I am pleased to announce the first addition to my wardrobe since the year of our lord 2003. As many of you know, due to the new European travel restrictions, BrenTopia Travels Inc. based out of Carnforth England, was forced to layoff hundreds of cloths, leaving them ownerless, jobless, and dejected. This economic “downsizing” caused what many economists have deemed “a downward spiral” in the BrenTopia Fashion Division of BrenTopia Travels Inc. While initially, BrenTopia Travels promised that it would only layoff apparel, soon after it proceeded to layoff shoes, accessories, books, and yes, even toothpaste. The riots caused by unemployed apparel eventually drove BrenTopia Travels Inc. out of Britain and on to mainland Europe where it set up head quarters in Shladming, Austria. In the true spirit of riches to rags, the BrenTopia Fashion Division found itself downsized to the following list of latest fashion gear:
Sweatshirts: 1
Jacket: 1
Socks: not enough
T-Shirts: 3
Shorts: 1
Pairs pants: 3
Boxers: 3
Pair shoes: 1
Hats: none
Formal anything: none
Hygiene equipment: toothbrush
Other Hygienic tools: none
Books: 3 (down from 7)
Yes, there was only one word to describe this struggling business: compact. Using their weakness as its strength, BrenTopia Fashion Division was the first to claim that its entire wardrobe (consisting of net gross approx 15$US) could easily fit into one 50-liter REI frame pack. However, after almost 8 months of facing constant rebuke from fellow competitors in the fashion business, the unthinkable happened. In a storm of Shekinah glory and pearly doves, 7 (a holy number) shirts and 4 sweatshirts floated down from the heavens and were graciously donated to the “Brent-is-a-Starving-Child-Too” fund—a fund founded by BrenTopia Travels Inc. itself. Who could be the messenger of such charitable donations? It came in that vast reservoir of apparel, that masterful fashion Houdini, Justin McNanfelt. O Sacrum convivium, ave Maria, sancti amos deum, Alleluia. Amen.
Thanks be to God.
If you too would like to donate to the Brent-is-a-Starving-Child-Too fund, send cash, check, money order, or Cows* to: brentsastarvingchild@feedthechildren.com
*Cows may be used as currency only for those who do not reside in 1st world nations. Holiday blackouts, restrictions, and meaningless government inspections/visas apply. Cows must be worth at least 2 live virgins.
Monday, November 28, 2005
Saturday, November 26, 2005
please remain seated
Musings on an airplane to Chicago
When I was young, I used to look forward to airplane rides as much as I used to look forward to going to amusement parks. They were exciting, dangerous, and cool looking. But in my more recent history I have come out of my idealistic love for airplanes and the truth of the matter is disillusioning. My many pilgrimages on to the “aero-plane” have convinced me that they are actually a form of torture designed to punish our technologically advanced society. Indeed, it is a true irony that the very technology we esteem so highly inflicts itself upon us spreading like the bubonic plague. Most people don’t realize this until they find themselves walking through metal detectors without socks, holding up their pants because uniformed people made them take thier belt off. This we hail as modern innovation? Back in the 1600’s walking places with pants at one’s shoeless feet was not considered proper, but now in the 21st century, this is not only common practice, but something we have been brainwashed to think is a “good thing to keep bad people out”.
The real form of torture comes not when you're waiting for the plane for 2 hours, or eating airplane food (which can be used as a flotation device incase of an emergency) no. The real torture my friends is babies. I am convinced the reason weapons aren't allowed on planes is for the protection of crying babies and their blessed parents who caused the little cuties to come about in the first place. Heck, I know if I had an AK-47, crying babies would no longer be an issue on planes.
When I was young, I used to look forward to airplane rides as much as I used to look forward to going to amusement parks. They were exciting, dangerous, and cool looking. But in my more recent history I have come out of my idealistic love for airplanes and the truth of the matter is disillusioning. My many pilgrimages on to the “aero-plane” have convinced me that they are actually a form of torture designed to punish our technologically advanced society. Indeed, it is a true irony that the very technology we esteem so highly inflicts itself upon us spreading like the bubonic plague. Most people don’t realize this until they find themselves walking through metal detectors without socks, holding up their pants because uniformed people made them take thier belt off. This we hail as modern innovation? Back in the 1600’s walking places with pants at one’s shoeless feet was not considered proper, but now in the 21st century, this is not only common practice, but something we have been brainwashed to think is a “good thing to keep bad people out”.
