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Read:  White Tiger, by Aravind Adiga

I guess I'm in the middle of something of a movie blitz.

- Hellboy II - better than I expected, but I heard some pretty awful reviews (from people who are neither Hellboy nor del Toro fans, evidently)
- Before the Devil Knows You're Dead - pretty cool title, pretty cool movie.  Phillip Seymour Hoffman is always amazing.  Ethan Hawke is always...the same.

Movies watched, and how much I enjoyed each in descending order:

• In Bruges
• Wall-E
• Iron Man
  
• The Princess Bride
  
• Little Miss Sunshine
• Young People F**cking
  
• Batman - Gotham Knight
• Hulk II
  
• Wanted
• Shutter (2008)
  
• Hancock

Books read:

• The Art of Racing in the Rain - would've been fantastic if it was just a racing book. Unfortunately, they had to make it a dog book.
• The Story of Edgar Sawtelle - beautiful, unsatisfying.
  

I've had an incredibly fortunate week:

• Made a horrible decision to separate Kiwi from the neighbourhood Chow when they were fighting over a ball (that Tessa stole) when they were actually fighting and escaped with just a minor scrape.
• Forgot to wear my helmet while biking and managed to get hit by a car turning out of a driveway but the only casualty was the chain dropping a large gear.
• Lost my wallet on Friday and realized three hours later, only to find it right where I expected it under the table at our cafeteria.
  

Biked to work today, here is my route:

Hube and I headed down to visit the Moores last Thursday by car.  Nine-hour drive stopping three times along the way, passing through Fort Erie and heading down through mid-Pennsylvania and straight to Columbia.  It was a fairly easy drive and, although boring, PA was incredibly scenic if you're into watching hour after hour of lakes and trees as you whiz by on the highway.  We placed our faith entirely in the Garmin on the way there and it turned out to be a blessing that the skies were clear as we found during the intermittent rains in Maryland that the antenna on the GPS is terribly finicky - Mike's Tom Tom was much more receptive. 

Arriving after work hours on Thursday, we decompressed for the rest of the evening and then spent most of Friday shopping (outlet mall, Mall of Columbia) before heading to Café Atlantico for latino fusion.  The food was pretty good, although I have to admit I'm a bit glad that we didn't get reservations for Minibar since it isn't the venue I'd be terribly pleased dropping $120 a meal (plus tax, tip and drinks). 

Saturday was just a short cameo at Cory's and the cutting of the Babe while Sunday was just slacking at home although we had intended to go out to Baltimore but the rain kept us at bay.  Hit their local sushi restaurant that day, followed by a dinner with a good number of the FFXI folk at La Scala in the evening. 

All we learned was that there are a good number of ghettos in the Baltimore and DC region, and not to go over the limit in NY because their reciprocal agreement with Toronto really, really hurts.  A good time, nonetheless.

Cheryll convinced me to go out and grab dessert last night so we went to Scaramouche, if only because I wanted to cross another Eat, Drink and be Daring item off my list. This time it was Scarmouche's Coconut Cream Pie, the very first on the list.  It was alright, and she gave it more credit than I did by saying that the custard wasn't bad.  I believe my expert review was "It's coconut, and it's cream.  It is what it is."  Aside from this, we also ordered the Crème Brulée (had better) and a Passionfruit and Yogurt Semifreddo (excellent, frogurt!) while she had a latté (also excellent).  Ten year gaps between trips to Scaramouche sounds about right though - the clientele is still old, crusty and obnoxiously loud.  I felt bad about being potentially underdressed until I realized I don't care what these ancient louses with money thought about me anyway.

Today, I took the dog out on a roadtrip.  We first dropped by Dr. Farzad's at Lakeshore West just to be on record in case we need another veterinarian somewhere down the line (I learned little from Dr. Stallman's visit yesterday other than the fact that he will soon need a transplant due to cardiomyopia).  He gave Tessa a free cursory checkup and offered us a treatment of Revolution but I politely declined since we have some at home; he's too kind. 

We then worked our way back east along Lakeshore, stopping at a few parks so we could chase a few police horses and take some pictures.  Continuing onwards to Bay, we hopped on the Ferry and spent several hours strolling around a more-or-less deserted Center Island, gazing at tourists and pretending to be tourists ourselves.  Came home exhausted, took a nap and I'm considering opening GTA IV in a little bit.

