The 31st I’m fine with the adjustment to daylight savings time except for the fact that it takes longer for it to get dark on Halloween, meaning less spookiness when the trick-or-treaters start showing up. It was a really nice evening for it though, cool and with just enough wind to keep the leaves falling. While I was waiting for some kids to arrive for their Doritos I spotted the neighbour’s Token Black Halloween Cat playing in the leaves and wanting attention. I suppose it’s a little odd for me to be dressed up as Mr. Dim taking pics of neighbourhood pets in my yard but after dark I noticed something very odd across the street in one of my other neighbours’ yard. It looked like someone was just wandering around their entire yard in the darkness for twenty minutes or so with what looked like a camera flash going off every thirty seconds to a minute or so. First it was by the bushes for a bit then over in the side yard and then I could see faint flashes from behind the house. I had absolutely no clue what they were up to and couldn’t even see a person out there. Weirdos. In any case, I soon had some kids showing up fairly regularly with only the youngest being afraid to come up the steps. There was one girl of about nine who seemed pretty scared but I can never really tell if kids are being serious or just little wise-asses. I can’t tell you how many times I wanted to slap some sarcastic little brat across the back of his head for making remarks like “Oh yeah, this is reeaallyy scary.” It’s not much but at least I’m putting somewhat of an effort into it and not just opening the door in my bathrobe and slippers and tossing a sucker at them. But anyway…no toddlers cried this year so I suppose that’s good. One kid showed up dressed as a mime holding a little Wile E. Coyote type of sign that said “Trick or Treat”. When I gave him the loot he flipped it around and it said “Thank You” so I thought that as pretty clever. After that I had my black hood on so I could never really tell what anyone else was dressed up as unless they were in something really obvious like a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle costume or Spider-Man outfit. All in all, though, it was a pretty good night with about forty-three kids showing up for treats but that’s kind of low compared to other years so it made for a slow evening in a cold, foggy porch. Thankfully I didn’t run out of treats so me and Shawn got to eat lots of Doritos and lollipops. The 27th Donning my best gorilla costume, I headed out to Arlington for James and Gill’s Halloween party tonight. Gill was dressed as Wonder Woman, Jill was a scarecrow, not sure what Troy’s mom was dressed as, and Troy and James were dressed as Nacho Libre and Esqueleto respectively. Correction, Troy was Nacho Libre in his “recreational clothes”. Other than us watching a bit of The Rocky Horror Picture Show, some of Nacho Libre, playing some pool and eating some junk, this photo is the only thing of major importance from the evening. The 26th Sharon was home for the weekend and after going out to eat with Shawn, Laine and me we decided to get some pumpkins to carve at Laine’s house. Shawn didn’t though because he’s far too cool for that sort of thing. Leigh showed up to carve his first pumpkin ever, I think, which I find hard to believe because pumpkin carving at Halloween is almost a right of passage. Laine took these photos of all the fun as we ripped the guts out of the pumpkins. Well, everyone except Shawn. I usually go for a round one but I bought a massive, tall pumpkin because I immediately pictured the face I was going to carve as soon as I spotted this big bugger in the Sobeys sidewalk pumpkin patch. Shawn’s too cool to shop for pumpkins and I’m surprised he even let himself be seen with us buying them. I can’t believe he actually sat in the same room with us while we carved them. Being with us losers must have made him feel so uncool. Shawn had to go to work after we carved the pumpkins and I bet he told all of his co-workers that he was out making out with hot ladies at bars because he’d be too embarrassed to tell them that he was hanging out with us pumpkin-carving people. The 22nd “Hey, Doc. I think you missed a spot.” Would have been nice to overhear that in the O.R. fifteen years ago before they stitched me up when they first went digging inside my noggin’. I requested an MRI a little while back after a friend of the family died when her cancer came back and she died suddenly of a brain tumour. I figured it couldn’t hurt to get my head scanned again just to make sure nothing unsolicited was brewing in there. Good thing I did because I found out about a week and a half ago that the tumour they removed from my head in high school (not IN high school, the IWK actually) has made a rather unwelcome comeback. Mighty tenacious bugger that one is. Hopefully he’s