The real form of torture comes not when you're waiting for the plane for 2 hours, or eating airplane food (which can be used as a flotation device incase of an emergency) no. The real torture my friends is babies. I am convinced the reason weapons aren't allowed on planes is for the protection of crying babies and their blessed parents who caused the little cuties to come about in the first place. Heck, I know if I had an AK-47, crying babies would no longer be an issue on planes.
Tuesday, November 15, 2005
the smell of pot
In all my travelings, hitchhikings in Europe, nights on the floors of air ports, and train travels there is one kind of person I can always trust to help me out. The pot-head. Today I thought I'd be adventurous and do something people don't even speak of around here, bike a long ways for non-recreational reasons. Destination: Trinity Western University. Distance: 17.33mi. Estimated duration: 33min by car (or "45min by bike". Who makes up those estimations anyways? Have they ever biked?). In all my bikings to airports, camps, and cities in Japan I have never undergone such a grueling bike ride. Fist, what's with the people that drive by and honk their horn? Is it an encouraging "keep on going"? or is it a, "get off the freaken road!"? As the honking went on, and after one mysterious motion in sign language depicting an upraised middle finger, I chose to believe that the honking of the horn was indicating something along the lines of an encouraging thumbs up.
After 1.5 hours of cars and trucks whizzing by so fast that their wind almost knocked me into the ditch on several occasions, and after 1.5 hours of biking on a road THAT WOULD NOT STAY LEVEL! (I used to think that the term "valley" meant a flat area of land, but now I see that it actually means "an area of land that is not a sharp pointy mountain"-an unusual occurrence in Canada. So unusual in fact, that they get over excited and think they have a valley. Well I think they need to visit Tokyo) I finally arrived at TWU sweaty, tired, and traumatized. The visit, scary. TWU looks like a daunting prison; it even has a little security post in the middle of the lanes on its driveway-just like military bases in Japan. By the time I was about to start biking back, it was dark and I didn't want to. And why has no one in this bloody country heard of trans-city buses? WHY?! Abbotsford is just one city away, you'd think they could afford a flippin bus!!! Despite the lack of trans-city buses, I decided to take a city bus as far as possible and then bike the rest of the way. Unmentionable thing #2 take a bus. And I tried to, but when I went up to put my bike on the bus bike rack, the bus driver honked at me (rude honk #5 of the day, not to mention at point blank range) and told me they can't put the bike rack down at night. So the bus drove off and it began to rain.
Upon girdling up my loins, sticking my chest out, and flipping the bus off after it left (sorry mom), I began the ride back. And after being honked at again I pulled off into a gas station to ask directions. The lady behind the desk couldn't believe that I was going to bike back in the rain at night, and after telling her about the honks, and the finger, I passionately proceeded to tell how I should be honking at them! THEY ARE THE ONES polluting the atmosphere THEY ARE THE ONES contributing to global warming THEY help Middle Eastern "terrorist" countries get rich! Heck, Saddam Hussein’s probably making prophet/liter gas sold! I SHOULD BE HONKING AT THEM for contributing to the axis of evil!! And I told that store lady how next time I go biking I'm going to bring an air horn just to spite cars! And I told her how if I had a car I would be driving it so they should shove their horns up their ear canals and shut up! Then after receiving a "maybe I should call security" look from the lady behind the counter, I walked out. And on the other side of the door, a beat up-looking SUV with a trailer and a guy hanging out the passenger door speaking the beautiful words "dude wanna ride? I heard you in the store". I proceeded to get in the truck and, after noticing it smelt kind of funny, listened to my savior talk about his relationship with pot. Apparently they are doing quite well together. The whole truck smelt of it.
