Accents, eh.

So being Canadian, there are a few things we generally have come to recognize. We get overcharged for air travel, telephone, internet, and cable, we generally get treated better than Americans when we travel the world, the Littlest Hobo theme, and we have a horrific time in creating (not producing), quality television. Canada has a fantastic television producing industry. That I could never decry.

When we think about accents, in general, it’s usually hard to recognize that we all have our own accent. It’s kind of like when our physical appearance or personality changes over time, we have difficulty recognizing it. No, we don’t say “aboot,” but our “u” is different than say our American counterparts. True story.
So tonight was watching one of my favourite Canadian productions, Forever Knight. For those of you who are not aware, this show aired for three seasons between 1992 and 1996. To save me from re-summarizing:

Nick Knight is an 800-year-old vampire working as a homicide detective on the graveyard shift in modern-day Toronto, a result of his feeling guilt for centuries of killing others and seeking redemption for his acts. Most of his colleagues are unaware of Nick’s true identity as a vampire. Only his friend, city medical examiner Natalie Lambert, knows about Nick’s identity as a vampire. One advantage to having a vampire working on the police force is the ability for Nick to use his superhuman characteristics, including enhanced senses and mind control, to help him bring criminals to justice. Nick’s quest for redemption becomes more complicated when fellow vampires arrive in Toronto and throw obstacles in front of him as he strives to reach his ultimate goal — becoming human once again.

Wikipedia.org

If you’re fascinated with this pre-Twilight vampire series which features awesome Canadian melodrama, YouTube is always your friend.
So to the main point. I was watching the episode entitled “Hearts of Darkness” from the third and final season, only half paying attention to the dialogue, when I heard it. The accent. Detective Tracy Vetter (Lisa Ryder) was spewing off about something, and all I heard was her prairie accent coming out. It was there… so hard.

Minus a few week stint last summer, I’ve been away from Canada since August 2017. I’ve been inundated with accents from every major English speaking nation. English, Irish, Welsh, Canadian, Australian, New Zealand, and South Africa, plus accents from mid-eastern nations as well as accents from English speaking vegabands who can’t really call any nation “home.” As such, maybe my ear has become more attuned the the various inflections and tones that we all spew in accordance to where we are from. The “u” and ending “r” sounds are very strong in Canada (but not all of Canada.. west coast is different and varies somewhat as you get towards the east). Regardless, our accent is there, and it can be quite strong. So now, what I want you all to do is to all become completely self conscious about it.

It’s Groundhog Day!

Why the movie Groundhog Day argues against stalker-ism and isn’t as creepy as some may argue.

So, as a friendly reminder to all of you, on what is likely another frigid day for you, today is Groundhog Day.  I’m sure none of you have forgotten, as you were all desperately seeing an end to your annual tundric nightmare.  You are wishing vehemently to the pagan groundhog god to bid an early end to you snow covered wastelands.  Idolatry.  Shame on you.  Hippocratic me.  I see no problem with this.

Which has become my custom for every February 2, I have again watched the aptly named movie “Groundhog Day.”  If you fail to recall (which derides even greater shame if you do not), the plot revolves around Phil (Bill Murray), an ego-centric narcissist weatherman reliving the same day, February 2, over and over again, where (spoilers) at the end he becomes a much better man and gets the girl.  I know.  I was shocked, too.

I didn’t need to be reminded that Groundhog Day was coming, as it probably comes a close third to Halloween for me.  I did make it an even greater point to watch the movie this year after I had read an article this morning about a Netflix series called “You.”  As part of my I have far too much free time so I’m going to go through all the articles from Google News routine, I came across this article from the Guardian regarding the series.  The author argues that the tropes often used in romcoms are somewhat misogynist by showing how if the roles were reversed, it becomes a psycho-crazy woman instead of the romantic male.  My inner SJW agrees with the authors viewpoint.  This is why I had to BE SURE that I watched Groundhog Day this year.  The author mentions Groundhog Day in the piece to help illustrate their viewpoint.  And really, if you watch the movie, they aren’t wrong.  Phil does try and seduce Rita by learning everything he can about her, reliving the same day after day after day.  Let’s face it.  The whole notion, by today’s standards, is 100% stalker and super creepy.  But something that is missed by pointing out the creep factor of Phil’s endeavors, is that as much as he tried, he never did actually earn Rita’s love and respect.  His stalking ways ended in failure EVERY SINGLE TIME.  He may have come close, but he was never able to seal the deal. 
In the article, the author points out how the male pursuit is often considered romantic while the female pursuit is considered psycho.  I don’t disagree.  What I do disagree with is the author’s using Groundhog Day to try and support their argument.  His stalker tendencies never earned the respect of his love interest.  What earned her respect was the man that he eventually became.  Phil realized that he was a jerk and knew that he needed to change.  He had been given an opportunity to become the best person he could possibly be and he became that person.  It was only then that he earned the love and respect of his love interest Rita which eventually broke him of his curse. 

