Riding the razor's edge of probability

This morning I noticed on my contact list that my friend Ian was listening to I shot the Sheriff at the exact moment that I was. Is that impressive? How about this. . . I have a 4000 song playlist, and he has a 5000 song playlist. So given our odds of listening to any one song are equal (assumption) and multiplying those probabilities together, you know what the odds are? 1 in 20,000,000. That's rediculous. And that is assuming our playlists our the same, and I know they aren't, so the odds are even smaller that we both have any one song on the list. Amazing. Yeah, this is the level of trivial detail that occupies my head this Sunday afternoon, because last night alcohol and I had another fight, and we probably won't see each other until next weekend. So we went out to Van Gogh's ear, and since bob got another fresh cast, a few nights ago I sawed my name into it - again. Then, seeing how blank and desolate it was without anything else on it, I borrowed a few sharpies from Alaina and formulated a plan. Once the night was underway I dragged Bob by the cast around the bar and got as many phone numbers and signatures as possible. Bob says he's not impressed with me, especially since someone wrote "suck a dick" on his cast, but I know he loves me because someone also proposed marriage. . . even though that was on his arm. Things got a little out of hand once we ran out of real estate on the cast, and I was having a little too much fun to stop there. Anyway, now his cast looks like he's had it on for months, which is nice. It's not fresh, maybe that will help him get used to it. He's a bit down because now he's registered with the CSD (Centre for Students with Disabilities) at Guelph. Personally I don't see the big deal with that. . . That means free note takers and everything. Last night I also discovered that Quinine (the stuff in tonic) glows bright pale blue under black lights. Bad ass. I don't know what posessed me to drink Gin and Tonics all night but they were delicious. . . Especially wash down the Irish Car Bombs from earlier in the night. What the hell did we do, Bob? Alaina and Britton celebrated their birthdays together last night, so it was nice to see some camp folk and get out and tear it up a bit. In the words of my good friend Bill - "That'll happen."

Trip Excerpt - Wilderness adventures and the story of Chippy the Chipmunk

Day 2

It seems every time I write in this little book before I’m in the tent, something happens which is worth adding to it. Last night at 9:15, a young and seemingly inexperienced couple paddled up in the dark. We’d just settled into our tent for the night, and they were complaining that they’d had a bear at their site. Britton noted that they must have booked it out of there, as they had their collapsed tent sitting in the middle of their boat. The couple wanted to know of other sites on the lake. I told them where I thought others were (it’s been a year since I’ve been here, and my current map has no marked sites) and they paddled off. At 10:30 they returned looking to take me up on my offer of the meager space we might have at our site. After pulling their boat up and carrying their tent out, the first thing I asked them about was their food. They had it in a garbage bag, probably not double bagged, I don’t know. I asked them if they wanted to do a bear hang, or a bear canoe, hoping I wouldn’t have to demand it, since something obviously attracted the bear to their site. As they set their tent up I got started on the hang. A proper hang should be over a branch around 20 feet up I believe, and 10 feet out, maybe more. They had about 20 feet of rope. Not even close. So having tied some of our rope to some of theirs, and throwing a stick over a half fallen tree, we did our best in the dead of the dark, dense wood. The garbage bag was put in a pack and hoisted up. After a quick swim, a peaceful sleep followed. Let’s hope Jonathan and Amy have a better night tonight.

· Our plan today is to head up through Red Pine Lake before the winds pick up again, and get in through the top of Nunakani. Time to get up, it’s 7:30.

· Wow, rough day (sarcasm). We paddled across beautiful Red Pine after an incredibly solid portage out of clear lake. We beat another camp to it effortlessly, and everyone did their part on the portage. These girls are impressive. We paddled Red Pine with ease and went for a swim and a lesson on current on the Kennisis river, laughs all around as we joyfully floated down the shady, lazy, narrow river before paddling into lake Nunakani where we reside now. We pulled into our nook at 1:30 and had lunch, and now we are keeping busy. The girls with cards and tent set up, and me with catching and relocating a pet chipmunk which is audaciously inspecting all our pack. No luck so far but I will try again later.

