It was on this very day, many years ago, that I met her.

I can hardly believe how many years ago it was, to be truthful.

It was during my second year of university. My buddies and I went on a road trip to a town about an hour away from school. Our friend was at an agricultural college there. I think that he had mostly gone there because it was a small school and he could play basketball for them. But, he also liked plants... and stuff.

The first night of the visit, we hit a local bar. I want to say that the place was called "The Yard" or "Scotland Yard," but that is totally a guess.

Once inside, my friends immediately bee-lined for the bar. Drinks were ordered. Drinks were consumed. It was officially "on."

I stood back, surveying my surroundings. Not the classiest joint I'd ever been in. But, the male to female ratio seemed decent enough. The speakers were blasting the dance music of the day - which, oddly enough, sounds exactly like the dance music of every day - and some guy was informing us that he liked to move it, move it. He liked to mooooove it.

Apparently this hombre was all about the moving it.

I was still looking around when something caught my eye. A group of girls standing off to my left were laughing and having a great time. My gaze met the gaze of one of the girls. And I said...

"Wow."

Outloud.

Seriously.

You know how you hear horseshit about "sparkling eyes" and how "bright her eyes were?"

Well, I finally got it.

I was captivated.

Now, it's important to note that I was firmly entrenched in my "I only date short, cute blondes" phase.

This girl was a tall (must have been 5'10!!!!) and a brunette. But, she was so very cute.

In fact, she was that devestating combo of pretty/cute. Something that is far more rare than it ought to be.

I looked towards my friends to see if they had noticed her. Since she wasn't at the bottom of a glass, they had not.

I began thinking about how I was going to play this. I decided on "the funny, but mysterious, stranger from out of town."

Then I realized that I didn't know how to do that.

So, minutes turned to hours. I was still hanging with my friends. She was still laughing and dancing with hers. We caught each other looking many times. I gave her the half-grin. She smiled back.

What a smile.

"Holy shit," I said, being drowned out by Shaggy singing "Oh, Carolina." (This was before anyone outside of his family actually knew who he was.)

When the song ended, she made her way towards the bar. As she walked past me, I said "Hi."

Yes, I am THAT smooth.

I said it in a mocking "well, it's about damn time" tone.

She immediately shot back with a "Hello" that really meant "I was sicking of waiting for your ass to do something."

Then we both smiled.

As pretty as she looked from across the room, from up-close she was just gorgeous.

I totally forgot where we were.

And I'm not entirely sure what I said to her. But, I remember feeling like I was doing a good job. She was laughing. I was imagining picking out China patterns with her.

She was a volleyball player. She asked me if I liked the sport. I said, "Of course." (I hate it.) She said, "No you don't." I laughed. She asked, "Do you at least like volleyball players?" I replied with "Ask me in an hour."

She was funny. She was smart. Very quick. She called me on things. I LOVED it.

I am unsure of how long we talked there by the bar. But, if I had to pick a moment to be stuck in - GROUNDHOG DAY-style - that one would certainly get much consideration.

Her friends began yelling for her to join them. They were toasting something or arguing about something. She rolled her eyes to me. I am not sure what a swoon feels like, but I think I had a little one.

She said, "I have to go check on the kids. Come find me later."

I said, "Definitely."

I totally checked out her bum as she walked away. It made me weep a little.

I turned back to my friends, who continued to be oblivious to the whole thing. One of them hugged me and asked if I was having a good time, while his face was two inches from mine. I said, "Yeah." And I really meant it.

Now, this is where it gets a little hazy for me. We decided to leave the bar. I have a faint recollection of someone from my group having an issue with a dude in another group. We may have been tossed out. Or I may be combining the events of two or more different nights into the same memory.

In any event, as we were leaving, I walked over to her and asked where she was going later. She gave me the name of a local pizza joint.

The moment we got outside, I started trying to convince my friends that we had to go there. Now, getting a bunch of drunk dudes to eat pizza is not exactly like negotiating a middle east peace agreement, but getting them all going in the same direction at the same time is no small feat.

After some puking, some arguing and a crowded taxi ride, we ended up at the pizza place. We ordered our food, and after an eternity of watching the door, I saw her walk in.

She looked even better under bright flourescent lighting. (Which, as Newton's 17th Law proved, is pretty friggin' rare.)

I immediately went over to talk to her. It felt as natural as it had in the bar.

She mentioned taking a walk over to the little park across the street from the pizza place. (Mainly because her friends were staring and making kissy-faces at us.) I quickly agreed.

We found the park bench with the least amount of pigeon crap. I took off my jacket and let her sit on it. And we talked.

No, we really talked.

It was amazing.

The give and take. Guards were down. Embarassing things were admitted.

It is rare that a 19 year old guy is thinking beyond immediate gratification, but I could really see myself with that girl. Long-term.

Just then, the clouds parted and we were lit by a full moon. It was beautiful.

She looked at me and said, "I am having a really good time."

I replied, "Me too."

And then I turned into a werewolf and ate her.

Every year at this time I think about that girl. And I miss her.

She tasted like veal.

Usually these entries are about the flipper-offer.

But, not this time.

Sure, her story is interesting. This attractive young lady once dated an amazing guy. Tall. Canadian, I believe. Prolific blogger. Gives great massages.

