Faster Than a Hobo Can Hand-Roll a Few Discarded Butts Into a Smokable Cigarette

Ye Olde Traff-O-Matic Detector

Of course people you must know that all too often the things that happen in our lives aren't always quite what they seem to be from a first glance. The so called "conspiracy theorists" and their "tinfoil hat-wearing" believers are sometimes proven to be correct in the end... after the truth finally comes out in the wash. Sometimes, the great leaders of men around the globe really are engaged in some hidden, diabolical agenda who would love nothing more than to see you  squirming helplessly under their thumbs.

Just now, I learned from the radio that the world price for gold has risen yet again, this time by ten bucks or so, to $1626.90 / ounce. While I'm hardly qualified to even try to forecast what this could possibly mean for the average working slob, other than being an average working slob myself, I think it safe to presume that gold's fervor probably won't mean the price of an ice cream cone will be coming down anytime soon. I've heard some pinstripes suggest that a similar unprecedented rise in the Pound Sterling may soon trail it's cousin in the periodic table due to their natural and historic ratios and whatnot.

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I had overheard the cackling crew partying behind the bins at the outdoor recyclables depot earlier in the afternoon, and the hootin' hobos were still hollering by the time I went out for my evening walk after the nightly downpour I've now come to half expect from this summer in Edmonton.

When people tell me that they're non-judgmental, I can hardly stop myself from laughing. Everyone's judgmental to some degree, especially when they meet someone for the first time. This, as we know, is often referred to as a first impression.

As I'm sure I need not point out, Dear Reader, a first impression is something formed out of our learned stereotypes; elementary notions we then qualify or reject against certain experiential indicators. How is this person is dressed? How does their physical countenance measure-up? What sorts of behaviours are they exhibiting? What sorts of things are they saying, and how are they responding to my personal inquiries? One should keep in mind that a first impression is only as good as the person forming it. While some folks can be quite impressive in their ability to make accurate predictions about others, most of us should probably know that people can always surprise us by their actions or experiences.

Being a dab hand at sizing people up faster than a hobo can hand roll a few discarded butts into a smokable cigarette, I was not in the least surprised by what was about to come my way. Barreling toward me from across the street after bursting from the hedgerows surrounding the recycling depot (really just two rows of categorized dumpsters with a lane-way between for vehicles) was this rotund, middle-aged woman, dressed mostly in black, and carrying a purse. Her attire was relatively clean, and more suited to a job interview than a bush party. Her dangling earrings would suggest to me that she was probably out looking to get shagged...

"Excuse me! Excuse me, Sir!" she was shouting in my direction as I languidly walked by with my dogs, quite effectively interrupting my moment of serenity with my K-9 cohorts. Using my extraordinary powers of perception, I almost immediately ascertained that she was both reckless and intoxicated. Reckless because she was almost staggering as she crossed the street diagonally toward me, instead of using the marked intersection only a few steps away, and intoxicated, I presume, because she was emerging from an impromptu gathering of local homeless folk that had been carrying on a malt liquor party for at least several hours.

As she got closer to me and the doggies, she asked me to call her a cab.

"Okay... you're a cab!", I provoked.

"No, no..." she plunged her fat, clumsy finger into the palm of her other hand as though to indicate dialing a number. It's doubtful whether she could have even dialed something as simple as 911 in her current state.

"No, no! Kin you PHONE me a caaahb? A tax-eee!", she whiningly burbled.

"I'm afraid I cannot, Miss, for you see, I have not a mobile phone in my possession," I responded truthfully.

"Well den, how fahr is your plaaaace?" she ruefully inquired.

"Oh, I live on the other side of the river," I lied.

"Kin I walk wit you den?"

Why me? Why this wretched looking gaudy old woman and not some gorgeous young lady with a vocabulary that spans more than an inflection beyond the monosyllabic?

