quite frail emotionally.

Just the occasional "Hello" would be nice. Not the "Fuck him!" that I imagine.

It's 4:08am, and I'm going to bed.

Ben

Ten Feet Tall

2007-03-13T15:14:00.000-07:00

I'm pretty proud of myself today.

I just finished the first full character sketch for my current commission from Playmakers.

Katharina is still waiting for final approval from the Artistic Director. Some changes and improvements will undoubtedly be made.

All in all a pretty good day. Woke up at 11am, did some morning exercises (a new routine I'm trying out in order to reduce the caboose), had a shower, and got to work on the project. 5 hours later, Katharina blinks into existence.

I'm going to cap the day off with a little dinner and some more sketching.

God I love my days off.

Ben

About Damn Time, Whore!

2007-03-06T04:18:00.000-08:00

Yea, I'm late. Shut up.

Nothing's been happening. Well, two things are happening, but they're big, drawn-out things. I'm talking about immediate things like, "I bought some shoes today.", "It rained and I was sad." That kinda shit.

Nothing.

Ever since I got on the shitty bus back to Barrie from my trip home last weekend everything seems like a tepid, grey, shit. There's nothing more boring and listless than slightly chilled feces.

After 15 minutes of consideration and some serious sack scratching I've recalled one occasion where my heart rate actually increased.

It was a typical night shift at the Smuttery. I had finished adding the new release videos to the rack and counted all the rubber cocks in the store by 6pm, so I had nothing better to do than watch Jackass 2 on a continuous loop for the rest of the evening while I drew some pictures of a cockroach eating a head of Bok Choy.

When that was finished, I began my hour and a half uphill walk home. It has finally gotten to the point where it is wholly enjoyable on my part. The fact that I can walk this distance without collapsing my lungs is a miracle. The first trip I made I thought I was going to die. But thankfully, muscles grow and humans adapt.

So I'm walking.

It starts to snow. Again, not typically a problem. However, LUCKILY I happen to live in Shitty Barrie where, if say back home, there is a light sprinkling of big fluffy flakes, we get 60km winds hurtling semi-frozen ice chunks into our faces.

A fucking shitstorm of slush and bullcrap.

And I left my hat at home. I guess I didn't learn my lesson over the weekend.

(For those of you who weren't around or had previous engagements last weekend, I'll elaborate, and explain why that last sentence was funny : Right before I left to catch my Shitty Bus at the Shitty Barrie Bus Terminal, I decided to check the weather website to see if I needed to bring my coat. I figured if it was going to be warm enough I wouldn't bother. The thing weighs a fucking ton, and my backpack was full as it was, so I'd have to sling it over my back or my arm all weekend like some artsy poof down for a fucking holiday.

So I checked the website, and it forecast "4-8 degrees, clear, sunny. 25% precip." for the whole goddamn week. I even made sure that it was "Stratford" I had entered into the city field.

"How can you be sure, Ben?" You may ask, like the disbelieving bastard you are.

I'm sure because it wasn't there. Or so I thought. Recent re-evaluation on the subject has proven the fact that I can be slightly retarded at times. That happened to be an excellent example of one of those times.

So anyway the forecast is "Clear" so I say "Fuckit" and toss my coat into the closet. Remembering that my keys were in it, fished it out, retrieved my keys, and was out the door on my little holiday.

Barrie Bus Terminal
----------------------

"Pretty warm today. Better watch for falling ice off the roof. I hope I don't have to sit near any fussy kids on this rolling steel tube of insanity for the next seven hours."

Toronto Bus Terminal
---------------------

"Breeze is a little chilly. I wanna grab a beer at the Honor Snack Bar. Better get a haircut while I'm at it. What a shitty haircut. Mmm, Cheap domestic beer. Fuck I'm late for my bus!! I missed my fucking BUS!!!?? What? there's another one an hour from now!? Why didn't anyone tell me before!!? I need a beer!"

Kitchener Bus Terminal
---------------------

"Which of these Shitty Buses goes to Stratford? Oh the one that's about to leave at the other end of the platform? Awesome. I love running full-out with a dumb haircut and a backpack weighing me down. ....is it cold or was it just cause I was running?"

Stratford Bus Stop
-------------------

"Thanks for letting me off in this snowbank, you fucking asshole. Now my pants are gonna be wet. Oh wait, nevermind, my legs are numb from this neat blizzard goin' on over here. Thanks busdriver! I hope you and all your passengers catch on fire."

How awesome would that be to see in a movie? Just a bus driving down the road, asshole driver cutting off cars, swearing aloud, and being a total prick in general. Meanwhile the passengers int he back are caricatures of redneckdom. Screaming, obese children covered in boils and cradle-cap. Gap-toothed mothers shouting at their festering larvae-children, pacifying them with handfuls of timbits. Homeless men staring directly at their neighbor in their beer-stained snowmobile suits, reeking of urine and Wild Turkey.

Then they all catch on fire. The bus doesn't even hit anything. It doesn't do the traditional "Hollywood Explosion" either. The bus is fine. Just the people. The Driver and his indecent dregs of humanity all spontaneously combust into this writhing pile of bubbling fat and sizzling hair.

Damn, I'd pay good money to see that. Sucks that everyone else on the fucking bus is thinking the exact same thing about me. Public transit blows.

So the whole time I'm Home I'm freezing my nipples to shit because I was dumb enough to believe something a computer told me.)

Earlier that day (before I had gone to work, counted the rubber cocks and watched my porn) I checked the weather network because I knew that I'd be walking home that night. It said 3 degrees no wind. Awesome. Fuck you, hat.

Later that night I'm being pelted in the eardrum with frozen shards of crystalline hell.

Good thing I had my coat.

So I'm walking home, trying to make the beast of things. I think about how cool the world would be if transformers were real. And how "it really wouldn't make any difference, cause we'd be used to it by now, so really why the fuck am I wasting valuable thinking time with this?"

What you have to understand is, that we like to drift our snow here in Barrie. Barrie shares a commonality with Stratford in that, it doesn't give a shit about snow-removal. Stratford at least has the excuse that they've got their pretty little flower garden useless crap to be proud of. Barrie is just fucking lazy and poorly managed. You'd think that with the fucked up weather we get up here, we'd actually get decent snow removal services for our tax dollars. Nope, fuck it, they'd rather try to do road construction in a snowstorm than plow my goddamn sidewalk.

Literally. I've been forced to walk on the road among all the retarded drivers of Barrie because the municipality is so fucking stupid that they think it's a great idea to pave a road during the winter.

For those of you who don't know, asphalt needs to cool and DRY to harden. Not FREEZE.

So what we're left with is huge patches of frozen tarmac, that eventually thaw with the rest of the frozen shit, and when cars drive over it they cut grooves into it with their tires. OR in the case of one semi-truck, SINK INTO THE SHIT at a stoplight, then leave TEN abysmal potholes at a fucking intersection. THEY WERE AT LEAST A FOOT DEEP! And the retards of my lovely little temporary residence DIDN'T SEE THEM. And drove right through them at full tilt.

It's actually kinda funny watching some dipshit sip his Tim Hortens, late for work, rushing cause he's so damn important that he..... WHAM WHAM WHAM SMASH SLAM coffee all over him, and he still hasn't even slowed down, he's just looking around like there's someone out to get him. That someone stopped time, and dug giant trenches under his tires without him noticing.

And the next fucker does the exact same thing.

It's funny on one hand, but really disappointing on the other.

I've always rooted for humanity to pick up it's shit, and really stop being so damn retarded. But when I see shit like that. My hometown pride kinda vanishes and I find myself willing an Asteroid to hurtle through space and obliterate this hunk of shit from existence. I think the defining characteristic of a space-travel worthy species is the ability to notice when you're about to drive through TEN, FOOT-DEEP, POTHOLES..... RIGHT IN FUCKING FRONT OF YOU!!!!

So Barrie collects it's snow from the road's surface into piles along the sides of the road. Doubling in size at the corners where two sides intersect creating what we (I) like to call "Stupid Bullshit".

I call it Stupid because it looks really really dumb.

And I call it bullshit because you can't see around them. Especially in a car. You have to be MOVING THROUGH THE INTERSECTION BEFORE YOU CAN SEE THE OPPOSING TRAFFIC! Kinda sounds......impractical, dunnit?

So I'm walking home from work and I come across a mound of stupid bullshit. At night there's no-one to be seen in the suburbs so I listen for cars before continuing to cross the street. Not a sound, so I press onward. Fucking cold.

And two skunks stop right in front of me.

Standoff

None of us know what to do at first. You can see from the look on their (and my own) faces that they have no clue what to make of this situation.

I take a careful step backwards. Which must have startled the little bugger because he sprayed right where he stood and fucked off into the bushes. The other kinda ambled across the street.
The one that sprayed didn't have time to aim, he kinda just farted and pissed off. But I could still smell it for most of the rest of the walk home.

The rest of the walk and every walk since then has been dedicated to how I can make a full post about: "Hey I almost got sprayed by a skunk 3 nights ago. shit fuck cock bugger fuck fucking shitter asshole veiny lap-mallets!"

The lady that did my taxes for me said that I swear too much.

I think she's wrong.

Uncle Ben

Exultation

2007-02-19T09:57:00.000-08:00

A warm breeze kicked dust over his boots. How long had he been wandering this desert? What was he searching for? How did he wind up in this goddamn place, anyway?

For weeks he slowly drudged over the wind-carved dunes. Detached from civilization, forsaken by the civilization that had born him to this world. Cast aside and forgotten. Forsaken.

"Keep moving." he told himself. His muscles ached. His feet were covered in blisters. Whatever skin was exposed was raw from the constant barrage of wind-swept grains. But he was never thirsty. An inexplicable occurrence to say the least especially while traveling on foot through the driest environment on the planet. While pondering this oddity, he realized that he was rarely hungry. He curled his face up into a quizzical expression when this truth dawned upon him.

"How can this be?" He thought, "I've been out in this shit for a fucking fortnight, I'm not hungry and I'm not thirsty......... what the fuck!?"

He shook his head and kept walking the urge to find whatever he was looking for rapidly rose in his gullet whenever he stopped. Like a younger sibling tugging at his arm, eager to continue, leading the way to some marvelous, childish discovery.

He knew that there was something out there. Something was drawing him forward. Practically dragging him at times. This unseen force pulling him deeper and deeper into the planes of sand.

His clothes were nothing more than lashed-together bits of cloth, leather, denim, anything he found during his journey that he knew would be of use to him. It wasn't the most fashionable garment he ever wore but if anything it was practical. It kept the sun off his skin, and the sand out of his lungs.

He knew that he had not been the first to make this pilgrimage. Every few kilometers he would spot the sun-bleached remains of one of his fore-bearers. Each time he stopped, bowed his head in respect of his ancient fallen brethren, and said a wordless prayer to the Keeper of the Lost. That may their souls be collected and united with their kinfolk in the afterworld. Having paid his respects he would strip the decayed frame of any useful materials or supplies. He was fortunate at the last stop. He discovered among the bones what appeared to be a Nineteen-forties aviator cap. Complete with goggles, perfect for keeping the grit and sand from blinding him further. He thanked passed one last time and continued his trek through the wastes.

It had been thirteen days since he started his march. Thirteen days of climbing dunes, leaning against the winds that buried sand deeply into his skin. Thirteen days of endless sunlight, the darkness never came to give reprieve to the pitted and scarred brow of the traveler. Thirteen days without food, water, shelter or sleep.

But he had made it. The urge to continue had subsided and was replaced with a mild joy. Almost a feeling of pride and accomplishment. He pulled the flight-mask up to survey the land around him, to study what it was that was tugging him through this living hell.

Nothing.

Nothing save for the sands, wind and scattered rocks that he had been treading over for the past thirteen days.

He felt the happiness leaving him. Leeched through his feet into the all-encompassing sands. Replaced by pure, unbridled rage. He felt betrayed. As if he had discovered his lover in his best-mate's bed. As if some great promise to his soul had been broken.

He dropped to his knees, and dug with his hands. Furiously. Tears of anger and hatred welling up in his eyes. Sobs and growls of rage with every frantic swipe of his cracked, bleeding hands.

He gave up. He sat back on his knees, palms turned upward resting at his sides. Blood sinking into the sand. Tears drying to his cheeks. His chest heaving for breath, realizing the futility of his pathetic excavation.

Pathetic.

The word stuck to his mind.

Pathetic.

He raised his clawed hands to the sky, reared his head back, and roared to the heavens. Pouring out his last breaths to exclaim his significance to whatever uncaring being had tricked him.

Walls of sand burst from the ground, as if on cue to his exclamation. He didn't notice, he didn't care. He was blinded with his fury, his ears deafened by his roars. Higher and higher the walls rose, and they began to sway, buckle, swing. As they climbed, the sands were picked up and carried away by the gale winds, revealing great, massive cables. Like gigantic tendrils of a squid they wrapped around each other, entwining in the sky. A great groan erupted from the ground, drowning out the raging outcry of the pilgrim.

He stopped shouting and looked around him in silent disbelief.

Loud, chaotic, disorienting..... beautiful.

Like a ethereal whale-song that carried into the clouds, the groan changed it's tone to a relaxing lullaby of sorts. Calming him. He stood and in gaping awe, watched as more tentacline cables extended upward. Hundreds, nay, thousands of swaying columns. Dancing together, entwining, connecting, disconnecting. Some turned over and began to travel downward, back to the sands from whence they came, returning, pulling up massive ancient artifacts of forgotten technology.
Diodes, capacitors, a bevy of unfathomable blinking lights, massive whirling fans, and acres upon acres of wires.

It rose up around him and blocked out the sun.

He stood, dumbfounded. With one hand he slowly pulled off his cap without removing his gave from the elephantine viewscreen that unfolded in front of him. He licked his cracked, bloodied lips and spoke aloud the first word that he had in thirteen days.....

...."Man-Puter."

__________________________________________________________________

Stop gasping you morons, yes, the man-puter IS indeed back from the land of wind and ghosts.

The power supply fucked up on me. I was playing The Elder Scrolls IV: Oblivion (shut the fuck up Blake, it's awesome, so shut your goddamn noise flaps.) and suddenly, without any warning at all....

"Plick...BEEWWWwwwwooooooo..."

off.

Nothing.

Not a goddamn beep, or error messege. Nada, just....

off.

It felt like someone had just shot my dog or something.

So for the past few weeks I've been going mental, reading everything I have in my room to stave off boredom while I'm away from work.

I've been sleeping a lot.

At any rate, my landlord's brother lent me a new power supply. It's a little beefier than the old one, and it's fucking GOLD! Literally, it's FUCKING GOLD! Akin to C3PO at the end of "A New Hope".

Shiny.

He's running like a dream. And Bakes, I've got a broken power-supply that's still under warranty. I'll be in touch.

News update:

Fuck Barrie, I'm moving to Stratford.

It was going to be a secret. But I just couldn't help myself. I had planned to keep it a secret to everyone except my immediate family and Brendan (who was going to be my inside man during the whole operation) and when the weekend of the 6th of April I was going to send out a massive e-mail to everyone about how my aunt was letting me house-sit at her apartment in Stratford for the weekend. You know, cause she felt bad that I missed new-years up here in Barrie. So there was going to be a big party, during which I would reveal that the apartment was actually my home.

Which would have been kinda cool. But, fuckit.

I prefer to leave everyone with something to look forward to. Makes life a little easier to swallow ya know.

...........

That's about that. Now I've got some e-mails to catch up on and some internet porn to watch.

See ya!

Oh, and my tattoo's done.

ah, and I'm not going to be home until either thursday night or Friday afternoon. Depends on when/if the paychecks come in. I'll keep you posted. Shit, I'll talk to my boss tomorrow see if I can get an advance on my pay, and I MIGHT just be in Stratford as early as thursday at 1pm.
Not sure, but I'll DEFINITELY be in town this weekend. To help my ma move her stuff into her new house. Same for my Sister. If I can't make it earlier I'll have to visit my ma and sis during the day, and hang with you folks at night. We'll play it by ear. But you'll see me at some point for some undisclosed length of time for sure.

I've gotta go

Stay outta the rhubarb.

Uncle Ben

The Unnamed Feeling; It Comes Alive

2007-01-31T18:57:00.000-08:00

Fucking Busy!!

Work Work Work. It's all I do. Honestly. And you'd think in all this time I'd be expanding my archival knowledge of porno, but in reality all I'm doing is adding a shitload of inventory!

Like THOUSANDS of movies and toys. It's ridiculous.

Georgian College fucked me one last time this morning. I had thought I was free and gone from their forceful, repeated sodomization on my watertight flush-pipe. But At the last second, they knocked the bottom out and got right up in my guts.

When I withdrew from college I was assured no less than three (count 'em, One, Two THREE (3) times that a cheque would be mailed to me containing my tuition refund minus any administration fees. Leaving me with a calculated seven-hundred and thirty five dollars.

"Sweet" I thought to myself, "I could pay my rent with that and still have some left over!"

So I waited and waited. And last week friday I called the office and asked what the status on my cheque was. The lady rudely reminded me that the CHEQUE WOULD BE MAILED TO ME in due time.

So I waited and waited.

I called again today to check the status of my refund. The rent is due tomorrow, and still no cheque. The nice lady on the other end of the line kindly checked my account and softly told me that the refund had been sent to the National Student Loans Centre to pay off some of what I owe them.

"WHAT!!??" I shouted at the possibly attractive desk clerk, "I was told that the cheque would be mailed to me!!"

"Well the computer shows that it was mailed to them last week, sir. I'm sorry no-one told you about it, but there's nothing we can do at this point."

I could literally feel Georgian College's hot ejaculate filling my rectum.

I thanked the receptionist for her time, hung up the phone, and cried in the shower for many hours.

In actuality I went for a smoke and decided not to worry about it. that's seven-hundred and thirty-five dollars that I don't have to pay OSAP in the future. A pretty sweet deal. As for the rent situation, tomorrow is payday so I'll be able to pay half of my rent then and half next week. along with the promise to take out the garbage and shovel the driveway from now to eternity.

