Breaking Back In

It's been a long time since I or anyone else has updated this blog. I'm not even sure if I have anything to say at the moment, except to say that I will be writing more consistently because I once again have access to a computer again.

Hooray for working computers!

Standardization

Within the busy streets of Vancouver's downtown core Granville st. is often the last to go to sleep. On weekends the street is swarming with club goers, cops and the regular spread of fiends on the streets looking for their next fix. Paramedics and police often park off of Granville due to the high volume of people that come in and out of the many clubs the street holds.

This past week a close friend was promoting an event at one of the more popular clubs on Granville and so I decided to make an appearance and show my support. The theme of the evening was heaven and hell and so guests were asked to where either all white to represent heaven or all red to show their dark side. The crowd vibes were really off that night maybe because the promoters wanted the good and the bad to mingle and it just wasn't happening so I decided to leave the club in hopes of finishing off my night better than it started.

Walking out of the club a friend and I turned off of Granville and head toward the water. We stumbled upon someone on the ground clutching their gut in pain. The individual wasn't a fiend and looked more like a typical Vancouverite out on the town with his nice jeans, fancy shoes and his flashy pink dress shirt. Not even 10 feet away was an ambulance parked with a paramedic inside completely unfazed. Disgusted at the paramedics lack of concern I decide to get closer to the ambulance for a closer look at what might possibly be more important than saving someone from obvious pain.

It couldn't be anything else; the paramedic was on his laptop checking his facebook account online. Maybe he had parked there because he knew he could pick up on a signal in that location or maybe he was lucky but he had to have been on it for a while because the guy on the ground you could tell had been there for some time as well. No helping anyone unless they receive a call for help.

Can't just ask for it anymore; you have to go through the proper channels or else you're out of luck.

Appeal to Patrick Stewart #1

Dear Patrick Stewart,

My name is Billy. I am 15 years old and i have leukemia. The thing i want to do more than anything else is to hang out with Captain Picard. So if you can find it in your heart to make a dying boy's wish come true then please, make it so!


Billy

Myers Briggs Wha..?

I took the Myers Briggs type indicator test here for the second time. I placed as an ENFP [Extroverted, Intuitive, Feeling, Perceiving] again, which is nice because I really like being a Champion.

While the test on the site will give you a half-assed description, you can find a comprehensive list here by clicking your personal role variant. I think that you'll find if you're truthful on the test, your Wikipedia description will eerily suit you.

About 8.1% of people are Champions.
My boyfriend is a Mastermind - a role he shares with about 2.1% of people.

I'm REALLY interested in everyone's results so PLEASE reply in the comments with your results, the percentage, any interesting details of the variant, and if you think the test was accurate.

Thanks, loves.

PS. You can also take the tests here and here for accuracy :]

In the Meantime

I changed the url to the3akery.blogspot.com

<3b

Shoeless Security

Recently here in beautiful but ultra rainy/ cloudy Vancouver there have been reports of feet washing onto our coastline. Startled at first to hear about this absurd discovery I discussed the topic with Turtle. I had to explain to her that in Canada people with shoes are in danger as opposed to those who wander the streets free of footwear.

There exists in Vancouver's grimy east side groups of individuals who lack the financial stability to afford decent footwear but live near citizens of the city who reside in a neighbourhood we call gastown which is an upclass part of town. The rich living so close to the poor it's not surprising to see individuals early mornings sleeping at the entrances to these industrial but chic residential buildings.

These people who have lost everything in their lives because they suffer from severe drug addictions, homelessness and for many mental illnesses have now started taking their revenge on the rich who have neglected their poor neighbours for far too long now. Those people who sleep on the streets have at last organized themselves and chosen not to name themselves for doing so would reveal their master plan.

Due to the shame they carry with them at all times they usually have their heads down and so have been self taught to identify different peoples social status based on shoes they're wearing. If you're going to be wearing a nice pair of shoes and decide to walk through the east side than be prepared to have your feet hacked off by the local anti-foot gangs that roam the streets.

