Paging Dr. Evil

My eyes, my aching eyes.
Even though I have a brand-spanking new 22-inch LCD display in front of me, the hardiest of eyes could get weary looking at it. Right now my eyes are so bloodshot, it looks like I went 10 rounds with Jose, got jumped by Captain Morgan outside, then had Alexander Keith steal my cab fare.
Which, incidentally, wouldn't be far from the truth.
Trying to hold on to what's left of summer has taken its toll on me, from beach volleyball tournaments, to golf at the Harvest, to dockside beers at my moms.
This summer has been almost ethereal, since it seems like it hasn't actually happened, it's gone by so fast. But, I've gotten around since my last entry, and I don't mean like a rugby player at a brothel..










I had the chance to play my first golf game of the summer a little while back, with Adair n' me going up to The Harvest. Despite a case of the Pride of Nova Scotia between us, I shot a 97 — legit. And I didn't even break out the driver the entire round. Tiger, what?!
A couple days later, it was down to City Park for Volleyfest - the latest and greatest event in K-town.
The idea was that every team would have a "theme" uniform, or at least dress up in costume. So what happens? I show up, revisit my Redneck costume, and me n' Liam are the only two to do it.

Then again, I'm not sure if that was a costume Liam had one. But the ladies liked it; pink has a way of making a man look macho.
Best moment of the weekend: the Ben Stiller Meet-The-Parents-style hilarity in our round-robin matches.
We played a team that had two 40-year-old guys, most likely coaches, and the rest, 14-year-old girls. So what happens when a 31-year-old former skywalker like myself spikes a ball? Yep - straight to the face, with tears and a bloody nose ensuing. It was almost as disturbing as seeing Liam, ummm, "fall out" of his suit seven times a game while jumping at the net.
We ended up winning our pool, but since there were only six of us playing, we decided to quit and go to the beer garden. Since Coronaville was a mere four feet from the edge of the main court, I got to hit on hot-bodied pro women's players for the next four hours. (*zones out*) Rochelle Thomas. Rochelle Thomas. Rochelle Thomas. Rochelle Thomas.
Whoops. Did I say that out loud?
Umm... anyways....
After that, I booked it for Victoria, where I visited with my mom. She's got nothing but fuzz on her head now, so I've taken to calling her Dr. Evil. I'd post a picture, but I value my life...
I was surprised how fast the week went, considering we didn't really do anything. I just hung out with her and the dogs, read some books, watched a couple movies, and worked on my publishing project. The plan was to have Rave-on stay with her, but she decided it would be best for the fuzzy chick magnet to stay with me, so I'm still a three-dog house.

My view from my mom's boathouse...





My mom is getting rid of a lot of her stuff, and I felt vaguely vulture-like taking her up on her offers. She passed on her kayak, a painting, a mini-fridge ... but it didn't feel right, somehow. I felt like I was taking advantage of her, but that's not the case. I don't think.
I'm sure these feelings of guilt will have been assuaged by the time I head back down there in three weeks, when she's due for her next round of chemo.
I managed to take a step in that direction when I got home, making it in time for my friend Dave's 30th birthday.
It's funny — he lives directly across from me, where we can spy on each other with telescopes — but I never had been to his house before. He and his wife, Hannah, renovated the 70s A-Frame they bought a couple years ago. It's like a luxury chateau in there now, and they have a gorgeous view down the valley.
But I digress...
The star of the evening was Porky — the full pig that was slow-roasted underground for the party. My jewish brethren would be so proud of me, the way I consumed 15 pounds of the (cough cough) totally Kosher meat. It fueled me up for a night of espresso vodka and dancing. Or, what passes for dancing after a two-six of that Van Gogh stuff.
The pics:
The biffday boy attempts foreplay in hopes of a menage a trois.



Having failed, he vents his frustration on the candles.



Noreen the Jewish Propaganda Machine... who insists that I visit Israel.



Having consumed too many beers, John puts his moves on Samson. He is rebuffed, and settles for the pig.



Where's my hand? I think that explains the expressions



I try to explain the advantage of a running a 4-3 defence in the AFC North to Heather. She was enthralled by my massive knowledge.



Secret. Strong enough for a man, but made for a woman.



Don't steal a brudda's chips. Three minutes later, Jonny was found dead.




And some random shots from nights out ... with apologies to Alicia re: chocolate frosting. Ummm... my bad. :P

Me n' Batchy.



The Brothas Grimm



Ron Ron the Rotweiller. Don't mess with the Thai mafia.

Cory and Ian, two whom I owe many a hangover. Thanks (sniff sniff) guys, for being .. you. I love you, man.



Randoms!



The last couple days have been spent hard at work on my lil side project (ya'll who know, know. If you don't, you're probably not my friend. lol)
We got less than a month before our first deadline. How are we doing, you ask? Well, let me put it this way. Even the name isn't set in stone yet. So ... yeah.
Pray for us. And in lieu of that, send money.