Well, it's hot outside and I watched all 3
It wasn't worth it.
I've been thinking of how much I miss chillin' with Ms. Amika Schodie (both of them). Alas, September will come and the former Ms. Schodie is off to
Well, if all works out, I'll join the latter Ms. Schodie in
Tonight: Finish Finnish PSE Case Study.
I'm going outside now.
D :)
Started at the Billiards Club on Whyte at about 10pm-ish and ended at
Also, a big "hej" to the Swedish women's rowing team that I was dancing with at O'Byrne's (I'm assuming they're in e-town for the Masters Games).
Sweet.
D :)
PS. The Amazing Wonderdog has a pretty interesting post on the UK's controversial shoot-to-kill policy. Check it out.
*Pronounced goou-de dimes (the "t" is silent).
Last week, Aaron over at Grandinite tagged me with some sort of Joint Taskforce Twelve list game (Aaron also challenged Doucheblog, MKBraaten, and Bound By Gravity).
Here are the groundrules:
"If there were twelve blogs, as of right now, I think anyone should be visiting on a daily or hourly basis, it would be the Grandinite Joint Task Force Twelve, which is one more than Kip Esquire’s Elite Eleven. Joint Task Force Twelve requires twelve specialists, none of whom replicate the same area: in short, there must be very little overlap between the subject matter of the blogs in order to give the reader the maximum input potential.
The Joint Task Force Twelve also requires that the blogs in question be updated more than once a day (but if the content is great, this is totally unnecessary). The fact that there are twelve blogs on the list will mean that readers of the Joint Task Force Twelve are already in the elite of blog readers themselves - that select 5% of internet users who read blogs. On average, a blog reader will read 5-7 blogs per day. By reading through the Grandinite Joint Task Force Twelve, blog readers will already be in the elite of the elite."
Okay, here's my list...
1. Section 15 - This is at the top of my daily blog read list. Mark is a great blogger who always has fun posts (his comment sections are just as great).
2. Born with a Tail - Always a prolific writer, Mr. Raymaker has recently shifted his blog focus towards entertainment and music posts. Very cool.
3. Child of Regan - Okay, it's been a couple of weeks since anyone over at this site has posted, but it's an interesting read for those looking for a right-wing American response to world events.
4. Toronto Tory - Fun political posts from a
5. Little Man in a Toque - A fun blog, especially for Edmontonians. :-)
6. Ask the Pope - I'm not going to comment any further than saying that this is one of the funniest blogs I have ever read (POPE MY RIDE!!!). Anyway, check it out and make your own decision...
7. ~we will always be a light~ - A fellow blogger with whom I share many mutual acquaintances, but have never met.
8. Kevin G. Powell - Always an interesting and insightful read.
9. Four Bad Men - One of the funnest and bestest group blogs out there.
10. A Newspaper called Gateway - Another fine group blog written by a bunch of kids who write a "newspaper" called Gateway.
11. Ahab's Whale - Another group blog, but this time... by Canadians in the
12. Grandinite - Not just because he challenged me, but because I am fascinated daily with the stuff he digs up and posts about.
There we go. Daveberta's Joint Task Force Twelve (aka The Fantastic 12).
So, at this point, I am supposed to challenge other bloggers to join the elite group and create their own Joint Task Force 12. So, if the're up to it, I challenge...
Scott Tribe
Section 15
Any of the guys over at freethought.ca
PS. To the guy in the apartment above me: Thanks for BBQing that nice juicy steak at 10:30pm last night. I hoped it was even better after I opened my balcony door and blasted Michael Jackson and MC Hammer on my stereo just for you. Jerk.
According to daveberta's Ambassador to Holtopia, Lord Smith Murray, rebel forces loyal to Cucumber Party Leader Hot Datum marched on the capital city with apathetic resistance. Hot Datum's forces were easily able to secure the Althingi and capture the Grand Chancellor.