But, this story is about her two companions.

The gentleman in the middle is named "Ralph." However, his friends call him "the Swede."

He loves the NY Jets, the NY Rangers, Famous Ray's Pizza (no, the other one,) and the Lipizzaner Stallions. Don't you judge him...

The Jets aren't THAT bad.

The Swede is also a little sarcastic. Earlier in the evening he had this exchange:

The Swede: "This crowd makes me feel dirty. I need a SILKWOOD shower."

Random Drunk: "Like from the movie?"

The Swede: "No... Tommy Silkwood. He was in my 4th grade gym class. That motherfucker knew how to scrub."

The comely lass to his right... no left. No, it's his right. Her name is "Samantha."

Friends call her; Sam, Sammy, Sammypants, Gretchen, Sammabanana, and Whore. (The people who call her the last one aren't really close friends.)

Sam once drove two hours to wait in line for another three to attend a Rush Limbaugh book signing. When it was her turn, she spit in his face. Ladylike or no, that was damn sexy. The security guards, however, did not agree. She yelled "Attica!" as the dragged her away.

While all three of these people are very different, they do have some things in common. All three will go home to empty apartments at the end of the night. All three will eat ice cream as they catch up on their TIVOing. All three will opt for the second bowl of Chunky Monkey.

But, at beddy-bye time, only one will put on Rainbow Brite jammies.

You might be surprised which one.

Labels: "Flip-off Friday"

So, I've signed up for this dealie. (And I start a lot of sentences with "So...")

Essentially the deal is that you write a 50,000 word novel in 30 days. (Yup, almost 1700 words each and every day.)

I'd imagine that a number of bloggers will be doing it. I know that both Jill and James are already signed up.

You should all join!

Add me as a "buddy." My username is "PeterDewolf." (And that is EXACTLY the kind of creativity you can expect from this novel.)

The ACN is visiting for a few days. Yay!



We made 5 different videos. This was the longest and the one she wanted me to post. She loved watching them all over and over again. She giggled at my GRRRRRs and re-answered my questions. It was all kinds of cute.

Labels: ACN

Agnes de Mille once said, "No trumpets sound when the important decisions of our life are made. Destiny is made known silently."

"Patrick" is about to make one of those important life decisions.

He doesn't even know it.

Patrick has been living on the streets for 16 months.

He tries to give off the impression of being oh so hard, but every minute of every day, he fears for his own safety.

Most people that live on the street have few to no options. They have nothing to lose.

That's not the case with Patrick. And that is what keeps the fear alive in him.

His family would take him back. At least once a month, his mother comes looking for him. She usually finds him. She always has warm chicken soup and a pair of mittens.

Even in August.

And she cries. Every. Single. Time.

His father never comes.

His relationship with his father is such a cliché that he hates to even think about it. Too alike. Too stubborn. Too proud.

A game of emotional chicken that is tearing apart a family.

But, Patrick is tired. And cold. And profoundly sad.

A big reason Patrick left home is because his father wanted him to act "more like a man." And now when he is being as strong as he can, he wants his father to notice it. He wants credit.

His father has been trained - by his own father - to try to make Patrick "a man." But, he has no idea how to handle him when/if he becomes one.

Patrick wants to go home.

Patrick needs his father to blink first.

Earlier today, Patrick made a bold move. He broke into his family home and stole a coin from his father's collection.

His father's favourite coin. It had been in the family for four generations.

Patrick's father cherishes this coin.

And now Patrick stands outside of a sketchy pawn shop.

His plan is to pawn the coin and hop a bus to L.A.

"Check and mate, old man."

Patrick has been standing outside of this sketchy pawn shop for 45 minutes.

Pawning it would be a big F-U to his father. Patrick knows it. Pawning it would also be a final straw. Patrick knows that too.

As Patrick ponders his decision, two strung-out thugs load an old pistol in an alley down the block.

They are going to rob a sketchy pawn shop.

In exactly 6 minutes they are going to shoot everyone inside.

Patrick is about to make one of those important life decisions.

He doesn't even know it.

Labels: "Flip-off Friday"

Thank you for SWINGERS.

ELF sucked.

Did you folks know that Warner Chappell - a militant off-shoot of the Warner Music Group - owns the rights to the "Happy Birthday" song?

They paid $15 million for those rights.

I also may have made up the part about them being militants.

They've owned the rights for 16 years, and I'd love to know how much of that 15 mill they've recouped.

They claim that "unauthorized public performances are illegal" unless they are paid royalties.

What constitutes "public?"

Is it the same definition as the one for "public nudity?" You know, just askin'...

Other than it being unenforceable, it is just plain silly.

Hmmm... I think I'm going to copyright orgasms. Anytime anyone has one, I'll --

Hey! I heard that! Send me $10. And your phone number. Mrrrrooooowwwrrrrrr.

On the plus side, the copyright expires in 2030.

But, what are we to sing in the meantime?

"For He's A Jolly Good Fellow?"

Don't make me puke.

I guess once again it falls on my shoulders to do something about it.

Le sigh.

Fiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiine.

As you all well know, I'm only an award-winning lyricist. Someone else will have to handle the music.

Here goes...

So, it's another birthday.

You made it through the year.

Let's all get together,

And raise a little cheer.

Unless the cake is stale.

