quel temps fait-il?

il fait michaud.

my brother and i got a little overzealous in preparing cereal the night he returned from montreal.  

everybody defecates

my name has now been associated with diarrhea, i.e. "i have a case of the beanys" (wetsand, cred). last hallowe'en, it was suggested that perhaps i should dress up as a whoopie cushion (wetsand and crm, cred). my father cleverly gave me the acronym "bowel movement h_____." everyone always confesses nasty bathroom trips and accidentally shitting themselves to me because i should know all about it. ok, i have a bowel disease-- get over it. actually, i don't care. keep it coming. we've got to talk about our bowels. everybody defecates.

pope palpatine?

exhibit a: compare this image to the one of palpatine below. this has been posted on many sites, but i couldn't resist pointing it out to my readers! nbsp;

exhibit b 

exhibit c 

hey beany-- your reward for being awesome is soy sauce!

i decided to reward myself because i was actually 8 minutes early for work today, rather than sliding in with one or two moments to spare, or skulking in five or ten minutes late. my reward was a bottle of wheat-free tamari for the sushi i'll make in a day or two. luckily for us, our newest boy paduan learner chose to stay with us in halifax rather than accepting the more interesting and better-paying position in new brunswick. i, for one, am super-grateful. he's one rad dude and a crazy mofo.
last night i took puppy to visit friends and came home with some mad pot (thanks, dude) which i got into a bit ago after the puppy'd shit on the floor (not the newspaper i had laying there), puked and/or shat in his fluffy white bed, then shit--but didn't quite finish-- managing to collect feces in his flowy white tail and all over his hind end. he then sat on my bathmat and various other places/objects, scattifying them. yeah, i needed some weed and now i feel fine. made some carrot-sweet potato soup-- still feeling fine. everything is interesting, and some things are even enjoyable.

now you can see for yourself: my piss is alkaline.  

acid or bust

this week has seen my complete dedication to an alkaline diet. there are a couple of problems with this: a) there are six cuntillion different ideas of what constitutes an alkaline diet. lots of contradictions in the lists i found, like serious ones that i won't bore you with but that pissed me off. instead of doing what i would normally do, which is ignore the foods i don't like on some lists and make the most attractive list to suit what i dig, i actually used the strictest list possible. b) consequently, i was only able to consume say a quarter or so of my usual amount of protein, and besides being so pissy i wanted to punch everyone including myself in the face for three days straight, i was seriously sharving for a handful of my usual mainstays.
my diet could consist of:
all vegetables, not including tomato and eggplant (which i never eat anyway)
potatoes, sweet potatoes and corn (starchy veg)
bananas
dried fruit (dates and raisins)
avocado
almonds
date molasses, blackstrap molasses
soymilk and soy yogourt
... and that's it. that's fucking it. oh, yeah, and spring water and most herbal teas.
one more day until i can taste sweet acidity.
i'm tempted to give myself a yerba mate enema, stuff a steaming bowl of brown rice with bragg's and tahini in my anal cavity and fuck myself with a block of tofu. i am so ready for monday to come.
on the upside, my ph strips say i'm akaline.
on another positive note, when i puked on the second day of total alkalinity, my vomit tasted much better.

NOT GUILTY. 

slayer's kerry king, back in the day.  

reign. in. blooooooooooood!

i'm so glad that metal is alive and well and coursing through my veins and the protruding veins under the forearm tattoos of a few dozen longhaired metal fiends in this city and in cities and hick towns throughout the world. it tucks me in to bed at night. saturday night, war ensemble-- a slayer tribute band, played at the attic. i generally hate the attic, and prove it by getting fucked up pretty much every time i go there. i hate the people who randomly go there. i hate the too-skinny barmaids (but love their tattoos). the only time i enjoy the attic is when there's a serious rawk or metal show there with a huge built-in crowd. metal crowds tend to be the friendliest i've walked among. the indie crowd is generally just plain annoying and pretentious. i feel if i look too metal or don't have sufficiently crooked hair or enough stripes or my pants rolled according to the current method or whatnot that they mentally spit on me. i'm not sure i care, but it's nice to not feel as if i'm on the judge judy show with the jerk indie fuck playing judy, screaming, "how stupid can you BE coming out to the show dressed like that, you WANK!?" many of the indie scene kids are lovely and kind, but the shit ones ruin it for all of us. the metal crowd's just so polite and kind. there's a serious unspoken kinship between us. i don't even consider myself part of the metal scene in halifax, but i feel the love.
war ensemble itself was as awesome as they were last year after the slayer show. i went alone, randomly last year. from what i remember, i had a wicked time drinking my face off with an old friend (read: flame). i want the lead dude to eat breakfast with me so i'd feel even more metal as i drink my greens and soymilk. i'd cook him veggie bacon and scrambled tofu to go with his beer and we'd listen to south of heaven at 7 a.m. he's so metal i could cum on my hand.
rose wanted some pizza so we had to go down into the dirty bowels of the dome-- which was terrible and odd. the music was predicatably wretched, but not only that, nobody was dancing. i mean, pacifico consistently plays terrible music, but at least people do what you'd expect should be done at a dance club: fucking dance already. i kind of felt like showing those lameasses how it was done, but i was too busy trying to distract myself from them. everybody was just kind of looking around. guys in awful awful shirts just keep looming and staring at girls. not such a good tactic. everybody was tanked and could hardly hold themselves up as they swayed around. i'm not used to this crowd-- it was bizarre yet uninteresting. if these people can't pick up at these bars, they should seriously check their method. i'm sure all you have to do is kiss or grab someone in your attractiveness range at them and you're in. what the fuck is so hard about that? i suppose some people can't figure out which attractiveness range they're in, but alcohol blurs this line to far that it doesn't really matter until morning.
back at the attic, some attic-regular hootchies discussed picking up while doing their makeup in the bathroom. "uh, like, i guess we could have any of these guys we want, since we're like, uh, the only gitls here. we could have any of these guys from his motorhead crowd. i just have to find my metal friend ryan and we can have our pick of any of these guys in the motorhead crowd." sad thing is, they probably could've, but it's pathetic that they didn't name the crowd by its real influence-- SLAYER! fucking sluts.
when war ensemble's sets were tout fini, i totally wanted more, which is strange for three a.m at the attic. i didn't get more, but i came home and played seasons in the abyss-- putting the metal to my veins for another night of endless dhark.