benign like his predecessor. All I know at this point is that the tumour is roughly two to three centimeters in size (I dunno if that’s small or large on the tumour scale, to be honest), and that I’m supposed to be going to a clinic in Halifax sometime in January or, if I’m lucky, in November. Then they should be able to tell me just what they’re going to need to do this time around but chances are it’s going to involve busting open my coconut again and removing the interloper in my head. Although, the doctor tells me that it should be an easier surgery this time around because all of the ear bits and facial nerve were destroyed by the first tumour. Though, a definition for “easy surgery” would be nice. It’s sad that Betti Jo died at such a young age, and so suddenly, leaving behind her two little girls and her husband. I think I had only met her once, actually not long before she started showing symptoms, and she couldn’t have been a nicer person. It’s weird but I sort of have to thank her in a way because I probably never would have requested an MRI to check on this otherwise, and who knows what might have happened had this not been caught now. It sucks that this thing’s back but there’s not much I can do except let the MDs do their work and hopefully make sure every last molecule sees the waste bin this time. Actually, though, I wonder if they’ll let me keep this one. The 20th Shawn and I met up with Laine and a bunch of her friends tonight at the theatre to see 30 Days of Night. The trailer looked good and the poster looked even better (I may start judging movies by their posters designs from now on). I think this flick was one of the best horror movies I’ve seen in a while; it was a scary, brutal bloodbath set in a cold, desolate Alaskan town with the most disturbing vampires I’ve ever seen on film. They’re wicked and menacing with some fantastically creepy make-up and one helluva gorey method of getting blood out of human bodies with their glistening, needle-like rows of brown fangs. These ain’t yo’ momma’s two-teeth-in-the-neck nosferatu! No suave and charming demeanor either, purely sinister and blood-thirsty with their own ancient language, stalking and torturing their prey until they rip out their throats to feed. One long, bird’s-eye view shot of the brutal massacring of the townsfolk was amazingly choreographed and incredibly bloody. Lots of pure white snow splattered, sprayed and soaked in steaming, hot blood. Other than one bit of a groaner moment in the very, very last scene of the movie, I was impressed by how well they were able to pull off the entire sense of seclusion and frightfulness after the sun disappeared and the grey-faced predators showed up, and actually making the vampires truly evil and fearsome instead of cliché and tried. All that plus the number of vamps they were able to shred, maim, dismember and crush using various municipal snow removal vehicles. The 17th Today had the beginnings of a day full of frustration and stupid annoyances. I tried to start my day off right with some coffee and a grapefruit but after swallowing the first bite (which did sort of taste funny) I noticed the bottom of the grapefruit wasn’t pink like the top. Instead it was a dark, dark green-blue colour which meant that grapefruit was older than I thought it was and, come to think of it, I believe it may have been in the fridge even before I left for Liverpool. I’ll have to make a mental note to not eat grapefruit I bought three weeks ago. I decided to make some cream-of-wheat-type-of-breakfast and hoped I wouldn’t get sick from eating a mouthful of moldy citrus fruit. As I sat in the kitchen watching the cereal cook while I also watched Letterman from afar, I noticed a big splotch of some sticky mystery substance transferred from the chair onto my pants. Then while I was applying some antibacterial ointment to a cut the cap fell on the floor and rolled under my bed just an inch beyond my fingertip’s reach. Normally this might not be so bad except for the fact that there’s so much cat hair and dust under my bed it looks like someone shaved a yeti under there. My hoodie had a nice, white coating of hair after I managed to snag the furry tube cap from the dusty darkness. The frustrations over stupid stuff seemed to end there, though, and after trying to get some work done I headed up to Ch’town with Shawn to check out Apostle of Hustle at Hunter’s. Kat joined us at The Royal Tandoor beforehand where a friend of the restaurant’s owner chatted with us for a while about everything from when he moved here and why he loves it to his family and how delicious rice pudding was supposed to be. The guy is almost eighty but I would have guessed he was in his sixties, and he spends time there because he’s retired and likes to help out at the establishment. Super nice guy who loves to talk and who was right about