· 8:59 and we are settling into our tents. Stacy brought tattoos, smarties, and trip bracelets, and the girls homesickness dissolved immediately as the kids listened to their favourite book. As the lazy afternoon came to a close and the girls started to collect firewood, our friend “Chippy” the chipmunk returned. This time I was ready. I had been studying his habits. He would go to the wannigan and tear through the parmesan cheese bag every time he thought I wasn’t looking, and as I approached he would duck between the side of the wannigan and the lid which I had propped up against it. Given this, I had set up the barrel laying on its side with the mouth continuous with the tunnel formed between the wannigan and its lid. Chippy’s safe haven was a trap. A sprinkle of parmesan to accentuate the banana chips of an earlier failed attempt and the trap was set. Chippy went for the cheese bag in the wannigan shelf, and then ducked into his tunnel as he saw me approach. He smelled the bait, and I could hear him rummaging into the barrel, scraping around with his little rodent claws. I snuck around the outside. Swiftly setting the barrel upright to trap him at the bottom, I slammed the lid down and clamped the ring tight. Chippy’s cage had an airtight seal. 5 minutes later he was underway by the Grumman express to the east shore of Lake Nunakani, where he was released to learn to be free and independent of humans once more. Upon my return I was informed between giggles by the girls that Chippy’s friend had made an appearance in my absence. I’ll have to free him another day.

· Earlier this morning I surprised myself. Each morning I take off my rings to paddle. As I was doing so, drifting behind the group across Clear Lake, my titanium ring popped off while I was trying to pull it free of my finger. Slow motion kicked in as I watched it spin through the air and hit the water. I heard myself choke “noooo” in a defeated and panicked tone as I watched it sink. Then a curious thing happened. This being clear lake, I could see the ring in its descent even after it was 6 feet down and sinking fast. I could see it as clearly as if it had just hit the water. Here I heard myself say “Be right back girls!” as I felt myself stand up in the canoe and dive toward the ring, out of the boat. I felt like Frodo Baggins swimming frantically down with my eyes wide until a bright silver sphere of blurriness came into view. I even reached out twice to snatch at it with my hand before it could materialize into the shape of a ring, and was successful on the second try. I didn’t think I’d be close enough to grab it, but I was. This is when I realized that I had about 15 – 20 ft of water directly over my head. I swam hard for the surface for what seemed like minutes, and broke the surface, victorious. This is when I realized that I had to climb back into the boat. The prep junior girls continued to surprise me. Diligently leaning the opposite way as I clambered back in. It’s amazing what can happen on reflex.

Cowboys need love too

I need to overcome my ennui. I have stuff to do, don't get me wrong, I just don't feel like doing it right NOW. Therein lies my problem. Going out would be fun, I'm sure there are a few people I could convince too. . . but the toll on my body and braincells is something to be savoured for special occasions - like weekends - and today is Thursday. Sometimes there's not much else to do but bust out the djembe and kick out a few riffs, it has been awhile since I have done that. That and think about spring. . . The camp I work at - Kandalore - hosts 24 day long canoe trips known as 'explorer' trips. These flow into the northern ontario/quebec watershed that is James bay. It will be my 15th summer there this year, and it's time for me to do one of these freakin' trips, and I want to make sure it happens. I need to get a few certifications before it does happen though, ie my Wilderness First Responder and my WRT1. Google these if you don't know what they are. Anywho I want to get these in good time to make sure I can get away somewhere cool for spring. I have applied to Village camps, which are associated loosely with Kandalore, and there are a few locations in France and Switzerland that I would like to check out. The France location boasts rock climbing, mountain biking, rapelling, caving and paddling as some of their main activites. Working there would KICK ASS. So I applied, and it only cost $48 to send my application xpresspost from Canada! Unbelievable. They wanted photocopies of both my passports (I have a Canadian and a Swedish one, story for another blog), driver's license, certifications, a huge questionnaire, resume, etc. Very elaborate, actually more work than applying for my master's at Guelph to tell you the truth. . . But that's what I think about when I have nothing to do. That and I hold idle conversation with Bob, the KING of idle conversation. It's not hard to do since a message comes through every 10 minutes or so. . . I'll be busy as all hell soon and will relish this time, since the first midterm I mark is written on the 7th and the other on the 9th of Feb. . . that's going to be a busy week, yo! Maybe next entry I will post the story of Chippy the chipmunk. I have been leading whitewater canoe trips for the last couple of summers at Kandalore and that is one of my favourite memories. . . that and the time I scored a brand new boat for nothing.

Who is Bob?

