Benjamin W. Z.

Ten Tickets

2009-10-11T16:50:00.003-05:00

I thought it would never happen again.

I leave my house with door locked behind me, and I walk.
The air is cold, sweeping away any warmpth it finds.
The summer season has left me and I walk.

Alone on the cold streets I venture to a place I though I'd never go again.
With the directions of stranger I came upon it.

It was a small brick building. One that marked the begining of a long, cold winter.
"I'll take the ten tickets, please" I decided.

And that was it.

The result of a manditory safty inspection of a cirten 1987 Chevrolet Camaro has undone summer and released winter upon me as I face the bitter cold and decreesed mobility of city transit.

Let untold adventure begin, old friend.

My Snow Poem

2009-02-17T01:14:00.006-05:00

It was below zero.
It was winter.
Yet there I was.

Outside.
Standing on the deck with a boiling pot of water.

It was winter.
It was cold.
Yet there I was.

Snow.

Paintballing

2007-05-20T00:15:00.000-05:00

It was a fun day. I remember it fairly well. A heavy set man gave us guns and sent us into the bush where we were divided into two groups and seperated by a field of obsticles. A count down from three began followed by the instruction to "Go".

I remember the very first time I was shot. I was hunckered down against a white picket fence looking building when all of a sudden out of nowhere a mad man darted out infront of me. Several shots rang out as he blindly fired at me. I was hit three times at relativly close range *THWAP!* *THWAP!* *THWAP!* I didn't return fire because for that moment all I could clearly think about was how much I wasn't enjoying the feeling of evil death murder paintballs hitting me. It was painfull and I didn't like it.

After makeing the decision to contunue partisipating in this extream sport giving it a second chance I was shot in the neck. I definatly remember being shot in the neck.

I also remember takeing cover behind a downed airplane. Being shot at I remember the sound of paintballs hitting the metal hull of the aircraft. I was able to return fire from that position and lasted near to the end of that battle.

It was fun but the paintballs definatly hurt a lot more than invisible pretend bullets.

Sasquach and His Day

2007-04-23T17:20:00.000-05:00

Sasquach and His Day

Intorduction

Roupert Henry is a sasquach. As a sasquach he reeks and eats fish from the river.

This is the story of:

Roupert's Day

Roupert is the only sasquach in the whole forest where he lives. He wakes up alone and goes to sleep alone. One sunny afternoon Rupert was laying down on the forest floor doing absolutly nothing. He decided he wanted to do something so he rolled over. Then all of a sudden Rupert saw some butterflys. He jumped to his feet and yelled at them "GRwwwwaaW" then again even louder "RRAGGGRRRRRRRRRRAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!" Roupert took off after them running through the trees with his hairy legs. The butterflys slowly fluttered upwards as Rupert Henry franticly jumped and swiped at them with his lumpy hands. With the sun light filtering throught the leaves he lost sight of them.

Rupert decided to go to the river. Twigs and leaves snaped and krinkled under his heavy, usually sweaty sasquach feet as he walked. Little flys buzzed around his knoby ears. Rupert didn't mind. He just kept on walking. Down at the river there was this big old tree all bent out of shape and leaning low over the water. Rupert simmied out about half way across the river and let his feet dangel in the cold rushing water. He fell asleep.

A strong wind came by rustling all the leaves and caused the branches to sway. Startled Roupert woke up and almost fell in the river but he used his cat like reflexes to stay balanced. As Roupert began making his way from the tree he realized his feet were froze numb by the water. Bringing himself to his feet he found he could still walk on them but only in a clumbsy aquard way.
Eventually he made it back to his rotting log in which he sleeps and retired for the day.
THE END.

Within Three Days

2007-04-18T18:36:00.000-05:00

Yesterday:
A piece of rain from way up high in the sky came flying down and hit me in the face.

Today:
I ate groceries for lunch using all the eating organs I usually do.

Tomorrow:
I assume and am relativly sure that I will wear my pants.

