Those M&M’s have girth

Droopage. Girth. Tonight has been an evening of exploration.

“I have discovered the most amazing thing!” she exclaimed, eager to share her new discovery.

“As you know, we ran out of chocolate for our Smores, but…”. She hung onto her last words, looking us both in the eyes to ensure we were listening with rapt attention. “But… if you stuff the marshmallows with M&M’s and then roast them, you end up with a M&M infused Smore! Brilliant!”
Sandritia, having surprised us for a quick visit to Hornby Island on our holiday, was enjoying an evening campfire. Judging by her excitement, it had been awhile since her last campfire.

“What do you think!” she beamed. Like a new parent, she was looking for the accepting words that her newly created child was beautiful. And like the socially inept engineer-male I am, I decided to take this opportunity to tell it like it was. I looked over at her new creation of four marshmallows impaled on a stick, and studded with green and orange M&M’s, and simply answered “It has some good girth… “

Right behind me Logical Philosophette chimed in with a giggle, “…and droopage!”

Even through the glow of the fire embers, we could see both shock and disgust cross her face. “How can you have ‘girth’ and ‘droopage’ in the same sentence, describing the same thing at the same time? I mean, that’s just plain wrong.” She started shaking, the tip of the marshmallow stick exaggerating her movements. Hmm, nice fourier transformation of her movements to the tip of the stick I thought.

“Well technically it is both.” I stressed. “I am an engineer – don’t tell me what properties cannot co-exist. I mean, you rammed four marshmallows on the stick to roast, embedded another thirty or fourth M&M’s. I mean, once heated up gravity had to do something with all that weight.”

I was quickly rebuffed by the brilliant legal mind of Sandritia: “Girth brings visions of vigor. Droopage brings the reality of…well, reality. They can’t mix! It would be like Fabio hanging with the Golden Girls. Technically possible, but unimaginable!” she exclaimed, punctuating her words with her red hot marshmallow stick. It was, in her dictation style, technically a great use of a prop for her argument, but unimaginably inappropriate if she had meant to keep the seriousness of her appeal going.

And at that exact moment, gravity took hold and crossed the rubicon: The weight of the M&M’s pulled the warm marshmallow off the stick, the entire mass congealing onto the sandstone rocks surrounding the firepit. In an instant her prized delicacy had moved from Girth + Droopage, to Globular + Globular.

“Touché Counselor. Had you had one property of either Girth OR Droopage, you would still have a full stick. Now your stick is stuck with, well, I believe the scientific property you are looking for is ‘Globular’”

All I can say is thank goodness it was dark out as it allowed me to see and dodge the red hot stick being thrust in my direction.

The Short(s) Ambush (Part IV)

"Nice Pants"

Overheard as I walked by reception during my last visit to Sandritia's office.

I like my shorts. It's not that I like showing my cycling calves off, it's just that I like the cool breeze blowing gently across my thighs. Full disclosure: my roots are Scottish, so you derive what you want about me wearing a kilt in a gentle breeze. And to answer the question that you are most likely thinking of now - yes, I have worn a kilt before. And yes, I was wearing the appropriate attire beneath it, from the Scottish perspective. My mother was mortified, for that I am sure, but that is another long pandora's box of a story not to open today. Suffice to say a warm summer breeze is quite a different feeling than a cold air conditioner breeze.

During my last run-in with HOG, chronicled previously in part I, part II and part III, I felt as I had finally pulled enough stealth Mission Impossible stunts to know how to gain undetected entry into Sandritia's building. Undetected, as measured by my ability to breeze by reception without getting chased down the hall when I didn't stop for an ID check.

Today was the day to put "no-ID and run" plan into action. Or so I had hoped.

The timing: I arrived at the offices, running late due to a delay in my flight. Not even in the building, the weather had thrown my plans behind. Coming in late was a sure way to be noticed.

Bad weather and a late flight = Strike One.

The attire: I was planning on staying in Vancouver for a few days so opted to pack light. In fashion language this translated into me wearing my casual attire so I would not be required to lug my dress clothes around town for an extra 3 days. In my world, the definition of "casual dress" equates to wearing shorts, regardless of the weather.

Wearing shorts as to not blend in with the rest of the staff = Strike Two.

The locale: Unlike previous visits, I was not aware of the actual meeting location and thus came to the sudden realization that I was going to have to to ask HOG where I was going this morning. This realization happened in the elevator. Specifically as the elevator doors were opening on my destination floor.