That'll ruin the day.

Don't cheap on the hotdogs.

Ballpark franks all the way.

Who invited these wingnuts?

People I'd never choose.

Enough with all the potato chips,

Break out the friggin' booze.

Still, I hope you enjoy your birthday,

Sorry the present is so small.

But, I don't feel too guilty,

'Cause you didn't buy me fuuuuuck allllllllllllllllllllllll.

I am busy working on something else, so I'm not going to come up with a post today.

I apologize.

But, because I'm a bit of a jerk, I'm going to give you a sneak preview of what you missed.

I apologize.

I have two words for you...

Shakespearean Contractors.

It popped into my head the other night.

From where? I have no idea.

From why? Yeah, same thing.

But, you better believe, it was going to be all kinds of AWESOME.

I suspect that it would have changed the way that blogs are written worldwide.

Just the image of a dude wearing all those ruffles and fruuuuuity hats wearing a tool belt...

I was going to open with a bit about how while Romeo was wondering what light through yonder window was breaking and crap, Juliet's balcony would collapse.

She would be fine, except for a moderately bruised coccyx. But, he'd make a crack about how Capulets have been using cheap shoddy contractors for years. She'd snap back with something about how the Montagues' cleaning staff wouldn't even know how to get rid of the plague. And it would get worse from there.

Of course, this would end the romance... and greatly prolong both of their lives.

And I would have closed the post with this sparkling explanation of how to still be able to have plumber's butt whilst wearing tights. Hint: It is not as hard as one might think. If you are dedicated.

I feel like I can safely say, without fear of hyperbole, that it would have been the single greatest thing written in the world today.

And sometimes just knowing that is enough.

This is Gordon & Mildred.

Their 60th wedding anniversary was yesterday.

60 years.

Sure, they've seen their ups and downs. But, they are as in love today as they were the night they met.

He had just returned from the war. She was with friends in the malt shop.

He was in love right away. She took some convincing.

That was pretty much a theme with them.

He had to talk her into marriage.
He had to talk her into kids.
He had to talk her into scuba lessons.
He had to talk her into skydiving on their 50th anniversary.

And, without fail, she was thankful every single time for his persistence.

There is no other man she would have rathered spend her life with.

When she broke her hip 4 years ago, he carried her up the basement steps and drove her to the hospital. He spent every day sitting beside her hospital bed. And when she could go home, he did EVERYTHING for her. They have 2 children that live locally, but Gordon didn't want or need their help. Mildred is his wife and he can take care of her.

And so he did.

When Mildred opened her present from Gordon yesterday evening, she was floored. If anyone else had of been there, they would have thought, "A simple shawl? For such a huge anniversary?"

But, this wasn't any shawl.

It looked EXACTLY like the one that Mildred's mother wore all the time, when Mildred was young. Mildred's mother (Augusta) left it to Mildred when she passed. And Mildred cherished it. But, like most of the couple's belongings, the shawl was destroyed in the house fire back in '68.

Mildred was crestfallen, but she knew that she had to focus on taking care of the kids and rebuilding their home and life.

She had almost forgotten about the shawl. Until now. A flood of emotions came rushing back and she weeped. She hugged Gordon.

"Thank you, sweetie."

Mildred had been having a harder time thinking of something to buy Gordon. He asked for so little. And anything you did give him would make him very happy.

So, she said that he could have anything in the world. And no matter what he asked for, she would do everything in her power to get it for him.

He deserved it. He is a great husband.

He made his request. Then she put on her shawl and got into their Cadillac and drove to their grandson Trey's apartment.

Trey had the internet. And he was going to help his grandmother find the present. He adored his grandfather as much as Mildred did. Everyone did.

Trey went to Google.com as Mildred fetched the piece of paper out of her pocket. Her memory wasn't what it used to be and she wanted to make sure that she got it exactly right. She spelled it out for Trey, and he hit "search."

Mildred adjusted her bi-focals as she stared at the picture that popped up on the screen...

"THAT'S a dirty sanchez?!?"

Ooooooh.

Have you ever thought, "I do enjoy Peter's vlogs, but I just wish that he was a cute blonde. Possibly from Florida?"

It's like I'm reading your minds!

Have you ever felt like you weren't accomplishing everything that you are capable of?

Like you weren't making full use of your skills and talents?

And not necessarily to gain fame and fortune.

Though that could be part of it.

Like you also weren't giving enough back?

Not helping everyone that you could?

Maybe it stems from your 6th grade teacher taking you aside, out of the blue, and telling you that, "I know that you can accomplish anything you want in this world."

Maybe it's pure ego.

It's those sudden feelings of, "I have to do more."

Do you ever have those?

They feel like messages sent back from a future version of yourself. A wiser version. He's warning about the pain of regret and telling you to gather ye rosebuds while ye may.

They are never surprises when they arrive. You already knew.

The biggest question is...

Are you going to step up an do something about it?

Or will you be writing this same blog post in six months?

A little while ago my phone rang.

I answered and got a cute little "Hiiiii" from the ACN. Something which always makes my day.

Her mommy told me that ACN had just finished her supper - perogies and some yogurt for dessert - and was trying to tell Mommy something. Mommy asked if she wanted more food. Nope. Mommy asked if she was thirsty. Nope. Mommy said, "What do you want, sweetie?" And ACN very clearly said,

"Unc."