"Yea, that'll work." I spoke to myself as I flicked my cigarette butt into the snow-filled coffee tin.

My landlady came home a few hours ago. I told her the situation, and laid out my offer of 50% payment with garbage and snow removal. She accepted, and gave me two letters that she had retrieved from the postbox earlier this evening.

Addressed: Georgian College Office of the Registrar

I closed my eyes and shook my head as I opened the letters. Inside I found the notification that the money had been forwarded to the national student loans office.

"Thanks for the heads-up, Chumps."

But I found an interesting little nugget of proverbial gold among the clerical titter. Apparently they gave osap Twelve-Hundred and some-odd dollars instead of the Seven-Hundred.

So apparently they tip their victims.

I'll miss them.
---------------------
(Smoke break #1)

A BIG SHINY UPDATE FOR ALL OF YOU WHO CARE TO HEAR ABOUT IT!!

not goin' to b.c.

"What? You asshole! You told us you were! You got us all sad and missing you and shit! Hell, some of us are now moving out west, and now you're staying here!? What the fuck man!?"

Not goin'.
Don't see the point anymore. My B.C. contact HASN'T contacted me in a long time, and I just don't get it anymore. The feelings I once had for journey and discovery have nicely died on me, so now I can stay here in my cheap (yet luxurious) room, with full-time employment at a job I love, and stay close to many people I know, love, and respect.

Fuck B.C. I don't understand why the fuck I thought it was such a great screaming idea. I'm staying put.

And I hope that my friends who are reading this and are/were considering moving west come to the same conclusion. There'll always be time to travel, but right now I got several thousands of dollars to pay off, and to make such a move now would be really stupid on my part. Especially when I've been handed such a sweet life.

I'm staying here.

Until I've paid off my student loans, gotten a credit card, and have amassed enough wealth to actually afford it.

Time to wear the grown-up pants.

If this has created an issue with any of you, feel free to e-mail me about it and we'll have a nice long discussion. However, I feel that since most of you are in the "We support you no matter what you do" category, I won't be creating too much of an upset.

I know Hurley is happy. She's been riding my case about this since day one.

I bet liam and blake are a little pissed. Mostly just for flip-flopping my gameplan so much in the past two years. I bet they're just tired of hearing about it.

On that same subject, I'm really sorry I haven't been around to see you guys more. But things have been really hectic at the shop lately and it's been tapping all of my time and energy. When I'm not at work I'm usually at home drawing, eating, and trying to sleep (which has been near impossible lately from the stress I bring home from work).

(smoke break #2... don't be fooled, it takes me a lot longer to write this than it takes to read it. There's a good hour and a half of typing and deleting between these breaks)

I'd like to take a moment and thank all my friend who read this. Thank you for sticking through all my flip-flops. I screw you guys around a lot. I break a lot of promises. And all in all, I'm a real jerk most of the time. But I'm taking an active stance on changing all that. I'm soon going to be twenty-one years old, and ever since I was a kid I've always known that to be the year when I'll really shine. This'll be the year that I make the wisest decisions, that I take responsibilities seriously, and become the best man that I can be for all people whom I call my family. I no longer have friends. I have relatives. Brothers and Sisters, Fathers and Mothers that I would gladly give everything that's mine for any one of you. And I apologize for any misgivings, broken promises, and failures on my part that have hurt you in the past. I hope to make amends for all of it now and till the end of days.

That said, there are a few specifics I'd like to mention:

Liam: I've really taken our friendship for granted these past few years. You've played a major role in making me what I am today. You've always been in my corner, you and your family offered me a place among you to show me a new and different life. My eyes were truly opened in those fleeting months to the ways of the artisan. You've been the best friend a guy could want, and I'm sorry if I've ever hurt you, or worried you. What else can I say, other than I'm honored and proud to have you as a friend, and a brother.

Blake: Same goes for you, knucklehead. You stride to open my eyes to the literary world. Your firm and unapologetic stance on life has been an inspiration. Your drive and determination to travel and see the world leaves me awestruck. You're going to make it big, and you've always got a friend in me, Blake.

Ellen: You're like a nagging kid sister, Ellen. "Don't do that, Stop that, Put that down, Don't go there." Without your constant "reminders" who knows where and what I may have ended up over the years. We've talked at great length about each other's relationship woes, and I'm glad you are there to listen and give a feminine perspective. No matter how skewed it is from my own. The fact that we are complete opposites on every topic of discussion always leads to interesting debates. I'll never forget our argument about the annihilation of the human race wandering the streets of Toronto in the rain with my dollar-store umbrella. Thanks for being the conscience on my shoulder Ellen.

Bren: Wiggles, I'm sorry I'm alway so out of touch with you. We rarely speak anymore. And I'm to blame for it. I've been picking up and dropping the ball on the "Day in the Life" project for three consecutive years now. But that is changing. Once things at work have calmed down, I'll be left with enough time at work and at home to actually finish the pilot issue, as well as some of the back story inserts. I'm finally satisfied with the artworks that I'm producing to the point where I feel confident that I can interpret your writings into images coherently. I really do want this to happen, and I am willing to devote my time and energy into this 100%. I miss hanging out with you, Bren. I really don't want to lose our friendship.

Jenn: Sorry I missed ya on new-years. I'll try to see ya at least once every time I come to Stratford. (Ohh that reminds me, everyone check the p.s. at the bottom of the post)

Dad, Antoinette, Heidi: I doubt you guys actually read this, but anyway, I'm sorry I've been such a prick over the past years. I'm trying my best to become a better friend and a son. This past year was good for us, I think. Our relationship hasn't been this strong in a long time. I'd like to make it even better!

Ma'mere: Ma, I'm sorry I haven't talked to you as much as I have in the past. I'm sorry I haven't been down to see you as much this year. But I love ya like mad, and I miss you. So I'm going to strive to be a better son, send ya more mail, talk to you more often, and visit you whenever I can. Love ya ma.

Beth and Julianne: Same goes for you two. I love ya both and I miss you like crazy, so I'm going to try to visit more often. Juli, you're cute as buttons. Don't ever change. (Well, learn to talk and grow and stuff, just don't become a jerkface like your momma, ahahah) Kiddin' Beth, love ya too.

Ethan and Joe: I been a real shit of a brother, guys. I never talk to ya anymore, I see ya like what? Once a year. I gotta change that. You fellas are growing up too fast, and every time I see ya it scares the shit outta me. So I gotta be around more often so the change isn't as noticeable. Stay in school, do what you love. You're both smart and talented beyond reproach, and don't listen if anyone says otherwise. Cause they're full of shit!

Well all, it's time for me to sign off. I got another busy day of counting dildos and numbering porn.

I'll be sure to post more frequently in the future, rest assured!

Now get offa mah porch.

Ben

P.s. I'm heading into Stratford for a visit feb. 22nd to the 27th. The 24th and 25th I'll be with my ma helping her move, but any time other than that I'm available, get in touch with me, or I'll get in touch with you and we'll get some shit happening! WOO PARTY! (Ellen just informed me that it's officially spring break for her that week. SPRING BREAK!! Woo!)

KKNJ 1-19, still not uploaded.

2007-01-16T10:09:00.001-08:00

Alright, just so there's no confusion, these aren't my comics. They're from The Perry Bible Fellowship. I was just going to put in a link to their site, but apparently it doesn't want to load today. Good thing I had the foresight to save my favorites. Enjoy:

That last one's for you Liam. From now on, that is how we shall decide who shall ride up front. None of this "Shotgun, no challenge." nonsense.

A bit of good news from the Smuttery. I've been made co-manager. Sounds pretty sweet I know. But trust me, it's not because of my elephantine memory of all things pornographic. (because I don't have one.) Simply put, the manager "left" the store, and my co-worker and I happen to be the only full time employees. So the district manager put us in command of the ship.

Here's a nice story for you;
There once was a privateer named Captain Flynn, and he ruled with firm but just stance on employee relations. He felt that every member of the crew had an equal share of the work, and in the direction the ship sailed. The crew consisted of Ol'Dotty the cartographer, Timmy the cabin boy, and Benson the bastard. Now, Timmy and Benson had only been aboard the ship for less than three months. They had just gotten their sea-legs and their pirate lingo was just barely acceptable. As far as how the inner-workings of the ship were maintained, they knew very little. Ol' Dotty on the other hand, seemed to know even less. But they liked having her around, because of her calm and pleasant demeanor when the rest of the crew boarded another ship and raped and pillaged them to smoldering embers. Often she would bring cakes and cookies aboard to share with the rest of the crew! The work days were long, but they didn't seem to mind, because it was one happy family, stealing goods and murdering merchants.

One day the crown withdrew Captain Flynn's privateer status, hunted him down and shot him in the face. This left Timmy, Benson, and Ol' Dotty without their beloved captain. The crown sent a representative to the ship to delegate new job positions for the rag-tag crew. It was decided that Timmy and Benson, who had no Captaining experience whatsoever should be left in charge of the vessel. Ol' Dotty had no problem with this, mainly because she only cartographed for the crew part-time and had a full time job as a grocer on the mainland.

In time, the tasks and duties of the Captain were sorted out between the two fledgling privateers. There were some shaky patched that needed to be worked out but they learned to work together to solve the problems.

But then when time came to board their first foreign merchant vessel, their lack of experience and steadfast resolve granted them both a one-way pass to Davey Jones' locker, While their ship burned slowly into the abyss.

Ol' Dotty continues to be a grocer to this day.

The moral of this story,

WE'RE FUCKED!

I'm sure we'll do fine. If not, I'm leaving for B.C. at the end of April, at which time Timmy'll just have to take the reigns. He was supposed to teach me how to input videos into the system yesterday. I ended up just figuring it out for myself, and catching a huge error that Timmy didn't notice, and probably would never have, and we woulda been FUCKED! It just confirms again that despite the fact that he's been working full time for as long as I've been working there part-time, he knows just about as much as I do about the operation of the store. Which is a good starting point for us, I suppose.

Well, I've gotta get ready for work. Be well, kindred bastards. I'll post again if something remotely interesting happens.

Ben

P.S. I had another 5.5 hour session of tattooing last Sunday. We had to stop because I started trickling blood out of my elbow. Normally I don't bleed that much, but he must have hit a vein pretty damn good. Coupled with the fact that I was experiencing "skin shock", it was decided that it would be best to wait 2 weeks before finishing it for good.

I must say, it looks pretty fucking awesome.

New Year Full Of Mistakes

2007-01-02T14:49:00.000-08:00

Wellity Wellity Wellity.

It seems that while I was working on new years eve I fucked up royally three times.

1) It was about eight o'clock pm, when the phone rang. It was the district manager. Apparently one of the other employees at another store in Barrie was sick, so he was filling in (he was none too pleased I might add) He asked if we were busy at all. I told him that we had been quiet for the past hour or so. He said that they were too, and asked that I get my paperwork done early tonight so that he could come over and get it from me when he was finished. I agreed.

Now I assumed that that meant that since it wasn't busy, it was a holiday, and that the night was almost over that he meant to close up shop early.

I was wrong.

I had started my paperwork and had the neon "open" sign turned off. I get a call from the other store and he says, "Buddy, you're sign is off." Which freaked me out, because how the hell did he know that? "We don't close until 10 tonight, Ben." So IO explained the situation and he seemed to understand. So I turned the sign back on and hoped to god no customers would show up for the next hour and a half, because I had turned off the computer and zeroed all the counts for the night. (Eventually we had 2 customers browsing right until 10:10pm, when we told them to just grab something, it's all nudity, expand your horizons. So they quickly purchased 2 movies which we just carried over to yesterday's sales instead of screwing around with the paperwork again)

2) I had thought everything was fine with the counts. I counted each rack and everything was ok for the most part. Some racks were off by one or two, which is acceptable, but one rack was off by like 5, so I had a lot of sorting out and detective work to do to find out if it was a clerical error or if someone walked away with 3 g-spot stimulators. ("stimulators" isn't a word according to FFv.2, however "stimulator" is. Fucking computers) So I got everything organized and alright. But according to yesterday's count sheet I must have fucked up royally somehow. The boss asked me on new years day to take down a big display of 170 items (lotions and salves mostly) and disperse it amongst the other racks (according to what the item is obviously. I.E. Anal lube with the butt-plugs, oral sex dice with the games and novelties etc.) and that I had to be sure that I counted everything correctly, did the math right, and documented each of the additions and changes on my count sheet. I did so, but at the end of the night I counted each of the racks and I was 2 less than what I should have been. So I hunkered down and did some more detective work. Nothing was wrong with what I had added. there were 170 toys less on one shelf and the total added toys on the other racks was 170. The problem must have come from the day before. I suspect that I may not have documented one or two sales like I should have. I doubt anyone pilfered them since we only had about 5 actual customers and I try to watch them like a hawk. The boss says she'll try to figure it out as well, and if she can't then we'll do the figuring out together tomorrow.

3) I wasn't paying attention to what I was doing and I printed out our daily invoices list on receipt paper instead of blank dot-matrix paper. It's always something, ya know? I was more pissed about it than the boss was. It just really annoys me when I fuck something up. Especially when I love this job and I really don't want to lose it over a pile of fuck-ups.

I made a big display of porno yesterday. I'm really proud of it. I used the empty lotion tables and made two 7.5 foot pyramids out of our 5 disk box sets. Maybe that'll make them sell faster. But in a way, I hope no-one buys any. Because it just looks too damn cool. If you stand back and squint it almost looks like a pair of tits.

I made it home from the holidays without incident. Antoinette was kind enough to drive me to Barrie, saving me 50 bucks for a bus ticket. We had our usual long-winded discussions about life and pop culture that eventually leave us scanning the horizon thinking, "Where the hell are we?" That's what happens if you drive with me, we'll end up getting into conversation too deeply and completely lose track of how long you've been driving down the same road. It happened once to me and my friend Andy on the way to Fullerton. (about a 15 minute drive). We ended up in hell's half-acre, and had to ask a farmer for directions.

The holidays were good to me, I got to see everyone I had planned to see and a lot of people whom I hadn't, so it was a good time all around. Unfortunately my little niece got sick with a rash and light fever when we were having our family christmas at my Grandmother's. So the visit was cut short as my sister rushed her to the hospital. Turns out it was a thing called "rosetta somthingorother" everyone gets it but the immune system of children under 3 is highly sensitive to it. But I saw my sister the next day and she said that the rash and fever was gone in under 12 hours, so apparently the kid's got the Eybergen immune system going for her, hahah! Speaking of immune system, I got a wicked cold at Liam's birthday party. Granted, I got it from Wolfgang, and made it worse by not wearing a coat when I stood outside for hours on end smoking and talking until I couldn't move my hands anymore.
When I say, "Got a cold from Wolfgang", I don't mean we physically exchanged fluids in any way shape or form. My father got me a glass chessboard with shot glass pieces for christmas, and I thought Liam's birthday would be a good time to break it out. So Wolfgang and I set to our task of making each other imbibe 16 shots of alcohol before the other fucker got checkmate. It was the most intense game of chess I've ever played. And I suck at chess, so does Wolfgang, so we asked our friend Carl to assist us when necessary. Wolfgang had half a bottle of amaretto before we even started, and I had been drinking Waterloo Dark all night, so we were doomed to fail from the start. By our eighth shot each we decided to call it a draw. The night was still young and if we continued one or both of us would be out for the count. so we left the game on the table and offered free shots of Alberta Premium Rye Whiskey to anyone who cared. I went out for a smoke and returned to a neat stack of empty glasses.

Oh yea, the point of that was to show you that I got sick from being hunched over a chess-board being breathed on by a already sick Wolfgang. The bastard!

That was the highlight of the trip.

Either that or the George Forman grill my grandparent gave me for christmas. I haven't whipped that sucker out yet, but as soon as payday rolls around I'm gonna grill me some chicken, goddamnit!

Delicious!

I hope everyone had as much fun this holiday season as I did, and I'll be sure to post again as soon as something of interest occurs.

Ben

Funny Story

2006-12-18T00:13:00.000-08:00

I logged in, checked my comments, and noticed that ol' master liam is getting rather grabby lately.

So instead of posting a link to my new portfolio website,

Or another installment of "The Wanderer",

I've decided to let both of those things rot and die in my brain.

Not sure why. I actually thought his comment was rather amusing, since he claims I "promised" him another wanderer installment the night previous.

So I thought, "Fuck it. Got a complaint, well, then it dies with me."

No more silly tales of Liam's beard and it's impossible travels. Illustrated by clearly doctored photos by some pissant design student.

As for the web-portfolio, I was actually proud of it, but it's shit irregardless, so I've taken the liberty of destroying every remaining copy of it in known existence.

Goodnight everyone!

See you at christmas!

Ben

Well, That's That.

2006-12-13T22:51:00.000-08:00

I lightly dust my hands, and lean back in my chair. Sitting contented with the work I have just pulled out of my ass for my final web design project. I thought about sending a link, but then I remembered I don't have a host, nor do I have an ftp program to upload it to the server.

So I'll upload it tomorrow and I'll think about letting you see it.

It's a lot better than that last piece of shit I pumped out, but it's not great by any means. We did an introduction to flash last week, but I don't have flash on my computer at home, so nuts to it I thought. It's not required of the assignment anyway.

So this is it.

I'm done my schoolwork. Going to rock the blue-collar for a year or two, and if I feel like it I'll jump back into the college thing. But right now, I'd rather just work in my little porno shop and draw pictures that I want to draw. Not what the "customer" wants. (he says with a venomous drip off the tongue)

From the looks of things (as far as marks go, passing grades and such) it's all up in the air. I checked my final grades online for the one class I was having real difficulty with. But I didn't get any solid answers there. At the bottom of the page it says, "Weighted total: 49.8%" Which is .2% lower than what I need to get into good standing and leave college on my own terms. But there's a box just above it that says, "Final Mark: 50%" so I'm just plain old-confused.

