I wish I had an E2 fan club. Maybe I could write complete jibberish and get 7 C's. My fan club and I can routinely exchange upvotes and C's, no matter what we write about.

I've been here for a while and I still don't know what the hell E2 is supposed to be. While this may be the point in some ways, it detracts from the experience.

Rookie mistake: noding a piece of information or classroom terminology. "E2 is not an encyclopedia! It's for writers!" Guess we're supposed to disregard the dictionary.

Write a piece of fiction and ask for tips and pointers, you'll get up and downvotes with absolutely no feedback.

Write a rant about your life. You'll either get C'd, or reprimanded for wasting a node. "Put that in the day logs!" Of course, an abstract piece of "poetry" with various html tags is viewed with awe and admiration.

Write an indepth biography about a major historical author and get a voting of 17/-4, write about a cheesy popstar and get a 52/0.

Wait! Voting doesn't mean anything, right?
Systematically it may not, but it still provides a gauge for your fellow noders. That gauge has shown one thing: voting is done on personal taste, and has nothing to do with the node itself. Don't agree with a view? Downvote.

Conclusion: This website has gotten too big for itself. The user base is now saturated with "First Post!" types.

E2 was once the culmination of ideals for an intellectual environment to exchange philosophy, information, writings, and whatnot. That dream has turned into an apparition.

Join the club, trade votes with a friend!

That's it! I quit!

There's nothing wrong with my writing! Eight of you upvoted my perfect writeup. I don't know what's wrong with the rest of you! You all suck! I'm leaving!

Right after I read this writeup.

But that's no reason for me to stick around. I'm legendary among my friends for my writing skills. My Mom is always telling me what a great writer I am. I've gone to three poetry slams and made 2nd place at every one. I know what I'm talking about. I'm writing a best seller and when I get published, boy aren't all you guys going to look like fools. I don't deserve this crap! I'm outta here!

As soon as I finish this.

So, you all can bite me! I put every drop of my talent into every one of my writeups. You guys just node stupid stuff that no one would be interested in. I've got more talent in my little pinky than any of you. It's just because you're so entrenched in your cliques that you won't appriciate me. I've tried to tell you guys how to improve. I've msg'd you repeatedly after each of your writeups telling you how I could have done it better - I would have downvoted them, but I can't vote yet. But you never even responded. What's wrong with you people?!? Don't you know genius when you see it? Just watch me go to another site that does what everything2 does, only better!

Really, right after I understand this.

Okay, now I'm leaving.

Any minute now.

Well, I guess when I find that site, I'll go. In the meanwhile, I'll just take a look at that.

Today's my friend's birthday. A year ago, I had thought about asking her out, but was scared of being rejected. In this one year since then, I have learned so much about relationships.

One year, one month, and one day ago, I broke up with my first girlfriend. I remember this date for the specific reason that I knew she was cheating on me and, two days later, on Valentine's day, she was kissing the boy who she was cheating on me with.

For a while, I was attracted to this other girl, and she seemed to be attracted to me. We had 3 classes together, and became good friends. She was very nice, smart, and funny: the types of things that I look for in a person. I enjoyed her company, and she enjoyed mine.

Well, her birthday went by, and I still had not asked her out. I thought to myself, "I'll ask her soon, once I know that she'll say yes," because I didn't think I could bare the rejection that could come from her. That day never came, and I went to camp a few months later.

Before going to camp, I went over to her house to say good-bye, and we watched a movie. It was very enjoyable, and I had a good time. I promised that I would write to her from camp, and I did. But only once. For I had found someone at camp who's company I also enjoyed. And, seeing how I had never asked out the person at home, I thought, "What the hell, I'll enjoy this at camp." Camp ends, we say bye to each other, and promise to see each other during the year (how, I had no clue, since we lived hundreds of miles away and neither had a car). I come home, and my old friend is now not as close as we had been when I had left.

Nothing happens between us, and I stayed (and still am) single. As I look back on it, I would have much rather asked her and been rejected than to not have known whether I could have gone out with her. During winter vacation, this started bugging me even more, and I decided that when I got back home, I would ask her if she would have gone out with her.

I ask her, about two weeks later, and she says that she is flattered, but would have preferred to have just stayed friends. I think to myself, "Great, I didn't miss out on anything, and I didn't have to face rejection."