the rice pudding. Full to the brim with curried delights, Shawn and I headed over to Hunter’s after that and sat in a booth waiting for two hours for the music to start. In that time we had stimulating conversations about things like whether or not Skeletor had lungs in his chest and whether or not he’d be able to smoke or if the smoke would just rise up and pour out of his nose and eye holes. I guess the conclusion we came to is that he wouldn’t have lungs as his voice no doubt comes from a mystical place seeing as he has no lips, tongue or oral cavity in which to form words. If he has a neck he may have a voice box in his throat but it would be useless and, therefore, so would lungs. To book-end the day that started off with stupid, dumb luck things happening to me, the universe managed to find one last stupid thing to throw at me. I went to the washroom and as I closed the heavy, metal stall door it fell inwards, almost clocking me in the forehead. I managed to grab it before it cracked me but not before it hit the floor with a loud—very, very loud—bang. I even noticed a bolt on the floor outside the stall as I went in but thought nothing of it. If I were a smarter person it might have occured to me to check the door before opening it. Staff didn’t seem too concerned when I told them a heavy stall door just about smashed me in the face and came close to breaking a line across all of my toes. Opening for Apostle of Hustle was Young Galaxy, complete with smoke machine that promptly set off the smoke alarm. That was the end of the smoke machine for the night. How they played through that piercing, incessant tempo is beyond me considering they were much closer to it than we were. I thought they might use it as a metronome at one point because the damn thing wouldn’t stop. I don’t think anyone there knew how to shut it off but eventually the lightbulb went off in someone’s head and they figured out how to silence the bloody thing. Fresh from a stagette that wrapped up by midnight and apparently with no penis-shaped items anywhere to be found (a stagette without phalli isn’t a stagette if you ask me, come on), Amanda and a couple of her friends joined us right after Apostle of Hustle started playing. I’d only heard a couple of songs by Apostle of Hustle on CBC until Shawn let me borrow their CDs a week ago so I managed to get familiar with their tunes after a few listens to each. I like most of their stuff, a weird mix of genres for sure, “My Sword Hand’s Anger” being my favourite but I think it gave me the wrong impression of what their music sounds like overall. In any case, it was cool to hear them play the tunes live and even cooler to watch their drummer go to town on his little kit. He made that thing sound like it was a kit twice its size and played some crazy material, some of the more interesting drumming I’ve ever seen live. Plus he mixed in some bongos, a sampler and some giant box he pounded on for a bit. One guy watching the band right up front insisted on yelling “Fuck, yeah!” over and over between songs at the band at a volume that would have made even the smoke alarm feel uncomfortable. Another dude got up and decided he was going to dance, by himself, and not the regular head-bobbing, foot-tapping, shoulder-swaying type of dancing that is typically the norm either. This beefy guy who looked like the grown up version of the fat middle kid from a military family with a flushed, freckled face, beady eyes and brush cut who probably tortured cats and birds started with this type of embarrasing, foolish white male dancing and reminded me why I and most people should never dance. Not even alone, especially not in public…in front of a band. I can’t even really describe the dancing except to say he had a lot of movement with the arms and bending from side to side, perhaps being at home more on a surfboard than a dance floor. Oh, I almost forgot. At dinner, Kat told us that while she waited outside for us, Mo’nique (who imfamously sat at our table at Hunter’s last year smelling of shit, bumming a lighter, mumbling, trying to get me to dance and drinking the dregs out of people’s beer bottles) came up to her and asked for five bucks. Kat apologized and said she couldn’t give her five dollars to which Mo’nique asked for just $3.50 so she would have a enough to get a beer at the Sportsman’s Club. Bumming for change to get a beer ain’t going to get you change for a beer. Say it’s for the bus or something, geez. At least we didn’t have to worry about her showing up at our table this time…cover was eight bucks. The 14th When I was a kid I used to visit my grandparents and stay for a week sometimes in the summer or over Xmas. At that time they had three channels, maybe four, and I would inevitably end up watching their “stories” during weekday afternoons, the news, games shows and the like. There was