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[20 Feb 2007|11:44pm]
A few days ago, a certain somebody asked me for a link to this page. After a few moments of hesitation, I obliged under the reasoning that it would go against the mission statement of this journal to prevent those interested from reading it. Immediately, I thought to myself, "I've made a huge mistake."

Knowing the damage is irreversible, I decided to follow that person's threat and read the journal chronologically to see just what exactly I have revealed about myself. To my surprise, I quickly discovered that I was reading the journal of a stranger. The person whose inner thoughts I was reading had low self esteem and a crippling desire to impress. He was alone because he had a tremendous sense of entitlement and no social skills. He honestly believed himself to be exceptional, and wondered just why nobody else recognized it. This was a person that actually believed that the kind of music somebody listens to truly matters.

Well I am not that person; at least not anymore. It is difficult to say when the change occurred -- a year ago? Perhaps more recently. In either case, I feel that this journal no longer represents me and I want to move on. I am not willing to simply erase it and start from scratch because I must have a record of my past self if I wish to keep improving as an individual as well as a member of society. Instead, I am starting a new journal to signal a new beginning.

Unfortunately, my first choice was taken, so I settled on k_levin. Perhaps I'll see you there.
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Put on your pretentiosity glasses, please [14 Dec 2006|03:25pm]
I've had an uneasy relationship with Basement Jaxx my whole life. I think my first exposure to them was "Red Alert", which was overplayed on MTV Europe when it came out to the point where I irrationally hated it. At that time, I haven't yet developed concrete musical tastes but the sheer overexposure to the song caused me to despise it. Only last year did I hear it again and -- uneasily -- began to appreciate it. Since then, I've approached each Basement Jaxx song with slight apprehension but with as much of an open mind as I could muster. Usually, I liked what I heard, yet the fact that they are beloved by pretty much everybody worried me. But I must finally concede defeat after seeing this video. Basement Jaxx, you guys kick ass. Not only is the song great, but the video is criminally awesome. It's also good to know that the Ontario finance minister is at least good for something, namely producing an exotically beautiful and talented daughter. My only qualm is that the general in the end of the video actually literally says, "Let's go home together with me," which sounds just as awkward in Russian as it does in English (though the actor is clearly Russian) instead of the more appropriate (and authoritative), "Пошли ко мне домой."

Speaking of great stuff, TV on the Radio. I finally gave in to the hype and downloaded Return to Cookie Mountain, and yeah, it's pretty damn good. But it is not as awesome as pretty much any music publication (and blog) on the planet would like you to believe. "Wolf Like Me" is an excellent song, possibly even one of the best this year, but the rest of the album didn't strike me as much. I didn't have a quasi-religious experience having heard it, for example, unlike with Belle & Sebastian's The Life Pursuit in the beginning of the year, seeing Ladytron live in October, or Bran Van 3000's Discosis last year (even though it came out years ago). Those musical events (and others I can't recall as vividly at the moment) fundamentally changed my life and I am not even exaggerating. Meanwhile, TV on the Radio's latest outing impressed me more than their first album, but it ultimately shares the same ingredients: a couple of exceptional songs padded with good but unremarkable songs.

One band that did impress me greatly and definitely deserves most of the hype being flung at it are the Decemberists. Until this album, I've been more of a reluctant fan. Though I enjoyed their kind of music in principle, I found it often unbearable to listen to in practice. I did enjoy the songs occasionally, if the mood was just right and the moon was at a certain angle. Even though I'm pretty sure I liked Picaresque, only the outstanding "16 Military Wives" truly stuck in my memory despite at least 10 listens. Well not so with this album! This is definitely their best and most accessible album yet. Bravo, gentlemen (and gentlewoman)! Initially, I was drawn more to the direct pop of "The Perfect Crime", but repeated listens endeared "Yankee Bayonet (I Will Be Home Then)", "O Valencia!" and "Summersong" to me. Bravo indeed!
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[11 Dec 2006|01:47am]
I saw Blood Diamond today. It's an excellent movie with a decent plot, great acting, good cinematography, intelligence, plenty of action and, most importantly, actual relevance to the real world. I truly did enjoy it but I was preoccupied with a question tangentially related to the subject of this film and a few other recent ones.