How to Make Spagitte

2007-02-27T17:21:00.000-05:00

The very first thing you do is get done work.
Then secondly you go to a fitness gym and do some intense strength training so that you can beat Jeremaih in an arm wrestle. Then after that you put your winter coat back on and walk home. Don't slip on the ice.
Now this is where it gets extreamly complicated so I'll use numbers, letters and some brackets to help you.

1.
find the pot you used to cook spagitte in yesterday and pick it up.
2.
a) Put cold tap water in the pot so it's half full.
b) Put the stove burner on MAZ. I mean ZX a! X...
a)---> Put the pot on the hot burner so that the burner and the pot are touching.
3.
The water is going to boil pretty soon so hury up and get the spagitte sauce and parmazan cheese from the fridge. Get a plate and a fork too.
4.1)
When the water boils (you will see bubbles and steam) get some spagitte and put it in. (Snap the spagitte in half because the pot is small).
4.2)
Turn the stove burner to half way.
4.2)a.
Watch your spagitte cook and swish it around with a fork.
5.
Now eat about two strands of spagitte to see if it's cooked. Nevermind how hot it is.
6.
When it's cook good use the lid of the pot and try draining the hot water out. Don't let any spagitte get out. The steam might burn your arm.
(7.)
Mix the spagitte with the spagitte sauce and put lots of parmazan cheese on top.

Broken Cell Phone

2006-12-09T15:45:00.002-05:00

This is a story of the day my cell phone broke.

I was wearing a necklace with a small silver cross. It was a gift, new, but not shining. Not now. There was no light, it was dark out and I had just arrived at the end of my rope. The end of the road where everything just. . . couldn't end. There had to be more.

The day began after work with a weekend in Edmonton ahead of me. I was in a hurry, making last minute decisions trying not to forget anything. But the sun fell faster than I could hurry. For an hour and a half I drove against the lights of oncoming traffic and my need to drift asleep. I was tested, drained and sapped of patience but now with the house of my destination within eyes reach I could almost. . . almost. . . and just like that the same flow of traffic that brought me so close was now drawing me away. The white dotted lines that once guided me now trapped me. I was in control of nothing and far away.

I hated it.

I hated who I had become. I had become a calendared man with no room for adventure. A man seeking approval from ever changing inconsistent opinions of people and a man who kept looking at his stupid cell phone as if hoping to find something. And that is when my cell phone broke - in half.

The Beard on my Face

2006-11-08T20:34:00.000-05:00

About some days ago I started growing a beard and it has gotten to the point where people have started making comments about it. To my face, out lound and in english.
It's as if people are just simply tired of making "I like your shirt" and "nice shoes" comments. They want something different to comment on. Something new, unpredictable and exciting. My beard gives them this oppurtunity.
Now as exciting as it is to get a comment about my face hair, the peoples lack of experience commenting on the topic really shows. And it's not their fault, there just arn't many people with hary faces out there.
For example: Maybe a casheir looks up and I'm standing there. She's caught off guard. In a panic she forgets where she is and what she's doing. . . "BEARD!" "BEARD!" "RED BEARD!".

Now maybe I've used the word "beard" too much in this entry.
And maybe the whole thing doesn't realy make sence.
But really, it doesn't matter.
GoodDay.

The World Is Your Home

2006-07-26T12:20:00.000-05:00

As my time in Edmonton staying with the Stewarts came to an end the travels back to Jeremiah's Crossfield began.

A pit stop in Drayton Valley saw us attending a morning church service. Afterwards with the diminishing cheers of the congregation behind me I struck out on a walk. With no particular destination in mind I wandered through typical "what if" scenarios.
"I could just stay here".
Seems like a nice place...it's not a city, theres a hip happening church, a handy GreyHound Depo and a good town name.
With nothing but reason standing in my way the thought of staying developed into what Jeremaih once described as the "sharp joy...of extream change."

I ate an egg. It was a nice restaurant, good food, clean washrooms...
I cracked a slight smile as Uncle Peter made mention of my ramaining travels south to Jeremiah Town. "Good" I thought "He has no idea". I had a sneeking suspicion Uncle Peter somehow knew, but no, of course he didn't. Could no one see my thoughts of staying written in my subtle facial expressions and unspoken words?
The looming departure time had now arrived as I closed the car door. "You know where to go from here right Mom?" I asked holding the map. "Because I'm going to stay here". Mom hesitated putting the car into drive "You're going to stay right there in your seat are you?"

