Leonard’s Visit

 

Leonard was coming back to Calgary from Art School for a week, which meant I was going to be at either the Ship and Anchor or the Distillery.  The Distillery has changed a lot lately, and in some ways, no matter how many new things she tries, Leonard is still a robot of habit in the deepest steel chambers of her mechanical heart.  She can’t handle seeing how some things have changed, and she wanted the familiar, so we were at the Ship.

We went on Friday.  If you don’t know, the Ship and Anchor is a bit of a punk pub, at least originally, but it’s slowly showing a hipster influence.  There’s a row of fake books on a shelf near the ceiling.  Antique-looking paintings and artefacts adorn the walls, interspersed with FIFA soccer pennants.  Each table had its own crowd, with no coherent group dominating the bar.  A couple of old guys spoke emphatically near a group of bookish girls too afraid to yell to be heard over the bar noise.  A pair of overly attractive people tried to decide if they wanted to make out at 8 pm in a pub, mostly through trail and error.

I got there to find Kodie, Leonard, B1 and A2.  I hadn’t eaten, so I ordered food.  For the rest of the night, one person at our table was always eating.  Either someone new would show up and order food, or someone who had been there for a while needed an appy.

I was sitting by A2.  He was ordering a different beer with each round and showing off his iPhone.

Tall showed up a bit later, followed by R1 and A3, friends of Leonard.  It freaks her out to see people she knows from different places together, especially if they get along.  She especially hates it if they start doing things without her.  She calls it “hanging out behind her back.”  I believe it’s because robots are always plotting against humans, so she assumes it goes the other way.  She knows it’s crazy, and she’s mostly gotten over it, but at times it bugs her.

So I probably shouldn’t have been hitting on A3.  Since the last time I’d seen her, she’d gotten a rather significant haircut, and was adorable with her short hair.  I was trying to be subtle, so as not to upset Leonard until there was reason for her to be truly angry at me.  On top of that, it was a loud bar, and everyone kept switching places around the table, so A3 and I didn’t get much of a chance to talk.  I doubt she noticed.  She also didn’t get my full attention, and I wasn’t willing to push to hard, so she was able to escape my considerable charm.

This time…

When Shawn showed up, our waitress changed.  The new girl was gorgeous, and completely inattentive.  You had to yell at her to stop her to order a drink.  We soon decided it was time to move the party, and Kodie and Shawn suggested the Elbow River Casino.  Tall, A3, B1 and R2 were out, but the rest of us decided to go. 

I’ve only ever been to the casino in Lethbridge.  It’s a newish building on the highway out of town.  I used to go with Txt Girl and her friends, because she loved to gamble.  I’d spend $20 on ten games of blackjack, then just hang out, because I value my money.  The Lethbridge Casino was fun every time.

Elbow River Casino was different.  It was smaller, darker, and mostly row upon row of heartless slot machines. 

Pictured: Uncivilized Gambling

 I don’t like playing the slots because they’re too much like video games.  The bright lights and sounds confuse me into thinking I’m having more fun than I am, and I forget every button I press costs me money.  I feel like my Nintendo cheated me as a child, so I know those machines that are literally after my money will for sure.  I just don’t like the disconnect I get from something too much like my Xbox 360.

So I walked by and got a drink.  Then I checked out the Blackjack.

There were no $2 tables.

The lowest on the floor were $5 minimum bet.

When the fuck did that happen?  I want 10 games for my $20.  Now, the most I’m guaranteed is 4 games.  4 fucking games.  Less than half.  I sighed, and sat down by A2.  I managed to last for 8 games without going over my $20 limit.  I was frustrated when the last of my money left so I went to find Kodie.

He was at a slot machine, and I was not sober enough to make good decisions.  In 3 minutes, the evil little robot ate $20 more.  I asked Kodie how he managed to keep the machine going.  He shrugged a timid shrug that suggested he’d spent more than he should have.

Shawn and I found the cheapest slots in the place, and I lost another $10 before I gave up.  It was home time, and I was down $50.

Do all Casino’s suck this much?  Am I remembering things wrong?

Or is the Elbow River Casino where hope goes to die?

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Iron Man 2

Usually, I don’t need to be the first person to see or do something.  I tend to be a patient individual, waiting until the things I wanted are undefended, and then I take them. 
 

   

   

Like this pie

Like this pie...

