I'll be home for Me-tmas

I've never been this sick in my life. Thursday night I went to a party. Toward the end of the evening I began feeling particularly ill. I got dropped off, slowly crept up the stairs to my apartment. I took off my shoes, discarded my coat, went to the toilet and vomit for what felt like at least 5 minutes. It was, as always, amazing. I could see each meal coming out in turn. I really didn't eat that much for the day but the sheer volume of what I regurgitated was mind boggling. I must have lost 30 pounds.

Anyway I went to bed and was basically dead for 10 hours. I woke up a few times during the night, freezing cold and aching from head to toe. My headache was also something phenomenal, starting at the point where my neck meets the skull and spreading like an atom bom to all areas beyond. For the first time, I called in sick for work. I spent most of my time in bed... I drank some apple juice and nearly spewed that up.

The rest of the day was somewhat uneventful. Mom called. When she heard how sick I was she discouraged me to go to her place for dinner for Christmas Eve. The phone rang a few more times, the noise so agonizing it brought tears to my eyes. Then the unthinkable happened. The doorbell rang. I crept to the door wearing my too-small gray pyjamas and walking with the posture of a broke ass mister Burns. To my horror, there were 3 people! One was holding a guitar. My jaw dropped. He started playing... The woman started saying something... I couldn't understand what was hapenning all I wanted was for them to go away. "Money?" I voiced my thought desperately, "Do you want money?" I can't remember what she answered but I slowly made my way back to my room and got 3 dollars. I gave it to them and with a rictus smile in return they gave me some paper which I have yet to read. I could have given a hefty donation to the "Eat the Dolphins Foundation" for all I know. But at least they were gone. I closed the door and went back to my tomb. Even under 2 blankets and a comforter I was freezing cold, like someone had launched me into the deep reaches of outer space.

I used to think I was invincible. A towering Bastion of Might, impervious to most forms of sicknesses. Apparently I was wrong. And now, my sickness has taken precious Christmas from me. A foul turn of events indeed.

Uh-Oh Here comes you know who!!!

Today I found myself singing a jingle from one of my favourite Christmas Commercials. The one where Fred Flinstone is leaving Fruity Pebbles for Santa Claus. It's probably been over a decade since they used to air that commercial and I still know it by heart.

Children: Seasons greetings in our souls!
Fred: Yummy Fruity Pebbles in our Bowls!
*BAM!!!* Uh Oh, here comes you know who!
Santa(busting in): Yabba Dabba Fruity-licious too!
Barney: HoHoHo I'm HuHuHungry!
(incredulous) SANTA??? MY PEBBLES!!!
Fred(furious): YOUR PEBBLES!?
Santa: Tis the Season to be sharing Fred!
Fred (heart softenning): Happy Holidays Pal!
Barney (touched): Awwww. Fred!

It's really quite brilliant. Think about how dense that commercial is with plot and intrigue. In thirty seconds they establish that it's Christmas, Fred is leaving cereal for Santa and Barney intends to steal the cereal by disguising himself as Santa but is foiled when Santa ends up showing up before him. Santa however, warms Fred's heart and instead of the commercial ending as it usually does (with Fred chasing Barney like an impotent jerk), Fred decides to share his cereal and we all learn a little something about generosity and the Christmas spirit.

There are a few things that I used to take for granted back in the day. 1) Cereal apparently is a very valuable commodity. To this day commercials about cereal always depict some character desperately trying to STEAL cereal. STEAL!!! That cocky jerk, Sugar Bear, who apparently isn't above time travelling to ancient China" to steal cereal from an old woman. That stupid Trix rabbit. The ironically named Lucky, who apparently makes the cereal only to have it stolen by punk kids and then be denied eating it. Lucky Charms commercials are particularly disturbing. Lucky's entire existence revolves around keeping his eyes and ears sharp because there's always a group of kids malevolently plotting to steal his cereal.

Kids: "Lucky will never suspect what we're going to do next! Steal his cereal! So I say we go out there, and f**k him up!!"
Other Kid: "I can't wait! It has extra dye and sugar!" (Then the children dash off, wringing their hands in anticipation of screwing Lucky over again).
Lucky: "Hahah, stupid kids... I heard your plan... and as they say; fore-warned is fore-armed."

Next thing you know the kids bust in and gang bang him then steal his cereal.

Kids: "The price is wrong, b**ch! Thanks for the cereal ya green hat wearing pussy! We got yo' a$$, once again!"

I mean, they're such bullies. What ever hapenned to rooting for the underdog? You always know how it's going to end. Some characters, lousy children, the evil sugar bear, captain crunch end up getting the cereal. The less fortuante characters end up screwed. Worst case scenario, those with cereal exact a terrible vengeance on supposed cereal thieves asserting their exclusive right to the product.

Another thing that didn't strike me as odd at the time is that Barney would go through all of this trouble to steal cereal from Fred. I mean, Leprachauns and rabbits I can understand. But Barney? Some kind of post australopithican homonid stealing from his neighbour? Impersonating Santa Claus himself?

Which brings me to the last thing I took for granted. Santa Claus showing up is assumed in this commercial. No sooner does Fred put the cereal near the chimney than Santa is there ready to consume it. When I was young I probably didn't think to myself, "Wow... Santa? I don't believe this commercial has established to the viewer that Santa can exist in the Bedrock universe." I would just be satisfied. Yes, Santa aquiring cereal from Fred would be a most ironic foil to Barney's diabolical plan.

I miss being a kid. The 80's 90's were really my time. Everything seemed to be targetted to me. It was likeI was the center of the universe. And Christmas time is where it all came together. Every commercial was aimed to please me, delight and bewilder me. Now I think too much to enjoy Christmas the way I used to. Back in the day I would be anticipating Christmas by November. I would just let all the shameless advertising wash over me like nerve gas. Everyday was a joy up until December. Now I'm Scrooge-esque. I feel more of the stress of Christmas and the pressures of new years. It's already only a week away.

I suppose most Christmas movies would say I would get into the Christmas spirit if I did something nice for someone. Cereal commercials show us that at Christmas time, we forgive our enemies for committing unspeakable cereal theft and forego exacting a horrible vengeance upon them. We might even share our cereal with them. The crooked ass police from the Cookie Crisp Precinct did. So did Fred.

So from my blog to yours, I'd like to welcome you all to whatever cereal is in my house. I finished the Honey Nut Cheerios but there's other stuff with that Quaker Oats guy on the box. Brown Sugar and something... with fiber and extra goodness!

I'd like to see a commercial where the Quaker Oatmeal guy is running from children who are brandishing pitchforks and torches, the Quaker clutching in his hands a bowl of oatmeal. He falls off a cliff and gets beaten by the kids.

Kids: "Thanks for the cereal you Queero Quaker! That will teach you to mess with delinquent younglings."
Quaker(in a foppish british accent): "Oh, my head...." (Camera zooms out to reveal the quaker impaled on a large sharp rock. Younglings eat oatmeal.)

Blacks, whites, Cookie Crooks and even pasty punk Leprachauns. Happy Holidays.

The Ghetto-fication of MastaCSG

Gone are the days of living with parents when any money earned was pure liquid capital. Now that I live on my own, I have expenses. Food, rent and the like. And despite my best efforts. instincts kick in that were somewhat repressed in the past. The instinct to be cheap and save a dime wherever possible.

I try to suppress it, but sometimes it's just overwhelming. The other day, my supervisor got a calendar from the company that he orders chemical reagents from. He said, "If anyone needs a calendar, I got one from Bio Rad." Nice calendar. There was a picture of a parrot on the cover... for some reason. I tried not to look too excited. "Well," I said, "If you're not going to take it." In my mind I was thinking, "SICK!!! FREE CALENDAR!!! WAY TO BRING IN THE NEW MILLENIUM... EXCUSE ME... WILLENIUM!!!"

Today I felt like buying croissants but didn't want to go to the grocery store where I knew I could get 6 for 3$. Instead I stopped by a nearby bakery on the way home. With a big smile on my face I anticipated feasting on tasty croissants and asked, "How much for the Croissant?" She responded, "1 dollar." My face contorted in horror, "EACH???" mmm... Awkward! I kind of looked around the bakery embarassed trying to save face. I dont' know what I was trying to convey as I lingered in the bakery. I certainly wasn't considering paying a dollar for a croissant. But I didn't want to spin around and storm out the moment she announced the price of the croissant was a dollar. So I stood there, avoiding eye-contact for about 10 uncomfortable seconds and I finally left the bakery chagrinned.

I do however enjoy making the the people at Famous Players feel uncomfortable by complaining about the cost of popcorn. I bought the popcorn and then, knowing full well they charge 50 cents for "topping" I asked, "Could I please have topping with that?" Then I acted surpised when I saw 50 cents appear on the little cash register. "50 cents for topping?!?! Don't you find that atrocious?!"

The guy looked pretty uncomfortable. He just said, "I... I can't.."
Me: "I know... But it's pretty sickenning, dont' you think? 5 dollars for popcorn? Does this s**t make any sense to you??? DOES IT???" Then I went into my whole rant about how I had an entire box with 10 bags of popcorn at home for which I had paid only 5 dollars. He looked scared at this point. He filled a bag with popcorn and when he nervously placed it on the counter some of the kernels fell out. He looked at me and cringed slightly, then returned to the popcorn maker, emptied the bag and REFILLED IT!!! to make sure it was overflowing with pop-corn. Ah, the joys of being an angry black man.

"Do I get free refills for my drink?" I knew the answer was no. But I wanted him to tell me. And he did. I shook my head in dissaproval and walked away with my salty buttery snack. I think I made my point.