It’s always those people on the fringes of society that are the most helpful. Maybe because they have nothing to lose, as opposed to rich Christians who's car seats might get dirty by picking some on up off the street. After the experience, I am a firm believer in people, not rich people, but normal people.
After 1.5 hours of cars and trucks whizzing by so fast that their wind almost knocked me into the ditch on several occasions, and after 1.5 hours of biking on a road THAT WOULD NOT STAY LEVEL! (I used to think that the term "valley" meant a flat area of land, but now I see that it actually means "an area of land that is not a sharp pointy mountain"-an unusual occurrence in Canada. So unusual in fact, that they get over excited and think they have a valley. Well I think they need to visit Tokyo) I finally arrived at TWU sweaty, tired, and traumatized. The visit, scary. TWU looks like a daunting prison; it even has a little security post in the middle of the lanes on its driveway-just like military bases in Japan. By the time I was about to start biking back, it was dark and I didn't want to. And why has no one in this bloody country heard of trans-city buses? WHY?! Abbotsford is just one city away, you'd think they could afford a flippin bus!!! Despite the lack of trans-city buses, I decided to take a city bus as far as possible and then bike the rest of the way. Unmentionable thing #2 take a bus. And I tried to, but when I went up to put my bike on the bus bike rack, the bus driver honked at me (rude honk #5 of the day, not to mention at point blank range) and told me they can't put the bike rack down at night. So the bus drove off and it began to rain.
Upon girdling up my loins, sticking my chest out, and flipping the bus off after it left (sorry mom), I began the ride back. And after being honked at again I pulled off into a gas station to ask directions. The lady behind the desk couldn't believe that I was going to bike back in the rain at night, and after telling her about the honks, and the finger, I passionately proceeded to tell how I should be honking at them! THEY ARE THE ONES polluting the atmosphere THEY ARE THE ONES contributing to global warming THEY help Middle Eastern "terrorist" countries get rich! Heck, Saddam Hussein’s probably making prophet/liter gas sold! I SHOULD BE HONKING AT THEM for contributing to the axis of evil!! And I told that store lady how next time I go biking I'm going to bring an air horn just to spite cars! And I told her how if I had a car I would be driving it so they should shove their horns up their ear canals and shut up! Then after receiving a "maybe I should call security" look from the lady behind the counter, I walked out. And on the other side of the door, a beat up-looking SUV with a trailer and a guy hanging out the passenger door speaking the beautiful words "dude wanna ride? I heard you in the store". I proceeded to get in the truck and, after noticing it smelt kind of funny, listened to my savior talk about his relationship with pot. Apparently they are doing quite well together. The whole truck smelt of it.
It’s always those people on the fringes of society that are the most helpful. Maybe because they have nothing to lose, as opposed to rich Christians who's car seats might get dirty by picking some on up off the street. After the experience, I am a firm believer in people, not rich people, but normal people.
Sunday, November 13, 2005
north face corset
What is called the "outdoors industry" seems to be just a bunch of insecure people who, because they have no particular skill in normal society, escape to the outdoors in order to stop that tingling feeling in their stomachs of inadequacy. They immerse themselves in the finest gear and brands-and by these standards hinge the value and popularity of each outdoorsman. When not outdoors, the outdoors man must flaunt various brands and attitudes in order to convince himself that he has worth; this can be done by demonstrating the following: north face soft shells, nalgine bottles complete with token beaner (attached to your belt loop), hair length, and the ability to belittle other less qualified outdoors people. As much as possible talk about how skilled you are and stay as far away as possible from being tested if what you say is actually true-this may reveal imperfection = inadequacy = no identity. Some sacrifices must be undertaken to prove that you actually do have a skill—you must wear as much outdoor gear as possible (preferably North Face and vibrum soled boots) even when ridiculously unnecessary and impractical. Fortunately for us, corsets are no longer in style in the outdoors industry, or else we'd have to be wearing those too.
Sometimes I think I expect too much from people.
Sometimes I think I expect too much from people.