To wear flip flops would be a smart decision if walking bare foot is a bit too extreme. However if you do choose to walk bare foot be sure to carry around a flashlight with extra batteries because you don't want to step onto any used needles, glass from broken crack pipes, or get splinters from the regular amount of filth that litters the streets on the east side. If for any reason the poor begin to swarm around you just begin to mumble, than shout than return to mumbling; if this last step is practiced enough than you'll be considered one of them and will most definitely be left alone and with a full pair of feet to walk home with.

"shoeless = feet security" -turtle

Yesterday I applied for a reality TV show that SuicideGirls is helping to cast for VH1.

SGs posted a MySpace bulletin, so I replied. Upon further investigation, the craigslisting says it's for LA area only. Hmm, we'll see. I did this on a spur. If I don't get this reality show, Amazing Race HERE I COOOOME!

Hebrew National

"WE ANSWER TO A HIGHER AUTHORITY"

Hahahaah, seeeeeriously!? I'm stuck eating a pack of hot dogs that I bought for Bonnaroo. I bought hot dogs because they're easy. I bought Hebrew National because of their God complex and my distaste for hot dogs in general. For whatever reason [ahem, it couldn't be because I FORGOT MY GRILL AT HOME!] we didn't eat the hot dogs. Now I'm here, home, posting while eating couscous and 2 Hebrew Nationals. Yes...this is my life.





Oh, yeah, and:


CHODE!

when death knocks

Not the most beautiful of days today in the rainy city of Vancouver. Even when it's not raining the sky's overcast with clouds that seem to have no end. We haven't seen sunshine for a week now and it's been getting to me. It was good to see two kids playing out in their backyard on the moist grass taking turns going down the slide; I had to live vicariously through them because the lack of sunshine gets me down at times. While the kids are busy playing along comes a rabbit out through the fence and the kid's spot it, at first take a few cautious steps towards it afraid if they make too much noise the small furry creature will turn and run away. As they get closer it's only inevitable that they cross through the comfort zone of the edgy rabbit and off they are in a race to catch it. the two kids running around dodging toys and balls trying to get to the rabbit who has now hidden under the slide.

The children decide to be a bit more tactful this time around so they go on either side of the slide and close in the for catch. again the rabbit darts off and as soon as the kids take off after it a hawk swoops in and picks the rabbit right off the ground. the now very confused kids slow to a halt and look up at the hawk in hopes it'll let their furry playmate back down. One kid turns away and begins to cry but the other still has hope. She keeps her eyes locked on the bird of prey until it is out of sight than she too bursts into tears. I guess you could argue that if the kids weren't distracting the rabbit by chasing it around the backyard it might have been more aware of it's surroundings and been able to avoiding getting picked up by the hawk or it's day had come and there it was, death, knocking at its door.

the slug that needed a break

On a quest to go meet a friend downtown i opted for using my bicycle rather than waiting for the bus. I was feeling the wind in my face and enjoying the weather until I got to the beginning of Lions Gate Bridge. No more wind in my face as I got ready for the steady ten minute climb until the center of the bridge. Already half-way up the climb and I encountered a slug in my path; my first reaction was to avoid it and keep going. How did a slug get this far up the bridge, those little buggers don't really move fast in fact they hardly seem to move at all. It's remarkable that it got as far up the bridge as he had. Maybe it's ultimate goal was to get over the bridge to Stanley Park where it heard rumours of a Slug Heaven. There will probably be another bicycle rider who won't be looking down that moment and take it out without even noticing that it ended the epic quest of some little slug that just wanted it's own piece of heaven on earth.

I wasn't going to allow that to happen; everyone needs a break and today that slug needs a break. I came to a sudden halt whilst these thoughts were going through my mind and I turned around in hopes of helping my new found friend. I remembered there was an empty paper bag just past where I spotted the slug so I would look from there. After arriving at the scene and searching about for another two minutes I found the very spot I had seen the slug only to realise there was no slug. What I had thought to be a slug was merely a curved piece of hard rubber which to glance at could be mistaken for a slug.

