Unexpected or astonishing event, fact, or thing.

A bunch of us found ourselves out at Debbie and Dale’s place this evening for his birthday surprise party. Cars were parked out of the way so he wouldn’t notice them when he got home from work. What would be the point of trying to surprise him if we didn’t put the effort into the surprise portion of the party? Everyone hid as he drove down the lane and when we popped out for the surprise he seemed genuinely surprised, but in that laid-back, Dale-ish sort of way.

Debbie made all sorts of amazing food like vegetarian lasagna and chili that was as hearty as the carnivore version, a simple but tasty salad with pecans in it, and skewers with tomatoes, basil and cheese pasta on them. There was a tonne of food and it was all delicious. Plus there was an awesome lemon cake for dessert that I somehow managed to find room for in my gut.

As usual there were lots of kitties everywhere which I always find entertaining. But to entertain everyone else, we sat around playing Beatles trivia and purposely listened to a CD of this absolutely horrible opera singer from the ’40s. Gawd, she was terrible.

“I’ll fix your wagon after I fix this wagon.”

Yesterday afternoon, I got my day going by enjoying a hearty breakfast of eggs and hash browns out on the sunny back step. My meal was oddly symmetrical on the plate and quite delicious. I needed a well-balanced meal before running out to do some errands and heading up west for the night.

As I pulled up at the end of the lane tonight, and shut off the car and music, my ear was suddenly filled with muted chirping. Opening the door, the chirping of frogs became crazy loud. The air was completely saturated with their calls. I made a point to go out towards the fields and record the sound and listen for a bit. I had just recently watched a PBS special about frogs so I found the whole thing even more fascinating. When I pointed out the chirping frogs to my grandmother she told me about when I was a little kid and I had asked what made that sound. She explained it was frogs out in the fields chirping and I said that the Kermits sure make an awful lot of noise. I actually remember that night and pictured thousands of Kermit muppets out in the fields making a racket.

I brought a DVD player with me so I could show my grandfather a movie he told me about a few times. I asked him if he wanted to watch a movie and handed him a copy of Reap The Wild Wind. The look he gave me was priceless. He was completely surprised and asked me where I managed to get it. He hadn’t seen this movie since 1942 when he was in the army, stationed or maybe just on leave in St. John’s. He said he watched it three times in one week and it has been sixty-eight years or so since he’d last seen it. We made a plan to watch it the next afternoon.

So after I got up this morning and had some lunch, the three of us sat down to watch the two-hour long Cecil B. DeMille high seas epic. As expected, my grandparents dozed off from time to time but they did watch the entire movie for the most part. When I had first heard of this title from my grandfather I had no idea it was a grandiose, Technicolor affair or that it starred John Wayne and Ray Milland, who I thought was awesome as the debonair southern-lawyer-turned-seafarer (and dog ventriloquist). I especially liked Lynne Overman as the salty, snuff-snorting, wise-cracking captain. He had some of the best lines in the movie like, “His feet’s the biggest thing I’ve ever seen without lungs.” Also, Bananas, the little monkey in sailor suit, was pretty great too. All of that plus a woman in a ball dress getting spanked, lots of fist fights, scheming sea salvagers, deep sea divers and a giant rubber squid—what more could a person ask for in a sweeping high seas adventure film?

In true Hubert fashion, though, once the movie was over and after having told me about this movie several times over the years, he said that the movie wasn’t anything like the movie he remembers watching all those years ago. He gave me the title, I bought the movie, and he ends up mixing it up with another sea adventure flick. Oh well. It has been almost seventy years since he last saw it, after all.

We were watching TV later on when the word episode came up and my grandfather asked me what that word meant. After I told him, he suddenly went into this story (which, like many others, he’s told me several times before) about when he and his little brother were kids, and Sherman found some “French Letters” (best name for condoms ever) in their dad’s room. Sherman had no idea what they were, my grandfather did but told him that he should ask Pop what they were. Pop told him they were washers for the wagon wheels and left it at that. My grandfather, being my grandfather, then told Sherman that one of the wheels on the wagon was loose and that he should tell Pop it needs a new washer. Still not wanting to explain what they really were (I’m sure stubbornness factors in there somewhere), Pop went out and slid a French Letter over the wagon axle and turned to my grandfather and snapped, “If you’re responsible for this episode, you’re gonna get it.”