Friday, November 11, 2005
brentagorium theorem
It seems I have stumbled upon a great travesty in this world. And the travesty is this: if one wants money, it seems you have to do the things you don’t want to do (i.e. work a sucky job). If you do the things you want to do (i.e. work a sweet job), you won’t get money. but if money = fun then perhaps its worth doing things you don’t want to do in order to facilitate doing the things you want to do in the future.
Another mathematical money theorem I have developed (which in Latin is called the “Brentagorium theorem ", similar, but unlike the Pathagorium theorem which was developed by the famous mathematician, Pathog, which is Latin for "The feeling, as of sympathy or pity, so aroused". May his soul rest in peace) goes like this: the more money you have, the more money you have. The less money you have, the less money you have.
And to all you college kids out there who have your parents paying your way through college-a special note: blessings, trinities, and halo's be upon your heads my children, for your end is surely just around the corner in the form of my fist. Some may wonder what may have aroused these feelings in me. Well let me tell you, the other day I was griping as usual at the cafeteria food (not because its bad, just because its the cool thing to do) saying that I cant believe I'm paying money to be ripped by the monopoly that is the caf (a semi-intellectual and original complaint I thought). So the kid I was talking to replied by casually, leisurely, nonchalantly stating that, "But I don’t mind cuz my parents are paying for it anyway”. In fact, he doesn't mind, because it is not him who pays for the food, but his parents-and the same for all his classes! And that my friends, is called natural selection. Some people have rich parents and some people have rad parents. Naturally, I have selected the latter.
Another mathematical money theorem I have developed (which in Latin is called the “Brentagorium theorem ", similar, but unlike the Pathagorium theorem which was developed by the famous mathematician, Pathog, which is Latin for "The feeling, as of sympathy or pity, so aroused". May his soul rest in peace) goes like this: the more money you have, the more money you have. The less money you have, the less money you have.
And to all you college kids out there who have your parents paying your way through college-a special note: blessings, trinities, and halo's be upon your heads my children, for your end is surely just around the corner in the form of my fist. Some may wonder what may have aroused these feelings in me. Well let me tell you, the other day I was griping as usual at the cafeteria food (not because its bad, just because its the cool thing to do) saying that I cant believe I'm paying money to be ripped by the monopoly that is the caf (a semi-intellectual and original complaint I thought). So the kid I was talking to replied by casually, leisurely, nonchalantly stating that, "But I don’t mind cuz my parents are paying for it anyway”. In fact, he doesn't mind, because it is not him who pays for the food, but his parents-and the same for all his classes! And that my friends, is called natural selection. Some people have rich parents and some people have rad parents. Naturally, I have selected the latter.
Wednesday, November 09, 2005
kingdom of blog
A time is coming and has now come when the condescending voices of my siblings shall no longer ring in my ears, when past acquaintances will not ridicule me in their blogs, no longer will they have an excuse not to know what is happening in my life! No longer shall you roll in cesspools if ignorance and fecal matter! NO! the time is coming and has now come when dandelions like little giddy children on the swings do play, when grand piano’s fall on the heads of the teletubbies, when the beer flows like wine and babies no longer cry on airplanes! YES! I…AM…BLOG! Fear not oh little ones, fear not, uncle brent shall be to you no harm. Of fear be thou not, for mine is the kingdom of blog for ever and ever.
And in other news, as many of you know I am in a program at college called OL (which is short for Outdoor Leadership). Its basically a major at college where we’re taught to be out door guides, we do all kinds of 5 day and 1 day trips with activities ranging from canoeing to ski touring. So last week my team and I (alpha team) which consists of 8 people went out on a canoe trip-and nothing really worth mentioning happened until the last night. Its always the a night.