Probably the most ghetto aspect of my life at this point is my discman. Where most people are rocking mp3 players and ipods and the like, I'm still carrying around my reliable discman that plays mp3 files off of CDs, purchased from Droopy for 20$. But that's not the ghetto part. The ghetto part is that I dropped it on the ground a while ago and the mechanism that keeps it closed broke. The result of this is I have to keep it closed with a rubber band. Not ghetto enough? Well, a few weeks ago I lost the rubber band! The very next day after losing it, I was walking back home from harvey's with some lab cronies when I found several rubber bands of appropriate size on the sidewalk. Having no rubber bands at home, I promptly copped the derelict rubber bands, wrapped one around my maimed discman and put the rest in my pocket, just in case!

The ghetto instinct is a strange thing indeed. Sure it makes me a cheap bastard on most occasions. But I still spend copious amounts of money on food. I can't buy pizza without a side order of chicken wings. I NEVER buy a mcD's combo without a side order of chicken nuggets. I've gone to see Harry Potter twice once with popcorn and declicious blue Kool-aid (made from 100% pure blue. Blue Kool-aid has 70% blue proof.... and that's per volume!) For some reason I even decided that it was absolutely necessary for me to buy a brand spanking new copy of Moby Dick and an anthology of poems by Edgar Allan Poe. My finances are still in order... So is ghetto-fication necessary as a graduate student of modest assets, or is it just the result of knowing that my supply of money is no longer limitless? Or maybe it's just fun to be ghetto, and furrow my brow at cashiers and give them lectures about how expensive things are.

Or maybe I've always been cheap. Since the dawn of existence a typical trip to Harvey's will always evoke the following words of wisdom, "50 cents for cheese on my hamburger?! Let me tell you something ... I bought an entire package of cheese for about 2 dollars from IGA. What would you have me do? Walk around with slices in my pocket in case some knave like yourself tries to charge me 50 cents for a lesser product? I won't give you the satisfaction, cur!! No cheese for me!!! I'll have the plain hamburger with FREE pickles, tomatoes and onions please. What's that on the menu? Smiles are also free? Then hook me up with that too, BIATCH!" That's not being cheap, that's just being a smart consumer. And probably a bit of a jerk.

How to Detect Derelict Domestic Safety Detectors or the Exorcism of Masta's Crizzouse by Kenny Chu

A few weekends ago I had Alpha Posse over. We feasted on submarines while watching the hockey game. But one of us (at least one of us) wasn't enjoying himself. Kenny Chu, a member of the Alpha Posse Elite, had noticed a strange squeaking noise that would pipe every 10-17 seconds or so. I off-handedly told him that I didn't know what the noise was and that I had chosen to ignore it for the past few months. I speculated that it could be the plumbing in the building.

Kenny: It kind of sounds like a fire-detector that's low on batteries. Beeping so that you know it's time to change the batteries.
Me: I seem to remember something about a fire detector in this apartment... I don't think it's that. If I did find a smoke detector I'm sure I would have just removed the battery. So, nuts to you and your putative smoke detector!

And so the beeping/squeaking noise continued. And Kenny was getting rather agitated. His eyes would dart left, right up and down. His fingers clenching in and out. Nostrils flaring. He was going kind of nuts. Meanwhile everyone speculated on what the sound could be.

Rez: Maybe it's a mouse.
Vrej: Maybe it's the table.
Rez: Maybe it's the window.
Vrej: Maybe it's star wars.
Kenny: Maybe I'll KILL YOU ALL!!! RAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRR!!

At this point Kenny tore his shirt off and began rampaging through my apartment. He began smashing plates, throwing furntiure. He hurled Rezaul into a wall with a visceral snarl. "HOW CAN YOU LIVE WITH THAT NOISE?!?" he demanded, hoisting me up by the throat and shaking me.

It was a good question. Why is it that a noise that would drive most people insane, was something that I decided to just ignore? Instead of finding out what the problem is and fixing it, I just accepted it as part of my life. I can remember hearing it during the night, or while I was watching television. That tiny unpredictable peep... It was quite annoying. Loud enough to be noticed every time, but unpredictable, so it's always like a surprise when it happens. It really was quite intrusive. But I just accepted it. Maybe it had taken a toll on my sanity and I just never noticed.

Just as Kenny was about to snap my neck, his eyes moved toward a pile of books on the window cill. He moved the awkwardly placed books and lo and behold, underneath was the errant smoke detector. With a triumphant cry he removed the battery and in an instant, the beeping noise that had plagued my apartment for months was gone.

The funny thing is I had gotten used to it. Throughout the night my eyes would turn to the window cill and I barely noticed. "What are you looking at, Chris?" the guys would ask a few times. Was my subconcious craving the familiar sound of the beep? And what did all this say about my personality? Not only am I a slob for leaving a smoke detector under a pile of books, for months apparently but I"m also kind of deranged for living with that noise for so long. Is it laziness that prevented me from finding the smoke detector? I doubt my smoke detector detection abilities are any less than Kenny's. Why didn't I act to change this unnaceptable situation in my life?

Walking down the hall of the apartment building today I heard a sound that sounded very much like my old squeak. Having not heard it in a while, the experience was quite jarring. I almost felt dizzy for a second. What will be the consequences of my prolonged exposure to the beep? Will it trigger insanity whenever I hear it? Will I fall into a depression in its absence? Only time wil tell. Strange psychological experiment.

I should get funding to lock kenny up in a room and have him live with random beeping for a few months. Then release him into the world and produce the beeping noise when he's around a large croud of people. Will he go nuts and kill them all? Maybe Kenny will become the ultimate military weapon. I can see George Bush unleashing an entire legion of Berserker Kenny Chu Chu's onto unsuspecting nations with desirable national resources. And me having to live with the guilt of creating this heinous weapon, much like Einstein when his work lead to the invention of the atom bomb. Yes, I'm comparing myself to Einstein.

Why me? Because...

Some of you are probably familiar with the www.hi5.com network. It's basically a friends network. And you can browse your list of friends and see if they know people you know and then add them to your network. Anyway, it's really cheesy.

Now a while ago, this dude added me to his list. I knew him from school and I always found this guy a little effeminite. I guess the first clue was when I called him gay and he seemed genuinely upset. "Hey, nice shirt. What are you, GAY??? HAHAHAHAHA!! Woah... stop crying man... Stop crying!" Not exactly my proudest moment and eventually someone told me he is in fact gay. I didn't think he was gay cuz I remember he had asked a girl I know out on a date. Anyway, no hard feelings I guess cuz one day he added me to his network of friends. What's funny is if you look at his network of friends half of them are these muscly guys with no shirts. I guess that's what gay guys do... pose with no shirts.

Whatever... More recently, I noticed someone named Jean, trying to add me to their list. I did not know this Jean guy, but I noticed he was not wearing any shirt either. My spidey sense was tingling. Normally I would just add any person to my list without question. But something about this guy...

So I decided to look at his friends... Page after page of muscly guys with no shirts on... No wait... There was someone with long hair and a tube top... At first glance, yeah, I would even have to say she was a woman of some sort. At a closer glance I realized she was not a she at all. She was a he. And he was dressed as a woman. Maybe he was even a transvestite. And his gender was listed as male.

Well, that settled it. I rejected the friend request and cursed bitterly for fate to have dealt me such a hand. The men in his circle of friends were probably for the most part, if not entirely, homosexual males. And I know exactly the homo who was responsible for connecting me with this pack of gays! Sure enough, this jean guy is friends with the gay guy who added me to his list a while back.

Now I've been accused of being a homophobe, mostly by women. But you know what? It's easy for them to say! It's not their ass out there on the line! It's not a very comforting thought, many big gay men with my picture available on the internet to be uploaded to their spank bank?

I was not happy. You know why? Not because of the thought of an entire penetentiary worth of large gay men who were a mouseclick away from adding me to their "friend's list". Because I wonder why, WHY God couldn't make a hot girl come across my picture and add me as a "friend"? Is that so much to ask? For some hot stalker girl to come across my pic while she browses this inane network and say, "Hey, this guy isn't so bad. I'm going to just add him to my friend's list and proceed to court him." It would have made my night! It would have made my month! Maybe we would have gotten married in the mountains... And there would have been trumpets, and flowers and garlands of fresh herb... And we would dance from sunup until sundown. And our grandchildren would have heard the story of how I met their grandmother.

Me: "Before telepathic implants, there was this thing called the internet and your grandmother added me to her friendslist.."
Grandma Gregg: "OOoh, your grandfather was so cute... He had this picture with a little lampshade on his head..."
Me: "I remember a week after that fateful friendlist addition, when our limbs were intertwined in the various postures of the kamasutra..."
Grandkids: "GROSSS!!!"

But no!!!... No hot girl, no garlands of fresh herb. Just page after page of homos, Homos HOMOS!!! It was kind of a slap in the face. God seems to enjoy mocking me. "Heheh, I hate this motha f**ka MastaCSG. I will make many homosexuals aware of him." Am I really a bad guy? Did I do something bad in a past life? Is this a joke, does God sit up there on a cloud and high five all the angels, "HAHA!!! Did you see the look on his face when he saw like 20 pictures of gay men and transvestites???"

I suppose I was overly upset by the incident. Then it occured to me why... I AM A BAD GUY!!! This was all payback because I was mean to the original gay guy back in the day. Karma if you will. I was really mean to him. I should learn my lesson. Words can hurt. Probably not as much as getting rough man love from large homosexuals... but it's a different pain I guess. I used to think I was just unlucky and God enjoyed torturing me, but that simply isn't the case. Often times, I'm a heel. And I enjoy being a heel! If there is a God, he would probably have to punish me because I do and say things that hurt other people. So God, if you're among the many Gregg Factor-philes around the world and you're reading this post, I'm sorry. And gay guy... I'm sorry to you also. I'd apologize in person, but I fear you and your circle of "friends". In the future I will be more careful of what I say to others.

