Today is Chub Creek day. It's the first time I've done a podcast of Chub Creek without Gary being there. I've planned something fairly elaborate, and I've put all this pressure on myself and have been given a load of content from generous people around the world for it. In my mind I was going to wake up early and get right into it, but when I woke today I just wasn't in the mood.

So I cleaned my apartment, I separated and repotted a basket of plants that were given to me by my parents when I moved in here, I ate some chips, I did some laundry.

I still wasn't in the mood.

Then I went grocery shopping and discovered I have a ton of "points" on my debit card that allowed me to get everything for free. That was cool. I went home and remembered that getting a load of groceries sucks when you live in a condo. I had about fifteen bags in one hand, a new roasting pan in the other, and my keys in my teeth.

I unloaded the groceries into the fridge, but I still wasn't into it. The pressure, the pressure.

Then I began preparing a huge roast beef dinner. It's in the oven now, and I'm sitting at my dining table enjoying a Pina Colada and a cigarette. Maybe when the smell of roast beef starts filling the room I'll be into it.

It's all very weird. Podcasting is bizarre. At least I'll have a nice dinner. Maybe I'll be too full and fall asleep and never get the thing done. Then again, maybe it will be the best episode I've done. It's odd not knowing. I was happy to learn that Gary has bought a house. What a strange two weeks for him. First a job, now this...

I feel like podcasting now. Wish me luck.

Okay, ready? 2 cups peanut butter. 1 cup sugar. 2 eggs. Blend and bake. That's it! No flour, no baking soda, no nonsense. Best you've ever tried, I promise.

This time I typed in "LARP" in the Google image search. Sorry if you're looking for heavier content, wait untill I'm not on holiday. "LARP" is an acronym for "Live Action Role Play" which I like to make fun of every once in a while. It's essentially Dungeons and Dragons but instead of being played huddling around a dark table with dice and the imagination, it's played live. You dress up in your favourite character costume and run around throwing pencils at each other shouting "lightning bolt!". (See the soundseeing tour at the end of Chub Creek episode 40 revisited for more on this) The fellow here in the bird suit is a good example. I especially like the magic marker feathers.

Really I shouldn't make fun. It has occured to me before that all of this blogging stuff, and even more so, podcasting hold many parallels to this type of fantasy where a whole world is created and each player holds a certain heirarchy within it. For example, you may think of Adam Curry as the Aragorn of the land of Pod. Or maybe you might paint him as Sauron. Depends on your point of view. (Adam Curry helped create the podcasting phenomenon as well as much of the culture that ensued). Gary and Myself are something like Hobbits, trying to find our way through a dark world where it's difficult to get any attention. Brenda Dayne of Cast-On is Galadriel. Powerful, yet humble, with thousands of knitting wood-eleves at her command. P.W. Fenton is TreeBeard the Ent, while Michael Butler is Tom Bombadill, loveable, timeless, ever prancing through the forest, oblivious to the current comings and goings of the world, but never tiring of the music playing in his own mind. Gandalf would have to be Ted Reicken of Island Podcasting, with the less stable Sauruman being played by Scarborough Dude from the Dicks n Janes Podcast.

Okay I got off base there, and I didn't mention many of my favourite shows, but podcasts do have a sort of heirarchy, and when you first get into it you have this illusion that the world you have entered cares about you or even loves you. What you soon find out is that the podosphere is populated mostly with orcs, always mewling in their basements with inferior microphones, bad jokes, and worse music, suffering from delusions of grandeur. There isn't much separating the Hobbits from the Orcs.

Why is my optical mouse shining with a faint blue glow?

It's just fun to click on a google image search and see what comes up. In my case it was this fellow. I have no idea who he is, but I like him.

Don't you hate it when you haven't written in your blog for a few days? Damn that pressure, eh? There, I used "eh" in a sentence. I wonder what the correct word is that would substitute for "eh" in that sentence. I guess the only possible answer is: "wouldn't you say?". That's lame. Who says that? Nobody, that's who. That's why we Canadians are so smart, eh?