The preface: my tent was a tarp in the shape of a pyramid, it had one pole up the middle and the rest of the tarp was pegged down with chopsticks (the night before I made sushi for dinner, and as we forgot the tent pegs, chopsticks seemed like the most logical course of action). The problem: the last night we had the most freakish windstorm I’ve ever encountered. The wind would first come from behind-like clockwork we could hear it blasting through the trees in the distance speeding its way over to us. And when the wind finally hit, it would effectively turn our pyramid, chopstick held, one-pole tent into a parachute-that is, it would have-save for the desperate efforts of the tents inhabitants yelling and holding down various corners of the tent as tree branches rained down on us. This lasted for about 30 seconds. Then we would put the tent back on its chopsticks, pray the storm was over, and fall asleep. Now so far there has been nothing freakish-no. but the freakeshness was that 5 minutes later the wind would come again except this time from the opposite direction. And we did the usual routine of holding down the tent, yelling etc. and then falling asleep for 5 minutes until the process repeats itself over and over. After about 10 of these cycles I was done with it. I decided to steal real pegs from the leaders tent to replace our chopsticks with. At about 1:30am I drag myself out of the pyramid tarp, and commence the night walk over to the leaders tent. Preface: 1. We had a camp fire the night before, which was still going because a team member was tending to it. 2 This member is EXTREMELY jumpy 3. This person spent a considerable amount of time in the US army. 4. Freakishly windy nights make people jumpy. Problem: 1 I approach this person from behind 2 I don’t know that he’s extremely jumpy 3. Without the intention to startle, I whisper his name 1ft behind him. Freakish occurrence number tow: He turns around and starts socking me in the face. Oh no, not just once, multiple times, and he did not desist after the fist 10 seconds, nor did he desist while I was yelling at him reminding him of who I was and that we’ve known each other for 2 months. After about 15 seconds of this he finally snaps out of the trance apologizes, pats my back and walks off. I’m left standing mouth agape, wondering if what just happened happened. Later he “jokingly” states that it was a good thing he didn’t have a knife on him. A good one! MAYBE YOU SHOULD BE A FREAKEN COMMEDIAN FOOL!
And in other news, as many of you know I am in a program at college called OL (which is short for Outdoor Leadership). Its basically a major at college where we’re taught to be out door guides, we do all kinds of 5 day and 1 day trips with activities ranging from canoeing to ski touring. So last week my team and I (alpha team) which consists of 8 people went out on a canoe trip-and nothing really worth mentioning happened until the last night. Its always the a night.
The preface: my tent was a tarp in the shape of a pyramid, it had one pole up the middle and the rest of the tarp was pegged down with chopsticks (the night before I made sushi for dinner, and as we forgot the tent pegs, chopsticks seemed like the most logical course of action). The problem: the last night we had the most freakish windstorm I’ve ever encountered. The wind would first come from behind-like clockwork we could hear it blasting through the trees in the distance speeding its way over to us. And when the wind finally hit, it would effectively turn our pyramid, chopstick held, one-pole tent into a parachute-that is, it would have-save for the desperate efforts of the tents inhabitants yelling and holding down various corners of the tent as tree branches rained down on us. This lasted for about 30 seconds. Then we would put the tent back on its chopsticks, pray the storm was over, and fall asleep. Now so far there has been nothing freakish-no. but the freakeshness was that 5 minutes later the wind would come again except this time from the opposite direction. And we did the usual routine of holding down the tent, yelling etc. and then falling asleep for 5 minutes until the process repeats itself over and over. After about 10 of these cycles I was done with it. I decided to steal real pegs from the leaders tent to replace our chopsticks with. At about 1:30am I drag myself out of the pyramid tarp, and commence the night walk over to the leaders tent. Preface: 1. We had a camp fire the night before, which was still going because a team member was tending to it. 2 This member is EXTREMELY jumpy 3. This person spent a considerable amount of time in the US army. 4. Freakishly windy nights make people jumpy. Problem: 1 I approach this person from behind 2 I don’t know that he’s extremely jumpy 3. Without the intention to startle, I whisper his name 1ft behind him. Freakish occurrence number tow: He turns around and starts socking me in the face. Oh no, not just once, multiple times, and he did not desist after the fist 10 seconds, nor did he desist while I was yelling at him reminding him of who I was and that we’ve known each other for 2 months. After about 15 seconds of this he finally snaps out of the trance apologizes, pats my back and walks off. I’m left standing mouth agape, wondering if what just happened happened. Later he “jokingly” states that it was a good thing he didn’t have a knife on him. A good one! MAYBE YOU SHOULD BE A FREAKEN COMMEDIAN FOOL!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