Lab tales part 4- Blackness confirmed

There are certain topics of conversation that reoccur frequently at work. The most disturbing is the Yaoi talk. For those of you who don't know what it is, its basically a japanese word for hardcore gay anime porn. Yeesh... An idea whose time is long overdue! I remember what my life was before knowing that. Unfortunately those are times I will never live again without the help of a Men in Black-esque neuralizer. I've seen things...

There's also the epic foosball debate. Is foosball a sport? I say no, others say yes, arguments ensue. These topics come up again and again week after week and almost always proceed in the same manner.

Guy: "Of course foosball is a sport! I bet if I took steroids, I would become an amazing foos player. Therefore it's a sport."
Me: "If foosball is a sport so is hopscotch! Slag off!"

or

Girl: "Yaoi is an entertaining diversion! I'm normal for indulging in illustrated sodomy!"
Me (mouth agape in horrified incredulity): "No...no..."

I suppose one could argue that my topic of choice is Star Wars or Star Trek and talks about these subjects usually animate themselves as me going into long winded recounts of my favourite scenes complete with character impersonations and critiques of plots.

But one topic that comes up from time to time and breaks the monotony, is when my supervisor shows off his street creed. I was reading an article about the proliferation of peroxisomes in mice when my supervisor asks if I saw the Vibe awards. As is often the case, I didn't quite register the question the first time. When I realized he was talking about the Hip Hop RnB awards they have every year I was of course elated and listenned in rapt wonder as I was told about things that are apparently part of my culture. Despite being a middle aged Russian scientist, my supervisor is always a reliable source for all things black. Whether it's basketball or 50 cent, he always seems to have the latest scoop.

He described to me how last year someone slapped Dr. Dre in the face. He also gave me a list of the rappers who were a no show this year. He even went as far as to speculate another rivalry might be brewing between G-Unit's the Game and 50 cent, who was absent.

My Supervisor: "Hey, Chris, there's a rock n' roll hall of fame, is there something similar for rap?"
Me: "Yeah, it's called jail! HAHAHAHA!!.... sigh.... "
My Supervisor: "Of course, Kanye West would be the exception."

Here's where I got my Kanye West biography. Apparently Kanye West has excellent diction and most of his Ebonics is just put on when he's talking to other rappers. According to my supervisor, Kanye's father is a lawyer and his mother is an English Teacher at a university.

I think the lesson here is, it's always nice to know something about things. Where as most of the students in the lab have become 1 dimensional, the Yaoi girl, the foosball guy and me responding with grim apathy, my supervisor makes the effort to know a great deal about everything. He can talk about any kind of music, any kind of movie, any sport and still be a kick-ass scientist. The dynamic between the four of us is comparable to the characters on Spongebob Squarepants. I can't help but think of my supervisor as Mr Krab the other two as Patrick and Spongebob (interchangeable) and me as the long suffering Squidward. Mr. Krab is always trying to find out what the young kids are up to these days and is dissapointed when he finds out, Spongebob and Patrick are geeks, and Squidward is dull.



Ummm... I don't know if that relates to the rest of the post... Whatever. I reiterate, knowing stuff is good!

PhD in EVIL!!!

It's a very strange time in my life. For quite a few months I've been faced with the decision of finishing a master's degree, or fastracking and doing a Phd, which would take me another two years.

I already have the approval of my committee members to go ahead and do the Phd and very enthusiastic encouragment from my supervisor. It all seemed a little too easy. Am I really ready to do a phd? I'm not even sure which letters I'm supposed to capitalize when I write PhD. The funny thing is I still haven't officially transferred to the fastrack program. It's been months and months now and I haven't made a final decision. And that indecision has spread to the rest of my life. Sometimes I can go to McD's and it feels like my head is about to explode as I try to decide what combo to get. And the worst part is, after toiling over that mundane decision for what seems like an eternity, I eventually get the same thing I always get. A Royale with cheese and some chicken nuggets.

But I digress. The problem is this Phd thing. If I could just make up my mind about that, ordering junk food would become much easier so I figure this is something I should really work out. Ever since I was young I wanted to be a "mad" scientist. My parents bought me a chemistry set when I was young. Strangely enough, I don't think I was turned onto science by actual scientists but rather the fictional ones. Particularly the villains like Dr. Octopus, Dr. Bad Vibes, Dr. Mindbender and Dr. Doom. I have a Doc Ock "posable sculpture" in my office which students find rather amusing. It's kind of an irony of today's world that the archetypal villain is so well educated and powerful and the heroes are usually happy go lucky jocks. It's almost like popular fiction is demonizing the value of being educated.







Prof X (what's he a professor of exactly?) Doc Brown from Back to the Future, the Ghostbusters, Spock. All were very inspirational to me. These are the scientists who stick with me. On many occasions I have used X-men and Star Trek as educational tools to explain genetics to the students.

Me: "Actually, the mutants in X-men all have the same mutation. It's in the X-Factor gene."
Student: "So how does that result in so many different mutant powers?"
Me: "First of all, it's politically incorrect to call them mutant powers. We call them gifts. Second of all, it seems likely that this one mutation causes hypermutation in other regions of their genome and..."
Student: "Will this be on the test?"
Me: "If I have any say in the matter...yes. My dream is that one day X-men lore will be a part of the curriculum."

So I wonder to myself, is it a problem that fake science is far more interesting to me than real science? Do I like science or just cheesenormous cartoons? I think it's very obvious that what I really want to be is a cartoon super villain.

And there are certain things that villainous scientists need to be succesful. Namely a cool villain name. Most of the profs at Concordia have cool names. Dr. Storms, Dr. Dragan.... Dr. Malevolent... I might have made that last one up, but you get the point. My name is hardly threatenning. Dr. Gregg? Meh.... If my last name was Sinister I wouldn't think twice about getting a doctorate.

I would also need a good plan for taking over the world. Generally speaking, this involves some super weapon that is a great threat to the general population. Now my research does involve lifespan... Maybe I could find some way to make myself immortal while shortenning the lifespan of everyone else in the world. A good plan... But it sounds like so much work... Maybe I'm too lazy to be a villain.

Finally I guess I would need some kind of nemesis. Like James Bond. But I don't know anyone as cool as Bond who could step up to the challenge of being my nemesis. Who will foil me when my plan gets out of control? The ultimate irony of the villain is that, he has to be foiled. If all his plans are realized, then he'll have nothing else to aspire to.

Then I'll have to buy strange wardrobe, a monacle, probably a cape of some sort. I dont' think I could pull off a cape. What a sad villain I would make, in sneakers and a jogging suit. The biggest threat to free world, the slovenly Dr. Gregg. His nemesis, Droopy Mcc, who beat him at Risk recently. And here he comes in a T-shirt and jeans... Booo...



Of course there are other considerations that cross my mind when I consider doing the Phd. Like will the degree over-qualify me for most jobs? Do I really want to devote my entire life to resarch? I love research, I'd love to make some big discovery... But... Then I'd have to... study more... Pipette solutions more... Stare through a microscope for hours a day. The cartoons I used to watch never showed that aspect of science. It was all just megalomania and ghostbusting. Is it my fault I was misled during most of my childhood? I mean, check out these so called, "real scientists" Watson and Crick. Cool names yes, they even have some villain creed as some people (mostly feminists) accuse them of having stolen the most important data for their discovery. But they've hardly taken over the world. I dont' think they've even tried. And where are their capes?



My supervisor says Crick fell asleep during a talk he was giving. And look at them! I would fall asleep too! Existing in black and white the way they do. BORING!!!

Alpha Posse

This weekend to celebrate Droopy's (belated) birthday and brand spanking new job, we had a good old-fashion Alpha Posse get together. It started off with a feast at Hot and Spicy, complete with all the fixins and a mandatory, heated debate about the failures of Star Wars episode III. Then it was back to Masta's Crizzouse for cheesenormous gaming and consumption of junk food.

There was something very, very interesting about the evening that I hadn't realized until today. When you have people over, you usually expect that there will be some kind of mess to clean up. Funny thing about my friends, is there is, aside from a dirty bowl and some cups, there is no mess whatsoever in my apartment. It's kind of mind boggling actually. I guess I was a little out of it.... perhaps a bit of a bad host even... I was playing video games, with Kenny, Ba$$ and Marie-Eve (Xmen legends 2 ... Featuring Kenny as Cyclops, Bassem as JUGGERNAUT, Marie-Eve as Scarlett Witch and Magneto as me). It was fun fighting the evil forces of Apocalypse. Somehow I thought the characters we chose suited us perfectly. Especially Bassem as Juggernaut. Very appropriate. Following that I schooled Vrej at Battlemasters. Argued with Rez AGAIN about why Empire Strikes Back is better than Revenge of the Sith. I hope to get Jbo's Doom-esque video of the evening. It was all good.

Anyway, the point is, during this video game induced haze, I remember drinking stuff, eating cake and chips... But aside from the memories, the most obvious sign that I had people over last night, is that there is MORE stuff in my apartment. There's MORE food in the fridge, including a cake. There's a huge box of plastic knives and forks, drinks and even matches. I even got several DVD's and video games!!! At least they found the chips I had bought. But there's still two huge bottles of soda and popcorn galore to be eaten. You guys have to come back soon and polish it off.

What kind of friends actually leave a place in a better state than it was then when they actually arrived? Alpha Posse, that's who!

Glossary

Droopy: Alias of Vrej Hezaran, named after an obscure character from the Star Wars Movies
Alpha Posse: Term used to refer to my old high school cronies
Crizzouse: MastaCSG's apartment, term coined by J-9 in 2005. See also, Masta's Swinging Shagadellic Sanctuary and Shag Sanc.
cheesenormous: refers to entertainment of dubious quality, also anything that is cheesy

An Intraperoxisomal Signalling Cascade Initiates Peroxisome Division by Triggering the Stepwise Remodeling of Lipids and Proteins

The above is a condensed version of the title of the presentation I had to give in Bufallo this weekend. You can imagine my shock when I was told I would be giving a talk on that topic within ten days. I wasn't quite sure what it meant but I quickly brought myself up to speed and so was ready to take off to Bufallo New York to present my research to other students and professors.