What the fuck is wrong with Africa? It is without question the most fucked up part of the world, and uniformly so. Despite being resource-rich, virtually all of Africa is dirt poor. Despite being the origin of our race, it is the most uneducated and uncivilized part of the world.

Don't tell me, "White folks to blame," because that is just a knee-jerk response at best. Other parts of the world that were colonized by Europeans are not nearly as fucked-up today -- some are even successful.

Why must they constantly have civil wars? Why is genocide such an important component of those civil wars? Why does the whole fucking continent have trouble understanding HIV? Why are so many fucking children in Africa starving despite the very fertile soil? Why do they cheerfully allow their quasi-dictator leaders to plunder them?

Sure, these problems are not specific to Africa, but it is the only part of the world where ALL of them are present. Not just present but actually define it.

How can we fix Africa?
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J'ai fini! [09 Dec 2006|04:20pm]
Je pensais que l'éxamen était plus facile que le modèle. Mais, peut être j'étais plus prêt?

J'ai projetté d'écriver une longue entrée en français, mais je ne peux pas penser de sujets. Quel dommage!
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I appear to be sick. This is timely as I have an exam tomorrow. [08 Dec 2006|07:16pm]
So I tried doing the practice exam earlier today, and I can't believe the sneaky shit they were pulling. First of all, there was no multiple choice -- so much for being "similar to the tests." Secondly, the fill-in-the-blanks sections are just downright unfair.

Exhibit 1: In the vocabulary-based section, some of the words I am supposed to know are not from the vocabulary.
Exhibit 2: There were several cases where you are supposed to leave the blank empty.
Exhibit 3: They expect me to conjugate irregular verbs that were never mentioned? I'm willing to live with tenir, for example, because it conjugates like venir, which is a verb we are supposed to know. But how the fuck am I supposed to know that the second person plural of pleindre is plaignez? That's just bullshit.

I hope they are just trying to scare me and the actual exam will be very easy. Or better yet, aids are allowed, and I will dominate with my dictionary and conjugation book combo (no, it's not a fucking Bescherelle!).

I'd really like to do that playlist meme that has been going around but the music I have on this laptop is just about as unrepresentative of what I listen to as can be. Just for fun, I tried following the meme, and I don't think I ever even heard 7 of the first 10 songs.
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I've decided to get a haircut tomorrow. Maybe I'll post pictures or something. Probably not though. [17 Nov 2006|03:06pm]
It's amazing just how unmotivated I am about finding a decent place to live for next term.

Despite it being such an important decision, I've been procrastinating and slacking off on the subject the whole term. The most effort I've made? Posting on the UW LJ community asking others to tell me what kind of sublets they are offering. I even got a decent number of responses but most of them are too expensive or otherwise not fitting my requirements.

So instead of doing the Christian thing and reading the posting boards, contacting people and sending off my loyal friends in Waterloo to actually see the places, I'm thinking about the easy way out: Village 1. I don't really want to live there but it's an option that seems increasingly more appealing as I take my grave problem less and less seriously.

I just have this feeling that everything will work out in the end -- like it always does -- and there's no point in expending too much effort.
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I also got sat next to two guys from my university on the train from Montreal by sheer coincidence [14 Nov 2006|02:59pm]
On Saturday night, I officially graduated to the level of adventurer. You see, when I go back to Waterloo for council meetings, I stay at my good friend Iljya's house. He lives with his girlfriend but they have separate rooms, which amounts to them having a spare room for me. Well this weekend, my good friend Iljya went up to the Far-off Northlands (Kincardine) to visit his dear mother. This would not be even notable had he not locked his room door and neglected to leave a key. A minor inconvenience.