one game show in particular that always seemed to be a favourite with my grandmother. I remember it being on around eleven in the morning on ATV/CTV during the week and it was called Definition. It had all the hallmarks of a cheap-ass Canadian game show: the classic look of cheap sets, lame prizes, and an Ontario-centric feel. I have no idea why this show popped into my head recently but a quick search on YouTube gave me a short dose of that ’80s TV game show gem of my youth. Seeing it now, I can’t believe they were actually giving away a car as a prize. Kitchen knives and manicure sets, yes, but the car was a bit of a shock considering getting a correct letter earned your team like ten bucks or something. Another game show that came out of Toronto in the ’80s was called Just Like Mom. It was the perfect noon-hour show for kids as it pitted kids versus their moms in question rounds where they had to guess what the other answered while they were secluded off-stage. They also had a bake-off that had the kids making recipes like cookies or muffins but they could put whatever the hell they wanted into the mix like ketchup or pickles or whatever. After the face-making while they chewed chocolate chip cookies that looked like lumpy, baked scabs, the mothers then had to guess which delightful baking project was made by their kid. The winning team got to spin a big wheel that I’m sure had things on it like gift certificates to Canadian Tire or something lame like that but the big prize was a trip to Walt Disney World. I was jealous of any kid that won that prize even though I don’t think I ever truly wanted to go to Walt Disney World when I was a kid. The 8th Turkey dinner was a no show this year because most of my family wasn’t around over the long weekend. My grandmother invited me up for dinner this afternoon, though, so I ended up getting a big roast beef scoff à la Up West style. Everything was tasty but made all the more tasty once it was forced to swim in thick, delicious gravy. Even if I had driven up there for no meal at all it would have been fine but homemade pumpkin pie definitely makes the drive worthwhile. It just wouldn’t be Thanksgiving without pumpkin pie. On the way back I stopped at a roadside stand for a local orchard to pick up some honeycrisp apples. I bought a couple when I was coming home from Liverpool that were ginormous—the size of grapefruits—hoping they’d be tasty. I sliced one up over the weekend and it was tasty. Damn tasty. Without a word of lie or exaggeration, it was the tastiest apple I have ever had the great fortune to eat. Sweet, juicy and gigantic in both size and taste. I regret only buying two instead of a bushel, barrel or cartload. Kyle told me you could get them here too so I made sure to get some today only to find PEI honeycrisp apples to be little runts compared to the bodacious and plump orchard jewels of the South Shore. A taste test will take place this week to see how they stack up against the heavyweights from Nova Scotia. The 6th There was a wearable art show entitled Made for Walkin’ held at Peake Street Studios tonight and Melissa had a piece in it so I thought I’d go up and check out the show and see a few people I hadn’t seen in a while. Melissa created a strange hoodie out of an old kimono and added leather arms sheaths and belts that Jade modelled for her at the show. I picked them up to go over to the studio but before we left I got to meet their new kitty, Helmet, who was completely nuts and tiny. He walks along and jumps for no apparent reason and clings to my pantleg so I can walk around with a kitty stuck to me like Velcro. The outfit Jade was wearing was entitled Modern Little Red Riding Hood and she looked like some bad-ass child ninja or something. Quite a few other people showed up in costumes and get-ups too. Richard had a suit coat made of canvas that he had painted in such a way that it reminded me of one of the weirdo sky backgrounds from the old Bakshi Spider-Man cartoon. One girl had this massive wig made from strips of thin styrofoam, looking very anime-manga though I’m sure that wasn’t her intention for the piece. A few pieces were on the wall too, including an “Emergency Dress” made from the silver heat insulator sheets found in roadside emergency kits, and a rigid, conical skirt that looked to be made from some sort of plastic sheets covered in crazy colourful designs and lit from within. I had an okay time and some of the awesome curry nacho dip that Donnalee made but my dogs were barkin’ after a few hours of standing around so we got out of there. I picked up some Wendy’s and we watched a few episodes of Dexter before I headed back to town. That show is good and really growing on me. As if I need to watch any more new TV shows. The 4th After re-designing their website, the kind folks at Contact East invited me to their performing