"A million monkeys banging on a million typewriters for a million years will eventually reproduce the entire works of Shakespeare."

Simon invited me to go see an art exhibit yesterday. His parents were hosting it in their medical clinic and the artist was a family friend of theirs.

This was a good opportunity to expand my horizons. Lacking any culture whatsoever (due to being borderline neanderthal), I haven't been to many events that one could qualify as "artsy". The closest I've ever come to hanging art on my wall was when I nailed my hockey jerseys up in my apartment.

As expected, I kind of felt out of place. People around me were comparing brushstrokes, while my art intelligence consists of barely being able to distinguish the Mona Lisa from my elbow.

My most foolish moment came when I realized the little numbers beside the paintings did not represent the price, as I first thought. Walking down the hall I was wondering why each painting was one dollar more expensive than the last. In reality, the numbers corresponded to a separate list that I missed on the way in. That $20 painting was really $500. Duh.

As I walked around I listened to the patrons describing in detail how each work made them "feel". The only thing I felt was ineptitude... because as an accountant I gave up my humanity in exchange for my designation. We don't feel feelings and if we do, we kill them with beer.

... a skill which I employed afterwards, by the way. If it wasn't for my friends Molson and Labatt, watching the Leafs play would have me in tears.

The accounting manager at work brought out a cake today for an odd occasion. I had no idea, but it turns out that our tax guy is also a bodybuilder and is about to enter some big competition.

The girls managed to obtain a picture of him posing in his speedos and had a cake made with his image in the icing. You can imagine the field day they had with this one. The guy is kind of shy as well, which made it all the more funny.

He must have felt like such a piece of meat; those horny ladies certainly know how to objectify a man. (I think he kind of liked it actually... I know I would.)

They started dishing out the dessert and I opted for a plain piece rather than a decorated one. The thought of seeing the tax guy on the end of my fork kinda gave me the creeps.

I'm thinking though... had I chosen the side with the picture, it most certainly would have been the best-tasting piece of ass I've ever eaten.

Few feelings in life are better than the exact instant you realize it's the weekend, right after waking up thinking you're late for work. You can turn off the alarm, retreat back underneath the warmth of the covers and forget the outside world for just a little while longer.

Unfortunately, today is Monday. Crap, crap, crap, crap, crap.

So apparently residents are still recovering from the pounding the freak snowstorm gave them in Buffalo last week. I don't know about you, but based on the pictures I've seen the place actually looks nicer. Kind of like a municipal makeover with God's concealer compact.

The downside of this cosmetic enhancement is the thousands still without power, according to the newspaper, in addition to the twelve deaths attributed to the weather. I found it hard to believe that one snowstorm could take so many lives. With those kinds of odds we Canadians should be extinct by now. I read on.

One guy was flattened by a falling tree limb. Okay that counts. The next reported deaths however, were caused by heart attacks suffered while shovelling driveways. I wouldn't say that the storm caused these. More likely it's the cheeseburgers coupled with decades of inactivity to blame here, not Mother Nature. I'm pinning this one on the American Dream.

The remaining ones were killed by carbon monoxide poisoning due to "improper use of stoves or generators". Who runs a generator inside their house? Although I'm sure that the vibrating device spewing toxic fumes makes an excellent coffee table, wouldn't the noise at least encourage the induhvidual to move it out of the living room?

In this case I lay the blame squarely on the shoulders of inherent stupidity, not the storm. Darwinists would say that it's just natural selection running its course.

In light of this, I declare to all Canadians that it's once again safe to play in the snow. You're welcome.

In an effort to improve my physical well-being (and to not become one of those guys that can make his belly "talk" by the time I'm 40) I've started exercising twice a week during my lunch hours at work.

I started out with the Body Sculpting class, where essentially you do rep after rep of arm and leg exercises to the beat of bad 90's dance music. If you're like me you'll foolishly select the heaviest weights from the pile, causing your limbs to burn by the end of class like a bad disease in an unmentionable area. Apparently years of masturbation and lifting pints of beer do very little to keep your arm muscles in shape. Yeah, I was shocked, too.

Recently the Thursday Sculpting class was changed to an aerobics workout, where the focus is more on cardio rather than strength training. I've noticed that aerobics tends to be more of a women's endeavour, and today in my first class I learned why.

You see, like most guys I prefer to wear loose-fitting clothing. This applies to my jeans, shirts, sweaters... and my gym shorts. In addition, I've traded in my briefs for boxers thanks to a certain episode of Seinfeld.

Now imagine what the combination of baggy shorts, boxers, and jumping jacks does to Mister Happy. Not a whole lot of support down there, resulting in a great deal of flopping about. So much in fact, that the others in class were turning around to see who was clapping to the music.

In spite of feeling like an elephant on a trampoline I did enjoy the workout, so next week I'm going back prepared: A little hockey tape wrapped around my leg just above the knee and we're all secure. I just hope I don't get too excited about all the spandex around me, or I'm in big trouble.

Pun intended.

So I've decided I need a change of scenery... I'm protesting winter and moving to Australia.

I'm applying for a skilled immigrant visa, meaning I have to choose a profession from their list of in-demand occupations. In my case, I have to get CPA Australia to validate my accounting credentials first. This will take 8-10 weeks and a wad of cash.

Assuming I can pass for an accountant over there, I need to send the aforementioned approval to Sydney along with more documentation and a bigger wad of cash. A few months for it to sit on some civil servant's desk before they stamp my application "Not a Terrorist", and I'm in.

