March 27, 2004

My tummy hurts

So the good news is that I don't have an ulcer. I went to see Shane's doctor, who is unusually young-looking as far as doctors go, and he says I don't have one. Since I only chucked blood once, but have had prolonged (and decreasing) pains, he's assuming it was trauma.

I've prescribed myself yogurt and granola. And Vanilla Coke. And an occasional cigarette.

Typing is currently inhibited, because two fingers on my right hand are bound in black electrical tape at the ends. I sliced them very nicely yesterday, and I don't have any band-aids in the house. So I taped them. Shane's doctor would definitely not approve. I doubt he's really a doctor anyway. My supervisor at work suggested that I cover the cuts with super-glue, which will seal and heal the cuts. I've heard the same thing from several people now, so I may as well try it.

Daniel threw a big party for Johnny at their apartment. I couldn't go, because it was across the border and I have too much shit to do for school. But I hear the turnout was great, and so many friends donated money to the "Pay Johnny-Boy's Hospital Bills" fund. Daniel also got together much free booze, which he sold for money towards the fund. And a friend of his (who I met only a few times) owns at personalized shirt store, so he brought in some clothes that people bought, all proceeds towards the fund. I saw a picture of the money-bucket. In the end, it was impressive. It made me so deeply proud-- not the bucket of money, but the gesture.

I keep telling Daniel and J to move to Canada where everything is free. But they're scared of Paul Martin. I find that slightly ironic.

I really can't afford to give away anything right now, because I have to renew my vehicle insurance by the end of the month. It's going to cost me both legs, because I apparently like to drive into things. Regardless, I'm going to write a check for Daniel so he can buy groceries. It probably won't be much, but it will help. I wish I could do more, but right now I can't think of what else. Maybe pawn my stolen birthday-gift watch and send the money away.

Now. Dawn of the Dead. It was good because it didn't have any pretenses about what it was trying to do. It knew it could never be like George A. Romero's movie, and so it didn't even try. Besides the zombie-baby scenario and the bit where everyone suddenly knew how to spot-weld (working in a metal shop, I can attest to the unlikeliness of that), I would say that I enjoyed it. However, my enjoyment may be influenced by a) the medication I was on, and b) the fact that I have some weird patriotic pride in Sarah Polley.

It's been a while since I made a to-do list. I think I should try it now.

1. Do something about bleeding stomach.

2. Send Daniel money so he can buy groceries. Suggest yogurt and granola.

3. Buy tickets for, and go see the Greystone Theatre Production of Mad Forest, directed by my Acting 117 professor.

4. Memorize two-page monologue. Do scene break-down. Do character analysis. Rehearse for a minimum of five hours.

5. Memorize twenty-three-page play. Prepare for rehearsals (whenever the fuck they are). Practice limping.

6. Do a background check on Shane's doctor, who I'm sure is about 22 years old.

7. Get rid of stolen birthday-gift watch before drug dealers come to the door asking for it, so as to avoid being cuffed in the face by someone's dealer, again.

8. Eat white bread to spite physician.

That makes me feel productive-- I haven't done that since I had my pita. I also need to buy film for my camera, and take my finished rolls to my uncle's dark room to develop them. I'm shocked that I have so little to do. I'm assuming it's because the end of the year is near. Which means I have to start looking for scholarships, and considering full-time work.

I received a letter the other day from the dean of Psychology at the University. Apparently I should be scheduling a meeting with her, in order to discuss becoming a Psychology major. My mark in General Psychology 110 puts me in the top 10% of 1500-some students, according to this letter. Which I think is fake. I also think the Dean of Psych is a phony, because I've seen her and she looks unusually young. Obviously, someone is euthanizing all the old people in the city. I suspect Paul Martin.

Besides that a conspiracy is taking place, this letter from the Dean bothers me because it funks up all my plans. I really had no question about continuing my major in Drama next year until I received this letter. Now I'm considering the possibility of something else. Oi.

Well, in the time it took me to write this, I have managed to procure tickets to see Mad Forest. Such is the power of a cullular phone, which I shall never again degrade or insult. Now I need to find someone to go with me. So I should stop writing this and make myself look presentable. I should also find some Motrin for my headache, because right now I just feel like a big bag of hell.

