Famous Friends

On the Sunday afternoon (when I was supposed to be at a meeting that I completely forgot about), I rented a Canadian film called Savage Messiah (trailer), which co-starred my old friend Elizabeth Roberston (as Magdalene).

I haven't seen Elizabeth in many years, not since we were in a musical called Joseph By The Well during my college days (circa 1988). This play featured my first (and only) duet. I remembered taking singing lessons that summer so that I could get a better part in the musicals being put on in Quebec city. They paid off, landing me a supporting role in that play (Zachariah, husband to Elizabeth).

According to the biblical story of Zachariah and Elizabeth, they were granted a child in their old age by divine intervention. The actress who played Elizabeth (Mina) would carry a Cabbage Patch doll around as her child. The problem was that the doll's head was made of heavy plastic while the rest of the body was made from lighter cloth. In rehearsal, Mina would constantly drop the "child" who would then hit the stage head-first with a resounding thud, often balancing itself upright, legs in the air. This always sent the cast and crew into hysterics.

In Joseph By The Well, Elizabeth played Joseph's little sister (who dies tragically by falling into a well). But this was not the first time I had met her. Elizabeth and I were also in Anne of Green Gables (put on by the Quebec Art Company), where Elizabeth played Anne while I was one of Gilbert's friends. Whatever Elizabeth did on stage, she did with great finesse and power, making it look so easy.

I hear that Elizabeth now resides in Montreal somewhere (with husband and child). It's great to know that Elizabeth is enjoying success in the theatrical world; she always was a fantastic talent on stage.

It inspires me to keep plugging away at my own theatrical aspirations and storytelling. Persistance!

Don't Worry... It's a Good Thing

I've given up trying to predict what's going to happen next. Life is just too full of surprises. Just when you think you've got it all down, someone will turn around and open your eyes again. It never ceases to amaze me.

It other news, I think I'm starting to come down with the flu. It's this schizo-weather. I never know how to dress for it. I can't get sick this month 'cause there's too much going on. Work is about to get really crazy, the Harvest Gala is coming up at the end of this week (you're coming, aren't you?), I'll be going to Kingston for a day to do a TV spot, and Halloween is fast approaching (got costumes, pumpkins, and rits to prepare).

Busy, busy, busy. As usual.

Bill's Serving Up Grits and Viddles

I knew that edumacating the hill folk was a bad idea! Rednecks have hacked into Billegible.

Just reading it has given me a hankering for some cheap bourbon. Hot damn y'all!

Wild and Wooley

I guess there's some truth to every stereotype... But I don't think Paul should've gone to jail over it. There are therapy groups for this kind of thing... get help man!

I can only hope that Mel is open-minded...

Deadbeat Lightspeedchicks

So after my boxing class, I pop on over to Brutopia for pints and chicken wings with Bill, Marc, Paul, and MJ (and her Snuffleupagus boyfriend--he's real!). As usual, the discussion is animated with lots of hands waving with a porn-music soundtrack. Y'know... the usual.

Suddenly MJ (that's Lightspeedchick to you mortals) gets up quick from the table and hurries on her way, dragging T along behind her. T didn't even have time to finish his beer (considering his girlfriend's lead-foot, you'd think he'd want to numb himself for the experience)! Bill was long gone, but it left Paul, Marc, and I mystified.

It soon became all too clear. After a dismal session of Darts (I was leading my opponents into a false sense of security, I swear!), we were paying off our tabs and the horrible truth fell upon us like a ton of tortilla chips: MJ had skipped out on paying for her nachos! You've heard of Deadbeat Dads? Well MJ is apparently a Nachos Nosferatu!

As Marc and Paul gibbered non-sensically on matters pertaining to her character flaws, I immediately realized that this was just an over-sight on MJ's part and smoothly paid for her meal. You heard it here first, folks! Accept no substitutes!

No, no... really. It was no trouble. Completely my pleasure. Why yes, I can sign that for you. To whom do I make it out... ?

Delivery is Everything

The STC had their first guest speaker at their kick-off Wine and Cheese evening yesterday. RB was supposed to give a talk that explored the trends that will change the way we work, play, and interact. His talk was supposed to focus on the past, present, and future of technology as it effects your home, your business, and the world of entertainment.

However, his presentation went spiralling off-course when he made a few badly-delivered comments on documentation. He meant well, but he didn't anticipate the effect his words would have on the crowd.