   

Iron Man 2 was the exception.  I rarely see movies in theatres.  I don’t take extra thrill from a larger screen or bigger sound.  As long as I can see everything on my TV, I’ll save $12 on the movie and $15 on the snacks.  If I go to a movie theatre, it’s generally more about the social side than the particular movie.  There’s only one reason I ever need to see a movie in theatres; the rare occasions where I can’t wait.  

Mostly because I loved Iron Man.  Not the comic, but the original movie.  I mean, my obsession with Batman is well-known,  

So cool

and I think Dark Knight was the best comic book movie ever.  It was superior as a work of art, and complete as a story outside the genre.  I think it’s better than Iron Man.  

 But I enjoy Iron Man more.  It’s more entertaining, and the lighter tone makes it easier to watch repeatedly.  Plus, I relate better to a witty alcoholic narcissist than I do to an aggressive driven obsessive. 

 Gilly sent me a message a week before the movie came out, saying it was good.  I couldn’t figure out how she had already seen it, being that for my friend she’s astonishingly non-geeky, and as such wouldn’t see things at something like a comic convention secret sneak preview.  It turns out the release was earlier overseas because Paramount personally hates me. 

 I knew what I had to do.  No one else was going to see that movie before me like that jerk Gilly. 

 Tall and I went a day early for tickets.  Since we weren’t in it for the spectacle, we didn’t need 3D or IMAX or explod-o-vision. We had no trouble getting seats for the 10 pm show.  I was confused the next day when Matt, Ren, and David were all concerned.  They wanted to be there an hour early at least, and David insisted on an even bigger head start.  He was at the theatre at 8:30. 

 We needed it.  Yeah, we had tickets, but even ticket holders were lined up in front of the screening room.  David was about 15th in line when we got there.  Line as far as the eye could see, 45 minutes before show time, and it’s the version with no bells or whistles.  I can’t even imagine what the midnight IMAX showing would have been like, but I am forced to assume it involved a couple of overweight individuals in ill-fitting costumes, and some generally poor hygiene. 

 This was all old news for the staff at Chinook.  They had contingencies in place, and ordered us around with practiced ease when they needed to do something the line was blocking.  They ushered us into the theatre at 9:40 and waited 10 minutes before starting those pre-movie trivia things that come up before the show.  We had a great spot in the centre of the theatre, and due to Matt and Ren’s planning and David’s not really having a life, no matter what he tells you. 

Batman Cool

The movie itself was superb.  It played to the strengths of the original without rehashing old plot points.  They focused on the joyous excess, the price of success, and the sharp dialogue that made the original so good.  They were telling a story that happens to have a superhero in it, instead of a superhero story, a pitfall that plagues so many comic book movies, even today.  Honestly, the strength comes from the fact that the comic fights could have been replaced by board meetings or basketball games.  Everything was so good that the hero parts were just extra cool, not central. 

It didn’t feel the need to tell the original, giving the audience enough credit to continue the tale instead of redoing the first movie.  The plot and the characters only went forward.  

The casing was superb.  Robert Downey Junior, Gwyneth Paltrow, and Samuel Jackson were all as excellent as they were in the original, and their talent adds legitimacy to what could otherwise be a silly movie.  John Slattery plays Tony’s father, which is fitting, as Roger Sterling is nearly a non-superhero Tony stark in the 60s on Mad Men. 

Tony Stark cool

  Scarlett Johansen works for well as Black Widow, especially because they didn’t have her do the Russian accent and they did put her in a leather cat suit.  

I guess I can suffer through that.

The new actor for Rhodes was good, but I find Rhodes a pretty flat character to begin with.  I also enjoy that the movie acknowledges the change, in a scene that lets us know we should just get over it.  

The villain, Whiplash, played by Mickey Rourke, was great.  He had a legitimate grudge, understandable motivations, and was a challenge worthy of a more experienced Iron Man.  Superman movies, are you listening?  Villains should be worth the hero’s time, and should have reasons for what they do.  

Fuck Movie Lex Luthor

I really enjoyed how unobtrusive the special effects were.  They served the story, and never went over the top for their own sake.  Big explosions weren’t Bay-esque, and a large effect always had an in movie reason.  

In fact, the movie had amazing verisimilitude.  It stayed true to its own reality, and anything that looked like a logic flaw had an explanation.  I’m not Kodie, and I can’t say if they were scientifically sound, but they were sound enough for a movie about an international playboy in a robot suit.  

The movie is fun, exciting, and well done. It’s an excellent continuation of a great story, and it’s worth your theatre money.  

Even if you have to wait longer than the English.  

Jerks

LOOK OUT A BEAR

LOOK OUT A BEAR!