Tiparoo

This is Harold LeDouche. He's not necessarily a douche although he can be when he chooses to summon that side of him. This is not a character attack on Harold but rather a story of Monsieur LeDouche's use of vocabulary. To initiate a discussion with Harold one must ask not for a talk but rather a 'chiggidychateroo;' and to ask how he's doing one must use this absurd word: jiggidyjiggidywassap. I will document the ongoing madness that is LeDouche's vocabulary in hopes that one day he'll stumble upon this blog and realize the insanity that is his mind. Until than I'll continue to update 'words' and phrases that from henceforth shall be called Ethanisms.

Ethanism is a very complex philosophy that I'll get into as the updates progress but it is rumoured that it comes from an alter ego that exists within Monsieur LeDouche. All must be aware of his triplespeak for within his at times funny phrases there lies an evil we must never turn away from.

Zeitgeist

I saw this documentary "Zeitgeist". Makes you think.

"They must find it difficult...
Those who have taken authority as the truth,
rather than the truth as authority."

-Gerald Massey

Flush 'Em [All About Poop]

I want this toilet.
Yes...there are live fish in the tank.

smile

This is my first attempt at stenciling. I'm pretty pleased with myself as of right now. The camera flash made it hard to read the second line, live love 2 love life. It's a motto a good friend of mine has towards life, interpret however you choose. i.e which flavour ice cream do you like?

Dude. Have I told you?

I'm totally going to China [also Tibet, Nepal, and India]. I leave June 30.

Yeeeeaaaahhhh. Freakin cool, right?

[.Gif of the Day]

A tribute to Jerry Springer and everything American*...









*And sure, you Canadians and Mexicans and South Americans are "american" too, but as a true American I know that you're not. You're Canadian, or Mexican, or Brazilian...or whatever. But it's not as good as being AMERICAN. *ahem* The End.

[.Gif of the Day]

“The moon's an arrant thief,
And her pale fire she snatches from the sun.”
- Shakespeare

Knowledge

One day a dispassionate young man approached the Greek philosopher and casually said, 'O great Socrates, I come to you for knowledge.'

The philosopher took the young man down to the sea, waded in with him, and then dunked him under the water for thirty seconds. When he let the young man up for air, Socrates asked him to repeat what he wanted. 'Knowledge, O great one,' he sputtered.

Socrates put him under the water again, only this time a little longer.

After repeated dunkings and responses, the philosopher asked, 'What do you want?' The young man finally gasped, 'Air. I want air!' 'Good,' answered Socrates. 'Now, when you want knowledge as much as you wanted air, you shall have it.'

Survey Says... [All About Poop]

I've had a fellow employee who left the bathroom in a shambles. Disgusting, I tell you.

Pubies on the seat, brownish water [it seems that he had flushed, but one wasn't enough], and brown baby wipes dirty side up in the trash can. There's a point to this...I promise. See, I got to thinkin', what are the usual bathroom habits of my fellow peoples?

One quick search on google and I found exactly what I was looking for. 1,102,572 people have taken this potty survey, and after you submit yours you can view the results. Interesting...you know, if you're mystified by excrement as I am...Go! Take it!

A short story.

When a boy like me gets sad I try to remember old memories. Or at least make them up, taking bits and pieces of memories and compiling them, changing them a little every time. And because I hail from the Philippine Isles these memories almost invariably involve mangoes.

Yes. The sweetness of its scent, the sunburst yellow of the skin, tattooed with dark marks of ripeness that indicate they’re ready for the picking. Peeling it, biting into it. Too busy savouring the soft fleshy sweetness to notice errant juices flowing down your forearm, scraping the seed bone dry, and then wiping your hands clean on your white tee-shirt. Mmm, or green mangoes still firm to the touch, crunchy and sour. Bought off the Manila street vendors, peeled, served with bagooing, a fermented fish that sharpens sourness of the unripened street treat. Yum.

