The hot dog should be speared upon a stick I have found in the woods and sharpened with an imitation Swiss Army Knife.

The hot dog should be cooked over a roaring campfire that took a long time to get started but once we found that pile of driftwood is really burning now mister.

The hot dog should have just enough burnt bits and split bits which is a different amount for everyone but you know what it is when you see it.

The hot dog should be placed on a bun which is soft and battered from being inside the box with all the food in the hot car for the whole hot day.

The hot dog should be slathered with mustard which is yellow and plain and stains the white t-shirt that you shouldn’t really be wearing because you are eating hot dogs with mustard but you really really don’t care right now because you are eating hot dogs with mustard right now.

And then I should eat it.

And then I should do it again, eleven times again.

Some may not make it to the bun.

Some may not even have mustard.

Some may be lost to the flames, withered and charred.

But I want them. I want them all.

Probably about the next two hours were spent training BBEdit to do text replacements the way that I want it to. And it agreed very nicely. And then made me a very nice latte with lots of foam. And rubbed my feet. Holy crap is it nice using software designed to be user-friendly and powerful. I do believe this trial period will end with me paying for a BBEdit License. Unless someone knows of a comparable Mac text editor with FTP capabilities and the ability to totally hack the keyboard shortcuts…

And the last hour was spent doing actual work. Yay.

I do feel like I’m working with about one arm, two fingers, and about 1/3 of my regular brain capacity. I NEED MY INTERNET! Damn damn damn damn damn… I’m crawling out of my skin up here… I can make it though. Landing in Calgary in about half an hour and then I have almost three ours in which to find a clean vein and shoot up some pure grade INTAWEB straight to my central nervous system.

Whoops. Seats up in the full upright and locked position. Gotta go…

…

Awwww CRAP.

Stupid Telus. Stupid stupid Telus.

I’m in Calgary and I have no internet.

I was willing to pay for internet access. I was ready to pay through my freaking NOSE.

But NOOOOoooOOOOoooo… Telus Hotspot Service is “temporarily unavailable”. Phaw. Telus service is a big dodohead an he likes to eat stinky poos. Really stinky poos. Like, when my sisterwhoeatspoofor two eats poo, the poos that come out of her. Poo MADE from poo. That stinky.

Crap.

Oh well. At least I get to recharge.

And drink coffee. Mmmmm… coffee.

…

Later. Still Calgary. (The Rockies! In the distance. Hi, Mountains!)

Telus is up now.

At $10.00 a freaking hour.

Considering that my flight is boarding in 2 minutes… my nose is less willing to be a conduit of payment than it was previously. So, I must wait until Vancouver to pay through the nose.

What is with the whole paying for Wifi in airports? Is it really that expensive for them? Is gouging us really that fun? (“Whee! Let us sing the Gouging Song! Gouge gouge gouge gouge gouge gouge gouge gouge gouge gouge gouge gouge gouge gouge goooooooooooooge… GOUGE! GOUGE! GOUGE! Lovely. Good job everyone. Gerald, a little less vibrato next time, thank you very much. This is a fight song, not The Barber of Seville. Don’t look at me like that, Gerald. Gerald. Gerald. Please don’t cry. Oh, Gerald.”) Just imagine how much happier people in airports could be if they didn’t have bullcrap Wifi fees rammed sideways up their poopchutes.

…

Heh. “Poopchutes”.

…

That’s it. I’m watching Battlestar Galactica on this leg of my journey. I can work later.

…

Well… it seems that Banana can’t suck up the juice too fast. I’ve got about 15 more minutes of juice until I can charge her up in Vancouver. Thus concludes my BSG watching extravaganza. Oh well,

One awesome thing: MOUNTAINS! MOUNTAINS! MOUNTAINS!

Please join me in a rousing chorus of “Woot!”

After gazing slack-jawed for a couple of minutes, I did have the presence of mind to grab my camera to take a picture of the Rockies from above… just as we hit the cloud cover. So. Sorry No photo.

I’m signing off again. For a bit. I got me some podcasts to listen too.

Getting hungry too. Mrph.

…

Vancouver. Fog. Cloud cover. No view. Expensive internet. Should I pay for it?… Nope. The end of the road is near. I’ll log in at the hotel.

…

Review: Harvey’s hamburgers suck.

…

Landed in Prince George. I’m in the complimentary shuttle that the conference has set up, waiting for the slowpokes to get their luggage stowed. It’s 4:40 local time. My body thinks it is 8:40. Supper is gonna be weird.

I want to get in my room. And eat. AND GET ONLINE. YAAARGH.

Nice side effect of the new keyboard — it making me unlearn my pounding keyboarding habits. Maybe I won’t wake up the neighbours anymore.

(Nice Banana. I love my Banana. I would never hurt my Banana.)

…

I’M HERE! I’M HERE! I’M HERE!

Especially if by “here” you are referring to the middle of nowhere.

And for the one person from Prince George that reads this in two years doing a search for “free banana poopchutes in Prince George”, I’m not saying that Prince George is in the middle of nowhere.

My hotel is in the middle of nowhere.

There’s a gas station across the street. And a Chinese restaurant. About half a mile down there are a few tractor dealerships.

Oh, and the hotel has a casino.

As I have on occasion offered to win a bear for My Lovely Wife at the fair and left having spent over $40.00… this could be a bad thing.