Fox, *cough* I am *hack* your father *wheeze*.

Tonight was the last night for trivia at The Link and now it looks like the only trivia in town will be on Fridays at The Heritage. A very unenthusiastic yay to that. Garfield was doing trivia and one of his questions was to name Mulder’s dad. I was damn sure it was Bill Mulder but when we got it wrong he said it was the Cigarette Smoking Man, citing a source that explained Mulder’s mom had an affair with CSM and Mulder was the result of said affair. I’m glad I didn’t get into a nerd debate over that one. I guess I forgot about all of the revelations in the final years of the series. I wonder if I’ll need to hand over my Official X-Files Fan Club member card because of this.

I went to The Silver Fox after trivia with Andrew and Luke in my car, and met up with Greg, D’Arcy, Nikkie and Michelle. To get out of the main room and away from the bulk of people, a few of us played some pool in the gambling room, and I learned that the Fox actually has Guinness on tap. That struck me as fairly odd but it does make it the only place in town that does have it, thankfully, and means I can enjoy a glass from time to time without needing to drive to Tyne Valley or Ch’town to get one.

I guess I didn’t have enough socializing for one night so I drove to Greg’s with Michelle and Nikkie, and hung out there till the wee hours. It beats sitting in my living room for a change, that’s for sure.

I am not a weenie! You are the weenie!

My damn eye is bothering me again. I had hoped a night of sleep with a bunch of eye lube in it would help matters but it didn’t seem to do much at all. Now I’ve got the eye patch back on and it completely messes with my depth perception, balance and otherwise makes me cranky.

Despite being in poor humour and having limited vision, one good thing about today, however, was that my Freakazoid - Season 2 DVDs showed up. Even with one eye covered, I’m still looking forward to watching a bunch of episodes I’ve never seen before.

Criminales Escapado! Criminales Escapado!

MacPhee and Robin did the “pop-by” this afternoon and hung out for a bit before Neil and English Dave came over to shoot some scenes for Elliat Batt. We went over to the shop for a shoot-out scene and I discovered that speaking fake Spanish is much harder than one might think. With half of a room painted bright green, I’ll be interested to see how the green screen shots turn out.

I made the bad decision to go to BK and Tim’s for dinner. This foolishness of eating garbage all weekend long has to stop. I think if I were to have a blood test, it would reveal a severe deficiency in general healthiness and will power.

In 1769, this wasn’t what Arthur had in mind.

Tonight, I was invited out to Troy and Carol’s to play poker with them, Andrew and Pat. No trip to or through K’town would be complete without stopping to get some Frosty Treat goodness. I needed something sweet after ingesting a pile of Wendy’s. So much junk in so little time. Much to my dismay, they were out of Skor that night and so I had to settle for Oreo in my flurry. The evening was already taking a turn for the worse.

As expected, I lost horribly in both rounds of poker but thankfully very little money. I had fun despite my losses, though. I piled more junk into my gut, layering excessive amounts of party mix and Twizzlers on top of fast food and ice cream, watered down with Guinness—if that can actually be called watering down. Pat came up with the idea of drinking Guinness through Twizzler straws. It was an idea, I didn’t say it was a good one. He gave the re-purposed strawberry licorice straws the unfortunate name of Gizzlers.

Won’t somebody please think of the children?

I drove to Halifax yesterday morning, stopping in at Shawn’s before walking over to some church gym to get Ian where he goes to circus class. There was a sign in one of the church’s windows that had a super creepy-looking kid face on it, trying to bring about awareness of child poverty. Due to the lack of punctuation, though, it would appear that broken promises are very positive and beneficial things. That kid doesn’t seem very happy about the whole thing though.

The three of us wanted Hungry Chili for lunch but it was closed so we hit up Pete’s Frootique instead. I bought some excellent birch beer that Shawn had recommended, and a chicken samosa and meat fatayer for lunch from the deli, which reminded me of the meals and snacks I’d order while on vacation from Max’s Deli & Bakery in Vancouver. Not as good but close enough for nostalgia’s sake. The birch beer was a blast from the past, too, considering Seaman’s Beverages stopped making it here years ago.