My mango is still more specific. My mango comes from my home town of Santa, Ilocos Sur. Mangoes, a little smaller than typical Philippine mangoes. You know, the kind you buy at the grocery store when you’re homesick. No Ilocano mangoes are heart shaped, with thicker skin, the size of a rioting fist.

Yes, I remember or at least imagine the days - after school, just after the rainy season when the plants were in bloom. They all had fruits to share with us greedy school boys. The plants were all lush with glossy leaves, bursting with all shades of green. Emeralds, limes, and forest greens. Complimented by flowers and fruits of the rainbow.

My friends and I would climb to the tops of the trees and pick at their fruits along with the marching ants that always seemed to find their way into our garments. And still without hesitation, with out regard, only with the wide eyed anticipation of the succulence of the fruit we were about to devour, we would climb higher and higher to find our reward.

Yet of all the fruit trees, of all the rambutan, santol and guava trees, everything paled in comparison to the mango tree. You see to a boy...or should I say manly man of ten years, a mango is a beautiful thing. Especially the mangoes in my grandmothers back yard. These were the heart shaped mangoes the kind I would think of when I looked at the statue of Jesus in my grandma’s living room. His burning red heart, akin to the shape of the mangoes in her back yard. I would always imagine them when I was made to pray the rosary, kneeling at a distance from the statue. What I would do for just a sliver of fruit.

After school, and before I had a tutor, my friends and I - there were five of us - would all run home and grab our sling shots. Then run over to the plaza. The plaza was a central court where the kids from the barangay (village) would come to skip out on chores. It was entirely made out of concrete, complete with grand stand, basketball court and stage for pageants. Filipinos love pageants. There we would alternate between playing basketball and shooting cans off the stage with our sling shots. My friend Justin, the smallest of our group had the best shot, he always made me envious.

Our after school adventures would always lead us to my grandmother’s house. Her house was not like the rest of the village, for my grandparents had been a prominent couple in town, my grandmother being a principal at the high school and my grandfather being the provincial surgeon.

I of course was oblivious to this and to any class differences, since I was just a boy of ten. I would often sneak my friends into the house past our Dalmatian, past our helpers and into the backyard. My grandmother’s back yard, as I remember, teemed with vegetation, chickens and fish ponds. All of it of course was wild and had been unkempt for quite some time. Its glory days forgone, twenty years before my birth. However, there remained at the corner of her garden the mighty mango tree. This tree was the biggest and most formidable vegetation in her garden. Its branches stretched high above the wall that enclosed the house and high above the rooftop, shading her kitchen.

The safest way to get to its fruits was through the house and into my late grandfather’s quarters, around the back and across the roof of the kitchen, carefully walking atop the beams that ran its length lest we fall through her tin roof.

Once there we had free reign at all the fruits within a 10 year olds reach. However, the safest route was also the trickiest as my grandmother detested my guests, especially guests from the village who entered the private quarters of the second floor. So often we had to climb the tree, risking life and limb just for a taste of mango fruit. The hard way was however the most satisfying for after braving the formidable trunk and the tangle of branches along with the bushy green leaves we were able to securely reach out and grab mangoes to our hearts desire.

But the process was not yet complete. There was another step. To fully appreciate such a magnificent fruit one had to be in the proper setting. We had to transfer our bodies from the tree onto the corrugated tin roof of my grandmother’s kitchen. From there the roof was stable enough for us to lay our thin bodies down on the shade the tree had so graciously provided.

The overhanging branches of the mango tree provided just the right amount of shade in the afternoon. Attracting the faintest breeze to wick the sweat of your skin. On the corner of the rooftop we would sit, me and my friends, and eat mangoes in the late afternoon. We would eat until our stomachs were sore, until we could no longer eat dinner... then we would nap and be happy, and enjoy the freedom of our youth and the irresponsibility that had not yet been taken from us. The thought of a scolding - the scolding we would surely receive from our parents - never crossed our minds.