Posted by Machine at 06:58 PM

March 22, 2004

Like a virgin

This is no longer a test. I repeat. This is a legitimate entry.

I waited several weeks to learn MT because it was so intimidating. I was actually close to giving up. But the other night, while waiting for a phone call, and with nothing to do (except homework), I decided that I might as well make an effort at understanding MT. And now here I am. I now have a blog of my own, which I will compulsively refer to as "my pita." There are things to fix, but that comes later.

Today I cashed a cheque from the SK Writers Guild. I have absolutely no idea why they sent it to me, but it had my name on it, and it was money, and so I spent it. (I now have a new bunnyhug from AE and a fresh pack of cigarettes.) I'm assuming it was prize money, or payment for the two poems they published, or a reimbursement for gas bought in order to drive to the CBC building in Regina.

Really, if the latter is the case, then the gesture is moot-- reading my poems ("After the War," "Lives of Poets," and "Cancer poem #2") at the SK branch of the National Poetry Face-offs made me happy enough. I was an introductory sort of affair (I was not in the face-off), but it was a good experience nonetheless. I spoke with a few writers who had made successful careers for themselves, including this year's Governor General's Award Winner for Poetry. And I got to sit at a table with (and stifle fanboyish adoration for) an incredible Saskatoon poet.

So that was nice. Moreso than reading at the Mcnally Robinson Bistro, where a few of the other writers were not even aware that they were scheduled to read.

If the cheque wasn't for my gas, then I just don't care. I really need money. Shane's place was burgled the other week, and among the stolen items were several CDs and posters of mine, along with my boombox, skateboard, and watch. Shane held a midnight vigil in his apartment with candles and Kokanee and our friends. I didn't stay long, because I had to see a movie with Shannon. Besides, Shane and I basically know who took our stuff, and the vigil was especially hostile, and so I missed very little. He's currently working on getting some of our things back, but I'm not hoping for much.

And I'm not getting involved in anything that is going to get me cuffed in the face again. My bottom lip is still cut up from last weekend.

More important news: I think I threw-up blood today. I'm not sure, because it's possible I ate something that was the colour and consistency of blood. However, considering that my stomach still hurts (and has been for days), I'm going to assume that I should see a doctor. A new doctor, because I'm not willing to drive downtown (and experience the trauma of parking and walking) so that my physician can tell me to stop eating white bread and cold cuts again.

1) I don't eat write bread, because she's been telling me not to eat it since I was eleven. 2) I rarely eat cold cuts, because cold cuts are good only in sandwhiches, which are best with white bread, which I don't eat. I understand that my situation can't be helped much in general, but god dammit, at least do something about the holes in my stomach, please.

My birthday was a week ago. Carla and Shannon stole me a watch from who-knows-where, and a few CDs and The Truth About Cats and Dogs. They also paid for my martinis that night, which were especially bad. But we were drinking alone in a dive downtown, so I'm not sure what more I could have expected.

I have a paper to write that was due today. It's a compare/contrast essay. My topic: "Examine T.S. Eliot's 'The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock' and Edward Albee's The Zoo Story as comments on the causes and effects of human isolation." I should get started.

Yazzy: Thanks for the blog!

Vy: Stop calling my house at 2am and hanging up.

Carla: It's unfortunate about the expired milk. I don't know what you should do now that you've drank three glasses.

Ged: If you find this entry, then I hope you'll think about emailing me back. Unless I scared you away.

Okay. Night.

Posted by Machine at 10:11 PM

March 20, 2004

Testing again

This is another test. I am running it because it will give me a better idea as to how an entry with major blocks of text will look on the site. I am only worried about this because, as you can see, I cannot get a right-hand margin in this table without expanding the callspacing or cellpadding, thereby screwing with my images. I'm in a predicament. But I'm sure everything will work out. If not, this won't be the first time I've settled for a hack-job.

Good night, dear self.

EDIT: I am so clever that I figured out how to add a margin. This is why I will one day be President. Or, I guess, Prime Minister.

Posted by Machine at 09:37 PM


I shall venture a test entry.

This is a temporary set-up, to see if I know what the hell I am doing. Which I'm sure I don't.

Does the extended entry code work?

Posted by Machine at 07:28 AM