That's me!

So, my sister asked if she wanted to call Unc and she gave her a little, "Yeah."

ACN had been home for a couple of hours. Nipper met her at the bustop.

(Nipper has also been busy. She got fixed ten days ago and got her stitches out today. It turns out that she has grown in those ten days and the stitches were actually tighter. That is one fast-growing puppy.)

The ACN wanted to go for a drive in Mommy's new car. So, the two of them went to Tim Hortons for a special cookie. It is chocolate chip, with frosting on it, and proceeds go to the local foodbank.

But, ACN told her mommy that she wasn't hungry right then and wanted to go for a drive first. Of course, midway through the drive, ACN changed her mind and wanted her cookie right away. That's how ACNs work. (That's actually how Unc works too, but shhhh.)

When ACN called, she had all kinds of cool stuff to tell me.

She has a "reading buddy" at school now. A little girl in grade six comes in to read to her. How cute is that? I asked and ACN assured me that she was a nice little girl.

And ACN and her Daddy went to the library and ACN took out her first ever book. Exciting! It is a Hallowe'en book that her mommy is going to read to her before bed tonight.

ACN likes when I read to her before bed when she visits me. Of course, she usually starts by telling me that she wants me to read a book, then gets me to start and then she shakes her head "No" and starts giggling. So, I grab another book and we repeat the process. Eventually we do get to finish 3 or 4 before bed.

The mommy told me that ACN had chores to do after we got off the phone. ACN helps to fold clothes and dry dishes. And in the summer she likes to help water plants and feed the birdies. (We fill the feeder, but that happens too quickly, so we then make 8 or 9 little piles of food all around the lawn. Buffet style.) ACN likes doing chores, but now she gets an allowance for it. She collects her money and then takes her grandfather (on her Dad's side) out for weekend breakfasts. I told her that she could saver her money to buy me presents. She shook her head "No" and laughed at me.

Then the Mommy asked ACN is she wanted her to tell me some very exciting news. ACN did. And the mommy told me that...

The ACN has her first loose tooth!

Holy poop.

This is a pic of her and her puppy. Hard to believe it was only this past spring. They are both getting so big. (ACN is watching Nipper closely, because she knows that toe nibblings are coming.)

Labels: ACN

I really have.

And not like you miss an ex-girlfriend, or a toe amputated because of frostbite, or even the reassuring embrace of a Liberal federal government.

I'm talking real missing.

I've missed Chris Bosh getting the ball and blowing by a slow-footed opposing power forward for an emphatic dunk.

I'm even okay with watching him do it this season while wearing the hair of the car thief in 1987's seminal classic ADVENTURES IN BABYSITTING.

Haven't seen it? You should. It's delightful.

I've missed Sam Mitchell standing in media scrums and treating every question like it was an attack on him personally.

“Sam, you are looking great today.”
Sam stares icily for five seconds.
“What? Are you saying I looked terrible yesterday? (Sam exhales with noticeable exasperation.) Guys, guys... The players aren't worried about it. The coaches aren't worried about it. We haven't even discussed it. You know whose fault it is? The media. It's your fault. (Beat.) Oh, and players will determine playing time.”

I've missed Jim Todd doing half-time chats with sideline reporters. I love how he never shows any emotion. I can just imagine him on his wedding night, speaking completely monotonically, “We got off to a slow start. If we just do the things we talked about before, we should be fine. Teamwork is the key. Oh, and would you mind dressing as Wonder Woman for me?”

I've missed Bryan Colangelo. Especially the natty high collars on his shirts. I've missed feeling like I'm being sold a new car, and appreciatively agreeing to the premium undercoating package.

I've missed the underrated brainy sexiness of Norma Wick.

I've missed the unbridled enthusiasm – and equal sexiness – of Chuck Swirsky. I've missed hearing Chuck go to battle to defend Toronto and Canada. The Swirsk taught Donnie Walberg a little something about “Hangin' Tough.”

I've missed frequent Dougie Smith articles. I've even missed Stumpy a little. I've especially missed people referring to him as “Stumpy.”

I've missed ignoring Dave Feschuk articles. I've missed reading article headlines and knowing without doubt that he wrote them. I don't miss the fact that his pieces are usually only tangentially related to basketball. His attempts at flowery prose, use of large words – like tangentially! - and generally condescending attitude seem like an odd fit for a sportswriter.

Dave strikes me as that novelist who can't get published so he teaches creative writing at a community college and gives terrible grades to the students that show more promise than he could have ever mustered up. (He would totally deduct points for that run-on sentence.)

I've missed trying to figure out who that woman is in press row wearing cute girl glasses.

I've missed Eric Smith and hope that he and Jorge Garbajosa do many interviews this season where they ONLY talk about beards.

But, do you know what I've missed the most?

Not cheering for the team. Not the hard fought victories. Not the lessons learned along the way.

What I've missed the most is...

That blonde mop girl at the ACC.

If they ever master cloning, they should put her at the top of the list.

In fact, I think she needs a bigger job. Perhaps co-hosting the pre and post game shows on RapsTV? The juxtaposition – Feschuk word! - of having her sitting beside Paul Johnson, with his Kim Jong-il haircut and facial hair of a fifteen year old boy, will make her look all the hotter.