When we were satisfied and somewhat awake we would take the seeds which we had bitten bone dry and hurl them at passerbyers. The leaves of the mango tree would also provide us with a disguise, because from where we were onlookers and pedestrians could fall victims to our seed barrage without the slightest knowledge of our whereabouts. A perfect ending to the day.

Soon there after my grandmother, irritated, would call out to me telling me to prepare for dinner, pretending to be oblivious to the mischief I was making. And my friends would have to go home to do chores and to receive the spanking they had spent all afternoon avoiding. And our dreams and adventures and mischief would be put off for another day.

Punk rock model to success

Matt Mason knows what's up and his book will tell you what is up.

An excerpt from his book:

Punk Capitalism

1. Do It Yourself
Punk refused to take its cues from the mass market, and created a vibrant cultural movement as a result. Now a critical mass of punk capitalists is removing the associative barriers that held them back. They are working for themselves, setting up businesses, and finding ways to produce as much as they consume, laying the foundations for a wealth of new markets and business models. D.I.Y. is changing our labor markets, and creativity is becoming our most valuable currency.

2. Resist Authority
Punk resisted authority and saw anarchy as the path to a brighter future. Punk capitalists are resisting authority, too-by leveraging new D.I.Y. technologies and the power of individuals connecting and working together as equals. This twin engine of the new economy is creating new ways all of us can live and work, leaving old systems for dust. Technology + Democracy = Punk Capitalism.

3. Combine Altruism with Self-Interest
Punk had high ideals-it looked aggressive and scary, but through its angry critique of society and subversion of it, it sought to change the world for the better. Punk capitalists are using the same techniques, subverting a world full of empty corporate gestures, manufacturing businesses and products with meanings that attempt to inject substance back into style. Punk injected altruism into entrepreneurship, a motivator of people long overlooked by neoclassical economics. Not only that, punk made the idea of putting purpose before profit seem cool to an entire generation. It manufactured new meaning in an area where it was really needed.

If you don't know, now you know!

Hrm [Ramblings]

Ironic by Alanis Morissette came on in Subway while I was in line.

Wow. That song takes me back...

It's so wild, the things that trigger our memories and emotions. I was so deep in nostalgia after only a few lines that I felt like a zombie walking out into the sunlight after I'd paid for the sandwich.

It wigs me out that there's only one story. The happenings in the world...there's just ONE story, you know. But the billions of different perceptions of this story buried in every individual conscious...

...Sometimes it just hits me - how small we are, but how big we seem to ourselves, how different each of us perceive events, and how diverse individual stories may be even when surroundings seem identical.

Hrm.

[.Gif of the Day]

You know, I didn't really think this was funny, initially...but after I saw it a few times...ha, it's classic.

Indian Cricket Cheerleader Idol

Last month Indian lawmakers flipped their lids when they saw that team owners had flown in cheerleaders from the Washington Redskins and some eastern European teams to cheer on the cricket field. Games were shortened to five hours rather than the usual five days! The western elements adopted for the newly formed Indian Premier League have received much criticism from inside India were they tend to frown upon scantly dressed women.

Indian lawmakers need only to 'lighten up' and allow the chips to fall where they may. For how much longer can they hold up the walls as to avoid western culture? Even though it's name expresses Indian origin the League is made up of too many foreign investors to be acknowledged as a purely Indian sporting event. Maybe the Indian officials were disappointed because the team owners chose western women rather than their own native women to be selected as cheerleaders.

Bollywood should go ahead and create a movie based on the above events and have Indian women trying oh so hard to become the next Indian Cricket Cheerleader Idol! I think it has a good ring to it and so should you! Than they should go onto phase two where they'd create a television show to choose the ultimate cheer team. I think I'd start watching TV again if they aired a show like that.

Young Blood [A Little Science Never Hurt Anybody]

"Teen Blood Donors Have Higher Risk Of Donation-related Complications"
This article says that teen donors are more prone to "fainting and bruising" than their elderly counterparts.