It was a morning of suprises.
A couple pastors got Harlys.
Benjamin stayed in Drayton Valley.

The Pit

2006-02-26T20:37:00.000-05:00

The Pit.
A sea of flat table tops cluttered with works in progress. A common ground for us who study drawing and painting.
We're already artists.

South Common Mall

2006-01-20T22:32:00.000-05:00

It was cold.
I pulled my hood up over my head as I stepped off the transit bus.
South Common Mall, my transfer point.

Not to deviate too far from my story but I remember when I first came to the realization of just how simple an idea public washroom hand dryers really are. They're just heat and wind. I could probably build one with toaster elements and fan blades. Get an electric motor to power it.

I've done my research.
See:

Some of this, because

and the motor...

some...cats

So my story at South Common Mall actually starts with a hand dryer. And I mean exactly that. A hand dryer, singular. Just one.
"You'd think they'd have more than one hand dryer" I said to the man behind me as his waiting hands let drops of water hit the floor. “We should complain about it” I suggested. At this point I was ready to end the conversation and get out of there.
Leaving him and the roar of the wind machine diminishing behind me I soon approached the Muffin Lady. How might I get in contact with the Mall people? I asked. She answered and pointed over my shoulder to the door between two big signs.
“Good”. I thought.
As an unspoken thank-you for her help I bought myself a red berry muffin. And said Thank-you.

I was still eating my muffin when I was talking to the office secretary lady about hand dryers.

Three Drawings

2006-01-10T22:58:00.000-05:00

The Kitchen, drawn in pencil and altered on PC (Personal Computer).

Why are there so many straws?

Watching T.V. and doing my homework.

People Poem

2006-01-08T20:52:00.000-05:00

People

People walk
People talk
People don't stop
I'm
A tree

-- B.W.Zarn

Some Words

2005-11-27T22:07:00.000-05:00

Fancy Pants.

Autumn

2005-11-14T21:11:00.000-05:00

Look,
a leaf,
blowing away

--J.J.Zarn.

Before Its Due

2005-11-13T18:02:00.000-05:00

I do a lot of my homework sitting on a wodden chair at an old
kitchen table.

Sidewalks

2005-10-26T16:39:00.000-05:00

I walk on sidewalks a lot. Never used to do much of that but now it's almost everyday. I've gotten use to it. It's practicaly normal.

Funny story,
the other day I was walking on the side walk, right, and this rain, right, it was totally falling from the sky. From the clouds I guess. Like it normaly does. And so I was there on the sidewalk, walking right, and then I was like, you know, just walking like I normaly do an' th' funny thing was the rain wasn't getting me all wet like it normaly does. Because see, I was holding an umbrella. It was stopping all the rain from hitting me. It's like a rain stopper.

ah, it's time I eat.
Good Day to you.

Four Pennies

2005-10-21T17:53:00.000-05:00

During the second walking portion of my journy home from school I found four pennies.
Need I say more?
. . ...
Yeah?

Okay. Here goes...

The bus driver man engages the braking system and the bus comes to a screeching hault. The blue indicator light shines into the corner of my eye and the compressed air is realeased from the automatic doors with a si-fi hiss that sounds cool every time.
As I left the bus stepping out onto the cement sidewalk a thousand girls shouted goodbye... to their frinds, who exited along side me.

As the bus roared off leaving nothing but silence behind the three girls and I soon came across and intersection. . . of seperation! Two girls walked straight ahead toward and beyond the little white man while the third girl and I waited for the red hand to our left to dissapear.

Like a starter gun at a track meet the red hand vanashed and we were off! She had a five stride head start and by time we crossed the paved road she was only four strides ahead. I was catching up. But at this rate it would take at least 10 more drive ways just to catch up to her and another million to reach a comfortable walking distance.