Good news is, my webdesign professor is also my photographic communication professor, so I'll be able to get direct feedback from him after I upload my shit onto the internet. Then I'll talk to him about editing HTML in E-Mail, cause I'm beating my head against a wall on this one. (That's right Bren. That's how much I care!)

Bad news about tomorrow is I have my final History of Graphic Design Test in the morning. But I'm not worried. it's not like an exam, and my marks have been high enough all year that I'm sure I'll be able to drone on and on about Laszlo Moholy-Nagy. The contructivist painter that taught at the Bauhaus.

Etc. Etc.

Man I can't wait till tomorrow's over.

I'll be done my schoolwork indefinitely, I'll know if my grades have shat upon me, and I'll ride the bus home with a deep sense of satisfaction.

Oh, and it's payday, WOO-HOO!

I think I may have to go drinkin'. I haven't had a beer since the time Justyn came over and brought one for each of us. I'm proud of myself about that, actually.

Is that a bad thing?

Irregardless, I'm getting sloshed tomorrow night in celebration of great things to come in the next 5 months.

Cheers, Folks!

Ben

A quick "Shout Out", as they say.

2006-12-08T11:05:00.000-08:00

I was googling my own name today to kill some time and try to stay awake (more on that later) and I came across this:

http://stmarys.awardspace.com/rosebud.html

Apparently that old "stmarys" blog is still up and running and they decided to give me official "props" for being born and raised in that town, and growing up to move away and make snarky commentary about everything aside from where I grew up.

You'll notice, however that the link on the page to get here is interrupted by some bullshit advert. Which kinda pisses me off. I could have been getting a lot more traffic, if the webmaster would only check his shit, and make sure everything is working.

Unless he did it on purpose, in which case, he can kiss my dick.

At any rate, I looked at some of the other links at the top of the page, and I decided to write out a little memoirs sort of post today. I promise you it will be as ass-kickingly awesome as you've all grown accustomed to. Here is:

The Beginning of the Bastard
The events that took place, that made me the man that I am today.

Dec.31st. 2002-2003:

I decided to throw a New-Years eve party at my house. My dad was cool with it, and understood that we were old enough to be left alone for the night, so he went to visit his girlfriend in Stratford while we gaggle of merry fools had some good old fashioned down home St.Mary's style fun. Namely getting our hands on alcohol and getting shitfaced out of our gourds.

I had invited my good friend, Liam out for the evening, but due to a feverish hellstorm of sickness he couldn't make it. By the end of the night I was glad young master McKenna didn't.

And I'll tell you why.

It was approximately 13 seconds after the countdown to the new year, when we decided that we had to get more booze. HARDER booze. The beer we scored wasn't turning our crank as much as we initially thought it would. A reveler piped up and said that he had some hooch at his house and it wasn't far away.

"Foot Tour!" I shouted. (pron. "foot turr" for those of you who never grew up in small-town Canada) And we all donned our winter clothes and started the (infamous among my close personal friends) trek down the street.

We travel for almost a half an hour, getting only 3 or four blocks from my house. There's 8 of us in this group, spread out in a long line of 2's and 3's with me following behind everyone, having a celebratory cigarette. (For those of you who live in st.marys, we're about a quarter the way up Church St. South by this point. Past St.Maria street hill, and just JUST before the right turn ((I can't Remember the street name)) up into the mini-suburbs. Most of us were drunk, especially one of the girls, who is loud. Ont he way down the street, she noticed a group of people hanging out of a window (I think I was the only one who saw the bong being passed around the room inside), to which she shouted merrily, "Happy New Year!!"

Fuck you

"FUCK YOU, TOO!!" she shouted followed promptly by a giggle and snort.

We continue walking. One of my friends is making smarmy comments about other people's christmas decorations, and how tacky it is to have them up after new years.

I hear a door slam, and some voices behind us. I pay it no heed. There's probably hundreds of people out and about tonight. Besides there seems to be only two or three of them. Three guys against Four guys and Four girls.... you'd have to be retarded. Especially with me bringing up the rear.

The voices get closer and closer, louder and louder. And I realize that they're talking to us. Actually they were talking AT us.

"Hey, what's you're fucking hurry, dog?"

Jesus, here we go.

"Why you gotta walk away from us when we're talking to you?"

Cause I ain't listening. Especially to a white guy raised in this town talking as if he were straight outta Compton. Find your fun elsewhere, kid.

"Why you gotta disrespect? Ya know? We just wanna have a little "chat" is all.

Like I told ya before, we ain't listening, "Dog".

At this point my friend recognizes one of the three fellows behind us and starts talking to him. They chat about old times and about their hockey team. Meanwhile, The two who were in front of me took this opportunity to walk through the rest of my group. I didn't try to stop them because I assumed they were heading off to their next location to drink malt liquor, and salivate over their dreams of gold fronts and 23 inch spinners. I figured, better to leave well enough alone. They're still outnumbered, and as I scanned the area, I noticed we were right in front of my cousin's house.

My cousin is fucking crazy. I've feared and respected him all my life. A lot of what I learned about survival and fighting I learned from him. I knew that he would have our back in a second. A trump card to be sure.

The "Thugs" stop just behind the first fella in the pack.

"Giv'us Yo' Wallet!"

Fucking shit...

I dash to my cousins front door as the thugs and my crew begin the heated debate. I bang on the door, ring the bell, and all I hear is his dog barking.

Fucking SHIT!

I look back and see the fuckers have got my friend to the ground and are boot-fucking him quite severely. I run up and pull one off him, while another of my party-goers handles another. He and the prick go at it like wrestling bears. Grappling each other, pulling clothes, etc. Not necessarily hurting each other, just pissing one another off. At one point the prick had my friend's coat over his head. I later found out that he wasn't fighting back because he didn't want his girlfriend to see him get violent.

While this was going on, I was having a "heart-to-heart" "chat" with what seemed to be the leader of this group of fucktards. I assumed he was the man in charge, due to the gold-plated chains, aluminum rings, and a snow-white "NYC" cap, cocked ever-so-gaudily to the left.

And of course by "heart-to-heart chat" I mean I was in his face shouting at him with all the gut searing rage I had pent up inside me. Releasing forth a black cloud of hatred that seared his soul and made him poop himself a little.

GET YOUR FUCKING FRIEND, AND LEAVE. NOW.

I'm toe-to-toe with this fucker. And I learned the smell of fear.

He swung back, as far as he could, and belted me directly in the jaw with everything he had. It connected directly, I felt the crunch of cartilage breaking and bones splintering. His entire body went into the swing. I'll give him credit. He's fast. Never before (or after) has anyone been able to hit me in the face during an argument or fight. He swung fast enough to knock his own stupid fucking hat off. I felt my jaw shift a half and inch to the right.

I said nothing. I did nothing.

You could hear a pin drop. Time froze for me at that moment. I was given the opportunity to make a choice. Either return in kind, lose myself in my rage, and probably paralyze the fucking kid. Or, let him know that I can take a hit, it'll take a lot more than that to stop me, and he'd better not try and hit me twice.

I chose the latter:

"What!"

I said pick up your hat and leave, kid.

"The fuck, we ain't goin' nowhere, bitch."

PICK UP YOUR FUCKING HAT AND GET THE FUCK OUT OF HERE.

He bent down and grabbed his cap. (I considered taking this opportunity to boot fuck him in the face as he was doing to my friend. But at that time in my life, I knew very little about retribution) He and his "posse" turned and walked back in the direction from whence they came.

Our group recollected itself. Damages were assessed. And we helped my injured friend to the house we were trying to get to from the get go. Much alcohol was consumed. Liquor was being guzzled by the measuring cupful. I and my friend who aided me decided to stay sober for the rest of the evening. Best to have our wits about us in case there's a re-hash during our trip back to my house. During our hour-long stay at the safe-haven, I looked out the kitchen window and noticed three men standing on a corner down the street. Staring at us through the window.

I mentioned it to my aid and host in this fortress of healing. He distributed weapons for the walk home. he had a hockey stick, a golf club and two small aluminum bats. I chose a bat. Harder, faster, more up-close and personal. We got our winter clothes back on and trudged through the snowy streets of St.Marys.

Unfortunately, the fellows didn't have enough balls to follow us. Probably a wise decision on their part. But disappointing to both me and Ol' Smashy, as I have come to call my little aluminum bat. I still have it. I inadvertently stole it, or more accurately, forgot to return it to my friend. I confessed to him once about it, but he told me to keep it. So Ol' Smashy comes with me wherever I go. (Well, not out in public. I just like having it around, reminds me of the time one new-years many years ago.)

___________________________________________________

I can't remember when this next story took place. Either it was just before new years, or just after.... At any rate, since Liam was left out of the last story here's one about he and I. I'm positive he remembers this night (matter of fact, one or both of us seem to bring it up in conversation whenever we're around girls or at a party or just reminiscing)

___________________________________________________

I was a real fucking geek of a kid growing up. I'm going to be blunt and honest with you. I wasn't always this hunk of hairy, beer swilling, ass stomping man that you all know and love.

I wore glasses up until grade eight. I thought "Darkwing Duck" was cool until the 6th grade. Nintendo was my god. I was always behind on the schoolyard trends. I had a foot and a half long curled mullet in the first half of 7th grade. When I realized I was getting made fun of because of it, I shaved me head, which got my ass beaten up. And as the tallest, fattest, kid in town I was always getting the shit beat out of me. Sometime when you see me at a party ask to see my scars. I'll give you a tour to remember.

My geekiness continued unabated until the end of the 8th grade, when I decided that I needed to make some serious changes in my life, or else I'll be getting the beat downs forever. For my 8th grade graduation party I went all out with new threads. Baggy blue-jeans, a yellow t-shirt, with a black button-down with flames embroidered on it. I can't recall how I had my hair, but I'd bet it was spiked up. I was getting into the gel phase in my life.

Not a single girl danced with me that night. I literally asked every girl in the class, and each of them responded with either a polite "no" or "EW! Are you FUCKING serious!!?"

I didn't say much that summer.

Regardless, progressively through the first two years of highschool I was making headway to not giving a shit what people think about me and gaining other's respect for it. (I'm still not fighting the ladies off me with a stick, mind you, but it's a start at least.)

I met Liam at the 9th grade orientation day. He was introduced to me through my classmate James. We didn't really start hanging out or spending much after-school time together till the end of grade 9 early grade 10. Through Liam's influence I was gaining insight on what it was to be "cool" and accepted. Since I myself thought Liam to be a very cool guy, I followed his lead.

One weekend, I had Liam over to play some videogames and shit. What I still called at that time a "Sleep-over". Like I said, I was a dork, 'kay? shut up.

At about 7 I decided to go for a walk and show Liam around the town of St. Marys a bit. I asked my father if it was ok, he said as long as we were back at 10. So we set out into the freezing cold. I love walking at night in the winter. Everything is so quiet. There' no bugs to annoy you. The light reflecting off the snow makes everything sparkle like a motherfucker, and there's never anyone outside in St.Marys during winter nights. They're all at home, wrapped in blankets, and drinking.

We talked about everything. Especially how it was really dumb for Liam to wear pajama pants during the winter. Moron.

At some point in the night, we met up with an acquaintance of Liam's. This threw me off, because aside from myself and James, I thought Liam didn't know anyone from St.Marys. He invited us to a house party, and promised that there'd be girls there. Liam jumped on that faster than a jackrabbit on a date.

We went to the party. I'm not sure how long we were there, or what the fuck was going on. All I knew was there were a lot of underage drinkers, a trampoline, and a raging bonfire. All mixed together in close proximity to one another. I opted out to hang in the shadows for a while. I talked to one of my old classmates who happened to be there. She asked me how I was doing, and said that she really missed having me around.

"Why? Can't find someone to make fun of when your friends are around? Bitch."

She opened he mouth to speak, but I walked away.

A while later, Liam and I decided to leave this shit-storm waiting to happen. On the way back we stopped at the Tim Hortens for a coffee or someshit. We met up with yet another person Liam knew, so we hung out there for a while, chatted it up and lost track of time....

"Yea, I got the time. It's 11:48"

SHIT!!

We walk quickly back to the house. All the while I'm getting more and more angry at myself for disobeying my father. By the time we reach my block I've got myself convinced that he'd never let me have friends over again, and that I'd never be allowed to do anything fun ever. We get to my driveway.

The motion sensor light turns OFF as we approach the house. And the van is gone.

Dad's looking for me.

FUCK!!

I shout. My blood is boiling in my veins, and all I can hear is my father's voice screaming at me inside my head, I feel the growing heaviness in my gut as I clench my muscles tightly, gritting my teeth in frustration and anger. I lash out at the closest thing to me.

The steel basketball pole.

(bet you thought I was gonna say liam there for a minute, eh?)

I hit it with enough force to dent the fucker. Myself feeling slightly satisfied, and Liam feeling slightly terrified. My dad came home, and I explained to him why we were late, fearing the horrible vengeance he had in store.

Oh, well as long as you're alright, just don't do it again.

I was shocked. No shouting, no hollering, nothing.

"Uh, speaking of "ok" dad, I think I broke my hand."

Why what happened?

Liam looks over at me, then to dad, back to me, horror is pasted upon his face.

"I punched the basketball pole because I was angry at myself for being late."

Dad laughed. Then said, well, that was pretty dumb! I doubt it's broken, it's probably sprained. If it still really hurts tomorrow we'll go get it checked out.

The next morning Liam's Dad picked him up, I'm pretty sure this was my first time meeting the Fahj..... I may be mistaken. I was too worried about the throbbing pain in my hand.

The X-Rays showed that I had crushed my pinky and ring finger knuckles, and fractured a bone in my hand.

________________________________

To this day, my jaw clicks when I chew. And my knuckles crunch when I make a fist.

So, I hope you enjoyed this little trip down memory lane, those of you who actually read the whole thing instead of just skimming it for the good parts with swearing in them.

Those who didn't can die and rot.

Ben(Cereal Knuckles)Eybergen

Something of Interest.

2006-11-26T18:15:00.000-08:00

Instead of posting about how fruitless and uneventful my past fews days have been I've decided to let you have a look at an interesting video.

http://blip.tv/file/60297?filename=MrHammer-RonaldTheChicken976.wmv

Some highlights include:

1:15- Myself, Carl, and Liam. Being introduced to tomgreen.com
That disinterested fellow in the fedora is me. To my left is everybody's favorite "Carl". And passing to the left is the Beardo himself.

Notice how I blow my cigarette smoke directly at the chap in the suit.

Also check out:

2:15- Where Carl inquires about the future of our winged hero. And if you look closely, Liam actually cowers in terror for the demonic screeching issued from the festering belly of the beast.

News update:

I'm staying in college, under the condition that I receive no less than 96% on each of my remaining assignments.

Insert "Colon" and "Open Parenthesis" here.

Shit-hat.

Still coming home for christmas. I got tons to talk to you all about. Adventures, Assignments, the whole college dealy. I've got some other less fun things to discuss with you guys. By "guys" I mean Liam, Bren, the "faj", the stratford crew, and my family as well.

Look forward to it!

It'll be a hoot.

Ben

Wow, good news!

2006-11-20T14:51:00.000-08:00

I got a letter in the mail today from the college. It said that I've received a bursary for $235.00. This means my deferral fee has been paid for, for next semester.

Tomorrow I'm going to go to the college and beg and plead with the professor to let me stay in the course and re-do some assignments of drop some off. Because I've been thinking about this career move that I've pseudo-made, and while the pros outweigh the cons, it would be vastly better to not make my family disappointed in me.

Oh, another good thing, with the addition of this class to my weekly schedule, I've still got enough time to work full time at the porno store. Same goes for next semester. So finding funds will no longer be an issue. However, finding time to come home for visits will be.

I'll keep you posted on the events as they happen.

Ben

I = MAD

2006-11-20T01:35:00.000-08:00

Nothing has gone right today.

NOTHING.

Even at the end of Saturday things began to turn shitty. I passed out at around 8:00pm. And slept until 3 am. Unable at the time to fall back to sleep immediately, I browsed the internet, made some comments, wrote some e-mails, just putzed about in general, waiting for 8:15 to roll around so I could get ready to go to work.

I passed out again at 6:00.

I opened my eyes at 8:45 and noticed the volume of my alarm radio was set to a dull whisper. I'm surprised I woke up at all. So I jolted out of bed, and ran to the shower. If I could shower in fifteen minutes, I'd be still be on time for work.

My bar of soap has nearly disappeared. I had forgotten to grab a new one while I was still dry. There's enough soap for 2 more showers, but I hate fumbling with a sliver of soap.

Yet another quirky stigma of mine.

I ended up dropping the soap down the drain halfway through the process, and decided instead of wasting time dashing to my room and getting a new soap, I'd just use some of my expensive body-wash shit that I've been saving forever. There was just enough left to get the job done. But now what will I do when I have a hot date? I'll have to pick her up smelling like Irish spring and head and shoulders. Son of a bitch.

I head out and wait for the bus in the frigid Barrie morning air. I wait.

And wait.

Wait some more.

Then I realize that it's Sunday and the bus doesn't run until after my shift starts. Son of a bitch!

I scamper home and call a cab. I currently have no money in my wallet, but there was an issue at work that resulted in be getting 20ish dollars back, so I told the cabbie to wait outside the store while I run in and grab a tenner. No problems. I write my boss a note telling her I took 10 out of the float, and I got right down to prepping the store for open.

There's still a wet patch on the carpet. The subway next door had their toilet overflow the previous day. They assured me that it was an issue with the piping and not turd water. The flood was bad enough to seep through the walls dividing the stores and leech about 3 feet into our carpets. Which, considering subway was flooded a good half-inch through the store, isn't so bad. Just means we have to explain the giant wet patch on the floor right in front of the "Squirting" video section. Those of you who don't know what that means (and are over 18 years of age) look it up (or ask your parents if you've got an hour or two to kill). You're in for a surprise.

We've got an entire wall dedicated to these movies. They're the most expensive collections in the store. And they sell like hot-cakes.

Hot-cakes of nudity.

And there's a giant wet spot right in front of them.