Where to for dessert? Susie’s Shortbreads and Cupcakes just up the street, of course, for a Peanut Butter Bomb and a Death by Chocolate cupcake, some shortbread cookies and a Death by Chocolate truffle. Everything was tasty and fresh, Ryan Recommends™, but the crazy amount of frosting, sprinkled items and glooped sugary substances on top of the cupcakes was a bit overwhelming. Shawn bought some, too, and we went to deliver a couple to Bryanna and her co-worker at their work.

We kept on walking around downtown, pink shopping bags from the cupcake store swinging at our sides, stopping at Uncommon Grounds for caffeine and hitting up some record stores before Ian left for his other circus class thing. That left me and Shawn to head back to the apartment, eventually getting a hold of Bryanna’s twin sister’s boyfriend, Mike, to come out and eat with us at Talay Thai. A giant plateful of stir-fried chicken with curry paste and coconut sauce was soon in front of me. So damn good. So damn good. It had tonnes of fresh, crisp green beans and red peppers with the occasional surprise strip of mint leaf to liven it up even more. Another satisfying meal and, me, another satisfied customer yet again, despite our waitress being new on the job. She wasn’t bad by any means but since she brought me my spring rolls after my entrée another waitress came over to tell me they were on the house. How often does that happen for me? Next to never is how often. Bonus spring rolls are the best kind.

With bellies full of Thai food, we went to the Seahorse for the Urban Surf Kings’ 7” release party but it turned out to be something very different than what I was anticipating and had driven four hours to go see. As Shawn suspected and I had worried, it was open mic night. There was no party, no big night of surf celebration where USK would be the center of attention. Instead, we sat through a bunch of boring acoustic acts with the exception being a guy who sang filthy and offensive songs about giving himself a numb-hand handjob because his girlfriend wasn’t around (“Missing You”), shitting in someone’s pillow, one-dollar shots, and—due to overwhelming audience response—a quick encore about wishing how his butt hole had taste buds. Classy.

I’ve got to hand it to the guy; the songs were pretty funny, he was funny and he definitely managed to grab everyone’s attention. He and Shawn seem like they would actually make a good songwriting pair because that guy’s tunes weren’t all that far off from the filth and weirdness Shawn has written or has drunkenly serenaded me with at parties in days of yore.

Finally, after the long drive and the wait through open mic performances, USK hit the stage but only played for a little over a half hour. That was kind of a let down seeing as I had been expecting a big night of surf at this supposed “release party” but they still put on a good show. Weird thing was, though, they didn’t have their usual drummer, Inky, playing with them. A new guy was behind the kit and, while he could definitely play, Rev. Hank seemed to be holding his hand throughout the entire set. They must not have had much rehearsal time or maybe the guy was filling in for the night. Either way, it was a bit rough around the edges but it was fun and they did a good job keeping me entertained while their set did last.

This morning, Shawn and I met Ian at Uncommon Grounds before heading over to Hungry Chili for some lunch (my breakfast), and we all got the Numbing Chicken with Tangy Pork special. You never disappoint, Hungry Chili, with your bloody delicious and spicy dishes. I did, however, make the mistake of eating one of those tasty chilies, leaving me flushed in the face and feeling like a glowing hot charcoal briquet was burning a hole right through my stomach lining. For dessert, this time, we went up to the Jubilee Junction Corner Store to get the homemade ice cream sandwiches that Shawn brought to my attention. They’re essentially mega Snack and a Halfs and they were amazing. Good call, Shawn. But because I’m a wimp who worries about busting out his false teeth on frozen oatmeal cookies sandwiching dense, frozen soft serve, I waited until we got back to the apartment to eat mine with a fork once it had thawed some.

Then it was time to go home. I dropped Ian off so he could unicycle at the skate park and then I proceeded to get extremely lost, missing all sorts of streets I needed to get onto to hit the bridge before finally finding my way out of the damn city. I got back in town this evening to find the USK 7” I ordered by mail had shown up at my parents’ place. I might as well have waited until the show and saved myself the damn shipping.