I'd like to point out that even if I did happen to have a cell phone, you can bet that I wouldn't be using it to call this hapless woman a taxi unless she could first demonstrate to my satisfaction that she had enough money to pay the driver the fare. Whenever I call a taxi from my land-line at home, they show up like Johnny on the spot because they know they can expect at least a modest tip from the likes of my friends and I. Enough fruitless calls from a telephone number to pick-up undesirables and it won't be long before your digits are blacklisted by the company's dispatch. Once upon a time I used to drive taxi myself, and nothing would make my blood boil like a fare dodger who not only wastes my time, but also my motor fuel.

Anyway, the poor woman was quickly losing her battle against gravity and managed to almost gracefully collapse under an old tree after no more than a few dozen steps along my route. Her glasses were coming apart, and her incoherence was beginning to mildly irritate me.

I suggested a pay-phone a few blocks away, but all she could seem to do was to uselessly fiddle with the broken arm of her designer eye wear. A feeble-looking exercise it was. It was as though this woman was thinking that the snapped-off arm of her glasses would somehow magically reattach itself to the edge of the specs... if she only believed strongly enough.

As irksome as I was finding this whole unwanted encounter to be, I'm not an entirely heartless bloke, and I feel a certain responsibility to strive to be more compassionate and to do whatever I can to be a good citizen. Obviously, just ignoring her wasn't an option. As ill-prepared and irresponsible as she seemed to be, this woman is probably someone's mother, or even grandmother. Perhaps her decision to engage in an impromptu drink-up with the downtown riffraff was just a one-off; she certainly didn't strike me as being especially mean or vindictive, but as I said, people can surprise you for better and for worse. Having noticed a few youngsters smoking weed or something on the park benches nearby, I approached.

"I was wondering if any of you might have a mobile phone to call this woman a cab," I suggested, "she seems a little pissed-up, and she tells me that her phone's out of juice. Can you help?"

That's right. She told me her cell phone "died." As I've frequently pointed out in this blog, I've never had a cell phone in my life. No sympathy here. at least on that front. If I can live without a mobile phone, so can just about anyone.  Nothing against people who use iPHONES or Nokias or the likes, Me, I'd just rather not feeling at though I need to depend on having one of these insidious devices at all. Having a mobile computer phone should just be a little bonus tool in my books, or for emergencies. Videotaping police brutality and whatnot. Not the seeming necessity it seems to be for so many. I think that for me, a cell phone would end up becoming more of an irritant than anything.. always ringing.

I do, however, have a little video camera that I sometimes bring out with me on walks, and I always make sure to account for its battery life. Ladies and Gents, when it comes to your cellulars- when you're out partying on the town, maybe it's not the best idea to spend two hours talking cosmetics with cousin Rita, and using up valuable minutes while you wait for service at some restaurant that would rather not have you there in the first place? Unless you have a cord and somewhere to plug your little telecommunication lifeline in for a recharge, save those minutes for when you really need them! That would be my advice. 

Anyhow, one of the fellows I approached for help in the park then borrowed his companion's cell phone and went to attend to the many needs of this heap of a woman. With that, my conscious was clean. I effectively passed the buck and thus freed myself to carry on with my business of self-reflection and walking the dogs.

Please keep in mind, Dear Reader, that in no way am I attempting to convey any sense superiority here; be it moral, ethical, or otherwise. Lord knows I've made some incredibly stupid and impulsive decisions over the years. I really hope I'm not sounding like too much of a jerk, but the thing  that gets me with this story is mostly the question of Miss "Bush Party's" age. She was being slightly aggressive and overly familiar with me. Did not this drunken "Lady Na Na", as it were, demonstrate a highly serious lack of foresight in arranging for her own transport? Especially when taking into consideration how old she is? I mean, seriously, she's no longer a sixteen year-old during a high school dance here.

This strange woman: asked me where I live within the first twenty seconds of speaking with her, and seemed to covet my two dogs... fair enough. She spent her afternoon getting drunk, and had a half-baked story about her backpack being at one of the local casinos. Hey, I've done sort-of similar things when I'm punched-out on the liquor, things I'm sure my friends wouldn't contest. In the first ninety seconds of meeting her for the first time, this woman made the presumption that I carried a cell phone, asked where I live, and wanted to walk with me? How dare she?

