Am tired.

Am considering moving to Bolivia, if for no other reason than it is far away from here and has a catchy name.

Also the undeniable allure of cheap blow.

Am momentarily (hopefully) tired of people, as they complain too much*, tend not to say what they mean, and are entirely too much work to live with or spend time near on a daily basis.

Am overfilling a beer mug and dripping beer on the carpet.

Have been spilling beer a lot lately.

Am considering writing a novel in list form at it is clearly an underused format with boundless potential.

Am still laughing at Rob professing to have an “an old war buddy.”

Perhaps this is funnier if you know Rob.

Have work left to do tonight.

Am done.

* Complaining in and of itself is fine. It is the bedrock of civilization, or at the very least, of my existence. It’s the people who complain incessently and refuse to do anything themselves, who back out of opportunities to complain to the people who can change things, that bother me.

If you’re reading this carefully (and you are likely not) you should be frightfully flattered. I am after all, complaining to you, thus implying that you are someone who matters.

Don’t let it go to your head.

The Cadre (UPEI’s student (news)paper) will be producing a poetry issue this March. It will be featuring published and unpublished poets, professors, students and non-students, Islanders and people from elsewhere. And you.

I need content for this thing, and lots of it, which is where you come in. I need you to send me your poems – preferably two or three unpublished works. If you wish, you should also send any images or secondary material you like to accompany your work, as well as any ideas you have for layout, though this is not necessary.

Please note that all remuneration for your efforts will be of the karmic, rather than the monetary, sort. Also, this will be a way for you apathetic wanks to redeem yourselves for not submitting to the uber-titled thing.

In an effort to broaden the cultural horizons of you unwashed masses, witness this work in progress unwittingly donated to aov by the ringleader of that infamous all-star rock group, Windom Earle:

Sweatpants by ll coolbreeze

If you’re more interested in coolbreeze’s sister than his music, check out his website which currently features Maggie getting busy with Cuba’s aquatic life.

Dave Eggers is the editor of McSweeneys and the author of A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius.

This is a series of emails sent from Eggers to journalist David Kirkpatrick, and vice-versa. They concern Kirkpatrick’s hatchet job of an article, written about the release of the paperback version of A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius. Though Eggers over-reacts slightly to the final piece (which appears in the New York Times), Kirkpatrick does pull a number of mean and unethical stunts.

Get Fuzzy is a comic starring a cat, a dog and a person. Not an orginial concept, but one well executed.

I recommend starting with these two strips.

Rock:
The hour is ungodly late and I am still awake. I have a cold. It would not be so bad – it is “reading” week and thus there is no school and no need to get out of bed, or even wake up – except that my nose is a tap, and the constant dripping makes it nearly impossible to sleep. That and the sneezing. Also the sore neck from the sneezing. Send help.

Pimp:
The inimitable Kent Bruyneel and the uncomparable Mike Lecky have combined forces to bring the world Forget Magazine. It is a national webzine of the highest cultural importance. It also looks pretty. By pure coincidence, today it is featuring an article written by yours truly, titled: How I Inadvertently Came to Understand the Appeal of Stompin’ Tom Connors, Canadian Icon.

Unrelated and Incidental:
The snowplough is doing that thing were it leaves a giant stripe of snow down the middle of the street. Later the dump truck and snow blower will be along to collect it. I love that.

Witness The Editor hard at work.

Is it school work? Is he drawing a picture or writing a poem in blank verse? Is he actually editing something?

No, The Editor is hard at work putting the final touches on a Valentine’s Day card for his honey, whose arrival is eminently immanent.

It is worth describing this Valentine’s Day card. It is not of the standard Hallmark variety (though due to liberties taken with trademark, Hallmark is written across the back). The card is in fact four cards, cunningly arranged so that they form a book of sorts. The four cards were handcrafted by Mr. Campbell and Mr. Lecky (both of boxlor fame), as well as Mr. Coll (he of the Cadre) and yours truly.

It is worth describing their contents in some detail. The cover of Lecky’s work reads “Happy Valentin Day,” the inside of Campbell’s piece is adorned with the words “wet my fatty,” and Coll’s oeuvre consists of a photo-essay in which people (the four mention above) are punching The Editor in the arm. Mr. Coll’s card does deserve some extra explanation, but will not get any.

My card, in its entirety, reads: “Baby, I could really go for some eggs. How’s come I don’t smell nothing cooking?” Please note that this card reflects no misogynistic tendencies on my part. I would have anyone cook my eggs, rather than cook them myself.

Ok. I’ll admit that I’d rather have a woman cooking my eggs, but simply because if she is willing to cook my eggs there is a chance that she might also be willing to have sex with me (how’s that for logic?). While I might have equal chances vis-à-vis sex were it a man cooking my eggs, I am not so much interested. I am concerned that the phrase “cooking my eggs” has taken on new, and not entirely wholesome connotations. But I digress.

So the card has been assembled, and The Editor has added his words. He is smiling and pleased and none of us know why, as we are all certain that he is a dead man.

Lest I leave you with the impression that The Editor is unthoughtful or unkind, I should point out that he did enclose a ten dollar bill with the card – something the rest of us would likely not have done. Something we suggested that he might not want to do either. But what, in the end, do we know? He is The Editor.

Happy Valentine’s Day

Thieves broke into Oscar Lim’s house and made off with, among other things, Oscar’s DVD player. Among the things they left behind was Oscar’s webcam.

Go here to see stills or video of Oscar’s house being robbed as captured by his webcam.