Today at work, I got bored.  So I drew this bear.  Then I started sending it to people in emails that said things like “LEONARD LOOK OUT A BEAR!”

Then they would open it and see the bear.  Funny, no?

I want this thing to go viral.  So feel free to copy this bear, and send it to your friends, and warn them to look out.  It’s available above, or through my Deviant Art.  Trust me, everyone loves and fears this bear.

It’s under creative commons licence.  That means you can do whatever you want with it, as long as you don’t charge people.  So if you want to make it better, feel free.  If you want to make a T-Shirt, I’ve reserved those rights for the time being.

********************************************************

I love creative commons.  Since I put his up at midnight, Lina sent me this:

LOOK OUT A PANDA BEAR!

 

And Leonrd sent me this:

BEAR LOOKOUT A ROBOT!

Published in: on May 8, 2010 at 12:01 am  Comments (4)  
Tags: , , , , , , , ,

Oregon Miscellany

Portland from 30 Stories Up

Portland from 30 Stories Up

There are several Oregon items that don’t quite merit their own posts, but they’re good.  I’ll collect them all here:    

Micro-breweries: Apparently, Portland is the micro-brew capital of the world.  They have approximately 3 micro-breweries on each block.  Any beer which is bottled more than a dozen at a time is despised, and generally unavailable to prevent riot.  Instead, everywhere you go, someone offers you a beer you’ve never tried.  There are lots of good ones, but by Oregon law, you may never drink the same beer twice.  Ever.    

Wineries: As above, but with wine.  Also, I don’t really care about wine without a Stretch Hummer.    

The British and Rivers: Chris asked Gilly why the English were obsessed with finding the source of rivers.    

“What do you mean?” she asked, confused.    

“British people are always trying to find out where rivers come from.  Like where does the Nile start, or the beginning of the Amazon.  You’re all obsessed with it.”    

“Where did you get that idea?”    

“I’ve been reading books by an English author, and every one has finding the source of a river was a major plot point in each book.”    

“Maybe it’s just that writer.”    

“Maybe.”    

“I mean, I went to the source of the Thames, and it wasn’t impressive.”    

“See!  No one else would care!”    

We’re an All Natural Commune: Portland is a green city.  It’s good for the world, and the ease and access of bike trails and public transit are admirable.  Sometimes, they go a bit far.  Everything is all organic, done/made by hand, and locally produced, and it’s very important to the average Portlandian.  They seem to think the rest of the world is a poison cesspool full of robot created Chinese death.    

As I was leaving, Chris was worried that I didn’t bought any completely natural, handmade Portland goods.  I told him, “I think that’s more important if you’re from Portland.  Akiyo laughed so hard I thought she was going to burst a blood vessel.  I think she may be tired of hearing about the wonders of handmade organic Portland goods.    

Sales Tax: Oregon has no sales tax.  It’s the only thing anyone knows about the state up here in Canada.  Txt Girl, a cute girl who lives in Vancouver and texts between every heartbeat sent me three messages when she heard I was going.  Each expressed her jealousy that I could shop without paying sales tax.  People in Portland try to convince you you should buy an extra metric tonne of handmade organic goods because there’s no tax, and you could just ship it home.  They refuse to understand that the freight would be higher than G.S.T.    

Gilly’s Detective Skills: Gilly joined me on the couch as I was working on a blog.  Because the whole internet will see it later, I let her read over my shoulder.  She pointed to where I had written Gimtmbifhbsic.    

 

     

It looks like this in the Black Book

It looks like this in the Black Book

    

That’s not a word,” she told me.    

“You’re a great English Teacher.  It’s a code.”    

“Why are you writing in code?”    

“I’m not sure if I’m going to put it in.”    

“But why bother with code?”    

“So if you see it, you won’t know what it says.”    

“Are you worried I’ll be mad if you write ‘Gilly is mean to me, but I forgive her because she is cute’?”    

“…no.  And it’s not slander if it’s true.”    

Food Stands: On third and fifth street in downtown Portland, there are outdoor food stalls like the ones at Skidmore Market.  The food is great and inexpensive.  You have to try them if you get the chance.    

Powell’s:    

It's bigger than it looks

It's bigger than it looks

Powell’s is an enormous second-hand bookstore.  They have new titles as well, and they’re stored on the same shelves, so if there are no used copies you can still get the book.  It’s divided by the Dewey Decimal System, and I think it may be bigger than the University of Lethbridge library.  They certainly have more rare books.  It is several stories tall, and divided into sections like literature, genre fiction, true crime, travel, foreign language, and each ends up with its own room, large enough to be a lesser bookstore.    