On this trip would be two colleagues from the lab as well as my supervisor. The 7 hour drive was lots of fun. The professor is always full of stories and jokes. He keeps a pretty open mind about different kinds of music, from one of my colleague's strange mixture of Japanese Rock to my raw gangsta rap complete with racial slurs. One of the songs became something of a running gag as the Prof tried immitating the Jamaican-esque growling noise that came after the words, "Bumbaclot! Dance Right!!!"

The border guard was obvioulsy perplexed when he saw the four of us in the car. "A black man... 2 Russians... and a jew?" Sounds like the beginning to some uber racist joke.

Border guard: "Where you folks headin'?"
Driver: "We're going to bufallo... For a conference.."
Border guard: "What kind of conference?"
Driver: "It's the Northeastern Meeting for Yeast scientists."
Border guard: "...."
Professor: "A conference for biological science."
Border guard: "BIOLOGICAL SCIENCE??????"

His incredulous howl was a mixture of confusion and terror. But alas, he called over another guy in uniform, they looked over the passports and decided everything was in order.

The hotel was really nice and the Prof treated us all to a really nice supper. The next day was talks from 9am to 6pm. I nodded off for many of them, though they were for the most part pretty interesting. All the talks from me and the students from our lab went pretty well. One thing I did notice is where most people end the talk by thanking there supervisors, in our lab we thank, "Our professor." LIke he's more than just our supervisor. Anyway it sounded different. Less formal, more personal. Like when Samwise Gamgee says, "My old gaffer!" Regardless, we got props from the other scientists for our kick ass research! I'd say we even had some Biology groupies. One hot girl scientist said,"Hey Chris... Nice talk... Why don't you talk to me? IN BED!!!"

The last part probably didn't happen, but we were congratulated and met some interesting people at the Conference dinner. Among them were Dr. Bob, a rasta Biologist from Bufallo, and another guy from his lab, Sanjay. We went with them to watch the Doom movie, this being somewhat terrible and not worth watching. The movie can basically be summed up in four words, "24th chromosome... Ganglion... killer monsters..." In fact that was a line from the movie, basically explaining that people were turning into monsters because they were getting injected with a 24th chromosome. Ridiculous! Especially to biologists coming from a talk about genetics ands tuff.

Bufallo itself is a dead city, as I'm told most American cities are. Saturday night and Sunday morning the streets were barren as Angela Landsbury's womb. I must have counted 10 people walking the streets total. There were no billboards, no adds.. nothing... It was a ghost town. Anyway, on the way home we had what I like to call a CHAMPION breakfast, complete with pancakes, sausage, eggs etc...

Then the 7 hour ride back. We stopped at Fat Nancy's Tackle shop, just for a laugh. Fat Nancy happens to be a very large fish. And they sell al kinds of bait and odd t-shirts. Getting a little hungry I wandered to the back to see if they sold snacks. I found a fridge with a sign on it that said, "Nightcrawlers and Earthworms." Oh well, pancakes and such would have to hold me until my triumphant return to montreal.

Prof: "What's that you're eating Chris?"
Me: "Night..... Ummm... nothing..."

Then we stopped at the border. We all got alcohol. I picked up a bottle of Rum for my cousin Chad (I wonder if that was a good idea)

And we went on our merry way. YAY! It was a nice weekend.

The anthropology of my room

I don't know if you've ever been in a situation where you were looking for something, that you don't necessarily need, but you become so obsessed with finding it that you'll nearly turn everything in your path upside down, just to figure out how you could be so stupid to lose it. Just to figure out what the last thing on your mind was when you had the item in question.

This time it was my passport. I'm going to give a talk in Buffalo and figure it would be a nice way to cross the border in style. The rub is, I've just moved (3 months is just), and some stuff hasn't been upacked yet and probably never will be. Especially small, passport sized garbage that should have probably been thrown away long ago.

There's nothing like random crap to send you on a trip down memory lane. Among the things I found

-3-D glasses
-A plastic wad of cash, probably belonging to an action figure
-A Darth Vader figure
-My Medical Record (apparently I'm blood type A positive. I never knew that.)
-a remote control for an old television
-batteries
-a wooden turtle -strange cables?
-A steel drum
-a teddy bear
-acorns
-a plush monkey
-an afro comb

AND MUCH MORE!!! (The wooden turtle is a particularly interesting artifact, having been taped shut after moving. Removing the tape and openning up the shell I discover, the wooden turtle contains about 5 dollars in change, some of this is american money! Arcade tokens from the paramount! And look there's a brown button for pants in a tiny square inch bag!Sick!)

At this point I'm pleased to have lead such a quirky and charmed life. I'm such a character. But about an hour later the entire process becomes less amusing. I start going into boxes that cannot be disturbed without making a rather large mess. Finding old drawings I made, outlines for stories. Even more strange, I'm finding stuff that I got during my trip from China including a moist toilet from the plane from japan. You would think the passport would be adjacent to this kind of stuff. I also found a Christmas card I got from a friend in Korea. As is often the case, I got distracted and decided to see if this person was online. Then proceeded to chat with them, "Hey! I found the card you sent me! Nice!"

After this I'm just upset. Finding old instruction manual's to video games I've thrown in the garbage long ago. The 7th Guest? Looking through old comics. Actually I knew the passport couldn't be there, I just wanted to read the issue where Spider-man teams up with arch rival Venom to battle his even more arch rival Carnage.

Bender action figure from Futurama... Mmm.. that's who the plastic wad of cash belonged to. I put that on my computer desk. At this point my room is a complete disaster... Moreso than usual. I start hating myself for being so disorganized. Why don't I just clean up?!? Then I notice an innocent looking bag hanging from my cupboard door. This contains, my name written in Chinese on rice paper, a razor?, a bus schedule, pens, an old birthday card, pencils a schedule to jazz fest and of course my passport.

What in Gods name was it doing in that bag? What was I on??? I keep most of my important documents on the floor, not in a bag! 2 hours well wasted. I really have to tidy up someday.

Gregg Factor... changing the world... 1 geek at a time!!

Thanks to Bremner stud, a while back I got a site meter for my blog. It's really fun stuff. It not only counts who visits your blog but also tells you where they visit from and what searches they performed to get to your blog. For example, someone came across my site when doing a search containing the words, "How Much my Gun Worth!" They were of course, from the US.

The site meter is also fun because it will give you certain facts about the country.

For example, Latvia has several national holidays, these often celebrations of their independance or renewal of their independance from Russia or the Soviet Union. I found it ironic that I got a visitor from Latvia, because for you Gregg Factor-philes who have been paying attention, my profile clearly states that I am located in Estonia, just north of Latvia. I wonder if I"m big in Latvia? I have some kind of cult following? At this point I am convinced that there's a group of Latvian women with posters of me on their wall...

Regardless, with visitors from all over the world, I don't think I'd be overstepping my bounds by saying, Gregg Factor has indeed changed the world. As such I'd like to further indulge my waxing ego by starting the Gregg Factor sweepstakes... or something. Soon I will have reached 1000 visits, since last month when I got this site meter. And I guess... I'll write something about the 1000th visitor? Maybe an amusing annecdote about the person in question. Or a mocumentary about the history of their country. I don't know... I should do something right? Good luck to you all!

Ignorance is bliss

So I'm here sitting in the lab. A jerk colleague of mine just told me he got herpes from my mom. As a joke of course. It was a "mama diss". Remember the days when those used to be popular? And the funny thing, no one takes offense to it.

In fact most people don't seem to take offense to anything anymore. Being rude and offensive has become an art. I can make the most ignorant comments to my fellow lab minion Jon and he'll almost thank me for it.

Me: "Hey, slapnuts! You're stupid and ugly, and you smell like a fart, and your mom's a whore and...."
Jon: "Thank you Chris! Could I have another?"

You can insult people's families, race, religion... almost anything. But you must never insult the music they like. I can remember being called ignorant twice in my life and both times was because I had made a remark about some musician. Even jon, the most laid back dude around went apes**t after an offhanded remark about Paul McArtney.

Me: "Paul McArtney is gay!"
Jon: "THAT'S JUST IGNORANT! PAUL MCARTNEY IS THE MOST INFLUENTIAL MUSICIAN OF OUR TIME BLABLABLA HE CAN PLAY SO MANY INSTRUMENTS ALL THE MUSIC WE LISTEN TO IS ...."

He was rather irate. I really don't have anything specific against Paul McArtney's music. I was mostly trying to provoke him. I just didn't think he would lose it on me like that. He was ready to take on everyone in the lab who agreed that Paul McArtney was more suitable for older audiences.

I guess the same thing applies to movies. I've had dozens of arguments with Rez and Droopy about Star Wars Episode 3. And it always proceeds in the same way.

Me: "Episode 3 is gay! The acting is terrible and the story makes no sense!"
Vrej: "I heart that movie with all my heart! I love lightsaber fights and surfing on lava and Obi Wan."
Rezaul: "Chris, you're the only guy I know who doesn't get it! You're a Republican!"

At least twice that Republican comment came up after a Star Wars Convo. I can't remember why though. But he's quite consistent with it.

The point is, at some point in our lives people began to identify more with crappy stories and mediocre music than things like religion and family. It makes some people feel like they belong. I can remember the first instance of this when I entered high school. All of a sudden, all the people I knew who used to like hip hop and rnb decided it was no longer "cool" to like hip hop. It was cooler to like Pearl Jam and I don't know... Axel Rose.