He started commenting on how people would rather fiddle with the gizmo instead of reading the documentation. A touchy statement, but we can all admit that it's true to some extent. He did make an interesting point about filling User's Guides with more Tips and Tricks than with the basic information. That's when the talk took a sharp dive.

I wish I had written this down (or taped it), but he said something along the lines of "If technical writers cared more about what they were writing (instead of just writing something that was "good enough"), people would read the documentation more often." When I pointed out that we are often not given enough time to do that job, he replied with "Then it's your job to make the owners understand how important your contribution is to their product."

Geez... tell me something I don't know Sparky. When I'm working with a client to produce his documentation, I always push for the Task-Based guide (which takes longer, but is more useful) instead of the Reference guide (which takes less time, but isn't as useful).

The rest of his presentation was mostly just funny anecdotes. But it was too late for that because he basically offended and insulted over half his audience by blaming the writers for an industry filled with mediocre documentation.

A Cardinal Rule in the techwriting world is Audience Analysis: find out what your audience knows so that you can gear the information you are trying to impart towards their needs and situations. I don't think Richard spent enough time thinking about that. If he had made this presentation to a bunch of CEOs, it would have been informative and helpful to our cause.

But to a bunch of techwriters who spend most of their time trying to write something useful armed with sketchy specs, unreasonable deadlines, and a general lack of respect for the intrinsic value of documentation with any product, it was obvious that RB didn't have a clear idea of what it was like to produce documentation in today's industry.

Flabio gets in shape: Part IX

It's amazing how intense the boxing class can be! After an hour of shadow boxing, sparring, bag-work, and skipping (3 successful skips is my new record) I am completely soaked with sweat. I need to get to the gym an hour before the class so I can work out first.

Yesterday, I boxed with the Coach for the first time. This guy is a man-mountain! He's got to be at least 6' 5" with a torso built like a barrel. I'm 5' 11" and when I go in for a jab, I can only hit him in the ribs. When I get in close, his chest fills my entire field-of-vision.

On my first boxing session, I only got to tag him when he let me do it. The rest of the time, I was fending off his blows and not all that well either. He caught me in the face a few times and in the chin once (which 'caused me to accidentally chomp my lower lip). The worst thing is that I know he was being gentle. If he ever decided to really take a swing at me, I'd better be covered in metal armor if I want to be able to walk away in one piece.

The boxing class is great fun though. What I love about it is that you can train on your own or with a partner. If you have the heavy bag, you can just whack at it for as long as you like. If you have a partner, you can focus on your movement and your technique. There are many sports I can't do due to my vision (light myopia) and I've never enjoyed aerobic dance (too high-impact for my knees and I'm too uncoordinated).

But boxing is low impact on the feet (although you tend to dance around alot), it gives you a great cardio-workout, and has lots of satisfying hitting (on the bags). I don't think I'll ever take someone on in a ring, but I'm starting to watch boxing matches with more interest now.

Baskerville Bloopers

We finally recorded the "Hound of the Baskervilles" radio drama on Saturday (this is a project that started 1.5 years ago). I had the honour of playing Dr. Watson in this adventure.

As you probably know, no recording ever gets done in a single successful take (it tooks us 4 hours to record a <1 hour play). So here are some of the Bloopers that you will never hear:

Ant.: Okay R... I need you to growl like the Hound. One, two, three... [points]
Rob: Grrrrowwrowrrooowwwwrrrg RRRroooowwWWWroowrrrroowrrrroowrrrroowrrrroowrrr ROWWWWRRRRRGRRRRoooowwWWWrllllll *cough* *cough*
[silence]
Dave: I'm a terrifying ogre!

Dave: (reading) It's very cold out here on the moors Holmes...
Taras: Don't worry about it Watson. I will hold you... hold you close
Dave: Oh Holmes... Does this mean I can wear your detective toque with the flippity-floppety ears?
Taras: Yes Watson... My dear, dear Watson...

Dave: (rehearsing) We took the morning train to Baskerville Hall--
Anthony: (singing) My Holmesy takes the morning train // He works from nine to five and then // he takes another one home again // to find me waiting for him. //

I always love watch the bloopers at the end of movies.

After the protest gone awry at Concordia last week, my friend P wondered how displaced separatists would feel about the local politics occurring at home.