"Sure. I don't see why not," I said. She didn't see me roll my eyes!

I wasn't too worried about feeding her or anything, because she most certainly wasn't emaciated or without some kind of means... judging by the size of her purse. Quite to the contrary, she looked to me as though she might have been struggling for some time with a serious addiction to the KFC. KFC addiction can happen to just about anyone... especially good KFC. Mmmmm. She told me she was from outside of town.

All that mean and cruel stuff being said, she is of course a cherished fellow human being with hopes and problems like anyone else, but I've got my own worries, lady. More and more I tend to see the value in erring on the side of caution when  it comes to strangers in this city. I didn't get a very good first impression of this cow, and figured that the darn hussy can sleep it off under a pine tree for all I care! It's not like it's winter and the ground is frozen! Surely this wasn't the first time she's had to con her way out of trouble! Casinos & book-bags, oh my!

Of course in the end, I hope she's no worse for wear, and that also she made it home alright, but lady... think next time!

     

 

Alberta Mounties won't be charged in fatal shooting

A disturbing tragedy to be sure. Justice prevails, and so I'd offer congratulations to the Royal Mounties involved here. 

Lives lost violently really put an indelible blemish on the whole idea behind building vibrant neighbourhoods. Very saddening, this whole suicide by cop idea... One might pause for wonder about just how wrong things can seem to be in one's life to consider such a violent end for oneself, as this seems to be the case here? Will we ever get the wild out of the west?

I'm glad these Mounties aren't having to be taken away from their loved ones over what must have been a very harrowing situation for nearly anyone, I'd imagine, and I would offer my condolences to the victims friends and family of the deceased.

Otherwise, have a great night, folks, and keep informed and concerned about the ones that you love. Over and out.

New Horizons in Commercial Aviation: Introducing "Northeastwest Jet" Airlines

Although hopefully I speak too soon, this piece you're hopefully about to read could potentially be the last entry you see from Understudios for some time to come. The momentous cyber-wave I've been surfing my ideas atop for the last few years (high speed internet through my telephone line) might soon be crashing into the silicone shores. It's nothing I haven't been prepared for, however, as I tend to fly through life by the seat of my pants anyhow, but I did receive some 'important' automated message from my Internet service provider captured faithfully by my digital answering machine. Given my outright negligence toward any mail with little address windows on the envelope lately, I don't imagine it's a happy message, and in terms of my having 24/7 high speed internet access from the comfort of home, the future isn't looking all that friendly, eh Telus?

 Being that I rarely watch cable TV programs, I'm not familiar with very much of the consumer advertising coming down the pipe. I am however exposed to a few advertisers each Sunday when I watch Coronation Street on the CBC website; namely GMC, Charmin, IBM, West Jet, and the Telus ad with the cute little cat playfully swatting at bouncing, whirling graphics. I'd sure like a cat like that, but you can keep your complimentary X-Box. I have enough distractions in my life without the lure of a game station lying around, let me assure you Dear Reader.

West Jet seems to be in damage control mode after some bad press concerning an elderly woman who was refused access to a much needed oxygen tank which was cordoned in the cargo section of the plane, presumably due to the back-up canister's not having it's own regulator attached.

"So we said, 'Well, she has to have oxygen. What are we going to do?' I said, 'Will you let us get off the plane and exchange tanks?' Well no, they wouldn't let me do that," said the woman's daughter, who'd accompanied her on what must've seemed, from their perspective, an absolute nightmare. How much trouble could it have been, really? Even if it meant temporarily unloading half of the cargo onto the tarmac to accommodate this emphysematous woman's need to breath, could such an unplanned logistical feat have taken more than seventy minutes worth of man-hours to get at the thing?

I'm sure anyone who's flown before would be at least somewhat wise to anticipate for potential delays in the world of commercial aviation. Surely seventy minutes and a few hundred bucks to ensure all your passengers are at least breathing easy seems a small price to pay- especially for a company the size of West Jet. I wouldn't personally even bother flying commercially these days... you'll not see me on any commercial plane again until they stop groping and allow smoking!