Then as people age, the need to belong is replaced by a need to feel intelligemt. "I'm a fan of alternative, or punk, or ska! That makes me special. AND INTELLIGENT!!!" And you can probably see this irritating quality in many of your friends up until this day. When people defend music by throwing out random facts about the history of some band. They piece together bits of history and dropping names as if they're all pieces of some grand puzzle. They try to find some pattern in a mess that is an artist's work, something created while the artist was probably high on drugs or depressed or confused about something. Jbo was notorious for this.

Me: "White music is gay!"
Jbo: "Chris you're so ignorant! The White Stripes(or the vines) is like a whole new genre of music... It all started in 1989 when Red Hot Chilli Peppers blablablabla..."

Wow...so much history... almost 2 decades!

Me: "Non-violent movies are gay!"
Some jerk: "You just don't know good movies! American Beauty is the bees knees and all other sappy crap that gets nominated for oscars. I'm intelligent for liking certain movies."

And soentertainment is no longer something subjective but some matter of moral contention. A group of people will bully you into liking something that they have decided is universally good. I personally think it's all a matter of like and dislike. Sure there are good movies and bad movies, but in the long run some things speak to you and others don't, whether they've been poorly executed (from an artistic point of view) becomes almost irrelevant. It's called having an opinion, and in my opinion, people who take anything in the entertainment industry that's been produced in the last twenty years serioulsy, are all gay!

I think we're all letting ourselves be fooled. We go out there and shell out our dollars and our time to people who are providing us with a product that is simply of their own individual imagination (or a bastardization of someone elses idea). Then, we go out into the world and sequester ourselves into little groups that dress and talk a certain way, and as Rez once put it brilliantly, claim these things are an expression of our individuality. It's just a movie, written to get your money. It's just a song written by some stoned and tortured simpleton. Don't identify too strongly with it.

New Hood, New Rules

As you mostly know I moved into my own place in Cote St Luc. It's interesting being in a new "hood". I've lived in Brossard almost all my life. Sometimes I guess I took it for granted that other places might be different.

For starters there are many, many old people here. And they look old. Not just like, 60 or 70. These people must be a few hundred years old. And perhaps a little big out of it. I saw one old lady on the bus. She looked like granny from those Sylvester and Tweety cartoons and had such a placid smile on her face. She was wearing a scarf around her head as sweet old ladies usually do. But when I looked closely I saw there were bright green marijuana leaves all over it. I'm pretty sure she didn't know. Should I have told her? Or maybe she just loves reefer!

The crossing guard on the corner of Guelph and Westminster is simultaneously the most sinister and the most useless person on the face of the earth. He wears badass shades and of course he smokes on the job. I've rarely seen him help a child cross the road, though if he's not busy talking to adults on their way to work, he'll lift his stop sign in a lackadaisical fashion. One time he did make an effort. He was tying his shoe and saw little girl about to cross. He finished lacing up but the girl, resilient thing that she was, found her way to the other side of the street on her own. He shrugged and proceeded to "holla" at a woman on her way to work. Better luck next time evil crossing guard, dude! A while ago he did something I will never forget. There were two kids at the stop light, waiting patiently for him to come to their rescue. The crossing guard yells, "Just cross!! You're already late!" I was pretty horrified.

Another strange thing I see around here. Cops on bicycles. What exactly is a cop on a bicycle supposed to do? I usually see them early in the morning and one of them usually looks pretty bitter. There's a brown guy who often has a clueless smile on his face and a white guy who generally looks angry. I can imagine their story. They were probably demoted for unnecessary brutality and now have to ride the beat on bicycles. I saw one of the guys bothering some woman. I don't know if he was giving her a ticket for jaywalking or something but the look on her face clearly said, "I can't believe I got busted by the bicycle cop!"

I'd like to see a m0vie about these guys where all the elements of Cote St. Luc come together. I'd call it SWATAB (Special Weapons And Tactics... And Bicycles...)

Neil: "Oh, what a beautiful day to be riding our bicycles."
Phil: "F**k that! I say today we take it up a notch. I got some illegal weapons off of the crossing guard down the street. Armour piercing, nuclear s**t... SICK GUY! We're bound to get a promotion if we pop a few of these into some jaywalkers."
Neil: "Phil, this is why we got demoted in the first place! You can't just go around harassing innocent people with illegal weapons and expect to get away with this!"
Phil: "That's just my style of law enforcement, baby!"
Neil: "I understand that... But you should realize in some circumstances a little tact and finesse is called for, not armour piercing bullets. Sometimes less is more.
Phil: "Less is more? That talk is for ballerina's and sunday school teachers... When you're a bicycle cop on the beat, MORE IS MORE MOTHA F**KA!!!" *hoists a large assault rifle with a scope onto his shoulder*
Neil: "I'm getting too old for this s**t!"
Phil: "There's an old lady over there with marijuana leaves on her bandanna. I'm taking her down! Cover my ass!!!" *rides off on his bike. Neil pulls out a shotgun*

Don't look at me... I'm hideous!!!

Another lazy night... I should have been doing homework but the couch was really, really comfortable. I sometimes wonder how I look sitting there alone on the couch at night. When I was living with mom and my sis I suppose I made an effort not to look completely gross. I'd at least be dressed. But I imagine I'm not a very sexy sight when I'm alone wearing a house coat with a half eaten bag of popcorn on the floor, me sprawled out on the couch with a 5 O'clock shadow, scratching myself with one hand and holding the remote with the other.

There was of course, nothing on TV. Or was there???

I flicked through the channels and stopped on Sabrina the Teenage Witch. I'd never watched that before. Even when I was living at home with mom and sisters.

Sabrina and her two aunts were doing yoga. That was mildly fascinating. Sabrina's kind of cute. But I couldn't watch Sabrina the Teenage Witch. Could I? I'm a grown ass man!!! My first thought was to put in a DVD... Most likely Star Trek (Please note at this point studying doesn't even enter my thought process). The storyline had already established itself quickly and I was ensnared. Sabrina was in a bad mood because she had a big zit and a project due at school. She then cast magical spells that resulted in much hi-jinx around the school.

Wow...She's just like real girls except she has witch powers!!! I really relate. I suppose that's the irony of the show.

Anyway, she's in a really crappy mood and decides to escape the world by crawling into her mirror. But then, in the mirror universe everyone else is in a bad mood. Her cat said something really funny (the cat in this show talks). He was reading the paper and said, "My stocks are plummeting! If my stocks drop, I go back to eating dry food!" Something like that... I laughed.

Anyway, eventually this baseball player, Brady Anderson, helps her out of the mirror universe. And they eat flaun. I don't know how to spell flaun but I'm sure Droopy will help me out in the message board. And so it was done. I watched the whole episode. A 24 year old black man, living at home alone watched Sabrina the Teenage Witch. And enjoyed it! And as is always the case, the most embarassing part isn't just the deed itself, it's me rushing to the computer to blog about it... Like I'm proud of it or something! "Hey everyone look at me! I suck!!!"

Oh well, time to get to work....

Just kidding. I will continue putzing around on the internet.

Big Ups to the Comp Sci Crew

Last week I went out with some old friends. It was one of those deals where we got back together and it was as if we were never apart. Mad jokes all around. We laughed so loud I think we rocked the foundation of poor Mr. Haque's restaurant. And it was good. (Concerning Indian Food: I heart Indian Food. in so many ways... The sites, the sounds, the smells.... And I find, for some reason, even after eating a whole lot of Indian food, I don't feel like all I want to do is sleep afterward. I feel charged! I heart Shapla!)



So the meal began with many, many toasts. There was lots to celebrate. Lots of success on the job, an engagement, contracts with big companies and other aspects of life and we were all really happy to see each other. So many memories. I know most of these people from my Computer Science days. Believe it or not, yours truly was the slacker in the group. Yes, Christopher Gregg, your hero, your wiseman, was not always the responsible, respectable biology student you know today. Computer Hardware class with Chantell and Kerby often resulted in me falling into a deep, deep sleep. Then usually Chantell waking me up. During my few moments of wakefullness I would distract Chantell with some inane comments about a cartoon we both liked and then fall back to sleep.

I remember one time, we were all getting together to study for an upcoming exam. So we met up one evening and Kerby and Chantell got right to work. Kerb seemed to have most of the material down already. Chantell was ready to learn. I however regarded the material with an unusual amount of apathy and even contempt. Now I don't know how it started, but I remember I suddently began rapping (De La Soul and Redman-Oooh!). And I remember eventually Kerby started bobbing his head and throwing his arms in the air and eventually Chantell was doing the Ooh's. Anyway, after the brief rap session, I simply left! "But Chris we have barely started studying!!!" Anyway, low marks and frustration eventually forced me to drop out of Comp Sci. I think it was good for everyone involved. I got into a field I enjoy more, and they got to finish their studies without me as a distraction.

But, I never regretted spending that semester or two in computer science simply because of the people I met, and these guys were among them. A little word about this particular group of friends. They're really smart, really beautiful, all around amazing people. It's impossible not to like each one of them IMMEDIATELY. To give an example... Anyone who used to go to the Curry House (remember the march?) back in the day, will remember the absolutely evil woman who used to work there. Rude, never cracked a smile... God only knows what she used to do to our food. If eve you mention the crabby woman at the curry house, everyone would know exactly who you're talking about. But I'll never forget, the time I went their with Kerby and Tatianna. We enjoyed the food, and as we left, Kerby said, "Bye God bless you!" And the woman smiled brightly and said, "Take care, same to you!"

I was totally shocked. I think I'd always been really polite with her in the past, she used to treat me with nothing but raw hatred. I remember another trip to the Curry House, I tried to pull a Kerby with far less succesful results, "Bye, God... Bless???" I said without too much certainty The response was closer to, "F**k you, mothat f**ka!!!" than the warm wishes Kerby got.