When I see this, I hear Choirs of Angels...

When I see this, I hear Choirs of Angels...

Bookstores are fiscally dangerous for me.  It happens like this; I see things I want, I buy them, and I don’t worry about when I’ll actually have time to read them.  I tore through the building, abandoning Gilly in the first room.  When she caught up to me, 45 minutes later, I had shown great restraint.  I only had three books I had to buy.  There were eight more I was seriously considering.  They were the sort of strong maybes that would become yeses with just a little time.  Gilly had much stricter requirements.  She wanted something small (even by book standards) due to the weight restrictions on her luggage home, cheap as this was a used bookstore, and unique enough she might not find it somewhere else.  She needed more time.    

I realized I was about fifteen minutes from a euphoric bookstore breakdown.  This would have led me to drain my bank account and max out my credit card.  There was no tax, so I could just ship all those books home.  Before all logic drained from my brain, I bought the books under my arm and headed to the attached coffee shop.  I waited there, downing mochas for two hours while Gilly gave the store the attention it deserved.  I kept thinking I should get just one more book.    

Akiyo Plays Volleyball: In Japanese school, if you join a sports team, you spend hours each day playing that sport, a level of dedication reserved strictly for hockey in Canada.  Akiyo played volleyball from Junior High until she finished university, and we went to watch one of her community league games.    

Akiyo is sweet, energetic, friendly, and modest.  When she’s playing volleyball, she’s all those things and a force to be reckoned with.  She tends to call thing out in Japanese.  For example, when she serves, she yells “Hai!  Ippun!”  She can play any position, and play them well.  She was dominating the games we watched.  At one point, when she was serving, she scored ten consecutive points.  She would serve, and before you knew it, she was at the net, spiking the ball back with more force than she could have possibly contained.  She was everywhere at once, and the other team was terrified of her.    

Gilly Makes a Wish:  Gilly didn’t want to go back to work, and wished she didn’t have to fly back to the UK.  The next day, a volcano in Iceland exploded, interrupting all air travel to Great Britain.  The airlines lost over $200 million a day, and I encourage them to talk to Gilly about it, because correlation equals causation and this is her fault.    

A Ride in a Convertible: Chris’s care is a two-seater green convertible, which is cool but not practical when he, Gilly, and I need to go somewhere.  We kept walking or talking trains, but eventually we needed to drive somewhere and couldn’t find a larger car to borrow.  Chris informed us that there is a way to fit three.    

We pushed the passenger seat all the way back, and I sat there, being much bigger than Gilly.  She crawled in and sat on the floor between my legs.  Even though she’s tiny, it was a tight fit, with my legs squeezing her ribs.     

In order to avoid being pulled over, Chris decided to stay off the main roads.  The street we took had speed bumps.  Before we reached the first one, Gilly instructed “Make a cushion with your hands behind my head.  I don’t want to head butt you in the crotch.     

As I do, Chris informs us “Usually, the third sits facing the person in the seat.”    

I take a moment to think of how that would work, with Gilly’s face colliding with my business.  It is not an image of pain.  “You can turn around if you want,” I suggest, with my smirk in my voice.    

Just then, we hit a speed bump, and I catch the back of her head as it flies at me, too quick for comfort.  “You can move your hands, if you want.”    

Gimtmbifgbsic.    

Going Home: I decided “Fuck Bombardier Q400s” on the way home.  Alaska Air my charge $6 for a tiny bottle of vodka, but I wasn’t going to get pass-out drunk on beer.  I had to shell out.  I finished my first, and try to get my second.  Apparently, we were too close to descent, and the attendant wouldn’t bring me another.    

Sweet Escape

Sweet Escape

I grab a few quick drinks in Seattle, and formulate a plan for the next flight.  I slammed the first.  I figured if I went fast, I could get 3 down in an hour and not think about how much I hated the deathtrap around me.  You think the flight attendant got without shouting range at any time before we hit turbulence?  Because that would be a big no.  I think they were hiding from me.

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Is there a story about you and Joey you’d like to hear him tell?  Want to know his warped perception of some event?  Good news, he’ll take your requests, about that time you met, what he remembers about you, or that fucked up time in Cleveland that no one really wants to remember.  Send him a message through WordPress, Facebook, Twitter, or email and he’ll write it and let you know when it goes up.