NOTE:
As a long time pedestrian I urge you to avoid this "pedestrian passing" situation at all costs as it is amoung the most aquard. If your walking speed is slightly faster than the person ahead of you then eventually your going to catch up to and pass them. This is of course impossible without first trailing them for about ten hundred years as you slowly inch closer to them and you know they can hear your foot steps.

On a [Ben] cram packed city centre sidewalk as in Toronto this is no problem but in my nic of the woods pedestrians are far and few between. Which means this sort of thing happens to me all to often.

Assuring myself that speed walking looks funny anyway I decided to slow down. Now, walking unnaturaly slow I soon realized how truely boring walking really is. So in an attempt to liven things up I dropped my head and watched my feet walk.
In doing so I found four Canadian pennes.

Talking to Strangers

2005-10-14T22:52:00.000-05:00

Standing up in preperation for the exiting of the transit bus I over heard fragments of a statement spoken by a fellow passenger standing with his two friends. Putting these fragments in context and with a simple understanding and knowledge of the imediate surroundings (the bus) I figured out what he had said. Paraphrasing here he said "...there are two seats".
I (a stranger) verbaly butted in saying quote: "He saw the reach". They laughed and I exited the bus.

Let me explain.

As mentioned above the fellow passenger and two friends are standing. This means all the seats are being sat in and therefore they must stand. Due to the bus taking 90 degree turns and abruptly stoping and accelerating the standing position is not prefered as strugle for balance and composure can be chalanging. That and standing for a long time makes your feet hurt.
When in the standing situation it is in ones best intrest to keep an eye out for the departing of seated passengers as this results in an empty seat.
I was a seated passenger. My act of standing up made my intentions of departing/exiting clear to all the standing.
Here's where it gets interesting. . .

I was the only one that stood up.

I am only one person, I occupied only one seat.
Why and why again did this fellow passenger say "...there are TWO seats"? suggesting that two seats are now availabe for two of them to sit in.
His two friends only seeing me stand up just as everyone else did also questioned their friends bold statement. "two seats?" they asked.
The man seated infront of me also was to exit the bus but how did Mr. fellow passenger know when after all this man did not stand up?
. . .
I'm draging this out to long
why am I blogging about this?

anyway, it was because he, the man seated infront of me, was the one who pulled the cord that rings the bell and lights the lamp notifying the bus drive to stop as the next marked bus stop.
So that's how fellow passenger knew because I stood up and Man pulled the cord and you never pull the cord if your not getting off, so he knew Man was getting off, even though he didn't stand up right away. In the world of transit the act of the pulling of the cord (or in some buses the pushing of the button or pressing of the yellow strip) makes you a marked one.
If you're caught pulling the cord its game over. Everyone knows your getting off at the next stop. All eyes are on you from that point on. It's the life of the transit people.

One last thing. The only reason the fellow passenger laughed when I said "He saw the reach" was because I refered to it as "the reach". Which is down right hilarious.

Learning More

2005-10-09T23:16:00.000-05:00

A tutor.
Who needs a tutor? Tutors are for rich people, right?
Me? I'm not even sure how to spell tutor.
Get a tutor she suggests. Really.

So I got a tutor.

We have yet to meet each others aquantinsies-sis. I imagine his head/skull will be of an unusual size. Bulging with brains. You have to be smart to be a tutor. Teaching people how to do things they don't know how to do. I'm telling you, it takes brains.

It's more than likly that within a month my 'B's will be 'A's. My skills as an artist will have. . . um. . . increased. To a point of I don't know. Hey,
Check it Out:

I think this hole in my jeans is getting bigger.

Life after Art

2005-09-24T20:27:00.000-05:00

Do I have plans for life after art school?

Yes.
Yes I do.

This abstract composition is suposed to show motion, movement, and that my friends is what I'll do. I'll move. Where? To BC, the British of Columbia. That's where. To the mountians of BC!

There is good lumber up north but my spot will be Canmore... I'm pretty sure Canmore is in BC... so I'll get my lumber from up north and bring it down to Canmore. The town scene is no good though, so I go east of Canmore a few miles, or kilometers.
I build a house.