And all of them are pretty much the same. Really warm nice people. That night also marked one of the first times in a while (for me at least) that someone said grace before the meal. And what a grace it was. Kerby asked God to bless, everything. The restaurant, the owner even our stomachs, that we could digest the food properly. I mean really... OUR STOMACHS!!

Another thing that came rushing back to me, was the pure greed of Chantell and I. We used to have General Tao on a weekly basis. What brought it back to me was that after the restaurant, when we were all admitedly full and satisfied, we still ended up talking about food. You know the long walk back from any restaurant on Prince Arthur to Sherbrooke metro station? I've made it several times and there's usually time for several different topics of conversation. On this particular occasion, Sean and Chantell simply discussed a particular chinese restaurant they went to for the entire walk. The conversation went something like.

Sean: You know the place right?
Me: Yeah, Yeah, the place near concordia... Noodles express.
Sean (stopping in his tracks): NONONO!!!
Me: No, what place then? Soup and Noodles? U&Me? Hot and Spicy??
Chantell: No, it was called Just Noodles!

I had noticed they were both very passionate about it. And actually stopped walking to describe the food. They both described it in meticulous detail and were in perfect sync with each other, as if they were sharing a mind.

Sean: They put the food on a big lettuce leaf...
Chantell: NO!! Not the general tao...
Sean: You're right, sorry, sorry... But the garnish... peppers all surrounding perfectly round balls...
Chantell: With just the right amount of crispy batter... Not too much, just enough to get the taste and the texture. And when you bite into it, you know what you find???
Both of them: REAL CHICKEN!!!
Sean: None of that batter or gross chicken parts you find at the other places.
Chantell: It was the best general Tao Chicken ever... And t he portions.
Sean (jumping up and down on the spot to emphasize each word): HUGE ASS PORTIONS GUY!!!"
Chantell: Well, not huge ass... but very good portions... You were full afterward.
Sean: Yeah... I guess they weren't "huge ass".

Yes! The greed lives on. After a full meal to reminisce about old restaurants with such passion... I was impressed. We must do it again soon in the nearer future. We laughed and joked around so much I my voice was cracking the next day. It was a happy night.

PhD in Blogology

So I got home early today and in my lethargy, watched some Dr. Phil. You know, one of those times where the option is to do something productive, reach out and grab the remote or just play with the cards your dealt? I know K-man will be upset when he reads this but I enjoy Dr. Phil from time to time. It's entertaining.

The episode I caught was some psycho woman who was verbally abusing and terrifying her kids. It turns out she goes out in public and physically assaults people. They told a story about how some woman cut her off in traffic and flipped her the bird, so she followed the woman home and beat her up in front of her daughters. They also say that before getting married there was a restraining order between her and her husband. Anyway, needless to say, very crazy.

But what never fails to amaze, is the fact that people will go on national television and publicly humiliate themselves. There she is, as psycho as she is, with millions of equally psycho people judging her from the audience and the comfort of their own living room. I can just see cousin Merl sitting at home, scratching his head with a machetee,"That stupid bitch shouldn't have kids." meanwhile his 2 year old daughter is playing with the power saw.

And most amazing, is that presiding over the entire thing is The Doctor Phil. With the authority to say whatever he pleases apparently. All the power of Oprah, with none of the humility. I wonder what that feels like? I mean, Dr. Phil can't be perfect right? He must have lots of flaws like everyone else. I'm sure his kids come home and catch him doing something uncouth, "Daddy! What are you doing to that sheep???"



Dr. Phil is just smart enough not to go on a show and advertise his vices. Quite the contrary. He actually is brilliant enough to sell other peoples problems as entertainment. He uses other peoples problems to amuse us, thrill us and make us feel better about our own lives, as mediocre as they may be. What is he a Dr. of anyway? Rantology? Does he have a phd in mouthing off, like Tom Cruise?

Though I must admit I like seeing people getting told off. And much of what he says I agree with. But I think the real issue is, that everyone has flaws and everyone is blind to their own flaws.

Well, you at least. I'm perfect. I know I'm perfect because I have healthy outlets for my rage. For example, I go to work with a gun and brandish it threateningly when I get into a disagreement, much like R.Kelly. Or I bring plastic explosives to Dave's house and keep my finger on the trigger while we play cards. If I don't like a movie I rented I kidnap the guy from Blockbusters, drug him and tie him to a bungee cord. Then I repeatedly drop him off the side of the building like Batman until he agrees that Basic was the most terrible movie ever made. The moral of the story is, we all have issues, it's how we deal with them, that makes us Doctors.

Yeah, I should have a show... The Dr. Thrill show.

The road goes ever on....

Today I sat in the microscopy room, as miserable as ever, taking shots of yeast cells stained with fluorescent dye (see lab tales part 3). The rest of my world consisted of four dark walls a microscope and a computer. I sit there all day wallowing around in my own filth praying to God for a meteor to crash down on me and bring sweet relief. Now I know how a hamster feels. Or do I? At least a hamster has a little exercise wheel and that little bottle with water. And a little container chock full of life sustaining pellets of hamster food. And light, my God I miss the light. All I needed was some shredded paper on the ground and I wouldn't even have to leave! Soon I would forget the taste of food... Or the sound of water or the touch of grass...

Well, as it turns out, envying a hamster is not a sign of good mental health. As such I thought it would be a good time to reminisce about my trip to Thetford Mines. You see, my trip there was the opposite of what I normally do in the lab. Thetford is countryside, vast fields with trees and other living things. Ah... the sweet kiss of sunlight... How I miss it.

So you're probably wondering, "Thetford Mines? Why?" Well, my long time friend Marie Eve lives up there and invited to show me around the place where she had grown up. Marie-Eve is what I like to call, extreme in that she does things other than watch movies and play video games. I'd never heard of such a thing! I was half afraid that she would pick me up on her motorbike. Here's pics of us posing on her motorbike in her biker gear. I think I look pretty badass and sexy. AND scary.





Being somewhat cowardly I asked if the air was bad cuz of the asbestos, and she explained to me as she coughed and wheezed, that the reason why asbestos is so dangerous is because of the way it's processed.

So we visit the mines. Human beings are kind of crazy. First of all, the rock from which they get asbestos seems rather ordinary. Who would even consider that it has any kind of insulation properties. Second of all, they had to drain an entire lake to actually get to the stuff. It's quite a breathtaking site. You can't tell just how deep it is from the picture, but yes, that is where you get asbestos from. You know, Vrej owned a set of Asbestos rings. I never told him, but their value was more than that of the entire Shire!



It's a completely foreign concept to me, but in the afternoon we decided to go blueberry picking. EXTREME blueberry picking. What makes it so extreme you may ask? The presence of the only black guy for miles and miles, that's what. I wonder what other black men have gone blueberry picking? 50 cent perhaps?
50 cent:"Hey, the Game, where's my gun?"
The Game: "You left it under that pine tree... But R.Kelly has it now."
R.Kelly(pointing his gun at 50 cent, the game, and a basket of blueberries in turn):
"Not another one of y'all sons of bitches say a word!
Cuz all of these blueberries I've picked is unheard!"

I figured we would have to drive to some farm... but no. In the country, you just walk down the road to any random field where there are evergreen's growing. Evergreen trees make the soil acidic, and thus blueberry's can grow. I got a bigass jar of them!!! It was a really charming experience. Her dog, Foxy came with us and romped through the fields. It was unreal for a city boy like me. Foxy's such a little lady too. I'm not a big dog person, but Foxy is so polite.



Later on we went to see some other places around Thetford mines and Disraeli. It's just beautiful. I could swear I have a picture in my Masta in China blog where I have the same cheesenormous pose, same cheesenormous jacket and the same cheesenormous smirk. Only true Gregg Factorphiles, like myself would notice.





There was a big piece of land, and she knew the owner. So we explored that a bit. Across a little stream we noticed some very interesting looking feces. It looked like cow pies, but how would a cow have gotten across the water. We had to cross a rickety bridge to get there. EXTREME feces watching took place.




I did a good job as the cowardly sidekick, letting Marie-Eve go first to see if everything was safe. Finally we got to the little island and found the much debated piles of s**t. Anyone able to identify what animal could make this?



Well, all really nice. Then we made some good food and played a game of Skip-Bo with her parents, her aunt and her uncle. Really nice people. Though I've never heard of Skip-Bo before, they all seemed quite fluent in the game. Fun times.

Then finally was the epic hike up that mountain. Extreme Hiking of course. It was exhausting, but well worth it. The sites were beautiful. The squirrels up there aren't terrified of people. I picked up some acorns for some reason. They're on my bureau now. At the top of the mountain we were able to see the mines from the other side. It was as if the entire trip came full circle.





Here's a nice pic of Marie-Eve beholding her place of birth... Like that Greek myth... where the guy looks out upon the world or something. I don't know, looks pretty epic.


So from now on when I'm feeling down in the lab, I'll conjure memories of nature. It's like at the beginning of Lord of the Rings. Bilbo just gets fed up with his mundane life, grabs a stick and effing leaves!!! "Eff the Shire!!! I'm out and I'm not even saying goodbye!" One day...

Thanks for everything Marie-Eve!

These songs R. very disturbing

To me, R.Kelly has always written the worst songs ever. I mean, lyric wise. The tunes are always amazing and catchy but the actual words to the song are usually absurd to the point of hilarity. Songs like, "You remind me (of my jeep)", "Kickin it with your Girlfriend", and "sex in the kitchen" are bad in so many ways. Disrepectful to women and absurd, but that I can deal with!