This has been discovered with the recent Red Cross campaigns for high schools. I remember my own high school blood drive...If I recall correctly [which I think I do, but hey, I have repressed quite a lot of high school] all the preppy girls were just really big pussies about giving blood, and if they fainted or something they got extra attention.

Also, if you're post high school and you know you get dizzy or bruise badly, what is going to draw you into the donor chair if there is no National Honor Society credit hanging over your head, huh? So I think that this study is a little warped.

All this aside, I support high school blood drives. Anything to increase our ever shrinking supply of eligible donors.

Boulevardier [In the Name of Verbage] [Photo Phun]

\boo-luh-var-DYAY; bul-uh-\, noun:

1. A frequenter of city boulevards, especially in Paris.
2. A sophisticated, worldly, and socially active man; a man who frequents fashionable places; a man-about-town.

~~~~

In the taxi cab on our way from the Charles de Gaulle airport, I struck up a conversation with the driver. He told me that there were thousands of streets in Paris. I repied, "And I want to see them all!"
"Impossible!" he replied.

Well, here's one alley that I saw. I love alleyways :]

'Twas a Stinker [All About Poop]

I pooped the very smelliest of any poop I have ever encountered [ever!], yesterday. Today was slightly better.

Of course, this had me thinking, "What the hell did I EAT!?" And from there, "What kinds of food make poop expecially smelly?" And THEN I remembered this really great poop site that I found in high school that you MUST check out.

Smellypoop.com is full of interesting poop facts and a must read if you, like me, are fascinated with excrement. Also, there's a pretty nasty poop store for some good ol' fashioned potty humor pranks.

Please, enjoy.





No, really. Stop reading. Go there NOW.

One really cool old dude

I wish all old people were this cool.

www.youtube.com/watch?v=MeSSwKffj9o

Happy Monday [.Gif of the Day]

"Why!?" you exasperatedly ask.

Because. I was born in 1987.

And I love it all && Carlton.

[.Gif of the Day]

Uhm...I'm excited.

Eudaemonistic [In the Name of Verbage]

Eudaemonistic...my new favorite word and idea.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

eu·dae·mon·ism also eu·dai·mon·ism or eu·de·mon·ism
(yōō-dē'mə-nĭz'əm)
n. A system of ethics that evaluates actions in terms of their capacity to produce happiness.

eu·dae'mo·nist n., eu·dae'mon·is'tic, eu·dae'mon·is'ti·cal adj.



Discovered in this article, looked up here.

:]

Awesome [Family]

This is the new addition to my extended family.

This is the greatest kid shirt ever.

Tarot

The tarot deck is used by many as a means of divination and has origins in ancient Egypt as well as ancient India. I was given a set by a good friend not too long ago and it has since been sitting on my desk awaiting to be used. I've wanted to go online or get a book on the subject and learn to use it properly but I heard from a couple sources that i shouldn't go about learning to use it in that matter, rather i should teach myself?! This only helped me to procrastinate longer than I normally would have but it all ended or rather began yesterday.


I had dinner with a good friend and he brought up the topic and asked if I had begun using them; after explaining that i hadn't even looked inside he grew eager to see what divine secrets they held, if any. a short trip over the Lions gate bridge back to my place and we opened the deck to reveal 72 beautifully designed cards all done in acrylic and watercolor by Chatriya Hemharnvibul a name i won't even try to pronounce.

After perusing the deck we decided to give it a try but neither of us had any clue how to begin. I began shuffling the deck and pondering on a question I had, than handed the deck to my friend. Not knowing how to place the cards he decided that three was the number of the day and pulled that many off the top and placed them on the floor. After flipping each card over he began observing the art and the name that was given to each of the cards and began making conclusions on what was laid out before him. i was in awe because everything he said hit bang on with what I was thinking about without him knowing. It was my turn to use the 'magic' deck and so he did the same, thought up a question while shuffling the deck than handed it over to yours truly. I again laid out the top three cards and turned them over. While looking at the art on each card I began making conclusions based on what I observed on the printed card and whatever thought first entered my head. My friend had the same look of awe on his face when I was done. Puzzled as we were, we continued reading each other for another 20 minutes taking turns answering each others questions with this deck of what now seemed to be a tool of divination.