I've opened the store. Returned all the nighttime drop-offs, gotten my paperwork organized, and was just about to start doing my inventory counts when a customer calls in through the drop off slot, "Hey, are you open!?"

"Yea, it's 10:00. We're open."

"Really? your door's locked and your sign isn't on."

Son of a Bitch!

I let him in and turn on the neon "open" sign. Then get right down to my inventory.

Everything's fucked. Only 7 or 8 racks have the right number of toys on them. I was positive that I did my counts correctly the day before, so something must have got gobbledy-gook during the PM shift. I end up spending 2 hours counting dildos. Son Of A Bitch!

(ff2 suggestions for "dildos": Wildon's, Wildon, evildoers, evildoer, evildoings.) I'll add the word to the dictionary, I figure there's a more than likely chance I'll probably use it again eventually.

With the additions and subtractions I made, all of the paperwork has been royally buggered. I beat my head against the wall trying to sort this mess out. In time I get to the point where I'm only one toy off, and it may be because we're missing one bottle of bubble bath on the lotion counter. I figure, good enough for now. I'll call the store manager at the end of my shift and see if we can sort this out together. I sit down, have myself a cookie, and start watching a porno.

Customers come and go. I only got to see about 10 minutes of the movie anyhow. And it was all set-up scene anyhow. You know, "Hi, I'm a plumber. I hear your pipes need cleaning." kinda shit.

I'm finishing taking the tally of dvd sales when the store manager comes in unexpectedly. I tell her about the issue with the inventory, taking the money for a cab, and that the wet spot is still there. Once those issues are resolved, she gives me a crash course on adding inventory to our stock. She had come to add more things to the shelves. Namely: a lot of flavored lube, a fair number of toys, and some massage oils. Only 250 items to be precise, but it takes myself, the store manager, and her assistant 3 full hours to get the job done. It may be my fault due to my inexperience. But perhaps it was the fiddly price tags on the tiny bottles of pina-colada flavored lubrication.

Job done, manager leaves. Back to the daily grind.

4:30 approaches without any hassle. I start to do my end of shift paperwork so that I can leave promptly at 5:00pm. The PM shift shows up a half-hour early and gets to witness me fucking up my paperwork royally.

I've gone through everything 5 times and it's still saying that I'm a hundred dollars over. Son Of A BITCH!

I call the store manager, and let her know the situation. I figured it may have something to do with the inventory, but in hindsight, that would be impossible. She tells me to leave the paperwork in the binder and she'll work it out later. Ok, that's cool. No problems.

I decide to beat resuscitate my deceased horse by thoroughly trouncing him about the face and neck, and I go through the paperwork one more time. This time I notice that instead of writing down "sold 4 movies" I had "Sold 7 movies."

Awesome, paperwork will check out! I fill the totals, white-out my mistakes, and add up the total daily sales box....

Now I'm 4 dollars under.

SON Of A BITCH!

I leave the paper in the binder and decide to leave.

I get to the stop-light and get to see my bus roaring away without me. And it just happens to be the last bus that runs on Sunday.

SON OF A BITCH!!

Instead of walking like I normally would, I called my landlady and asked for a ride. I was having a shitty day, it was snowing out, and by the time I got home I would have killed someone. She said she had no problem with giving me a ride.

Got home. Had a sandwich, and some macaroni. They say breakfast is the most important meal of the day. Then passed out while watching Tom Green and Harland Williams on the internet at 8:00pm.

I woke up at 3 am

FUCK!!

Ben

The Unthinkable

2006-11-17T12:20:00.000-08:00

It's finally happened folks, Ben has been knocked completely off the post-secondary saddle.

I've been smacked around in years past. But I've managed to cling tenaciously to the reins up until this point. I'd been riding around the tree of procrastination for quite some time now. Dodging the branches as they repeatedly whistle past my face. I thought I had gotten the rhythm down, so I decided to close my eyes and ride blind for a while. You know, for kicks.

Sure enough, The Photographic Communications branch clipped me square in the neck.

Now I'm lying on my back, watching my weathered old horse trotting off without me. Thin wisps of dust circling in it's wake.

I sit up, rub the throbbing welt on my neck, cross my legs and consider my options.

Enough of this fucking story, here are the facts:

I was doing well in my classes. I had one class that was lowering my grade, so I dropped it, vowing to return to it later when I'm not so goddamn busy. This left me with 4 classes. Photographic Communication, History of Art and Design, Web Design 1, and Adobe Illustrator 1.

Now, since my grades weren't up to snuff last semester, I've been placed on "Academic Probation" which means I have to get over 50% in ALL of my courses, and have a final grade average of over 60% or else I'll be suspended for 2 semesters. That's a whole year that I'm not allowed back into College. ON TOP OF THAT, O.S.A.P. will not provide any funding for TWO YEARS. So, the fact that the college isn't letting me back for a year doesn't matter, because without osap, there's no way I can get ANY post-secondary education.

You'll recall a few weeks ago, when I had the ear infection. This happened during a pivotal moment in my college career. It was the first time I literally said, "Fuck it" to an assignment (actually 3). At the time, I had too much on my mind and I didn't think that missing those 3
assignments would have such an adverse effect on my grades. especially since 2 were assigned together I was under the impression that they were of little importance at all. As it turns out each of the three assignments that I missed was worth 20% of my final grade.

That 60% that I will never get.

So even if I received 100% in every single remaining assignment I would be left with only 40%. Which would result in my suspension from college for 2 years.

Many people have said, "but it happened when you were sick, couldn't you get a doctor's note and get the assignments waived, or at least get an extension?"

Sadly, that's not the case. The first assignment I didn't hand in was due the day I first felt sick. So I have no excuse for not handing it in. As for the other two: It's true, I was sick. But I also managed to keep my 78 average in every other course during that time, so really, I could have managed it if I had only tried.

Instead I chose to say, "Fuck it."

I'm going to finish this semester with the 3 classes I have left. My marks in those classes are in and around 78's, so I'll get those credits and won't have to take them when I go back to school in 2 years.

I've talked to my boss at the "Smuttery", and she says that she'd be more than happy to give me full time hours. So that's what I'm going to be doing for the next while. Training for my triumphant return to post-secondary.

Oh, and no this doesn't affect me coming home for christmas. I'll be in stratford on the 27th until the 29th as per the original plan

What does the future hold for Ben? I'll tell you how I think it's going to go:

I'm going to work full time and study part-time at the college until the semester is over. I'm going to then come home for christmas, fart about, see the folks, visit the crew, get intoxicated on more than one occasion. Then I'm going to go back to Barrie, where I'll work full time until I save up between 3-5 thousand dollars. Then Justyn and I are hitting the road and heading to British Columbia. Where I'll work for another year or so, until my training/waiting period is over. Then it's back to the books in B.C. Where I'll study hard, get my degree, open my own studio, work diligently until I'm grey and old, and then I'll retire out on the east coast in some small fishing village where I can paint and play music until the day I die.

Then I'll haunt a young family somewhere in the Bahamas.

Ben

update:

2006-11-16T10:35:00.000-08:00

I've updated my avatar. I'm pretty proud of it.

I demand you all to love it.

May it haunt your dreams!

Ben

I Knew It Was A Battle I Couldn't Win. I Cut My Mouth On A Pudding Tin.

2006-11-11T22:58:00.000-08:00

Welcome to hell, boys and girls.

It's currently 1:52 am and I'm tired as shit. I read through the banks of posts that I've missed in my absence. Some know where I went, what I did and some don't.

This one goes out to you sappy few.

I pawned my computer monitor.

Shut up, let me finish! It's a long story and I'm setting you up for dramatic effect, so close your dropped jaw and read my story of the past week.

Monday: Production studio class. I handed in my business card mock-ups for grading.
"I know you can do better than this Ben." Slaps me a shitty grade and left me sputtering in my seat. I tried to say, "No. No I can not." But the words were glued to my face like moistened cookie crumbs.

I'm dropping that class, incidentally.

Later that night I went to bed.

Tuesday: No photographic communication class. Our current assignment is to be done in the studio. Since there's too many students int he class to fit in there all at once, we've been broken into groups of two. Each week 3 groups of two will work on their projects. Leaving the rest to sit on their hands until their time has come.

Being a crafty Eybergen, I grabbed the last position for studio time. This gives myself and my studio partner, Cait 3 weeks to get our shit together.

Sometimes life tosses you a bone, know what I mean?

I get home, toss my shit on the floor, and sign onto the internet. I check the 'sphere, don't post, and check my numerous e-mails. Afterwards I sign into MSN for shits. Justyn and I had tentatively planned to get together this week. But the "when and where" was never ironed out 100%.
Found below is a paraphrased conversation between myself and Justyn. The whole conversation lasted about 2 hours and was full of random shit, so I trimmed the fat a little, and got to the point.

El_Franko says: Ben, what are you doing tonight?
Uncle Ben says: Fuck all. Why?
El_Franko says: I'm working a show in Toronto tonight, you in? The job pays!

(justyn works as a rigger part-time. Setting up lights and speakers and shit at concerts and trade shows. I've been known to tag along with him. However, I've yet to be paid in cash. Usually just a beer or two afterwards.)

Uncle Ben says: Fuck yea, I'm always up for heavy lifting, especially when there's cash involved.
El_Franko says: Job starts at 10:00 I'll see you around 8. And we'll need money for gas.
Uncle Ben says: I've got 6 dollars in loose change. And payday is thursday.
El_Franko says: Fuck, I'm pretty sure I've got enough gas for the trip up there. but I'm damn sure I won't for the ride home.
Uncle Ben says: I just called the pawn shop. They don't want my computer, but they'll give me 70 greenbacks for my monitor.

(Don't ask, it's a long story)

El_Franko says: Right on, that'll get us gas money and beer money until thursday when you get paid.
Uncle Ben says: Then I'll buy back my monitor. Shit, this is a good plan!
El_Franko says: I'll see you in less than 2 and a half hours!

That was at 5:30.

8:45 rolls around, I've got my rigging gear on and am pacing the living room, waiting for the sound of a diesel volkswagon roarding into my driveway.

8:55:
"Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit!"
"Justyn, haul ass, man!! The store closes in five minutes! What the fuck took you so long!?"
"Shitty weather, couldn't see shit out there!"
"No kidding. Hurry the fuck up!"

Tires scream as Justyn hammers on the handbrake to drift around a corner.

9:01:
I'm hammering on the door of the hock shop. Bastard is at the desk smiling shaking his head. I give him the finger and kick the metal frame surrounding the glass door.

9:15:
We pull into a petro-can, and pick up some diesel, compliments of Justyn's ma. (I'm sorry, Mrs. Roy, it was an emergency.)
We bust chops out of Barrie. We've only got 45 minutes to get to the show in Toronto. Over an hour away.

Justyn wasn't kidding, the visibility was shit on the highway. Compounded by the fact that his wipers are crap. We talk about many things. Music, Women, Money, Cars. And before you know it, we're at the show.

I wasn't sure if we were setting up for the next day's events, or if we were operating a performance, or if we were, in fact, tearing down from a gigantic Multi-Room Food Distribution Convention. Each room with a center stage, gigantic light rigs, projection screens, speakers, and other Non-Rigger employees bustling about sweeping the carpets, folding tables, and generally being in the way.

Guess which one it was!

Five and a half hours later I'm willing to throw my body into an industrial trash disposal. My hands were raw, every inch of clothing was soaked in sweat, and my pride was a little bruised from all the people of authority shouting at me in terms and languages I don't understand.

"Raise the gloop-a-dooper, chuff the sides! CHUFF THE SIDES, DAMMIT!!"

Eventually I remembered that I'm not officially on any sort of payroll, so I told them to cram it and I had a smoke.

The job was done, and we were free. Ont he way out the door Justyn scored a bag of 6 frozen mini pizzas. Breakfast is served!

Wednesday:
It's 4:30 am and we're cooking mini-pizzas in the kitchen, sipping beer, and talking in hushed voices so as to not wake my roommate and landlady. Not that I'm worried about the roommate, he could sleep through Armageddon without so much as rolling over. I know this to be fact, because I dropped a pot containing a weeks worth of cutlery right beside the wall that separates out rooms.

The snoring didn't skip a beat.

6:00am:
Once we had had our fill of delicious pizzas, we went to sleep. At first I felt bad that I don't have a pull-out couch or something other than the floor for justyn to sleep on. But then I remembered that he keeps forgetting to remind me how much I loath and detest doing rigging work. So I farted really loud and went to sleep.

12:30pm:
I drag my sorry ass out of bed and wake justyn up. I've got an early class on thursday so I don't want to sleep in too much for fear that I won't be tired later that evening.

We make the trip to the hock shop anyway to score beer money for that night. The college pub was holding their weekly "Wicked Wednesday" which I have been privy to for the past 2-and-a -half years.

We make the sale and walk away with 85 bucks. Justyn had brought an old monitor that they sold to him for 15d's. We buy some subs for lunch. I show him where I work, and we debate over what to do with the rest of our day. I suggest seeing Borat. He wants to browse through Canadian tire.

I swear to god, I just don't get him sometimes.

We compromise by renting "Thank you for smoking" and "X-Men 3". Two movies that I have been unable to locate on the internet, but was willing to shill out 8 bucks to see them anyway.

Justyn and I rumble into Georgian College in his '94 Volkswagon Golf. This pimp ride happens to be what we're driving out to B.C. in once I have my degree in my mitts. After these couple days of riding in it I'll say this:

It's definitely going to be an adventure. I predict I'll end up pushing it somewhere between manitoba and alberta.

We park and throw the dvd's into justyn's laptop.

4 hours pass:
Damn those were good movies. I'd definately see them both again. Barring that I'm not paying for them.

Speaking of barring, it's time to get my drink on.

2 hours pass:
I'm wondering "why the hell do I keep coming here?" The music is shit, the women are idiots, the men are cumbersome masses of stereotype, and I'm always left sitting outside quietly smoking my lungs out with a warm beer in my hand. I imagined it would be better with justyn along. Perhaps the "wicked Wednesday" experience is better with people you know? In first year I used to love going to the bar. Of course I'd go with Gavin and Caitlin, and I'd get hammered out of my gourd, and I was only 18 at the time. (my bad, they didn't card me. Ever. Go facial hair!)

Then as the years slipped on, my friends didn't want to go to Wicked Wednesday anymore. So there I stayed, out on the patio. Rain, Snow, or clear crisp air, I was there. Smoking my face off.

Justyn's presence didn't make the night any more enjoyable. In fact, most of our conversation dwindled to occasional eye-contact and nods.

So we left. And I vowed never to darken the door of Wicked Wednesday again.

On the way home we picked up ingredients for a light supper. Fritos, Salsa, Cold honey-garlic wings, and a wrap to split. We ate and talked until it was very late. We decided that it would be wise to go to bed, seeing as I had the most boring class of all time the next morning.

Thursday:

6:00 am:
I get out of bed like a scab peeling off a cigarette burn.

Not a good sign of things to come.

Justyn and I grab some breakfast at tim hortens before going our seperate ways. He has the hot chocolate, and I have a can of peach juice with a breakfast sandwich chaser. We say our farewells and "till next times".

Bad news #1: Peach juice contains NO caffeine. I was so tired, I thought it did. And I got even more tired.

Bad news #2: "Breakfast sandwich" is what Tim Hortens calls, "Fake bacon with burnt egg whites topped with processed cheese squashed between two dry cornbread'esque biscuits."
Which makes me want to barf.

Bad news #3: My lighter is nearly out of fluid. Fucking zippo.

I got to class and learn all about "the Bauhaus", and the many design and practical household applications that have resulted from it.

(look it up kids I'm not a textbook. I suggest wikipedia, it's fairly straightforward.)

We were given our tests and I went for a smoke.

12:00pm
I fell asleep in web design. Right as I sat down. I put my head down on the desk in front of the keyboard, and slept. According to my classmates (sitting right next to me I might add) I only missed how to create style sheets in dreamweaver. Nothing too huge, but teeth grindingly aggrivating anyway. (huh! "Grindingly" is actually a word.)

Oh, and I got 87.5% on my website. If you haven't seen it yet, check it out on a post two or three down from here. But come right back, because I've got more to tell you.

From class I went to work. Not to actually work, but just to pick up my paycheque so I could buy my monitor back so I could spend my evening working on my adobe illustrator project that was due the next day.

"Paycheques aren't in yet." Says Mel, my co-worker.
"What?" I respond. I can feel my spine tightening.
"Matt hasn't dropped them off yet. They were supposed to be in by three."
Matt is the district manager. Usually he delivers the cheques himself, or, if he's late, he uses ups.
"It's nearly Four!" I snapped back.

I call the store manager to see what the fuck's up. I need that money. Like "hella" bad.

"Ben, relax. The cheques don't HAVE to be in until tomorrow. They're dated to be cashed on friday anyway. Matt is just running late, he'll have them in by tomorrow."

Reasonable. But I still feel shafted.

I rent a porno and take the bus home.

I throw my shit on the floor and realize...

"How the fuck am I going to watch this without a monitor!?"

Friday:
6:00am:
I re-align my neck and have a shower.
I meet up with Cait on the bus to the college. We agreed to meet today to finish our Adobe Illustrator assignments. We're designing playing cards using ourselves as the face characters.

3 hours later I've slapped this together:

I'll admit, it's not my best work. Shit, the coloring was a complete mistake, and it wiped out 80% of my detail, but I kinda liked the simplicity of it, that and we had 5 minutes to get to the print shop.

We scoot over to "Georgian Copy" to print them out on cardstock and mount them on the appropriate 10.5"x13"matte board blackground with tissuepaper overlay and doubleweight mayfair cover.

You know, standard shit.

We make it back to class just in time to listen to the "New and Improved" Professor Shitwick (The heir to the shitty, shitty crown) drone on and on on review material.

A Time passes:
It's time for critiquing. Everyone puts theirs on the table and we all hover over them to see who's got the biggest art-cock of the class.

According to the professor, I do not.