Good. I like my house.
Lots of days go by. The wood stove keeps me warm in the winter and during the summer I read books down by the waterfall.

I found the books in my house one day. Not sure how they got there but the fact of the matter is that I was reading them. Why was I reading books? There was something wrong. I was on the mountian for three years. . . that much time goes by, you start reading books.

So I gather up my things and leave.

I walk a long ways. Just following the river. I travel through many nights.

I built a lot of camp fires.

I eventually make it to New York City.
Now I design torpedos for the US Navy.

A class 7: Google 5 Torpedo.

NOTE: This entry may contain traces of peanuts.

Big Black Bag

2005-09-07T17:55:00.000-05:00

my first day of art school

The sign read. . ."Past Room A117"

So I went in search for Room A117 and eventually. . . found it. Room A118. Thats where the transaction took place. I didn't enter the room for in the doorway sat a desk and behind the desk, a man. We exchange a few words, I showed my ID, a few more words then he says "just sign here" and points with his pen to a blank line.

I sign the line.

A quick look at the signature and he stands up and walks away. I shifted my weight from one foot to the other and played it cool. I knew he'd be back. It was just a matter of time. Second after second passed by and sure enough he was back. Back with a big black bag. He set it on the desk between us, handed me some papers and the deal was done.

What was in this bag?

Carrying the weight of its contents I walked down to the end of the hallway. I took a left turn, through a door to my right and into a stairwell which led me upwards to yet another hallway. My hallway. Now it was safe, away from the watching eyes of others. I knelt down on the white tiled floor and unzipped the big black bag.

It was like opening one hundred Christmas presents all at once. From corner to corner, front to back it was jam-packed,loaded with all kinds of brand new art supplies.

Wow. I'm showing so much improvement already.

A Short Story

2005-08-13T15:17:00.000-05:00

While traveling the face of the earth I once wrote a story. This story will now be retold.

Many big moons ago there lived a duck.
His name was Henry. Henry Duck. Or Mr. Duck as most called him. His name is not important to the story but I mentioned it anyway.
I presume you have already made some assumptions of Mr. Duck. For instance you probably think, for whatever reason, that he was a special duck. You may have gone as far as to think he was capable of speech? Yes?
But no.
Henry was probably the most normal and fantastically boring duck this planet has ever seen. Now, being the most normal duck this planet has ever seen, there really isn't much else to say about Henry.
He lived a very normal duck life.

THEEND

This is a sketch of a man who claims he saw a duck that looked like Henry.

Straight from the Drawing Board

2005-07-24T21:58:00.000-05:00

This is a drawing of Cousin.
It took aproximatly two hours.
I like the whole drawing but particularly the square part of the hat. It actually looks 'right' and the lines are straight. I also like how the hair stops to show the shoulders.

What do you think?

Team Toga; WWR

2005-07-18T19:52:00.000-05:00

Is whitewater all one word? White water. Whitewater. White-water.
It's two words. . .

I went WWR eight days ago.

For Real.
True Story.
No kidding what so ever.
. . .
For those of you who don't know what WWR stands for, its White Water Rafting. This is not to be confused with WWF which stands for World Wrestling Federation or World Wildlife Fund.

I didn't go alone of course. That would be dangerous. We traveled as a group of twelve in a giant rubber raft seven kilometers down the screaming out-of-control Ottawa River. If it wern't for our lady rafting guide on the rudder we would be rock slime for sure(graphic I know), or maybe just lost. So the lesson to be learned here is that your guide is important. Do not abandon your guide but instead listen and obey. It works a lot better that way.
At one point the river split, one side Quebec and the other Ontario. Just an interesting fact.
Oh and after we ate as many hamburgers and hotdogs as we could we sailed through a couple more rapids and went cliff jumping! yah!
It went something like this. . .

First off, there were 10 other big blue bubble boats besides us, each carrying it's own team of 13 life-jacket/helmet wearing oar whealding thrill seakers. A sight to behold for sure. Like a floating army of brighly coloured inexperienced soldiers we toar through the still standing water with unnessary force in antisipation for the next set of rapids. Our crew of 12 of course chanting "Toga! toga! toga!". As we were the high energy, entuesastic, roudy team.

