I had composed three paragraphs of pure nonsense in several days; I kept them "private"; I just now erased them, because they were even more senseless than the senseless drivel I am sometimes wont to...drivel.

Sometimes I feel the need to write something, but I don't know what to write. Either that, or I know I need to write something, but I'm not brave enough to do so, and I end up writing something else. Why be serious when last week's vote results of So You Think You Can Dance? and the fact that I'm choosing to listen to Christmas music in July are perfectly good topics of discussion?

Drivel.

So what shall I say? I MUST say that I was impacted by Bethany Blanchard's last post. I guess I'm one of those people who, as she describes, "...are utterly confused by their experience of god, and yet love him or at least want to very much, and are determined to make something of their relationship with god while feeling like they have nothing left in them but to walk away, and hate how far they've come in a confusing or detrimental path and yet can still make jokes about it..."

I've come to a simple yet profound realization lately: people need friends. Correction: I need friends. Accepting applications now. Please email any and all applications, inquiries, jests, barbs or praise to andrewjespersen@gmail.com

Hmmm, what else? Yeah, that's about it. I'm at work, so I shouldn't be wasting too much time.

Love to all ~Drew

I had a dream last night, and I'm wondering if anyone can interpret it for me.

I was waiting in some foyer to get into my brother's wedding. I was waiting with all the previous Canada's Next Top Model winners, and somewhat disappointed by the way some of them had let themselves go. Do you remember the oldest daughter on Roseanne? Yeah, one of them looked like her, except she was also smoking a cigarette, and I honestly think she also had a few rollers in her hair.

At any rate, when we got into the wedding, it was actually a live set for a talk show. Present were myself, the aforementioned models, and some uber high fashionista guy who seemed to be running the show, in the figurative sense. I was a bit sleepy, so I decided to nap on one of the sofas, even though it was a talk show. Hmmm.

So then everyone paired off and the wedding celebration began. I was paired with some ex-Canada's Next Top Model, whose face I cannot remember (nor actually remember seeing in the dream). I noticed at that point that the wedding celebration had begun on the top floor of a skyscraper. In order to celebrate my brother's wedding, we had to descend (by stairway) down one floor at a time, consuming a full meal at each level. When we were done a meal, we would get up and descend more stairs, to find another full meal waiting for us on the floor below.

When I got to the very bottom level, it was some dirty utility room/level, obviously used for the janitorial staff, etc. There was a small room adjacent to the main room which I entered. As I looked into the smaller room, I saw some cleaning lady on the toilet (LOL). She said something mean to me, so I insulted her, using some fairly foul words I think I've recently learned at the group home. As I went to reascend out of the bowels of the building, I noticed my cousin, Philip, on the stairs behind me (he lives in California). He said that Mr. uber high Fashionista guy had heard me insult the cleaning lady, and that I had to start back at the top of the skyscraper, and work my way down again.

As I began to ascend the stairs once more, I was awoken by my alarm.

Any ideas?!

I'm bemused; befuddled; bamboozled. I'm also not sure if my use of semi-colons in the previous sentence was correct. Moving on to my original point.

I've had some interesting talks lately, including (but not limited to) abortion, the war in Iraq, teen pregnancy, and the resurgence of leg warmers, the last of which is obviously the most disconcerting. Instant and uncontrollable spasms the day I see Jennifer Grey posing for Lululemon's new leg warmers campaign.

But what's with the recycling of a decade whose collectively misaligned conscience allowed Phil Donahue, Geraldo Rivera, AND Corey Hart to flourish?  Of a decade whose sense of style makes a Bollywood film's costume set couture by comparison, and whose industry produced gems like Maximum Overdrive, Leondard Pt. 6, and Yor, The Hunter From the Future.

It's terrible.
It's a crime.
It's like bringing back the swastika.

So little to write since my last Xanga entry:

Grandpa's funeral was perfect.
My birthday was on the 18th.
I'm 29.
Practically 30.
THANK YOU to those who sent me birthday emails/wishes/greetings!
I have two whole days off now!
I'm going to see 'The Devil Wears Prada' tonight.
I know I still owe lots of you emails: patience, my young padawans.

~Drew~

Down, down, down into the darkness of the grave
Gently they go, the beautiful, the tender, the kind;
Quietly they go, the intelligent, the witty, the brave.
I know. But I do not approve. And I am not resigned.
                                      [Edna St. Vincent Millay]

Last night, thirty minutes before the end of my late-night shift at the group home, I received the news of my grandpa's passing. It just makes me think: here was a man I've known my entire life, and now he's gone. I will never see him again in this lifetime. I went to visit my mum last night after work, and she cried a little when I hugged her, and said, "My dad is gone." And then I cried a little with her and said, "And my grandpa's gone." I don't enjoy crying and I don't necessarily enjoy admitting to it, but I don't much care; I think the least my grandpa deserves is a little emotion at his passing. In fact, he deserves a lot more.