Everything Else Is Child’s Play.

Ian and Holly were visiting over the weekend, and we hung out for a bit at Tim’s where Ian and I got to talking about the Nintoaster and Super Genintari. I told him about the NES controller cell phone I saw online recently that was pretty nifty and the next thing we knew we came up with the idea of a Power Glove cell phone. A little speaker would be on the end of the thumb and a little microphone on the end of the pinky so that a person can make the universal hand gesture for using the phone when they talk on this fantastic, geeky device. You could dial the number and do other cell phone-like things with the buttons on the wrist, and otherwise walk around like a total loser with the thing on your arm at all times hoping someone calls you so you can show it off. This concept has actually made me so super excited that it needs to become a reality. I don’t want a cell phone but if the Power Glove cell phone existed I might actually have to consider getting one.

The three of us went to Lawton’s to look for the fabled Limited Edition Reese Bars that Holly told me about. Luckily, they had them and they are a gigantic and scary amount of chocolate and peanut butter. On the way out of the store we spotted a hand-made sign in one of the gumball machines that made me do a double-take. From a distance, the bar on the uppercase G wasn’t immediately noticeable, resulting in a combination of words my immature sense of humour found rather amusing.

I got dropped off at home after our chocolate run, looked up the videos for the Nintoasters, and then emailed the guy about the Power Glove cell phone idea. Hopefully he’ll get back to me about it and, more importantly, hopefully he’ll actually build it!

Is there an OFF! Drunks & Meth-heads Spray?

I drove to Ch’town today for the Music PEI/ECMA open house at their new offices in the ATC. Other than the folks from both organizations and the occasional person who stopped to chat, Nikkie was pretty much the only other person there I knew so I ended up talking with her for most of the the afternoon. At one point, though, a very odd dude cornered me to tell me about how he was having his first drink in four months. Somehow I didn’t quite believe the figures he was providing in that overshare moment. Despite it only being late in the afternoon, he seemed well along the path to drunkenness. Or perhaps his weirdness was merely amplifying some kind of first beer buzz. Drunk or not, the big, weird guy in an NYPD cap who everyone was avoiding explained with some confidence that he was certain no one would know about his partaking of the sauce. I pointed out that everyone except me would know seeing as he had just forced his drinking secret upon me. He jokingly threatened to hunt me down if I told anyone and then shared a story I didn’t want to hear about how he beat up his neighbour because the guy was beating his wife. I also somehow doubted his vigilante role in defending the victims of spousal abuse. Then in typical weirdo drunk fashion, he rambled on and on about how a bunch of random crap I couldn’t give a shit about and how he gave back to the community or something, saying he was “all give and no get”.

Must escape. Find someone, anyone, within five feet. Get their attention. Extricate myself from this conversation. Move out of weirdo’s line of sight.

Later on, two dudes named Bram and Ben struck up a conversation with Nikkie and I, and it turns out that they were playing at Baba’s tonight. We had a nice chat with them and since I had nothing to do afterwards I stayed in town to check out the show. However, being that it was starving, my stomach was making some none-too-subtle demands for food and, thankfully, Cedar's was still open so I could get a fat and filling chicken shawarma.

On the sidewalk as I was heading to Cedar’s, a woman, very drunk, called out and asked if i was going up to Baba’s. Thinking she was going to ask for info about the gig, I said yes and she decided it was time to make my acquaintance and to hold my hand for an inappropriate amount of time after shaking it. She seemed fairly intent on having me join her for some art show before the gig, and I’m pretty sure she may have been pretending to not have any cash, seemingly hinting that I should pay her way in. Once again, I was thankful that Cedar's was still open and I went inside to get away from her and to, more importantly, get some grub. Today must be the day I’m meant to devise escape plans from overbearing drunks. I’m two for two so far.

Rob and Shauna ended up joining me for dinner before we went upstairs for the gig where I hung out with Andrea for the rest of the night. We were sitting at the merch table and some young guy who was most definitely high on something good came over and asked if we had any Junior something-or-other CDs for sale, as if they were selling merch from some vast catalogue of artists who weren’t playing the venue that night.

