Was it the same cat?

It's a sad feeling when you discover something exciting but nobody else is as interested as you are. This morning, I went to Tim Horton's armed with only some change and an American $1 bill, hoping they would accept it. Not only did they accept it, but they used a 1.55 exchange rate, meaning that my $1.60 large mocha cost only $1.03. This morning the Canadian dollar, you may have heard, was worth over .96 cents. It's a loophole in the whole system! If only there was a retail store doing this as well, one could convert their money to US dollars, purchase products with their out-of-date exchange rate, then return them later and make profit out of nothing. That's a lot of work and I'm already bored of the idea, but finding a system glitch in the Matrix is always cause for nerdly blog entries.

Kirk out.

Bullish

Hot today. Hot yestaday. One-na deese days dat heat's goan leave, and all dem souls who's been-a bitchin and a-complainin' these past few weeks is goan be sorry.

Starting to get very acclimatized to the +30 weather the past while, which makes a move to the Okhanogan even more enticing. The nice things about Albertans is that despite their boastful attitute and supreme confidence in everlasting oil flow, they still know that when it comes to Stuff To Do Outside, B.C. reigns supreme. I know this, because Tyler knows this. Walking home in the evenings gives me the requisite fresh air for the day, and as such keeps my mood up, such as it is. This combination is good, and worth investigating further...

Truly, this is a post just for the sake of posting. I'm not ashamed, and perhaps this will lead to a Hot New Trend (TM).

Never did move into that cubicle, it was all a smoke and mirrors distraction. Instead, I've remained in my "bullpen," better titled the "Playpen." The job has changed though, from registrations to module registrations, as reflected in my Hot Sexy New Title: Senior Module Registrations Officer. Now, rather than make sure students have all their educational pre-requisites taken care of, I register, unregister, reregister, and throughregister students into our modules. I don't think I've ever been as bored in my entire life as I am right now typing this.

Here's something more amusing, at least to me:

The gunshot was deafening in the vault as Peavy went down, still holding the briefcase. Ritchie carefully wiped his fingerprints off, placed it in Peavy's palm, and picked up the case. It was still locked but he'd worry about that later. He stepped out of the vault door and listened carefully, making sure he was the only one there. He couldn't see much in the dark but he reassured himself that he must be alone. He moved quickly towards the office window and started to cut out a hole. He hated heights, and the view down from the 76th floor made him sick. He focused on the glasscutter, just needing to weaken it before busting it out. Chopper should be here soon, he told himself. He looked back into the vault and froze. Peavy's body was gone.

The barrel clicked behind his ear and Ritchie knew the heist was over. The glasscutter fell to the floor as his body went limp, the barrel smoking in the moonlight. Peavy tossed the gun to the side, took off his gloves, undid his jacket and took off the kevlar. He'd been wearing it all day and it was starting to stink. Off in the distance, the sound of helicopter blades grew louder. Peavy hurried back to the vault and grabbed a large box, pulled it off the shelf, and yanked it open from the top. He yanked out a single-use rocket launcher and brought it to the window. Setting it up just far enough into the office that he wouldn't be seen, he waited for it to come into sight.

What'll really upset y'all is that Peavy was stealing the money to pay for his daughter, a deaf mute club-footed paraplegic, to have an operation to remove a tumor from her brain. She was only nine.

It's probably pretty clear that at this point, I assume that nobody reads my blog so I'm going to write whatever I feel like. A few months ago, at my job's corporate retreat, I smartly aligned myself at the same table as the CEO, conducted myself pretty well, but the conversation somehow (not by my doing) turned to the internet and blogs. I mentioned that I had one and the CEO's interest piqued noticeably. Since then, I've got a little paranoid about the content so I made it a little harder to find. Not that I'm going back and editing any old articles, I probably wouldn't write them now but to engage in revisionism would make me a communist. As the great Spinafarian Popeye once said, "I yam what I yam." Everyone that reads this tell me if you think Popeye was an asshole. Thought so.