Ah, the dentist.  How we all love going to have decaying bone matter drilled out of our heads.  I took this dramatic shot at my most recent office visit.

Well, I am among the many that have been permanently traumatized by dentists.  For me it was the unfortunate occurrence of an abscessed tooth.  My dentist, when I was about three, was insane.  As he is now deceased, I begrudgingly allow him to remain somewhat anonymous as he will cause no further neurosis in young children.  I henceforth refer to him simply as NORMAN THE BARBARIAN.  Apparently he died painfully, though I can not say I had any part in his demise.

 

He attempted to pull a tooth without it being frozen.  I cried, he screamed and turned red in the face and he looked as if he were going to smack me.  From that point onward, I was terrified.  For two years, I had to be placed under general anesthetic for dental work.  It was a sober minded yet kind dentist who helped me to get back in the chair.  My first appointment was to merely count my teeth..  Many years of orthodontic work followed. 

My T.M.J saw my dentist who is also a surgeon recommend that I have my jaw broken, and wired shut to realign it.  This would have been a great physiological advantage, but my parents were kind enough to protect me from that pain, opting for orthodontic treatment of my over bite.

 

Since that time, my dentist, who has aged 27 years along with me, has decided to focus on surgery rather than general dentistry.  At about the same point, a friend from high school and fellow university Shakespeare student opened office here as a dentist.  I could never figure out how he aced both science and English?!  Incidentally, I think we did poorly on our Hamlet presentation as the Freudian psychoanalysis of Hamlet was simply too funny.  Not a good thing for a tragedy. 

 

 

 I digress, he is now my dentist.  I went to school with some of his office staff as well.

 

 

 

I therefore no longer see a dentist.  I see a friend who happens to know dentistry.  Very different I must say.  The man has already seen me clothes line myself on a chain fence while playing tackle Frisbee with him and other members of “Mr. Keating’s class.  He has seen me barf with migraine when he took me to the hospital rather than Shakespeare class (actually, after having been treated with ERGOTAMINE- crikey -we went and caught the last hour).

 

In short, I have looked stupid in front of him before, so I feel comfortable looking stupid again.  Having dental work done has never been so easy.

 

Here are a few photos taken by myself and his lovely CDA.  What fun.

 

Enjoy…

Yup, still goofy after 15 years...

My gentle and funny photographer...

A great way to shut me up...

I rock...

I think I am a member of ZZ Top

 

Or Green Beard Maybe...

Ha!

Shrimpy

Ah, it feels good to be back.  Ladies and gentlemen, and children of appropriate ages, HEEEEERE's Shrimpy!

I would like to share with you one of my favorite fils, for both visual and thematic reasons...

 

V for Vendetta

 

An Inverted Sort of Prayer by Chris F. Needham Chapter One

Chapter One

THIS IS WRONG. These are not my words. Or rather, these are my
words, but you have to remember that as you are reading them you
could also be writing them down.

This, too, is wrong. It was not Montreal but in fact Mannheim
where I first met Chris De Boer, and I was playing, more or less, for
Adler of the German Elite League as I recall. I met him at a bar that,
back when I’d initially arrived in that country, I’d developed the habit
of getting kicked out of quite regularly, and consequently I’d not
returned to in some time. In the parlance of the profession I was
what was, and still is, called an enforcer. Don’t think that I’m all that
much impressed by that as a title, although it would have meant all
that much more to my father.

Now I don’t remember what all he was wearing that night, but I
do remember that Chris was standing behind the bar when I first
took notice of him, chatting quietly with some seemingly good-
natured skinheads on the other side. It was Saturday night and we
had just lost that night and afterwards, tired of speaking broken
German and wanting to be alone a while, I had come in for some
Greyhounds and some televised Hong Kong horseracing to calm my
nerves a little. Heaven, I believe the place was called, but try not to
read too much into that either. After the Greyhounds I hooked back
several shots in succession with this teenaged, unabashedly implanted,
seemingly permanently sunburned waitress, and then told her I
must be going. She had been toying with the idea of the two of us
going off somewhere sunny for the weekend, but I told her I must

decline. I’m not very good company these days, I assured her, but
she didn’t seem to care one way or the other. So then I suggested she
join me in the washroom for a quick puppet show, but then she did-
n’t seem all that impressed with such acts of exhibitionism either.

