Today's Scientific Discovery

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A New Direction for Diary of a Brendan

It's been over a month since I last wrote a blog post. Actually, that's too limiting. It's been over a month since I've engaged in any marginally creative or self-expressive activity. This doesn't end now. My current job is more time consuming than I could have expected, and I am no longer surrounded by a group of my peers, many of whom are more creative and talented than I could hope to be. The ultimate result is I do not have the time or the inspiration to write posts like the ones I wrote when I was less gainfully (this adverb is subject for debate) employed.

But I rebel!

A man (similarly) in revolt

I may not have the time to compose my thoughts as thoroughly as I did before, but I refuse to let that stop me from having interesting thoughts. When I do, I will attempt to share them.  They may be shorter than I would want, but hopefully they will exist. Just like leprechauns!

Canadian* Adventures

In my last post, I mentioned that I was going to Nova Scotia (which translates to "New Scotia." I think a scotia is a type of rash, but I could be wrong). I should clarify what I meant: I meant that I was trying to go to Nova Scotia. In my case, the difference between those two statements is similar to the difference between my saying "I have a lot of friends" and "when I have good dreams, I have a lot of friends" -- a substantial one.

I won't bore you with any foreshadowing because there was none. Emily (my roadtripping partner) and I were driving happily for two days. Everything was fine up to the border. The drive went well, Maine was pretty, and spirits were high. We waited for a few minutes at the border before pulling up to the gate. This was how I thought the conversation between me and the border guard would go:

Guard: Hi, eh?
Me: Hi. We'd like to enter your beautiful country, which is disrespected without reason by most Americans. Can we come in?
Guard: Hmmm... That depends, eh? Are you planning on smuggling guns, drugs, children or maple syrup in or out of the country, eh?
Me: No! We're planning on importing goodwill and friendship into your country, and exporting a great reputation for Canada through my huge blog readership!
Guard: Awesome, eh? Go on in, and here, have a shot of maple syrup that I keep handy in my flask!

That wasn't what actually happened. This is more along the lines of what actually happened.

Guard: Hi, eh?
Me: Hi...
Guard: Are you planning on smuggling guns, drugs, children or maple syrup in or out of the country, eh?
Me: Er, no.
Guard: Have either of you two ever been before a judge, eh?
Me: (thinking to myself) Aw, he's noticed how bashful I get before authority figures, and is trying to comfort me!
Me: Gosh, she hasn't, but I actually have! Funny story.
Guard: I don't really want to hear it. Go into the office now. If you just drop your pants now and bend over, it might save time later, eh?

This was when a pretty Canadian border guard grilled me (this is not as fun as it sounds, and no maple syrup marinade was involved, if that's what you were wondering), and then told me that I had reckless endangerment on my record (NB: If you googled me to find out if I have a record or anything, I really don't. This is an error, I swear). At this point, I was hoping against hope that she would say something like,"A wild one! You'll fit right into our untamed country. And what's more, you didn't even hurt anyone! That's like cautious endangerment. I have so much respect for you. Here's my number, call me when you guys are partying, I think it would be fun to join you, eh?"

That didn't happen, though. After she ignored me for two hours (I'm used to this - girls normally ignore me when I'm asking them out, so this didn't seem unusual), she smiled nicely, and told me that I had to sign a paper saying I didn't want to come into Canadia, anyway, and I wouldn't try to come back for ten years. The best way to think of this is that Canadia pre-emptively issued a restraining order against me. This is something that I actually have never had happen to me with a girl despite some of my best attempts, so I didn't know how to react. I wanted to find an adult, preferably a policeman, and ask for advice in between sobs. Emily's wiser counsel prevailed, fortunately, so we just went to a bookstore, got a guidebook for Maine, New Hampshire and Vermont, went to the public library to e-mail the people we were supposed to visit, and then started driving around.

So I never went to Canada on my road trip. Instead, we stayed in the northeast and had an awesome time. We also saw a moose, which was roughly the size of the largest town we saw in Maine.

Findings:
Maine: Very large. Very, very large.
New Hampshire: Not as large as Maine, not as happy as Vermont. We barely spent any time there.
Vermont: People are strangely happy in Vermont. I suspect the water is drugged with happy pills by the corporation that runs Ben and Jerry's. It's also beautiful.

Anyway, I'm still a bit disorganized, and I need to find a giant to step on my back to straighten it out after sitting in the traffic we hit in New Jersey. Stay tuned, I'll put some photos of the trip up eventually, and discuss a few more things that I noticed while staring blankly out the passenger seat window for hours (this is more dangerous than it sounds. I was driving).

Too much workday excitement

I was greeted at work this morning with more scowls than I am used to. Not more than I can handle, mind you. I used to work with children, so scowls, tears, and tiny fists have no affect on me (my impervious armor is useful for dealing with both children and women*), but one likes to know the reason behind scowls directed in one's general direction. Fortunately, I was not left to ponder this mystery for long. Sitting down at my desk was like turning to the last page of a whodunnit - everything was perfectly clear to me without straining the eyes or running the risk of paper cuts from turning pages. Unlike most good murder mysteries, however, the culprit was not the butler. If anything, it was actually a lack of a butler that had rendered me about as popular as Jimmy Carter. "Yesterday's soccer socks!" I gasped.

Too late to save Mr. Boddy, I realized it was the socks in the Study with the Candlestick

Still, I like a lack of workplace hostility, so I gathered up my socks and left them in the sun to dry out (That'll teach you to club your host over the head while he's trying to relax!), and then wandered over the the cafeteria to quench my thirst with the best drink known to man, Snapple (surprisingly, Snapple did not pay me to say any of this).

I love the smell of Snapple in the morning. Smells like victory.

"Made from the best stuff on earth!," I tell myself out loud (I got more scowls for this). "No wonder this is so good." With my next sip, I remember that drinking Snapple is not only delicious, but informative, too!

Holy sh*t! No frickin' way!

"No. It can't possibly be true. No way do cats have that many muscles in their ears. This must be some cruel joke by Snapple," I think to myself. Alas, it was a cruel, cruel joke. It was as if they knew me. I snapped out of my incredulous, glassy eyed state only to find that the shock had caused a tragedy easily on par with Mel Gibson's meltdown:

Look, it's like the dead snapple is flipping me off

So I found a quiet corner of my office where I could hide until my tears dried up. Some mornings, it's best to stay home.

*Haha! Just kidding. Women's fists affect me.