"Well, you obviously didn't spend ANY time on this."

Ooh, you caught me, professor! Damn, why are you teaching this shit, you should be out solving crimes! Just move tot he next person, we can all see that this is the biggest pile of shit in the whole class, drop it and move on.

All the other student's were full of intricate details, vibrant colors, smooth edges, and smug expressions on their faces when I put mine down.

Some days I just can't take this shit.

Class ends early (thankfully) and I jump the bus to work. I get my payheque, and still have enough time before my shift starts to cash it. I drop it into my account and try to take it out in cash form. But I am displeased to notice that the account I dropped it into had a sizely overdraft
on it, due to months of service fees unpaid.

This left me with "not-enough-to-buy-my-monitior-back".

I had an uneventful day at work. And got to come home and go to bed straightaway.

Saturday:
12:30pm:

I get up, have a shower and a think. I like to think in the shower. There's something about the hot water and steamy air that clears my head and sorts everything out. It helps me grab a new perspective that I wasn't seeing before, take notice of little details I've overlooked.

Like the monitor Justyn sold for 15 dollars.

I dash into my room with a towel around my waist, and check the invoice:

"$19.50 due by dec.21st."

I dash back to the shower and do my happy dance. Then I promptly slip and nearly crack my head open on the faucet.

2:30pm:
"Thank you sir, enjoy your monitor."
"You'd goddamn well better believe it. Oh, could you call me a cab? This thing is heavier than I thought."

A short cab ride later:

I toss my shit onto the floor, and hook up the "TTX" as I now call it. It's really not a whole lot different than the flat screen I had earlier. It's the same screem size, just a lot thicker. And about 8 times heavier. Good thing is, it matches the color of my walls! Off-white, eggshelly, yellowed, crap. It'll get the job done till after christmas when my next installment of osap comes in. Then maybe I'll look into getting a new one.

For now, "The TTX" is a welcomed component in the mass of pulsing cables and blinking lights that is:

"The MAN-PUTER"

shit, it's

Sunday:
3:52am:

ben

Man, what a day...

2006-11-04T18:11:00.000-08:00

I'm so dog tired.

I dragged my ass home from work at 7:00pm. Even though my shift ended at 5.

Christ. Busy, Busy, Busy. I sold well over a thousand dollars worth of videos and rubber marital aids this morning. That's over $142.86 dollars an hour. Man, I worked so hard today I barely had time to watch 2 full length movies and smoke a half a pack of cigarettes.

Work work work, it's all I do.

Fuck, I love my job. HAHAHAHAHAAA

"But Ben, pornography is degrading to women! It just objectifies them and undoes decades of work the women's rights movement has done to right the wrongs of the past! Not to mention the fact you'll burn in hell forever for watching people have sex and harboring sexual thoughts!"

1) Most women (I say women because so far I've never met a man who didn't like to watch a nice pair of jubblies bouncing on the telly) who like to speak out about the evils of pornography have probably never actually sat down and watched them. Objectifying women? HAH! That's the biggest load of crap I've ever heard in my life! In 95% of pornography you can't even see the male lead's face. Yet, the female lead gets full camera attention as well as most of the lines. You never hear anyone talk about how pornography objectifies men, do you? Even though all we are seen is as walking erect penises who are the silent type.

Objectifies women. Give me a break.

2) Here we go again on the god and spirituality trip, but bear with me. You'll enjoy it, trust me.
I once had a discussion about working in a pornography shop with a staunch catholic. His stance was that I was going to hell, to burn and rot for all eternity in screaming agony, and mutilating pain. (Well, for starters, I kinda like the idea. You're looking at a guy who has achieved an erection while getting a tattoo, alright? Hmm, maybe the general public didn't need to know that. Too late, it's on the internet!) This fellow was very deeply rooted with his theory, and there's scarce few things I like more than uprooting something. So I decided to quickly (and decisively) change the subject to our favorite films. He blurted out that he really liked The Terminator, because it is so old and kitschy now.

I saw my opening and took it. "So, you're telling me that God would rather you watch a movie about a robot brutally murdering numerous people in as gory a fashion as was allowed. But if you watch one or two (or more) people climaxing in a moment of pure, exquisite, natural pleasure, you're burning in hell?"

I watched as his face literally caved in from the blast of reality to his brain.

Take that, Catholicism. Where's your pope now? Oh, that's right, he's napping in his golden palace while millions are starving to death in third world countries.

Yep, there's a man to follow, to be sure.

I can't wait for the day when a group of people come to the store to protest against pornography. I think it will be the happiest day of my life. I'd be sitting inside, reading a book. Minding the till. Helping some senior citizens pick out the best vibrator to suit their needs. When I'll hear muffled chanting outside the door, slowly gaining in volume and turbulence.
I'll usher the last of the patrons out the door with their parcels, carefully wrapped in plastic bags, to make sure no-one finds out that they (gasp!) MASTURBATE!! Once the elderly have been carried over the crowd to their car, I'll turn back and walk toward the front door. Greeting the masses head-on.

Then I'll light 2 cigarettes and blow the cancerous fumes around me, creating a makeshift force field that no conservative Christian could possibly penetrate. Then I'll loiter around the front door, leafing through a dirty picture book nonchalantly. Every so often I'll look up at the peoples gathered in anger, raise my eyebrows as if to say, "oh, YOU'RE still here, eh?". Then I'll light some more cigarettes and puff away.

Eventually one activist will approach me, and undoubtedly raise qualm about the merchandise I make available to the general voting-aged majority. To which, I'll again raise my eyebrows in my patented, "Oh, really?" manner. And I'll exhale directly into their eyes, and return to my magazine. I'm sure they'll shout their slogans of moral righteousness, to which I'll respond with a shake of my head and a quick, "Nope."

I can clearly predict two possible outcomes of this situation.

1) They plain, old-fashioned, give up. Heavy hearted, they'll slump back into their white minivans, their picket signs dragging behind them in a sign of utter defeat. I'll return inside and watch yet another smutty movie after having my "victory smoke".

2) They become violent. Not choir boy, slap-war violent. I mean out to spill my heathen blood to appease their angered god violent. The crowd quickly turns into a mob, brandishing their pickets as crude cudgels.....

Damn I just had an idea for an awesome fucking drawing!

.... they'll roar toward me like a wave of surly churchgoers.

And anyone who has been reading this journal for any length of time, or has known me for the past six years, will know who's going to be standing triumphantly on a pile of dead parishioners.

Man, that would be the best day of my life. Right there. Screw disneyland, that would be like christmas wrapped in a birthday!

So awesome.

Man I'm going to have some pretty fucking cool dreams tonight! Porno mixed with raging violence! That's my heroin, right there.

Ben

Biting Sarcasm, Because I'm Fucking Angry.

2006-11-02T20:55:00.000-08:00

I'm glad to hear that no-one besides Liam and possibly Ellen reads my journal anymore.

It really validates my existance to know that most of my friends back home really just don't give a shit anymore.

I really should be thanking you, though. This is going to make the move to B.C. that much easier knowing that I'm only leaving a couple close friends behind.

Let's get one thing straight right now;

The reason I haven't visited any of you is because I've been unemployed for most of this past semester, and haven't been able to afford the 100+ dollars just for a fucking bus ticket home. Not to mention the hours and days spent sitting, hunched over my desk drafting brochures and shit until my spine collapses.

I was going to apologize to you, and make excuses for any one day or evening a month of free time I have spent either drinking or just lounging around the house, but then I realized "Fuck you" would be a better response.

Get bent, you assholes.

A Musing or Two

2006-11-01T16:00:00.000-08:00

I've discovered two problems with having my own website instead of working off of blogger.

1) I don't have the necessary software to write the html.

2) Nor can I upload anything to the server without a ftp program.

Hmm. Shits on me, eh?

Well, I'll just have to alternate between the two every so often. That way I can waste even more of your precious time by forcing you to access both my site and blogger to see if I haven't updated yet!

Good riddance, I say!

A quick shout-out to Blake: Reply to my e-mail you prick!

Update: Nov.1st/2006

Last night was ridiculous. It's now 7:00pm and I'm still hung over. The night started with my friend Cait and I working together on our homework at the college library. I finished mine in record time, but Cait seems to enjoy taking obsessive amounts of time to do anything in our class, making sure to exceed the outlined criteria for each project 30 times over. Whereas I do what it assigned, and I try to do it as efficiently as possible. What we were asked to do was create a personal website, consisting of 4 pages. One image per page, one paragraph of text, two menu bars, 2 external links, and a contact link.
Simple.
Instead of taking the recommended hour to finish her project, Cait decided to spend well over five and a half hours toiling and stressing over her site. She would often ask me how to do something, things like "B3n, how do I change the background color again?" I'd turn to help her, but instead I find her doing it by herself. I'd turn back to my monitor just in time for her to ask, "B3n, how do I insert an image again?" I turn, and she's already resizing it to fit in the box.

"Ugh this site is driving me crazy! I can't get the thing to go to over there!"

I turn, "What thing?"

"Tuh." Leaning into her screen to block my view.

I turn back, wondering why God is tormenting me like this.

"You're no help are you, B3n?"

I turn back to my electronic Sudoku game that I've been struggling with for the past 3 hours. Killing time, so that I don't inadvertently kill her.
Our original plan for the evening was that we were getting together to work on homework, then Cait was taking me out with her friends for a couple of drinks. I accepted her offer. Nothing's (ff2 suggestion: Northing's) better than free drinks with girls in costumes.
Through the course of the day, Cait was glued to her phone, arranging, re-arranging, setting up rides and organizing meeting places. At 7:00 she hangs up her phone and says to her monitor, "I don't feel like going out tonight."

Pardon?

"I'm all sick and my nose is plugged, and my ears hurt."

Well, why didn't you mention it earlier instead of making plans with 5 other people just seconds ago?

"Ugh, I'm so stressed."

I would imagine so, you've been trying to re-invent the internet for the past 3 hours. For instance, see here on the assignment sheet: "2 external links". You have 5. "One image per page." You're averaging about 12.

"Yea, but I have to get good marks."

I agree, but you're not going to be graded poorly by doing what the professor asks you to do on the handout.

"You're dumb."

Thank you. I turn to my computer.

Cait's cellphone rings. "Yea? Ok (ff2 suggestion: ck). Pick us up at 9:00 in front of the school."

Who was that?

"Alfred, we're going to his house tonight before going to the bar."

I thought you weren't going out?

"(insert humming/indecisive noise)"

Ah.

9:00pm:
I mention to Cait that Alfred is probably waiting for us and we should leave.

"yea yea."

9:10pm:
"I can't find my flashdrive."
Someone stole Cait's flashdrive. Thankfully there's a backup hardrive (ff2 suggestion: hard rive) space reserved on the server for each student. She throws her assignment on it, and within minutes we're roaring down Georgian drive on our way to the L.C.B.O.

A time passes.
We've picked up the necessities of partying. 1 bottle of hooch, 1 bag of Harveys, and 1 of Cait's friends. We stop at Alfred's, he informs us that he is changing and we'll be leaving for Mel's house. (I have no idea who these people are, by the way. So whenever I namedrop without explanation, you now know why). On Alfred's front step we are greeted by Santa Claus and Julius Caesar (ff2 suggestion: eraser) both drinking beers and smoking cigarettes. I like these folk already. Alfred soon joins us, donning his Zorro outfit. Cape included.

More time passes.
After an enjoyable ride in the trunk of a minivan, sitting on piles of garbage, we arrive at Mel's apartment. A nice place. Slightly under furnished. But the carpet was so comfortable I didn't notice. We smoked, drank, ate, drank some more, finished one bottle, drank the next until we were quite blitzed.

A call rang out from the kitchen,

"Bar time!" and everyone meandered to the door to put our shoes on. This was Cait's cue to exit. She decided to go home for the night, and Mel decided to stay at the apartment rather than join us at the bar.

Santa was at the wheel, Caesar shotgun, and Zorro and I were in the back.

We stopped for more smokes, then continued the hit parade right into the crammed downtown of Barrie.

Santa dropped us off, and roared away into the night. I guess he had to work the next day.

The lines in front of the clubs were atrocious. As we walked past several temperamental patrons shouted and screamed "Back of the line! BACK OF THE FUCKING LINE!" To which I took offense. I turned to the closest one, and "mentioned" to them that we were simply walking past this hip-hop establishment in search of a tavern to consume large amounts of beer and spirits.

I'm just kidding. I shouted an obscenity at a very loud and obnoxious woman and punched her boyfriend square in the eye.

We walked to the tavern and ordered a jug of beer. Zorro bought a round of "Banana Jacks" (Jack Daniels and banana liquor) which tasted like penicillin. Zorro ordered some fries, I ordered some Poutine (ff2 doesn't recognize poutine as an actual word) and I actually took part in a conversation about hockey. All I had to say on the subject was, "I don't watch it or follow any sports to be honest. I'm waiting for someone to invent an actual 'criminal deathmatch' sporting event. Then I'll watch sports."

Caesar and I went for a smoke, and almost got into a fight about Hockey. Apparently Caesar is a huge leafs fan. And apparently there was another patron who was dressed as a member of the Toronto maple leafs. They even had a jersey made out with their name on the back.

Caesar took offense to this. According to him, it's extremely presumptuous to print your name on a team jersey when you aren't actually on the team.

At this point I thought, "You're on your own, man." and I went back inside to see if Zorro had passed out yet.

Nearing the end of the night we were all three sheets to the wind. It degenerated tot the point where Caesar and I decided that we were going to revolutionize the art community by writing out a manifesto and creating our own art movement. It seemed like such a good idea!

Until I woke up this morning and realized just how drunk I was last night.

I can safely say I won't be doing that again for a long time.

B3N

Shove This In Your Hole And Smoke It!

2006-10-31T14:33:00.000-08:00

Check out this site:

http://webdesign2.georgianc.on.ca/~100013006/eybergen_as2/ben.htm

If you're man enough.

Ben

My God. I'm as Dumb as a Sachel of Rocks!

2006-10-30T05:46:00.000-08:00

Last Thursday, sometime in the evening:

I call my friend Alex up. He and I go to the gym together and I wanted to know why the fuck he wasn't around. He explains that he's painting his room and will be busy doing that for the next few days.

Or words to that effect. I can't exactly recall how te entire conversation went, nor does it matter.

What matters here is he suggested that we change our routine slightly. Instead of working out AFTER class, we jump in as the doors open at 6.

No problem.

Monday Oct. 30th, 5:00am

My alarm jolts me upright immediately. It takes me a few minutes to register whatt he fuck is going on. I remember that for some reason I agreed to wake up at this ungodly hour. No time for a shower, besides I'm just going to get sweaty anyway.

I pack my workclothes and books into seperate bags and make for the exit.

5:20am
Christ it's quiet.
I always forget what a weird feeling it is to be awake and well rested this early. The sun hasn't even begun to rise, and it looks like there's a lid snapped over the world. In the distance I can hear the traffic of highway 400 as the commuters begin their daily trek across the pavement badlands.

6:10am
I walk throught he double doors to the college gym. I ask if there's been any guys gone through yet. "About yea' tall?" I indicate with my hand palm down at eye-level.

Um, (insert "are you fucking retarded" look) yeah. A bunch.

Thanks. dick. I wasn't aware that "a bunch" of college guys would be lined up at the doors at 6:00 in the fucking morning on a monday.

Matter of fact, almost nobody's here. There's a handful of middle-aged women doing an areobics class. and 4 elderly men on the eliptical trainers. If I had to assume, I'd say they must be professors.

But, sure as shit, Alex isn't here.

I spy that the free weights are completely open so I make my way over and get right down to it.

8:00
Jesus christ those showers are hot.

1 hour of freeweights, half an hour on training equipment, and half an hour of rowing later I'm feeling like a million, sweaty bucks.

I pack my gym shit into a day use locker and make my way to the library.

9:00am. Present time

My class doesn't start until 11. I'm done my homework for today and now I'm killing time by posting about what a moron I am for waking up so goddamn early.

I think Alex is trying to kill me.

Ben

The Wanderer: Part II

2006-10-25T20:38:00.000-07:00

Nearly a month had passed.

Our hero found himself wandering aimlessley through the rainy days October. He sought refuge among the rising fields of corn, only to find himself tangled upon the golden ears of misfortune.

He stopped occasionally and took up temporary resience upon the faces of many teenage farmhands when he was just too weary to press onward.

He travelled north. Following the dusty culverts to the side of a four-hundred series highway. He knew that his destination lie ahead in the orangy glow of the Metropolis.

He attempted on several occasions to hitchhike. Knowing full well that the local authorities frown on such actions, he was discreet to say the least.

Only once did a driver stop and offer a ride to our sodden mass of travelling folicles. Gracefully he slumped into the passenger seat and indicated that he was travelling northward. The driver silently obliged, and they rumbled toward the horizon.

A time passes. Only the crackle over the shortband radio broke the silence of the hours. The comforting hum of rubber rolling across the pavement lulled our hero to sleep.

At dawn he awoke in a motel bathtub covered in ice.

Panic stricken he slopped into the bedroom and dialed for the local constabulary. It was when a man's gruff voice answered that our hero realized that he had no tangible means of conveying his urgent messege to the police without a mouth or lips. This led our hero to wonder...

"If I have no lips, logically I should have no other organs. And if I have no organs, I would not have anything for anyone to harvest!"

He hung up the phone and checked himself over. No cuts, for no skin. No bleeding, for no blood.

"Why the hell was I packed in ice for?"

Then he realised without a brain how could he be thinking to himself, but decided not to question fate and left it at that. Vowing never to make mention of this evenings transgrepancies ever again.

He picked up his bindle and set out into the morning sunlight.

Noises.

Cars beeping, people talking, the metro rumbling beneith the concrete. He was in Toronto, and he felt a deep sense of satisfaction.

It was cold. The wind whistled through the valleys of steel and glass. No matter where he turned he was blown in a completely different direction. It is indeed difficult to travel on foot when you are only a mass of facial hair. Suddenly, an updraft flung him wildly into the air. Tossing him about on the thermal currents rising from the steaming manhole covers.