The cards are stimuli for our senses and allow us to be honest with what we feel. Often times we are asked questions by others but many layers hold us back from answering them honestly and straightforward. The cards allow the reader to break down those barriers and in a sense blurt out what vibe they feel off the person while stimulating themselves with Chatriya's beautiful art. I say forget learning to use the tarot the traditional way and learn to do it yourself. Go out and purchase a pack based primarily on whichever style of art pleases your taste and begin your readings. Better yet, you can grab a crate and go downtown and have readings done for donations!

How to become a Tarot reader:
1. Purchase Tarot deck.
2. Find a shawl with a lot of glitter on it from thrift store (must be gypsy like).
3. Steal crate from behind a dumpster.
4. Place shawl over crate and place cards on top.
5. Pause longer than usual before replying to people to give off a false air of wisdom.
6. Smile when people call you a phony so they think you know something they don't

[.Gif of the Day]

*giggle

Monoblade

In the early 90's all Mercedes-Benz vehicles came with a single wiper blade rather than two which you see on all other vehicles on the road. The Monoblade always gave a great clean with only one sweep of it's blade. It performed a W shape while in motion to insure getting even a larger area visible for the driver. There were never any reported models with faulty monoblades nor were they ever unreliable. I'm very disappointed to see that none of the present models produced by Mercedes comes equipped with the monoblade.

The blade itself if it were to speak would be saying that it has got things covered for it's partner is resting at home wherever that may be for an automobile wiper blade. Next time you're in an older Mercedes and it begins to rain, switch it on and you'll hear it saying "Bitch I got it!"

Travelling Stretch Marks

Many great things can be told of travelling, but few tell you of the bad things that can come out of it as well. You begin to travel and along your travels you run into many people, most you forget almost right away but you run into those you remember and which take longer to fade from your memory. Than there are those you wish you'd forget but can't and than you have your really deep connections. Friendships are forged along these travels and now it's time to part ways, really shitty feeling to have to say goodbye and not know when the next time you'll be able to see that person again will be. People who lead a traveling lifestyle accept early on that most of the road they choose to travel on is walked alone. No one to accompany you but yourself which is fine until you've built friendships all over and now can't decide to stay anywhere because you've spread your love and happiness out so far that it can't be focused into one point anymore. At least I think it would be something like that.

I've been building this big epic idea in my head that one day I'm going to get up and leave this super capitalistic society i've been brought up in and trade it for a far more simple form but I haven't got a clue where to begin. I've done some reading but actually taking steps to seperate yourself is much harder than it seems. Especially when you have to figure a way to get out while in; i don't really know out or inside of what but we'll leave that rabbit hole for another day.

Hrr? [Random Fact]

We know Aussies have incredibly hot bods and funny accents, but I've just discovered that they have their own method of decorating cakes.

"The Australian Method also uses intricate royal icing piping over fondant-covered cakes, but then adds delicate lacework and detailed extension and curtain work." (wiki)

Yeah, okay...whatever that means.

This Car Runs on Yogurt Cups [Captain Planet]

You know what's cool?

Reclaiming fossil fuels from recycled plastics.

Welcome to the Bakery [The Blog]

This is a haphazard experiment...an attempt at something meaninglessly meaningful on the interwebs coming from the minds of those who have no clue what any of this means.

This is the experimental stage, of course, so bear with us. Though we're not quite sure when the experimental stage will be over...

Hmph. Anyway, the site looks like a gay pride Easter egg...Mo's fault. He wanted a purple background. Do you even know how hard it is to find colors that
1. you can read on purple
2. don't clash so horribly with purple you would rather pull your lunch out through your belly button than look at the page, and
3. don't suck in their own right.

It's hard. Don't judge me.

I take it back. Judge me. I can take it.