If it were me on a flight accompanying MY Mom, I'd have to do something rash in order to stop myself from strangling these deferential bozos who would dare  act as gate keepers between my Mom' and her medical lifeline. Indeed, short of cutting-off their oxygen supply with my bare hands to see how they liked it, I would've said something like, “Well fine! I'll just use West Jet's oxygen then,” before summarily pulling the emergency kit from above to administer some urgently needed breathing assistance for my Mom. I would've then followed up with a very loud, “Where's the compassion people? My Mom's dying here, and these stupid ice queens are uniformly refusing to help us!”

West Jet. With the passage of this incident they have gone, in my estimation, from being the corporate underdog darling or aviation, to micro-managed laughing stock... especially after they decided to release a new series of ads which blatantly attempts to polish the optics of their public image to a squeaky-clean luster. I cannot help but imagine you've already chanced upon these advertisements, Dear Reader, presuming of course that you watch television in the first place. I'm not big on cable TV unless you count the mini-series “Breaking Bad”, or a live sporting match, but I do consider myself to be somewhat of an outspoken critic and aspiring screen-writer. 

Thus, I present to you, dear reader, my very own rendering of the "Northeastwest Jet" employee, who by default, also happens to be part owner of this proud company- as is always emphasized and reiterated by their commercial shtick department:

NEW HORIZONS 

IN COMMERCIAL AVIATION: 

Introducing 

"Northeastwest Jet" Airlines LLC.

 

At one of many busy airport concourse kiosks?

Scene 1

CUSTOMER: (Holding Oxygen Cannister.) Excuse me kind sir, but my Mother and I are en route to Vancouver and her canister expired, so she desperately needs some oxygen back in her breathing tubes for the remainder of our air travel. Her secondary canister happens to be in the airplanes cargo hold so I was wondering if you could tell me if this airport happens to have a facility on-site where she might possibly refill her oxygen canister during our stop-over here in...

AIRPORT SERVICES KIOSK ATTENDEE: You're flying with Northeastwest Jet, aren't you? They refused to help you didn't they? Of course we have medical grade oxygen here! How do you think we refill the emergency oxygen supplies on the aircraft? Don't worry, we'll get that bottle refilled pronto! (Receives Oxygen cannister and immediately hands it to a ready associate.)

CUSTOMER: Oh thank you so much! Of course we'll be better prepared next time, and get a second regulator for the back-up tank. I'm sorry we've inconvenienced everyone with this delay, but my dear old Mom's fading fast, and needs help right away! Mom's really old and becoming more feeble each year, and the Northeastwest Jet crew just seemed too preoccupied to do anything to help us.


Scene 2

KIOSK ATTENDEE: Don't worry, it's already filled and on it's way... it's nothing at all. We hear these stories ALL the time from the Northeastwest Jet Set. I guess being part owners of the company they're all too worried about their dividends to focus on the origin of their bread and butter. Or maybe they're off fixing some rich hussy's flat tire in the parkade.

ELDERLY WOMAN (Short of breath.): Thank you young man, but I feel you're being a wee bit too pragmatic on account of my experience with those Northeastwest Jet staffers... from what I've just seen, those flight attendants are just plain fuckers! All it ever seems they're ever doing on the flight is fucking around... people pay good money to fly, and in my day, we treated the elderly with dignity, I'll tell the cock-eyed son's of heathens...(Trailing off.)




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Alex Jones, The CBC, The Hound of the Baskervilles, and Babylon Revisted

Par for the course, I'm once again late for my self-imposed deadline in providing you, dear reader, with yet another update in this ongoing saga of attempting to impress my current state of mind upon the general reading public; to an ever wider audience of whom you, dear reader, I should now like to thank for being a part of. Please do bear in mind that moremoreenough is but a labour of love- an outlet to satisfy the gripping urgency to share the most profound, the most profane, and the most mundane thoughts in my shamefully abused brain. Also, my horoscope for this week stressed the importance of my Aquarius self to do stuff like blogging and sharing... 