He hung, suspended, only for a moment. Just long enough to see the entirety of his surroundings. Breathless, he drifted slowly back to earth, to and fro he winded downward until he alighted upon the top of a lightpost. He clung tenatiously to his perch, waiting for nigthfall. Where would he find shelter for the upcoming days?

He heard the vapid tootling of Hawksley Workman leeching from an open window on the apartment building across from him.

"Surely there is a person inside willing to house this poor fop." He though to himself.

He bided his time until the wind was favorable and drifted across into the portal Lady Luck had opened for him.

He landed with a 'poff' onto the face of a sleeping drama student.

"Perfect. She won't even realise that I'm here."

The next day she went about her day as usual. Unaware of the tangle of chesnut fur that had fused to her face whilst she slept. She attended her morning classes, ate her lunch, and was about to attend a dress rehearsal when a passing classmate snapped this picture.

Her friends laugh at her behind her back.

To Be Continued....

Ben

a note:

2006-10-22T19:23:00.000-07:00

the tagline under my journal's title is a quote from a Roger Alan Wade Song. It pretty much sums me up. I first heard it on an episode of jackass, and I was reminded of it when I heard it used in their second movie.

It's currently sitting at my #1 spot.

__________________________________________________

If you're gonna be dumb, ya gotta be tough.
When you get knocked down you gotta get back up.
I ain't the sharpest knife in the drawer, but I know enough,
to know:

If you're gonna be dumb ya gotta be tough.

I licked my brain with rot'gut whiskey,
till' my pain's chicken fried.
I've had dudes with badges frisk me,
teach'd me how to swallow pride.
I took advice no fool would take.
I got some habits I can't shake.
I ain't the sharpest knife in the drawer, but I know enough,
to know:

If you're gonna be dumb ya gotta be tough.

If you're gonna be dumb ya gotta be tough.
When you get knocked down ya gotta get back up.
'S the way it is in life 'n love.

If you're gonna be dumb ya gotta be tough.

Been up and down, and down and out.
I've been left and right and wrong.
Well I walk the walk and I run my mouth.
Been on that short-end for too long.
But if they gave metals for Honkey-Tonk wars,
hell I'd keep mine in ma'chest o'drawers.
With my I.R.S. bills and my divorce papers and all that stuff.

If you're gonna be dumb ya gotta be tough.

If you're gonna be dumb, ya gotta be tough.
When you get knocked down you gotta get back up.
I ain't the sharpest knife in the drawer, but I know enough,
to know:

If you're gonna be dumb ya gotta be tough.

If You're Gonna Be Dumb Ya Gotta Be Tough.

Easiest 56 Dollars I Ever Earned.

2006-10-22T16:01:00.000-07:00

As you may or may not have heard I have started working at a porno shop today.

Some are impressed by this, while others are downright embarassed to know me. Labelling me a pervert, or a "wanker".

Lemmie settle the score right here and now.

1)I get paid more than minimum wage. Better than you can say, you Dollar Store fuck.

2)I run the store. I'm not just some jizzmopper. When I'm in, the entirety of the day's sales rest on my broad, firm, massively sexual shoulders.

3)There is no "dress code". I don't have to wear some pissant uniform or hide my tattoos. Balls to you, Tim Hortens.

4)I play my kind of music. None of that "Easy 101.4" cuntshit that the make you listen to everywhere else.
Metal. All the time.

5)Smoke if you got 'em! No-one in the store? Go for a smoke. Know the people who are in the store? Go for a smoke. Just need a smoke? Close the store and go for a smoke.

6)Tired of watching porn all day? close up shop, head to blockbuster across the road and pick up something else. But, I've never heard of anyone getting tired of porn.

7)Feet tired? Then sit the fuck down, dumbass. There's chairs behind the counter, you fool.

8)For every seven hour shift, there's perhaps only half an hour of actual work to be done. And actual "work" includes counting dildos and inflatable women.

9)Got a moment? Not serving customers? Store is tidy? Nothing stolen? Then sit back and contemplate over how the hell someone came up with the idea of a cockring. Or why in god's name do we sell inflatable sheep?

10)Free porn. As much as I want.

No dental though. But the sheer volume of free pornography makes up for it tenfold.

To those who call me a pervert and a wanker. You're spot on, chap. Now piss off, I'm about to climax.

There's only two things in the store that actually frighten me.

1)The deluxe posable woman in the corner. It sells for over one thousand dollars. Life size, realistic feeling, etc etc.

From where I'm standing we've got a woman trapped in a plastic cage and are forcing her to remain perfectly still for all eternity. And god help her if she ages.

Apparently these things sell. To whom, I don't know. Nor do I WANT to know. What I do know is that it chills me to the bone every time it's lifeless gaze pierces my soul.

2)Our sales software is cold-war era technology. dos prompt, all the way. Our receipt printer is dot matrix. It's 2 years older than me for christsake! It runs like a charm, though. I just have to remember all the codes and sequences to actually sell something to a customer, without forgetting to breath and inadvertantly smashing the fucker with a rock.

Aside from that I love my job, and I gleefully await tomorrow's shift, and the day's after that!

Medical update:

With straining effort I can slowly turn the corner of my mouth upward. And if you look closely enough my right eyebrow is beginning to move independantly as well! Still no development as far as my nostril is concerned, but I am in high spirits that my face will come around soon!

I'm still on the prescribed steroids, which by the way are an excellent pick-me-up in the morning, unfortunately they taste like shit, but are definately working their magic!

Tomorrow afternoon I have an appointemtn with the neurologist, he'll be able to tell me what's going on, and how I'm progressing.

College is going well. I don't have any midterms (hahaha stupid univ. students) so most of my time is spent either drawing or working (and by working I mean drawing).

To liam and blake: Soon I'll have enough money saved up to come down for a little visit with you two. Perhaps partake in the pub scene, because you both know how I detest drinking in homesteads. (If you didn't know that, or forgot, just think back to how many times you've seen me actually drunk at anyone's house in recent years.)

To Liam: I still want my DVD's. I hope you haven't destroyed them in an attempt to spite me. And I wouldn't mind getting back into the Deus Ex 2 saddle. Hitman gets kinda old after 2 months of god-mode/infammo carnage.

To Blake: Why aren't you fucking random Women? I'm still not grasping this concept. Did you sign a bloodoath to yourself, or what? You can still study, just take a 20 minute break and get some freak in the sack. You'll feel better.

I have but one last question that is open for the public to answer:

Who's got the "Preacher" series these days? I lost track of it after Blake gave it to Liam. I don't care if it's still in circulation, I just want to know who's been reading the best piece of graphic novel history since Art Spiegelman created "Maus". And to a lesser extent Jenkins, Amara, McCarney, and Russo's "SkyApe" comical abortions.

If you haven't read the series, I wholeheartedly suggest you do.

That is, if you're MAN enough.

Ben

That Went A Little Too Far

2006-10-17T21:51:00.000-07:00

If you'll notice, I've deleted my last post.

In all honesty it was just a cruel joke I was playing with a classmate of mine, and it got a little out of hand there.

I retract my statements.

Live and let live, cause honestly...

..I really don't care.

NEWSFLASH!

Bell's Palsy is the name of what I got. The wikipedia definition follows:
________________________________
Bell's palsy (facial palsy) is characterised by facial drooping on the affected half, due to malfunction of the facial nerve (VII cranial nerve), which controls the muscles of the face. Named after Scottish anatomist Charles Bell, who first described it, Bell's palsy is the most common acute mononeuropathy (disease involving only one nerve), and is the most common cause of acute facial nerve paralysis. The paralysis is of the infranuclear/lower motor neuron type. Bell’s palsy affects about 40,000 people in the United States every year. It affects approximately 1 person in 65 during a lifetime. Until recently, its cause was unknown in most cases, but it has now been related to both Lyme disease and Herpes simplex.
_________________________________

The last sentence has me worried. Not the herpes part, becasue the last time I checked, I've never had a coldsore or any sort of boil on my genitals. However, the mention of lyme disease is giving me the jitters.

Also another transcript compliments from wiki:
__________________________________

Lyme disease or Lyme borreliosis is the most common tick-borne disease in the United States and Europe, and one of the fastest growing infectious diseases in the United States. It was first described in the United States in the town of Old Lyme, Connecticut in 1975, but has now been reported in most parts of the United States. Lyme disease is caused by a bacterial infection with a spirochete from the species complex Borrelia burgdorferi sensu lato, and is most often acquired from the bite of an infected Ixodes tick. Borrelia burgdorferi was first identified in 1982 by Willy Burgdorfer, a tick-borne disease expert at Rocky Mountain Labs in Hamilton, Montana. While Borrelia burgdorferi sensu stricto is the predominant cause in the U.S., Lyme disease in Europe is more often caused by Borrelia afzelii or Borrelia garinii.

The disease varies widely in its presentation, which may include a rash, flu-like symptoms, neurologic, arthritic and/or cardiac manifestations. Early detection and prompt antibiotic treatment (within the first eight weeks after infection) usually result in an excellent prognosis, though some patients remain symptomatic.

Delayed or inadequate treatment may lead to a chronic illness that is disabling and difficult to treat. Amid great controversy over diagnosis, testing and treatment, two different standards of care for Lyme disease have emerged.

____________________________________

I have an appointment tomorrow with some doctors who are going to give me a good looking over. I hate spirochetes...

..I hate them so much.

(A side note I keep thinking of Miss Hoover from the Simpsons, who was once diagnosed with lyme disease. Hillarity ensues.)

Should be a rip-roaring good time at the doctor's tomorrow.

I wonder if there's a tick in my ear canal.

That's really gonna help me sleep.

Man posting this right before bed was the best idea I've had in a while!! I'm so happy!!! HOORAY I'VE GOT FUCKING LYME DISEASE!!

or herpes, I suppose.

I think I'm gonna read some more about this. Surely it will calm my nerves.

Grinding my teeth with glee,
Uncle Ben

(or the lymie bastard, if you prefer)

Wow, That Stings!

2006-10-11T19:12:00.000-07:00

Sunday, oct.8/o6
I've just had a shower. I am now cleaning my ears.

"ow, dammit." I think out loud as the q-tip rolls over (what I think to be) a zit.

Happens occasionally, hurts like a bitch. I get over it.

As the day progresses, the pain increases significantly. It's to be expected, zits grow. It's what they do.

Tuesday:
Jesus shit on a jumping jack, it feels like someone is fucking my brain with a golf pencil. The pain won't go away! Zits have never hurt this much. EVER.

The previous night I had decided that I was going to the hospital after class. I couldn't sleep worth a shit, and the pain was incredible.

I forgot my health card at home, so after class I bussed back to the house, and my landlady was kind enough to give me a ride to the hospital. Sure beats the shit outta walking, or waiting for the bus.

I'm at the hospital for four and a half hours. Waiting out in a hallway, cradling my head between my palms. The receptionist nurse (whatever her title is, I dunno. The lady who checks out what the hell is wrong with you and tells you where to go) sits me down, takes my blood pressure and checks my heart rate. As she finished up strapping on the BP monitor, she says, "I'm just gonna take yore tempe..." The she crammed a thermometer into my sick ear.

The sound of me shouting "fuck", "Shit", and "goddamit" as loud as possible at the nurse actually made a baby cry.

She apologized and crammed it directly into my left ear.

Thanks, lady now I've got my infected pus in both my fucking ears.

She fills out the forms and shunts me to "minor treatment". Which I think is bullshit, because I could swear there's some invisible man mashing my cerebellum into a thin paste.

The doctor sticks a scope in my ear for 6 seconds, pulls out, fills out a prescription for ear drops. Explains that it's a basic infection, and it'll go away.

She left without any closure, so I hung around until one of the nurses escorted me away from the ward. I hate when doctors do that. Just gimmie a "you're free to go", or "good-bye". Don't just walk away from me, you prick.

The prescription the good doctor gave me turned out to be 40 dollars for a weeks worth of ear juice.

I have 2 options:

1)buy the stuff that'll just do the same thing that my immune system can (and will) do.

or

2)use that money to buy groceries for the next 2 weeks.

hmm.

A person can live with one ear, they can't live without food. And I'm damn sure that my white blood cells are on full alert by now. Shit, I haven't been sick in a long time. The ol' fellas must be working their magic as we speak.

I tell the pharmasist to cram it with walnuts, and get some groceries instead.

Wednesday:

This morning I woke up feeling the same as the day before. No change. Good! we must be at the cusp of victory against those germ bastards.

2pm:

I've lost control of the right side of my face. I didn't notice it happening, I've been working ont he computer for the past six hours, and there isn't a whole lot of emotional response when I'm drawing a floor plan for an imaginary conference. (don't ask, I'm not fond of this assignment).

My imparement became evident when I stretched and yawned after such a long haul. Up went the arms in came the air, I opened my mouth to exhale, and noticed that my mouth was cramping, and NOT OPEN ON THE RIGHT SIDE!!!!
I looked in my mirror, and took note that not only was my mouth not working, but I couldn't move my eyebrow either. My blinks are winks for christsake! I just thought my right eye was getting a little dry.

So I take a few breaths. Nothing serious. Maybe I'm just having a stroke. My neck kinda hurts, so I start massaging it to work it out.

I find a lump.

Now I'm panicing. One work floats through my mind over and over...

...LyMpHoMa...

So I go downstairs and find my landlady having a nap. I hate bugging her when she's napping, but this is pretty goddamn serious. I ask her if I'm winking or blinking. She gives me a strange look, rolls over and goes back to sleep.

"I'm going to call the hospital, I've lost control of the right side of my face." I say to her, to make sure there was not misunderstanding.

"Good idea." She replies.

I dash upstairs, and call my friend Caitlin. She's at the college, which is not 1 minute away from the hospital. Normally I woulda gone solo, but this time there's a lump involved, and also I wanted to show her how stupid I look when I'm chewing gum. Because as much as this is painful and annoying, you gotta admit, it looks really fucking hillarious.

We go to the hospital, no line, I'm waiting for 2 minutes tops, I'm in and... waiting for the doctor....

.....

hours pass.

The nurse has checked my blood pressure, looked in my ear, aske dme the same questions that I've alreadfy answered 8 times today.

Finally the doctor shows up. He looks in my ear for 6 seconds and says, "Yep, swimmers ear. I'll fill out a prescriptio..."

"I can't move my face"

The doctor gets serious now. He runs me through a couple of tests that include, "close your eyes"

"I can't"

"Smile"

"I can't, I can grin like a bastard though"

"Follow the finger"

no problem there, yet, thank god.

"Now squeeze my fingers, as tight as you can."

"Whatever gets you off, doc."

Flying colors. Except the facial manipulation parts. He looked over my lump as well.

The doctor cups his chin with his fist, "Hmm," he says, "We're going to have to do some bloodwork."

"Bloodwork?" I ask, as if to say, "Shit, I hate fucking needles."

"Yes, Bloodwork. We're going to work on your blood."

Gee, thanks doctor.

...Hours pass...

Caitlin comes in and asks how I'm doing/ what's going on. I answer both with "I 'unno". I tell her that she can take off, if she's got stuff to do, this is taking longer than I had thought. So she left.

Eventually two tiny nurses from "the lab" come to take "some" of my blood. They both compliment me on my tattoos, and share stories about their own.

I knew their plan. One nurse was there to distract me with her "interesting" stories. While the other secretly jabs my with the fucking harpoon.

So I ignore lady1, and focus intently on what lady2 is doing. It's not so much that I hate needles. I just don't like their pathetic ruse to misdirect my attention from the matter at hand. I'm cool with needles, so long as I can see what they're doing, and I know they aren't wiggling that shit around.

Problem#1: Lady1 kept saying my name to get me to look in her direction. Also pointing out that I'm afraid of needles yet I have tattoos and piercings.

(note- the difference between a tattoo needle and a hypodermic syringe, is comparable to the difference between a toothpick and a redwood. Also, piercing needles aren't made to drain people of their blood.)

Problem#2: Once the needle was in, Lady2 wasn't paying attention to what she was doing. She joined in the "converstion" Lady1 was having to herself. They talked at length about their kid's tattoos, and why they shouldn't have them, and how ugly they are, then correcting themselves by complimenting my on mine, which I wasn't paying attentrion anyway. I was too fixated on the needle being jerked around in my arm by the absent minded Lady2.

"ow." I said.

"Oh that didn't hurt, you big baby." Quoth Lady1

Alright, lets say you're actually a part of this procedure for a moment, ma'am. You come sit in this chair while Lady2 here mashes your vein with this fucking thing. Let's hear what you have to say.

Once they had collected enough of Ben's Genetic Cocktail, they taped a cottonball to my arm and left.

...Hours pass....

The Doc comes in, takes another look over me, and says that the swelling in my ear has gotten to the point where it's piching a major nerve junction in my face. Thusly, why I can't move it, yet have not lost any feeling in it.

He writes me up a prescription for antibiotics, ear drops, false tears and this weird gummy shit to put in my eye when I sleep.

I explain to him that I can't afford any of this.

He shrugs his shoulders and says, "It's the best I can do. Come back tomorrow around dinnertime and we'll see how you're doing as far as the bloodwork is concerned."

Then he left.

I hate when doctors do that. I wandered around the ward for a while, until I got enough sideways looks that I took the visual cue and made a b-line for the exit.

I rode the bus home,

Called caitlin to tell her I've NOT been strapped to a gurney, and sat down to let you all know how I'm doing.

I'm just dandy, how are you?

Ben

News Update: Web Design 1

2006-10-05T20:52:00.000-07:00

_________________________
A few amusing things just happened. Well, a couple actually.

Firstly: A new comment was posted on my last journal. The "blogger"s handle is "stmarys". Stmarys went on to ask where my posts went and that my singoff was so cryptic. The went on to explain that my postings mad ethe town less boring.

Probably the best compliment I've heard all week. Excluding "your sleeve tattoo makes me horny." (I'll get into that later.)