The Fires of Separatism are felt Abroad

POOHWIRE: FLORIDA -- Third Avenue in Fort Lauderdale was the scene of a parade of patriotism today, but it's not what you may think. These weren't Americans celebrating their freedom or the fact that the live in the best country in the whole world (that's next week). Rather than waving the proud red, white, and blue flag, these parade goers flew the white and blue, holding only contempt for the red.

That's right: Fort Lauderdale's refugee population from the province of Quebec (Canada) held a rally and a subsequent parade to promote Quebec Separatism, showing an unprecedented amount of solidarity with their northern brothers and sisters.

The parade walkers were draped in Quebec flags, fleur-de-lys caps and shirts, and waving flags of all shapes and sizes. There was nary an American flag or a Canadian flag to be found anywhere. Others distributed Parti Quebecois flyers (the political party that promotes separatism back home) and other brochures that explain their position of having their own independent country (separate from Canada).

"Just because we don't like the cold, that doesn't mean we don't believe in Quebec's future as its own country!" cried Rejean Tousignant into a megaphone to the cheering crowds. "One day, all Quebeckers will know the independence that have eluded them for so long. I say to our Canadian oppressors, crisez-votre quand de notre pays ("Get the hell off our land")! Quebec pour les quebecois!"

Spontaneous rounds of "Gens du Pays" then erupted from the crowd punctuated with occasional shouts of "Vivre le Quebec... Libre!".

Mario Dumont, the leader of the fledgling ADP (a rising political power in Quebec), was also on hand to walk in the parade. "It's important to show my solidarity with my people, even those who live away from leur pays," Dumont stated as he marched down the main street. "Besides... my parents have their trailer home right over there."

The demonstration was peaceful for the most part. There was a slight scuffle that occured near a food cart selling Beaver Tails that ended with the cart being overturned and the vendor, who was wearing a mountie hat and a T-shirt with a Canadian flag emblazoned upon it's front, was stripped practically naked to chants of "Oppression! Oppression! Je me souviens de la bonne poutine chez La Belle Province!" When the police intervened, the crowd dispersed quickly.

"Just because we're not physiquement in Quebec, dat does not mean dat we do not have families dere who are oppressed by all those fucking blokes!"

"Gaetan! Watch your language," replied this man's wife, smacking him upside the head, knocking his sunglasses loose.

"Oh... mes excuses, ma chouette," the man grinned sheepishly. "I'm sorry... I meant to say les crisse de blokes."

The parade lost its fuel when it reached a set of Bingo halls and fast-food restaurants along the strip and the crowd seemed to melt away. About an hour after the demonstration ended, Premier Bernard Landry turned up in a cab, but once he realized he had missed the whole thing, he was quick to accuse Jean Chretien of wrong doing.

When asked how Jean Chretien was involved, Mr. Landry looked confused for a moment and then shrugged "Sorry... old habit."

Frosted Palm Trees

My Mum just called and told me that her and Dad are thinking about going to Cuba for the Christmas holidays and she wondered what I thought about that. Of course, I encouraged her and Dad to go and have a great time. Admittedly, the last few Christmas' have been kinda boring and empty.

But this is going to be a first for me. I've always gone home for the holidays. I've always spent the Christmas holidays with my parents and family in Ste. Foy. Now, for the first time in 33 years, I'm going to be on my own for Christmas. I can't help but wonder how am I going to feel on the 25th of December this year.

Weird. Unsettling. Scary.

Stalked

My friend J is in a bit of a pickle.

Coming home from work, she met some fella on the metro and they got to talking. Although he spoke broken English and French, they had a nice conversation that culminated in this guy walking J to her apartment and then she gave him her cellphone number.

Since then, he's been calling her non-stop with declarations of love and devotion. He claims that their meeting was no chance affair; it was according to God's plan that they had met that fateful day and that she owes it to herself to find out what it is. She very firmly told him that she was not interested in what he was proposing and told him not to contact her again.

And then J came home from work last night and found him parked in front of her apartment building. Fortunately, she was able to sneak in from the back of the building so he didn't see her. He stayed parked out in front of her building for over three hours before finally giving up and leaving.

I told her that she should call the police today and find out what her options are. Anyone have any other opinions/suggestions?