Having this realization happen during the end of my elevator ride and having no time to improvise = Strike Three.

If was going to pull my entry off, I had to hope that the umpire didn't notice one of the strikes, but rather I could get away with a tipped ball.

The elevator pinged, and I exited, pivoting left and heading towards reception. Tipped ball. Tipped ball. Tipped ball. I kept repeating over and over in my head. Before I was even at the desk she looked at me and said with the universal commanding Head Office Gatekeeper tone "You're late Mr. Philosopher. Your meeting has already started."

I stood there and all I could hear was an umpire yelling "Strike Three! You're outta here!"

She pointed to her left. "Down the hall and into the conference room at the end. You are welcome to hang your coat up."

I was so shocked by HOG blitzing the field on me, I didn't even have a response. Thankful for the long meeting coming, I used the time to compose myself.On my way out of the meeting I asked HOG, "Did you get a heads up that I was coming?" I was hoping that if she had some advance warning of my arrival, I could at least feel better about being ambushed.

"Yep, about 30 minutes before you arrived."

Later that afternoon I rendezvoused Sandritia. "Hey LP, I heard from HOG you were already here! And wearing shorts too!"

"Heard from who? I thought you tipped her off about me coming?"

"No, not me. I also heard someone lost a bet that you wouldn't be wearing shorts."

"What? You mean to tell me that someone other than you let HOG know I was coming? And on top of that they independently had a bet on my shorts vs. pants attire?"

Sandritia started to protest and set her position relative to my ambush. "It wasn't me! Honest! They did it on their own! And for the record, I don't know who the 'they' is!"

This was a significant step for me. Now my reputation is starting to spread - without the aid of Sandritia. I am unsure if this is a step back or forwards. HOG's response to my arrival for my next meeting will be the indicator of direction.

Here's hoping I'm moving forward. Whatever direction I am going, at least I can rest easy that while I am standing there, I can still feel a cool, gentle breeze.

Old Flames

"Wasn't that TG? She was hot... and LP, you dated her!" JT exclaimed, motioning to me. While I normally would enjoy reminiscing about old flames to the guy - this was not the time to do it. Why? Unfortunately JT started this conversation while I was sitting beside my wife.

I am sure you all know what is coming next.

Logical Philosopher-ette looked at me, eyes opening up wide, and stated "TG, Who's that?!" I briefly had the 'deer caught in the headlights' look, but recovered from JT's fumble.

"Just a girl I dated in high school" I said, already on the defensive. Thanks JT, I thought, as I shot a look across the table at him.

"And JT - you knew her? I though she was the girl you dated when you lived up north?" Oh boy, I thought, they are bringing them all up now - and for what reason, apart from their enjoyment of watching me squirm?!

"Oh yeah," Sandritia helpfully chimed in. "Wasn't that the girl you cheated on with Logical Philosopher-ette when you were first dating?"

Hold up I thought. What exactly did I do to deserve this? Was the lull in the conversation a queue to dive into my past love life? I was being double teamed on my relationships of my youth, 10+ years after the fact. And, more to the point, why was it being done in front of my wife!?

As they looked to me for a reply - with my wife looking with eyebrows raised quite high - I realized this was a lose-lose situation, no matter my reply. So, like any oblivious male I opted to try to explain myself and opened my mouth.

"Well..." I cautiously started, "technically I was dating this, ahem, 'northern girl' first, and cheated on her with who is now my now lovely wife." After a long, and awkward pause, I foolishly continued to speak. "And since I married her, don't you think the whole cheating thing worked out for the good?"

After another, yet longer awkward pause, my wife slowly shook her head, noting to the group "I think he should have quit when you were ahead".

All I could think of was at exactly what point was I ever ahead in this conversation! Talk about a lose-lose scenario.

I am a Facebook Slut

“Dude, you should totally do it. Everyone is all over it.”

”That is so 2005. And besides, when I send you an invitation to Linked-in last year, you were all ‘Sorry, I don’t do social networking’ to me.”

“That was then. This is NOW. And besides, if you don’t sign up, then you’ll never be on the leading edge of what’s up with my life.”

My friend Eduardo convinced me to sign up for Facebook two weeks ago. Since then I have spent, er, more like wasted, an inordinate amount of time trying to boost my friends count and make it look like I really know more people than I actually do. In actual fact, that’s the main reason I haven’t posted for a week – I was busy making up profiles that were more entertaining than “went to high-school together”. I’m particularly proud of the one Rick Mercer approved with me.