Just listening to Cast-On (at www.cast-on.com) a podcast for knitters, and man, she must have something great going there because I know nothing about knitting and have no interest in it whatsoever, yet I find the show so good. (I'd better be careful here, because I believe Brenda Dayne's partner reads this blog) But really... I don't even like sweaters. They're itchy, and they bug my neck. I don't even like toques, because I have a 24.5 inch head that defies all forms of head gear. But if you are a knitter, please let me know and I'll send you my address. I would ideally like my toque to read "DINK" at the front. Or maybe "Chub Creek" or maybe "Chub Creek" on the front and "DINK" on the back. Actually that might be a bad idea, because it has come to my attention that our favourite slang for "penis" also means somemthing racist having to do with Vietnamese soldiers. That was absolutely not our intention for it to be interpreted in that way, but I'd hate to think what might happen were somebody from anywhere near Vietnam walking behind me while wearing my toque.

I have no idea how I got onto that subject. You know, podcasting has allowed me to become much more relaxed about blogging. It's because before I was a podcaster I was under the illusion that masses of people might read the entries, and therefore I must make sure something worth reading is always available here. Of course, now I know that's nonsense, and I would have a bigger audience in a public elevator should I ever decide to enlighten its occupants with my meanderings of my big head.

Can't think of a way to wrap this up yet, so I guess I'll keep going. Do you agree that there's an annoyance point in blogs where you realize that the one you're reading is just long enough to cross the threshold of it being "work" rather than "fun" reading it? No? Okay, well it wasn't your blog I was referring to then.

Have a great evening. Chinese food's on the way. I hope I don't eat anything gross this time (see Egg Foo Yuk). And please don't think I'm on some sort of anti-Asian kick, because I'm not. Oh brother, I'd better quit while I'm ahead. Actually this Chinese food is the best on earth, because it has a Thai influence. There's a salt and pepper squid which is to die for.

Okay I think I've crossed the threshold. Bye.

Walking through a major mall during the Valentine's Day season has gives me heart palpitations, and not the good kind. Being involved in the graphic design business, I participate in the hype myself, creating images that help sell the whole ideal. But being single gives me clarity of thought that I haven't had in recent memory. I haven't been single for this long a span since I was eighteen, and all the lovey dovey imagery takes on a new, thin, over-hyped, insincere tone.

It isn't really that I don't believe in the spirit of giving your sweetheart something special during this time, but even when I was attached I did slightly resent being forced into spending money on something trite and typical. My style was more in the area of giving when I felt like it, and when I wanted my loved one to feel... loved. And I can hold my head high and say that those times happened a lot. But having been free from those feelings for quite a few months now I see it all with even more skepticism. Walking through the huge mall today I can see poor schmucks racing around the girlie boutiques, frantically trying to empty their wallets for the girlfriend or the wife. What a waste it all is. What good is a dozen roses or a box of chocolates on a day when it's expected of you? Is that romance? I think most people wouldn't know romance if it jumped up and bit them on the sinoatrial node. That dozen roses is all part of a machine, one that I can see very clearly these days, and one which I don't much like. I'd rather unplug the entire machine and have people get real about themselves and their relationships. A dozen wilting roses does not buy you love, or sex, or marriage.

One time in my life I recieved a bunch of roses from a girlfriend. I have to say it did feel nice, and I can understand the appeal, but if it happened to me every year at about the same time I would not hold much for me. Give me a hug, maybe a kiss, tell me you love me. Or even help fold my laundry. That's good for me. I do not heart folding laundry.

Yes, more about food. I had a really cool free sampling of food from work (that I'm not allowed to talk about) that is coming to shelves soon. I loved it, and it was something I'd probably buy. The only problem is it wasn't enough food for my pig of an apetite. To cure this, I dug back into the fridge and microwaved a plate of chinese food that had been in there for a couple of days.

I was reading Gary's blog, eating my noodles and pieces of chicken and snow peas, very interested in his fireflies article, when an overpoweringly awful taste (and smell!) coursed through my senses. I had bitten down on something soft (seemed like just another piece of chicken) and swallowed it before I became aware of the taste. It was like I had bitten down on a little turd, and though I have no idea what a turd might taste like, the smell and taste of it all seemed to fit the description. What bothered me so much was that I just instictively swallowed without even thinking of spitting it out. I feel violated... abused... disgusted...