arts conference in Liverpool, Nova Scotia, making this the first official, major perk from client work. They put me up in the main lodge at a resort just outside Liverpool where most of the non-performance events were held. I left bright and early on a bright and sunny Sunday morning, and had two BK breakfast croissants and some hashbrowns into me by 8am. I do not recommend starting your day off this way, not at all, not ever. Greasy, fattening, overkill breakfast aside, I made my way out of town toward the bridge wondering if I’d be freaked out crossing the “fixed link” or not. It’s not like I hadn’t gone over it before with no problems to report but, seeing as it was the first time I’d driven my car across it, I was curious as to whether or not I’d get vertigo or something stupid. Surprisingly, it didn’t bother me that much, except for the parts where I could see the water. Not so cool. I hate being up that high and behind the wheel of a vehicle that could crash into another vehicle hundreds of feet in the air with only a line of concrete dividers between me and the Northumberland Strait far, far below. The drive into New Brunswick and Nova Scotia was really nice because of the early morning sun (which I rarely see) and the fact that all of the leaves were starting to change colour. The only problem with driving through the countryside is that you can’t take in the scenery very well and still keep your eyes on the road. Another problem I found while driving through the countryside is that I’m absolutely terrible at following directions and have no direction sense whatsoever. A blind, car sick chimp could no doubt follow a map better than I can. Though, getting lost didn’t look so bad at first because I stopped at this old run-down diner with an awesome sign in the parking lot somewhere outside Amherst, I think. Then I ended up in some other little town and decided their majestic branch of the Legion needed to be captured for posterity’s sake. As the day rolled on I had no idea what the hell my Google map was trying to tell me and I was soon lost on the fringes of Halifax, desperately trying to avoid any roads leading into the city. If that were to happen, I’d be a goner. Somehow, by some miracle, I ended up in Bedford which proved to be the most confusing place in the world. North was south, west was south—judging by the horrible directions I received from some of the locals anyway. I got bad directions from no less than four people before a kind, young gent at a gas bar gave me succinct directions to get me out of Bedford and on my way to the South Shore. I was so elated to be out of that godforsaken labyrinth that I would have gone back to thank the helpful attendant had I the direction sense to get back to the gas station he was at. The drive along the South Shore was even nicer as the landscape seemed rise up and dip a lot more, and gave me the general sense of being in the middle of absolutely nowhere at times. On the home stretch to Liverpool past Lunenberg I made a u-turn to go back and check out a yard sale seeing as I was already two hours later than I had planned to be. I never caught the lady’s name, I think she just said to call her The Yard Sale Lady, but she did tell me just about everything else regarding her and the yard sale. According to this woman, she’s been setting up tables and junk in her yard every day for the past fifteen years. I slowly started to back away but she was nice enough so I chatted for a bit and bought a few books and magazines. Besides, she had a really friendly white cat named Angel who would lay about on the black pavement soaking up the sun and the heat or roll around quite happily looking for attention. I never would have guessed by looking at the cat but the damn thing was twenty years old and looked younger than my tub-of-lard cat who’s only about six or seven years old. Maybe talking incessantly to cats is the key to keeping them young because I’m sure that cat must take in quite a bit of Yard Sale Lady conversation. I managed to find a fleeting window in the one-sided gabfest to make my breakaway and got the hell outta dodge before she could start up again. There was another yard sale just down the road but I immediately imagined that these neighbours were fierce competitors and I might get roped into an even longer stay so I zipped past without giving a second look to see what merch might be lining their driveway. After being on the road for over eight hours instead of the six I was expecting, I wound my way down the back road, past golf courses and cabins, before pulling into the parking lot of the White Point Beach Resort. Inside the main lodge I was given the key to my little room at the end of the hall upstairs where I found I had a little deck overlooking the parking lot and the lake in the distance but to one side was a nice view of the beachfront