With the cliff now in sight five rafts searged ahead of the others to an 'eddie' (thats rafting lingo for ya') by the rocky shore where 65 eager first-time cliff jumpers climbed from their rafts with great clumsiness and crawled up to the point of no return.
The first young man, a fellow rafter, good guy, without hesitation leaped off over the edge becoming nothing but a fading woop of exclamatory remarks and a distant splash.
"Who's next?" the guide ordered.
I was right there, clearly the next in line, nothing but a few small steps between me and a whole lot of falling. As not to look like a wimp I quickly mustard up all my marbles, took one last look at the cliffs edge and boldly stated for all to hear. . . "Not me".
I did eventualy jump. Quite thrilling actually and dispite seeing two people with bloody noses I jumped a second time too.

It was a nice, cool, neat-o weekend.

Also, if ever you decide to go WWR on a blazing hot sunny afternoon be sure to put sunscreen on your knees, too. Burnt beat-red knees are a real pain to bend.

A Different Kind of Supper

2005-07-03T23:39:00.000-05:00

It all started much like any other supper.
"Ben!?"
"yeah?"
"supper."
"kay."
But little did I know that this supper was far from ordinary.
I was given no heads up, no warning at all. I trotted down the fluffy, freshly vacuumed stairs and right into it.
We've had supper on the deck before, I knew how it was. Or so I thought. It all happened so quickly and at first I didn't even realize it.

"It". (so embarrassing. . .)

No more than three or four steps onto the deck I noticed the bare soles of our companies feet. I thought nothing of it. I've seen bare feet before, no big deal right?

Wrong.

It wasn't untill I saw Mr. Uncle Brian himself slide his bare feet into a pair of fashionable flip flops that it hit me. . .
I was wearing socks to a sockless supper!
I could hardly beleve it.

Socks! To a sockless supper!
I should have known better.

Fortunatly for me the meal wasn't quite in full swing which give me enough time to quickly exit the scene undiscovered and remove each of my feet of its sock.
Now, this is a resonably 'good' ending, yes? I mean, my socked feet were never mentioned and perhaps never even noticed.

But,
What if I, inadvertently, wore socks to all those other sockless suppers?

Hair Cut

2005-06-25T18:55:00.000-05:00

I got my hair cut today at 4:00pm.
I took a picture of me with my new hair cut.

I went to a picnic and rode a motorcycle too.
What did you do today?

Living in Res

2005-06-10T19:50:00.000-05:00

I got mail yesterday. Real mail. Not the fake e-mail kind. The real deal, paper envelope and all.
I actually got two pieces of mail but we're just going to talk about one.
Okay?
Good.
So it was a letter of acceptance to the resedence at Sheridan. It was a pretty boring read but I'm guaranteed a spot in the residence! How neat is that?

Personally, I think it's very neat. However, if all goes wrong, my residence experience could crumble like an old crumbly cookie. How? A crummy roommate. That's how. I mean what if I get stuck with a roommate with really flaky skin? I can't live with that, it's just not natural. How would you expect me to focus on my studies?
Second hand smoke is one thing but clouds of dry dead skin? It would plug my sinuses for sure. I'd have to have oxygen tubes up my nose all the time and I'd have to wheel one of those geeky oxygen tanks behind me. Sure the tubes would be transparent and the tank small, but everyone is still going to notice. "Hey look! There goes Oxygen Boy!". It would be horrible.

I want to be known as Benjamin - the coolest guy ever, not Oxygen Kid - can't breath right. It would end up in the year book too for the whole world to see. I would be forever scarred. Definatly wouldn't be able to hold a job, no one wants an employee with breathing problems nevermind rubber hoses up his nose. It's just something I really don't want to have to deal with. I already have enough trouble with my wonky knees, cracking like popcorn when ever I go up or down stairs.

At any rate, I'm sure my time at Res will be a hoot.