As promised in the previous article, I will share some of my favorite places on Web and other favorite things:


Literature
The other day I picked up a paperback copy of Arthur Conan Doyle's "The Hound Of The Baskervilles", a novel mystery in which the extraordinarily clever deductions of Doyle's immaculate detective, the unwavering Sherlock Holmes, are tantalizingly revealed through the narratives of his ever loyal and most determined sidekick, the most capable Dr. Watson. I'm now at least two dozen pages into this gripping mystery novel before having finished reading my other current cracked spine, F. Scott Fitzgerald's "Babylon Revisited". I found both of these titles at Edmonton's Wee Book Inn on Jasper Avenue.



So there you are folks, I have a thing for modern classics, and while I'm hardly an avid purveyor of literature in general, I do like to read a passage or two here and there... I like reading outside, preferably while sitting on a bench in one of the many local parks with their flowery fragrances, historic monuments, pinkish paving stones, and often with two of my best pals in tow.



Websites

Being a Canadian, I may as well take advantage of our taxpayer funded news website, www.cbc.ca; a convenient way to get my regional news of the day or watch episodes of Coronation Street as I do each Sunday. So often "oh-so" sensationilstic, and chalk full of hard-hitting non-news stories, the CBC news coverage is quite often inappropriately sketchy, and I think, more often than not, their reports are merely regurgitated stories from outside competing sources.

A Canadian institution, the CBC where I get MY scoop on "only what matters to me." Traditionally a marxist hotbed that panders to the Liberal Party of Canada, the opinions of many of those expressed by it's membership - the online peanut gallery, (those who actually consider the CBC to be a highly credible news source) are the types of views I tend to find myself at complete and absolute odds with. There's certainly no lack of brainwashed lunatics and moonbats spewing wrongheaded nonsense and attacking any comments exhibiting even a trace of pragmatism or rationale.

In the spirit of always being 100% politically correct, our national news broadcaster washes it's hands of liability issues by farming out the moderation of it's members' comments to an outside party. This party is known simply as, "ICUC", and it's website address is:

Try offering a rational stance on anything to do with South Africa, for example, and you might see the following on your CBC.ca home page:

First they publish my comment for anyone and their dog to see, and then they summarily pull it off? What on earth might I have wrote that the general populace shouldn't be allowed to see for themselves according to ICUC? Let me assure you, dear reader, while this isn't always the case with me, my words in this instance were most certainly without vulgarity or malice, but they obviously triggered some hack clerk's spidey-senses. I don't know their exact mandate, but there's definately a fishy smell to it.

Oh well. You can't please everyone all the time, but you CAN check out one of my favorite web personalities, author, political activist and ever more popular radio talk show host, Alex Jones, who I find to be a refreshingly sarcastic and cynical counterpoint to the mainstream media.





That's all the time I have for now, folks, so I'll say goodnight, and leave you with one of my favorite songs as of late... have a great night, dear reader!

The Toys - Lovers Concerto - HQ

Big Doggies Still Smiling After Ten Years

Alpha Dominant Female Dog.

Is that my favorite dog smiling for my camera? Yes it is! Yes it is!  I've been her dog-sitter for about six years now. literally let my living room go to the dogs as it were, so I'm sure they're comfortable and all, but I know they miss having their own back yard... I think my apartment's a bit gloomy for them.

Grammatical Inexactitudes

Just look at the pair of them!

More than several and a few days ago, one of the guys I know from upstairs came nearly barging into my place with a great big LCD monitor. I haven't measured it, but it's got to be at least thirty-two inches. This dynamic duo had rescued it from the dumpster out back only a couple of days prior, only to be summarily instructed by the woman of said guy's apartment to dispense with the thing pronto. They must have thought, “I bet 'moremoreenough' would love to have this... he doesn't have enough screens in his spacious 450 square-foot bachelor pad. All's he's got is one 28” Sharp and one RCA 22” television set, an Acer 32” flat panel LCD monitor, an 18” hp LCD computer monitor, and a Daewoo 13” CRT computer monitor. 