“Well then I know a girl around here who might like to join us,”
I said, at which point she took a drink from her tray and tossed it
against my face. Ignoring the attack, I brushed the beaded moisture
from my chin. Then I went on in English: “Henrietta used to be a
man, but knows everything you need to know about being a woman.
He really is a lovely girl.”

The waitress tossed another drink at me and walked stiffly away.
Fortunately they’d come from a recently abandoned table and contained
little more than ice by the time they made it onto me.

Something pressed against me from behind—it was De Boer, or
as I knew him then, de bartender, and he was standing on my side of
the bar smiling politely, breathing lightly, one hand clasped firmly
over my shoulder.

“Hey weren’t you barred from here a few months back?” he
asked in English, stifling a yawn with his forearm. “Someone told me
you were barred from here a few months back.”

“Who told you I was barred? Günter? The chef? Really? Well
fuck Günter the righteous chef,” I said.

He frowned. “He’s only a fry cook.”

“Seriously? Then he’s a liar. A fryer and a liar. A frying, lying,
good for nothing cook,” I said, not really knowing where I was going
with this, and not really caring either.

I returned to my drink and my steadily increasing hate of all
things fried until a certain gesture shattered my resentments: the
bartender was offering to buy me a drink. “Think of it as a congratulatory
drink,” he said, grinning good-naturedly. “You know, for your
reincarnation so to speak.”

He returned behind the counter, poured a Greyhound, and set
it down before me on the bar. Then he introduced himself as Chris
De Boer, a name that, I must admit, meant absolutely nothing to me
at the time. We shook hands. I thanked him very much for the free

An Inverted Sort of Prayer

alcohol, and then asked if he’d seen the game that night. He said he

had, indicating with a nod the television in the far corner of the bar.

“It wasn’t a very good game though.”

“It wasn’t, no.”

I took the straw from my drink and placed it alongside the others
on the bar—twelve straws. It would be time to be leaving soon.

“So what do you think about the trade?” he asked, wiping
mechanically at a section of the bar. Not knowing which trade he was
referring to, and not wanting to appear too out of touch, I didn’t
answer, choosing instead to taste my drink and draw my head down
between my shoulders until what I thought was a reasonable amount
of time had elapsed. Now there is this popular misconception
amongst those without money that those of us with money have little
or no interest in receiving a free drink. But in reality it is just the
opposite. Poor people enjoy spending their own money. Wealthy
people enjoy spending other peoples’ money. Both cases being a
simple function of principle and pride. And besides, this was a
Greyhound, my signature drink since back in the Sault, this time,
though, made with pink grapefruit juice. I really developed a thing for
the pink grapefruit juice back in Mannheim.

“You don’t sound too German, Chris,” I said, routinely flexing
my fingers and cracking my knuckles, and he was about to respond
to whatever it was I meant by this when someone called for him to
start a Guinness. Guinness is poured very slowly, at least when
poured properly it is, and while the Guinness was pouring I watched
Chris slowly work his way down and around to the far side of the
horseshoe-shaped bar. To be honest, he was hardly remarkable in
his appearance, except in those most conventional of ways—hardly
the horse to hitch your sum total of hopes and dreams to anyway—
and yet it was surely the breeding that engendered the appeal and
eventually the obsession, and I suppose that for most of us that was
more than enough. He was youthful and athletic looking. He kept his
dark brown hair quite short. The smile he used was nice enough—
that is, whenever he managed to smile with more than just the mouth
of it, it was. He was handsome, not beautiful but handsome, and then

Chris F. Needham

just enough to be in danger of manifesting his fantasies in some
obscure way. In the end, then, Chris De Boer was certainly a study
in something, although I have no idea what, and yet with everything
that is being written and said in conjunction with his father’s recent
death I feel it imperative I come clean myself.

