Wanted: Instructional Diagram Artist for Collaborative Project

I gave Il MattO a high-five last night that was really satisfying in terms of contact and sound. Usually most high-fives seem to fail, due to either inadequate aim or too much of what I call the "skin slap" (the slapping that stings on the very surface of the epidermis and makes a very high-pitched sound). But when you get a good one, that moment becomes like a golden apple of coolness-knowledge, frozen in time, that you can just reach up and pluck from the Tree of Life and look at with fond remembrance of Good Times. A good high-five can give you the same feeling as listening to MF DOOM's "Rapp Snitch Knishes".
So why I need you, the Diagram Artist: let's make a brochure on proper "high-five" technique, complete with diagrams and also a list of occasions that are appropriate and inappropriate for high-fives. Actually let's not make that list, because that is snotty to do and around here, it is always a good time for a high-five. (Plus it would make a good follow-up or preface to the hardcover edition.) (If I had adsense with this blog, do you think there would be juice advertisements?)


No, YOU'RE random!

"You and I are on a journey, and language is both our coach and our impossible goal. Speaking the English language is like jumping a sports car through a gap in a quickly-passing train, only to find that on the other side is a table full of girls from the Clinique counter who get quiet and then call you 'random.'"
-Ray Smuckles

That is exactly what I had learned over the course of my degree.
I miss being in school.


Montreal (is where I went again)

I'm slow at this but...
I went to Montreal again, along with Matthew and Paul, to hang out with Becker. Mostly the things we did included eating and drinking and BOUSTAN (see The New Pollution for a visual representation of this magical place - I was far too full of flavour to manage a digital camera). I know nobody likes a happy blog, but this trip was incredibly fun and deeply needed. If we were Jason Schwartzman and John Ritter's son (plus two other guys), we could have called it "bro-ing down". But we're not, so instead, we'll just call it "hanging out in Montreal with the boys", which was something I really fucking needed.
Here are some pictures:
(In Montreal people are so nice that they'll offer to take your picture outside of Schwartz's, the best goddamn smoked meat anywhere)
(This is Becker on top of Mont Royal. Who says it's not a good idea to start climbing in the heavy snow without proper clothing, after stopping at the dép for some beer? And only two made it to the top...)(oh fuck, this is the worst proof ever - this is Montreal at night from the top of Mont Royal)
(the Adam Brown rocking out at Friendship Cove, in french that place is pronounced "le supercool")(and this is what Montreal thinks of me, and cocaine)
Umm, I guess that's all I have for right now.


I'm being stalked!

More on this later... (not really, no more details because then the stalker might know where I live or buy my shoes, things such as this)
Speaking of, how about this. I admire the intensity and commitment to the role, but the alley sex??? I would probably cry if she did this to me. If I was her friend and knew she was doing it, I would also cry, but out of joy.