In today’s realm of social media, finding all you need to know about a person through a search engine and services is pretty easy.  I would likely call you a liar if you tried to tell me that you’ve never name searched anyone.  In a way, name searching is a way of protecting ourselves and I do not advise against it.  The internet offers a way of breaking through people’s exterior and seeing what they are all about—which can save us a whole lot of (butt) hurt in the end.  Groundhog Day tries to show that despite all the stalking (reminder that it was pre-internet), it isn’t what you learn about a person that makes them like/love you.  It tries to show that it is the person that you are that will determine what people think of or feel for you, while also showing that stalking will not help you achieve the affections of whom you are chasing.  As such, in this authors opinion, Groundhog Day still holds up as a great movie and should not be condemned in the same way that songs like “Baby, it’s cold outside” have.  Just like that song, there’s a lot more being said than what is seen on the surface layer. 

Which side are you on?

Or: International Driving for the Uninitiated

Or: I have a horrible unkept secret announcement

It needs to be made plainly clear that until January 10, I had not seen snow since probably January 2017 when I was still in Victoria. I flew back from Ontario to snow on the ground on BC’s island–which just isn’t right. I emphasize this before I also make available the following facts:

  1. I did not fall on my ass once. Experience told me that I needed better footwear than I originally had. I rectified that with some CAT shoes with decent treads–which was no easy find here in China. I have one size larger than what most retailers carry in the southern Middle Kingdom.
  2. Being in the snow felt warmer than in Tokyo. Maybe it provides a blanket?
  3. Shovelling snow is an acquired skill, and I was able to demonstrate my prowess in a way that should make all snow-habituated people proud.
  4. Re-learning how to drive with three others in the vehicle, the steering wheel on the right side, and having to drive on the left side of the road, all the while the roads are all covered in snow and ice, makes for one of the most stressfully intense experiences I’ve had in quite some time.
    But I took it like a champ. I owned ‘dem roads. It took me at last 20-30 minutes, and I never had the chance to get 100% comfortable with them, but they were mine. It also helped that nowhere that I was driving had posted limits above 50km/h. And I travelled for hours.
    I know many of you commute. Imagine having to drive through a mirror (at least for my North American friends). This really messes with your driving perspective. I can go long periods with driving and go back to zombie-ing behind the wheel with ease. Not this time. If you ever intend on travelling to Europe or East Asia (or wherever else they drive on the wrong side), make sure you’re prepared mentally. It’s just messed up.
Otaru

My friend that I was travelling with actually bought a house in Japan. In the town of Otaru, to be specific. It’s a small touristy port town on the island of Hokkaido.
He’d been to his house only once, and he wanted to show it to me.
Only, he couldn’t find it.
Japanese addresses are weird. They’re broken up into city, ward, area, block, sub-block, and house number. Main streets have names, but all the side streets and alleyways.. forget it. It’s SO easy to get lost. Even with maps. We searched, even with the help of different mapping apps, but couldn’t find the place. So, we did as we had done since we first arrived and asked for directions. The first girl tried. She really did. She pulled out her own phone after we showed her the address, but she was obviously was confused and couldn’t find it. Bows and thank yous and more bows and we relieved her of her cultural obligation. We found a second passerby who also had no clue, but she demonstrated problem-solving skills. Good initiative. She looked at building numbers and deduced that we were close. She then turned her eyes to a shop owner who appeared to be prepping for close. Not sure exactly what he did. Home reno? Honey-doo? Our second helper explained the situation to the shopkeeper, and he went old school. He went to his shelves and pulled out some actual maps. Having passed the burden to the shopkeeper, our second helper bowed and apologized, and we bowed and apologized, and she went on her way. The shopkeeper knew his stuff. To hell with technology. He pointed out where the house was on his map, drew a little map, and went over it with us three times to be sure we understood. We took the map. I took photos. I compared it to I could with Google Maps, and we were off. Before we did, of course, we apologized, and bowed, and offered thanks, and apologized again. As we walked, it all started coming back to my friend. Things were looking familiar. And just as we were approaching the last corner which we needed to turn at, we heard a vehicle approaching from the rear. As we moved to the side of the road, the window rolled down to reveal the shopkeeper behind the wheel. He had actually followed up to make sure we were going the right way.
Holy shit. Seriously. This is what you can expect when you visit that country. It’s a big old reminder to pay it forward, folks.