And that, dear friends, is good TV.

This is "Estella."

Once again, I don't know her.

But, I think I have an idea about what is going on here.

Estella just got fired from her job.

Her boss had pushed her too far. She snapped, flipped him off, and was promptly escorted out of the building by security.

She said some very harsh things on her way out the door. Some people burn bridges, she nuked the shit out of this one.

Biting the older security guard was probably a bad decision.

It's not her fault, she just couldn't take it anymore.

Her boss mentioned "antomic energy" in a meeting that morning.

Antomic!!!

If this was his first such transgression, she'd be fine with it. Maybe even consider it endearing.

Well, endearing might be a bit of a stretch.

Estella has a Masters Degree in English Lit. She used to be a book editor.

She had this job for 2 years. And the number of words misprounced is staggering...

Equilibrium.
Rutabaga.
Equinox.
Troglodyte.
Kite.

What enrages her more is his misuse of phrases that he's heard someplace before, yet has no idea what they mean.

"You can catch more flies with honey than with vinegar" has nothing to do with following recipes properly.

"A day late and a dollar short" has little to do with investment banking.

"Three sheets to the wind" is not used to compliment people on their sailing skills.

And she can't even talk about how "foisted on his own petard" nearly caused ten people to quit. Or how he mispronounced at least two words in that phrase.

But, Estella is not overly worried. She has some leads on new work already. She is awesome in interviews. She's got options.

Plus "The Whitehouse" looks great on her resume.

Labels: "Flip-off Friday"

FYI: This is Maria Menounos.

You hear it on the news all the time.

"Worst drought in years."

George is all too familiar with it. It seems as if he hears it every single year now.

Saying that George was at the end of his rope would be casting a much too optimistic light on the situation.

George would be the first to tell you that even though he was raised for farming, he wasn't meant for it.

Still, he is the fourth generation to be farming this land.

And that is the only thing that keeps him setting his alarm clock for 4:00 am every morning. (Not that he is ever alseep when it rings.)

Well, that and the memory of his father coming in after dark every night. Hobbling badly. Forcing a smile for his only son.

George went to college. The state university, of course. He was the first of his extended family to graduate. George was "nudged" into studying Economics because his father thought it could help with the farm.

George is forty. His father has been dead for ten years. George still makes every decision based on what his father would do.

It's not as if he could even sell the farm if he wanted to. This isn't the movies. There are no evil landbarons wanting to drill for oil or build strip-malls on the land.

He wouldn't want to sell anyway.

Not really.

Even though watching sports on his satellite dish is no longer drowning out the nagging voice of cognitive dissonance, and his hatred for the land on which he lives and works is growing clearer by the day.

His one respite are his weekly trips into town for groceries and supplies.

He is just one of many farmers that make the weekly trip. But, he is the most popular.

At least amongst the town ladies.

George still looks as though he could pass for twenty-five, and is constantly given fresh-baked pies by lonely townswomen.

He sometimes wonders why they never make cakes.

The ladies also slip pieces of paper with their phone numbers under the pies.

George is flattered by the attention. And he is kind to everyone.

But, George gave his heart to another many years ago, and still hasn't figured out how to get it back.

It was his senior year in college. Her name was Stephanie.

She knocked him on his ass.

They were inseparable for the entire year. But, with graduation looming, and a few glasses already emptied, she broached the subject at the campus bar. She was sitting directly scross from him. He remembers what she was wearing. He remembers that fucking "Time of My Life" song from DIRTY DANCING playing.

"What are we going to do after graduation?"

He wanted to think that she was talking about what party they would attend.

But, he knew better.

She had a job lined up in Chicago. He was expected to go back to the farm.

She never asked him to go with her.

He wasn't sure if it was because she knew he couldn't do it, or because she just didn't want it bad enough. He hoped it was the former.

She still sends Xmas cards. Pictures of her with her lawyer husband and gorgeous kids. He was happy for her.

Mostly.

George got up at the same time as always this morning. He did exactly what he did every other day.

He went to look at the fields. And that is when he saw it...


George hadn't cried since he was a toddler. He had no idea what he was experiencing. The strange burning in his eyes. A feeling in his nose that, if pushed, he'd describe as "feeling like you spent too much time around fiberglass insulation."

George smiled.

For the rest of the day, he did the exact things he did every other day. Still, they felt different.

That night, for a change, he took out his father's old records and put on some Johnny Cash. A train was rollin' down to San Anton as George whipped up a batch of his mother's special recipe fried chicken.

Johnny walked the line as George cleaned up his dishes.

George glanced over at his fridge. Lined up neatly - and held in place by magnets from various farm insurance companies - was every slip of paper with a phone number from a lady in town.

George stared at them.

"Noy yet," he decided. "But soon."

I woke up this morning with no blog topic ideas.

I went through my morning routine and still none came to mind.

I just sat down here at the keyboard and...

Yeah, still nada.

Squat, Jack.

Oh well.

*****

Well, DO you want to win an iPod?

The delightful Kelly is giving one away.

Go. Leave a comment and get an entry. Mention that I sent you and I get another entry.

(Try not to think too hard about the fact that by giving me another entry, it lessens your chances of winning. Shhhh. Don't worry about the details.


