The (mis)communication age

I have an exam in a couple days and should be studying, so I thought this would be an ideal time to post another tale. But first, a little aside.

Since my last posting, I have turned thirty (and have minimal plans of growing up soon); been offered a career (which I have accepted); Scott & Nicki had a beautiful baby girl, Sophie Nicole; Jonesy has topped out on Mount Kilimanjaro; Aaen was taken clothes shopping; and I am now approximately 12 days from my last exam at UNB....ever. And I got kinda hammered. A few times. I'm sorry if my legions of fans have gotten a little impatient waiting for another story of mis-adventure, but I do actually have a life outside of this BS. So bite me.

In recognition my new career, which will take me back to the far reaches of Labrador, I decided to lend a little insight to life there. In particular, a story of cultures and languages.

Last June, I embarked on a journey to find some uranium. Shortly after arriving in the town of Postville, NL (population: 220), a chunk of my bottom wisdom tooth broke off. I was mildly surprised at this, but, as there was no immediate pain involved, I didn't think too much of it and just planned to have it looked at on my first roll-out six weeks away.

A couple weeks pass and my tooth begins to hurt a little bit, first with sweet foods, then with hot & cold beverages, then with chewing in general. I just attempt to adjust my eating habits accordingly & try rinsing and brushing more frequently. I just didn't want this causing any wrinkles in the project plan. You see, I was treating this contract like a very, very long job interview and really wanted to prove my worth to this company because I wanted a job when I was done school. I just tried to tough it out.

Bad idea. The gums get infected, leading to a sinus infection, which in turn leads to me not being able to lay down to sleep. I go 11 nights without sleeping, taking upwards of 25 regular strength Tylenol to attempt to get through the days. There are no doctors & dentists in Postville. And the sale of alcohol is prohibited. Yes, you read that correctly. Prohibited.

Eventually the logistics manager tells me that they can't have me hopping in and out of a helicopter everyday with no sleep. This was more of a liability issue on their part more than a "I was in extreme goddamned agony" issue. There was a chartered plane coming in to Postville to take the Pres & VP of the company, some rock samples, and me to Happy Valley-Goose Bay. Judy, our admin. person from Postville, made me an appointment for 3:30 PM at a dentist's office there.

Now if there is ever a place that has a more misleading name than Happy Valley-Goose Bay, please let me know. It's not that friggin' happy there, and I didn't see any geese. In fact, if Canada was going to receive an enema, I'm quite sure it would be inserted in Happy Valley-Goose Bay. I don't really like it there, and would dislike it more before the day was done.

After a few hours of errands, I walked into the dentist's office at 3:25PM. The dentist was at the reception desk doing paper work. He was Indian (the kind from India) and briefly thought to myself that, if I thought there was a little culture shock for me in Labrador, this guy must've had a hell of a surprise when he arrived in town.

I introduce myself as the 3:30 appointment, Trevors. He replied to me, in a very thick Indian accent, that the office was closed. I tell him that there must be some mistake, our admin. person confirmed my appointment for 3:30. He denies this, and states that there is no way his receptionist/wife would make an appointment for 3:30 on a Saturday.

Then it dawns on me: what happens when you have someone who barely speaks English with a thick Indian accent trying to speak English to someone who speaks English with a thick Labradorian accent? I'll tell you what happens.

What happens is that Dr. Death gets me to assist on my own wisdom tooth extraction, as his dental assistants are gone for the day. And he doesn't give me barely any anaesthetic, saying he needs me "to be aware" of what is happening. And he's pissed off because he's late for his family dinner. And he reefs on my tooth for 45 minutes. And when he's done, he's in a hurry and "forgets" to prescribe me any painkillers....or wipe off all the blood on my face and neck.

Funny thing is, I drove around doing errands for three hours, not realizing I had blood all over my face, and not a single solitary soul I spoke with in Happy Valley-Goose Bay found this at all alarming.

Happy my ass......

The Hawaiian Chronicles

Hawai'i was good times; got to see a lot of stuff: craters, beaches, giant sea turtles, large Polynesian women, old lava flows, etc. We also might have had a beer or two......

After a month or two of relative inactivity, Pele, the goddess of fire on Kilauea volcano awoke with a bit of fury the day we left for Hawai'i, with new, fresh lava flows. This resulted in a change of our itinerary so we could take in a guided hike, in an area closed off to the public, to see some flowing lava.....the red stuff....like on Discovery Channel....

So, in our dorkish, excited state, on the night before we set out on this hike, we decided our best course of action would be to hammer many cans of beer and the better part of a quart and a half of vodka until 4 AM or so.