lenore modelling windy city scarf 

a yarn: first knitting project done like dinner

finally finally finally i finished my first "big" knitting project. i'm sure many of you are laughing that i consider this scarf a big project, so eat my armpits if you're one of those people-- because i do. i don't knit a lot, i knit a little. this is why i finished a scarf that i probably began in march in june. yes. anyway, i'm pumped to have finally finished it. it's a cool scarf that has an opening to slip one end of the scarf through so you don't need to tie it. it's called the windy city scarf, perfect for our fine windy city that wants to eschew and chew umbrellas because it's never just rainy here, it's always windy as hellbent fan on a sweltering day. so here: my first large knitting project done done done. i've made probably eleven or so wristbands too. they are more fun for me because they can be finished quickly. wrist bands are my true love.

grape vines getting ready to grow  

wine tour with bonus tour of my stomach lining

yesterday brought a free wine tour, courtesy of my brother. normally the afternoon would've cost a well-deserved (but bloody unlikely)$95, and all it cost me was a litre of red vomit. the worst part is, i didn't even get drunk. i blame it on trying probably close to 30 varities of wine, including one made soley from fermented maple syrup (jeebus, take me now). it was blessed amazing to see the valley. the sun spied on us for a few minutes as we imbibed red wine and ate lindt chocolate on the steps of grand pré wines. our jovial guide initiated a wine essence-sniffing game which team 2BH (a reverse-namesaked homage to the 2HB pencil) lost, but won when we correctly identified the book (the clockmaker) and author (thomas chandler haliburton) where the character sam slick appeared.
upon arriving home from the ocean with 8 loose nearly rotten bananas and other various foodstuffs, we arranged a barbeque. our plan was again foiled when nobody in the city had any propane left. my brother will surely annihilate the next clerk who promises him propane and doesn't actually have any. after 8, i proceeded to vomit and suffer the worst headache of my life. i kicked my feet together, groaned and held my head until i fell asleep having written two lines on the first page of my 54th journal and having been too miserable to take the black pills that keep me alive. the moral of the story is, i probably can't drink anymore. every time i do, i either can't get drunk, or i puke anyway. but if i do drink wine this summer, and i surely will, my picks will likely be saint famille's rosé and l'acadie blanc or Gasperau Vineyards' maple wine(yikes) or domaine de grand pré's "whatever i had with lunch".
*first french accent i've ever bothered to find out how to type. hooray!

US court makes another dumb decision, the hazily medicated cry

it is now illegal even to smoke legal medicinal marijuana in the US, because there is no longer any medicinal marijuana in the US because their government is full of twatheads. this is the dumbest, most closed-minded scaredy-cat-we-need-something-useless-for-our-cops-to-do decision ever. soon gay sex will also be illegal (in every state-- not just Texas, Kansas, Oklahom and Missouri). they'll be sending anti-gay sqauds in to the dance clubs and bath houses and hair salons and bedrooms of america and busting gays for being gay because these p'lice are insecure and ignint and christian with their right wing flapping. holy fuck, this is warped. i can totally see (altho not endorse) the US simply never decriminalizing this sweet leaf, but making what has been fought hard in 10 states to be legal in special medical cases illegal is just crap. crap i say. get over yourselves. any americans who promised to move to canada after bush won and pussied out? come on over the border-- we have legal gay marriage, medicinal marijuana with regular mj soon to be decriminalized and lots and lots of friendly folks to bang and to smoke with.

oo-ee sticky icky

two unfortunate problems i have because it's summery:

1) i have to work and i really don't fucking want to
2) all the toilet seats in every bathroom are sticky

fuck off, i want gin.  

a letter from the gummint

dear beany,
a cause du your recent change in marital status, we've over-estimated your happiness, oops i mean GST cheque earnings. you now owe us $53.00, payment to be remitted immediately. you're going to have to put that quart of gin on your credit card. you're a slut. welcome to summer.
signed,
taxes co.
p.s. wouldn't it be awkward if you weren't talking to your ex-common-law? then it would've been awkward today at the laundromat. but it wasn't. too bad you couldn't ask him for the money, but he owes you so much already.