How I Misspent My Adulthood Remembering How I Misspent My Youth

So, I was pretty much the entire weekend poring over this tome. It's a really really long thread on the Halifax Locals message board in which pretty much everyone who ever went to Backstreet Amusements video arcade in the late '80s reminisces about, well, pretty much whatever. Thanks a lot, Sandra. Highly entertaining, even though I don't even know who most of the people on it are. I was around just enough during that time and have met enough locals since then to make a complete reading absolutely necessary to quench my historical curiosity. Plus, new people keep showing up along the way, who then have to go through the oh-my-god-can-you-believe-this-thing-it's-so-great- remember-when routine. And then everyone else is happily surprised to hear from them. It's quite fascinating and heartwarming, actually. So really thanks a lot, Sandra, without the sarcasm this time. Now I just have to get through the last 25 pages.

Note to Dana: Someone mentions at one point Callah and Natalie, who were always together. Must be the same ones, right?

Note to Johanna: There's a very nice, not at all embarassing photo of you at some party on page 87.

In other news, we got a visit from our friend Matt today. He came down from Toronto for a very short vacation with Laura and to try and get some kind of intership somewhere in Halifax for the summer. So we got to have lunch with him at the Shoe Shop, which was really nice but way too short. It was great to catch up with him. Seems like J-school's treating him well and he's enjoying the big city. Too bad our waiter was sort of an inept bozo. After lunch I took him up to my office to show him around. Matt, not the inept waiter.

The weather was certainly colder over the weekend than it's been. On Sunday the wind was whipping so hard around our poor little rowhouse that we were sure it was going to smash in a back window and blow us right out the front. Neither one of us was feeling very well, but we finally agreed that it was about time to take the screen out of our bedroom window and put up the plastic that allows the room temperature to approach the thermometer setting. Once that had been done, we felt fully justified in getting back into bed and spending the rest of the morning with "The Sunday Edition". That Michael Enright was cracking me up. He has definitely grown on me. For a long time I thought he was a total boob, but now I realize that he just plays the fool in a really dry way for entertainment's sake, and to draw thoughtful, coherent responses out of his guests. Though sometimes I'm still not convinced he's putting it on. But at least it doesn't drive me crazy anymore. I like how he ends every episode by saying, "I'm Michael Enright?..."

Gotta hit the hay now. Well, after I read a couple more pages of the Backstreet Boys' (and Girls') Proustian recollections: A la recherche des quarts perdus — Book I: Clarke's Way.

- Andrew