Here I am now, one year, one month, and one day after breaking up with my first girlfriend, and I wonder where I went wrong. Or, did I go wrong. Are these the types of things that are bound to happen every so often, or did I make a wrong decision. Maybe if I had asked her long before, when I was still attracted to her, then she would have said yes. Only she knows.

I haven't daylogged in a while. Maybe it is time for an update, maybe. *sighs* I went to go check out a school yesterday, it's near Dayton, Ohio and it took three hours to get there. I don’t know as I like it, but if I have no other choice I know I could get into there. Although, I really could wait another year to go to a Real ™ school, unfortunately I really really don’t want to wait. This is really hard for me; waiting that is… I will find out by next Tuesday if the only school I have applied to will let me in, they have a 45% acceptance rate, and that kind of scares me. Worrying no longer helps. This is one of those things you just cannot think about until the letter smacks you on the forehead "HELLO, I AM THE LETTER YOU HAVE BEEN WAITING FOR! YOU DON’T WANT TO OPEN ME, I AM BAD NEWS!" That is what I am afraid of I think, being a failure in the only thing I have ever really wanted, too dumb to get into the really good school, I might have to settle for the not so great. I am really hoping that in a week I will be posting another daylog ranting about how wonderful it feels to be accepted and how I knew it all along; but this daylog will reflect the fears of more than six months of waiting.

On a different note… I met a whole bunch of wonderful people when I went to the gathering in Atlanta February 28th, 2003-March 2nd, 2003. =) I love you all. I met the most incredible people there. I cannot wait till Hot Damn 3: nodestock. =) That is sure to be fun.

I also have to mention that I heard from him today, seems he is doing will in Perth, enjoying the weather. Said it was 104*f there the other day; too hot for me, that is for sure. The other Chris is busy with school… his projects are due Thursday though, so he will be relaxed and not in the computer lab all the time soon. The other Swede is just down right cool, I have to mention him somehow… he is very funny… but I shouldn’t give away that secret.

A friend of mine became an aunt today. Her brother has a baby girl named Ava Madison. She is lovely.

Enjoying Spring Break, and staying out of trouble for the most part. It's nice not having to get anything done. I hope the weather breaks soon. I want crocuses!

Going Under

            Now I will tell you what I've done for you
                        50 thousand tears I've cried
           Screaming Deceiving and Bleeding for you
                       And you still won't hear me
  Don't want your hand this time I'll save myself
                     Maybe I'll wake up for once 
                     Not tormented daily by you
    Just when I thought I'd reached the bottom
                              I'm dying again

                            I'm going under
                           Drowning in you
                      I'm falling forever
               I've got to break through 
                        I'm going under

	Evanscence from the Fallen Album.

Update: It snowed last night. No end in sight. "And it's May, Still it snows.."

This is a big, hearty fuck you to the world. Thanks for tuning in.

The mindfuck never ends. How can it be that the that every other kid my age has the same angst as me, leading me into becoming angstier for not being different enough?

Six hundred pages and nothing learned. Damn Ayn Rand. Damn the Altruists, damn the priests, damn the egoists, damn the stars. The world is perfect with true altruism, the world is perfect with true egoism. Which is truly the most perfect? Are they even any different?

My screaming whispers betray my soul. I interrupt, I walk away with nary a thought. I lack the maturity for true conversation and the wit to sustain my thoughts. Talk to me! I am quite loud for a fucking corpse.

My muses laugh from a safe distance. Inspiration, where art thou? Duende, why have you stopped dancing? Would I recognize you, or will I follow the paths of familiarity to foregone conclusions? Don't you fucking dare touch me, for I know not what I'll do. I'm not responsible for my actions. Please don't feed the animal.

Music is salt on my wounds. And a light unto my path. Amen, praise Allah, have a nice day. Pianos harbor demons and Satan my albums. Curse it all to Hell. Curse it up to purgatory and back down to Hell.

I'm a weapon for the highest bidder. My memory holds me back. I'll live fast, die young, and leave a really pitiful corpse. Come back, spit on me, curse the very ground I render unclean.

I'm unfit to carry the sword of righteousness and the banner of truth. I can't believe in what I want to believe in and my doctrine is shattered as I intellectually bludgeon my faith. My left hand knows not what the right is doing and forgive me, Lord, for I know not what I am doing.

I am a man. Then why am I so afraid of cowardice? Why don't I have the balls to face my fears, the guts to stand up for truth? I'm too weak for a destroyer and too blind for a hunter and too stupid for a king.