cottages and the water. Not only that but there were bunnies everywhere you looked on the grounds. They were just hanging out on the lawn mostly but some would break away from the pack and come right up to me while I took pictures and video. They weren’t really scared at all, probably used to people feeding them. I was missing some of the afternoon showcase so I backtracked my way to Liverpool which turned out to be a quaint, little waterfront town. There were some cool shops and stores, pizza places, nice restaurants and lots of places to buy lots of fireworks (which I did). The showcase already in progress was at a bar/pool hall called Marlin’s which was great and all but I sort of wandered around like a fish out of water until everything moved over to a meet and greet at a cozy, dark restaurant at Lane’s Privateer Inn over the short, blue bridge. I ventured over to the inn with one of the few people there that I knew, Lloyd from Sandbar Music, and we took full advantage of the hors d’œuvres that were circulating around the room. Who am I to pass up various items wrapped in phyllo pastry, gigantic shrimp and sushi? Delicious, free food was great and all but I couldn’t have wanted to get out of that place any faster. A meet and greet is not the place for me. The next showcase was happening soon after at this little theatre called The Astor which was a great venue where most of the showcases were going to be held for the rest of the conference. I caught some of the acts that night but the stand out for me was Gypsophilia. The group played this crazy mix of Django Reinhardt/gypsy jazz, classical, and klezmer and blew me away with their performance. I picked up their CD the next day when I spotted it at their table across from mine in the contact room. I wanted the disc anyway but the fact that it was in a screenprinted kraft board jacket sold me even more. Beautiful work and so velvety soft… Speaking of the contact room, these “networking opportunities” were just long, awkward exercises designed to make me uncomfortable as possible as I stood amid a roomful of strangers. A laptop behind me in the corner passively cycled through a custom portfolio slideshow of mine while I looked about the room at large-format graphics and full-colour displays other individuals and businesses had prepared for events just like these. It didn’t help that the person who was supposed to share a table with me never showed so people decided the other half of the table was an excellent place to leave garbage and dirty dishes. I only hope there wasn’t an unconscious connection made between garbage and my portfolio. I’m sure as delegates ambled past they were wondering just what the hell I was doing there, and just what the hell I was trying to achieve by fanning my business cards out on the table in a feeble attempt to make it obvious that I too was a delegate and my laptop wasn’t some kind of Internet-access point provided by the resort with a fancy screensaver. The only other segments of the scheduled days that rivaled the contact room’s awkwardness were the “Late Night Networking” events that consisted of everyone gathering in the bar and lobby of the main lodge and socializing over drinks, and over-priced wings and pizza slices. Speaking of over-priced lodge fare, I watched sap after sap pay almost seven dollars for a pint of Keith’s draught, which is from Nova Scotia so it’s not some fancy imported beer, when I know buddies of mine get it around here by the JUG for like ten bucks! Thankfully, it wasn’t really expected of me to hang about for these things so I retired to my room most nights and watched as much CSI as cable TV could throw at me (thank you Spike). Most of the time there was pretty relaxing and enjoyable, though. They provided a lot of meals too so that made it easier on the pocketbook. The majority of the showcases were at the Astor so I generally could just wander in, sit in the dark and enjoy free entertainment of all sorts for hours. Granted, I wasn’t exactly into every act or genre that was presented but it was a good opportunity to get a great sampling of all sorts of music, theatre and dance I normally would have never seen otherwise. Some other favourites from the showcases were Catherine MacLellan (and her guitarist’s moustache), the play God’s Middle Name, Old Man Leudecke, Rose Cousins, David Miles, Jill Barber, Duane Andrews (more Django-type guitar), and the Tom Fun Family Orchestra that blew the roof off the place as the final act of the conference. One other group that I enjoyed was Montreal Guitar Trio. They were the last in the line-up of classical and acoustic type acts to play in the church down the street from the theatre. The started with some spaghetti western number that reminded me of The Good The Bad and The Ugly then, two songs later, they busted into just that theme and everyone was