My first course of action was to pick the lock on the door. Armed with a vague understanding of the process, absolutely no experience, and a single bobby pin graciously donated to the cause by my good friend Iljya's good girlfriend Kathy, I set off. I toiled for four, maybe five minutes before realizing that I might be missing items to complete this puzzle. Initiating a conversation with my good friend Iljya's good girlfriend Kathy, I learned that there is a way into the room by shimmying along the facade from her window. Unfortunately, the window was locked so I returned back into the house. Convinced now that picking the lock was the correct solution, I tried it again. Discouraged by my inability to make progress and lacking any sort of walkthrough, I resorted to the surprisingly efficient technique of looking through my inventory for items to use. This is when I had my epiphany to use a card. Yes, like in all those unrealistic movies where some dude just opens a door using his MasterCard or something.

And it worked! Heroic music started playing and the door popped open with a satisfying bounce. The rest is history.
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Puzzle [10 Oct 2006|09:11pm]
Below is my unofficial schedule for next term. Which class, if any, will Kirill skip a whole lot?

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How Kirill got his groove back [01 Oct 2006|03:48pm]
They got me to dance. And I liked it.

Things I've done that I wish I wrote in detail about but didn't:
- I saw the Science of Sleep. I enjoyed it very much.
- Went to see the World Press Photo exhibition.
- Saw Islands live. They were great but the opening act was... not.
- Had real Peking duck. The whole three course thing. Delicious.
- Went to the Museum of Fine Arts in Montreal. Several works struck me in particular. I laughed at a few of the so-called contemporary art works.
- Saw the Illusionist. It was a good film, but not as exceptional as I expected.
- Had a lot of real espresso/macchiato/capuccino. Fuck Starbucks.
- Had a real (but not the best) Montreal smoked meat sandwich. Honestly, too much meat.
- Had a real poutine. Unfortunately, we found a hair in it, but it was delicious up until that point.
- Discussed such grave matters as religion, serial killers, the nature of the Hannibal Lecter character, the relationship between typography and calligraphy (the scars of this battle are possibly still not healed), literature and, of course, computer science.
- I've been spending money on food like a docked sailor. So far, I have no regrets.
- In my spare time, I've been watching Grey's Anatomy. And that's that.

I love Montreal.
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Oublié à Montréal [20 Sep 2006|11:34pm]
I had a very bad day yesterday. I woke up with a cold, was late for work, spilled a drink on my pants, wasted most of my work day on a fruitless exercise, got stuck in the elevator and decided to wear just a t-shirt on such a cold day. But worst of all, I forgot my keys at home.

As soon as I found out, I called my roommate to save myself the trip home. As luck would have it, him and my other roommate, his sister, were going to their parents' house for dinner and would not be back until around 8:30pm. It was about 6:30pm, so I had to figure out an activity until then. Since I had no books on me, hanging out at a coffee shop and looking intelligent was, unfortunately, not an option.

So I headed back to my office and looked up a movie theater I just heard about earlier that day, Ex-Centris. There is not a strong enough modifier in the English language to suggest just how excited I was about the prospect of seeing a movie there. I was hoping to get there in time to see The Secret Life of Words, but further unlucky delays -- including seeing my subway train leave right in front of my eyes -- prevented me from doing so. Instead, I had to settle for a local fringe documentary (and this is in on an art-house scale) called Nestor et les oubliés.

The film is centered around Louis-Joseph Hébert, alias Nestor, who is a Duplessis orphan. His mother was unwed and likely very young when he was born, unable to take care of him, and so he was put in a Roman Catholic orphanage, as was the practice in Quebec at the time. Most girls, as we are told in the film, were quickly adopted, but nobody wanted the boys. Years upon years of abuse followed. We get the story from the angles of the orphans, the unwed mothers, and one expert.

