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iTunes vs. Cute Girls

Apr. 11th, 2007 | 08:57 pm

I have iTunes. It came with Quicktime. Using it to manage my music library, much less makes purchases, will never happen. It doesn't have that sense of belonging that record stores do that makes them more than just storefronts for music.

Montreal's shops are what music is about. From two different perspectives...

- - -

During my first extended stay in Montreal, in '99 for summer courses, I spent my per diem (intended for meals) on CDs. Mostly at L'Oblique, and mostly Manic Street Preachers singles - I can say that I have the entire collection from "This Is My Truth..." It's your typical "independent" retailer - smaller than your living room, packed with vinyl and imports. It was (and is, though I haven't been lately) incredible ...but it didn't have a cute girl.

- - -

Today, HMV did [have a girl]. I brought the new Blonde Redhead CD to her at the listening counter today; she smiled at me and cooed something along the lines of "C'est très bon..." It's always nice to hear someone agree with my musical choices. Especially with the opposite sex. It's an immediate connection - already we have something we share.

I might go back tomorrow and see what she recommends...

Don't tell my wife.

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Apr. 2nd, 2007 | 07:59 pm

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Mar. 22nd, 2007 | 11:42 pm

Facebook isn't healthy for me. All it does is remind me of the fact that I haven't really established a social circle here in Montreal in my 6 years living here and the fact that I haven't done much with my life.

Most of my connections on the site are friends from the Northwest Territories. When I used to live in Yellowknife, everyone would talk about getting out. Now, it seems as though everyone stayed. I see photos posted of camping trips and parties that I wasn't there for.

As for not having done anything with my life - well, I used to be able to say that I traveled. Now of course, so has everyone else. I've never been to India, Australia or South America, but some of my friends have. I used to say that I was getting an education - now, acquaintances who bumbled their way through middle school are somehow further than I am in terms of getting a graduate degree.

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"Many doctors have been unfamiliar with CFS, and some have refused to diagnose it."

Mar. 10th, 2007 | 10:11 am

One of the reasons I haven't really posted much over the course of the last 2 years is health problems. Trouble sleeping, waking up with Stage 2 hypothermia, severe pain below the ribs, dizziness, exhaustion.

I've seen at least (I've seriously lost count) 7 doctors in trying to figure out what it was. Barium tests, ultrasounds, gastroscopy (camera down the throat), blood tests, etc. I've been wrongly treated for acid reflux and ulcers, and even had a doctor tell me I should have my gall bladder out (before the surgeon who would have done it disagreed with the diagnosis).

Recently I was referred to what my doctor said was a "Sleep Clinic" but turned out to be Psychosomatic Clinic. So I've now seen a psychologist, which was a new experience for me. Sessions are two hours long. Sitting in a fairly plain academic-style office (dark wood desk, lots of books on the walls). I talk about myself. Everything from dreams to my sex life. The psychologist (accompanied by two medical students) nods his head, says "Hmmm..." and then asks me how I feel about certain things. When I leave he discusses me with his students.


Over the summer, my mother-in-law noticed that I was gently massaging my throat. She mentioned this to her sister, a registered nurse, who immediately recognized this as my lymph nodes being swollen. After discussions with her, we concluded that I suffer from Chronic Fatigue Syndrome (CFS) [the term is a bit of a misnomer, as it simplifies the syndrome to fatigue, which is only a small part of it. it sounds more medical if you call it by its other name - myalgic encephalomyelitis].

The diagnosis was incredibly easy, as she too, suffers from it. I was near tears talking to her about it. Seven years [the last two years saw a major setback] without a correct diagnosis and everything she said about her experience was true of mine.

Reading up on the syndrome only gave me further reassurance. Symptoms and onset patterns are similar for the estimated half million sufferers in North America alone.


The problem is that most of the medical community still doesn't view it as "real." There are no biomedical indicators, no tests for it, and as such, no treatment. Medicine is a science, and there's no conclusive "data" to back up any of the claims (patient experience apparently doesn't count; how they can dismiss waking up hypothermic, I have no idea).

My family doctor dismisses my comments about it, all while readily admitting he doesn't know much about it. He sent me to a rheumatologist - the rheumatologist wasn't sure why I'd been sent to a rheumatologist.

The psychologist had to read up on it. At my most recent session there was a brand new book about CFS on his desk. He'll try to find someone interested in the problem to refer me to. Apart from that, he thinks I might suffer from anxiety and mild obsessive-compulsive disorder (it's what he does for a living, I suppose).


