Well, it's been about 14 months since my last post, so I figured you'd all waited long enough. I no longer work for FutureShop, however, I now have a much sexier job title. In fact, it's probably the sexiest job title I have ever possessed! Brace yourselves kids, because your very own Pagz is now a Cloner! A tree cloner to be precise. That's right, I now defy the will of God on a daily basis. So far I haven't been stricken down, so I guess he must not mind so much.
I'm still going out with Shauna, and it's awesome. Truly, I could not be happier if George Lucas himself walked into my apartment and said "Pagz! I've made a terrible mistake. I'm giving you infinity billion dollars, please make Star Wars awesome again!". Not that I wouldn't take him up on the offer, but the joy of fixing Star Wars could never hold a candle to having Shauna. Listen, if you're a geek that's some seriously romantic shit I just wrote.
I still love my apartment, although not so much my downstairs neighbour still. The big thing is the noise. The guy fancies himself a DJ ya see, has himself some turntables and the like. The problem is that he often mistakes his apartment for the Electric Circus. It's often so loud that it rattles my possessions off of my shelves. When I go down to ask him to turn it down the first thing I notice is how loud it is, even in the hallway with his door closed. When he opens the door it's almost deafening. He then proceeds to tell me that "it's not that loud in here." Which seems insane seeing as I can barely hear him when he says this. I'm thinking the guy has to be deaf.
I saw the Transformers movie. I was very worried going in. I'm a big fan of the original series, so much so that it is in fact responsible for one of my deepest psychological wounds. Since you're here and it's an amusing story (in retrospect) allow me to share. When I was a child, status on the playground linked to many seemingly unimportant and random things. At the time this story takes place, the key factor in schoolyard popularity was which transformers you owned. I had Ratchet, Ironhide, Wheeljack (my all time favourite) and Swoop. Socially speaking I was doing pretty well. However, to gain entry into the upper echelons of popularity, it was necessary to be in possession of either Optimus Prime or Megatron. Now, my heart was Autobot all the way, so my choice was clear. After what seemed like years of begging, my mother finally relented. And so I announced to my friends at lunchtime that the next day I would be the proud owner of Optimus Prime. That afternoon after school my mom took me to Consumers Distributing at Mayfair Mall (it's no longer there, replaced by Toys R' Us). It was a catalogue outlet, you go up to the counter with the number of the item from the catalogue, they go into the back and get it for you. I wanted to be the one to do it, so I walked up to the pretty woman behind the counter, looked up at her and said "I would like an Optimus Prime please." She leaned over the counter, smiled down at me with a smile I now equate with Satan, looked into my 7 year old eyes and said "Oh, I'm sorry, we don't carry him anymore. HE DIES IN THE NEW MOVIE." Needless to say I was shattered. My hero was dead? Impossible! The next day I arrived at school and my friends instantly wanted to know where Prime was. and I told them. I was branded a liar. "Optimus Prime can't die STOOPID!" that sumer the movie came out and I was vindicated. The memories of children are short however, and none of my friends recalled my prophetic warning. I would not own a prime of my very own for 18 years.
Wow, that was long. So, anyway, Transformers? Cool movie, worth the price of admission. Seems to me that's enough eh? This should tide us over for another year
Oh yeah, please visit my web comic, I need all the hits I can get! Non Stop Pop!
I'm still going out with Shauna, and it's awesome. Truly, I could not be happier if George Lucas himself walked into my apartment and said "Pagz! I've made a terrible mistake. I'm giving you infinity billion dollars, please make Star Wars awesome again!". Not that I wouldn't take him up on the offer, but the joy of fixing Star Wars could never hold a candle to having Shauna. Listen, if you're a geek that's some seriously romantic shit I just wrote.
I still love my apartment, although not so much my downstairs neighbour still. The big thing is the noise. The guy fancies himself a DJ ya see, has himself some turntables and the like. The problem is that he often mistakes his apartment for the Electric Circus. It's often so loud that it rattles my possessions off of my shelves. When I go down to ask him to turn it down the first thing I notice is how loud it is, even in the hallway with his door closed. When he opens the door it's almost deafening. He then proceeds to tell me that "it's not that loud in here." Which seems insane seeing as I can barely hear him when he says this. I'm thinking the guy has to be deaf.
I saw the Transformers movie. I was very worried going in. I'm a big fan of the original series, so much so that it is in fact responsible for one of my deepest psychological wounds. Since you're here and it's an amusing story (in retrospect) allow me to share. When I was a child, status on the playground linked to many seemingly unimportant and random things. At the time this story takes place, the key factor in schoolyard popularity was which transformers you owned. I had Ratchet, Ironhide, Wheeljack (my all time favourite) and Swoop. Socially speaking I was doing pretty well. However, to gain entry into the upper echelons of popularity, it was necessary to be in possession of either Optimus Prime or Megatron. Now, my heart was Autobot all the way, so my choice was clear. After what seemed like years of begging, my mother finally relented. And so I announced to my friends at lunchtime that the next day I would be the proud owner of Optimus Prime. That afternoon after school my mom took me to Consumers Distributing at Mayfair Mall (it's no longer there, replaced by Toys R' Us). It was a catalogue outlet, you go up to the counter with the number of the item from the catalogue, they go into the back and get it for you. I wanted to be the one to do it, so I walked up to the pretty woman behind the counter, looked up at her and said "I would like an Optimus Prime please." She leaned over the counter, smiled down at me with a smile I now equate with Satan, looked into my 7 year old eyes and said "Oh, I'm sorry, we don't carry him anymore. HE DIES IN THE NEW MOVIE." Needless to say I was shattered. My hero was dead? Impossible! The next day I arrived at school and my friends instantly wanted to know where Prime was. and I told them. I was branded a liar. "Optimus Prime can't die STOOPID!" that sumer the movie came out and I was vindicated. The memories of children are short however, and none of my friends recalled my prophetic warning. I would not own a prime of my very own for 18 years.
Wow, that was long. So, anyway, Transformers? Cool movie, worth the price of admission. Seems to me that's enough eh? This should tide us over for another year
Oh yeah, please visit my web comic, I need all the hits I can get! Non Stop Pop!