I thought it would be all fun. Right after signing up I had that warm, happy feeling you can only get from a string of Matrix like one’s and zero’s. I was part of something – a network. But not any network – a network that I could control. I had the power to reconnect with old friends and lost loves, all while keeping up to date with the happenings of my current friends.

But what I hoped would happen, and what actually happened are two very different stories. Here’s how it went down:

Day 1
1:34 pm: After getting badgered for the last time vial email from Eduardo, I cave and sign up for Facebook. I promptly added him to my ‘friend request’ list.
2:20 pm: My email alert chimed and I had my first friend (Eduardo)
2:37 pm: Surf to my High School Grad group’s and write on their wall, saying Eduardo told me to
8:43 pm: Ping! Another email alert, this time I had received my second friend request from an old swooner – a mere 6 hours after I posted on my High School Group I wall. Keeping in mind this is 15 YEARS after I graduated I was instantly afraid. Very afraid.
8:49 pm: Sent a panicky email to Sandritia and Eudardo, explaining I had already been poked and befriended and was now afraid for my life.
9:12 pm: Sandritia calls me, in a fit of laugher, and signs up while she was on the phone with me. Her reasoning for doing it now when before she didn’t want to “I’m in it just to see how some online stalking is going to go down!”

After that, I should have seen the warning signs and quit where I was. But I didn’t. On Day 2 I got a phone call from my younger sister who wanted to know “Since when are you into Facebook?!?”

”You know me, leading edge and all.” I replied in my best web 2.0 voice. “More to the point, how do you know I’m on it?” I’m not sure if it was a good or bad sign that she avoided my question.

Day 3 came, and another ping for a new friend – this time from one of my sisters friends that I know.

With that, I realized I was faced with a social networking moral dilemma: If I befriend my sisters friends, am I a Facebook slut? Am I robbing the Facebook cradle? Later that evening I talked over this dilemma with Sandritia, which brought me no closer to my decision.

”I to, am in the same spot” she confided. “I mean, I only have five friends now, and that makes me feel so unpopular! In fact, I’m thinking of poking some of my brother’s friends, just to see if they will take me in.” She continued on, “And when I get really desperate, I’ll just mine my other friends friends list.”

“Well, you were no more help.”

“Can’t you see? I’m all about upping the count – Facebook slut or not, if you’ve got the numbers you’re in charge. It doesn’t matter where you got them from!”

“Man, this is like pregnancy – you’re either in or out. There is no halfway when you get a request. It’s either say OK or tell them to take a digital powder.” I sighed, knowing what I was about to do was probably the beginning of the end. “You’re right. Ok. I’m accepting the request now, before I can back out.”

So I did and upon accepting her request I began the slippery slope of being a Facebook slut.

And where does this leave me: A call for friends. Anyplace, anywhere, anytime. As long as it is still anonymous, I’ll be there for you. If you want to be my friend, post your profile link or email me and I’ll add you… but in doing so you agree to abide by the following rules:

Rule 1: What happens in Facebook, stays in Facebook
Rule 2: What happens in Logical Philosopher, says in Logical Philosopher
Rule 3: Do not compromise Rules 1 and 2 by cross-posting!

And right now, all I can think is “Man, I can’t believe I just wrote that post.”

That HOG is a secret weapon (part III)

To get the back story on my poor attempt at a covert entry into an urban legal fortress, see here for part I and part II.

Finally, after several visits I was sure I could enter undetected. I felt like a veteran cat burglar with my partner in crime, Eduardo.

Having schemed in the elevator, we both checked, making sure to get off at the 21st floor. During a previous visit my undetected entry was foiled by innocently getting off at the wrong floor. This time I would not repeat that sophomore mistake.

With one bag each we tried to look casual by slinging our backpacks over our shoulder and partaking in small talk as we exited. Bypassing the Head Office Gatekeeper (HOG) unnoticed was our goal. If we could make it through her and into the back, we were set.

As we rose up in the elevator we had one final pep talk, all focused on the mantra no stairs, no hesitation. "Ok, we need to exit and make a quick left, making a beeline for Sandritia's office" I said to Eduardo.

"And whatever happens, do NOT look back. Just keep going" he added with a curt nod.

Ping went the elevator doors, and we were out like a shot. We arrived in what I am sure was a record time from the elevator lobby to Sandritia's office... Breathing easier I turned to Eduardo. "I think we're safe. Good work." Not three seconds after I spoke Santritia's phone rang.

"Wait, I need to get this" our host said, turning to pickup her phone. "Hello?"