Oh yeah. The super un-kept secret announcement. I’ve already talked to a few people about this. No more than 10. Maybe. So the reason why we had to go see this house, is because that’s where I will be living come July.
What?
Fer reelz.
More details on this later.

It’s a beauti-bidet in the neighbourhood

Or: Oh yeah, put your squirt right there!

Before you stop dropping your drawers or panties or whatever, a few comments about Akiba. I mentioned earlier, more than once, about Akihabara being the geek mecca of Japan. It really was a sight to behold. A sight that I’d rather have wished to have experienced alone. This was my element, but I was with a family. Not that I’m ashamed of my geek heritage, but there are some things I’d rather keep to myself, or at least with people who were absolutely like-minded. There were four SEGA buildings to investigate. FOUR! How do you bring an uninterested mother/daughter duo to something like that? How do you bring them to a palace of anime otaku treasures like which have never been seen by the majority of western fanboys? I just couldn’t bring myself to do it. And so, while I enjoyed Akiba, I think I could have easily spent two or three days exploring the treasures which that place holds. 25-year-old me would be broke if he lived in Japan. All past-me would be spending all of his hard earned English teaching dollars there. I’m sure of it.

So. Off to Hokkaido, with our first stop being Sapporo. We first had to take the train back to Narita airport, which I didn’t mind. It wasn’t a short trip, but what made it worthwhile was being able to see the infamous Tokyo Tower! A tower, which has been destroyed and obviously rebuilt numerous times after many attacks from monsters, aliens, and random wars that have occurred according to pop-culture mediums. It was during the day in which I saw it, so I missed it’s evening-lit-up-splendor, but it was still exciting to see. Sure, it’s not the Eiffel or CN tower, but it’s culturally significant for the lifelong otaku. I will see this tower again, and I promise to provide pictures next time.

The first obvious difference when landing in Sapporo, was the snow. And there was a lot of it. But what was interesting was that despite the snow, it really didn’t feel that cold. Maybe I had already gotten used to the cold thanks to my first couple of days in Tokyo, but I somehow don’t think so. In some ways, Sapporo felt almost warmer in comparison to Japan’s capital. Perhaps I’m forgetting some of my Canadian history about snow. I mean, I haven’t lived through a traditional Canadian winter since 2012/2013, after which I lived in B.C., so maybe that’s clouded my perceptions a bit. All I know is that despite the snow, there were times I walked down streets with my jacket open.

Since before we left, my friend had been promising me to take to take me to the BEST ramen place, ever. I was actually confused for a while, because he kept calling it by its Chinese term, la-mein (like chicken chow-mein). It’s a small chain of ramen shops called Tesumiki Ramen. The one we went to was tiny. Seating for eight. The owner/operator was more-or-less shewing people away. The location is on Trip Advisor and Michelin rated, which is kind of cray. We just happened to get there a little early, and the keeper knew my friend. He has a tendency to leave an impression with people (super-outgoing, friendly, and talkative).
So, if you’ll remember, vending machines really are a thing here in Japan. To order food at this ramen place, there was a ticket vending machine to order what you wanted. If you didn’t have proper change, the owner had an envelope of paper yen to help you out.

This is what I ordered.

The owner was certainly a friendly guy with enough English language skills to serve you. Hugs were shared between my friend and he. The owner also had an affinity for the Beatles, as that’s all that was playing in his small establishment. He loved them, yeah, yeah, yeah.
The raman itself was certainly tasty. But like most Japanese food, make sure you have plenty of water handy. I was thirsty afterward.