I've come to terms with my health problems and the fact that there's no easy cure.

Regular exercise helps (you have to realize that I was an award winner in a number of sports before the onset of this), but I have to start small. A few months ago, 3 km on the exercise bike would knock me out of commission for two days. Now I can do 5 km, with added weightlifting. I've been feeling better. A 2nd degree of separation acquaintance is providing inspiration for me - he recently competed in the Ironman Triathlon. My bar isn't set quite so high - I just want to wake up one day and feel "healthy."

...so maybe I'll be posting more frequently. Writing a post like this almost feels like I'm closing a chapter in my life.

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Mar. 8th, 2007 | 09:22 pm

I've played this game as long as I can remember being a "man." It's more intriguing now that I'm married. My standards are higher, and it's become clear that it's not solely about looks - it's about the imaginary life you've created for the subject. Would there be compatibility?

It could likely work as a "social networking" experiment. The rules are simple. On the metro - see a girl. Is she fuckable? Yes/No. At the store - see a girl. Is she fuckable? ...and, Repeat.

Today, a brunette - likely a size 6 or 8. She might've been anywhere between 18 and 23. Almost a punk look to her; dark eyeshadow, hair dyed to a near black. Low-cut bustier-type shirt; slightly "trampish" (if I may). There was something about her. That eyeshadow did wonders, but raised questions. Troubled would be an easy choice, but we're all troubled - appearances are thus null in this equation. In any regard, she definitely had a vulnerability. The answer here is obviously "Yes."

Minimum number of players: 1. Maximum: Infinite. Compare scores at the end of the day; he with the highest number of "fuckables" wins... absolutely nothing - the fun is in playing.

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lifted: embargo on posting

Feb. 18th, 2007 | 11:08 am

PRC. [third person mandatory] sitting here, listening to Tim Buckley... signed up for Last.fm a few days ago; am hooked like a child encountering sugar for the first time.

This is not a website that anyone I know really uses at all, so please feel free to sign up, and "befriend" me. My Profile.

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Oct. 19th, 2006 | 08:57 pm

"Hey, did you ever find my Duran Duran video?"

"I think Theo took it to Sri Lanka."

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Jun. 11th, 2006 | 09:40 pm
location: montreal, quebec

I love my current neighbourhood... A car around the corner was firebombed last night. Now there's a crispy shell just sitting there. Hopefully it'll still be around in the morning so I can take some photos.

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Girls Girls Girls

May. 13th, 2006 | 04:58 pm
location: montreal, quebec
music: idlewild - i'm a message

immature. crush.

I got back from a business trip last night, with a lot on my mind. Distance in a relationship seems to be a bad idea for me. My business trip lasted all of 2 days, and I was quoting myself saying things like "She's more my type than my wife," (albeit at least somewhat jokingly). It's really quite disconcerting that my mind so easily strays [thinking back on all the times I've been away from my significant other, I apparently don't tend to let myself be lonely for too long - always seeking something (though success is never guaranteed or even wanted) - when with Kate: Luisa, Amber, Elly; when with Elly: Bridget, Kourtney, and now Melanie].

She was a cute, curvy little brunette - not unlike my wife. She had her hair done in a way that I've always asked Elly to do (roughly like this; and to Elly's credit, it's nearly the same), and layered herself in simple but professional businesswear that accentuated her frame. The first day of the workshop she wore a skirt - even her calves seemed too perfect.

We didn't share much conversation (a quick phonecall, some basic greetings, a little bit of back and forth), but even a simple "Thanks, Paul" was enough to get my thoughts racing (the lesson here being: Cute girls should not be nice to shy boys for fear of said shy boys too easily falling in love).

Nevermind the fact that [firstly, I'm married] it would've been inappropriate to approach a girl with romantic overtures in a professional setting, I wouldn't have had the courage to actually do it. [I'm the type of guy who needs a wingman.] Lacking a wingman I thought of resorting to what amounts to some of the perhaps more "childish" (my words) actions I've ever taken, sending a quick, somewhat anonymous note via email - [hello, kourtney] - she's government, so her email address is publicly available...

(sigh) (If only I could have them all...)

I've told my wife all of this - openness and honesty, much better than secrecy I've found.

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Apr. 5th, 2006 | 10:54 pm

Today was like Christmas here, as we finally received the 5 boxes my grandfather was sending our way. He's moving out of his house, and so needed a place for various things including a Masai spear and some out-of-print books from Uganda. Needless to say, I am quite happy.

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