Turning back to me she nodded her head up and down, and broke out laughing. "It's HOG and she wants to know 'are they yours?'".

All I can say is, Man, she's good. I can see they don't dispense the HOG designation freely in this office. She has earned her title that keeps us all in our place.

With this particular HOG on duty, I'm starting to think this building is
invincible.

I'm scheduled to visit again next month. I'll see if I can put these latest lessons into a plan and get back to you on how it works.

Internal Stairs

Another visit to the 21st floor, but this time I vowed not to hesitate. Lost in my thoughts of evading reception, I heard a ping as the doors opened. I had not noticed the man behind me push the 20th floor button after I hit the 21st. That simple act of disassociation and ignorance from the acts of people around me set in motion the following event:

I stepped out and pivoted left as planned, but stopped as I became instantaneously disoriented. Things had changed! I paused, and glanced over my shoulder – no reception. I was safe. Or was I? Standing in the middle of an elevator lobby I looked up to see the sign noting the 20th floor. Crap, all this planning and I was on the wrong floor! I stood there thinking Did this ever happen to James Bond? What would 007 do? Adapt! Wait, I'm not 007. Panic!

Before my brain fully realized I should panic instead of adapting a tall brunette walked into the lobby, one hand full of briefs (the legal kind), the other with a tall Starbucks. I must have started to look disconcerted because she turned and looked me up and down then said with a concerned tone “you look like you’re looking for the 21st floor. I’m heading up, or you can take the stairs.” She motioned over to our right where a set of open stairs let upwards.

“Oh, thanks” I mumbled as I readjusted my knapsack, readying myself for a long flight of what looked like about 14 steps.

As the top of the steps was in the same proximity as the reception desk I was sure it would have been noticed if I made an unescorted break for Sandritia’s office. Being the polite Canadian I am, I dutifully checked in with reception. Besides, as I arrived on the 21st floor it was right beside the reception desk and both receptionists watched me ascend, looking at me like I was an obvious visitor. Who ever thought dressing like a writer, not a lawyer, would get me busted! Man, I thought, getting into this building is getting tougher by the visit.

As I checked in with the gatekeepers and took my seat I heard the elevator doors ping. As the doors opened I heard the sounds of a familiar voice chattering away – it was the Starbucks Brunette, from the 20th floor talking with another colleague. Boy, she wasn’t kidding when she said she was heading up – poor assumption on my part when I speculated it was more than 1 floor.

Later, when recounting the strange 1 floor jaunt up the elevator with Sandritia she let out a large gasp. “Nobody takes the internal stairs! Nobody!” she exclaimed, punctuating the final “Nobody” with a hand wave.

I now have clarity to my errors. Next time I know how to evade reception and not be pegged as a visitor. No hesitation AND no stairs.

Accidentally Outed

Today's post has been brought to you by my guest writer Sandritia. I don't have a Blogging Intern yet, but she's as close as I'm going to get right now...

It's been awhile since my last guest post (also my first guest post). Since that time I have had my office invaded and my favourite pastimes exploited with what can only be described as cavalier opportunism on the part of LP. I have however, been assigned my own blogger category and that is coooool. Or so I thought.

I must confess: having been in on LP's double life for some time, I became somewhat careless. I couldn't help but share his story about the Office Gatekeepers with the actual Office Gatekeepers. There are, afterall, so few that share their pain. These women are perpetually perky and pleasant at all times while also being real and sincere. In my opinion, they are the greatest reception staff on the planet. So I knew they would appreciate LP's humorous snapshot of something they deal with every day and I sent them the link. I didn't even think about it. The result was predictable. I could hear the laughter from down the hall and Head Office Gatekeeper made a point of telling me that the post totally made her day and more than that, she was going to stick it in her "funny file" for a pick me up whenever the mood strikes (at least now I know how they maintain the perpetual pleasantness). HOG (sorry for the acronym!) also mentioned how much she enjoyed LP's writing and that she had started reading some of the other posts.

Thinking I should pass along the accolades, I told LP later that night and his reaction was not quite what I expected and went something like this:

LP: You know, you have to be really careful about making the connection between a real person and the blog for outsiders.

Me: My code name is "Sandrita"… how careful have you been here?

LP: I'm just saying…. Think about how much you reveal about yourself once you lose the anonymity.