"What this manchild really needs more than anything right now is this enormous wall-mountable jumbo screen to stare at all day long!”

I once tried for a short time to do my computing tasks while sitting before the big 32” Acer unit one of my buddies gave me, and the intensity of the radiation made the wearing of sunglasses appropriate. It was on the verge of nearly burning out my retinas for goodness' sake! Had I a wireless keyboard, I suppose I could've sat further back, but whatever.

I'm not even sure if this newly acquired LCD screen unit even works – it's a SONY with a very wide screen and it's gotta weigh in at least about 120 lbs.
If it does work, maybe one day I could mount this hefty steel framed digital view-screen to the underside of the canopied Murphy bed I plan on one day getting around to getting for my quaint little troll cave downtown. When the bed is in the stow position, the screen will be visible. When the bed is horizontal, a canopy mounted projector will then be aimed at the opposing wall, thus allowing movies in bed – either alone, or with some hot random broad who's really hott.Or maybe I could just trade it for some beer.

Frying--up some slim flapjacks for dinner on a convex frying "pan" designed, I think, for producing crêpes. Misshapen as these batter cakes turned out to be, they were indeed tasty little sea urchins, they were! Arrrrg!

A tome of such megalithic exactitude that any publishing house would be wise to include in their own reference library is The Chicago Manual of Style, and no, it will not tell you anything about how to dress for success in the downtown or how one might conduct themselves when visiting the windy city. This is a guide to the appropriating stylistic elements on the printed page, and as the back side of the dust cover informs: The new edition of "the definitive writing reference work, revered by scholars, universities, publishers, and editors." -The Bloomsbury Review.

Make good your copy.

As a trained eye or editor has perhaps realized by now, I've barely broken the spine of this edition! I'm sure my own stuff is chalk-full of layout faux-pas and punctuation related no-nos. As it reads on the inside flap at the end, "This revision process has been guided by a set of basic principals: consistency, clarity, literacy, good sense, and good usage, all of them tempered by a respect for the author's individuality of expression." If only Lady Gaga would approach her works with such temperance! I will refer to this University of Chicago Press publication from time to time, but mostly I'm preoccupied with just writing stuff.  I'm often too lazy to even bother inserting links, but I promise to get on it. Links can really add to blog reading experience.

Space-age food creations. Will it stick?

Hey! That's MY line from MY song, "Workjob" from 2009. Guess my shit is all in the public domain?

That's all for now, folks, and thanks for reading. On Sunday I plan to do an article concerning some of my favorite places on the web with lots of links and commentary. Peace-out my niggas!

Summer of Swat - Edmonton Sees Mosquitoes in Reams for First Time in Long Time

Summer of Swat

Trying to get money from hippies is like trying to teach a robot a concept like:  relax, everything is just groovy, man.

It's been an exciting few days for this here cat:  dog-sitting, birthday attending, and picnicking in the park. “Picnicking & Politicking in the Park”, should I ever decide to enthusiastically bore the general reading public with my whimsical follies, might be the title of my memoirs? This blog is sort of like reading memoirs as they happen... memoirs without the context of time tempered wisdom to say the least. Having felt the pangs of the self-disgust accompanying the putting of one's foot in one's mouth, I try not to shoot from the hip except in person anymore. Even fictional writing can land an author in hot water when read by an unintended audience.

Under a recent blog entry I was forced to resort to using my own stock footage, inserting old pics from the archives into current articles. Fortunately, I've since found my little digital video / picture taker and can once again provide you, dear reader, with brand-new photos of things from around Edmonton, like the one below depicting the lushness of the canopied streets of the neighbourhood in which I strive to lead a quiet and contemplative life:

Seniors, students, eccentrics, and yuppies all contribute in comprising the make-up of this little gem of a district that lies between the uptown and the downtown of Edmonton. The Grandin district: bordering on the east with our Capital City's Government Centre, to the west with a fine uptown neighbourhood called Oliver which lies just north of the majestic river valley, and almost about a dozen or so blocks due south of the old City Center Airport. We are just a block to the south from the infamous Jasper Avenue. 