I've seen this kind of thing happen to other friends of mine. They'll meet some fella in a social setting, have a nice conversation, and then subsequently get bombarded with all sorts of unwanted matrimonial attention. I don't mean to draw any racial stereotypes, but of the friends to whom this has happened, the men have all been visitors from non-North American societies (especially from strongly patriarchal societies). I wonder at what's going on there.

My only theory is that, through the popular media, North American women are portrayed abroad as easily swooned by persistent declarations of love from their suitors. If you look at most movies, the female leads may shrug off the initial come-ons, but if the hero is persistent, he wins the girl in the end. Do these guys view these movies as training videos?

Weariness

I was just listening to my Greg Brown: The Live One album (fantastic singer... must get more of his albums). During his song called Canned Goods (which is what I heard on Hober and prompted me to buy the album in the first place), he mentions the poet Pablo Neruda:

A chicken. I don't know what I'm supposed to say about a chicken. There's this great South American poet, Chilean poet, named Pablo Neruda. He has many beautiful poems and he has one called On Weariness in which he speaks on all the things he's weary of. He says

"I am weary of chickens
The look up at us
With their small eyes
like we are unimportant"

Which is true. They do.

We are.

But it's tough to take it from a damn chicken.

I'm not sure why, but this little snippet has been playing in my head all day.

Retreat... Advance!

I just spent the weekend at a camp somewhere between Rawdon and St. Donat on a Storyteller's Retreat. It was great to spend some non-performance time with my fellow storytellers and we got to know a few new budding tellers. Very relaxing and enjoyable.

My only criticism was that most of the workshops were not that helpful. They were interesting, but I don't feel my grasp of storytelling has improved that much (or at all). One of the workshops had us reading and discussing what some published storytellers thought of the craft, so that was helpful. It's something to think about for future retreats.

Otherwise, it was good food, good wine, and (thanks to Roman) delicious Porto just before hitting the sack. Four of us guys were sleeping in the same cabin and we gossipped like old hens, telling stories over glasses of Porto. Two nights of that was definitely worth the price of admission!

I've decided upon the story I'm going to tell at the next Storyteller's Story Swapping Night (October 4th, 8 pm). I told it at the retreat and got some great feedback on it.

Actually, the weekend of the first Friday of October 4th is the kick-off of the Harvest Gala of Storytelling (that I helped organize). It's going to be three days of storytelling in various parts of the city, featuring storytellers from Montreal, Ottawa, and the Eastern Townships. I'm supposed to be doing an interview on the CBC about it soon (I'll keep you posted).

Fun-fun-fun!

The end of safety?

Last night, I was supposed to meet a bunch of friends at Cafe L'Etranger on Ste. Catherine street. A few of us stopped off at Hurley's Irish Pub to wish Scott (Ceri's husband) a happy birthday and then we headed down to the Cafe.

Once again, going to the pub has probably saved my life and spared me a dishload of trauma. Half and hour before we arrived at Cafe L'Etranger, there was a shoot-out that left a 25 year-old man riddled with bullets. I heard on the radio this morning that the young man is expected to live.

Reports of these outbursts of violence are starting to crop up more and more. Shootings in local bars, violent protests at Concordia, knifings at Alexis Nihon, gangs roaming the streets.

As I was walking down Ste. Catherine street (after catching My Big Fat Greek Wedding at the Paramount) last week, I had to maneuver around two young punks dressed to the nines in their hip-hop gear and practically taking up both sides of the street with their swagger, daring others to cross their paths.

A young woman ahead of me hadn't noticed them and clumsily brushed against one as she walked down the street. Both men stopped, turned around, and flipped her the bird while making all sorts of idle threats (more to themselves than to the woman). One of them noticed me watching them, turned to me as I hurried away, and shouted "What the FUCK are you lookin' at?"

I don't know if it's because I've been reading the Gazette too much, but for the first time in nine years in this city, I felt unsafe. Is this the beginning of the end?

Corner Shot... with a touch of English

I went out last night for an evening of billiards with my friend J. After meeting up at the Second Cup next to the Faubourg, we came out onto Ste. Catherine street and were faced with a decision: Sharks or Fats.

• Sharks: this is a trendy poolhall that has more to do with Beautiful People than it does with pool. They've also got a Bubble bar and neon bowling. The pool tables are in good shape and all, but it's hard to concentrate on what you're doing with all the posturing going on around you. Not that there's anything wrong with posturing, but when it's done in skin-tight clothing and multitudes of package-enhancers (on both sides of the gender spectrum), I don't know whether to laugh, cry, or just stare incredulously.
  