I checked out the "blogger"s posts to see what the deal was. I assumed it was just another teenager hellbent on the destruction and defamation of my crap hometown. However, I'm assuming this person is paid by the city to promote the town, with it's little knick-knacky events and cotton candy parade shit that they like to sling around.
So it's obvious to me that this person really hasn't been following my entries for very long.

Let me settle the score, and make things clear to anyone who cares to read:

I HATE ST.MARYS, ONTARIO, CANADA. I couldn't think of a worse place to spend the rest of my life. I'm sure the town is nice to live in if you're either:

a) Retired, and are sexually aroused by craft stores.

Or,

b) You're between the ages of 12-30 and you love methanphedemines and/or any other illicit street drugs you can think of, but don't like to walk very far to get them.

That's about it. Anyone else that lives there is either crazy, or has another home elsewhere where thay go to get the fuck outta dodge for a coupla days.

Fuck St.marys, I live in Barrie. It's not much better. But it's a step closer to anywhere the fuck else.

here's the "blogger"s site, should you care to hyave a gander. First, a warning: Should you click this I will not be responsible for any gagging or choking of yourself that may result in the overexposure of earthtones.

http://stmarysont.blogspot.com/

Secondly (on my list of a couple amusing things that have happened. Jeeze keep up here people):

My good friend and writer has finally gotten on the journal wagon. You'll find the metrosexual added to my links list. Basically he just gave me a shout-out and a heads-up that there's a blog out there dedicated to the graphic novel he and I are producing. I can't write a good story, and he can't draw worth a shit, so the whole thing is like a nice circle-jerk of literacy and artistic expression.

It's nice, really.

Homoeroticism aside, I told him (in the comments secion, look it up) that once my "Official Website" is up and running I'll dedicate a page to the book's artworks I'm "satisfied" with.

Look foreward to it. If not, you should really put your life into question.

News Update: The Website

(jesus, I mispelled "website" 3 times just now.)

My wed design course has taught me all I"ll need to know in HTML to get the bitch up and running. We've moved on to Dreamweaver to make the fucker sing and dance for you. Even though the site isn't going to have fancy .gif's, animated menu bars, or music that shit is for assholes who are trying to grab your attention away from their shitty content.

None of that.

And no comments. If you have something to say, you'll e-mail it to me, and my junk mail filter will take care of it from there.

I'd like to say I'm sorry, but you're going to have to wait a little while longer. I'm trying to figure out how to actually get my site hosted through the college. But then again, I don't like to apologize, especially not to you.

I think I may have fucked myself over for any hope of having any sort of relationship with a girl in my program.

I asked her out to a movie (and maybe dinner) on tuesday. She agreed, but instead of dinner, coffee before hand. I agreed.

Tuesday rolls around and I have to cancel. My tattooist screwed me around on monday by not telling me that he was on holidays, so I had to reschedule for tuesday. No prob, I'll come in at 1:00, I'll be outta there by 5:00 at the absolute latest. The big problem was, I'm trying to get a job. So I had to wait by the phone for the reswt of the evening to make sure I didn't miss their call.

She understood the situation, and really hasn't said more than a sentence to me since then.

I like this girl. A lot. So far she is on eof the two girls who I've been able to carry a conversation about Kevin Smith's movies for more than three hours, and not awkwardly change the subject on me. She loves indie films, enjoys similar music, and has several piercings. Not to mention the most gorgeous eyes I've ever seen.

She's a vegetarian, but not uppity about it. I can respect that. She doesn't like the cold, well it's to be expected with her body type. I could probably carry her around all day with one arm and not break a sweat.

I'll try to smooth things over. I really hope I didn't just fuck myself.

That would hurt a lot.

In the bum.

News Update: My tattoo

Move over neck signature, there's new ink in town and it kicks more ass than Sammo Hung.

My arm sleeve stage one was finished on wednesday at 6:25pm. Tribal rose, victorian in style and wholly badass.

I say "Stage One" because it isn't finished. I have at least two more sessions before it's completed.

Stage one, Forearm. The rose and initial vine work is carved in with bolding added to give it a much more finished look. Just so that I'm not carrying this haggard, bleeding sketchy thing around for weeks.

Stage Two, Upper arm. Lines and bolding are added to my bicep area, wrapping around, and leading down the outside of the forearm where there's some open space. This stage is going to suck so hard, the skin under the bicep and armpit area is paper thin and sensitive as all hell. My forearm ink extends up to that area, so I've gotten a taste of what I'm in for. I'm not looking foreward to it, but I can't wait to get it done nonetheless.

Stage Three, Black. All of the outlines are filled in and the badass capacity is filled to the brim in my right arm. This will be the most painful part of the whole piece, because instead of sections being done and healing, the tattooist is going over the whole arm in black, thick lines and shading the rose. My arm is going to be out of comission for a coupla hours.

The reason why The tattoo session was done on wednesday instead of tuesday (as I had scheduled on monday when the tattooist was on holidays) is a funny story.

Tuesday: I walk to the mall, go into the shop. Tell them I have an appointment. The tattooist comes out. "I forgot your design at home"
I schedule for wednesday, and walk home.

FUNNY, ISN'T IT!?

HAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHA

Fuck you.

I'm going to bed, asshole. Talk to me again when you can scrape up some decency, you prick.

Ben

p.s. The tattoo makes it uncomfortable to masturbate.

News now, from across the ocean, I'll be back in a flash, rollin with your motion: or read this you schmuck

2006-10-02T17:18:00.000-07:00

The college has been kind enough to give web design students their own hosting privelages off the college server. So, I'll be using this to finish and submit my web design projects as well as keep everyone updated through my "new and improved, blog free War Journal"

I've still got some bugs to disconnect, and some awesome to upload, but I'll keep you all posted.

Ben

Warning: This is Fucking Long

2006-10-02T04:36:00.000-07:00

7:30am, Mac Lab 222

I woke up this morning with just enough time to climb over the piles of clothes and rubish lying on my floor and have a shower.

Unfortunately I left my shampoo in my backpack so I used my bar of soap to wash my hair instead.

"Why was your shampoo in your backpack?"

Good question.

_______________________________________________

It's friday, 1:00pm. My headphones are cranking out my personal favorites to bash my head to, And I'm waiting for the GO Bus to Toronto.

"Why the hell would you be going to Toronto for, you moron?"

Shut up, lemmie finish the goddamn story.

I've been studying in barrie for a month now, and haven't royally fucked up yet. So I've allowed myself a one weekend rest period, and I decide to spend it with my friend Ellen, who lives in Toronto, my favorite place to go to unwind from all the chaotic boredom and redundancy of Barrie.

I sit in the back of what I thought would be an express commuter bus. I'm saving four dollars return trip by not going greyhound. So figure, "Why the fuck not?"
Turns out, GO Busses make a one hour trip to downtown toronto last two and a half hours with many boring stops in butt-fuck nowhere, and one transfer to a new bus in Newmarket.

I am not impressed. Next time I'll just take the fucking greyhound, the two extra dollars per ticket are worth not wasting my time.

My friend Ellen Hurley says that she has class until 6:00. 6:30 at the latest.

(hey, sidenote, I'm a fucking moron, my class doesn't start until 11. I've been walking around with 8 written in my organiser for the past month. GODDAMIT!....
...how in the hell have I been coming to class on time?

Creepy)

8:22, The College Library.

Where the shit was I?

3:30, GO Bus terminal at Union Station. I've gotta buy some phone time, and get some breakfast. So I bust chops outta the terminal and into the mean streets of T.O.

And I get lost.

I wind up in the Eaton center, where after extensive councelling with the information kiosk lady, I'm led in the direction of "rodgers plus" where I can get my phone time and watch helplessly as a store manager yells at his employee for not having every last piece of merchandise on the wall-rack display. Even though the display is packed with everything and there just isn't any room to put any more on it.

"Just make room!"

Jackass. So I left, to have a sit and shout my pay as you go card at the automatic operator until I win.

Mission Two: I want breakfast.

I decide to make my way to china town and get me some shark fin. I haven't had it in a while, and I've got a hankerin' for the dorsal of a large sea-faring predator. To do this, I need to get my bearings. I have no mental map of the area and I can only get around by visible landmarks. I know how to get to the returaunt if I'm coming from the greyhound terminal. Good. I'll start there. How do I get there?

I'm sure there are people who know the area well. i.e. Ellen, who are probably laughing their ass off right now. "Oh you moron, you go down Jarvis till you get to blah bluh blubberty bubberfuck".

Screw ya.

During my trek, I stumbled across a windy alley. A woman clad in a business suit was sitting on a raised grating having a cigarette. I needed a break from my walking so I decided to join her in enjoying our mutual disgusting habit.

The breeze was heavy and cold. Just how I like it. I said hello to the woman and asked if she minded if I sat. She muttered something to the tune of go ahead, so I lit up and enjoyed the moment's reprieve. I let my head tilt back as I exhaled my first drag. Savouring the feeling of nicotene entering my bloodstream. I opened my eyes and knew that I needed to draw what I was witnessing.

\- - - - - - /
\___-__-__-__-___/

______.__.______
/_ _ _ | |_ _ _ | | The alleyway was fairly tight, enough room for two people to pass each other, at best. Nestled between two very tall buildings, this alley must serve as mainenance access to both buildings. Along one building ran two pipes. What their purpose was, I haven't the foggiest. But the design aspect of the scene was fucking my mind, so I whipped out the sketchbook and did a quick gesture drawing vowing to finish it later. I burned the scene into my memory, and returned to my journey.

So I wander into the metropolitan hotel. (I think that's what it's called. I didn't rightly care at that moment. I just assumed someone there would know how to get to the goddam bus station.

A pint of guiness later and I've coaxed the information out of the attractive waitress. Apparently the bus station is damn close to the hotel. Like two blocks away. This information took me aback. I was almost offended. The immediate area around the bus terminal is my old stomping ground. I've marched every inch of the place! So I step outside, put on my shades and squint. And damn if the place doesn't look much different in the dark.

Onward to chinatown.

I made it to the right street. I bypassed the whole bus terminal in an atempt to familiarize myself with the streets without my point of reference. It worked, but I missed the resturaunt entirely and kept walking down the street. Perhaps I'll find better strange crap to eat. As I walk I take a look at all the signs hanging from the buildings. I chuckle to myself over some of the "Engrish" translations. I stop in a convenience store for a pack of smokes. I tried to find a pack of the strangest label I could find. Something from the bowels of Zimbabwe. Instead I ended up with a pack of benson and hedges. Whatever, smokes are smokes.

The musky odor of hanging roast duck and exotic roots fill my nostrils and I realize exactly where I've wandered to.

Honor Snack Bar, 4:30pm

This place looks a lot different in daylight. The sign above the door isn't as appealing as it once was. It's paint fading, the palm tree barely visible behind the peeling text. I've got time to kill, I'll be meeting Ellen soon, and beer is liquid bread. It'll tide me over until I grab dinner with Ellen.

Just like the outside, the inside of the bar looks a lot different in the daylight. Believe it or not it's actually darker inside than at nighttime. The sunlight streaming through the stained curtains cast heavy shadows across the room, masking the miscolored spots on the tables and floor. The sound of asian kareoke music has been replaced with alternative rock from the local radio station. And what few patrons are there to enjoy it, are too immersed in the touch-screen one arm bantits in the corner to take notice.

The athmosphere had changed. No-one looked my way. No conversations stopped, no sideways glances.

I sat down at a table. My previous encounter with the honor snack bar had left me sitting on a stool near the door. This time I took a seat in the middle of the room. I liked the place a lot better here.

I laid out my sketchbook and started drawing. Nothing in particular, just making shit up on the fly. Two lovers hugging, a defeated samurai weeping, "Dune buggies Rule!" shit like that.

Four Beers and one shot of jack daniels later, it's 7:00 and I'm calling hurley for the third time. I'm positively sure that she is getting tired of me sending her progressively drunker messages on her cellphone. However I finally get ahold of her, and tell her where I am. I tell her to dress tough, because by this point darkness had crept over the streets and out came the freaks.

"Put your game face on, because we're having a 'Ben' Night." I slobbered into the phone.

This is when I stopped looking at my watch.

A time passes and ellen is nowhere to be found, so I call her again and she assures me that she is on her way there. So I opt to wait for her outside, lest she get molested on the way in. Ellen arrives. We sit, have a brew and discuss many things of wide and colorful varieties. We lucked out, most of the human traffic of the less than savoury elements of society had drifted through before ellen arrived. Even still I felt wary leaving her alone for a few minutes of relieve myself.

Ellen later told me that during that time there was a dispute among two other patrons. Nothing became of it, and Ellen was man enough to stake her claim of our table. One of the two disputees caught her eye and noticed that when I left I had not pushed my chair in. Ellen noticed this as well, and before he had a chance to swwop in, she pulled the chair in with her foot, as if to say, "Haha no."

Shortly thereafter we left. This definately isn't Ellen's scene, and I really didn't feel comfortable with her there anymore.

I think I'll keep this a "Ben Alone" hangout spot in the future.

Down the street we go. In the direction of the New Treasure Resturaunt where the Lemon Chicken is Delicious and the Shark Fin Dumplings make me full of testosterone and mercury.

Ellen tried a dumpling, and wasn't impressed. Then again, I don't think she understood the concept of absorbing your opponent's powers by eating their defeated flesh. Fucking sharks. All they do is eat fish, and destroy our economy. I blame sharks for the fall of western civilization. Global warming? Sharks. Teens with drugs and guns? Sharks. Terrorism? You'd better believe it's the sharks.

So I jump on any opportunity to devour their souls that I come across.

Ellen and I kept the hit parade rolling by a trip to her apartment. I dropped off my stuff, took the nickle tour of the place, met her roomate, was warned that her friend Tyson is very flamboyant and not to hit him, and we made preparations to go to a kegger.

First up: Picking up Tyson. He lives in the same building as Ellen. She knowck on the door which opens to The land of the smurfs.

"His favorite color is blue." Ellen tells me.

Really? I hadn't noticed.

It took my eyes a moment to get adjusted, then after our formal introductions we were off to the keg party.

Which, in all honesty wasn't my first choice of places to go. But I came to Toronto to visit Ellen and see what she does with her life. Apparently going to keggers is one of those things. Fifteen dollars cover and all the beer I can choke down was also an enticing feature I took note of.

What they failed to mention was the 25 minutes of waiting IN LINE for beer. And the fact that the beer was piss warm. And "Steam whistle". I had two beers to be nice and spent the remaining hours of the evening outside smoking like it was my job. During my stay in the backyar I learned some interesting facts about the house this party was held at. According to some this house was the house that the show, "Kenny vs Spenny" was filmed in. I was impressed. I like that show and I liked the house. great place to get stinko in. The backyard consists of a porch that steps down to a limestone tiled garden, complete with bushes, some lawnchairs and a half-filled pond. Scratch that, a pond half-filled with piss, puke, cigarette butts, rotting beer and god knows what. A drunken patron bet his friend that he could "jump it". I stood there an watched from the far side as this moron "leaps" across this "chasm" and manages to get his shoes wet anyway. Everyone cheers anyhow. Then he does it again. Instead, this time he runs around the pond to the far side, stands on a rock outcroppin and jumps. Lands his toes on the other side, falls back, cracks his head on the rock outcropping and soaks himself in liquid shit.

I laughed my ass off. And lit up another smoke.

One Habana honey and 27 cigarettes later, I run into Will. (That's right, Will from playmakers. If you don't know him, don't worry.) I hadn't seen will in months and the last place I expected to run into him was at a kegger in the middle of toronto!

About 1:00am, Kegger at Kenny & Spennys.

We're leaving, I'm tired of this crap, so is Ellen, Tyson is drunk, someone else who's name I cannot remember came with us as well, and Will's gotta go to bed. Instead of everyone going home to bed, we decide to hit up the bar for one last round. At least here there'll be some tunes instead of hundreds of voices talking over one another.

1:15am, Mick E Flynns.... Mc E Finns.... Mick y'Flonds? (The bar that Ellen likes)

Less people, more music, easier to get to beer, I'm having fun. Ellen's dancing with Tyson. Who is apparently grinding everyone. I'm sitting at a table watching Ellen's coat and purse, enjoying the tunes (to a degree) and digging the cold beer.

Last call.

No idea where Ellen is, I've finished my beer and the door guy is gesturing that I leave. So I take Ellen's jacket and purse and head outside. Where I meet up with Tyson and the friend that I can't remember. We wait for Ellen to get outside. Then we walk everyone back to the apartment. Say goodnight to Tyson and Whatsherface, and go to our respective beds.

No Liam, Ellen and I did not sleep together. I slept on the pull out couch with the springs that poke you in the balls.

The next day, Ellen and I decided to go on an adventure. Do some exploring around toronto. take pictures of funny and interesting things we see. But first Ellen had to do a load of laundry. To do that, she neeed quarters. So we went to the corner store, she bought a pack of gum, and I got a bottle of orange punch. Back to Ellen's, down to the laundry room, back to Ellen's, watch an episode of grey's anatomy (which I really think is stupid.), I tell Ellen to do her damn homework instead. Have Kraft dinner for lunch. Laundry to dryer. I'm drawing, Ellen's typing. Tyson calls, he's got a delivery coming that day, but he has to go to work soon. If the delivery men don't show up we're supposed to wait at his place till they do. Draw draw, type type, Tyson calls. Delivery guys showed up. Nevermind. draw draw, type type, "I'm going for a smoke." "Ok"

I have my nicotene fix, then I buy some gum. On the way back, I see Tyson on his way to work. I know it's him because his lip gloss is reflecting sunlight right into my eyes.

"I told Ellen that you're both invited to come see a movie later."
"Sure, got nothing else on my agenda."
"Super, see ya later, Ben!"
"Later."

Back to Ellen's, she gets her laundry from the dryer. I finish my drawing, start a new one, hate it, stop drawing. She folds her laundry, realizes that her pants are still wet. We dig out her ex-roomates clothes rack from the closet and assemble it like a game of Jenga gone horribly wrong.