I've noticed that I get a lot of traffic from places (countries, continents) where I don't know anyone. I think that's awesome. I am also cool with people popping in and not leaving comments. I read many more sites than I leave comments on.

But, I am curious how people get here. And why they keep coming back.

So, I've decided to do a little survey. (For non-commenting readers, first-time visitors and regulars alike.)

I'd love for you all to e-mail me at info@peterdewolf.com

Tell me...

How you first got here. What you like. What you hate. What you want to see more of. Ideas for new stuff. Secrets. Whatever.

I won't sell your e-mail to spammers. I probably won't even use it to shamelessly promote my own stuff. Though I'll reply to your e-mail. I'm polite like that.

Don't be shy.


I own a duvet.

I was lying when I called it a "quilt" and a "comforter."

It's a DUVET.

There, I said it.

I was showering this morning and trying to think of something to blog about. (I was also singing The Killers "All These Things That I've Done.") Ideas would pop into my head and then quickly get rejected.

While lathering, rinsing and repeating, I narrowed it down to two choices.

The first was a "where are they now?" about an actress who was on two or three episodes of a well(ish)-known sitcom a decade or so ago. (Which I may do at some point.)

And the second idea, and the one I chose, was...

Darkness.

But, not the depressing kind.

Or the scary kind. You know, with boogiemen and the like. (Even though I AM totally opposed to boogiemen.)

I am talking about the darkness you first discover as a child.

For me, it was while playing hide n' seek. The game would begin just before dusk. You could see everything and had to be super sneaky about where you hid. Or just fast enough to race whomever was "It" back to homebase. But, at some point, things would change.

You were too busy to notice it happening. But, as you were hiding and trying to remove the pickers that were stuck to the butt of your pants, you suddenly realized that it was dark out.

The world had changed. It had gotten a lot smaller.

Urbanites may have never experienced this before. But, anyone who grew up someplace rural knows what I'm talking about. Suddenly your entire world seems to have a radius of about twenty-five feet. And everything else has faded to...

Darkness.

As you get older, and start driving, you forget about this sensation. Headlights constantly expand your world.

While occasionally you'll find yourself on a beach at night with a cute lass, you'll really have other things on your mind.

But, if you are very lucky, you'll get to experience it again as an adult.

You are walking back from someplace at night with your (now ex) significant other. The first thing you notice is that late night silence. Without the usual stimuli battling it out for your attention, you notice that little lilt to her voice again. She laughs and you think, "Man, I forgot how great that sounds." You hold her hand and really notice how it feels. You give it a little squeeze and she looks at your quizzically.

You feel like stopping halfway home and waiting for King Harvest's "Dancing in the Moonlight" to ring out from the cosmos, so you can swing her around a little in the middle of the street.

You want to hold her and stare up at the millions of stars spread out across the night sky. You want to capture that image which makes you feel so insignificant, yet on top of the world at the same time.

You want to do all of that, but you don't. Even though you know that it is certainly one of "those moments." The kind that stay with you.

You keep walking home.

As you open the door for her, something inside yearns to keep feeling that feeling. Even though in minutes you'll both have brushed your teeth and be wrapped around each other in bed.

It's not the same.

If you do find yourself in that moment, try to make it last as long as you can. The simplest ones are the hardest to recapture.

Happy Thanksgiving to my fellow Canadians.

Happy Columbus Day to my American readers. (Though I'm not sure why the guy who directed MRS. DOUBTFIRE deserves a holiday, but whatever.)

And Happy "All Your Crops Are Going To Glow In The Dark" Day to my North Korean friends.

I'm getting my hair cut later today.

Finally.

I don't want to say that my hair is getting way too long, but do you remember John Stamos during the early seasons of "Full House?"

It doesn't look anything like that, I just wanted to know if you remembered.

But, it is getting long and messy. I can't think of any celeb to compare it to. Maybe Tom Selleck circa "Magnum P.I.", since I am always wearing a ball cap too. And it is curling up like wings on the sides.

Typically on hair cut day, my hair decides to look awesome. Thus prompting me to wonder why I decided to get it cut in the first place. That almost always happens.

But not today.

Today it looks like the crap.

And it made me think, "Hmmm... the exception that proves the rule."

And that made me think, "What the hell does that even mean?"

And THAT made me think, "Man, I'd love a chocolate Pop Tart right now."

But, back to that rule thing... how does that even make sense? Wouldn't an exception actually disprove a rule and junk?

Now, me having a bad hair day won't have as adverse an effect on world markets as that nasty business in North Korea will. Probably. But, it was definitely time to get it cut.

I never know what to say when the lady asks me "What do you want done today?"

Uhm, can you, like, make it shorter?

And, from what I know about the industry, she does have the tools for making that happen.

I say things like, "Yeah, shorter... but not too short." "Longer on top than on the sides. But, not MUCH longer." And "Have you seen Chad Michael Murray's hair lately? Yeah, I don't want it to look anything like that. I just wanted to know if you had seen it."

Since I wear baseball caps so often, I really don't get too stressed about what it looks like.

As long as I don't end up looking like this dude, I'll be happy:


Kamsahamnida. Annyeonghi kaseyo.

Yeah, this is not great.

I don't know this girl.

But, does anyone REALLY know anyone else?