One orphanage Nestor stayed at for a few years "has a room devoted to the Bogeyman" where nuns would literally make eerie sounds and grab the 5 year-old kids in the dark. Later, around the time he would hit puberty, Nestor spent time in another orphanage where the boys were molested and literally beaten to a pulp if they tried to escape. About ten years ago, the Quebec government reached a settlement with a large group of Duplessis Orphans, but Nestor and his friends were not part of it, and he is leading the fight.

Nestor et les oubliés does a very good job of avoiding the cliches of tragedy documentaries; exploitation is at a bare minimum. We don't see Nestor struggling at a task most would find trivial. The camera doesn't linger over any crying faces. Better yet, when the various people interviewed recount their stories, none of them are hysteric. Instead, they retell their tales with the sort of composed amazement you would expect from people who spent 50 years living the horrors down. When Nestor recounts the one and only time he had a piece of candy in an orphanage (which he found behind the radiator), I felt his triumph where a more sensationalist director would have me feel pity.

When the film ended, it was as if I personally knew Nestor. I went in wanting to add another line to my collection of bragging rights, but I got a lesson in both history and human will. Before, I knew nothing of the struggle of the Duplessis Orphans, having only possibly heard the term once during Grade 10 Canadian History, but just over an hour later, I was passionate about it. Coincidentally, Nestor happened to actually be in the movie theatre, and I suspect he personally knew most of the other 10 or so viewers. He stood in the exit, shaking everyone's hands. He shook mine and I told him that I hoped he does well. He asked me if I understood the film. Perhaps he meant the French language (I personally read the subtitles), or maybe the historic context. But I felt that I did understand it, and I told him so. Due to the asymmetry of our acquaintance, this was the end of the conversation. Only later did I realize that I really wanted to know if he was ever interested in seeking out his mother.

Leaving the theater and having spoken to my roommates again, I had about 20 minutes to waste before they got back. Since I was already home, I decided to make the inevitable visit to Dawson College, mere steps from my house. As I walked up Atwater avenue past Alexis Nihon, I was planning my strategy. Not wanting to seem like a tourist gawker, I was going to rush past whatever shrine was enacted, giving it a quick glance, and just continue up the street. Approaching the intersection, I saw a whole corner of the fence surrounding Dawson completely covered in bouquets and hand-made placards. It was stunning. Not wishing to divert from my plan, I rushed past it, fervently trying to improvise something. When I reached the end of the block, I just turned around and walked back to the improvised memorial. I was going to let it impact me no matter how silly I looked. A man that initially looked like a bum was searching for something amidst the bouquets. Having what he was looking for -- a poster with a large photo of Anastasia de Sousa, the sole casualty of the shooting -- he dug it out and planted it squarely in the center of the shrine. I didn't have the heart to ask him if he was related to her. Walking back home, my pace was much slower.

My day was not so bad after all.
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I suppose an update is in order [10 Sep 2006|12:03am]
First of all, I am now an uncle. Andrian Golender was born on September 5, 2006 at about 6:35am. I usually think that all babies are ugly until they are a year old, but he is pretty cute. I keep wondering what my relationship with him will be when he is 5, 10, 15, 20 and so on. When he goes through his curiosity period, will I be there to answer all his questions in detail? Will we be close or am I going to be like my two uncles? Is he going to look up to me? Will I even like him when he develops a personality? How much influence will I have on him? I'm not dedicating much time to it but it's still very exciting.

Secondly, I spent a week as a frosh leader for a group of first-year math students. I'm too lazy to go into details, but in the end, it was very fun and fulfilling. I think I got more out of that one week than I did out of a whole year of volunteering at Imprint (save for a special friend or two), which says a lot. Again, I wonder what my relationship with my frosh will be. Will I be friends with some of them later? Will they even acknowledge me in the halls if they see me? Will I remember their names or even recognize them?