And then I did start to think about it. I went back to the site and examined the entries under my buzz word that I thought was so cool and my blog record revealed an entirely different snapshot of my existence:

I'm a procrastinator, upwardly mobile, ice-cream eating sexually experimental partier, who likes to write, and has colorful pastimes and colorful friends. And all this you can derive without even reading my many many comments littered throughout the blog.

Indeed, a portrait of Sandrita as viewed through the lens of LP paints a much more colorful character than I actually am. Remember people - he takes liberties with the writing. Of the snapshot painted above, I confess only to being an ice-cream eating procrastinator... he got that part right. Though I could be a little more careful about accidentally outing LP or anyone else referenced on his blog, perhaps I should just embrace the potential notoriety.

Mental note: must tell HOG about this post - she'll love it! .... oops, I did it again!

Editors Note: When Sandritia called to "discuss" with me that she felt she had been outed on my blog, and that she wrote a post about it, I felt she was bringing herself full circle to my first post: another quagmire. I, for sure, didn't out her on my own; I can only assume the visions of fame from being blogged about lead her to passing my blog name around. But if that's what it takes to bump up my readership, then look out Eduardo and JT, you're next.

I am the keymaster. Are you the gatekeeper?

"We're early," he noted. "Do you think she'd let us drop our stuff off?"

I paused, thought about it, then responded "Yeah, of course! Sandritia would love to have us drop 3 big bags of luggage in her uptown office while we run around town and she continues to toil for her clients!" And so off we went.

We arrived at her building and made the trek to the 21st floor. Stepping off the elevator we saw a long hall to our left, the path to the partners and associates offices. To our right was the receptionist, who looked up at the two of us with a "this way please" look.

"May I help you?" she inquired, looking us up and down. Travelling into town after a week of holiday Eduardo came with two bags of luggage. Travelling just for an overnight I came with one. Combined we probably looked like we were ready to check into the Hilton, but missed the building and showed up at her reception desk instead.

"Yes, we're here to see Sandritia" I said helpfully to the receptionist.
"She's expecting us." Eduardo chimed in, hoping to expedite the process.

She made a call, glancing up at us as she spoke into the phone in low murmurs. A few moments later Santritia appeared. "Hey guys!" she exclaimed, giving us each a hug. "Long time no see, come on down and see my office." Escorting us back down the left hallway, the receptionist disappeared from our sight. After dropping our luggage off for storage on top of a pile of briefs (legal, not fashion), we agreed we would return in a few hours when she was done working.

Soon, 5 o'clock came so we trekked back to Sandritia's building, once again heading for the 21st floor.

Ping! sounded the elevator as we arrived. Stepping out we looked to our left - towards Sandritia's office, and to the right, to the receptionist. Unspoken, but in unison, we turned to our left and quickly headed down the mini maze of assistant cubicles to Sandritia's office. Seeing us, she turned and gave us the 'just finishing up on the phone' sign, which gave Eduardo the opportunity to flirt with her assistant. "My friend is a writer," I heard him start with. It never fails, I thought, that LP can be used as the lead-in for getting a girls phone number. We shall see if it successful this time...

A few moments later Eduardo was interrupted mid sentence by a stern "A-hem!" Turning we saw the receptionist, having tracked our corporate B&E down. The gatekeeper had come, and we were without our Proton Pack.

We stood and faced her, a showdown of sorts, but only for a brief moment. Sandritia, oblivious to what was going had finished up on her call and popped her head out of the office. "Hey guys - come on in!"

I turned, flashed a smile at the receptionist, and then headed in. I think I hear her scowl back, which I confirmed when Sandritia quizzically asked "What was that about?"

Eduardo paused and thoughtfully noted. "She saw our weakness in the slight pause."

"What?" Sandritia looked back and forth at us, slightly confused.

"We hesitated...." I translated to her.

"... yeah, next time, exit and a quick step to the left." he finished with.

Our lesson today is that to get around the gatekeeper, it's the hesitation that will kill you, not the actual B&E... Louis Tully from Ghostbusters knows exactly what I am talking about...

The day a Pride Parade saved my blog post

The clock was blinking after midnight. It was well past the time I should have gone to bed yet I was up, blogging. With my brain trying to focus and my fingers barely typing another coherent post, I was trying desperately not to disappoint. It had been four days since my last post and with my blog hits rising, it was time for another new, riveting post.

Have I become a slave to the blog? Or is it still being created for it's original purpose, I thought. At that moment it felt like I was the slave.

Inspiration. You never know when it will hit, or in what form.

