Groggy

If breakfast is "the most important meal of the day," then why is it always the least expensive?

Kanuk Confusion

Finally got over the ill juju techno trips up in heyah and got myself a laptop with minimal problems... excepting that it's from Canada. Toshiba, 2009, and such... but... from Canada. You'd think that would mean perhaps simpler, perhaps similar -- but NO.

The keyboard is set up differently -- I suppose if'n I wanted to type all French-like. But sarcasm, snobbery and superb cooking is as close to French as I get. Yet... this keyboard is somewhat smaller and has keys that I cannot understand nor control. Characters, accents, HTML weirdness. Where the return key should be is something called: \
Now, I can use a forward slash, but there are at least two keys for forward slashes on this board. Additionally, if I slip while clicking along, all of the sudden I'm writing in some kind of hyroglyphics. Bizarre. And then there's the key where the question mark should be. Well, the question mark is there, but this is the "Eh?" key. How am I supposed to end my serious questions about life with this Eh? I'm so grateful to have connectivity again, even if my homepages and searches all start in Canada, but why must the the keyboard be so bloody different Eh? And I've nothing against the Queen's english, but really: Queen of which country Eh?

So, may I ask a favour Eh? Does anyone know about converting a foreign keyboard into something I can utilize for writing in shoddy, urban American "English" Eh?

Aw, forget it, Eh? Take off Eh?

I wanted to write something about U.S.'s outstanding hockey performance in the 2010 Winter Olympics, but pressing F7 on the keyboard doesn't give me a spellcheck -- it's a reality check shortcut. It deletes all I was thinking and interjects objectivity that is truly foreign to me.

\Someone press F7 on my life and eliminate this kanuk confusion Eh?

Clothing Carnage

Well, I got my baby back this week. There's a nice feeling. To see her, not to ride her. Can't ride her yet. Tried to start her the morning after her return: click-click dead. And to the list of 33 repaired items on her, we add "battery." No biggie, considering all she's been through. That'd be like me complaining that bright lights still hurt my eyes, when 11 months ago I didn't have the wherewithall to distinguish the armoir from the bathroom.

Oh, anyone wanna buy a bedroom set?

So, there she sits in the garage. Quiet and cold.

Cold, but purty.

And this morning it occurred to me that I need a bit more than a battery to get back in the wind. Boots: thrashed. Gloves: trashed. Jacket: oh... the jacket. Apparently the kind EMTs that responded to a 911 call of "dead motorcyclist" felt it necessary to cut my jacket off of me. HARSH. (Well... not to complain too much... it may have been necessary. I don't know. I wasn't exactly "present.")

So: I have a shopping trip to look forward to. Umm... after I get a job.

Oh, anyone wanna hire a marketing writer?

Perhaps I can get by with the existing gear: just tear the leather from the steel of the boots, duct tape the cuffs of the gauntlet gloves, staple or sew the jacket back together, and there we have it: Frankenbiker.

On the bright side, I don't need to buy a new helmet...