He returned and finished the Guinness and handed it over the
bar. Someone else said something else and he smiled, blowing off the
joke with a nod. By and by he was back to leaning against the bar
directly across from me. Heaven was not all that busy that night and
there was plenty of time for procrastination that I could see.

Finally, as I had nothing really interesting to ask, and as he had
nothing really interesting to say, he turned his attention to the glass
washer, taking out glasses and arranging them against the back bar in
neatly ordered stacks. Eventually he returned, this time with a copy
of USA Today.

“I can’t believe it,” he said, indicating the front page photograph
of two girls crying.

“Can’t believe what?” I asked, not caring, determined to preserve
my overwhelming ignorance of that gender intact.

“Another kid opened fire on his classmates,” he said. “I can’t
believe it.”

He looked like he was about to say something more, but then
decided against it, and looking to reinforce my position of ignorance
I pushed the paper away. I was proceeding on the admittedly dim
theory that if a customer did not ask a question, well then a bartender
would have nothing to say. But then he took a drink from a coffee
cup and I asked what was in the cup.

“Same as you,” he said, and I was led by way of association to
the question of which brand of vodka he used, to the conclusion that
it was probably one of the premium varieties. One great thing about
drinking is that after a while nothing exists of the world but thoughts
about drinking. It is also interesting that thoughts about drinking
often lead to more actual drinking which, for the drinker, is the entire
reason for being. And that is when you know you have drunk too
much: when you can no longer tell the difference between them. And

An Inverted Sort of Prayer

so, just to be sure, I stopped thinking. Although I did continue drinking
just in case.

Chris looked like he wanted to say something again, and so,
yielding to the pressure, I asked what he was thinking about, and satisfied
with my degree of curiosity he pointed to the photograph in the
paper. “That kid going on a killing spree at school.”

“So?” I shrugged, still refusing to think, still confused with this
trying to ascend so suddenly from the depths of a good vodka-drunk
to the knowledge of something in reality you do not wish to understand.
Someone called for a drink and failed to get one. I watched
that someone stomp angrily away. And suddenly, struggling heroically
in the face of overwhelming odds, I found myself scrambling to
find something in the way of wisdom to impart here.

Beating me to it, Chris tapped the photograph and observed,
“It’s like when you’re driving down the street and there’s a car coming
towards you in the other lane. Well now what’s to stop that car
from suddenly veering into your lane and hitting you head on?
Nothing. That is, nothing but a set of values instilled in that driver,
instilled in that car, instilled in that system of mechanical humanity
bearing down on you at over one hundred clicks an hour.”

He paused, suddenly aware of just how intently I was looking at
him. He wanted to know if I was listening and I was. After all, here
was the first real hint of genuine conversation directed my way in
months, and on top of that it was in English as well.

“Honestly now,” he continued, “what’s to stop that driver from
pulling hard left on the wheel and plowing right into you? What’s to
stop him from flying right over that little white line and hammering
you head-on? Nothing but a phantom set of values based solely on
what someone else somewhere else believed to be somehow right and
wrong.” It was like every morning when I went off to work in my
hunter green Ford Taurus, he maintained, I was engaging in what was
little more than an act of blind faith. Faith in the fact that driver coming
towards me was not going to suddenly decide to run me off the
road. Faith in the fact that driver had been raised appropriately and
with the proper amount of instruction, and that his belief in the

Chris F. Needham

sanctity of life had not been violated at some point by his society’s failure
to deal with those issues he held most sacred somehow. Faith in
the fact that he was not insane. In the fact that he was not a manic-
depressive. And that he was not out on a mission of vengeance against
his former employer who, it just so happened, drove something
resembling a hunter green Ford Taurus himself. Faith in his problem
solving skills. In his ability to know right from wrong. In the values of
those people who taught him right from wrong, and those who taught
them, and so on and so on and so forth ad nauseam. Faith in the values
of the carmakers. In the values of those subcontracted to design
and build the steering system for those carmakers. In the braking system.
In the fuel system. In the values of the guys on the floor who
build those systems et cetera. Faith in the roadwork. Faith in the
weather. Faith in the fellow who made his latté that morning and that,
for minimum wage plus tips, he would not take out his own frustrations
and vengeful intentions on our hapless driver here. Hell, faith in
the fact my own Taurus wouldn’t suddenly jump the line and run
headlong into his. “In other words,” Chris said, “blind faith in the values
of an entire society not to break up and suddenly let you down.”

