I thought I was being lax in waiting weeks before marking and returning to sender the mail we've been recieving for the previous tenants here but I've been told by some of my co-workers that they just throw the mail out instead.

That shouldn't make me feel like a good person really.

I'm back from a gruelling weekend outside of San Francisco, seeing only the airport and the highway to San Mateo and none of the actual city itself.

The place reeked of money. Huge gorgeous buildings including one that looked like the Romulan Embassy with all its birdlike lines. Rather freaky but fitting for a place as geeky as the silicon valley.

Really I saw absolutely nothing on this trip but my hotel, the office, and the airport so don't bother asking me if I had fun. Travelling on business in my particular profession is as fun as being stung in the nutsack by an angry hornet. It's always about working our asses off 30 minutes outside of any respectable city and flying home once the job is done.

I crept back into the long hours habit of consuming shit I shouldn't like 30 cups of weak coffee chocked full of hazelnut flavored coffeemate. If the sugar in that doesn't give me diabetes, the coffeemate is sure to give me cancer of some sort. We also abused the 25 cent vending machine and sampled rootbeer float mike and ikes, shitty sour candies and a bag of nacho cheese flavor bugles that made both of us want to die.

That all said though, I'd be lying if I said that it isn't a huge ego boost to be flown into the technology mecca of the US to ply my craft.

My intimate relationship with my work visa means I'm heading to san francisco tomorrow for a few days.

I hear the chinese do good laundry down there.

People who die while playing russian roulette are awesome.

A young artist who goes by the name of boobookittyfuck has been one of my favourites for as long as I've known his work.

My current favourite is the old switch-a-roo which is sad, witty, adorable, and of course beautiful all in one.

Cnott sent me this link which left me at a loss for words.

But after a few minutes thought it came easily. Bad parenting.

While buying my new phone at futureshop, the recent immigrant chinese salesman continually called me "buddy" which I really got a kick out of.

If I hadn't been so disarmed by being called buddy so frequently, I wouldn't have missed the perfect opportunity to refer to someone as chief repeatedly.

On the other hand, at least he didn't call me sport.

I've dumped my telus phone and moved to fido so I could have a phone and plan that don't suck balls. Shoot me a note (IM or email) if you need my new number or call my old number for the voicemail greeting with it.

thesuperficial.com isn't good because of the pictures of teh chicks (and teh boobs), but for the biting comments that go with them.

My stupid MSN name of "what's alesse?" after the retarded birth control pill ad with the stupid shithead who obviously hasn't seen the same annoying ads fished this perfectly suited IM message from allan.

I'm just a little bit proud of being in a hot tub for 15 minutes and not giving into the urge to pee.

Meet Micky Yanai, owner of the world famous (in the same sense that the marine club on homer street is world famous) "Helicopter Fuck".

Not safe for work (at least maybe not your work) but hilarious not only for the concept and pics, but for the incredible display of engrish.

I'm a film geek; I love beautiful films that tell stories about people. That said, there are certain films that I use to judge the character of people I meet.

1. Top Gun - undeniably gay, yet totally macho and awesome at the same time. In the running for "Best Movie Evar"

2. Dumb and Dumber - Brilliant. You thinking this movie is dumb tells me how dumb you actually are.

3. Amelie - You could only dislike this if you've never felt awkward or alone, are blind or just hate beautiful things or are a stupid asshole.

4. Dune - David Lynch's best work. Don't compare it to the book, just bask in the glow that is Sting's glistening sweaty half naked body as he dances around with a knife. Kyle MacLachlan's hair reached the peak of style at this point of his career.

If we're already friends and you hate these movies, just never mention it to me. Ever.

Once again I was the subject of another conversation about why I'm still single.

The short answer is I don't know.

The long answer is that I'm still hopelessly waiting meet a girl who'll blow me out of the water with the force of a tsunami. I want to look at her and feel my chest collapsing inward and be barely able to breathe the words I want to say to her. I want to press my cheek against her back and feel the sun rise and set to the rhythm of her breathing. I want write lyrics like those found in the liner notes of a Journey album when steve perry was still singing for them.

I want to live like I've been set afire and burn with passion until I am nothing but ashes.

In other words, I'm too naive to know any better.

It was our summer event day at work today which led to some interesting scenarios in our quest to win 'the amazing race'.

The first was a fear factor inspired eating contest where I ended up consuming a big incredibly stinky piece of runny cheese. I've eaten some stinky cheeses, but this stunk up the whole room before we even entered it and even managed to make me gag. Followed by a pair of anchovies, a shotgunned beer, and a whole century egg within 90 seconds, I did my duty but was found the event harder than I had planned.

We ran around downtown some more, having to do different tasks including one that put me inside of purple bra that I had to wear for the rest of the event over my shirt. Running after eating all that crap took it's toll and I contemplated forced ejection of the food mass to make running easier.