Finally, I am in the process of packing for Montreal. Part of the reason I am writing this entry is that I wish to procrastinate. This is the most drastic move I've ever done. I have moved to a different continent -- losing all my friends in the process -- but I had my family. I have moved to a different city for university -- losing the support of my family in the process -- but I had friends going with me. Now, I am moving to a different province with no friends or family. It's only for four months but it feels as if I am beginning a whole new chapter of my life.

To make things worse, my employer hasn't contacted me to give me detailed instructions for Monday. So my first visit to my workplace will consist of walking in as a stranger and saying I'm supposed to start work immediately. Just imagine the confusion that will ensue. As much as I am looking forward to my actual job, I dread that moment.

I am also immensely terrified of the moment I finish moving my stuff into my room in Montreal. I met my roommates and they seemed great, but this isn't a dorm residence, I can't expect them to want to hang out with me. What will I do in a foreign city that night?

I hope I'm just overreacting and everything will be great, but anxiety has this tendency to stick around even when you know it is unfounded.
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Woe is me [21 Aug 2006|02:19am]
I finally realized that instead of one week of responsibility-free, aimless existence, I actually have two. Whatever will I do with all that free time?
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[03 Aug 2006|02:37am]
I had a wonderful dream a few days ago.

It started off in the third person (and probably in wide-screen too) with an Indian man sitting in a reasonably modern train, solemnly looking at the large mountains in the distance. The train arrives at its destination and the man steps out onto the platform. His journey is not complete though, as he heads towards another train. This one is significantly older and very worn down. When he finds his seat, the view pans around to show a delightfully "ethnic" wagon: all kinds of colourful characters are sitting on a collection of crates and half-broken armchairs; various bags and tassels are hanging down everywhere; the noise of people conversing excitedly, of babies crying as their haggard mothers attempt to calm them down, of suitcases being open and shut and slammed against each other, is deafening. The train starts moving and suddenly it is a bus going through the mountains, then a train again, and finally a bus once more.

It finally arrives at a dilapidated platform on a small plateau high up in the mountains. At this point, I am the Indian man and I -- along with the rest of the group -- am greeted by a guide that will take us to the final destination. I know that I am going to see my daughter, though it is not clear why she would be so far away in the mountains of India. The guide takes us through large ravines and over giant chasms, literally walking on single planks to get to the other side. At one point, I may have fallen down into one of those chasms, so deep that you can't see anything but white. I would just reappear at the spot I fell and continue as if nothing happened.

The journey is complete when we all arrive at a village so primitive, it seems that the locals aren't even familiar with the concept of electricity. I know exactly where to go though. Right behind this mound are the stairs I need to take. I quickly descend and end up in a subway station.

Not giving it much thought, I get on the train and about 10 minutes later, I exit in another subway station. This is Toronto, but the station is all red and completely unlike any subway station I have ever been to. I exit onto a square and almost immediately go back. Suddenly I am confused and panicking and somebody has to explain to me that there is a special spot that I have to pass my finger over, horizontally, to switch this station into a real Toronto station. The older man telling me all this also explains that the train I took is a special express train that takes you wherever you need to go at near-instantaneous speed. I thank him and quickly proceed to the spot and switch to a real subway station. By now I am not an Indian man but actually myself.

This next part is a bit of a blur but I believe I just ended up traveling to various unrelated locations for a while and some people were with me. At one point, we go back to Toronto and try to perform the switch to a real Toronto station but it doesn't work. We try a few more times but nothing. Somebody explains that the system is not working. People are rushing out the only exit. My group and I start arguing as we try to activate the switch but nothing is happening. Somebody yells at us through the paging system and tells us we're fucked. I kiss the redhead girl that apparently I've liked this whole time and she reciprocates (as an aside, I don't think I have ever had a romantic interest that was a redhead. And this girl wasn't exceptionally pretty either, which I found was weird). Then I grab her hand and all of us run out through the exit.