digging it. I managed to record it and the camera work is pretty shoddy but it’s on YouTube for people to see. The weather was so nice that I told myself I’d have to go scouting around because I knew if I left it until the last day or two the weather would turn. As predicted, it did but not before I went along the rocky, white sand beach and nature trail on a super sunny afternoon. I climbed over the rocks and wandered over the stones and sand looking for weird things to take pictures of. There was a nature trail that led along the shore, into the woods, by the lake and out onto a bridge that crossed over the waterway to what looked to be extra-fancy cottages or maybe even the summer homes of fabled rich people. Even when the fog rolled in for a short time one afternoon it didn’t ruin the otherwise good weather because it made everything look cool, had a weird calmness to it and lasted only long enough to create mood before the sun broke through. The last night of the conference saw everyone heading back to the lodge where the expensive draft flowed like wine (which I’m sure was already even more expensive than it had to be too). The Divorcees were setting up to play but they ended up blowing a fuse so that put the whole night’s musical entertainment out to pasture. That would have been the only thing I felt like sticking around for as it didn’t involve wandering aimlessly through the lodge looking for something to keep myself occupied. That is until they announced the fireworks show was about to begin. Everyone headed out to the deck overlooking the darkened beach where some staff member with a blow torch in hand walked along three lines of fireworks embedded in the sand. I guess he couldn’t have been too worried about being in the middle of a jury-rigged fireworks display because the things were blasting and shooting and gushing sparks mere feet from him as he lit one pyrotechnic after the other. The show was actually more spectacular that I was expecting and, oddly, more satisfying than the fireworks display we have here on Canada Day. Probably scared the daylights out of the bunny population too. I always hate returning from vacation or some sort of getaway when the weather is crappy. Having to return to a normal, mundane routine of daily life is made much more dismal if the sun is hidden. It was half and half so it wasn’t so bad leaving the resort that morning and I found the drive there and back, other than getting lost a dozen times on the way, didn’t drive me nuts like I thought it would. I actually enjoyed being out on the open road just listening to music and drinking massive amounts of iced tea. The goal for the drive back, though, was to take the advice Old Man Leudecke offered me one afternoon as I gave him a lift back to the resort. He suggested that I stop at the Schnitzel Haus for dinner just after I go over the NS/NB border. Of course, I forgot about the location so I must have asked ten people on the way back at gas stations and convenience stores if they knew where the hell that famed German gaststätte was at with no real luck until I hit the visitor information centre just outside Aulac. With concise directions and an empty stomach, I headed to the exit that led me practically right into their parking lot. Never having been in a German restaurant before, I guess I’d have to say it was pretty authentic overall. Actual German proprietors, German music, décor and dozens of beer steins all over the place. Schnitzel was also something I’d never had before so I ordered one that sound gooded and it arrived at my table on a massive plate filled with an equally massive amount of food. The flattened sheet of pork was breaded and deep-fried to perfection; I only wish I had ordered a different sauce because I wasn’t really digging the saucy red pepper deal they had going on. No matter how it was served, though, there was no way in hell I could eat that much food. It was ridiculous. The general German population must be obese because people can’t eat that much deep-fried meat and noodles regularly without breaking the deuce before they hit the age of twelve. I’ll have to look into some European studies to confirm this theory, however. So even though I was subjected to many awkward hours at the contact room’s garbage table, and nearly had a mental breakdown after getting lost in Bedford for the fifth time, going to Contact East in Liverpool was a good idea and I’m glad I was invited to be their guest. Even just four or five days away is enough to recharge the batteries and relaxing at a beach front resort overrun with fat rabbits on the south shore of Nova Scotia and getting tonnes of free entertainment in a quiet, little seaside town is just the way to do it. The next conference is in Cape Breton in 2009 so hopefully I’ll be invited to that one as well. Can’t wait to check out those tar ponds.