As far as birthdays go, I've rather enjoyed this one.  Of all the things I'm grateful for, having a great dog is somewhere near the top of the list.

While I'd never get a tattoo or have anything pierced, I think my (admittedly disturbing) interest in attempting to understand why people go through the oddest kinds of body modification - subdermal implants, genital subincision, elective amputation, the....shaping of random body parts - made going through with the chalazion operation an easy decision.  Even though it was actively bothering me, especially in bright sunshine (and a colleague understood because he still has the remnants of one from nearly two months ago that took three weeks before it even began to clear up), I have yet to speak to anyone who said that they would allow their eyelid to be sliced.  In fact, most people went as far as to say that I was brave to undergo this routine procedure when I was on a high and couldn't wait to get it done all day.

I honestly wonder what this means for how I really feel about cosmetic surgery and modifications.

Because it was just one of those weekends, I watched four Audrey Hepburn movies with a napping dog, a blanket and several tubs of Haagen-Dazs by my side.  Tessa's always up (err...ready to nap) for a good movie and there's never a bad time for H-D's strawberry cheesecake Extras.  In chronological order, watched Funny Face, Love in the Afternoon, Sabrina and Breakfast at Tiffany's off the 360.  As is the case with all romance films, they were all fairly predictable.  And as is the case with old movies, they were rife with sexism, racism and other bigotry that wouldn't fly in films today - LitA and BaT just revolved around loose morals and prostitution as a generally-accepted means of income.  My mom did ask if I felt that older movies lacked the excitement and pacing of modern films but I can't say I noticed at all.  Audrey Hepburn is stunning no matter what the decade.

Why is it, though, that every movie ends up in Paris?

• Needles, I can handle.
• "Flipping the eyelid will be a little uncomfortable but you'll get used to it" was an understatement, but entirely correct.
• Are you supposed to be scraping that hard?  This is the inside of my eye here.
• Oh god, is there supposed to be this much blood?  This is all from my eye?
• That wasn't so bad.  I wonder if I look like a freak. Why is this lady staring at me?  She's craned her head all the way around to keep looking at me! What is she....oh, right.  The eye.
• Oh man it stung before but now it feels like burning.  He told me not to be frightened of all the blood when I remove the patch.  This is gonna suck, isn't it?

Update, the next day:

• Dog was obedient and super-cuddly.
• The Rolling Stone Magazine's 500 Greatest Songs of All Time.
• Went to book that eye surgery first thing in the morning, got it for the afternoon, and the secretary was incredibly reassuring and supportive.
  
• Interesting job posting came up, as informed by Ed to apply.
• Locker room audits came up, as informed by a housekeeping buddy to fill out.
• Paycheck sent properly to Biomed for the first time ever, confirming a ton of vacation time.
• Finally got my voicemail set up!  Took roughly an hour from the original request.
  
• This sandwich my mom made is rather terrific, and 'Tracks of my Tears' is a great song.

An exercise in vanity in t-minus six hours.

After subsiding for two months (optometrist appointment #1: February 21, 2008), it looks like what was previously diagnosed as a sty and now confirmed as a chalazion has returned.  I was pretty worried the first time but now I'm just annoyed, so I'll likely opt to have them slice it open later this week to drain the fluid rather than wait a month or two and worry about possible recurrences.

Thus, with a hideous eye deformity and on the verge of yet another aging milestone, I asked if she'd be free for dinner next week.  I've realized in the past weeks that she stands out to me because her self-confidence and the air she carries herself with, one where I feel I simply can't challenge her views even when I'm a natural antagonist, was the same as the confidence that Ann always carried about herself; it makes me meek and humble in her presence. 

When I asked though, she had a look that was unfamiliar to me: a mixture of fear? Uncertainty? Surprise?  I don't know, because I hardly know her, and it frightened me for it pierced, if only for a second, her aura of self-assuredness.  She didn't say yes, but she didn't say no.  I'll certainly beat myself up over this for days and there's certainly no weight lifted off my back since I have no idea what that look means.