“Why, of course! We also have Conway Twitty’s Greatest Hits, a number of albums from U2, Tears for Fears, Snow, Antonio Carlos Jobim, The Spin Doctors and Voivod. Oh, and we have a two-for-one special on all limited edition Esteban vinyl tonight as well, you fucking tweaker. Cash or credit?”

To All The Walkmans I’ve Loved Before.

I loved this walkman. I still do. I don’t know if I will ever get rid of it. I ordered the CX-F303 from Sears after coming across it in the catalogue. This may very well have been my first then-expensive purchase I had ever made with money I had saved. If I remember correctly it was somewhere around $149 and the day I got the call to pick it up was an exciting one. Compared to the bare bones walkman it replaced, one that came with the stereo system I got for Xmas one year, this JVC was bad-ass. Let’s run down its impressive list of features, shall we?

• Play, Fast Forward, Rewind and Stop Buttons with Auto-Reverse Switch
• Volume Dial and SEA Graphic Equalizer Sliders
• AM/FM Radio with Channel Presets Memory
• Clock (with Mode Button to, I believe, even set an Alarm)
• Digital Display for Clock and Tuner
• Two, count ’em, TWO Headphone Jacks
• Radio/Tape Switch with Dolby Noise Reduction On/Off Setting
• Normal Stereo/Metal C_rO₂ Mono Switch
• Battery Indicator Light
• Hold Switch
• Belt Clip and Rubberized Finish

I know it’s technically not a Walkman per se, but tell that to the boxes of facial tissues and cotton swabs that everyone refers to as Kleenex and Q-Tips respectively. Yes, indeed, this Portable Stereo Radio Cassette Player was all that and a bag of chips. I got my $149 dollars worth out of it and then some. To say I cherished this wondrous piece of technology wouldn’t do my feelings for it justice. Prior to my days with Discmans and iPods, my JVC walkman provided me with innumerable enjoyable hours of tape and radio play. Its velvety rubber case was softly reassuring to the touch yet solidly utilitarian at the same time. It was a generous player, its A and B headphone jacks allowing me to share the music it played with others. It was a power horse. It never let me down.

I so very dearly love you, CX-F303.

Don’t get me wrong, the one that came with my stereo was pretty great in its own right. It docked flat into the top of the unit, could be powered in the dock, and used as a third deck for playback. That, in and of itself, was fairly neat, if you ask me. It was a no-nonsense portable tape player with the most basic of functions but it ate batteries like a sonnavabitch. Still, it served me well for a long time on those walks to and from high school, a handful of AAs and a dozen cassettes packed into the bottom of my backpack to last me the day. That is, until it started eating said cassettes. Despite its tape-munching habit towards the end of its life, that simple black player still holds a special place in my heart.

Another stand-out model I got lots of use from actually belonged to my dad, but I commandeered it on a number of occasions before it somehow remained in my possession. What made this glossy box from Panasonic so special was that it was a Portable Stereo Radio Cassette Recorder. It had a built-in microphone and bright red record button within the play button for recording whatever I felt like, the vast majority of recordings being prank calls. It shared many of the same features as my JVC but, while it wasn’t as appealing to the eye, its ability to record set it apart. Not only did it have a built-in mic but it also had a stereo mic input which made recording prank calls on the go with a nifty suction cup telephone mic a cinch. You know, back when pay phones weren’t as far down the path to obsolescence. They’re on the technologies at risk list now.

While I wouldn’t ever trade the convenience, size and music capacity of my iPod touch or my old third-gen iPod for a bulky, hissy tape player, I will forever miss the halcyon days of mixed tapes and high-speed dubbing, the clickety-clack of tapes being flipped in the deck, and flimsy outer-ear headphones with the foam coverings.

I just hate it when bananas can’t get along.

Would you like some insulin with that?

I stopped in to visit my parents tonight and my dad was just getting ready for bed like a bear gets ready for hibernation. I have the photographic evidence to prove my claim. A giant bowlful of ice cream sat on the kitchen counter which may or may not have been accompanied with cookies (read: a handful of cookies) when he went upstairs to watch TV. He claims the mountain of ice cream was larger than usual because he was, quote, just finishing off what was left in the dish. I’m thinking he could have stopped about a quarter of the way through and finished off what was left in the dish three helpings later like a normal person might. There’s no question as to where my sweet tooth comes from.