Oh Bob. I met Bob through Alaina, my girlfriend, about 3 years ago. Back then he was Rob, and since there were a few Robs in our circle, he was known as RobDavies. RobDavies, no space. RobDavies was a nice, quiet and composed individual. He was polite and reserved. He was the kind of guy that makes you go "Let's get that guy hammered and find out what he's really like." Shortly, BobDavies met my long time friend and housemate, Rob Orton (see all the robs in this story?). They got along extremely well, and it wasn't long before Rob, who we call Yank due to his American heritage (He's a 'Maine'iac) decided that enough was enough, and he was going to call RobDavies BobDavies. And so Bob was born. Bob's reflex to this was to call Yank Bob as well, so really the confusion didn't abate at all, since they enjoyed ending every sentence they said to each other with 'Bob', I guess to relish in the hilarity of it all, you'd have to ask Bob. Either one, Yank or BobDavies. So Bob, if he had to describe himself in one word, would use the word akward. To quote Bob in a conversation we had the other day about the 3home kegger we were at. "I panicked when you guys left [to talk to other people] - I didn't know what to do." "I only knew that one girl and she didn't even show up. Probably a good thing though, since we're both akward, and unless both of us are drunk, I look at her and she just laughs, then we both get embarassed and it's akward." Case in point. It will sound like I am denouncing Bob here, but don't get me wrong, when we are hard on Bob, it's to give him tough love. Bob needs convincing to do a lot of stuff. Stuff he knows is for his own good, like meeting new people or doing things that might seem crazy at first. Once he does it he's glad he does. Bob and I don't really have akward moments between the two of us. If we're quiet together I don't usually notice, but he still likes to end our conversations with 'love you' and open them with 'miss you' just to play up the akward powers that he knows he posesses. Over the years Bob has integrated himself very well into the tight circle of friends that is the Camp Kandalore crew that frequents Guelph. Right now Bob is really down in the dumps. This happens to Bob a lot. I like to call him Eeyore because of it actually. Right now the problem is that bob hurt his wrist playing hockey. He got it in a cast just in case there was a broken bone. Now, after a week and a half or so, Bob has had the hand looked at again. It is broken. The bone that is broken takes a long time to heal, so it may be in a cast for quite awhile. On the bright side, they recasted the arm for him, so that means we can graffiti it all over again. I carved my name in the last one with a small saw. Pretty sure I'll need to do that again. So if you want to send Bob a message about how life's really not that bad without the use of your right hand for 6-12 weeks or whatever amount of time, or how sometimes you need to take the plunge to grow, or something inspirational, just post him a comment on the msg board there, I'm sure he will appreciate it. It will also confirm that someone other than Bob reads this blog.

Alcohol? YOU are a bitch.

So Friday night the alcohol bomb went off in our house. Our neighbours, Jay and Michelle, were over, my girlfriend Alaina was over, and Ryan, a friend of ours. Somehow it was unanimously decided that this was the night to go to the LCBO and buy various liquors and make mint julips, the most awful drink ever. Google them if you want, but know we used whiskey instead of bourbon and the mint leaves kept getting all up in our grill when we sipped, like dead leaves plastered to a storm drain. So we switched to whiskey sours. Naturally the next day we woke up hung over, and by evening I had my nerve back. My good buddy Rob Davies (henceforth known as Bob) came over, and Timmy my ex housemate picked us up and we went to some kegger at www.3homevip.com (yeah they have a website). I enjoyed the random run ins with various camp folk. So here I am, hung over again. One thought in my mind. Alcohol, YOU are a bitch. Will and I discussed it, and he went on an eloquent harangue, drawing out a 5 minute analogy between alcohol and a pesky girlfriend. I told him that alcohol and I got along great this weekend, but I didn't think I was going to call her back for a little while. Will: "Yeah man, you never know with alcohol, she can be such a bitch you know? Like you take her out, you show her a good time, you spend all this money on her, and then the next day she just bitches and yells at you all day. It's just not worth it you know? Like one year we actually broke up for the whole summer. The next year she just kept calling and calling me, and finally I was like FINE - alright. I will give this another shot. But it just wasn't the same you know? It sort of lost its innocence after the first break up."
I know what he means. Most of us have this one night stand relationship with alcohol. Some of us who are unfortunate enough are going steady with alcohol, and still others are married completely to it. It is these unfortunate souls who need to go to meetings just to handle the divorce. The problem is, alcohol is immortal, and is NOT good with restraining orders. God help you if you have kids and she has custody.

Character profile: Will

I live with 2 housmates. Will and Mack. This is due to the fact that I graduated last fall, but am still working at the university doing various things while I get my applications for a Master's in order. I hope to start in Fall 2006. These circumstances allowed me to meet my housemate Will. Really I've already written a thousand words about Will, since the picture above describes him perfectly, but I'll write a few more. Will describes himself as a mystery wrapped in an enigma. And he's right, except for these facts: Will hails from St. Catharines, Ont. He likes it when cool famous people say they are St. Catharines too, but stupid famous people are not allowed to be from there. Will likes facts. He remembers them all. That is why he is a History major. His dad is an engineer at GM, so Will knows lots of facts, especially car facts. He makes sure you know this because he reminds of it whenever cars are on TV. Which isn't that much (yeah right). Will and I spend some of our best quality time in front of the TV actually. We spend it yelling at the screen, at things like the drunk driving commercial. We criticize, we critique, we make fun. We get on our high horses and we ride around and around playing proverbial polo with the heads of our unsuspecting adversaries, the ignorant, fact-deprived commercial writers. Then we laugh and make outrageous claims about stuff we would do or have done. This is a great past time. The other day when I told Will I was going to do a character profile of him, he said "The ladies have been trying to tame Willsy for a looooong time." There wasn't much I could say to that.