Snap-up Buttons

2005-06-07T14:42:00.000-05:00

After visiting the small pet store I took off toward my next destination of the day, Old Navy.

As it is always is in the city it was a stop and go process all the way, what with the flashing red hands, never ending gradual inclines and jaw jarring three inch high 90 degree angle curbs not to mention the occasional pedestrian. Its a wonder the old ancient frame on wheels has survived as long as it has. Anyway, upon arrival I left the finely stitched brown leather dule springed seat of my Uncle's peddle bike and entered the cool air-conditioned mall.

Not long after my eyes had adjusted to the dim indoor lighting I found myself browsing through the hippest new styles of the summer. Armed with no scence of fashion direction I found it to be rather confusing. Determined not to leave empty handed I decided to like the white light-blue pin-striped snap-up t-shirt with a coller that I kept walking past. It hung nicely on the hanger, good lines, light weight material, reasonably priced, it was hip enough for me. So using the gift card I got from my Aunt and Uncle on my 20th birthday I bought it. Unfortunately, size small was too small so I stood in line again, returned it and bought a size large. The large was of course too large. With no medium sizes in stock I cashed in on the money back guarantee and in a huff, peddled back to the living room television.

It was somewhat disappointing yes but as least I got some fresh air and exercise. . . right?

Chess Champion

2005-05-23T00:11:00.000-05:00

"Would you like to play a game of chess?" He asked.
"What?" I responded.
"Would you like to play a game of chess?".
"Chess?" I thought, "why would I want to play chess?"

With a smile on his face he tossed a pawn up in the air and caught it as if to say "look what I can do". At this point I didn't see I had much choice in the matter so I agreed to play, "just one" I said.

It was an aquard situation really, I didn't even know his name. Who did he think he was anyway, asking me a complete stranger to play a game of chess! It was aquard sure but I wasn't about to wimp out now. The 64 square battle field was set. I gritted my teeth, gave him a cold hard stare and made my first move. Things when down hill from there, he captured piece after piece wiping out my entire army leaving me with but a bare king. Everything after that was a blur. He was as smart as a whip. A champion.

I could have shrugged it off as a blunder but no, I was simply outplayed. Outplayed by the best no doubt. He had nerves of steel and a mind of metal.

Milkshake To Go

2005-05-16T20:44:00.000-05:00

Seventy seven some odd days ago on February the twenty eighth during day light hours a mamouth GreyHound bus pulled up to a curb. A curb in a town called Crossfield.

Prior to this event of monumental proportions I, along with my kid brother Jeremiah, partook on the seven billion mile hike from a basement called home to the desolate bus stop. Each carrying a piece of luggage that seemingly increased in mass the further we traveled made the journey all the more painfull. Our arms literally burst into flames. . . except they didn't. They just really hurt. Before Jeremiah turned to go back home he offered a milkshake. I had an entire miniute or two before the scheduled arrival of the bus so off we went across the street to the Burger Barron. Impatiently pacing from the window to the counter were Jeremiah stood ordering the milkshakes of coldness I couldn't help but think, what if? What if I miss the bus? What if I already missed the bus? What if. . . my blood ran cold. The bus was there.
Waiting.
"The bus is here!" I stammered.
"Then GO!" Jeremiah shrieked, "go!".
So I, milkshakeless, went. Waving the right to look both ways before crossing, I walked speedily across the street to the bus. Finding my luggage unstolen and intact I handed Mr. Bus Driver Man my ticket and boared the bus. Milkshakeless.
Just as Mr. Bus Driver Man was about to kick the bus into hyper drive a tinted figure approached the bus, with a milkshake in each hand.

Long story short: I enjoyed sucking the cold, pail white innards of a cardboard cavity through a straw all the way to Calgary (home of the metal-minded chess champion). All thanks to the kindness and gererosity of my kid brother, Jeremiah. Thanks a million. And one.

Milkshakes.

String of Burrs

2005-05-12T18:48:00.000-05:00

One day during the month of April I knocked on a door. The door never opened. So I turned and let my feet do some walking. I stepped from the heat of the city pavement to the cool shade of a nearby river bank.