Anyway I have to finish my plate of food. I'm still hungry. I'll let you know if I get violently ill.

Just have a bowl. I'm telling you, no matter what mood you're in, if you're grumpy, if you're sad, if you think you're hungry but everything else sucks, if you're quitting smoking and you have that awful, intangible craving that's driving you nuts... have a bowl of pops. They're so good. Just needed to tell you that. I'm having another bowl...

Oh, and another thing. Look at that picture for a minute. I think it's pretty old, wouldn't you say? Yes I think so. Anyway, what the hell are those blobs of white all over the cereal? Either the milk they used was a little old, or somebody got a little too excited about their corn pops.

I'm having another bowl...

Just adding another paragraph here. I just was looking at that picture again and I think that cowboy looks like he's from Deliverance. Pants a lit-tle tight.

Fuck I'm sick of these Corn Pops...

What bugs me about the word "blog" is the stereotypical geek humour associated with it. Have you ever met a computer programmer? I don't mean somebody who dabbles in coding HTML or something. I mean hard-core. Somebody who lives for the language of the machine. Have you ever met one of those guys? (or gals, for that matter.) They would find the word "blog" hilarious. Just funny as "all get out". Why? Because it's an ugly word that rolls off the tongue as gracefully as "globule" or "pustular gangrene" or "realigning the warp coils". Computer programmers love that shit. Sure, as in everything, there are likely many exceptions, but I'm talking about hard-core, stay up all night coding the next incarnation of Windows XP server software, LARP playing, wit-meisters who gleefully spout such terms as "lamer", and type such unbearable acronyms as "LMAOROTF"

I can just imagine the hilarity that ensued after the aforementioned first made the connection: "web log... web log... weblog... blog... BLOG! hahahahahahahhaa. BLOG. BLOG. BLOG. it's like my alien character's name in Baldur's Gate!"

Of course, now we're stuck with it. Thanks a lot. Lightning bolt!

I somehow feel like it's inappropriate for me to dwell on something so silly when something so serious is happening for Gary. But he's got that under way, and he'll be fine. He's got "get-up-and-go" like nobody I've ever met. But inappropriate or not, I keep coming back to the Creek in my mind and the fun we've had and the enormous boost to our friendship our little podcast has become. We'll do our one year show I think, whetherr or not Gary finds the time to do it with me, and then I just don't know.

Chub Creek for me, as I said during the first episode, has always really been something I did for myself and for Gary. But only now do I realize how much I mean that. It's for my pal, and the fun and excitement of sharing each show with each other before we release it to the public has been my favourite part of each week for a year now. It's not easy to let go of something you look forward to every week.

So I find myself wondering what next. When I say Chub Creek was also for me, I mean that during these tough times it has been a very sturdy shoulder for me to lean on when there was nothing else there. And it was perfect for that. I'll miss it. I'll miss talking into that mic knowing Gary will be helping me finish it and sharing it with me. This is all very sappy, and very odd so some people maybe, but I feel like I've lost something that can never be replaced with anything else.

But I realize that Gary will need a friend now more than ever, and that for some people out there in the world that's exactly what Chub Creek is; a friend. Two friends. Best friends. But even though it's only me, I think I have to find a way to keep it going so that Gary has a friend for those times he needs one. When I left my family gary recorded a "garecast" for me to play on the plane, and honestly, I don't know how I'd have held it together without that.

So I'm going to continue on with Chub Creek, though I'll find it awkward using the name and the theme song. Not sure about all that, but I'll keep it going for my buddy.

I feel like this should have a violin playing underneath it. Ha ha. Give me a break.

Tired. Just lay down to sleep and my laptop was still glaring at me. I'm now reaching over and typing these words. Have you ever heard of anything more ridiculous in your life. There had better be a spelling error or two or I'm well beyond the realm of total geeksom. My head is resting on my pillow so it looks like I'm typing in Cantonese with the words flowing from top to bottom. Well happy Chinese New Year. Nite nite.