Whatever the case… I need sustenance. I’m signing out for now. Will report more later.

…

One more note. I tried to take a picture of the view from my hotel room, but my camera turned itself off in protest. Sorry. The view really is that boring.

• PilotOnline.com: “Spilled Doritos chips wash up on Outer Banks” (via digg)

A cargo container that apparently fell from a ship washed up on the Outer Banks of North Carolina on Thursday and spilled thousands of bags of Doritos brand tortilla chips on the beach. People collected the chips, which were apparently still fresh due to their airtight packaging. It was unknown which ship had lost the cargo or to what port it was bound.

I thought seafood was supposed to be healthy?

(It seems to be the week for food on irregular surfaces.)

I don’t know. I’m looking at the things I did so far this morning. Something seems a little off…

1. Wake up.
2. Pee.
3. Feed the cats.
4. Make coffee.
5. Get cereal bowls.
6. Get Cheerios.
7. Pour Cheerios into cereal bowls.
8. Pour entire box of Cheerios on floor.
9. Take picture.

What could it be?… what could it be?…

…

Oh yeah.

I got blueberries out too.

I’m hungry.

Cookies would be good- NO! No cookies! I’m getting a reputation for being some sort of cookie addict. So. No cookies.

Still. I’m hungry.

Wait! I think I have a granola bar! That’s not cookie-like, is it? No! It’s a “granola bar”, not a “cookie”. COMPLETELY different.

So… where did I put that granola bar… noonie-noonie-noo… ah-HAH! Coat pocket! Let’s see…

[Pause filled with much hunting for granola bar.]

Weird. There seems to be a multiple number of granola bars in this coat pocket.

[Pause filled with much rooting around in granola bar-containing pocket.]

Huh.

Why do I have four granola bars in my coat pocket?

I don’t remember grabbing four granola bars this morning.

[Pause filled with much ordering of granola bars into parallel lines on desk in front of me.]

That’s weird. Did I really grab that many granola bars this morning? Or did I grab some another day and not actually get around to eating them? That doesn’t sound like me. Ush-ly iff I bring a grrnola bar, I’ll be shur-

[Pause filled with much examining of slightly smaller ordered set of granola bars on desk in front of me.]

Wait a sec.

I was certain there were were four granola bars a second ago. I must not have counted them correctly. Well, letsh be shurtain ‘n’ coun’ thum kerrecly thish time ar-

[Pause filled with much suspicious glaring at the growing empty spaces between the individual granola bars on desk in front of me.]

Now I KNOW there were three granola bars a second ago. Unlesh I’mmm devlooping shome short of b’ind spot ‘n muh vishon-

[Pause filled with much frantic scrambling as the set previously containing a multiple number of granola bars has seemingly transformed into a set containing but a single granola bar.]

Okay, someone’s definitely trying to freak me out or something. Just a minute ago there wur duhfuntely two gruh-nola b’rsh ‘n thuh deshk ‘n frunt uhf me ‘n’ now thersh ‘nly-

[Pause filled with much silent contemplation of the empty desk in front of me.]

Where did these crumbs come from?

[Pause.]

I’m hungry.

Suddenly she perked up and said, “Wait a minute! I have something for you!”

She dug around in her purse for a moment and then pulled out something wrapped in a napkin. She unwrapped the napkin and said, “Look! I got you a funeral cookie!”

I took the dark double chocolate cookie from her hands and took a bite. Without thinking, I said, “Mmmmm… mournfully delicious!”

She looked at me, shocked. And then laughed.

I felt bad for a moment, but then I realised… it really was mournfully delicious.

(On the other hand, my packed lunch is usually whatever fruit is dropped to the floor or the leavings on plates that the cats didn’t bother licking up, maybe in a bag or possbly just kicked in front of me as I walk. I’m not so conscientious with my own lunch.)

Well, the very first time I packed one of the pureed soups for My Lovely Wife, I received a call at my desk at 12:08.

She wanted to thank my for the soup. And she also wanted to suggest that the next time I actually include tupperware to hold it in and, say, maybe a spoon with which to eat it.

Chagrin, I did feel.

Well, I have never forgotten to pack that tupperware and spoon again. Now, if it’s a soup day, I remember the tupperware and spoon if it means I have to beat my way through a crowd of small, tubercular children. (Which, oddly enough, is not that often.)

Today was a soup day. And dammit, I did not forget that damn tupperware and spoon.

The soup on the other hand…

And most importantly, the land of the picking turkey.

Every Christmas eve, my Lovely Wife’s father cooks a turkey. This turkey is not part of a meal. Other meals will be prepared above and beyond this turkey. This turkey will not grace the table at a large family dinner.

Oh no. This turkey is the “picking turkey”. The “picking turkey” exists for one purpose and one purpose only:

If you are feeling hungry and need to “pick at something”, then this turkey is there for you. To pick at.

Do you realise what this means? This turkey is cooked just to be leftover turkey.

It is pure, unadulterated genius.

And this is the man that I have to thank for it:

Examples of common trivally-bits:

• cheese
• crackers
• rolls
• pickles
• soup
• salads
• steamed veggies

If you remember one thing over the upcoming festive season, let it be this:

It’s the trivally-bits that stand between you and that extra spoonful of stuffing.