Not unlike Pele, I have been relatively inactive for a month or two and have become quite the fat bastard. And this hike was taking place at 1PM, and it was god-damned HOT. And the hike took place on older lava flows.....which are colored black when cooled. Add in the heat from the flowing lava (1150 degrees Celsius), the sulfuric gas fumes, and the stank of my booze-soaked body, and I was in for some real good times.

So we quickly fell into a good marching order, with the Native Hawaiian guide leading the way, Aaen directly behind him, and me following. Joe, the prof, was right behind (and unfortunately downwind of) me, with the rest of the group strung out in single file a bit behind. The guide was fairly pumped at the pace we were keeping in comparison to his normal groups of cruise-line passengers (his quote: "newly-wed, over-fed, and nearly dead"). We stopped upon reaching the vicinity of the lava tubes (under the surface of varying thickness cooled lava).

The guide turns and tells us to stay put, and if he goes "through the roof, don't move" and to wait for the other guide to come and lead us out. We get the go-ahead and start moving to follow when I hear a horrifying crunch under my feet......

I fall approximately 2 inches through a small "bubble" in the rock. Alarmed, Aaen responds by turning and POKING ME IN MY GUT!!

Now, in the best of situations, I don't particularly care to be poked in the gut; I know I have a gut, other people know I have a gut, and after wearing no shirt on the whole trip, all of god-damned Hawai'i knows I have a gut (fortunately I look skinny in comparison to the large Polynesians.....). I felt close enough to death on this hike due to the booze, without taking the fucking lava into account, so I didn't really need the gut poke to be reminded.......

Anyway, the guide leads us to a "skylight" in the lava tube, where the molten rock is flowing at 35 miles per hour. It was wild. After everybody got their pics in, the guide takes off again, with Aaen and I in close pursuit. We were travelling parallel the lava tube, sometimes crossing over it. At one point the guide stops for a moment, looks around, and calmly states, "Umm, we better go this way...." Being a month away from finally finishing this degree, I was quick to follow.

Ten minutes or so later, the guide stops, looks around and starts waving his arm and tells us to be quiet. We stop moving, don't say a word, and wait.

A few seconds pass, he's cocking his head one way to another, and then he says "This way!" and takes off over an embankment of old flow. Aaen and I turn to each other with the mutual look of "what the fuck?" and clamber after him.

On the other side of the embankment was fresh lava flowing on the surface.

Pacey once posted that they say Norwegians can hear snow falling.

Apparently Native Hawaiians can hear lava flowing.

Of smuggled rum and (replica) flintlock pistols.....

Ahhh....the Caribbean: soft sand, warm water and cool breezes.... good times to be had.... unless, of course, you get nagged about EVERYTHING....

So I'm getting ready to head down to Hawai'i for March Break for a school trip. This one should be pretty good, gonna check out some volcanoes and different beaches, make it educational as well as entertaining. But, as I'm doing some laundry and packing up few things, I'm flashing back to last year, when the Trevors family went to San Juan on their first family vacation.

First of all, I should clarify: we've done family vacations before when I was younger (I wasn't really "planned" & was an only child until age 11), and since then, both of my little brothers got to go to Disneyworld.....but this was the first one with all the whole family.....and most likely the last one.

San Juan has been a family destination for the better part of 40 years, starting with my Uncle John and his buddies back in the 60's. Since then, my dad and my uncles and their pals have been down there a lot (Uncle John has missed 3 years in total I believe). So we have some history there.......

Well, my mom (who I love dearly & is a great mother and lady), while traveling can be most accurately described as a "paranoid pessimist." In addition, she likes being in control.....a lot. As many of you know, once you check into an airport, the last thing you are is in control.....this didn't bode well.

If a check-in time is recommended two hours before the flight.....we're there four hours prior. We're all going to get shot by the security personnel......because I'm wearing a hat.....even though they're Canadian and unarmed. My discman is going to cause a plane to crash.....while I'm in the airport. I'm going to get strip-searched.....because I'm taking a Tim's coffee through security. And so on and so forth.

We all make our way to the pre-boarding screening, we all get through.....except mom. She has to have the portable metal detector waved over her.....no big deal, right? Not on your life.......this is the "most embarrassing thing ever" to occur to her and she's trying to look to see if anyone she knows witnesses this as she doesn't want the "news" to hit the Miramichi. We eventually board the plane and make it to Puerto Rico.

Well, the week in San Juan goes by (incidents occuring will be covered in future posts) and we'll fast-forward to the airport in San Juan when we leave. As most of you know, Puerto Rico is an American protectorate, operating under the same Customs and Immigration laws as the rest of the continental U.S. , thereby the "importing goods to Canada" rules are the same. The kicker is that it's in the friggin' Caribbean and that means good goddamned rum.......I like rum, and so do my friends.....I bought a bottle each for Aaen and Nick but I can only bring one across. My parents aren't drinkers though; this could work out....one of them could bring a bottle across for me, right?