“Is that all?” I said sarcastically—I said a lot of things sarcastically
that season, that being my sarcastic season—to which he replied
“Pardon?” but I was in no mood to compound the obvious mistake
of speaking out of turn with the further embarrassment of explaining
myself herein. Instead I hovered thoughtfully over my drink, wondering
whether I’d just been told an interesting anecdote about religion
and all its various incongruities, or whether I’d just been told the bartender
had recently survived a minor car accident of some sort. Since
it was no big deal either way, I decided to forget it, and as you can
see, I did not. I did, however, start to think about my next drink, and
whether or not I should offer to buy Chris one.

He studied me a moment, then stepped forward again. “That
kid’s classmates, they had faith you know. Sure they did. That kind
of faith that led them to school that morning and into the sightlines
of a seemingly normal, obviously disturbed, automatic rifle-carrying
kid. That kind of faith in a society’s values that very much let them

An Inverted Sort of Prayer

down.” It seemed to Chris that our entire culture had been raised on
a mother’s milk of blind faith, and although he wasn’t quite sure, he
thought perhaps the best-before date on that sort of thing had pretty
much expired of late.

He said something else—I forget what—and then, almost as if
feeling my glassy-eyed disconnection somehow transferring itself to
him, and wanting no part of it, he acted as though he hadn’t said anything,
and I acted as though I hadn’t heard anything, and as soon as
he moved away to the glass washer, which was immediately, I glanced
up at the television and started thinking about horses again.

Finally, seeing as we were in need of some sort of relief here,
comic or otherwise, and seeing as I was relying on a bartender to
explain to me what I didn’t understand about myself, I tried obstinately
to yawn. It was an unequivocal success.

“So what you’re saying is, you’re gay,” I said, yawning blatantly
once again, and believing it. As a final defence against understanding
I have always taken refuge in scornful superiority based on size, sex
and sexual preference, and this occasion in Mannheim proved no
exception. He looked at me, blinkingly, as the big-breasted, drink-
tossing waitress called out for another round behind him. Someone
else called out for something else and failed to get whatever he was
after as well. In terms of service, Chris was a rather poor bartender in
my opinion.

“And besides,” I said, “it’s the yellow line.”

“Pardon?”

“Yellow line. You said white line, but it’s the yellow line that
separates heterogeneous lanes of traffic. White lines separate homogeneous
lanes of traffic.”

He smiled, arching a sceptical eyebrow for emphasis.
“Homogeneous lanes of traffic, huh.”

“Homogeneous lanes of traffic, my friend.”

He backed away to the washer, stopping just long enough to
pour the waitress some wine. I pressed on.

“So what you’re saying is, you’re having a little trouble coming to
grips with all these shootings.”

Chris F. Needham

“No, what I’m saying is, I’m having a little trouble coming to
grips with faith.”

Well almost any display of genuine spiritual contemplation
draws a stunned tribute from me, and when I had no response to
what he was saying he shook his head despondently and drifted quietly
away. Eventually, however, he returned, and finished what he
had to say by telling me what it was he really wanted to say.

“I mean do we trust something because it’s true? Or is it simply
true because we trust it.”

“Trust? Who said anything about trust? I could have sworn we
were talking blind faith here.”

“Homogeneous heterogeneity.”

“Pardon?”

“Same difference,” he said.

I finished my drink. Chris offered to buy me another but I
declined—faces were starting to smudge and the walls were closing
in. I stood up and thrust myself clear of the counter, all the while
watching the television in the far rear corner of the bar. I was thinking
about the horses back on my mother’s family’s farm.