Navigating my way along the rivers edge I soon came to find a suitable place to sit. It was then, observing the reflections of the water, that I came to the realization that I was no longer interested in sitting. So I walked. I walked, and walked some more, untill the unthinkable happened. I saw a burr. It was the size of an olive, if not bigger. Picking this monster burr from its thin dry branch I noticed another and another! Fascinated by their clinging ability I carefully pressed them together side by side one after another, forming a string. Of burrs.

Haveing stripped the branches of all it's burrs the frantic search for another tree began. With a single strand of burrs in hand I strained my eyes searching high and low. Miniute after miniute went by and still nothing. Where have all the burr trees gone? Dissapointed, I reluctantly gave up the search for that next tree of clinginess and stepped out into the sun. Looking at my sad string of wasted effort I decided to push forward and reminded myself that life must go on. Then BAM! Right in front of me, an entire world of burr bearing trees!

So, like a kid in a candy store, I ate all the burrs. No, wait. That's not right at all. What I did was I reinforced that weak little strand of burrs and built a huge hulking necklace! Then my cousin came home from school and let me in the house. : )

Earn, Spend and Save

2005-05-10T17:15:00.000-05:00

A very long time ago when I was still a pre-graduate attending high school I wrote this:
" After completion of my public schooling and obtaining a grade twelve education my greatest ambition is to become a professional artist. Ever since I could maneuver a pencil I valued drawing alongside my three brothers, naturally striving to out perform them. Recently, I enjoy putting as much detail as possible into my pictures, which can easily take hours to accomplish. Samples of my illustrations have been exhibited in such public locations as the Melita library and the RCI library. Presently my intention is to attend a three year illustration course at Sheridan College which is located on the outskirts of Mississauga, Ontario. I would very much like to have an occupation doing what I enjoy which is why a professional artist is well suited for someone such as myself. "

Things have changed since then. Not much mind you but yes, they have changed in such an unpredictable way that not I nor anyone else could have foreseen. It is true. No longer do I intend on attending this three year illustration course of which I spoke. Sad, I know but please, I mean not to mislead you. For I indeed still have great interest in the art of illustration. Yes, in fact I hope to attend a one year Art Fundamentals course at Sheridan College! Having already been accepted for a September start my chances are looking rather good. With much anticipation I, untill then, will continue to work on my "work for a year" plan. Earning, spending and saving.

You Should Write a Blog

2005-05-05T19:50:00.000-05:00

Greetings everyone.
I am here today to talk to you about my brand new convertible, sorry, my mistake, my brand new Ontario Drivers Licence. Yes. I have an Ontario drivers licence now.

I was quietly minding my own business here at the computer today when Mr. Uncle Brian came down from the up-stars and violently threw two evelopes in my face. "You have mail" he screamed "It's about time it arrived!". I turned and looked only to see him stomp up the stairs in a wild rage. Now, in his absence I proceded to open the larger of the two face-scaring envelopes. My third attempt at breaking it's seal (with the aid of a trusty pair of 'Lamplough' black handled sissors (made in italy)) proved successful. It's contents reviled the much anticipated information from Sheridan that I had been waiting for. Deepy disapointed in the lack of a time table I moved on to the second envelope.
I opened it. Being an envelope of standard size and make I found the six inch blade of a near by letter opener to be sufficent. Inside, as you may have now guessed was my brand new Ontario drivers licence! My smile widened for it was all that I had imagined it to be: my lumber jack beard, holographic images, my new style signature, the official alphanumerics and of course the shine of it's durable plastic coating. This card being mine in all it's purpleness will now live out the remainder of it's life within the confinements of my wallet.

Now. For the many multitudes of you who don't know, what you have just read is a copy of a recent e-mail I sent to my parents and brothers. The response of my eldest brother (Mr. Krig) included these words: "You should write a blog, that was a great e-mail. :D" an invitation of sorts. So that my friends is the real reason as to why I am here. Welcome to my blog.

That is all.
Benjamin.

ps. This message may or may not contain exaggeration or sarcasm.