I'd like to think I learned a lot from my grandpa. I learned how to be and how not to be. I learned that you can spend the majority of a lifetime affected by circumstance, and in some ways, taking it out on those you love most. I also learned that it's never too late to turn yourself around and make the most of things, of relationships, of opportunities. I learned to be generous. I learned to love Canada Dry Ginger Ale and Digestive Cookies...and how to make homemade Chicken Noodle Soup.

One more thing I want to say. I knew he was very sick, and I had planned on going to visit him today. I had one last chance to talk with him, take my picture with him, and hold his hand. But too little too late. Take the time today to spend time with those you love, because you never know when it will be too little too late.

I love you, grandpa. And you will be missed.

The music business is a cruel and shallow money trench, a long plastic hallway where thieves and pimps run free, and good men die like dogs. There's also a negative side. [Hunter S. Thompson]

Currently Listening
A Rush of B-Sides to the Head
By Coldplay
see related

Several days ago, Stephen Harper [Canada's Prime Minister] had the pleasure--nay, the honour--of attending his first White House visit with President George Bush. In this meeting, Bush pledged flexibility and simplicity in implementing the passport requirement on the Canada-US border. This story would have a happy ending had Harper then pledged flexibility and simplicity in implementing the proper usage of his name.

*SIGH*

The truth is, GWB apparently thought it would be a nice gesture to call Prime Minister Harper, "Steve." It's a good thing Harper reigns over a peaceful, fun-loving, half-stoned nation like Canada. I imagine how nuclear missile testing talks might go if Bush busted out with "Kimmy" or "L'il Kim" at a meeting with North Korea's always-cheery Kim Jung-Il.

But ever bipartisan, I must say that, since coming to "power" after the last election, Prime Minister "Stevie" Harper is looking less and less like the West Coast Conservative Conscience, and more and more like Emperor Palpatine. Note:

             Harper: Present Day                     Harper: 30 Years From Now

Truly scary. I wonder at the fate of my country...

And that's all I've got, folks.

~DREW~

So, tonight I went to see 'Superman Returns' at the movie theatre. There are a certain few things in life that still create within me that pure and giddy childlike delight. To name a few: nachos, an ocean breeze, James Taylors' "Carolina In My Mind," and yes...going to the movies. It's such a strange mixture of pleasure and pain for me, however. I raise my expectations; things will be perfect. The lights will dim, after ten to twenty minutes sitting in anticipation (because any longer is uncivilized, and hard on the bottom in the long run). My fellow moviegoers and I will immediately cease our small talk, and for an average of two hours, all involved will enjoy a blissfully QUIET Hollywood creation.

Now, I realize that this can only exist in a perfect world. And while I'd love to lie and tell you that this perfect world is right here in Calgary....well, quite simply, it is not.  And while I'm thankful that the theatre does not reek of urine, or that I don't have to worry about rats nibbling at my feet (a throwback to my days in Malaysia), I do have a few complaints.

First, I have to ask: why is it that they serve the loudest possible snacks at theatres? Popcorn. In paper bags. The only thing I can possibly imagine that would cause me a greater amount of pain would be....oh, I don't know....say, if they boiled live lobster right there in the theatre, and you had to endure the high-pitched squeal of their slow deaths. Then you have all sorts of snacks packaged in plastic bags. Honestly, kill me! The noise is intolerable. I imagine at some point down the road, they might just install a small casino in the back, with some slot machines, and maybe even a low-stakes blackjack table. Cause honestly? Why not.

Next. I've never understood people who come to the theatre to talk. It's like some big cosmic joke! Like people who go to the swimming pool JUST to urinate. Of all the places I can think of to talk, this is probably near the very bottom of my list.  Lower than funeral and wedding ceremonies.  Lower, even, than at the dinner table with my grandpa, and that's saying a lot. Regardless, I find myself enraged by peoples' need for useless chit-chat during movies. What is so important that they must talk right then? Go to a coffee shop. Go see your therapist. A priest. All I know is that my patience is wearing thin, and the next poor frat boy wannabe who smacks through his bubbalicious to tell some double-digit IQ joke is going to regret it.

So I'm here to add one more thing to my list of things that create within me that pure and giddy childlike delight: If you would all just SHUT UP! Cause I swear to all that's holy and pure, a pimp slapping is in order. Cause that's just how I roll.

Peace Out!

~Andrew

Currently Listening
Something Always Goes Wrong
By Dntel
see relate

I'm at work. Done all my morning paperwork, and now I'm just bored. At least I WAS bored, until I came across what has got to be the funniest website since...well, I don't know. I nearly shat my pantalones for all the laughing I've done. My favourite quote to date is:

When the entire community of legal hookers in Las Vegas probably looked at you and said, "Girl, you are cheaper than top ramen," you have erred.

Anyway. That's really all I've got. I say I've completed all my morning paperwork, but it's 15 minutes away from technically being afternoon, and then I'm sure there will be more work. So I'm off. To eat. Exciting post, huh?! Wheee!