It’s been a few days since my last post and I have an eclectic mix of runes, food, crime, sporting trivia and more fatuous dinner conversation. But, before we get into the blog proper, help me clear up a mystery: What the hell is this fruit? They have it out at the Northline on a semi-regular basis and it has the consistency and taste of a dish sponge.
Runes Ruin a Room
Anyhow, A began moving into his new room a couple of days ago. It had been pretty well cleaned by our “landlords”…at least A keeps telling himself that the odd sickly sweet smell that pervades it is some sort of cleaner and not some DNA bearing remnant of the previous occupant. What the cleaners either ignored or couldn’t clean were the mysterious runes adorning the walls. Some of it is in English and appears to be some sort of threatening incantation. I hate to break it to you, you Harry Potter wannabe, but it’s called a spell and you can’t. “Labbor”? What a maroon. The remainder is written in what I can only assume is the language of dragons or wizards (that’s the only rational explanation for those funky letters). At the risk of eternal damnation, A managed to scrub off the bits that were written in marker but the painted (yes,painted!) ones he just covered up. What kind of nutter paints things on the wall of a fucking ISO in KAF? Jeez, it’s just plain creepy.
Lung, Fish in the Niagara
A couple of days ago, I insisted that we walk up to the Niagara for dinner. As longtime readers will know, the Niagara was on my “do not eat” list due to a bad experience several months ago and, other than Canadian Thanksgiving, I haven’t eaten there in a long time. I could not, however, handle Far East stir fry again and Niagara is the next closest DFAC so off we trundled in our trendy glow-belts.
Nothing on the menu looked good. “Luckily”, I says to myself “Niagara always has decent burgers or wings on the short order line.” I was pleasantly surprised by the relatively short line up too. “Hot damn! It’s my lucky night! Holy shit, A asked for the fish fingers…he’s gonna regret that” I cerebrally chortled. My raucously joyous (and somewhat disturbingly so) conversation with myself came to an abrupt end as the server plopped an anemic, gray patty with irregular, tumour-like contours onto my plate. When I got to the table, J captured its essence accurately if unappetizingly as he opined “It looks like lung. That’s a lung burger” although I don’t think lung would taste as bad. Two courageous bites later, I gave up and sulked. It was, perhaps, the worst burger I’ve ever had. While A certainly didn’t find the fish fingers to be a delight, they did not, at least, resemble internal organs. My non-verbal chortling days are over.
What with all the mud and dust around here, we have shoe/boot racks outside every room in the accommodations. We’ve had two instances now of our people having shoes stolen from right outside their rooms. Really, Mr. Shoe Stealing Asshole? You’ll risk your job for a pair of sweaty sneakers? I strongly recommend you not get caught in our hallways as we’ll have the MPs over here so fast your head will spin and I will personally ensure you lose your job and get put on the first plane outta here back to whatever pathetic, amoral backwater you came from.
Weed and Rugby Don’t Mix
I’ve mentioned before that many of the vehicles around here have been repurposed from earlier uses…lots of German tour buses, vans with odd signs and business names etc. The one I saw yesterday, however, is among the most intriguing. “Baisons, Spirit of the Weed, Yatsushiro THS Rugby Football Team” Let’s parse this out, shall we? Ok, judging by the graphic, “Baisons” appears to be a misspelling of Bison. Fair Enough. Let’s come back to the “Spirit of the Weed” in a moment. Google tells me that Yatsushiro is a town in Japan. While an intensive 15 second Google search didn’t yield anything for Yatsushiro THS, I assume this is some sort of high school, based mainly on the “Spirit of the Weed” slogan and my own 1970’s high school experience. I can’t find any reference to the rugby team either but I’m not surprised. A bunch of high school students with the “spirit of the weed” are not going to be interested in running around a playing field…hell, they’re unlikely to even be arsed to get off the couch and show up at school at all. I think this bus would still be needed for its original purpose if the sign read “Baisons, Spirit of the Weed, Yatsushiro THS, Halo Team”.
Vengeance is Mime
Apropos of nothing, J briefed us all on his philosophy that violence is sometimes necessary. While agreeing in principle, I was concerned that his idea of “necessary” may include preventing bloggers from quoting his inanities, I pressed him for an example. “Mimes”, he said. I nodded and muttered “And those fucking clowns” as A inexplicably jumped to the mimes’ defense “They’re not hurting anyone…just don’t watch them”. “Pulling on their stupid ropes wearing their outrageous scarves and berets”, growled J. “If we don’t watch them, how will we ever know when they get out of that fucking box?” I warned. A then made some comment about aliens with “Mime control rays”….”Now that’s just stupid”, I thought.
Everything is Gonna Be Alright
I wrote a bunch of stuff about stuff. I hope you feel enlightened.
“You know, these guys are pretty cool for a bunch of mimes.” -Butt-head watching a KISS video