Skid Row Camo

Hurled all over my clothes at the stag! Don't remember! What a crazy night! Pace-car Pat got the shot.

Military Thinking

I figure if you're interested in the English language, the American government and military are an endless source of entertainment. I was talking with a couple of colleagues about the Iraq war, and how during the early stages of the war the military was trying to minimize any negative press (i.e., truth) regarding American casualties, when someone wondered aloud whether anyone was working on a new word for "body bags." I blurted out the first thing that came to mind: "Freedom sacks!"

Coincidentally, a couple of days later I found confirmation that they indeed had decided on a new term for body bags: "transport tubes." Not as funny as mine.

How Not to Flag a Cab

If you decide to make a spectacle of yourself in the middle of the street, there's no time like 1:30 AM to start. Your options increase proportionately to the decrease in traffic flow.

My good friends and colleagues Glen Stamwork and Artie Devlin and I spent a recent Thursday night sampling a couple of local watering holes, a semi-regular event since we've determined that Thursday is the new Friday. We made sure to end up at the Princeton Hotel before our favourite DJ finished her set of Motown and great '80s tunes (think Clash, the Jam, Talking Heads). The music was great and the beer was flowing. Our pool game was so-so. At some point the server stepped on Artie's umbrella and snapped it, then advised him that he shouldn't keep it on the floor. Someone could have mentioned that Artie should rethink his dedication to wooden umbrellas, but that particular bit of obviousness was overlooked somehow.

Later, after a late snack at a Chinese restaurant during which we discussed our sad history of not being able to refrain from talking in Chinese accents in Chinese restaurants, in Chinese accents, we headed out to the street. Artie and I decided to call it a night. Glen remarked, "You guys haven't even started drinking!", but relented and decided to try to get us a cab. So he walks into the middle of the street and starts wildly waving the broken-off, splintered umbrella handle. And wonders why cabs are driving by.

We did get home somehow eventually. Artie has a replacement umbrella (he always buys two).