Submitting to self-deprecation. It is said the submissive holds true power over the dominant. Then why don't I feel this power? Why am I left contemplating why I'm living while the jeering and the mockery continue? Why must my ideologies be questioned by those who are simultaneously more and less mature, more and less intelligent? Your I.Q. of 160 doesn't scare me, and neither does your age, and neither does your strength.

Sticks and stones may break my bones. And I say, bring it on. I need to be brought up to the average. I've been sub-par all my life. My dream world holds me back like gravity to Earth. The dreams that are meant to liberate hold me back from the dreams that are meant to liberate.

Kill me and I'll shine. Beat the fucking shit out of me. The pain is numb and the numb is pain. I bleed without bleeding and my mind wishes naught but respite. The war never ends. The war between myself and myself eclipses my thoughts, my thoughts shatter my ego, the ego my thoughts are meant to sustain.

Sleep comes and doesn't. My spiritual insomnia is only a little less scary than my physical slumber perpetuity. Meditation tortures my demons and wakes them from their sleep, incense further spurs them forward. Music brings back the numb that keeps away the sleep I so direly need.

The end is near. And my fanaticism ever stronger, my paranoia urging me forward. My future yields to my myopia, and the moon is ever brighter in the periphery.

Kill this, that's right. Are you afraid of paper? This is my manifesto. The avalanche is coming and you're swept up in the maelstrom. Are you afraid of paper? It's just a papercut. Are you afraid of paper? This is my watchtower and I see you.

Pseudo Intellectual says a manifesto is a tricky sort of thing to pull off for a post-futurist. we can't ever be certain of anything, which leaves our bold rhetoric a bit deflated.

Pseudo Intellectual says now that's the kind of dillution the term has come to enjoy I'm talking about! If you don't want me to judge it as a manifesto, don't call it one 8)

isogolem says Okay... Here's my feedback: You call it "Manifesto", but... well, it's not one. It's a rant, and as such it's pretty good - but it's disjointed, too. It doesn't really go anywhere. The Cluetrain Manifesto is a manifesto and it goes somewhere. See? I'm not trying to piss you off, it's just my take on it. Oh, aside - "It is said the submissive holds true power over the dominant." - This is true only in situations where the rules have been agreed to (in scene). In the world at large all that can be said is the submissive is at least partly responsible for what is done to them: they have/had a choice between submitting and something else (even if the alternative was death they had a choice) and their choice was to submit.

Have I explained before that I am an evil person? I think I have, but sometimes it takes some convincing. Well now I am convinced. Because I have seen things, things that cannot be unseen. Things that haunt you in the middle of the night.

Or at least, they should. I should have been horrified. I should have been outraged. I should have been shocked. Instead, I was excited. And now I am haunted with a sickness, a knowledge about myself I wish had never been revealed.

I don't believe in Hell, but I know that's where I am going.

Merit Whore for the Ages™

proudly presents...

The Everything Noder Pageant® 2003

Contestants are out on the catwalk in their representative country's finest garb. I'm sure you'll all agree that they have excelled themselves and look truly magnificent. A credit to their country each and every one.

Of course the start of the Pageant did not go without a few hiccups: Miss Uruguay was a no-show from the start, several countries withdrew due to other commitments. rumours of a Miss Universal Noder rival Pageant are thus far discredited, but watch this space.

The most sensational of the background Pageantry ongoings is the Judge E/Miss Turkmenistan scandal. Both have fled, and the backstage rumourmill is that they were last seen in Gretna Green, she in a lovely white dress and he in US Army dress greens.

Nevertheless, while Judge E and Miss Turkmenistan, not to mention Miss Uruguay, will all be sorely missed, the show must go on, and on it did go. Please put your hands together and welcome the luscious ladies on stage!

Miss Spain

Our Spanish representative has donned hiking boots and sensible clothes (not forgetting her crucifix) as she bids us join her on a Pilgrimage Walk. She looks absolutely ravishing, and we wish her well on her epic 4 week 800km trek.

Judge C is delighted that OckerJoe has made such a significant improvement on his first entry. An easy writing style and interesting subject choice means that he is jumping up the rankings.

Miss Democratic Republic of the Congo

Our Congolese beauty has turned out in full tribal regalia, representing The Molimo Pygmy tribe. She assures me that the rituals they perform involve serenading the forest too keep it awake and not boiling my head, but I'm keeping my distance.