Time to go exploring. Which ultimately ends up being just me and Ellen walking in a straight line, arguing in the rain. Debating, really, about life, friendships, smart cars, other crap and corruption, how I plan to carpet-bomb the face of the earth just to put a stop to the virus of humanity, and we're both just getting annoyed with the other, unable to comprehend where the other gets their viewpoint from.

It's there and then that I realize just how completely different Ellen and I are. And it amazes me that our friendship has somehow lasted through this stark difference in personalities and interests.

We stop at a starbucks to get out of the rain, to have a sit and sip tea and eat scones.

The debating continues, until we're just plain debated out.

By this point it's pretty much dinner time, so Ellen takes me to Salad King. Apparently it's really good thai food.

"The spring rolls are the best thing ever here."

I beg to differ, they seemed to taste an awful lot like a carnival corn-dog rather than a spring roll. I'll admit that they're better than many spring rolls on the market. But "Best-Ever" is a little much. However, the dipping sauce was good. It took a while for the Salad king and I to get used to each other. I really didn't like the way the tables are set up. It's basically a cafeteria. The stools did fuck-all for my back, and the kids sitting next to us were annoying.

But I will suggest trying the basil chicken sometime in your life.

...even though I officially ordered the basil beef.

After dinner, Ellen took me for a tour of Ryerson Quad. Nice place, lots of trees. I'm sure it's a lot better if it isn't pissy-raining out. I was surprised that the school isn't more detached from the rest of the city. I mean, I'm used to there being big fields surrounding the place. Like you walk by it, and you know, "Shit! that's a school!"
This just kinda looks like fancy office buildings. It was neat and weird at the same time.

We decided that rather than going to the pub for a pint later that night wouldn't be so fun in the rain, so I bought a bottle of wine to drink while we watched a movie at Tyson's. Get to Ellen's change outta the wet clothes. Kill some time by watching Momento. (I like that move, I suggest you watch it if you haven't. Ellen agrees that it's a good movie. Actually I think that's about the only thing we've agreed on.)
Get a call from Tyson, he's home and building Ikea Furnature, asks for help.

Blue migrane for a second as Ellen swings open the door. Tyson gives us the option of either watching a movie or helping him build this stuff. We pitch in, and by "We" I mean "I", while ellen played "Traffic Jam" or something for many hours.

Furnature done, and I'm going to bed. Before I get to that point though, Ellen and I have another discussion about music. How much she "fucking hates slipknot" and how much I "fucking hate everything she listens to"

So I downloaded the dicamillo sisters' "But why's it so cold?" onto her computer.

That'll learn her.

I went to bed.

10:30am, I wake up and don't know where I am for a second. Then I remember, and I realize that I really had to pee. Do my business, go back to bed, ellen wakes up, does her thing, I have a shower, and we "so what do you wanna do today" "What do YOU want to do today" for about a half an hour.

We decide that lunch is appropriate.

Bust some chops across town, decide to go to kensington market. Because I've never been.

Halfway there, Ellen gets a call. Her friend Molly had a bit of a rat problem at her old place, so her and her roomates were moving to a new spot that day. They had sent messeges and e-mails to everyone in their class asking for help. Turns out only one other person showed up.
So Hurley and I answered the call.

We finished sometime around 4:30ish. I met some more people that Ellen knew. Had some fun, had a workout. As we were saying goodbye we were invited back to the Kenny & Spenny house just to hang out. So after we grabbed some lunch/dinner (and debated some more) we dropped by and said hello.

The house is so huge, without all the people there the house is like a mansion. I only saw the bottom floor, kitchen and backyard. But, still I was in awe. We watched some T.V., listened to a fellow named James (the one who invited us to the kegger as well as helped out with the move), listened to James play the guitar. Played a little darts. Watched some more T.V. and left. By the time we got back to Ellen's place we had just enough time for us to continue our discussions before we had to get on the subway that led me bck to union station. Ellen and I said our goodbyes, I thanked her for letting me crash on her couch, and I took off for Barrie.

Union Station GO Bus terminal, 7:56pm

I'm staring at a "Closed" sign on the ticket window. The little man inside my brain is tearing his hair out in frustration. I look around for another option. A Cab rolled past just then. I thought to myself. I'll look for a cheaper option, but that's always a last resort.

A woman (whom I thought was using a pay phone) stepped away from the automatic ticket vending machine.

"YES!" I thought to myself and did a small arm pump. I walk over, like I knew it was there, and stare at the machine for a minute. There's a slot for credit cards and a slot for change.

I have 1.84 in loose change and I don't have a credit card.

fuck

I walk outside defeated. I smoke another cigarette and think about what I'll do.

"I'll walk to a convieience store and get some change." I thought.

"But last time you looked for a convienience store you ended up in the Eaton Center." I thought back.

"Good point. Maybe if I go back and look at it long enough a ticket will pop out."

"Don't be stupid."

So I start walking, looking for someplace to make change. As I pass the terminal with the closed ticket windows, I see another ticket vending machine, on the outside of the building. This one looks diferent from the other. As I'm glancing throught the instruction menus, I catch a glimpse of the words "Debt Card", so I take a chance and slide my card into the credit card slot.

Success! I enter my pin and select my account, away I go.

Although I'm a little pissed off that the m achine didn't have "DEBIT CARDS ACCEPTED" anywhere on it. Misleading pricks.

Once again, the bus was two and a half hours with a stop over in Newmarket.

Ben

The Wanderer Part One

2006-09-27T20:08:00.000-07:00

There once was a man named Liam. Liam had a mighty beard. He wore it proudly. Even during the hottest of summer days. Many of his friends pleaded, "Liam, please cut off that haggard beard. It's making me vomit a little every time I see it!"
Liam dismissed these notions as general jealousy.

One day, Liam began to wonder what his life would be without his beard. And what it would feel like if he shaved his head.

"Surely SOMEONE would offer a job to a man looking like that!" Thought Liam to himself one night.

This frightened his poor beard. "Oh no," Said the beard quietly, so as to not disturb it's master, "if my master shaves me, then I'll be discarded with the rest of the trash, and I'll be lost and forgotten!"

The beard cried it's proverbial eyes dry, and when it had collected itself, the beard made a vow:

"I'll bugger off before the prick gets a chance to come at me with the razor!"

And so, the incredible journey of Liam's beard began.

to be continued...

My ams are trying to kill me.

2006-09-26T21:57:00.000-07:00

I've started going to the gym on a regular schedule. I've got two friends from my previous years of college to help me out. They've been working their schedule for the better part of a year now, so I figure these guys know their shit.

The schedule is broken down into specific days targeting specific muscle groups.

Monday: Biceps and pectorals
Tuesday:Calfs,quads and glutes
Wednesday: Rest day
Thursday:shoulders and triceps
Friday:Eyelids
Saturday:Cock push-ups

Yesterday (monday) was hell. my friend alex kept on forcing me to do more and more, until a dumbell fell onto my chest. The rest of the workout was good.
I swear to god, I still can't reach my arms up to take a drag of a cigarette. OR to wash my hair, for that matter. I just squirt shampoo into the air and mash it into my scalp with the wall.
It's getting better though, however, my pectorals have started to cramp up.

Fuckers.

What was the freaking hold-up? couldn't they have been sore with the rest of my upper body?!

The strange thing is, we were focussing on the biceps, yet the back of my arm hurt. Just under the tricep. This is the core of most of my arm pain now. I ddidn't even know there was a muscle there, but sure enough there's a ropey mass of pain poking through the fat.

Today was legs. I assumed the worst. Mainly due in part of alex himself. I quote him thusly:

"Dude, I hate doing legs so much. Seriously, like I won't even be able to walk down these stairs right. It's pure hell."

And the fat child inside me started weeping.

Turns out it ain't so bad if you're a big man. Alex is only carrying about half my weight around each day. Whereas I bound up stairs like nobodies business, hefting 270 lbs of man flesh wrapped around my bones.
So doing 3 sets of 10 reps on the 140 quad trainer wasn't so freakin hard.

Squats on the other hand, I nearly passed out. I could swear I heard god laughing at me. For the record, I can't "squat" worth a shit. Let alone with weights yolked around my shoulders.

well kids, it's 1:06 am, and you've got another big day of school tomorrow.

Me? fuck no, I don't have class tomorrow. Wednesday's my day off!

Later, freaks.

Ben

A timely update:

2006-09-26T21:40:00.000-07:00

Just to make liam feel better, here's a picture of myself as a pirate.

My Niece, Juli.

2006-09-23T22:19:00.000-07:00

Here's a shot of julianne indulging in one of my favorite past-times, lying on the floor, vaguely aware of reality, unable to register many color patterns.

Julianne expressing her distaste of popular culture.

And so, another branch of the family tree sprouts forth, needing a changing.

Ben

I want to marry this woman

2006-09-23T22:04:00.000-07:00

Here's to me:

2006-09-23T21:14:00.000-07:00

Bat Shit, Rat Shit,
Dirty Old Twat.
Sixty-Nine Assholes,
Tied in a Knot.
Hooray!
Lizard Shit!
FUCK!

The above cheer is compliments of George Carlin.

And by "compliments" I mean I outright stole it from him.

Screw 'em.

He's old.

I got a lot of shit done today. I feel good about it. Especially since it's saturday. My fucking day off. I spent the better part of the morning sleeping. Finally I rose from my bed at 3:00pm.

Speaking of roses, my sleeve tattoo has completed it's incubation period. Yesterday I went to Jay (my tattooist) to see the finished designs. Apparently someone from work "borrowed" his sketchbook, which included my complete tattoo.

Peckerheads.

So, Jay sat down with me and he and I went through some rough sketches, just to give me an idea of where he was going with it. I gave some input, but not knowing fuck-all about victorian vine tribal work, I left it mostly up to him.

Essentially it starts with a rose on the inside of my arm. (you're thinking whattreyou, a fruit?!) Well, fuck you jackass. It's gothic, it's flat black and it will be carved into my arm by thousands upon thousands of pigment injections. The tribal aspect of the tattoo comes in with the vines, which wrap around my arm in an uncommon "victorian" style. using large and small black lines, both hard lines and spirals will be implemented to draw the eye around the design, and confuse bastrds right before I hit them. The vines go down the length of my arm, and up to my shoulder where my design (still a work in progress)will be carved.

The kanji reads, "Punished is not the man himself. But the evil that resides within him."

After I had my 3:15pm shower, I made some kraft dinner with tuna in it. Don't scoff. Liam can attest to it's awesomeness.

After watching a random episode of bleach (to satisfy my craving for the rack of dvds containing decent anime that liam curerently holds custody over) I got down to the assigned task set out to my by my Photographic Communication/Web design professor. The task was to take two photographs of a letter, found naturally (not man made). I had the letter "Z", which doesn't occur naturally very often. Aside from sidewalk cracks, but I heard that another student had used that, and p0wning another artist's shit is unacceptable. Unless you don't personally know them. Then it's up to the courts to decide.

I would have posted the pictures, but the raw files are much too big, therefore use your goddamn imagination, you uncultured swine.

In no time I got that assignment done. Onward to the more difficult shit. Adobe Illustrator.

Talk about a mind-fuck. The professor scanned in an image of a sculpture. Then he broke it down into 30 or so sections and assigned each of us at least one. We take our section and create paths over it to make an Andy Warholesque version of the picture. I was doing fine in the class. So the professor started asking students to take more than one, because there were leftovers and blank spots on the final draft would suck. I ended up with four.
My bad, shoulda only taken two. But I'm stuck with it, and I like an impossible challenge. Gives me something to do besides sit at home smashing my cock between two bricks.

For a moment I could hear my veins throbbing. So I took a break from illustrator and moved to photoshop where I threw down my editing skills with a panoramic shot of my room. It kind of sucks, but I kinda don't give a shit.

Wall to wall off-white, tuscan orange. Love it.

Once that was done I watched some Montey Python on cable access, and now I'm cronicling my day's pointless events.

Mostly, this post was about the success of my learning how to upload images into my posts. A small victory on my part, I know. But a victory nonetheless.

Unfortunately, Liam's favorite hobby is to dress up as a gay pirate.

Get outta my house.

Ben

Ethnically Cleanse the Beligerent!

2006-09-18T17:01:00.000-07:00

(one moment I'm going for a cigarette)

It's been rainig for the better part of all day here.

For lunch I was grilling some chicken thighs when all of a sudden it started downpouring. So I did what any sensible person would do and I donned my overcoat and wool hat.
Imagine a private detective having a cigarette in the rain..... grilling chicken.
I had to laugh.

This past week has been so awesome I can't put it into words eloquently... but I'll try:

It was fucking awesome.

My classes this semester rule, much better than last year's definately. My photographic communication class number one on my favorite list... which I will put into detail:

1. photographic communication: It's a standard lab room. With tables, blackboard, and a clock. It reminds me of the Autoshop classroom (not the garage) back in highschool.
This is where I learn how to use my digital camera the effectively express emotion and action through still shots. I love the class, I love my camera, I love it.

2. web design 1: Held in the Mac lab, we learn how to build and design web sites through the use of HTML coding and the Dreamweaver program. Last week I finished a three page site with two outside links, inserted photographs, and edited background and text color. The project is due next week, I finished it in under 4 hours.
I rule so much it's not even funny.

3. adobe illustrator 1: This is where we learn to use adobe illustrator to design graphics and images. The program is pretty basic. Once you've gotten a handle of any adobe program you've pretty much got a firm grasp of it's akin programs. There are a few core differences, but it's a good tool to know how to use effectively in-hand with photoshop. The best part of the class is, due to a scheduling error, the class is held in the third-year mac lab. The layout of this classroom resembles that of a major corporate studio. With comfortable chairs, large desk/workstations, ample legroom, and gigantic display screens at either end of the room so the professor can demonstrate what he's explaining as he's doing it. (the other classrooms have this as well, but they're awkwardly placed, so you have to crane your neck to see what the hell he's been babbling about for the past 3 hours. In the third year, all you have to do is turn your eyes upward, and BOOM there it is, 20 feet tall. I want one for my office.

4. History of Graphic Design and Illustration: Standard lecture hall. The professor teaches us about anchient techniques and imagery used throught histroy. Some still used today. So far we've covered paleolithic, mesolithic, neolithic, and ancient asian designs. Just a standard history class. But about shit that I can actually appriciate, instead of "who shot who and when" crap.

5. Production studio: Using quarkXpress effectively seems to be essential to our success in this class. Our last project (a docket sheet outlining time spent, materials used, cutomer, reference numbersd etc.) will be used to hand in every proceeding assignment. It's kind of like a work order. This class, while being a manditory course, seems rather redundant. But the practice is good to stay sharp for when we're turned loose into the real world of feral designers. Clawing andf biting each other for a chance to draw out a business card or flyer.

shudder.

Last friday my friend Gavin stopped into Barie for a visit. He';d come back from B.C. to visit his folks before they jet off to panama. So he was in the area, and figured he and I would hang out a bit. His fiancee, and brother came for the visit too. I met them at the Georgian Mall at Teaopia, a tea shop that doubles as a cafe of sorts. I had a japanese cherry while I waited. It was fucking sweet. not sweet, as in awesome, sweet like "Jesus, that's got a lot of sugar in it."
I ended up tossing the bitch, whatever possessed me to buy a tera, I do not know. But I purged that deamon from my system damn quick, lemmie tell you.

We met, and hooked up with their old friend alfredo, and went to east side mario's for dinner. I shoulda gone for the raviolli. But instead I went with the angelhair primaverra which had no meat, and was full of vegetables and kinda sucked.

Oh well, gotta try new things I suppose.

The rest of my weekend kinda blew. Saturday I got up and went to hand out resumes at a few places around town. Marks work warehouse, tim hortens, pita hut, futureshop, and on a tip from one of my fellow classmates I took a jaunt to the other side of the highway, and applied to Adult Time video.

Sunday I sat on my ass, played videogames, and read my book.

I hope this week goes as well as the last. I'll be fucking dancing.

Be Strong.

Ben

Oh, the places you'll go.

2006-09-09T19:12:00.000-07:00

This has been an amusing week to say the least.

Classes have offficially started. I've gotten back into the scholastic swing of things. And I've started drawing a lot more.

To elaborate more on what I mean, I leave you with this video:

http://samchi.com/A%20Little%20Critique.mov

Damn kids.

Ben

From deep within the suburban bowels of Barrie, I rage forth stiking down all those who dare oppose me. Or: I like pickles.

2006-09-02T16:45:00.000-07:00

God damn if it hasn't been a while since I posted.

My niece was born on aug.28th at 1:30am, Enter Julianne Tempest: The newest offshoot of the brambly bush that is our family tree. Welcome dibbun, we've been expecting you.

Just as my father anhd I were leaving the house for our trip to barrie, my mother calls and tells me that my niece was born. A hop-skip-and a jump later dad and I are at he hospital congratulating and giving hugs all around.

She's pretty quiet when she sleeps. Which is what she did when we were there.

I can't wait for thanksgiving, when I can see her again.

The move to Barrie was nothing notable. Save for the fact that it's the third time up for me. Even though it has become commonplace at this time there were still some watery eyes as we said our good-byes, as father drove out into the afternoon mist.

I unpacked in record time. Everything was where is should be in under 3 hours. A trip to the grocery store and 5 cigarettes later my house for the next 8-12 months is a home.

my landlord's father just asked if I can help design his business cards. I agreed. Yet another project to tack up on the wall.

1)Bren's Comission. Watercolor on mat board. 16/18"
2)Steve's redesigned '69 Dodge Montaco. Digital printout x3
3)Business Cards.

Good thing I've got some spare time before classes start.

More updates as events warrent.

Ben

A brand-new page, in a brand-new book. Cross me twice, I'll gut ya with a hook.

2006-08-24T11:10:00.000-07:00

For reasons I'm not legally going to get into, this is my new journal.

I've been fucked. Free-speech is bullshit. God doesn't love me and my mom dresses me funny.

Stay tuned for more entries. I'm just too mad right now.

Sven