Back at the hotel, I had to drop the kids off at the pool. Yes. That’s a euphemism for having to take a dump. Which is also euphemism for having to defecate into a toilet bowl.
The time had come.
The toilet and the shower were in the same room, but were divided by a sliding door. Both areas were spacious. And the toilet itself had a strange looking lid upon it. Beside the toilet was a digital control mechanism. A mechanism with images that were pretty self explanatory. I dropped my pants and took a seat, and I was met with one of the strangest feelings in the world. The first idea that popped in my head was that somehow that within that toilet bowl there was a rip in fabric of space/time, and somehow down had become up and I was now urinating onto the toilet seat upon which I sat. It was similar to that sensation when you first sit onto the heated seats of an automobile. Warm and comforting, but completely unnatural feeling. It was nice not sitting down onto a cold seat. For once, having to drop a load in the winter was forgiving instead of harsh, albeit quick punishment.
Afterwards, after my duty had been completed, I wrestled with idea of using the bidet function. I somehow felt that by using such a device, I was breaking some sort of manly/social code. One of the people does not have the luxury of a bidet. For some reason, in my mind, it was elitest. Despite my reservations, my curiosity got the best of me. I hit the button for the narrow spray. There was a button for wide spray with the icon for a female as its support, so putting two-and-two together, I knew the first option was the one for me.
And it was.
And it was amazing.

An extreme example of possible toilet seat/bidet sets. This one is more than $500CAD. But HELLO KITTY!

Where did my anti-bidet bias come from? This was awesome. The ultimate solution to s**t-stains in my undies! A clean sphincter after every deuce! Not only that, but this also created less use for toilet tissue. This was a land where Charmin Ultra-Soft didn’t exist. So if you can’t treat you ass like royalty that way, this was the next best, if not far superior option. Add this to a list of lifestyle choices. I’m not overexaggerating when I say that the heated seat/bidet combo is life-altering.

So this experience is probably the most.. colourful.. of my trip (it’s the little things), more is forthcoming. Next time– Otaru and the Left Hand, Right Seated driving experience.

Vs. Battle – Japanese Transit

Or How the Whole of Japan Will Make Sure You Get There

TL:DR
Japanese Transit requires a decoder ring and the Japanese are super polite and helpful.

With most people I know suffering through the first deep freeze of the winter, I am reminded that it was cold in Tokyo and that I have more things to share.
Before anyone calls out wuss, I might remind you that while it doesn’t freeze here in Guangzhou, there’s no respite from the cold either. If it’s cold out there, it’s cold in here (in my apartment). Maybe it was concrete or maybe it was the wind, but despite the positive single-digit temperatures, it felt a lot colder than I think it should have. However, we were all travellers and we had things to see! Like a hot bowl of ramen. We parted the wind like– no. We didn’t part the wind. It blasted us with all its arctic ferocity which only made the ramen that much better.

After our meal, we continued our blistery stroll to the nearest light rail station. When we all arrived in Tokyo, I assumed I would be able to pick up a transit card anywhere, and figured I’d be able to get one at any transit station. I also figured I’d get cash from an ATM. At this moment, it wasn’t easy to do either of those things. My friends and I searched the station for someone that offered cards for sale but found nothing but ticket dispensers and recharge stations. Similarly, there were no ATMs that would accept international cards. Luckily my friend was prepared and purchased a ticket for me. He and his fam had cards from their previous trip, which they picked up at kiosks at the airport.

So somewhat defeated, we made our way to Hondo-ji temple in the Matsudo area. It was only two or three stops from our station and was easy to find (Google Maps FTW). I’m assuming that some of you are at least vaguely aware of Japan’s love affair with vending machines. They are everywhere. I won’t say they are on every street corner, but there’s always one close by. Depending on the area, you will find a range of different beverages available. I will state now that I didn’t see any of the weird or taboo machines that you may have heard of (like the one for used panties). But within a couple of minutes of anywhere, guaranteed you’d be able to score yourself a can of hot coffee, or any other type of soft beverage. In the more late night oriented districts, tall cans of Asahi Special Dry or Sapporo Beer could also be found. Hondo-ji only had soft beverages, and the can of hot coffee that was purchased for me was more than welcomed. It served as warmth for my hands for a few moments before I cracked it open.