I went for a walk after that, ended up walking by the building in behind Kent’s, noticed its very accessible fire escape, and decided I might as well climb up top to see what I could see. As I neared the top landing I soon realized I shouldn’t have gone scampering up those stairs because I could see straight down through the grated floors and steps. For someone with a fear of heights like me, this isn’t an ideal situation. Still, if I was going to trespass and scare the shit out of myself I might as well take some pictures while I was up there.

I honestly can’t believe I had never climbed up that fire escape as a teenager, or remember any of my friends climbing up for that matter. Either simply as something to do or to cause mischief in some form. Maybe the fire escape didn’t exist back then because that would go a long way to explaining why my teenage pals weren’t climbing all over these roofs. Maybe they were, just while I was at home writing out lengthy episode synopses for The Mighty Hercules in First Choice on my Epson computer.

Why, Saturday, I daresay you’re hitting on me.

I managed to get up in time to go to the market, starting my day off right by buying a bunch of sushi. Not sleeping until the middle of the afternoon and delicious sushi for breakfast—both the beginnings of a great Saturday. Plus it was a super nice day and I wore sneakers for first time this year. Two more points for today being great.

After the market I went to Mom’s and found out that, apparently, Winnie only brings her toy out for me and no one else. I found this strange because I just figured she brought out a toy with her tail wagging to show off for anyone who came over to visit. Why she only does this for me I have no idea. She’s a strange dog anyway, a big baby actually. She suckles a stuffed toy called her ninny, she’s afraid of everything, she hates being brushed or bathed, will put your arm in her mouth but not bite you, and will push one of your legs down if you cross them. She mostly does the last two to my grandparents but she’s always done the soft bite on my arm. Probably something she learned when I used to play with her as a puppy.

Since it was such a nice day and because most of the snow on the back porch had melted away, I could finally push the door open a little and shoveled off the rest of the back step so I could sit out with a coffee and a magazine for first time this year. First sneakers, now this. I’m bloody glad winter is over. Even the flies are starting to come out from hibernation.

Considering all of the bonus points today got, it only made sense to end the day by buying a yo-yo.

Maybe tomorrow, he’ll want to settle down.

The damn power went out and reset all of my clocks, making me think it was 3:00 p.m. when I woke up even though was actually 1:00 p.m. That’s not much better now that I think about it, especially seeing as I needed to be up early because I had a shitload of work to do. I also had a meeting this afternoon which meant my snowed-in car wouldn’t be dug out in time so to make it to my meeting I’d have to borrow my mom’s car.

As I was downing some tea before getting ready to head out, Troy showed up at the door asking me if I wanted to have him shovel the driveway for a dollar. For a laugh, I said sure and handed him a shovel thinking he’d laugh right back and come in for a quick visit. Turns out he wasn’t joking, he went and did it. I kept telling him he didn’t have to but he kept right at it, and I figured he was simply taking an April Fool’s joke too far. Who the hell would want to show up and shovel a driveway for no reason? Even with the prospect of such meager payment it didn’t make much sense to me. I also didn’t feel like a friend or anyone else should appear out of nowhere to dig out my car when I am perfectly capable of doing it myself, albeit pressed for time and would need to do it later. No matter how much I told him enough was enough, he just kept digging away and seemed perfectly happy to do so. Perhaps he went crazy and was driving around town offering his services to whoever appeared to be in need. Like The Littlest Hobo of snow shoveling.

I helped a little bit despite his protesting but, seeing as I’d be late if i didn’t get ready, I left Troy to shovel his generous little heart out. By the time I was leaving to get my mom’s car, the loon had my car dug out so I honoured my end of the bargain and also tried to tip him an extra three bucks for his effort. He wouldn’t take the four dollars. He kept the dollar we agreed upon and forced the other three into my coat pocket.

Thanks, Troy. You may be a bit touched in the head but you shovel like a champion.