We emerge in the woods, with a large cabin in front of us. I suddenly recognize the other people with me as people I actually know outside of the dream. We go to the cabin, which is deserted but completely stocked with supplies. We spend an indefinite amount of time living there. Eventually, we venture out and start exploring. I quickly discover that there are more buildings right behind the cabin, including a kindergarten that is currently closed (because it's summer), some sort of dinner hall and a factory.

Unfortunately, at this point, I woke up. For some reason I chose to commit this dream to memory and it is one of the most interesting ones I can recall. The whole time, no matter how stressful or scary it got, I was having fun. I wish life was more bizarre and exciting, or at least that I would have great dreams like this more often.
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Hey look, a positive entry! [22 May 2006|10:42pm]
Despite my constant morbidity, I am an optimist. Some time before a new term begins, I start thinking to myself, "This upcoming term will be the best ever!" I hype it up to the point where there is no chance whatsoever that I will be satisfied when it arrives. Worst of all, I realize that in the process but don't let it hinder my hype. Past experience has shown that I was disappointed with every single term (save for 1A, because it was such a radical change from everything I've known before), so there's no point getting excited about yet another term, right? Well, no. I was possibly more excited than ever before about this term while at the same time already preparing for the devastating disappointment of unmet expectations.

But something went wrong. It's not that my life is suddenly wonderful and my expectations have been met. No, I'm just not unhappy with the way things are going. It's as if the longest losing streak of my life (well maybe second longest) has finally ended and things are back to the average. Some things are working out and some aren't.

This is perfectly fine, but at least I don't feel like I am in a huge rut. This entry was supposed to be much more profound and interesting, but I'm so rusty that I failed. Also, I need to learn to write conclusions.
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[01 May 2006|03:49pm]
My birthday is fast approaching and it is one of the most stressful times of the year for me. The pressure stems from three sources. First, my parents want me to tell them what I want. They have no understanding of me as a person and fail hopelessly whenever they try to actually surprise me with a gift. This wouldn't be a big deal if I actually desired a specific item in their price range. As it stands, the things I want are either intangible (world peace, girlfriend, universal reverence of my genius etc.) or quite pricey (car, girlfriend, the whole Criterion Collection etc.). They, sensibly, started pestering me about this roughly a month ago, which gave me more than enough time to think of something. Well I didn't, and I am already expecting a gift card for Best Buy. Again. And I won't use it for another year.

The second source of my stress also stems from my parents. My actual birthday is going to fall on a Saturday, and they want to know if I'll be coming home for it. Well I don't know. What kind of celebration do I want? I have no idea. In a perfect world, they would decide by themselves and the choice would please me. Unfortunately, this world is not even remotely close to being perfect and I am bound to be disappointed no matter what.

I am used to dealing with my parents though, and I know they mean well, so this isn't the main problem. The much bigger issue is the insecurity that resurfaces around this time of year. Attempting to plan some sort of personal celebration with my friends leads to the toughest question I ever had to face: Who are my friends? These people that I tend to associate with, am I actually close to them or do they just tolerate me? These two questions eat away at me and remind me of just how insecure and alone I am. Clearly my friends aren't that close to me if I can't even recognize them.
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Some angry subject line or something [27 Apr 2006|03:47pm]
The Math Undergraduate Office's idiotic guidelines for work reports have forced me to take a knife to my own baby. The 65-page masterpiece, which I lovingly (if begrudgingly) was hired to compile, has been deemed too long by some henchman (well henchwoman, actually, judging from the name) so I had to butcher it mercilessly to fit into the sickeningly unrealistic 20-pages-and-not-a-word-more format they refer to as a "compromise".

It is painfully obvious that none of those goons have ever worked a real office job in their lives. Reports that are 2000 words in length are a pipe dream; no real information can be conveyed through them. Real reports are usually over 100 pages long and go into excruciating and unnecessary detail. My report did not do that. It covered only the important information, and it all had to be stripped away. Luckily, my employers have evaluated the true copy, so they weren't left puzzling over my choices and results.

And I fucking swear that if I get ONE comment on my evaluated work report about my APA citations -- especially if the douchebag evaluating my report will correct them to MLA format -- heads will roll.

