Actual conversation from last night at the Velvet Underground:

Cougar 1: Sorry about borrowing your hat, but I thought it might be a good way to get you on the dance floor.

Charming accordion player: No problem.

Cougar 2 (attempting, but failing, to say it discreetly to Cougar 1) I think you should take the kid with accordion home. He could be the man of your dreams.

Cougar 1: My friend says I should hook up with you…

Charming accordion player: So I heard.

Cougar 1: but I’m too drunk to do anything right now. Maybe later. Can I have your phone number?

Charming accordion player: Waaaaait a minute. Hold on. What say we step back a little. My name’s Joey. Yours is…?

A few of her personal anecdotes later, my instinct to flee had crystallized into a watertight rational argument to run away screaming. I excused myself, saying I had to go and do some busking and went to my usual roost outside Amato’s Pizza.

My friend Sean [he’s the one on the left] was hanging around when I got there.

Sean: I thought you’d be here sooner.

Me: Uh, yeah. Had an…interesting time at the Velvet.

Sean: It sounds like there’s more to it than that, judging by the tone of your voice.

Me: Little misadventure. Somebody hitting on me and giving me a heavy dose of the TMI. Older women…

Sean: One blonde, one brunette, black tank tops and tight jeans?

Me: Yeah, how’d you…?

Sean: They were grabbin’ me and my buddy’s asses last week at the pool tables.

The Velvet isn’t typically cougar hunting grounds. I blame global warming.

A little while later, cougars 1 and 2 walked by. Cougar 1 walked up to me, apparently to give me a peck on the cheek but changed directions for the mouth at the last moment. For some reason, I did a mental calculation and figured that she’s probably the oldest woman who’s ever kissed me (as my friend John Henson would say in a tiny, high-pitched voice, “I’m different now…”). She walked off saying, “Nice meeting you, Joey.”

Sean: Perhaps you want some Lysol for your lips.

Napoleon (the Zen Lounge door guy, and yes, that’s his real name): Ladies loooooove the musicians.

Sean’s friend: Accordion Guy gettin’ his freaky-freak with the divorcees.

Me: I feel soiled.

Sometimes the accordion mojo shows its dark side. Stan Lee was right: with great power comes great responsibility.

“Where’s your Messiah now, Flanders?”

It’s lovely day in Toronto today. As I type this, I’m looking out the south wall of my bedroom/office/looooove palace (as I’m fond of mentioning, the south wall of my room is entirely glass and has a door that opens to the Casa Di AccordionGuy back deck) and seeing a cloudless sky. I’ve propped open the door to let some fresh air in. Even though I’m two blocks away from a major intersection — Queen and Spadina — the buildings due south and west of the house absorb most of the traffic sound. The loudest things you can hear are a plane in the distance and the birds roosting in the tree. It is, as Bill Withers put it, a lovely day [that’s a .WAV file]. There’s nothing I like better on days like today than to…

…have my beliefs in God challenged! C’mon, belief! You want some, you punkass bee-yotch?

In Batteground God, you’re asked 17 true-or-false questions in the game. Every time an answer contradicts a previous answer, you take a hit. Your mission is to get through the game alive (that is, taking fewer hits than needed to kill you). Every now and again, you may also have to “bite the bullet”; this happens when your answer is consistent with your previous answers but has some “strange or unpalatable” implications. You also want to bite the bullet as little as possible. Think of it as a philosophical version of “Hangman”.

I came out alive, taking two hits and biting two bullets, earning me their third-highest award, the TPM Service Medal:

You have been awarded the TPM service medal! This is our third highest award for outstanding service on the intellectual battleground.

The fact that you have progressed through this activity without suffering many hits suggests that whilst there are inconsistencies in your beliefs about God, on the whole they are well thought-out.

For those of you who are insatiably curious (or who wonder what kind of belief system a guy who carries an accordion everywhere because stange and wonderful things happen would have), the analysis of my answers is here.

Have a lovely Saturday, folks.

What would Optimus Prime do?

(In The Happiest Geek on Earth)

Morbus Iff writes about MacOS, Windows, Un*x and how they can all be joined together to form Superion. Well, maybe not that last part.

Read it here.

Wesley for sale

After getting countless requests to sell some kind of personal memorabilia, super-unlikely sex symbol Wil Wheaton — yup, Wesley Crusher from Star Trek: The Next Generation has a five-day auction for this photo:

The current bid at the time of this writing is somewhere in the low two-hundreds. According to the description, he’ll sign it for the lucky winning bidder with the message of his or her choice. He’s set some very clear limits on what he’ll write:

There’s no way I’m writing “Dear Bubba, I loved being your bitch.” So don’t even ask.

Well, there goes my idea.

National Day of Prayer

President Bush declared yesterday, May 2nd, a national day of prayer. I’d like to leave a reminder for you holier-than thou types, from your own instruction manual:

Matthew, Chapter 6:

5 “And when praying, you must not be like the hypocrites. They are fond of standing and praying in the synagogues or at the corners of the wider streets, in order that men may see them. I solemnly tell you that they already have their reward.

6 But you, whenever you pray, go into your own room and shut the door: then pray to your Father who is in secret, and your Father — He who sees in secret — will recompense you.

7 “And when praying, do not use needless repetitions as the Gentiles do, for they expect to be listened to because of their multitude of words.

8 Do not, however, imitate them; for your Father knows what things you need before ever you ask Him.

See? I was paying attention in Sunday school.

The first one’s free

(In The Happiest Geek on Earth)

The geek equivalent of the “Today, I ate a cheese sandwich” post: Today, I installed some trial/”lite” IDEs.

Read it here.

Wrist PDA! Bobo want!

Fossil, the company that makes big retro-funky and chunky digital watches, has come up with a wrist PDA. Here it is:

This wrist PDA uses infra-red beaming to communicate with your PalmOS device and download the databases from the Address Book, Date Book, To Do List and Memo Pad applications. Then you can leave that bulky ol’ PDA at home and still be able to have your information with you. Handy for clubbing, swimming (it’s water-resistant to thirty metres, should you want to check your to-do lists while snorkel-fishing) or if you’re one of those guys who’s already loaded down with way too many damned devices.

It sells for US$145.00 at the Fossil site. Feel free to buy me one.