McAdvice

I haven't eaten there for ages...

So I decided to eat at McDonald's for once, since it wouldn't be unhealthy to eat there only once in a while. I laid it on heavy with a Double Big Mac and Supersized fries and drink.

That stuff went right through me.

It was already coming out of my alimentary canal within an hour. That was a stupid idea to suddenly go on a grease binge. I can't stand McDicks' breakfast either. Even if my digestive system is adapted to a daily intake of lipid-rich food, having a meal that is greasy enough to float on water first thing in the morning will make my stomach very angry. So from now on, if I ever go to McDick's again, I'm going to start with something lighter.

Like their salad.

Liquid Potatoes

I finally brought out the rice cooker today.

I have been cutting out rice from my diet as part of my ongoing war against flab, towards a sliver of hope that I can get well-cut washboard abs before the summer ends. Now I really miss the delicious fragrance of jasmine rice. To hell with Atkins! If his diet was so special, how come it didn't save him from dying? Telling Asians not to eat rice because it's full of carbs...while you're at it, why not tell Americans not to eat hamburgers because it's full of fat!?

So anyway, since the toaster's always out, we never really had any other reason to open the designated small appliance cabinet where my rice cooker is stashed; the only other thing in there were the hot water kettles, and now is not the season for hot water. The moment I opened up the cabinet, I was overwhelmed by this revolting, moldy yet slightly fecal reek that waged an all-out full-perimeter siege upon my nostrils. Evidently, someone was stowing more than just small appliances in here - a bag of potatoes!

That explains why no matter how many times I've cleared the garbage can under the sink, and Lysolled the cabinet where it was stored, that moldy smell still lurked in the kitchen! (If you live single or in any college establishment, Lysol is a MUST!) I gingerly pulled out the offending sack of offending tubers...and this foul, repugnant brown liquid dribbled all over the kitchen floor. As damage control, I quickly put the sack into the sink while I find a plastic bag to contain the biohazard.

I managed to throw out the evil sack of potatoes, soak up the brown liquid with paper towels, mop up the floor with my Swiffer, and sanitize the cabinet with ample Lysol. Later tonight, I'm going to have a little talk with my roommate when he comes back. Damn, that brown liquid shit was so nasty, it might as well have been diarrhea. I hope you're not eating while reading this.

Actually, I kinda hope you are - whatever doesn't kill you can only make you stronger.

A Taxing Midterm

My brain has effectively disintegrated into oatmeal...which should yield a teaspoonful.

I just crawled back from my income tax midterm, which is effectively a 1.75-hour memory dump. Well, except for one question that wants you to apply Common Law for tax purposes, but nevertheless a feeble effort to justify that this exam cannot be written by a monkey - that is, a monkey with superhuman memory. I thought my English exam was bad, with all those long essays within 3 hours. But at least if you've made an outline first, actually writing the essay is mere hand exercise.

At the introductory level, income tax is all memorizing and no thinking. I don't think I handled the memory dump too well, since I skipped many sections that I've deemed low-priority because of their mark value. Yep, as always, I didn't have enough time to finish the exam. This reflects real life, where your clients require you to do all their personal and business income taxes, and any possible conflicts with the government, and any resulting court rulings, in a time span of less than two hours. So if you're ever someone's accountant, don't bill by hours. I'm pretty damn sure I fucked this one up, so I have to re-evaluate my studying strategy, and drink off the bad taste of this exam when I go to The Plaza with my buddies tonight.

Why does the government need so many goddamn rules to decide how much money they should steal from hard-working people!?!? The Canadian Income Tax Act started out as a pamphlet - now it's thicker than a phone book! The government would've probably taken away our firstborns to sell and raise revenue, if it weren't for those firstborns growing up to possibly become productive Canadians to steal even more money from. Besides, they're probably content with all the arms and legs they've collected. Interestingly, I heard that income taxes were historically introduced as a temporary measure to fund The War.

Regardless, this exam has led me to sympathize more with anarchists.

Note: I said ANARCHISTS, NOT antichrists! Learn to fucking read!!!

Bringin' Down Da Haus!!

I was rudely woken up by such banging and crashing.

Wood splintering. Glass smashing. It sounded like someone was tearing down the house. Then I looked out the window, and well, they WERE tearing down a house! Ever since the real estate boom, they've been wanting to demolish the old places in my neighborhood and build brand-spankin' new ones in their place, and charge exhorbitant rents, even though the reason that my building administrator would cite is that the old buildings were not earthquake proof. So now, I have to sleep with earplugs on every night because they're building the freakin' Tower of Babel all around me.

For the love of God, why can't they just blow the damn thing up in a controlled detonation and get it over with right away!?

**MUNCH MUNCH** Yum! Good building!

The Ghost Next Door

One of the old fogies shacked up at my place are really getting to me.

The creepy old guy in the room next to me only constantly mumbles to himself very loudly, but also moans like the undead in his sleep. Because he (fortunately) doesn't come out much, I keep forgetting that he occupies the room next door, and I subconsciously think that the room is still empty since my Chinese roommate moved out. So when he does moan, I momentarily deduce that it must've come from a ghost. Consequently, I scare the crap out of myself at night.

Fortunately, the nightmare doesn't last long, because I keep getting woken up by that same old guy, who also has a habit of blowing out his sinuses REALLY loud when he gets up at 5 in the morning. It's so loud that it doesn't matter if both the washroom door and my door are closed.