Then, I got my MSN nudge. Ping Ping! Ping Ping! And with the last ping, a dancing cow popped up. It was Sandritia, of guest post fame. With a flurry of fingers we both proceeded to play the instant message conversation game - one of us 3 or 4 lines ahead in the conversation, with the other trying to catchup in their responses.

With the time going well into the early morning, Sandritia readied to sign off. With one last ping of a dancing cow, she did add another line to her signoff... and thus I was hit wit my blogging inspiration. Pride Parade. Rainbow Speedo. Breakfast. Like a fat kid on a smartie, I was all over this for a posting.

I honestly tried to rewrite the conversation, but after many tries I kept coming back to the original text. After reading I am sure you will understand why. Like fine literature, some text is best appreciated in it's original form.

Sandritia says: ok gotta go get me some sleep...
Sandritia says: as should you
Sandritia says: i'm at the pride parade tomorrow

Logical Philo says: Ok. Was up doing a blog post, so need to get back to it.

Sandritia says: always fun

Logical Philo says: Woah, what? Pride parade? Did you switch teams when I wasn't looking?

Sandritia says: we'll play the count the bare breasts game
Sandritia says: always good for a free frapuccino

I sat and looked at that last line thinking, hmmm, last time I counted bare breasts I didn't get a free frapuccino. In fact, I had to pay for the round of beers. Maybe she has some tips I should get from her...

Logical Philo says: I'm sensing blogging material... ready up a guest post for me!

Sandritia says: ah yes... will bring a notebook just in case

Logical Philo says: Ok. later.

At this point I was ready to go, but Sandritia was apparently not. She started to type so fast, her messages were coming out in small, rapid fire portions. I was, in response to her lines of text on the floor laughing.

Sandritia says: too bad you weren't here
Sandritia says: i remember last year
Sandritia says: having breakfast on davie street the morning after pride

Logical Philo says: too bad I wasn't there because you miss me in general, or because you'd miss me at the pride parade?
Logical Philo says: I'm copying this text for the blog...

Sandritia says: and there was a guy outside the window in a rainbow speedo
Sandritia says: and nothing else
Sandritia says: and I felt compelled to yell from
Sandritia says: my table inside the restaurant....
Sandritia says: pride is OVER!!!
Sandritia says: you just can't get away with that the day after pride
Sandritia says: i think you would enjoy the parade

Logical Philo says: let me know how the yelling turns out this year.

Sandritia says: 10-4

Logical Philo says: Oh, that was yelling at breakfast, not the breast counting game.

Freed from the slavery of having to write without inspiration, I rewrote my post. This post. Now I am content.

Inspiration. Coming from the most unlikely sources, it reminds me of why I started blogging. Thank goodness for library visits, bus rides, family and friends, otherwise I really wouldn't have much to write about. Funny things happen in all of our lives, I just happen to write them down...

True Colors - An Unexpected Part 2

I thought it was over. I'd blogged and moved on. I was wrong.
Damn internet searches... they suck me back in every time.

I recently wrote a post entitled True Colors of the Rainbow, where I hit the highlights of the Gay community's hanky code. It was discovered by a serendipitous encounter - the story related to me by someone else of course. But just when you thought it was time to put your mind back into the closet - wham! - blindsided by internet search results again! Oh the vanity of Statcounter...

You know what search engine result popped up no less than 3 times in the past week: handkerchief colors meanings on msn - One should note I come up as result #9.

That tells me three distinct things:

1. If I blog about gay lifestyle more often, my hits will increase. I'm sitting here thinking Is this what they mean by "good" publicity or "bad" publicity? I'm sure my wife has some commentary on which side it falls to.
   
2. Handkerchief symbolism is still vibrantly alive - which is at glaring odds to Grey Guy's comment on my post, which said "Take it from a gay guy, that hankie code thing is so 1991!".
   
3. I've moved along from Ikea Cinnamon bun searches, as I wrote about last time. Again I ponder the phrase "Have I gone far, or am I just now far gone?"

Truth be known I was really more concerned by the fact that I was blogging about something so 1991. Whew. Crisis averted - and a colored handkerchief search. Who would have thought.

The How to Of Guest Posting

“It’s more complex than it looks.... It’s not just all thrusting and plunging you know. It takes technique.”

I sat there watching him, wondering if he was talking about accessing our favourite guilty treat (cactus cut dip) with the cactus cut fry or the art of blogging. For a long time I have had a standing invitation from the Logical Philosopher himself, a.k.a. "LP", to give blogging a try via a guest post. I never really had the wherewithal to take him up on it before as I was still quite fragile from my last serious encounter with his blog but he told me he would give me some tips during dinner out one night and tip he did. He tipped me at least but our server not so much… here’s how our tip session went:

LP: First, you need a good starting line. Reel ‘em in.