Judges C is slightly dissapointed with Miss DR Congo's effort for the second round. After such a promising start she has lacked a little detail with this entry. However pygmies are going to win out everytime so a good subject choice rescues this one.

Miss Suriname

This lovely lady from Suriname has turned out in celebration of the ethnic diversity of her South American country, paying homage to the Javanese influences on her heritage. But don't take my word for it, go watch the Puppet Show first hand!

Miss Federated States of Micronesia

A real South Pacific Island hottie, Miss FSM hails from the island of Yap. She appears slightly nervous, but I'm sure you agree, that months of preparation have gone into the dance and costume she is wearing in celebration of her Island's national day.

Miss Serbia

Please join our Balkan Beauty in observing a minute's silence for her dearly departed Prime Minister.

Thank you. Now, Miss Serbia would have you join in a wee ditty as she tries to take her nation's mind off the political turmoil and hopefully avert initiating another world war.

Miss Ethiopia

Our African Angel would like to greet you in her country's warm manner. Yes, Miss Ethiopia, tell me, your NEW CALF, HOW is SHE?

Miss Portugal

Hailing from the Algarve, Miss Portugal is a bit of a songstrel. May we have silence please, as she greets us with a delicate Fado.

Miss Norway

Our Norwegian contestant is reportedly on Spring Break, breaking into the Vodka and has a bit of a hang-over. She will no doubt grace us with her presence as soon as she can lift her head from the pillow.

Miss Canada

Wearing the latest mock-bearskin coat, our Canadian representative shows off the Inuit culture with a diamond tiara delicately carved from soapstone.

Miss Australia

G'day, Sheila, don't you look like a dag. Our Australian representative is wearing some strange man's swag, lovingly decorated with some fresh and crusty chunder. Always ready for a party, Miss Australia, it seems, bunked out of the hotel last night and attended the local Bachelor and Spinsters Ball. Oh my goodness! Are those earings... can they be? Oh Sheila! Not used condoms!

Miss Thailand

Miss Thailand is by far the most qualified of our contestants. She greets us today wearing her Miss Pepsi Cola tiara, carrying her Miss Bangkok bouquet and wearing the very dress she wore while being crowned Miss Thailand. She has been entering Thai Beauty Pageants since the age of 3, and oh geez, LIGHTING CREW! Will you dim the lights like the script says please! We can't have her skin getting a tan...

Miss Iraq

We are truly honoured to have an Iraqi representative at the Pageant at all. Miss Iraq has taken time out of her military schedule, where she is currently preparing for war against the Coalition of the Willing. She is here in Desert Fatigues, as she wore last time her country undertook the national passtime of invading Kuwait.

I'm sure you agree, Ladies and Gentlemen, that our Beauties have exceeded themselves yet again. Please give them another round of applause!

I'm trying (not very hard) to make a nifty little tool to format people's daylogs onto a calendar, something like this...

  | March                 2003 |
  |  S   M   T   W   T   F   S |
  |                          1 |
  |  2   3   4   5   6   7   8 |
  |  9  10  11  12  13  14  15 |
  | 16  17  18  19  20  21  22 |
  | 23  24  25  26  27  28  29 |
  | 30  31                     |

I'm using some horrible javascript and active-x, so it's Internet Explorer and Windows only, but bear with me, it could be good.

Update (the first):

It's looks like WWWWolf managed to do this ages ago as one of the Slithering Perl Horrors, but then removed it because it encourages bad habits. Ho hum...

Update (the second):

Using the aforementioned non-standard javascript and active-x, I can now create the output below. If you would like to try and use the script, drop me a /msg.

 March                  2003
 Sun Mon Tue Wed Thu Fri Sat
   2   3   4   5   6   7   8  
   9  10  11  12  13  14  15  
  16  17  18  19  20  21  22  
  23  24  25  26  27  28  29  
  30  31  

 January                2003
 Sun Mon Tue Wed Thu Fri Sat
               1   2   3   4  
   5   6   7   8   9  10  11  
  12  13  14  15  16  17  18  
  19  20  21  22  23  24  25  
  26  27  28  29  30  31  

 May                    2002
 Sun Mon Tue Wed Thu Fri Sat
               1   2   3   4  
   5   6   7   8   9  10  11  
  12  13  14  15  16  17  18  
  19  20  21  22  23  24  25  
  26  27  28  29  30  31  