  
• Fats: this is a bare-bones pool hall that has been around for as long as I have been in Montreal (9 years), although I think it may have been a bar called Station 10 or The Terminal at one time (It may have even been the spot of the legendary Toe Blake Tavern). It's dimly lit, slightly hazy, the ambiant music flits between the Jukebox and the Radio (with different volume levels), the pool tables are slightly scuffed and worn-out in spots, and the patrons tend to be average (maybe a bit more rough around the edges).
  

Maybe it's just me, but I'm more in love with the classic version of a pool hall. Dingy, out-of-the-way, slightly smokey, and populated by people who really concentrate on their game (with a furrowing of eyebrows and constant chalking of cues). Not that it helped me any; J kicked my ass with flair and grace.

Back in my college days, I used to skip class fairly regularly to hang at the local pool hall. I was getting quite good at the end and I could hold my own against most people. Now I only get flashes of Billiard Bodaciousness from time to time

Last night wasn't one of them. Still... I had fun.

Take many moments

Many people are observing moments of silence for the 3000+ who lost their lives in the terrorist attacks this time last year.

If you decide to take a moment to do this, don't forget to also remember the hundreds of thousands of innocent people who have lost their lives before 9-11 and since 9-11. This isn't only about the people who died on the planes, in the buildings, and on the ground in New York. There were also plenty of innocent people who have died in Afghanistan, in Israel, and in Palestine. In actual fact, no country has truly escaped unscathed from the ravages of violence, intolerance, and aggression. Even Canada suffered when four of her own soldiers were killed for nothing, the victims of a gloryhound with an itchy trigger finger.

Some of these casualties gave-up their lives freely, some were not given that choice. These people need to be remembered as well because their loss is just as tragic and needless as anyone else's.

At the same time, you may want to give thanks for all the blessings in your life. I'll be thinking of all of you, dear readers, as well as the many people who continue to make my life worth living, despite the bumps and rolls.

25 Lines From Star Wars That Can Be Improved if you Substitute the Word "Pants"

1. A tremor in the pants. The last time I felt this was in the presence of my old master.
2. You are unwise to lower your pants.
3. We've got to be able to get some reading on those pants, up or down.
4. She must have hidden the plans in her pants. Send a detachment down to retrieve them. See to it personally Commander.
5. These pants may not look like much, kid, but they've got it where it counts.
6. I find your lack of pants disturbing.
7. These pants contain the ultimate power in the Universe. I suggest we use it.
8. Han will have those pants down. We've got to give him more time!
9. General Veers, prepare your pants for a surface assault.
10. I used to bulls-eye womp-rats in my pants back home.
11. TK-421. . . Why aren't you in your pants?
12. Lock the door. And hope they don't have pants.
13. Governor Tarkin. I recognized your foul pants when I was brought on board.
14. You look strong enough to pull the pants off of a Gundark.
15. Luke. . . Help me take...these pants off.
16. Great, Chewie, great. Always thinking with your pants.
17. That blast came from those pants. That thing's operational!
18. Don't worry. Chewie and I have gotten into a lot of pants more heavily guarded than this.
19. Maybe you'd like it back in your pants, your highness.
20. Your pants betray you. Your feelings for them are strong. Especially for your sister!
21. Jabba doesn't have time for smugglers who drop their pants at the first sign of an Imperial Cruiser.
22. Yeah, well short pants is better than no pants at all, Chewie.
23. Attention. This is Lando Calrissean. The Empire has taken control of my pants, I advise everyone to leave before more troops arrive.
24. I cannot teach him. The boy has no pants.
25. You came in those pants? You're braver than I thought.

(thanks to Andrew for sending this to me)

Jab Jab... Swing!

My first season at Domaine du Createur is officially done and my character has been drowned and buried. If I go back next year, I'll have to create a whole new character. Drat! I was just getting into my old character and my defensive skill with my staff was just starting to improve. Maybe I'll come back as a mage this time.

The game weekend itself was pretty good, but it had its extremely frustrating moments. The way that the storyline ended -- the entire colony being wiped out by a Tsunami -- was a very weak plot twist that left many of us feeling cheated.