Server: Can I get you something to drink?

LP: Coke please

Server: Pepsi OK? ….

I’ve known LP a long time. Like since the days when he had to beat them off with a duotang when all the swooners came hunting for a grad date. Oh there were swooners. In all that time, Pepsi has never been OK. I look at him, I look at our poor server and think – she has no idea what’s coming.

LP: Pepsi’s got no bite.

Server: Sure Pepsi’s got bite.

LP: Pepsi’s bite is like a chiouah lounging on a beach. Fine bring me a Pepsi – but for the love of Paris Hilton please bring a wedge of lime. And if I don’t like it, can I send it back? [then to me] Be yourself. Tell your stories.

Our dinner came along with the offending Pepsi and wedge of lime. We talked about being real. Carrying a theme. Taking liberties with the facts for the sake of a good story. LP was having a beef dip, me the standard stromboli sandwich. LP looks at his beef dip.

LP: This beef dip. It’s a lot of beef.

One of the things I love about LP is his uncanny willingness to say out loud the thoughts that most of us keep to ourselves. No sensor there. No vetting. You get what you get. And via his blog – we all get a bit of that refreshing honesty. Meanwhile, I think to myself “didn’t he say he had a smokie for lunch?”

Server: How is everything. Can I get you a refill of Pepsi?

LP: [He looks at his glass which is still 2/3 full] It lacks bite.

Server: Would you prefer root beer?

LP: [shaking his head as she walks away] She’s missing the point.

I couldn’t write notes in my little book fast enough. I had picked up my pen when I heard the word “refill”. Our dinner continued. Me gleaning what wisdom I could from LP though I was getting the idea that a good blog was as much about good writing as it was about a good personality. Unshaken, our server approached the table with the bill in hand. She looks LP squarely in the eye and delivers the final pre-tip blow.

Server: I actually can’t stand Coke myself. Have a nice night!

Indeed! I hope there’s a tip pool.

*Editors note: I remember Sandritia writing things down that evening during dinner, giggling to herself everytime I seemed to speak. Or maybe I did speak, turing my "inside voice" to the usual "outside voice". Note to self: Learn to mutter quietly to myself instead. All I can say is Thank God she didn't talk about the bike store incident that preceded dinner...

That thumping is thumping

Last weekend I headed into Vancouver to enjoy the festivities of Easter. A weekend of Church, chocolate and re-confirming the results of my 1st annual cinnamon bun tour; All I can say is that their was much rejoicing... (some of it happened at Church too).

But Easter can wait! I heard the little voices on my shoulder say. At lunch I had surreptitiously loaded the kids up with chocolate, known full well they were staying at their grandparents place that evening. Payback time! I thought, Our turn to wind them up and leave!

With the kids staying at their grandparents I mentally readied for a monumental night of partying out on the town. After a great dinner out somewhere on famed Robson Street I headed to bed to sleep, or so I thought. Unfortunately my sleep was nowhere near the childless tranquility I had envisioned - I was constantly jolted awake from the incessant noise of a party downstairs from us. Crying, sootherless wails had been replaced that evening with thumping music and laughter interspersed with screams of joy, all echoing up into the courtyard. I finally dozed off around 1am, sleeping lightly as I subconsiously tossed and turned to the thumping beat. Around 3am my wife came into the room.

"You asleep?" she whispered.

"Mmmmn...what time is it?" I croaked, keeping my eyes closed but sticking my head out from underneath the multitude of pillows.

"Three eighteen...we've been up chatting." she replied, referring to Sandritia, our host for the evening. "You get any sleep?"

"Not really, the thumping music is too loud."

As if on cue Sandritia stuck her head in "Nope, that's not music...that on and off thumping is...well..thumping, if you get my drift?"

"Until 3am? It's been going on since 10pm!" I'm not sure if I was jealous or upset they kept me from my slumber.

"Maybe we should go down and join the party?" one of the girls suggested. I'm pretty sure it wasn't my wife...but I was in a dazed and dreamy state.

"Mmmm, only 50/50 chance it's actually thumping." I noted, sitting up and straining to hear the sounds more clearly.

"Well, those are still pretty good odds!" my wife quipped, turning to our host.

"You're right, I'll go get the ice-cream and some spoons to go!" our host quickly replied, the words trailing her into the kitchen.