He returned with a bottle of Cuervo 1800 and poured out two
shots. He picked up a glass and said, “Gentlemen, to blind faith.”

“To getting blind,” I said, and we hooked back our tequila
together.

Still wincing from that shot, he poured out two more. “To the
piss,” he said.

“To the piss,” I repeated, and we hooked back our tequila
together.

He poured out two more.

“Gentlemen, to the Caps.”

“The Caps?”

“Yeah, the Capitals.”

“The Washington Capitals?” I said. “What the hell for?”

“Well, for picking up the rights.”

“Rights? What rights?”

“Christ, don’t tell me you didn’t know.”

An Inverted Sort of Prayer

He placed his shot glass on the bar and opened the USA Today
to the Sports section.

“There,” he said, pointing. “They just picked you up.”

“You’re kidding.”

“Nope. Look, it’s right here in black and white. ‘Washington
signs Bill Purdy of Mannheim Adler.’ Congratulations, Bull, your
prayers have been answered. You’ve been granted one last reprieve
from the china shop of the world.”

You can get it from:

http://www.nonpublishing.com/

 

I do not like the Calgary Flames.
I hope that they lose all their games.
I will not cheer them in the car.
I will not cheer them in the bar.

I do so hate the Calgary Flames.
I even hate their stupid names.
Turek, Otto, Leopold, Loob
I hate the old, I hate the new.

Grimson, Ranheim, Nilsson Kent
I could not care less where they went.
Suter, Saprykin, Nieuwendyk Joe
I'll never shout out "Go Flames Go"

I do so hate the Calgary Flames.
Their ugly mascot's freakin lame.
Calgarians are the worst of all
Parking horses at the mall.

Are the Canucks cheering for the Flames?
Of course not, not for any games.
Rivals come and rivals go
But the Calgary Flames will always blow.

Cheer for Calgary? Where's your pride?
Tagging along on Calgary's ride.
A team for which you would not cheer
Even if you drank your weight in beer!

For those of you who turned your head
And tried to jump into their bed
Hide your face, turn your back
And get that bandwagon back on track.

You want to cheer and have some fun
Be a third wheel on a playoff run.
But when the puck drops on next year
Gather up all your Canucks gear

Pack it all up in a van
And give it to a die hard fan
A fan who's not at all fair weather
Turn your back on the Canucks? Never!

If you cheer for them, stay on their bus
You're not welcome here with us.
A true Nucks Fan you'll never be
If you root root root for the flaming C.

http://shrimpy.bravejournal.com/archive/12/15/2006

 

Sister

 

 Self- recent

Oh, My.  How is one supposed to write something amazing when everything is dull?  The weather, my mood, my existence.  Exciting for me right now is a really nice e-mail from a friend.

 

I am going to attempt to change this horrifying pattern, which renders me moody and verbose.  I am going to make a point of seeing the French film THE PAGE TURNER directed by Denis Dercourt, as the Kamloops Film Society will be good enough to host it this March 29^th.

 

There, I imagine, I will finally meet Michael Buble.  He will be neither a stuffed suit, nor an unattainable love.  He will be a gentleman, and SINGLE.  Ehem.  Okay pipe dreams aside I may enjoy myself.  I may not, but at least I will be doing something whilst perhaps not enjoying myself.

 

I never thought I was hideous, or sooooo OFF THE WALL that I could not be liked by someone approximately my age, of the opposite sex and good looking.  Good natured would also be nice.  Half a brain would be good.  Mostly, I would just like someone to enjoy.

 

Shrimpy

---------------JANUARY BABY--------------------
 Pretty/handsome. Loves to dress up. Easily bored.
 Fussy. Seldom shows emotions. Takes time to
Recover when hurt. Sensitive. Down-to-Earth.
Stubborn. Repost this in 5 mins and you will meet
Someone new in 8 days that will perfectly balance
Your personality.