Well, sweet gentle Jesus......you woulda thought I asked my mother to take part in a Satanic ritual. Dad, of course, had no problems whatsoever taking a bottle of rum for his soon-to-be 29 year-old son's friend.....crap, he was taking cigars for his 17 year-old son's friends.

We get to the security screening and mom was still at me: "I can't believe you're making your father do this....what if he ends up in jail? Do you think he's your mule? And after everything he's done for you......." Well, American airport security guards are a little on edge at the best of times, and hearing this exchange had perked their ears up a little more. Plus, unlike their Canadian counterparts, they do have guns. So I was trying to ignore my mom.....like she was an abandoned crazy lady.....

I get through security, as well as Greg (the 17 year old). Mom and dad are a few people behind Alex (12 year old) when he was going through when a crew of security moved quickly to huddle at a screen on the baggage x-ray.

"WHO"S BAG IS THIS?" one of them demanded.

Alex, quiet as ever, raises his hand as I walk over. I explain that he is my little brother and that his was the bag in question. They unzip the bag and haul out a replica 17th century flintlock pirate's pistol.

Now, in reality, Osama Bin Laden himself could haul that gun out on a plane and I would piss myself laughing. Basically throw some obese cruise passenger from Minnesota in front of the "musket ball" and then everyone could take turns kicking Osama in the nuts as he spent five minutes reloading it......this should've been a good laugh by all involved, the security guards included.

But, after the last nine days of hearing "Matthew! What are you doing?" to pretty much everything I did during waking hours, my response was probably building up & waiting to be released for some time. I turned to my mother and said, "You nag me about everything yet you allow your youngest son have a replica pistol in his carry-on? Nice work."

I didn't get a birthday hug when they dropped me off the next day..........

Stay tuned, hopefully have a posting en direct from Hawai'i! Later!

Here goes.....

Hey folks, hope you're all doing ok. I kinda decided to do this blog thing for a couple of reasons: one, to limit my re-telling of stupid stories of all the random, funny, neat and/or idiotic things I have encountered on my various "adventures;" and two, basically to procrastinate from studying for this midterm that I write tomorrow.

First off, I'm not going to try and brag up that I'm some wild world traveler type; lots of people I know have been away further and longer and to probably cooler places than me, but, for instance, I once spent the better part of a March Break doing a site assessment at a deserted gas station in Upper Blackville, New Brunswick. I can probably guarantee that talking to a few people up there was far more entertaining than the Australian supermodel-types that some of you might've checked out on a beach in Thailand/Fiji/New Zealand or wherever......

Second, the title is an admission of my dorkish leanings.....I've been in school a long, long, long goddamned time, and I have to admit, I'm a bit of a geek.......though I have had, and still do have a lot of fun.....more in the last few weeks than normal for crap's sake. .......BUT.....I study and work in the field of geology.....this makes me somewhat of a dork in some people's eyes, but whatever.....they can suck my ass (which is currently sunburnt due to a tanning bed indiscretion) as I'm probably smarter than them (but maybe not as I have a sunburnt ass) .......so, anyway the title is a play on words for those of you who are not geologically inclined (when you study drilled rock core, you "log" what you see.....that's it....pretty simple, eh?).

A few little ground rules:

• as most of you know, I tend to maybe swear a little; this is not my fault, if any of you know my Uncle John or anybody else on my dad's side of the family, you will understand why. For this reason, you might wanna read all postings through before allowing small children or the elderly to read it;
• names will be changed to protect the guilty and innocent in all cases. Some of you will be able to put two and two together as well as timelines, who was on what trip, etc., and then know who a story is about, but keep it to yourself...this goes for that Alan Gray especially....;
• I will try not to recount various rugby trips too much as we've all been there or have heard it before and have chosen to remember and/or forget whatever parts of them.... ..though some of them are just fucking funny and legendary, so they might be mentioned;
• finally, your comments are welcome....they can be additions and/or clarifications to various postings, they can cut me up if I tell a story about me doing something stupid, or whatever......this blog is just supposed to be fun. If things get taken too far though, remember, I can be very petty and I hold grudges like no tomorrow......I will find you and shit in your pillow case.......

So here goes.......future postings will re-visit places like: Cape Breton (death threats); Labrador (insane dentists); Red Lake, ON (chronic weed-smoking Mohawks); Puerto Rico (nagging mothers and pistols falling into urinals); as well as highlights from the upcoming dork trip to Hawai'i....

I'm off to study for this shitty midterm.....later!