R.Kelly's most recent work includes Trapped in the Closet, a 5 song epic which he calls a hip hop opera. I don't know why he doesn't just do the obvious and call it a HipHopera. But that's neither here nor there. What is here and there is that you all MUST watch, cuz it's simply the funniest thing I've seen in my life.

http://www.r-kelly.com/index_main.html

So for starters it's a song about cheating. Fine, he's a bastard, that's not really surprising. But when the guy who's wife he's sleeping with walks in, he pulls a gun on the dude? He's like a psycho!!

I think what's brilliant is that he's the one toting a gun, but he's always telling other people to calm down. And even at the point where he's pointing a gun at the woman he just slept with, her gay husband and the gay husband's boyfriend, she still thinks they could work things out!?!

"All o y'all asses crazy, let me up out of this door!
Because this is way more than I bargained for!
Then she says wait, I'm sure we could all fix this! "

But the kicker, is by part three, it doesn't even seem to be an issue that he's having an affair. The real issue is his utter disgust at being in the room with two homosexuals. I don't have to emphasize the sheer hilarity of the fact that when forced to come up with names for two gaylords, R.Kelly settles on Rufus and Chuck. Then when Chuck says it was a living hell to be creeping around in hotels with his man, R.Kelly cocks his gun, points it in Chucks FACE and says, "Brotha, spare me the details!" And then when Rufus says they're getting married, it's more than R.Kelly can stands and he actually fires a bullet into the air!

"Not another one of you sons of bitches say a word!
Cuz all of this shit I'm going through is unheard!!! "

Part five is the most disturbing. He basically threatens to kill his wife, pulls out his gun again! But even wierder is they edit out half of the swear words with the sound, TOooK! "You'd better talk now before I burn this mothaTOoooKer! down!!" Observe the look of sudden mental retardation on his face when his wife says she knows he was cheating.

The whole thing is just so wrong. And long... Much like this post. I mean, it's bad enough that he's a pedophile on the loose, but then he advertises his love of guns and his album still makes millions! I mean, I should be making millions I can write ridiculous lyrics like. I can sing. Am I not dope? Am I not hip? Could I not write a lyric that rivals, "You're in the kitchen, cooking me a meal, something makes me want to come in there and get a feel!" He's just a nutty perv! I'm so angry... This is one album, I won't feel guilty stealing.

Why oh why did Dave Chapelle retire before spoofing this? Oh well, jimmy kimmel will have to do.

http://gorillamask.net/jklpizza.shtml

Lab tales part 3

One of my less pleasant chores in the lab is taking shots of yeast cells that we stain with certain fluorescent dyes. By staining the cells with certain dyes over a period of several weeks we can make certain conclusions about their metabolism, data which we use to make outrageous claims about longevity. But that is neither here nor there. You see, as interesting as the research is, what happens is we get a huge backlog of these microscopic samples and every now and then we have to spend hours and hours taking pictures of these fluorescent slides.

Doesn't sound too unpleasant, but when the day does come it is usually met with a great deal of reluctance. Basically I spend a day in a dark room looking into a microscope at some glowing little dots. It's very tedious. And after a while it starts to take a toll on my already waning sanity. Try looking at this for many hours at a time.



I try to pass the time by listenning to music but that resulted in some embarassment when one of the PHD's walked in to see me bobbing my head all gangsta like alone in the dark. "THE SAGA CONTINUES!!! WU TANG WU TANG!!!" Amazing how people can always walk in on you at the most awkward times. Other people come in periodically... Friends and foes alike. Wormtongue's visit was especially unwelcome, "Who knows what you spoke to the darkness, alone in the bitter watches of the night, when all your life seemed shrinking. When the walls of your microscopy room close in around you... A hutch to trammel some wild thing in." What a creep!

Inevitably I wonder to myself what Vrej, Neil and Derek are doing at work and inevitably I picture them all fast asleep in their respective cubicles with smiles on their faces. Then I wonder how much the world will have changed when I actually emerge from the microscopy room. It would be like some creepy science fiction movie. I would go back to my apartment and find people living there. And the father would yell at me, "What are you doing in our apartment?"

Me: "I live here!"
Angry father: "We've lived here for the last 3 years!"
Me: "That's impossible. My name is Chris Gregg, I just went to work."
Angry father: "What? This is ridiculous.... Chris Gregg died 17 years ago in a sky diving accident!"

Da Da DAaaaaaaaaaa!!!

Then in an attempt to unravel the mystery I would have to find people I know and ask them what's going one. I would discover it is the year 2085. And all of my friends and family have passed away. Then I would come across a somewhat familiar name. "Milen is still alive? Maybe he could help."

And I'd find his adress, go to his place.

Milen: "Who are you?"
Me: "I'm Chris Gregg..."
Milen: "That's ridiculous... I don't have time for this..."
Me: "Oh... But don't you? IceManPwnsU????"
Milen: "Mmm... IceManPwnsU? Now there's a name I haven't heard in quite some time..."
Me: "Yes... It's coming back to you isn't it? Back in the days when we would fight side by side on the crimson fields of Coagulation! You called me brother back then!!! Now I ask for your allegiance once more! Help me get back to my time!"
Milen: "Mmm... I'd rather not."

Then he'd probably slam the door in my face... And I'd wander the streets and in some bizarre turn of events save his youngest daughter from muggers. And I'd become an unlikely member of the family... From the past. Or something like that.

Yeah... microscopy... I don't know how much more I can take!

Now witness the firepower of this fully swinging and shagadellic sanctuary!!!

So I've mastered buying groceries, doing laundry and bumming food off of my dad. The final step of living alone... Entertaining guests.

Thursday was the first Poker game hosted at Casa da Masta, as my apartment will be henceforth referred to. Janine brought some awesome cookies, thank you. Others brought food and alcohol. I am greatful to you ... my people...

The actual poker didn't take so long as I lost very early. One of my evil friends won game after game by getting the perfect card on the river! She's the devil. Other people who lost early drowned their sorrows in alcohol. Not just any alcohol, but filthy ass wine which they poured out of a goddamn bag into my obi-wan/general grievous cup. The thing held about a liter of liquid and between two of them I think they had 2+ liters of wine. They then proceeded to mix the filth wine with a generic 7up called, Choose Up. We called the vile concoction Star Wars juice. It was pretty nasty. Like... the opposite of ambrossia. Anyway, one of them spent the evening drunk and ill on the floor of my bathroom. I feel conflicted about that... I mean, I felt bad that she spent the evening on the dirty bathroom floor, but I feel like I threw an awesome gathering to get someone that drunk. Anyway, cudos to all who showed up. It was great.




Saturday, alpha posse came over for Jbo's bday. Happy bday Justin. Thanks for the bowls Vrej. Now I can serve chips in them, instead of out of the bag. And Mad propz to Dave who brought over a bucket of KFC. He brought it based on the racist assumption that all black people love fried chicken. I was offended and secretely elated that Dave knew black people so well. Damn straight I love fried chicken. So if wearing a pimp hat and eating fried chicken makes me a stereotype black guy, Then BLACK ME UP WOMAN!!! Fried chicken is like... sweet, sweet ambrossia.


Mad props to Marie Eve who brought cake for Jbo's birthday and then tried to chop his head off. Excellent cook... brilliant assassin. Propz.


Vrej loved my apartment so much, he tried making sweet love to it, hoping to empregnate it, giving birth to little baby apartments.


The oddest part of the evening was playing this Karaoke game that Vrej brought over. You sing into a mic and it measures the pitch of your voice and rates how well you sing the song. Then you get a rating, either good, gold or platinum. In a disturbing turn of events I got Platinum for singing Britney Spears' Toxic and Norah Jones' Don't know why I didn't come. That's both gay and white! I'm going to have both my dizz and my blackness revoked... Like Michael Jackson.

Justin sang a rendition of Broken Wings that would quite simply peel the enamel off your teeth. Mend these broken wings??? Mend my broken ears!!! Mo also needs work.


Marie eve got platinum for any song she sung. Incredible. Kenny was pretty sick too, though I don't think I would buy his album... If he did release a single that is.



But the biggest surprise was Vrej, a man I've known for what... 15-16 years? He sings like one of the dude's from Nsync. Not justin timberlake... Maybe the guy who does drugs. What's his name again? Larry... Sync? Anyway, Vrej singing well was shocking.


Anyway, let's hope that Casa Da Masta becomes THE new place to hang out. It's great having various peeps over, and not just because they bring food and alcohol. Remember, when you're at Masta's place, don't make yourself comfortable... Make yourself, DAVE Comfortable!!!



... and bring food.

Ketchup.... Catsup?

Yesterday morning I got out of bed and went to make myself some breakfast when I noticed I only had end pieces left on the bread I bought last week. "Mom, we're out of bread," I bellowed realizing that there was no more mom... If I wanted more bread I would have to... gulp... buy some. I looked at the end pieces in the loaf and considered skipping breakfast. Then with a bitter curse I ate the end piece!!! I never eat the end piece! "END PIECE!!! DAMN YOU END PIECE!!! Damn you all to hell!!!"

I always enjoyed doing the groceries. But I feel somewhat overwhelmed when I walk in to a grocery store. Every time I go in it feels like the first time. Hundreds of thousands of products each one begging to be dumped into my cart. And all the people.. and the lights... I tried to recall what things I absolutely needed. Bread of course. Milk. Some kind of lunch meat.

Lots of strange things go through my head when I'm grocery shopping. For example I saw 2 boxes of Mr. Christie cookies for 5 dollars. I already had a box of cookies at home, but remembering how Vrej, Dave and Mo ripped through my junk food on the weekend, I figured I would need a refresher should the scenario repeat itself this week. I now have 3 boxes of cookies, cake-mix and popcorn in my cupboard.

Milk... I never really paid too much attention to the percentage of the milk until Vrej pointed out that what I was drinking was 3.25 percent. He sounded horrified, "You drink 3.25% Milk???" so this week I bought a lower percentage. Then I spent about 5 minutes deciding whether to buy butter or margarine. Hot dogs? Yoghurt? Why is that lady touching my cart? Mmm.. delicious clementines... grapes...