Flying to Portland

Friday, 4:16 pm

I arrive at the Calgary International Airport.  If my passport can be trusted, and I’m reasonably certain that it can, it’s been exactly one year since I returned from my last visit to Japan, and it’s been too long.  Sure, I’m just going to Oregon.  I could drive there.  It’s just good to be getting out.  My boss, T1, had never seen me so excited at work.  I spent the whole day bouncing off the walls, singing, and being happy.  My traditional work mood is caustically sarcastic as I worry about the state of my soul, and she was worried I was drunk.  That’ll take more than the three beers I shot gun in the parking lot at lunch…

4:25 pm

I need to check in.  I’m flying Alaska Air, and I can’t find their counter or kiosk.  Everything is WestJet and Air Canada, and the few other companies in the terminal aren’t even close to what I’m looking for.  This is the first time I’ve booked through Expedia.  Most of my adult life, when someone else isn’t arranging my travel for me, I’ve gone through Shogo at Osaka #1 Travel.  Shogo liked major airlines, and he kept me on Air Nippo0n and Air Canada the vast majority of the time.  Maybe it was a Japanese thing, preferring the big brand names.  Now that I don’t live in Japan, I can’t book through him because I can’t pay him without a Japanese bank account.  A computer program that finds the cheapest flights is a poor substitute for his considerate attention.  I think I need to get a real travel agent again.

4:31

Using my detective skills and my willingness to just press buttons on a self-serve kiosk, I discover Alaska Air operates as Horizon Air.  Thanks for the info, Expedia.

4:33

I go to check my suitcase at the Horizon desk.  The guy tags it and points me to the U.S. customs part of the terminal.  I haven’t flown into the U.S. post 9-11, so I didn’t realize how intense the security had really gotten, or that they haven’t really relaxed.  No other country has the paranoia, the balls, or the international weight to make you clear customs pre-flight.  Normally, you do it when you land on their soil.  The U.S. has a walled off section in the Calgary International Airport, and I find it odd and a little insulting.

4:38 pm

I learn there are two types of US customs officials; those that have a desk between you and them, and those that don’t.  Non-deskers are friendly, happy people who make jokes and genuinely make you feel welcome, like most of the Americans I know.  Deskers hate you and your free-range roaming ways.  They are hoping you slip up.  They’re all “Why are you going to Portland?” “Who are you visiting?” “When were you last in Oregon?” “If you’ve never been, how do you know people in Oregon?”  Apparently, these people have never been eight feet away from their desks, and don’t understand how travel works.

4:41 pm

The Americans decide my bag is allowed into the States.  I’m still under consideration.

4:43 pm

I get in line to get in line for the metal detectors.  These are not fast lines, as we have to be careful.  What if I have over 100 ml of liquid in an opaque container?  Zounds!

4:51 pm

I reach the front of the pre-line.  A friendly moustachioed man reviews my boarding pass and asks me to step on a mat.  Nearby, a green arrow lights up, and I’m directed towards the line for a metal detector.  I wander what happens if you get the red arrow?  How does the mat decide?  Do I really want to know?

4:53 pm

My shoes?  We’re still taking off our shoes?  Have there really been shoe bombs?  Is this really a problem that requires continued consideration?  I quietly oblige.  I haven’t been out of Canada in a year, and I’m not waiting another year just because some idiot is afraid my Adidas can take down a jet.

4:56 pm

I get my shoes back.  I try not to look slighted.

5:01 pm

Though I haven’t eaten them in months, I remember hearing you can’t get dill pickle chips in the U.S. I therefore buy a bag.

5:02 pm

I realize a bag of chips won’t survive two flights, probably.  I determine the only responsible thing to do is eat the chips.  They are amazing.

5:38 pm

The Smallest Plane a man should fly on

The Smallest Plane a Man Shoud Fly On.

I don’t like small planes.  I avoid DC 10s whenever possible, and Shogo knew that.  I hate feeling the thing working.  A jumbo jet is like a floating mall, and I never remember that I’m trusting tonnes of metal not to fall out of the sky.  DC 10s wobble, and never let you forget that man is defying nature, at least for now.  I love travelling, but flying makes me nervous.  Planes are basically airborne robots, and I don’t know if you saw Terminator, but robots hate us and will someday rise up and annihilate us.  As long as the plane is big enough, I forget that fact too. 

I’d never seen a Bombardier Q400 before, and I wasn’t pleased.

A Tiny Plane of Death

A Tiny Plane of Death

5:41 pm

They aren’t hooking up the collar, that temporary walkway from the terminal to the plane.  The plane is too short.