----------FEBRUARY BABY --------------------
Abstract thoughts. Loves reality and abstract.
Intelligent and clever. Changing personality.
Attractive. Sexiest out of everyone.
Temperamental. Quiet, shy and humble. Honest
And loyal. Determined to reach goals. Loves
Freedom. Rebellious when restricted. Loves
Aggressiveness. Too sensitive and easily hurt.
Gets angry really easily but does not show it.
Dislikes unnecessary things. Loves making friends
But rarely shows it.  Daring and stubborn.
Ambitious. Realizing dreams and hopes. Sharp.
Loves entertainment and leisure. Romantic on the
Inside not outside. Superstitious and ludicrous.
Spendthrift. Tries to learn to show emotions.

-----------------MARCH BABY --------------------
Attractive personality. Sexy. Affectionate Shy and
Reserved. Secretive. Naturally honest, generous
And sympathetic. Loves peace and serenity.
Sensitive to others. Great kisser. Easily angered.
Trustworthy. Appreciative and returns kindness.
Hardly shows emotions. Tends to bottle up
Feelings. Observant and assesses others.

------------------APRIL BABY -------------------
Suave and compromising. Funny and humorous.
Stubborn. Very talkative. Calm and cool. Kind and
Sympathetic. Concerned and detailed. Loyal. Does
Work well with others. Very confident. Sensitive.
Positive Attitude. Thinking generous. Good
Memory. Clever and knowledgeable. Loves to look
For information. Able to cheer everyone up and/or
Make them laugh. Able to motivate oneself and
Others. Understanding. Fun to be around.
Outgoing. Hyper. Bubbly personality. Secretive.
Boy/girl crazy. Loves sports, music, leisure and
Travelling. Systematic. Hot but has brains.

-----------------MAY BABY -----------------
Stubborn and hard-hearted. Strong-willed and
Highly motivated. Sharp thoughts. Easily angered.
Attracts others and loves attention. Deep feelings.
Beautiful physically and mentally. Firm Standpoint.
Needs no motivation. Shy towards opposite sex.
Easily consoled. Systematic (left brain). Loves to
Dream. Strong clairvoyance. Understanding.
Sickness usually in the ear and neck. Good
Imagination. Good physical. Weak breathing. Loves
Literature and the arts. Loves travelling. Dislike
Being at home. Restless. Not having many children.
Hardworking. High spirited. 

------------JUNE BABY -------------
You've got the best personality and are an
Absolute pleasure to be around. You love to make
New friends and be outgoing. You are a great flirt
And more than likely have an a very attractive
Partner. A wicked hottie. It is also more than likely
That you have a massive record collection. You
Have a great choice in films, and may one day
Become a famous actor/actress yourself - heck,
You've got the looks for it!!!

----------------JULY BABY --------------
Fun to be with. Secretive. Difficult to fathom and to
Be understood. Quiet unless excited or tensed.
Takes pride in oneself. Has reputation. Easily
Consoled. Honest. Concerned about people's
Feelings. Tactful. Friendly. Approachable.
Emotional temperamental and unpredictable.
Easily hurt. Witty and sparkly.
Spazzy at times. Not revengeful. Forgiving but never forgets.
Dislikes nonsensical and unnecessary things.
Guides others physically and mentally. Sensitive
And forms impressions carefully. Caring and
Loving. Treats others equally. Strong sense of
Sympathy. Wary and sharp. Judges people
Through observations. Hardworking. No difficulties
In studying. Loves to be with friends Always broods
About the past an d the old friends. Waits for
Friends. Never looks for friends. Not aggressive
Unless provoked. Loves to be loved. Easily hurt
But takes long to recover.

------------AUGUST BABY ---------------
Outgoing personality. Takes risks. Feeds on
attention. no self control. Kind hearted. Self
confident. loud and boisterous. VERY revengeful.
Easy to get along with and talk to. has an "every
thing's peachy" attitude. Likes talking and singing.
Loves music. daydreamer. easily distracted. Hates
not being trusted. BIG imagination. loves to be
loved. Hates studying. in need of "that someone".
longs for freedom. rebellious when withheld or
restricted. Lives by "no pain no gain" caring.
Always a suspect. Playful. Mysterious. "charming"
or "beautiful" to everyone. Stubborn. Curious.
Independent. strong willed. a fighter.