Fuck you, MUO, for making my work seem so painfully trivial.
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The woes of the bourgeoisie [21 Apr 2006|06:59pm]
So I recently acquired a very good and reasonably expensive laptop. I've had it for about three days now and it has been working flawlessly -- so far. But of course there is a problem. You see, the screen on this laptop is very good; it has a very high resolution. In fact, the resolution is so high that maximizing windows is so wasteful that an Indian would shed at least two tears about it. Not maximizing windows is unfamiliar but I will get used to it. The problem is in the fact that non-maximized windows are prone to being accidentally moved or resized. Yes, I know, it's all very tragic. So I am looking for some software or hack that will allow me to fix the position of windows. I've seen it before somewhere so I know it exists. It consisted of another button on the top right that looked like a tack. By pressing it, you forced a window to stay where it is until you press it again. My searches have turned up no meaningful results, so I am now turning to you, my pious reader, and asking for help.

This whole experience is making me more emphatic towards Paris Hilton. Her life must be full of such problems.
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It was bound to happen [11 Apr 2006|08:38pm]
Today I met a girl that went to high school with me. I remember that at one point, we used to socialize in class. What class? No idea. I'm pretty sure it was grade 9 or 10. Either way, we weren't exactly close, which is why my first instinct was to do my best to not let her see me noticing her. That way, I could save us both the embarassment of recognizing each other and proceeding to avoid eye contact. The trajectory of my path actually made that impossible though, so she glanced at me and instantly looked away as one would at a figure that is approaching. But something wasn't quite right, so she looked at me again with a puzzled face. Well, the jig is up. Might as well say hello. She struggled to remember my name so I broke the ice with a sure, "Stephanie." Yeah, it was a bit awkward but not as bad as I imagined it would be. We were taking the same bus so we talked a bit about her majoring in music, our respective fathers picking us up, York, UW, the ugly architecture of the two universities and living away from home. Then we parted ways. She was always pretty nice in high school so this was a pleasant experience. I didn't have the urge to somehow show her up, which is good considering I don't yet have anything to flaunt.

But it does suggest just how sweet of a revenge it will be to show up rich, famous and successful to the high school reunion that will happen sooner or later. The perfect scenario puts all the people that were assholes to me in dead-end jobs with ugly wives and ungrateful, stupid children. Oh, and balding. With blatant combovers! And the girls who were bitches are fat and have slob husbands who are shoe salesmen. Oh the fantasies... I'll probably have to settle for rich and successful, though fame isn't out of the question just yet.
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Damn those black guyses [10 Apr 2006|06:36pm]
They are stealing our Asian womens!
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An open letter to God [01 Apr 2006|07:34pm]
Hey dude, how's it going? Still trying to get that message out, eh? Good luck with that.

Well I've been doing alright myself. Nothing too extraordinary but no tragedies either. You know, I can't really complain, but I will anyways! Haha! Well actually, there's this one thing that was bothering me earlier today... I got a bunch of pimples on my face and I'm not sure where they came from. Actually, you know what? Let's cut the politeness. What the fuck, man? I'll be 20 years old next month and you're giving me pimples today? Is this your idea of an April Fool's joke? Well it's annoying and not funny! Can't you just let me have one thing about my appearance that I like? What if I had a hot date tonight? You would totally ruin my shit! And speaking of hypothetical dates, how about letting me have some action?

You know, I wasn't gonna say anything but you've been a pretty big dick to me lately. What have I done to you? I mean, just because I'm selfish, arrogant, conceited, lazy, borderline misanthropic, spiteful, don't believe in you, elitist, a hypocrit, indecisive, pretentious, vengeful and rude, does that really give you the right to be such a prick? I don't go around slandering you and I keep my thoughts about your followers to myself most of the time, so stop giving me shit, you fucking bully.


PS. Thanks for making my hair look presentable today.
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