Rumours are spreading that the President and the ruling oligarchy of the Thermodynamic Party have fled to the exclusive golf resort island of Papuaholtopiau to set up a government in exile.
Rumours are also circulating that Hot Datum's coup against the ruling Thermodynamic Party was spurred from House Party member Harrison Horn's comments: "Okay everyone, hands up all who think that the deception Hot Datum, would look sexy in a cop uniform. I didn't think so."
Dantum may have also received support from rebel logarithms from the
Though these rumours are unsubstantiated and purely circumstantial, Ambassador Murray has denounced the coup as a war against the 'cucumber roots' of Holtopia.
More to come.
I was originally write a monster 'minute-by-minute' post, but I thought this would be funner. So, here we go. Enjoy.
The weekend began Friday after work. It was about 3pm and I cut out early from my job at the book depository just outside the warehouse district on the southside of the river. It had been a busy week. New shipments of publications from the far east had just been delivered that morning, so it had been a pretty busy day. It was a hot day. A sweaty day. A day to lie down in the shade and open a beer. Not just any beer, good beer. The kind of beer they used to make back when the mob was bootlegging
It was that kind of day.
After skipping out of work, I made my way back to the rooming house which I call home. It was a dusty little joint, filled with lost souls and crazy Russians, but not the scary kind. Nope, the kind that could tell you stories of old and far. The kind of stories that should be told in history books, but aren’t. Stories of crimson, crime, and lost opportunities.
After picking up my .45 and flask, I made my way over to what the average person would know as the ‘Greyhound Station.’ This may look like just a regular bus depot to the slackjawed suburbanite, but looks can be deceiving.
This was the bus depot across the street from the Grand Hotel, one of the nastiest little gin joints in all of etown. Yes, that’s right, you don’t want to get stuck in this hell hole for one second. They say after one night in the Grand Hotel, you’ll be ready to sell your soul to Satan to forget what you saw. The screams. The smells. The haunting. I’ve heard of folks that walk in and never walk out.
I hopped on the Greyhound Express to
I took my seat and settled in for the long ride down the QEII when something caught my eye. I slowly glanced up and noticed two unlikely folks sitting across the lane. These were the kind of people that you would never expect on the ‘one-way’ to
It was a long ride, longer than the usual express. As we moved along, somewhere past Ponoka, I saddled myself in for a deep sleep. I fell into a dream of horses, spirits, and days gone by. Days before cowboys and iron horses. Days before greyhounds and book depositories. Days of innocence. Days where any horse on this side of
I awoke as the bus pulled its way into
I dismounted out of the bus at around a quarter to nine,
I made my way to a hopping little gin joint north of the river in Kensington. It was a tiny little joint filled with wanna-be cowboys showing off their belt buckles and cowgirls willing to give it all away on the first night. The kind of joint that was made for pleasure and enjoyment in liquid fashion.
I made my way to a table in the corner. I sat myself down and took a long and hard look across the room. It was certainly an interesting crowd.
After about twenty minutes, the waitress finally made her way over. She took her sweet time, but when we locked eyes, I could see what her trouble was. She had the body of a 20 year-old saloon dancer but the tortured soul of a war veteran. She’d been stuck delving out barley sandwiches to old has-beens and young wanna-be’s for 4 long months. She drew the short straw in life and she knew it.
After three or four pints of
An old friend from a previous life had offered me a space on her floor for the night. We were old friends going back years. Good friend. We met when I was running guns for the Bolivians back in ’58. The good old days. The days of idealism. The days of youth and new ideas. Of course, those days died long ago. Lost deep in the shadows and damp corners of this realistic world we live in. Crushed by the steam engine and chewed on by the fea infested rats who live under the docks. This was now a dirty harsh world. Filled with dark and cold realities that could only warmed up with the help of a shot of whiskey.
And so I made my way to my final destination of the night, moving down the dark and dusty streets of a city ready to explode with excitement and shameless debauchery.
A city with no shame. A city that was proud to be wild. This was
Next: Chapter Two: Riding with the Cowboys
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