Well, I suppose, relatives know each other. And couples that have been together forever.

But, other than that... does anyone really know anyone else?

I am going to call her "Andrea."

Just 'cause...

I love the double bird-flipnicity of this picture. Though she should have her thumbs stuck out a bit on each hand, like little teacup handles. (See Eminem in 8 MILE and Jen Jen Aniston in OFFICE SPACE for proper bird-flipping technique.)

Andrea is pretending that she doesn't like having her picture taken. She really does. She just doesn't want other people knowing that she enjoys it. (Like some people with reality TV... or masturbation.)

Andrea wears that neckplace to try to pretend that she's a bad-ass.
She is not. She did once shoot a man in Reno, just to watch him die. But, who hasn't at this point?

Andrea's been hurt before. Hence the gun/heart motif. She tells herself - and anyone that will listen - that it won't happen again. It will.

I think it was Charles Darwin who first made note of the fact that any attempts to "scare off predators will always be undone by making cute scrunchy faces."

Andrea's favourite song is The Cure's "Friday I'm In Love." It doesn't bother her that her music snob friends say it isn't a "real" Cure song. She also has fourteen Duran Duran songs on her ipod. She doesn't give much of a shit what you think of that either. But, she'd NEVER admit that she has that Celine Dion song from TITANIC on there.

I don't blame her.

So, this is Andrea.

I like her hat.

Sam and Ralph are enjoying medium double-doubles in their local Tim Hortons. They are debating what to eat next. It'll probably be something with maple in it, since they are in the middle of the "maple" promotion. It's when Tim Hortons creates new goodies by putting maple inside just about everything they make -- and possibly the bathroom soap as well.

Ralph is leaning towards a maple pecan danish when he sees her walk in.

Her name is Stacey. (At least according to her name tag.)

She is blonde and stunning.

She stands in front of them and puts her hands on her hips. (Which, as you know, is international female sign language for "Boys, you are so fucked right now.")

She stares directly at Sam.

"You have a LOT of nerve...," she hisses.

He tries to reply, "I --"

She is not having any of that.

"You sonofabitch!" She begins. "Who in the hell do you think you are? You think you can make love to me and never call me back? You thought I'd let that just slide? You clearly do NOT know who you are messing with. You didn't think I'd find you? Nobody sleeps with me and doesn't call. Well, that one guy... in college... But, that's not the point here. What, you think you were soooo good that you can love 'em or leave 'em? Please! I've had more pleasure during a visit to my gynocologist. It was awkward. You clearly had garlic for dinner. I've had yawns that lasted longer than you. In fact, I think I yawned WHILE you were 'ravishing' me. Plus... plus, you are the double threat of small AND limp. How do you like that, huh? You'd have had better luck trying to push a piece of string into me. And I likely would have enjoyed it more. You tried to blame it on the liquor that night, but you weren't nearly as drunk as I was. And just one look at you will back up just how soused I must have been. Seriously... You weren't hit with an ugly stick, you were hammered with a fugly A-bomb. And the garlic smell... I know I already mentioned it, but damn... I was slumming that night. It should have been the greatest night of your life. You should have begged me... BEGGED me to go out with you again. I looooooathe you. No, I mean it. I despise everything about you. From the top of your $5 haircut, to the soles of your dirty old Nikes. You disgust me. Burn in hell, you miserable little fucker. And when I walk away and you look at my ass... Because you know you'll look at my ass. My ass is like Jennifer Aniston's in 1996. It is like Eva Longoria's right now. WHEN you look at my ass, I hope you suffer. I hope it haunts your dreams. Because, you will never, ever get to touch it again. Prick!!"

With that she turns and walks out, knocking over people who are trying to enter.

"Who in the hell was that?," Ralph asks dumbfoundedly.

"I have never seen that woman before in my life," Sam replies. "But, she DOES have a killer ass though."

"Definitely," Ralph concurs. "So, I'm leaning towards a maple pecan danish."

"Nice choice," Sam nods.

I mumble.

And glance down at illegible notes.

I'll be doing something normal. Playing basketball. (In Europe for some reason.) Fighting crime in Hawaii. (With a mustache, of course.) Attending movie night at the Playboy Mansion. (In my jammies, obviously.)

Then you'll arrive.

You'll be a friend of a friend. Or sometimes you'll be someone's cousin.

I'll say "Hi." You'll say, "Hi."

Then you'll smile.

Wow.

I'll tell my friends that I am sitting out the next basketball game. (Or tell the cops that they'll have to catch the Oahu cat burglar on their own. ) (Or ask Hef to keep the bunnies off my lap.)

We'll talk. I'll later forget everything we discussed, but I'll feel like I'm enjoying the crap out of it while it's happening.

You'll look different each time. You'll dress differently. And you'll have a different name. (At least I think you will. I can never quite hear it when you tell me.)

But, the feeling will always be the same. It'll feel...

Right.

The dream will never last long enough. Maybe five minutes. Perhaps even ten. And the next day you'll start fading from memory as soon as I open my eyes.

There is nothing I can do about it.

The romantic in me will see it as some kind of relationship foreshadowing. A harbinger of a future love.

The realist in me will see it as a random amalgamation of thoughts, images and people that have crossed through my mind that day.