------------SEPTEMBER BABY ---------------
Active and dynamic. Decisive and haste but tends
to regret. Attractive and affectionate to oneself.
Strong mentality. Loves attention. Diplomatic.
Consoling, friendly and solves people's problems.
Brave and fearless. Adventurous. Loving and
caring. Suave and generous. Usually you have
many friends. Enjoys to make love. Emotional.
Stubborn. Hasty. Good memory. Moving, motivates
oneself and others. Loves to travel and explore.
Sometimes sexy in a way that only their lover can
understand.

---------------OCTOBER BABY -------------------
Loves to chat. Loves those who love them. Loves
to takes things at the centre. Inner and physical
beauty. Lies but doesn't pretend. Gets angry
often. Treats friends importantly. Brave and
fearless. Always making friends. Easily hurt but
recovers easily. Daydreamer. Opinionated. Does
not care to control emotions. Unpredictable.
Extremely smart, but definitely the hottest AND
sexiest of them all.

---------------NOVEMBER BABY --------------------
Trustworthy and loyal. Very passionate and
dangerous. Wild at times. Knows how to have fun.
Sexy and mysterious. Everyone is drawn towards
your inner and outer beauty and independent
personality. Playful, but secretive. Very emotional
and temperamental sometimes. Meets new people
easily and very social in a group. Fearless and
independent. Can hold their own. Stands out in a
crowd. Essentially very smart. Usually, the
greatest men are born in this month. If you ever
begin a relationship with someone from this month,
hold on to them because their one of a kind.

---------------DECEMBER BABY ---------------
This straight-up means ur the most good-looking
person possible... better than all of these other
months! Loyal and generous. Patriotic. Competitive
in everything. Active in games and interactions.
Impatient and hasty. Ambitious. Influential in
organizations. Fun to be with. Easy to talk to,
though hard to understand. Thinks far with vision,
yet complicated to know. Easily influenced by
kindness. Polite and soft-spoken. Having lots of
ideas. Sensitive. Active mind. Hesitating, tends to
delay. Choosy and always wants the best.
Temperamental. Funny and humorous. Loves to
joke. Good debating skills. Has that someone
always on his/her mind. Talkative. Daydreamer.
Friendly. Knows how to make friends. Abiding.
Able to show character. one guy/girl kind of
person. Loveable. Easily hurt. Prone to getting
colds. loves music.

 

Hmmmm.

 

It has been a while since I have drunk to much... (yes that is correct English).  Old drinking stories stink, so we will abbreviate this portion of my entry to, what was I thinking?!  The real point of interest, is what CAUSED me to drink.

I have a rather naughty alter-ego; rather I should say I have a rather naughty minor persona (not truly a multiple personality disorder) .

This persona can be likened to a fop (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Fop).  If you wish to envision a fop, think of the book and or film Les Liasons Dangereuse or Dangerous Liasons... (http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0094947/) .  The tagline for this particular film is "Lust. Seduction. Revenge. The Game As You've Never Seen It Played Before." Mwa-hahahaha.  Oh wait, another excellent extranious reference!  The "fops" of SNL, Lucien and Fagan: a 1990's phenomena based on some lunacy.

I think, this persona represents the portion on me which is a bit of an historical throwback to the age of reason (incidently there was little reason in this age).  For those of you who are inherently modern and incapable of reverting to times past- check out Interview with the Vampire-specifically Lestat, ok?

Right.  Now that I have adequately rendered a mental montage of fops for you, you must understand the psychological significance of this endeavor...  I think Sting was paraphrasing Bram Stoker in this quotation, though I cannot find the reference.  A fop would say,

"I must love what I destroy and destroy the thing I love"  Moon over Bourbon Street

 New Words for 2007

 

* SALAD DODGER.

An excellent phrase for an overweight person.