Don't drink and drive, you might get struck by lightning and win the lottery

Alright - I have to say something about this. Two days ago I was watching TV and this is what I saw: A guy sitting, reading on a bench, in sentimental soft focus, tranquil expression on his face. After a few moments a caption says "your best friend". Next a girl walks on to the frame, smiling, looking shyly at her feet. He gets up to greet her, they kiss, frolic, play little 'new couples' games. The caption : "Your girlfriend." At this point the frame is zooming out. . . further, further. We understand where the soft focus effect seemed to be coming from, the whole view is actually through a dirty window pane. zooming, zooming. You see a man, from the back, sitting in a wheelchair with a headrest on it, as if he is paralyzed, watching the scene unfold. Fade to black. "Don't drink and drive, you've got a lot to lose."

Are you fucking kidding me? The ACTUAL consequences of drinking and driving, the ones sort of somewhat on this side of reality (to quote Lewis Black) are bad enough. Do we need to make up consequences? Don't drink and drive, you will discover your girlfriend's promiscuous tendencies. Through the dusty window of your misery you will watch as YOUR life goes on without you, as your girlfriend stabs you in the back, and your best friend in the front. As they choose to make out in front of the window in the hospital ward that they both know you are in. . . hahaha I couldn't stop laughing. The don't drink and drive message was totally lost on me. I turned to my housemate, Will, and I angrily informed him that I was going to drink six beers and go drive, just to prove that that would not happen.

so check this out. . .

So my parents and I went on a little family vacation. A Christmas vacation. We went to the island of Dominica (no, not the Dominican Republic). Follow the link below that says Dominica 2005 to make your way to the fun, robberies, deadly seeds and rediculousness that was our experience in the third world.

• Dominica 2005

Aliens?

Do I believe in aliens? Umm - I'm going to have to take the agnostic standpoint on that one. Just don't know. But I think the odds are in favour. There's no real reason to think they don't exist, right? To quote the movie Contact which I saw so long ago but remember enjoying, "If we're all alone, it'd be an awful waste of space." I'd like to tack on a little extra there: "And an awful waste of comedy." Have you seen the funny shit humans do? I think the comedy mostly stems from the fact that we try so hard to pretend human is so different from animal. Every time humans act like animals, we observe closely. We often laugh: "As soon as little jimmy smelled the steak bob was cooking, he came bounding up the stairs faster than Buster." (Buster is the dog, and only he deserves capital letters). Ha ha ha, little jimmy is like the dog when he's hungry, ha ha ha. Sometimes we don't laugh. "When they ran out of food, the dynamics of the life raft broke down. The survivors would wait for the cover of night to ambush each other, fighting to the death for the right to be the living one, the one who would eat his fellow dead and survive another day." See that's not as funny. Maybe you laughed, but it's not as funny. Right? The thing is, though, we observe closely, but we never seem to learn. That's the thing I think is the funniest. Don't get me wrong, I'm human too. I don't learn, too. But it's just way more fun to laugh at the whole thing, or at least the funny parts.

You come here often? Me either.

My name is Marcus.

So yeah - I'm so new to blogging that I'm still covered in the binary placenta that marks my internet nascence. Internascence. Hell of a word - you can use it but it's mine.
So lots of people with blogs out there seem to be trying to sum their lives up in the first paragraphs they write. I'm going to try to learn from that mistake. We can be digital geek friends. We'll get to know each other through various encounters over time (posts), and slowly, like some digital striptease, you will glimpse more and more parts of me, leaving less to the imagination until you realize (like with many real acquaintances) that you have entirely wasted your time, and that what you imagined was way better than the real thing. And through this one-sided electronic "Exchange" we will somehow both satisfy our respective peculiarly inexplicable voyeuristic and exhibitionist needs. I will write, and you will read. Why? Niether of us knows. Not even the aliens. So the best thing we can do is take the advice they would probably give us. Laugh.

Having said that, that's probably the strangest thing I've ever written, and this is the most I've ever really pondered the idea of blogging, except for when I pondered the idea of getting one. Also the sexual analogies. . . no idea where those came from, but that's probably the last you'll ever see of them.