After the temple, we made our way back, stopping at a Lawsons Station (a rival convenience store to 7-Eleven, which are also everywhere) as well as a bank. Finally money. Again, we searched for a place for transit cards but still nothing. The only thing that ran through my mind was how can a country SO reliant on transit not have these cards in every store? Purchasing my own ticket this time, we arrived back to our point of departure. It was decided that it was too far and too cold to walk home by half of our party. Taxi’s are ridiculously expensive, so it would be by bus that we would return to our AirBnB. Google and whatever apps my companions were using were useless in determining what bus to take, and where to get on. We tried asking some people outside, but communication wasn’t happening. One person led us to Koban, a police-box, where an officer and receptionist helped us out. The officer went so far as to walk us back to the bus-stop and wish us luck on our journey home. Eventually, our bus came, and we got on.
And started moving.
In the wrong direction.
A retired looking gentleman sitting at the rear of the bus overheard our conversation and in near perfect English (SHOCK) offered to help us out. We not only were travelling in the wrong direction, but we were also using the wrong bus system. We were to get on a much larger bus and wait at a different stop a few steps away. He brought our plight to the attention of the bus driver, explaining our situation to him on our behalf. At the next stop, the bus driver guided us out of the bus following right behind, foregoing our payment (you pay by a per-stop/distance system) and showed us exactly where we needed to stand for the return bus. We all gracefully bowed and arigato-s were exchanged. Sure enough, the return bus came along, we boarded back to the station and got on the right bus the next time around.

Upon returning home, I looked up where the hell I was supposed to get a transit card. I was looking at retailers the entire time I was at every station I had been at. The card charging machines are also dispensers. They will spit out a new card for ¥500, plus whatever amount you put on it. Later that night we took in the sights and many, many sounds of Akihabara (the geek mecca of Japan). After successfully using the charging machines to procure my transit card, we stared up the transit maps on the walls. Looking at hieroglyphs would have been easier to decipher than the maps. Trying to make sense of what we were seeing, and what Google had to say, was like trying to put the square shape through the circle hole. Again, we asked for help from a random commuter. In utmost politeness and courtesy, the brought us to the correct gate and told us how many stops, before going in a completely different direction.

This willingness to help repeated numerous times throughout our week-long trip. It was never an answer of “over there,” but a detour being made by the one helping us, offering us as much help that they can give stopping short of going with us the entire way–at least almost. That’s a different story. Canadians are generally know for being the friendly and polite ones. Sorry my fellow Canucks– we need to step our game.

Next time, Sapporo and the heated toilet seats. Best. Band. Ever.

Land of the Rising Snow

Things photos couldn’t tell you about my trip to Japan – Part 1

If you’ve been following me on your choice of social media (can we call them ‘So-Me’ for short.. let’s make that a thing), you may have noticed a change in programming, as the content switched to Japanese. True story.

I arrived at Narita International Airport on January 8, with nothing but a backpack filled with clothes, an iPad, headphones, and a phone. Oh, and a couple of friends. Fun fact: discount airlines really like to nickel and dime you. We had a 7kg max weight for our carry-on luggage– and they check. If you plan on travelling discount airlines you should probably invest in a luggage jacket of some sort, and opt for a light-weight backpack instead of a suitcase, as backpacks have more give. A not-so-fun fact: there is no über or crowdsourced taxi-services. And they are expensive. Narita is far removed from everything, so if on a budget, you’ll need to get a transit pass and take the subway. This is another reason just to bring a backpack. So either take transit or if you’re fortunate enough as we were, have someone come pick you up. And then have them take you out for dinner. We were treated to some food at what I’m guessing was an Izakaya (居酒屋) which is probably best described as a Japanese pub. Dinner was a series of small dishes comprised of tempura fried delicacies (maybe not delicacies), barbecued and deep fried chicken, seaweed salad, and other deep fried and battered meats. A heart attacks wet dream, and also very delicious.

We returned to our AirBnB shortly afterwards, but it wasn’t without making a couple of observations. First, was how cold it was. While there was no snow, the weather was windy and bone chilling. Perhaps it was a mix of the wind and the cold radiating from the concrete jungle of Tokyo, but I was freezing, despite it being above zero. The second observation was how foreign I was there. It wasn’t because of the colour of my skin, but more that I kept walking on the wrong side of the sidewalk, or any where else for that matter. It’s not just driving that’s done on the left side. This began my brain reprogramming to walk on the left side. It’s harder than it sounds.