5:42 pm

The gate attendant announces the planes overhead compartments are too small for almost anything.  Bags bigger than a laptop will be loaded below, and we will pick them up on the tarmac when we land in Seattle.  I remind myself that the flight is the shortest part of the trip.

5:46 pm

I walk down onto the tarmac, hand over my backpack, and get on the plane.  There’s barely three steps to get to the cabin.  I have to watch my head as I get inside.  The interior is like an elongated Greyhound bus; two seats on either side of a centre aisle, maybe twenty rows worth.

Not How Planes Sould Look Inside

Not How Planes Sould Look Inside

Shogo never would have let me get on this deathtrap.

5:48 pm

I find my seat.  On either side of me is a young man in a well cut business suit.  Both sit upright with their hands resting on their knees.  Their eyes are closed, like they are meditating.  I wonder if they share my fear of the Bombardier.

6:01 pm

The flight crew begins the safety instructions.  When they point out the plane has only one bathroom, I somehow manage to feel even less safe.

6:03 pm

The captain announces it will be 40° outside when we land in Seattle.  I think about global warming.

6:04 pm

It dawns on me that he meant Fahrenheit.

6:05 pm

I finish the math and realize that about 5°C

6:08 pm

The propellers spin up, and the well dressed man across the aisle concentrates harder.  (Yeah, this fucking thing has actually propellers) From the corner of my eye, I confirm the one by the window is doing the same.

6:09 pm

I begin to wonder if these two men are psychokinetically turning the propellers.  Does this tiny plan run on the power of the human mind? If so, why is that less terrifying to me?

6:10 pm

I wonder if the plane is making me crazy.

6:11 pm

I conclude I’m awakened to higher realities.  I wish the psychokinetics the best. Telepathically.

6:13 pm

We sit on the runway.  The psychokinetics are turning the propellers as hard as they can, but we aren’t moving.

6:14 pm

I consider helping them, using my own massive will, but I am wearing a hoodie and a Batman T-Shirt.  I’m not dressed appropriately to assist.

6:15 pm

I become impatient, and help despite my casual clothing.

6:16 pm

We achieve lift-off

6:18 pm

Having done something for four consecutive minutes, I lose interest and stop concentrating.  The plane banks to the left.  The psychokinetic on that side gives me a disgusting look.  I shrug.

6:27 pm

The drink service comes by.  The psychokinetic on the left gets a wine.  I consider asking him if that’s wise, considering his brain keeps us aloft, but decide he’s already mad enough at me.  I say nothing.  I mind my own beer and play Nintendo D.S.

6:00 pm

We change time zones.

6:12 pm

We begin our descent.  The left side is a bit shaky. I blame the wine, and begin to help using my mind, as before.  Drunkokinetic gives me another dirty look.

6:28 pm

We disembark.  I grab my bag from the landing attendants and rush to the terminal.  Who knows what a man who can power a jet engine with his mind might do to my head in a drunken fury?

6:48 pm

I get a burritos in the terminal.  It is as delicious as it is enormous.  God bless America’s obesity.

Thanks, Fatties!

Thanks, Fatties!

7:11 pm

I am unable to finish the burritos.  I am more proud of how far I’ve gotten than how much is left.

7:40 pm

After killing time in the mall that is the Seattle Airport, I board another stupidly small plane.

Seriously, Mall.

Seriously, Mall.

7:43 pm

Three minutes on the plane, and I still can’t spot the psychokinetics that will power this craft.

7:44 pm

Oh shit. Drunkokinetic just boarded the plane.

7:45 pm

Fuck, he’s coming right for me.

7:46 pm

Shitfuck, he has the seat beside me.

7:47 pm

Bastard-ass-cock-shitter-fuck, he asks me if Calgary’s home.  He remembers me.  I steel my mind, in case he tries to blow it up, Scanner’s style.

7:48 pm

He noticed I was writing in my Black Book on the last flight.  I am sufficiently vague about being a blogger, and do not let him see my entries, as I enjoy my currently unexploded head.

7:49 pm

Drunkokinetic turns out to have fascinating ideas about social networking, the internet zeitgeist, and the blogosphere.  While his buzzword vocabulary matches his well cut business suit, he is a fountain of insight.

8:55 pm

This flight passes quickly as I am engaged in the conversation.  Upon landing, I decide against giving him my website.  After all, if he takes offense, how close would he need to be to explode my head?  He found me once, he may track me down again.  I instead pleasantly part ways, brain completely in tact.

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Joey wants you to follow him on Twitter.