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

"Turkey Split in Bitter Struggle", read the headline. The article written in the Toronto Star today began as follows:

"The possibility of an observant Muslim president is pitting Turkey's deeply secular military and civilian establishment against its religiously oriented ruling party in a fundamental struggle over national identity."

When I initially clicked on the link I was expecting to see a story about a Thanksgiving dinner gone awry. I have really got to be more informed... this is how wars start.

Clumsily the neaderthal lumbered after the rabbit, but it was no use. It was too fast and his knuckles kept scraping the ground. He fashioned a spear from a nearby stick but his aim was terrible. Even if he did manage to catch a slow and defenseless (yet tasty) animal, he would have no means to cook it, for he had not yet discovered the secret of fire.

He gave up on meat and roamed the forests around his cave in search of fruit or vegetable, but nothing around him was edible and he kept pricking himself on the sharp thorns. He would go hungry again tonight.

... at least, this is how I've been feeling until my parents got back last night from their vacation in Trinidad. Hooray for food!

While out west over the Easter weekend I thought about checking out Vancouver Island. The alternative was staring at the walls inside my hotel, so it wasn't that tough of a decision. The trip was very educational. Here is what I learned from my excursion:

Between bus and ferry trips it takes four hours to go from downtown Vancouver to downtown Victoria.

The speedometer of the brand new Subaru Impreza from National Rent-a-Car in Victoria goes up to 190 km/h.

The top speed of said car is 195 km/h.

The directional signs pointing to tourist information in Nanaimo were probably an April Fool's joke. The joke isn't funny.

Gas attendants in Nanaimo can miscalculate the distance to a destination by up to two hours. Possibly the same individuals that erected the signs.

Circumference at the base of the tallest tree in Cathedral Grove: 9 metres

Number of bars in Ladysmith: 4

Number of bars in Ladysmith showing the hockey game: 1

Population of Ladysmith: 4177

Population of non-white people in Ladysmith (upon my arrival): 1

The universe nearly collapsed on itself today.

While channel-surfing in my hotel tonight I found Rita MacNeil doing an Easter special from Cape Breton. I suppose CTV was lacking some Canadian content (according to rules put forth by our beloved government), and were desperate to fill the airtime. And fill they did.

I hadn't seen or heard from this folk singer since "Rita and Friends" was cancelled back in the 90's. I daresay that in the ten years that passed since then, that woman has managed to become even more immense. Even the slightest movement caused sweat to glisten on her jowls.

Watching this spectacle I became disoriented, and it started to appear as if my living room was being sucked down some giant drain. To my horror I realized what I had done; I was watching Rita in widescreen format, and the resulting combination must have broken the laws of physics and caused a rupture in the space-time continuum. The universe was folding in on itself, and I had to act fast.

Desperately I grabbed for the remote and flipped for dear life, searching for some safe haven. Finally I landed on Pussycat Dolls Present: The Search for the Next Doll, and space and time were restored to a balanced state.

We all owe you one, MTV.

I'm on the road for three weeks and my company has put me up in a fancy-schmancy hotel in downtown Vancouver. My "room" is actually a one-bedroom apartment, complete with a king bed, full kitchen, a big flat teevee (with surround sound!) and a smaller one in my bedroom. Included with all of these amenities are hotel staff who are trained to be extra nice to their long-term guests.

In fact, the staff are a bit too nice. They’re so over-trained that I bet if I rang the front desk and told them that I needed a kidney, a bellhop would be at my door to show me that he's prepped and ready for surgery. After a day or two all this greeting and smiling and general nicety can actually get on your nerves.

For example, every morning before breakfast I have to run the same gauntlet of cheerful people on the way to my table. The waiter is the worst offender. I suppose it's because he's up every day at 3:30am, so by the time he's pouring coffee he's already shaken his morning blahs and replaced them with an ear-to-ear grin.

I, on the other hand, am not a morning person. I don't sleep well in beds I'm not used to, and chances are I've just been scalded because of that stupid dial that every hotel shower has which goes straight from freezing to boiling within a two-degree turn. The net effect of this is that, until the caffeine starts to kick in, every day is like waking up to someone pissing in my Cornflakes.

I know it's kind of perverse, but I'm actually craving some bad service. I want to be ignored. I want to be cussed at. I want to wait for half an hour in line only to have the man behind the counter shout "No soup for you!" when I finally reach the front.

At least, I want this until I'm through my second or maybe even third cup of coffee, because it won’t be long before that grinning waiter is wearing the full pot on his face.

"Have a fabulous day!"