The AirBnB itself was decent and a good size. I’d hate to try and estimate the cost. It was a single bedroom flat, with the living room turned into a second bedroom/living space. Something I had forgotten about the Japanese, is that they separate bath and toilet. The washroom was felt like a tiny closet and would cause a claustrophobic’s panic attack. What was missing from the bathroom was the fabled heated toilet seat / bidet. That would have to wait for a couple of days. What the bathroom did have, was kind of genius. Instead of having an individual sink and toilet, the toilet reservoir had a faucet and sink on top. Instead of wasting water, you could wash your hands with the same water that filled the well. Water conservation for the win.

All this was just the first 7 hours after my arrival. Keep watching this space for next time it will be Us vs. Transit!

Dear George – .theet ruoy hsurB

Dear George,

I tried something new today.  We all have our patterns in our lives.  Our morning routines.  How we turn the pages in a book.  The way we kiss our loved ones good night.  On this eve, after my shower, I added my pea sized amount of toothpast to my toothbrush and began the motions of brush bristles against my tooth enamal.  What was different this time, and what did unwittingly at first, was to start brushing the my bottom teeth first.  First the front, then towards the molars on my right.  Once I was cogniscent of this change, I continued on the thread basically completed my entire dental routine in reverse.  Something that normally took zero thought had suddenly become a minor mental effort.  And as simple as a task this may have been, the discomfort of changing what has basically become a lifelong routine has left me questioning everything else about life.  Why is this small ripple causing a tsunami?  I don’t get it.  I know tomorrow, when I absent mindly return to my normal motions everything will feel as right as rain, but for now, I am left feeling lost and confused.  I dare not try and change anything else, lest I become crippled with disorientation.

From the lines,

-R

Dear George – Day 2

Dear George,

Another birthday has come and gone from both sides of the globe now.  I appreciated the wishes I got, and found myself surprised at some that I had not expected.  Sometimes I feel as though I’m a spectre that failed to make it into Tobin’s Spirit Guide.  Gone but not forgotten, and celebrated on special days.  An ethereal figure that occasionally manifests and materializes to his loved ones when the Ewoks throw a party about victory and mixed metaphors.

I was having a discussion with one of the recruits the other a couple of days ago and it the conversation turned to trying to understand who we are as individuals.  I had never really had much discourse with this individual up until now, with hindsight indetifying how intense a topic that was with people who really do not each other that well.  With I being the older one, he inquired how one does discover their true selves.  How do I answer that question?  The moment I finally understood myself came like an epiphany presented in neon lights and musical dance number starring Danny Kay and Bruno Mars.  Certainly there was ground work that was completed through readings that I would have never understood when my naïvity and raging emotions were at their peak.  Rationalization was not a weapon in my arsenal and observations were done at face value.  The best I could tell the lost soul was to read historical and philosophical texts in earnest and it would come to him eventually.

There remains a reverence to those who are culturally recognizeds as educators and experienced, but despite my accumulated cycles, am I in any way qualified to give guidance?  I wonder.

Tomorrow is a day of rest.  I believe I have earned it.  However, I’ll leave it up to history to be the judge of my actions.

Regards from the lines,

-R

Another restart. Dear George. Day 1

Dear George,

By now you’re certainly aware that you do not exist.  Sure, there is a George out there.  There are even a couple of Georges that I have met along the way.  But you George, are not real.  I’m going to be a dick and use your monicker for my own end– which is to try and keep me motivated to write more regularly.

Some of what I write you will be true.  Some of what I write you I may believe to be true, but may be wildly inaccurate.  And some of what I write will be, to put it bluntly, will be complete and utter bullshit.  You will be my audience of truth and lies and you will enjoy it.  You will enjoy it because I will you to enjoy it.  You are a figment of my creativity after all.  Maybe you might even write me back sometime, however let’s not get ahead of ourselves here.

Moving on, then.

Today was a day like any other, which is to say that I woke up, I broke my fast (I will never use this George R.R. Martin device again, I swear on the blood of every last Stark), and went Building 2 to commence with my day’s classes.  Also, thanks to modern travel and the ongoing use of time-zones, I began commemorating my birthday more than a full twenty-four hours before my actual time of birth.  This creates an intersting void where well-wishes feel either late, or being unconciously witheld or forgotten.  It’s true that I am generally unconcerned with birthday greetings, but I am always half-prepared for them.  It is now the end of my day, and only now, just as I prepare for bed, that I am starting to recieve a small wave of them.

There is more to say George, but I grow weary.  More shall come.  Some letters may be larger, and some may be smaller.  But they will come.

Regards from the front lines,

-R