I brought my digicam with me to take photos of people in costume, but the digicam inexplicably went dead on the first day. Curses! A few friends has shared their photos from Domaine with me and I've put them up here. I'll be adding to this archive of photos as the pics become available.

And last night, I went to my first boxing class at the YMCA. What fun! Oddly enough, the toughest part of the class was the skipping of the rope. I've never been able to skip rope properly; the only thing I've been able to skip is class. Hopefully, with a little practice, I'll be able to skip rope like a Man.

I'm sure my mother has given up trying to predict what I'm going to say to her when she calls:

Me: Mom! Guess what? I've helped to organize a Storytelling Festival and I'm going to learn how to box!
Mom: Sainte-Benite! Qu'est-ce que tu fais la? Faites attention, pour l'amour de dieu!

French-Canadian mums... you gotta love'em.

Play the Music, Light the Lights

Not enough rock'n roll bands use the muppets in their videos. It's an untapped resource that is only now being explored.

So obviously I'm referring to Weezer's latest release "Keep Fishing" which features the long-dormant cast of the Muppet Show. If you've got 20 minutes to spare, check out the Making of the Gone Fishing video. It's in the Video and Archives section of Weezer's Audio/Video archive.

It's great fun. Enjoy.

Yulblog, September 2002

Another successful Yulblog was had by all down at La Cabane on St. Laurent. The pictures tell the whole story (or maybe they just pose more questions).

It's great to meet the people behind the blogs. There are so many great blog writers in this city and in this country. We rock. I mentionned that I was going to redesign the site, which I was surprised to receive cries of dismay. People like the Pooh Logs! Imagine! Blork even commented on how he liked my Archives being called Old Pooh.

Wow. I guess I'll hang on to this design just in case the new design isn't as good as the old one. Only time will tell.

I was a bit woozy yesterday (before the boozing at Yulblog!), but I'm feeling a bit better now. Of course, I would get sick the week before my camping trip. I'm scarfing down ibuprofen and vitamin C to combat it. Begone evil germs... Vamoose!

Flabio gets in Shape: Part VIII

OOooog... the muscles are stiff this morning! I've decided that I really do like the downtown Y better than the NDG Y. It's bigger, better lit, and the energy is higher. Plus they also have private showers. The shower room in the NDG Y makes me feel a bit too exposed...

I went back through my old routine and, for the most part, I've had to drop all the weights back 10 to 15 lbs. I'm sure I'll be able to get back to the old weight settings in a few weeks if I keep at it. Go me!

And it is now official: I will be prepping myself to be the new Grand Poohbah of Boxmentation! I managed to get the last spot in the Boxing class at the YMCA, so I'll be studying the Sweet Science two to three times a week (the Friday session can be a bit tricky to attend sometimes). The class itself is 1 hour long and it runs for two months. My friend Pam used to box and she says it's quite the work-out all on its own. Maybe if I'm feeling up to it, I'll be able to do my work-out routine after the boxing session. We'll see.

Put up yer dukes!

And a new season begins...

It has been almost 10 years since I left university to make it big in the city, but I always feel like a new chapter begins in September. Back to work after the long weekend, back to school for others, and the end of summer is swiftly on its way. I'll be keeping an eye out for the new colors in the trees.

So in keeping with the new beginnings theme, it's back to putting the gym back into my schedule. Flabio will be making his grand return to the sweatbox known as the YMCA! I've decided that I really do like the downtown YMCA, even thought the NDG Y is closer to home. The gym part of the NDG Y is too cramped and crowded for my liking. Although Jane complains about posers at the downtown YMCA, they don't bother me that much. I actually find them amusing.

Now if only I can remember the combination on my lock...

Better than expected

What a bash! My party went without a single hitch and almost everyone turned up! I spent most of Saturday cleaning up the pad and getting it ready for the guests that were set to arrive at 6 pm. The only thing I couldn't get to was the laundry hanging still hanging on the line. I received plenty of comments on a lovely pair of boxer shorts waving in the breeze.

With all the people who were coming and going, I'd say there were about 30 people who attended that night. Everyone mingled well, the wine/cheese/desserts were delicious, and everyone got on great.

Thanks to everyone who came! And to those who couldn't make it: I'll catch you next time!

I still can't believe how much fun that was. Now... when can I do it again?