Fake Traffic and self-important business cards

I ran into an old "acquaintance" this week that I had not seen for about 12 years. We briefly spoke, politely asking about each others kids and current state of life. Then he gave me a business card and said "Keep in touch!"

WTF? After 12 years that's the best you can do? What's the point of that? Why not just say the truth - "see you in another 12, assuming the law of averages works and we randomly cross paths again." In retrospect I think he was trying to impress me with his job title. Good thing I told him I didn't have a card to trade, even though I didn't bother to look to see if I did.

It reminded me of a blog post at Gaping Void that I read back in January:

Most bloggers are assholes, we just pretend to like each other because it's good for traffic.

<start blogging plug> Well said Gaping Void! They have lots of other good things at their site, don't forget to check them out!!! <.end blogging plug>

Putting these 2 together I think I am going to try a social experiment: I'm going to get a bunch of Logical Philosopher business cards printed up with a really important title and start handing them out downtown to all old "acquaintances" I can possibly track down. I will attempt to dupe them with inflated self importance with my firm, SPERTA Management Consulting.

Any takers on joining the experimental firm? I'm going to get business cards printed next week. And yes Sandritia, you will get automatic partner status.

As Napoleon Dynamite would say, this is going to be SWEEET!

The quagmire of the 598

In a perfect world I would be a student forever. Yes, the pay isn’t great but I love the hours, the freedom of choosing my knowledge intake for the semester, compounded by the reality that I get to learn and create cool stuff almost every day. In fact every time, almost without fail, when I go onto campus I get that feeling like it’s Christmas day and there’s a boat load of presents under the tree just waiting for me. I was on campus last week and got that very feeling…tingly all over.

Why are there people like me that actually enjoy grad school? Well consider this - the utopian academic environment is neatly sliced into 13 week segments with at least 3 weeks of holiday before starting all over again. This gives ample free time to hang with friends and other students while consistently indulging in Starbucks in a bohemian style fashion. How cool is that.

However, as we move from student life to professional life, things change. We move to the realization of being gainfully employed by “the man” and actually having to be at work from 9 to 5 every day. No more “cutting work” if we are up too late having a good time and, my personal disappointment, no more hypothetical and esoteric discussions in a clean, quasi-orgasmic intellectual environment on how we would solve the world’s problem of the day. I always enjoyed solving a complex business problem and presenting it in four neat slides to the class – without actually having to implement the plan. In real life the plan’s good, but those details will kill you. Yes, there is a reason I took 18 months longer than the rest of my class to graduate.

And just so you didn’t think I’m the only person dragging out things, I give you with a story of my friend Sandrita. Starting another graduate program similar to mine Sandrita was also required to do a final thesis – but the catch here is that I stated my program 2 years after her and Sandrita had all her coursework done by the time I started, leaving only her thesis to complete.

“Do you know how much your paper is stressing me out?” her father used to say as she would come home on the weekends where a considerable effort was put into her moving her research forward. "Stressing you out? What about me!" was the usual reply.

Yes, she worked full time, but so did I so there was no excuse she could have on me. Four long years later I stand graduated whereas Sandrita, still is no closer to her goal. I also had 2 kids while doing my school, and her none.

So far Logical Philosopher = 2, Sandrita= big fat zero.

The somewhat funny part is that her research paper was (is?) a study on a school program and a few months ago we were discussing that she was in the perfect position to do a longitudinal study on her topic and hit the deadline to defend. “Great,” was her reply “the only issue is that the program has actually closed down!”. Whoops…I guess researching the effectiveness of a program that you know closes down kinda kills the punch-line at your defense. And despite the fact that her advisor actually published an ENTIRE BOOK in the time she has been working on her topic, she still says she will finish it.

So where does this leave me? I graduated this month, after prolonging my thesis 18 months past the finish date of the rest of my classmates. Although I had the excuse of working full time, there were other ulterior motives such as more tax deductions, a free bus pass and the ability to keep doing research on my topic, which I actually enjoyed. However, right now I am on a leave from work for at least another 4 months, and having graduated I find myself caught between the semi-professional and student lifestyle – like the freedom do continue my research but without the financial tenure and prestige of an endowment chair.

So what will I do? Well, blog of course. This is my once in a lifetime sabbatical so I hope you enjoy it. Maybe if I blog enough coherent and innovative thoughts, Sandrita can compile it and do an analysis of them for her thesis.

What do you say Sandrita?