The optimist in me will think that while the person isn't real, maybe, just maybe, that feeling of rightness is.

I think we're going to go with that guy. He always seems to be just the right amount of delusional.

Time for me to jump in the shower, as you continue to fade from my mind.

Hopefully next time you'll speak up a little when I ask you your name.

This past weekend, the ACN came to visit. She brought her silly 6 month old border collie named "Nipper."



Nipper nips at things. And people. Mostly toes.

I haven't done any research on this, but I've been lead to believe that border collies nip at sheep to keep them from wandering off and whatnot.

Since I have little to no sheep wandering through the house, Nipper has to amuse herself with other things. Like eating q-tips, kleenex, leaves, old lobster shells, any food that we drop or are in the process of dropping, socks, and the aforementioned toes. She sometimes tries to eat rocks that are the size of her own head.

Nipper also seems to have developed a crush on me. She followed me everywhere and would look at me and whimper if I didn't pay enough attention. My sister laughed and said that the ACN trained Nipper that I was an easy mark and a sucker.

I'm also allergic to dogs, so with Nipper's love came some pain and suffering for me.

But, the ACN looooooooooooooves Nipper. So, I can't complain.

The other night, the ACN decided that she was no longer a big girl. She was a kitty cat. And everytime I asked her about this transformation, she giggled like crazy.

Later in the weekend, she also decided that her new name was "Esmerelda." She then decided that I was "Uncle Batholomew."

For a little cutie that can only say a couple of words, she is really good at playing tricks.

The monkey was here too. ACN decided her name should be Gretchen.

(ACN makes these decisions based on us offering many options. She shakes her head to any that she doesn't like. when you get to the right option, she laughs and says "Yeeeeaaaah!")



The monkey and the ACN made some Hallowe'en chocolates together. Well, the ACN did more eating than making, and she was quite content with that. Nipper nibbled the monkey's toes.

Nipper was re-named "Esmerelda 2" or "Fuzzy Esmerelda."



The monkey read the ACN a bunch of books. Pretty much every book in the house except for the one I wrote for the ACN. She always says "No" to it and then watches me for a reaction. If I so much as make a sad face, she howls with laughter.

She loooooves to torture me.

You can tell we're related.

Also, this weekend I recorded the season premiere of Saturday Night Live. I can't remember the last time I watched an entire episode, but I wouldn't be surprised if it was almost a decade ago. I vaguely remember Norm Macdonald being Bob Dole.

My plan was to watch the episode and then blog about it.

Well, I watched the opening skit. It was crap. Then the new opening credits. They were okay. Then Dane Cook's monologue.

Bru-tal.

I stopped watching at that point.

Methinks Mr. Cook should spend more time writing material, and less time in the gym and the too-tight t-shirt shop.

It is possible that I'll try to finish watching the episode at some point. But, I promise nothing.

Oh, I did zip ahead and watch the two performances by The Killers.

Underwhelming.

I love The Killers. I enjoyed the shit out of the first album.

I got my hands on the new one last week. I've been listening to it ever since. And I've been reading the horrible online reviews.

And, you know, it's really not that bad.

Seriously.

It's not chock full of hits like "Hot Fuss" was, but I think it's pretty solid. For the most part...

With the glaring exception of "Enterlude" and "Exitlude." Whoever produced this album should lose their producer's badge for not warning the band how terrible an idea those two "songs" were.

Oh, and "Uncle Johnny" was a bad, bad idea as well.

What I've done - with the help of ye olde iTunes - is re-do the album. I cut out the "ludes" and "Uncle Johnny" and added in the "All The Pretty Face" bonus track.

It works MUCH better now.

"Bling," "Bones" and "This River is Wild" are all good tunes.

"When You Were young" is, of course, cool bananas.

So, don't believe the anti-hype.

I think Nipper bit a hole in these socks too.

Labels: ACN

Today a relative of mine is having Cancer surgery.

The Cancer is located on the tongue.

I can't really give much more info.

I'm a private guy. We're a private family in general. But, this relative is VERY private.

This specific type of Cancer usually hits smokers and heavy drinkers. My relative is neither. And this relative is such a good person. Cancer is never "fair," but in this case it feels especially unfair.

There is some fear that Cancer may also be located elsewhere. The tests have been inconclusive so far, but have cast enough doubt to add stress to an already very stressed-out family.

They'll know more after surgery.

What we do know for sure is that later today this relative is going to go through a fairly long surgery - could be longer than expected, depending on the condition of lymph nodes. And the recovery will most likely be very painful. Radiation may be needed. (The possible side effects of such treatment in that area are too disturbing to mention right now.)

It is good that my relative has lots of friends and family members for support. Not everyone is so lucky.

Still, I'd appreciate any good thoughts or prayers you could lend today.

Thank you.

--------------------------------------

UPDATE:

Surgery went as well as could be expected. (Yay!) They got clean margins around the tumor. The tumor and lymph nodes were sent to the lab. Will get results in about a week. Going to spend a few days - up to a week - in hospital while the tongue heals. (Skin graft involved.) If the pathology shows no "particularly agressive cells" there MAY not be a need for radiation. We'll worry about the other spot once the tongue is healed.

Thanks SOOOOOOO much for the kind comments, sweet e-mails and helpful and successful thoughts and prayers. I really appreciate it.

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