 October                2001
 Sun Mon Tue Wed Thu Fri Sat
       1   2   3   4   5   6  
   7   8   9  10  11  12  13  
  14  15  16  17  18  19  20  
  21  22  23  24  25  26  27  
  28  29  30  31  

 September              2001
 Sun Mon Tue Wed Thu Fri Sat
   2   3   4   5   6   7   8  
   9  10  11  12  13  14  15  
  16  17  18  19  20  21  22  
  23  24  25  26  27  28  29  

A feeling of you washed my soul like rain
To close my eyes and feel your touch again
Give in to memory, sink into the past
A place within your heart was all I asked

I took each moment and treated in like new
Never cared to see tomorrow without you
But tomorrow we were never meant to share
I didn't know how little you really cared

Do you think of me at all?
I hope you do
Do you sleep at night, does your conscience bother you?
Are you cold inside or do you long for something real?
Would it hurt again to know how you really feel?

So Elisabeth Smart has been found, and the various news outlets have switched into overdrive coverage. This is yet another case where I think the decision makers at Fox, MSNBC, CNN, NBC, ABC, CBS, etc. really need to learn how to tone it down. This girl was abducted from her parents, forced to live the life of a drifter with her captor, experiencing things that no one should have to experience for months, only to finally be reunited with her family. One can only imagine the trauma she suffered. To place her on TV every minute of every hour is really irresponsible.

This morning, Matt Lauer of the Today Show interviewed Elisabeth’s father about the ordeal.

”Tell me sir,” Lauer said in his usually cooing, soothing interviewer voice, “how you felt when you told your wife that Elisabeth was found alive?”

At that moment, her poor father -- clearly exhausted from all the press conferences, interviews and the emotional strain of discovering that his daughter is really alive -- broke down into tears.

I could just picture Lauer smiling on the Today Show set, giving high fives to the crew. They clearly got the money shot.

There’s just something enormously pornographic about the way the media is handling this story. How they keep showing video of a dazed Elisabeth Smart standing in the middle of a Salt Lake City street, holding a silly bouquet of balloons that’s totally inappropriate for the situation, while people -- the identity of whom is unclear -- come up and hug her. She staggers through the scene, clutching her balloons, eyes filled with astonishment and confusion. She keeps turning from the camera, while the cameraman -- I’m unsure if this is digital video or BETA, but I’m assuming it’s BETA, so we’re talking a large, conspicuous camera and possibly a full crew -- moves to compensate. It is perhaps the most intrusive display by the press I’ve ever seen.

My question is -- why does the plight of this family have to be documented for our entertainment? Couldn’t they just tell us that the girl has been found, follow it up by a press conference with the local law enforcement officials? Why do we have to be the fly on the wall as the family reunites, as perfect strangers turn out to show their support for Elisabeth, getting on television and showing all who watch just how much they “care.”

The private pain of human beings should not be exploited by the press for the entertainment of the public. They can’t resist taking it that extra step -- going beyond simply reporting the story, to saturating the airwaves with it. Just as Iraq, September 11, and the 2000 Election all saw saturation coverage. 24-hour news, once a great idea, has turned into an excuse to manipulate the lives of real people into a fleeting entertainment for the rest of us. Reality TV, news, fiction -- what’s the difference? It’s all blurring into the same thing. With 24 hours to fill every day, the media needs content. The people in charge, however, don’t bother to consider the negative ramifications of filling that time -- of filling the “news hole” as they call it.

I ask my boss, a professional journalist, if he thinks this once honorable business can be saved? He doesn’t have an answer. I wish he did. In the rush for ratings, journalism has lost its legitimacy, has become a kind of voyeuristic fiction. And the public loses out because of it.

I started taking the train to work last week. The first time, the train was about a half hour late. I asked a lady at the station how often the train is late and she said it's often a few minutes late, but almost never this late. This morning, the train was also about a half hour late. I wonder if I have jinxed the system.

In Riverside, California, there are many busses but only one goes to the train station. The train is supposed to get there at 7:36am, but the bus gets there at 7:09 and 7:49. I suspect a conspiracy.

A long time ago I heard that auto dealerships or manufacturers a lot of shares in and therefore influence over LA public transportation. LA was all set to have a trolley system that would have rivalled the one in San Francisco, but these selfish bastards did their best to get people into cars instead of onto trolleys. If anyone can point me to information on such a conspiracy and perhaps debunk it, I would have one less reason to be as cynical as I am.