And after all that you still go home and realize you've forgotten something. I openned my cupboard in despair and beheld the two unopenned cans of tuna I had bought the previous week. They will remain unopenned as I have no can-openner. Stay tuned for next week when MastaCSG purchases a tool with which to unleash the awesome power of tuna fish.

Remember Shame?

The moment the temperature goes up a few degrees, girls start taking their clothes off. Nothing new there. What I think is more recent, is the idea that anyone can strut around in revealing clothing. This is not the case. If you have man teats, I don't care if it's a little humid. Put on a goddamn shirt, for all of our sakes.

For example, the other day I saw a young lady (probably very young) wearing a charming little backless number. At least it would have been charming if not for the fact that ripples of fat were wrapped around the straps. And what's the deal with fat girls wearing hip huggers? It's supposed to look sexy. Is it just me or is a fountain of fat oozing out from tight jeans not that sexy.

Call me shallow, but I miss the days of good old fashionned shame. I don't understand why fat girls insist on dressing like skanks. Be ashamed. You sicken me with your blubber. Only Jabba the Hutt has the right to flaunt his corpulence.

I guess my friend Min said it best.

Masta: There's a girl in my class with the last name Ho. I assumed she was related to your friend, Celine Ho.
Min: Just cuz her last name is Ho, doesn't mean they're related. There are lots of Hos around.
Masta: Amen to that...

My new "digs"

So I've moved out into my own crib. MAD MAD props, to J-bo, Marie-Eve, Rezaul and my cousin Chad. This move, involving about 40 boxes, various furniture, a trip to Cote-st Luc and three flights of stairs took from 9am to 11am. Thanks guys.

I enjoy the peace of being home alone. And I'm nearer to school which is also great. Though the other day I missed my bus and did something foolish. I took another bus to the orange line to connect with another bus that concievably would get me to school faster. Anyway, that ended up taking an hour instead of the usual 10 minutes. And I can't remember ever being on a bus with more old people. It was like taking a ferry ride down the River Styx.

Hard Core Greggophiles will have to come see the place at some point. Board Games and Poker to be played. Sites to be seen... Stay tuned...

Sales Pitch

For those of you who haven't heard, I'm moving into my own Swinging Shagadellic Sanctuary this Saturday! It should be interesting.

It's already interesting. I find myself thinking about things that I never had to consider before. Things in my house like food, clean clothes, microwaves, chairs.... It never occured to me that these things don't just materialize ot of thin air. Food has to be cooked.... clean clothes are actually derived from dirty clothes after a process known as washing them.

And chairs... well it turns out those have to be purchased! So this weekend I went with my dad to pick up some sofas at a place on Notre Dame street. This is after dissapointing trips to the much hyped ML which in my opinion has some of the ugliest furniture I've ever seen. Anyway, this place on Notre Dame street had a really nice couch. My dad and I were trying to haggle the guy to give us a deal that was beyond amazing.

Things got funny when the guy asks if my dad and I were from Jamaica. "No, we're not from Jamaica." Then the guy says, "My wife is from Jamaica!" I looked at my dad, "I don't see what this has to do with the sofas..."

Anyway, the salesman, a portly white guy with hair that was more than just a little askew, went behind his counter and got a picture of his wife. It turns out his wife is a super hot black woman. At which point I was trying to figure out how he got such a good looking wife and before I knew it! His trick had worked. Haggling decreased... The salesman's creed increased. And I bought the sofa. I still got an amazing deal. Sofa, loveseat, bed frame, matress and boxspring for 875$ taxes and delivery included.

But my thoughts still linger on how that chubby dude got such an amazing wife. Did he help her get her green card? Or maybe it's all just a ruse. Maybe when brown people show up in the store, he shows pictures of brown ladies. Maybe when Chinese people come into the store he shows them pictures of hot Chinese women and says that they're his wife. Well played salesguy... well played...

So wrong...

It was brought to my attention that Angelina Jolie was going to adopt another child. It was also brought to my attention that her current son wanted a black brother! I wonder why? Does Angelina Jolie expose her son to the latest in black entertainment... 50 cent videos and what not? He probably just thinks black people are cool. I would expect a son of Angelina to be so wise.

I wonder how you qualify to be adopted by Angelina Jolie one of the hottest women on earth. I can just see a line up of black guys from around the world waiting to audition. I'm sure that Mike Epps, star of the box office smash Honeymooners would be first in line.

Mike Epps: "So what? Do I have to sing a song or something?"
Angelina: "You're a little old aren't you?"
Mike Epps: "This sounds like discrimination to me..."
Angelina: "Alright well... say something cute..."
Mike Epps: "I want to have sex with you..."
Angelina: "NEXT!!!"

Alfonso Ribeiro: "You have a nice chest!"
Angelina: "NEXT!!!"

OJ Simpson: "You're one white woman I would consider not killing!"
Angelina: "NEXT!!!"

Al Roker: "I've already seen you naked in that movie... So at least it won't be wierd."
Angelina: "NEXT!!!"

MastaCSG: "I require breast feeding."
Angelina: "Mmm... I wouldn't be much of a mother if I didn't breast feed my sexy black son. Alright, you're hired! I mean... adopted."

Wow.... what a life... I could be Anglina Jolie's adoptive son... With benefits!!! SICK!!! in so many ways...

Let me do a throwaway post in betwix

Sorry for the late update. I don't have internet at home and I find myself uncharacteristically busy and ill-tempered. Sorry Mo! But I'm like that black guy in the commercial for tropical halls. I got two jobs!

It ain't easy. Think I wanna work? No... I'd rather blog all day... WAtch Star Trek. Go to the mountains with a guitar and sing the songs I like to sing... I'd like to dress up as a clown, go to school and surprise the kids. I'd like to go to a movie theatre, take a dump in the back of the theatre and wait around until someone sits in it... Listen for the squish.. I find it funny!

But being the Masta ain't always easy. I'll write a real post soon.

10Q

So, it's a week late but, thanks to everyone for the birthday goodness last week! I got some cool gifts from lab folk(tania, janine, alex, simon, reza, colin, nishant et al)! Goodness from my parents. Cindy bought me a book and a new schoolbag cuz my old one looked like it was about to disintergrate. Alpha posse (You know, your droopy, chuchu, jbo, rez, M-E, tbone, Ba$$ medley) got me Dave Chapelle season's 1 &2 and other cool stuff!!! INSANELY AWESOME. Mel and Pat, thanks for the awesome book. Pam thanks for the awesome Yoda shirt. Great Bday everyone. Most mind boggling was the clubbing outing at Central Station. It was a huge highschool reunion. I've never seen anything like it.

On that note, I'd like to give a shout out to all my peeps. Ahem... Shoutout to Mo, Joe, Dave, Neil, Indy, Puishe, Conrad, Mike A., Manesha, Neera, Vikas, Ken Martin, Kevin Hui and that girl who who seemed to know me. Good times. Thanks to all! It was nice to see all you guys and gals! The biowife outing is still pending... They'd better get their act together! Unlike last year where we celebrated my birthday in late July!!!

Anyway, kind of an incoherent post... But what else can I say? It was a fun time... The only thing more thrilling than my birthday week was the discoery of new dryers in the bathrooms near the skating rink at Bonaventure. Now that thing freaking dries your hands! The thing is so powerful it actually causes ripples in your skin! It's insane!

The whitest black guy you know, may be the blackest black guy you never wished to know

The other day on my lunch break I ran into a girl I knew who proceeded to tell me that she had a flight to catch in a few hours. She explained that she was notorious for missing flights and after missing a flight she had to cry in order to convince the airline to give her a flight at a later time. Being in a particularly talkative mood I jokingly asked, "Mmm... I wonder if that would work for me! Or maybe I would have to take the other route and play the angry black man card, ie. YOU'D BEST GIVE ME THE NEXT FLIGHT BEFORE I TEAR THIS MOTHA F**KA DOWN!!!" She responded with a quaint giggle and said, "Wow.. that was cute. I've never seen you act black before." then she realized the irony of talking about missing flights when she had a flight to catch and left.

The point is if I had a nickel for everytime someone said, I don't act black or I'm the whitest black guy they know well, I'd also be the richest black guy they know. Ironically, being the richest black guy they know would also make me the whitest black guy they know. I used to take it personally then I realized that almost all black guys who aren't stereotypes striaght off of MTV have been told they act white.

I saw a brown guy the other day, blacking it up like an electrified black machine on the bus. He was wearing the super baggy clothes with basketball logos all over it, a dewrag and a cap which was worn slightly askew... Anyway, as droopy would say, that's neither here nor there. But he was talking to his friend about having forgotten something at his friend's house. He said something like, "I left my s**t at my friend's Crizzib... Now I have to go back to his crizzib to get my s**t... His crizzib is right near the autopark though, so it's not so bad."

I was pretty upset. I mean... crizzib???? Rule # 1 out of the How to be Black handbook, "You can call your house your crib, you can call your crib your hizzouse, but you must NEVER call your hizzouse your crizzib!!!" And that's for obvious reasons. How dare he throw centuries of ebonics out the window and dishonor my people so casually.

And therein lies the reason that fewer and fewer black people "talk black". Because many white people and some brown people have made it very uncool. And as one thing becomes uncool, black people adapt. For every Vanilla Ice, there is a Brian Gumble. For every Eminem there are 3 Blair Underwoods. For every Ryan Seacrest there are 7.5 Alfonso Ribeiros. And for every House of Pain there are 17 Chris Greggs. So bullocks to any knave who doesn't like the way I talk! Rule #1 about being MastaCSG, I keeps it RELLLLL!!! That's right... rell.