Now folks, I don't mean to sound as though I'm writing a promotional piece for Edmonton, but I must say that we have some incredibly nice pockets of residential space for sale or rent throughout our former “city of champions.” Where I live, having your own transportation in the form of a personal automobile is not so necessary as it is when you live in the outskirts - a few kilometres from shopping and work is a big deal on foot.
I suppose it's all about your personal priorities, but I like to see people buck the trend and ignore the status-quo whenever assessing their own needs. Perhaps too many people overextend their own personal finances to simply maintain their primary means of transport by way of the automobile? Personally, I wouldn't even consider having a car unless I had a float of twenty to thirty grand in the kitty- given the price of everything these days. Being perpetually broke has some unlikely advantages, but boy do I miss having a car- especially when it comes to escaping the concrete jungle on a moments notice.

My tenancy here has been sporadically precarious since moving in six years ago and my partying has been the source of more complaints than I care to admit. Thanks to all the aftermath of circumstance beyond my control like economic forces, coupled with the anxiety that the rising price of everything can have on those of us with limited means, my chin now sports appreciable outcroppings of white hairs betwixt the coppery ones! Alas, for I've only myself to blame for allowing myself to become so intensely caught-up in the intensity of it all, that is, the immediacy of downtown living; keeping the company of people as potentially as rowdy as myself at odd hours during weekdays and the resulting noise and unintended nonsense it begets.

One day at a time, right? I like going for picnics on the other side of the river in Kinsmen Park. In the picture below, you can see my pal Steve about to fix himself a Grey Goose and juice. I really should have taken a few snaps of the spread of ingredients undergoing preparations, but let me assure you that just outside the left-hand border of photo are some cubed potatoes with diced onion and a rack of chicken wings passively broiling in tinfoil atop the cook stove.

The mosquitoes in the park were all but unbearable, but dinner was eventually served, and we ate heartily with improvised chopsticks. Later in the evening, a coyote ventured near our site and lucky for him, the two Belgian Malanois we brought along for the journey are so obedient that they always abandon chase upon command!

Thus, I feel now so inclined to slip the surly bonds and go ahead and sky-write my words into the silvery linings of cloud computing- in hopes of preserving, for all time, this very article you're reading now; it could very well be that this here article may very well be the final blog entry I ever have an opportunity to submit; The Internet seems so permanent but there are no guarantees in this life. One solar discharge of a high enough magnitude could wipe the whole slate clean?

I've had scant little luck in finding a solid employer much less in actually holding down any proper jobs in recent years; my ingenious benefactors are growing ever more tiresome of my bilking and scheming. Mere mortals would've cut me off long ago.

I get the impression from my own circle of friends that so many of us refuse to heed the type of experiential advice our close friends reluctantly offer us from time to time. No... we have to make the same mistakes ourselves. The follies of friends and strangers alike who behoove us to not follow in their footsteps, yet we condemn ourselves to pitfall after penalty, trial after tribulation as a consequence of our negligence.

Are we no more than lab rats running around in a giant maze of concrete, glass, and steel? Are we no more than resigned to "just going for it", only to soon after discover each and every calamitous outcome first hand? So much can be learned from the misgivings and laments of others. My own "recovery" from addictions may one day provide an excellent recourse on what a person should invariably NOT attempt to do in their lives.

Typically, profoundly, excellently, and so far ultimately, I've thus far managed to dodge every bullet ever fired at me.

Don't forget to check out my You Tube channel, and don't hesitate to let me know if there's anything Edmonton related you'd like me to investigate. Until then, I plan to start working on a new screenplay addressing uncomfortable situations or idiosyncratic absurdities or something. For now, I'm off to a park bench with the dogs and a copy of Fitzgerald's "Babylon Revisited." Ta!