I've boiled my cynicism down to this belief: A good 80 - 90 percent of us would rather things be unfair in our favor that objectively fair to everyone. It begs the question: why would anyone want things to be objectively fair rather than unfair in their own favor? The simple answer is religion, but it's kinda hollow because we have no instinctive drive toward heaven, and many of us believe that death is the final end anyway. For me, the answer is natural karma. Someday perhaps even after I die, people I love will suffer the same kind of unfairness that is benefitting me now. If I can fight against the unfairness and show it, I may succeed and suffer the loss of benefits, but anyone who benefits from the move toward objective fairness will appreciate me and (I have faith) I will benefit from their appreciation. So you see, I'm really being selfish when I try to make the world a better place.

One of the biggest problems I have is that I believe we're borrowing an awful lot from our children, grandchildren, and later generations. This problem is at least in part a result of the widely held belief in an eventual armageddon, and the more sinister corollary that our time here is temporary and perhaps even meaningless. Most religions teach that armageddon will come and that our goals in this life should be about securing a good position in the next life. I suppose armageddon will come if not because of supernatural will then because the universe probably has a finite life. But borrowing oxygen and clean water and public goodwill from the thousands (at least!) of generations yet to come cannot be justified by that.

And the next thing you realize, a week has gone by. I told myself I wasn't going to write more in my Enagement log until today, and now, it's today. It has me frightened, the realization that tomorrow I'm going to ask a father for his daughter's hand in marriage. I feel that this is exaggerated by my presumed protectiveness over my children once I reach that stage. Yes, I plan on being the intimidating asshole father, "So, you wanna date MY daughter?" Yesterday, I thought I had time, that this was nothing to worry about, however, I worry.

I told myself that I wouldn't propose, that I would not make a commitment on such a scale, until I was at a point in my life I wanted to be at. Originally, this was graduation from college. Currently, it's not failing out a second time. I am not too sure that this will be the case. Even though, I feel that I cannot back out from this situation I've gotten myself into. And even if I do fail out again, I know I'll be happy to have more of a "lock" on my girl.

I cannot forsee what I will do, whether fail or not. I've begun changing my habits, not going out on weekdays, not partying on weekdays, going to class, studying more, etc. Hopefully, I will reap the benefits of these changes sometime this semester. That is, of course, if I get myself from where I am to where I want to be. My problem has been that I spent my high-school years as a slacker who didn't give a fuck about any fuckin shit. Nothing really mattered. I didn't care if I lived, or died. I was depressed, but too pussy to kill myself, as I think most people are at that stage of life.

Depression and angst aside, the only book I ever enjoyed reading that was assigned by an english teacher in high school was Catcher in the Rye. I knew that Holden Caulffield and myself were very similar. However, I am not Holden, nor do I live in his fictional world. My greatest semblance to Holden, in my own opinion, is our fear of growing up. I look at my father, and while he's well off, I don't think he ishappy. He chomps down pills for this condition and that, or to prevent this condition from happening, etc. I don't want that. He complains about bills and this and that, and yet we have two receivers in our house for satellite TV. He works from 7am to 6pm, atleast he doesn't wonder why he has an ulcer.

I digress with my ramblings. The thought of proposing does not scare me as much of the thought that my girlfriend will change to my fiance, something I doubt I will ever get used to. Until, perhaps, she becomes my wife, or if I want to use the hip vernacular, my shorty, or wifey. And no, she ain't my baby-mama. Again, I digress.

Growing up is a scary thing, especially when you've fought it for so long. Oh well, expect the final engagement log on Saturday, as she'll get the ring on Friday night or Saturday morning. That is, of course, assuming that I have a laptop or other such computer while on break.

Previous --- next

My Canada Reverie

On Thursdays I catch the bus to college around 10am. There's a guy who gets on a couple of stops after me, wearing a black baseball cap that says C*A*N*A*D*A across the front. It makes me wonder, did he get that cap from a second hand store, or has he been to Canada? Maybe he's from Canada. Every week I see this cap and I drift into a reverie.

Ever since I heard Joni Mitchell sing 'o-oh Can-a-da-ah!" on 'A Case of You', I knew I had to go. Maybe I heard that record at a suggestible age, because I feel the same about 'California'. I imagine the mountains, and the cold, and the forest and the lakes. I remember the Quebecoise girls I met in the South of France, who spoke their American English with a French accent, and their French with a Canadian accent...

I haven't missed my stop yet, but perhaps one day I will, and then when I wake up, maybe the bus will have driven all the way there.

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