Failing that, Plan B is to apply for refugee status. In this case I have to be fleeing something such as torture or an opressive dictator. I'll tell them I'm running away from ice, snow and a 40-year Stanley Cup drought.

I'm not hanging my hopes on Plan B however. A winged monkey could fly out of my ass while the Leafs do their victory parade down Bay Street, effectively killing my reason for seeking refuge.

Which is why I've also devised Plan C:

Me: Mate, is that koala stealing your Fosters?
Immigration Guy: (Turns Around) Crikey! Where?

At this point I'll smack him over the head with his own didgeridoo and ride the nearest kangaroo away from the airport to the glorious freedom of the Outback, where I'll live off of vegemite sandwiches, crocodile steaks and beer.

I hope I get to use Plan C. Kangaroos are way cool.

So after weeks of pestering Rahul I finally got my hands on his guitar. It's been collecting dust in his room for months now so I thought I'd try my hand at it. Last night he arrived on my doorstep, case and instruction book in tow.

I took my first stab at plucking the strings last night, much to the chagrin of my family that was trying to sleep at 11:30. (At least it's quiter than the trombone I used to play back in grade school.)

This will be a bit harder with only a book (rather than a musician) for instruction, but I taught myself Spanish using only a textbook and some music CD's. If I don't learn anything it will be due to lack of motiviation rather than lack of ability.

Fortunately I still remember how to read music, so my first "lesson" went pretty well. If you want to see just how well, come down next week to the Molson Amphitheatre where I'll be performing "Hot Cross Buns" followed by a rousing rendition of "Jingle Bells".

Eric Clapton... if you're reading this, have your people call my people. If you're in town I'll let you open for me.

So my Thanksgiving was twice as good this year. Two turkey dinners: one with family, one with friends. By the end of it all I felt like one of those women you see in Las Vegas straddled across two stools in front of the slot machines.

At Simon and Elana's the food was excellent... but by far the most interesting dish was the Garlic Fruit Salad. It started out by Simon's mom storing some Splenda in a powdered garlic container (or vice-versa, I forget). She had both bottles out, and while cooking with the garlic she decided that the salad needed sweetening.

Well you can guess what happens next. After she reached for the wrong bottle, we ended up with a fruit salad suitable for keeping vampires at bay. Funny though, I kind of got used to it by the end of the night.

It was a fun evening, but that was my first time needing a breath mint after eating raspberries.

So it's not even Hallowe'en yet and already the parents are coming out with their catalogues full of Christmas "cheer" to pawn off on unsuspecting coworkers. Latest one to corner me was a lady fundraising for her son's daycare.

Last year she suckered me into buying some kind of pastry that I still haven't eaten yet. It needs to defrost in an oven before being served, and with me always forgetting to bring it home it's been fossilizing in the kitchenette freezer since 2005.

I have no problem giving to worthy causes, but I've got some issues with this fundraising for daycares:

1. This daycare is a for-profit business. It would be no different than contributing to the Buy-Sanjay-a-New-Porsche Fund.
2. If you're working in the same area as me, chances are you're doing alright financially. Better to give to those that need it most.
3. Thanks to our new government, every parent with offspring under six is already getting an extra $100, per kid, per month, out of my tax dollars. This money is supposedly for daycare, but parents are free to spend it on cigarettes and strippers if they want.

I also found out from a different parent that as little as 1% of the revenue from these things actually goes to the institution needing funds. So, instead of buying more useless crap I don't need, this year I'll just give each of the parents at work a dollar and be done with it.

And I had better see tax receipts.

This weekend I needed to make copies of my university degree and CMA certificates, so I headed to the framing store to get them temporarily removed from their frames and put back when I was finished.

The first place I went to, where I originally had the framing done, was closed Sundays. (That frustrates me to no end as I don't have a lot of time during the week to run errands.) I went back home to do a yellowpages search and came across Glen Abbey Framing and Fine Art. According to their website they were open until 4pm... I got there just before 3 o'clock.

I guess they changed their hours, because the store closes now at 3pm. The girl working there was really nice though... she took the certificates out of the frame and kept the store open for me to run to Staples to make my copies and come back.

When she was finished she asked for $10 for her trouble. I pulled out a twenty but she couldn't make change. Instead she just told me to have a nice day, and to think of her next time I have something to frame.

How nice is that? I did go into another store to break my twenty but by the time I returned she had already locked up and gone home. Instead I'm going to get a bottle of wine and bring it back to the store. Other businesses (the airline industry comes to mind) could learn from this example of customer service.

So I'm back from Halifax. Trip home was uneventful but more and more the airport is becoming a real pain for travelling. Thanks to people who feel the need to blow up planes, all the sane people get to experience longer wait times at every point along the boarding process. At least my luggage wasn't redirected to Kenya.

In other news, Rahul and Michelle came back from their trip to Hawaii, engaged. It's about time! This means that next year I'll be in Newfoundland again for another wedding, making it three East Coast weddings in two years.

It seems to be the thing to do these days... all my friends around me tying the knot. I often get asked why I'm still single. The answer's pretty simple: Either the women I meet are below my standards, or I'm below theirs. To change this I either have to lower my expectations or go find someone else doing the same.

Either prospect doesn't really excite me, so for now I'll just enjoy my freedom... and everyone else's open bar receptions.