I hope I get to find out.  And I'm glad I asked.

In which it's difficult to talk to my mother:

- So what's this book you're reading?
- It's by the editor of Esquire who spent a year living by a literal interpretation of the Bible.
- That's not hard.
- Hmm?
- He can't drink, right?
- What?
- He can't have wine or beer.
- Well...there's more to that.  I'm not sure about the wine thing though.  It's arguable whether Jesus turned water into wine or just grape juice, but it certainly mentions wine in there.
- Oh.  So...how did he survive for a year?
- Hmm?
- I mean, he can't work, right?
- What? Why not?
- Because there's no Esquire in the Bible.
- No......no.  He doesn't....he just doesn't break any of the rules, even the smallest ones, taken literally, in the gospel.
- But that's cheating, 'cuz Jesus didn't have a job, right?  He just went around with his friends?
- What?
- He's Jesus, right?
- What are you talking abo.....no! He's not! He's not Jesus, he's himself. Following....forget it.
- That's silly.
- ...
- This spinach doesn't taste like spinach.

The problem, you see, is that I don't think we can be friends any longer.

She'll forgive you, of course.  Completely and without hesitation in an instant because that's who she is, and I guess, ironically, we are now friends of friends, but our relationship has changed.

The fact of the matter is that I can almost picture why you left and why you stood her up, but I can't even be certain if that wasn't all an act as well.  There are a multitude of things you could have done differently to make amends on Tuesday, but you chose to do none of them.  Perhaps you were scared, and I can forgive that.  I get scared too, often, and I already know you are a braver person than me.

I can not, however, excuse how you came in after the fact and made up excuses for your behaviour and your absence.  On top of that, you wanted me to lie to her on your behalf, to act as your accomplice as you played on her sympathy.  I am proud to consider her my friend as she is undeniably one of the best people I know: genuine, honest and considerate to a fault.  I was proud to consider you my friend as I thought you, too, were truthful and generous, strong in your beliefs and, as I previously mentioned, heroic and brave despite the lot that fate has left you.  I introduced her because there aren't enough good people in this life, and it only makes the world a better place for the "good ones" to know each other.  But the moment you asked me to tell her that you had an attack or fell on the way to the caf, I knew you were only playing on her sympathy and good nature.  I don't know why you felt maybe I'd be on your side, but I can't forget that.

It has bothered me for the past twenty-four hours that I reprimanded you, almost like a small child, because even if I still don't feel like I was in the wrong, you are in no condition to argue back.  It only made it simpler for me to accept, though, when you tried to appease me by further appealing to my sympathy by joking about suicide because you "felt so bad", but you must have noticed that even in our crowded room, you were the only one laughing there.  I've considered why I've let this bother me so much all day, and I think I now know why.

I no longer trust you.

I hate to side with the bible-thumpers but I have to admit I bought into their argument that perhaps your condition was a slight blessing in disguise.  You always come in and preach the Bible, trying to find a witness to all the wisdom that you have picked up in your spare time as you find strength and comfort in the Truth.   Even as you come in on other days and entrust us with your weaknesses as you talk about women and sexuality, I chalked it up to a momentarily lapse in faith, and it was our duty to help pick you back up.  As Dave has oft-mentioned though, we can't pick you up if you refuse to help yourself.  Now I can't help but notice that you pick and choose the passages from the Word that help your cause, and use your condition to play on people's emotions and take advantage of their generosity.  Your words in your "moments of weakness" label you as a sexist and a pervert, and your behaviour makes you self-serving and opportunistic.  You prey not just on hers, but on everyone's emotions when it fits your agenda to find companionship, food or whatever favours you require, and I can't forgive nor forget that easily.

I believed you to be a genuinely good person who was strong in the face of adversity and, in turn, I did my best to be good to you.  But now I can't help but feel that I was lied to and taken advantage of because it was nothing but a false front.  This makes you, to me, a liar and a con artist of the worst kind.  I've gone out of my way so often to make this department feel like a second home for you.  Now it kills me that I can't even trust you any more because I don't know who you actually are.  I know you can't be as bad as my anger wants me to think you are right now, but you certainly aren't the righteous person I thought you were.

I'm sorry it had to come to this.