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Mistakes were made...


I spent last week in Toronto, a place I'd never thought I'd have to go back to. While I was there, I was reminiscing about the old days with a couple of guys I work with now, when I would work from Toronto, or Barre, or some other Ontarian town for three weeks out of the month. This was all pre-9-11, I think the only time travel got hairy was when they stopped that big attack on airliners in the Pacific. I was in Toronto during Columbine, and distinctly remember the disapproving glances when people would find out I was an American. Like I gave a shit about what they thought about our gun laws. Canadians are a very judgmental people. Really. I'm not trying to get sidetracked, but I'm just no good at this blogging stuff any more. I'm rusty and my sense of humor is failing. I'm not actually sure my mocking tone comes across like it should. What I'm trying to do is express my contempt for Canadians by associating all Canadians with a trait that I claim to despise, but no doubt posses. In spades. Humorous, maybe, but be assured; I can pick a Canadian out of a crowd by the simple scent of their over-arcing hypocrisy and self-regard. Smells like poutine and maple syrup and some sort of Indian food mixed together with cigarette smoke and stale craft beer. Like the carpet at a First Nations casino. At any rate, the weird thing was that I had been talking aboot how I used to work out of Toronto, and the characters I used to work with, when out of the blue I ran into one of those characters. You may think this wouldn't be so odd, but the character I ran in to lives in New Jersey. So it's pretty odd. After fourteen years of not seeing this guy, even after hundreds of trips through New York and New Jersey, to run into him at Lakeshore Park in Toronto was kind of weird. Maybe not for the Dalai Lama, but for me, it was. That'll do maddad. That'll do.
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