 

* SWAMP-DONKEY

A deeply unattractive person.

 

* TESTICULATING.

Waving your arms around and talking bollocks.

 

* BLAMESTORMING.

Sitting round in a group, discussing why a deadline was missed or a project  failed, and who was responsible.

 

* SEAGULL MANAGER.

A manager who flies in, makes a lot of noise, craps on everything, and then leaves.

 

*ASSMOSIS.

The process by which people seem to absorb success and advancement by sucking up to the boss rather than working hard.

 

* SALMON DAY.

The experience of spending an entire day swimming upstream only to get screwed and die.

 

* CUBE FARM.

An office filled with cubicles.

 

* PRAIRIE DOGGING.

When someone yells or drops something loudly in a cube farm, and people's heads pop up over the walls to see what's going on. (This also applies to applause for a promotion because there may be cake.)

 

* SITCOMs.

Single Income, Two  Children, Oppressive Mortgage. What yuppies turn into when they have children and one of them stops working to stay home with the kids or start a "home business".

 

* SINBAD.

Single working girls.  Single income, no boyfriend and desperate.

 

* AEROPLANE BLONDE.

One who has bleached/dyed her hair but still has a 'black box'.

 

* PERCUSSIVE MAINTENANCE.

The fine art of whacking the crap out of an electronic device to get it to work again.

 

* ADMINISPHERE.

The rarefied organisational layers beginning just above the rank and file.   Decisions that fall from the "adminisphere" are often profoundly

inappropriate or irrelevant to the problems they were designed to solve.   This is often affiliated with the dreaded "administrivia" - needless paperwork and processes.

 

* GOING FOR A McSHIT.

Entering a fast food restaurant with no intention of buying food, you're just going to the bog.  If challenged by a pimply staff member, your declaration to them that you'll buy their food afterwards is known as a

McShit with Lies.

 

* 404.

Someone who's clueless.  From the World Wide Web error message "404 Not Found" meaning that the requested document could not be located.

 

* AUSSIE KISS.

Similar to a French Kiss, but given down under.

 

* OH - NO   SECOND.

That minuscule fraction of time in which you realize that you've just made a BIG mistake (e.g. You've hit 'reply all').

 

* GREYHOUND.

A very short skirt, only an inch from the hare.

 

* JOHNNY-NO-STARS.

A young man of substandard intelligence, the typical adolescent who works in a burger restaurant.  The 'no-stars' comes from the  badges displaying stars that staff at fast-food restaurants often wear to show their level of training.

 

* MILLENNIUM DOMES.

The contents of a Wonderbra, I.e. Extremely impressive when viewed from the outside, but there's actually naught in there worth seeing.

 

* MONKEY BATH.

A bath so hot, that when lowering yourself in, you go: "Oo!  Oo!  Oo! Aa!   Aa!  Aa!".

 

* MYSTERY BUS.

 

The bus that arrives at the pub on Friday night while you're in the toilet   after your 10th pint, and whisks away all the unattractive people so the pub is suddenly packed with stunners when you come back in.

 

 

 

* MYSTERY TAXI.

 

The taxi that arrives at your place on Saturday morning before you wake up,  whisks away the stunner you slept with, and leaves a 10-Pinter in your bed  instead.

 

 

 

* BEER COAT.

 

The invisible but warm coat worn when walking home after a booze cruise at 3:00am.

 

* BEER COMPASS.

 

The invisible device that ensures your safe arrival home after booze cruise, even though you're too drunk to remember where you live, how you got here, and where you've come from.

 

 

* BREAKING THE SEAL.

 

Your first pee in the pub, usually after 2 hours of drinking.  After breaking the seal of your bladder, repeat visits to the toilet will be required every 10 or 15 minutes for the rest of the night.

 

* TART FUEL.

Bottled premixed spirits, regularly consumed by young women.

 

 

* PICASSO BUM.

 

A woman whose knickers are too small for her, so she looks like she's got   4   buttocks.

This video has it.  This music is so inspiring, and holds the listener in a place of being understood.  This is why I love art.