We came across two kids selling lemonade and in an act of generosity (and even more to spite other teams who may have wanted some refreshment) we guzzled their lemonade pitcher in under a minute and gave them $25 for their trouble.

After some fun with duct tape, we ended up having to make a balloon animal to sell for charity to a stranger at granville island. Fortune was on our side and we were able to sell our big pink wang of a balloon to no other than the Vancouver Canuck's Trevor Linden for $20. I even shook his hand while wearing the 36C bra, but with time against us I had no time to chat up the cute blonde girl eyeing and smiling at my artificially inflated rack. Before our time at granville island was up though, I had run through the children's waterpark wearing that purple bra three separate times attracting the attention of laughing children, horrified parents, and dirty old men alike.

For our efforts our team won first place despite a second place crossing at the finish which came with $100 gift certificates each at a selection of stores.

Drenched in sweat and soon beer, the day's events turned out much more interesting and fun than I had envisioned. Tomorrow greets me with a chair massage at the office, which I'm told is absolutely to be with pants on. Life isn't so bad it seems.

Many good suggestions came my way, but the book I decided to start with is Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas.

Not two pages into the book did I realize that for more interesting blog posts, I really should be consuming an insane amount of psychoactive drugs.

Of all the places in vancouver (and its burbs), the best fountain fed coke I think I've had is from Hon's in vancouver's chinatown. It's got just the right mix of sweetness and carbonation and it's the only place I'd feel bad for not having one.

mildly related: Coke's new C2, a calorie reduced (and advertised as carb reduced [who would have thought that removing sugars in a soda would reduce the carbs!]) formula is rather good. It reminds me of a caramelized crystal pepsi which I thought was awesome (though inferior to it's cousin crystal gravy). Even if you don't give two shits about diet sodas, it's worth trying simply for the taste.

With my headboard finally in place, I now have a bed quite suitable for reading but nothing of interest to read.

So I'm asking for recommendations. Preferably paperback, preferably something involving eating or killing (they seem to be the two things I seem to never tire of reading about). I'm a tough sell so two lines about why I should read the bloody book would be handy. email me at [readingrainbow at inanimate dot ca].

Since my job requires that I type a lot, having a paper cut running down the tip of my right index finger goes from being a non-issue to being a major annoyance.

I had to bandage it to keep the cut from splitting open again eight times a second while I typed, and even bandaged I had to keep off of it to avoid the unending string of stinging it caused. (I type goddamn fast, so the wound gets no rest).

Unrelated, I may have put together a bed too comfortable for my own good. With good muslin sheets, the best down comforter I could find at Linens 'n' Things, and a great mattress and pad combo, I feel like leaving the home less than ever these days.

My idea of the perfect day is moving closer to sleeping in, lying in bed listening to music (morrissey at that), smoking up, eating, and lying in bed some more to more music. I feel like I should be paying tuition to something while not attending any classes. (thankfully, discipline still forces me into the gym 2-3 times a week to save me from americanism).

Since I have nothing funny to contribute, another recipe it is. Though I haven't tried it, this one just sounds right.

Heat some finely diced shallots or red onions in olive oil, add a healthy dollop of cream cheese (with a splash of cream or milk) and black pepper. Toss in your freshly cooked and drained penne, a spoonful of capers, and a bunch of thinly sliced red onions and a bit of fresh dill. Toss this all around, and finish by dropping thin strips of smoked salmon (lox) all over the top.

How the fuck could this be bad?

I'm of the opinion that history's greatest love song is the aptly named Love Song by The Cure.

Unlike other songs of heartache, all this song does is make me so envious of what he has found.

Is it me, or will Futureshop salesmen try to sell you anything they can except for accurate information?

Because I hadn't seen my dear friend dawn in months, I came up with a menu to feed her for two full meals with the best things I could think of.

The day started out with a chicken salad sandwich. Freshly roasted (and cooled) chicken with celery and quartered red grapes, light mayo and a touch of honey on asiago ciabatta. The fresh juicy chicken and chewy ciabatta made this the best chicken sandwich evar.

On the side was a spinach salad with a cranberry vinaigrette made with reduced cranberry cocktail, red wine vinegar and olive oil. Topped with dried cranberries, mandarin slices, and toasted almond slivers.

For dinner, I improved on my dijon lemon pasta using a fistful of dungeness crab and parsley and finished the evening with vanilla ice cream topped with a homemade black cherry sauce.

In or out of jail, martha stewart could be my bitch.

Don't forget to go see 'Harold and Kumar Go To White Castle' this weekend.

The premise of an asian guy and a brown dude getting stoned and wanting cute little hamburgers hits too close to home for me to miss it.