Speaking of the washroom, it might not be him, but one of the old guys has the balls to put their grey pube-covered old people soap on my soapdish!! On top of my own bar of soap!!! If I'm not creeped out, I'm absolutely grossed out!! I'm going to have a talk with the administrator tomorrow morning.

This is not a hotel or a nursing home, it's a STUDENT RESIDENCE, dammit!

Poor Germany

Poor German roommate.

Germany was eliminated from the World Cup by Italy's drama team. For a bunch of guys coming from a country whose culture values manliness, toughness, and even machoism, they sure acted like a bunch of pussies out there in front of the whole world. In one instance, this Italian player falls down on the field clutching his leg in what seems to be agony, so the ref sends him off to the bench to have his injury assessed and treated. To aggravate his poor acting, the Italian player just happily gets up and runs off to his bench.

As shown by their beautiful first goal against Germany, Italy is a very good team, but they would be even better if they relied on their soccer skills, instead of their acting skills. It is totally unnecessary and downright disgraceful, and that's what pisses me off about the Italian World Cup team. As if it isn't bad enough that the Italian soccer league is now tainted with a referee scandal.

It would've been really cool if Germany won the World Cup, because my German roommate looks uncannily like German squad member Michael Ballack (#13). He knows it, and all his friends and relatives know it. Thus, I wondered why he wore a generic German team jersey rather than Michael Ballack's jersy. He cited his reason as being the high cost of the same jersey, but having a player's name and number emblazeoned on it. I couldn't blame him.

But he could've been swamped by girls asking for autographs once he landed home at the airport.

Hail To The Stawamus Chief

I conquered a mountain today.

Me, my German roommate, and a French neighbor from downstairs were supposed to meet up with the Scottish girls from the party at a campsite near Squamish. But the only girl who has a phone left it at home, so we couldn't find them. At the time we discussed joining them, they haven't decided on a campsite, and it was uncertain which campsite they would go to since it all depended on whether or not it was already full for the long weekend. So we searched a few campsites in the immediate area of Squamish. One particular campsite, Cat Lake, was very brutal to drive to because the road to there was hidden, unpaved, and full of rocks lying around, and I could've sworn I lost a lot of air pressure in my tires. No luck.

Once again, I get to deal with unreliable chicks.

We finally gave up, but rather than head home, we decided to make a day out of it. My German roommate suggested we climb the Stawamus Chief, this huge famous landmark that that is pretty high up in the list of the World's Largest Rocks, and we went for that.

You know it's going to be a tough trail when the entrance is a rock climb. I suppose it serves as a warning that if you can't even manage this, you shouldn't be on the trail at all. Even though there were stairs that are either man-made wood or naturally-occurring rock formations, the gradient was extremely steep. Wearing jeans, I was ill-dressed for the hike, but this hike was a last minute decision.

It's probably not a surprise that I'm pretty dense and heavy for someone with my proportions, so it was very difficult hauling myself up the steep rock. I was whining all the way up, but that's how I deal with hardship - I whine on the outside, but inside, I'm constantly pushing myself to find my physical limit and linger in the realm of extreme that lies beyond. All my friends know me well enough not to take my whining seriously.

Near the top, the terrain went from dense forest to bare rock. Therefore, climbing to the top involved negotiatin a series of chains and ladders built into the rock as part of the trail. After hours of climbing with only a few stops, we finally made it to the peak. It was cool and breezy up there, and we took off our shirts to dry off our sweat. There were some girls up there to impress with our manly physiques, so that last sentence didn't sound completely gay.

The valley that houses the town of Squamish snaked around us, ending in a fjord bordered by a legion of mountain peaks, an awe-inebriating reminder of how great it is to live in BC. Surprisingly, there were chipmunks way up there, and they weren't very shy because they were probably given food often by the hikers who made it up all the way. Fortunately, I brought my camera with me and took a lot of photos. I even took out my phone and took a picture so I could use as a wallpaper and a testimony of my victory over the rock.

After a couple of hours of chilling, we finally headed down. Althrough it is expected to be easier to go down than up, it was still difficult because the trail was so steep, and so we had to descend carefully lest we become part of an avalanche. It only took us forty minutes to make it all the way down. After that trip, we stopped at Shannon Falls on the way, another beautiful view.

We concluded the day back in Downtown Vancouver at Kintaro Ramen, the same place I went with my friend after snowboarding. The boys were very hungry, and were not happy that we had to line up to get in as usual. But once they saw the Japanese waitresses and finally tasted the noodles with the deliciously seasoned pork, I was vindicated.

Coming home, we realized that the two guys have moved in - old guys. They came from a theological college nearby and were only staying for a week or two. So it appeared that my quad is being used as a hotel. At least it meant they will probably hermit themselves in their rooms rather than hang around the place and "olding up" the atmosphere. Well, if they ever complain about me walking around the quad in nothing but my underwear, I can knowledgeably counter that back in their day, the great Joe DiMaggio would not hesitate to greet the media completely nude in the locker room showers. But then again, the primary form of media back in that era was radio.

So even though we were stood up by Scottish chicks, and we found out that our place is becoming a nursing home, we still had a pretty good and constructive day. Now I have a new wallpaper for my phone, too. Even though the picture of sushi that came with the phone was kinda nice, I needed something more personal and uniquely mine.

At least until I get a photo of myself being hounded by hot girls (as if).

The beautiful town of Squamish down below.
Now if only I brought a golf ball, a tee, and a 1-driver...