September 2006

In spite of their names, these two streets in West Chester seem to get along nicely.

I was joking with a friend a few weeks back how this move is a chance to write a new book in life, let alone a new page or chapter. Well, my story has certainly commenced along a path of certain weirdness, paranoia and ordained coincidences. As of today, I feel like a real-life version of Dale Gribble.

I mean, look at me:

The resemblance is uncanny, both in character and appearance. I don’t talk like Dale, however.

This story flows like a river where each confluence up the stream has its own streams, back eddies, pools and the like. There is a network linearity in that it all flows one way, with each new coincidence adding more turbulence, speed and depth.

Before I left for West Chester, I told my Dad I set the combination on my luggage locks to “322″ because I was moving to the USA, and since George Bush was (is) a Bonesman, and since the favorite number of the Bonesmen is “322″, I figured it would be an easy to remember number, not to mention a fitting tribute to my new country.

You can see my luggage lock on my “Team Canada” hockey bag Mom bought me to store my things. Yup. I moved to the US with a hockey bag, some suits and my laptop. I even had an american flag sticker that fit perfectly over my Canadian flag luggage tag, and I figured I’d be a target for airport hustlers with a piece of luggage that just screamed “Rob me! I’m Canadian!”. A little international solidarity with our southern brothers never hurts, I figured.

Here’s the lock from my hockey bag, close-up:

My first coincidence hit me on Sunday evening when I was riding the airport shuttle to West Chester. On the way into town, the cabbie took an exit on the West Chester Bypass, which you can find HERE. No word of a lie. The exit to West Chester is “322″. I shite thee not. I even drove past the sign today to take a pic (click to enlarge):

At first, I thought: “Hmm. What an interesting coincidence. Perhaps I stored that number in my sub-brain when I was here for my interview. Perhaps not. Whatever.”

But numbers mean something, especially 23. I’ve read about the 23 Enigma and how it relates to all sorts of coincidences.

The “23 Enigma” refers to the belief that all incidents and events are directly connected to the number 23, some permutation of the number 23, or a number related to the number 23, given enough ingenuity on the part of the interpreter.

September 11, 2001 = 9+11+2+0+0+1 = 23

Yeah, it’s probably nothing. It’s probably just me being all paranoid about syncronocities in numbers and whatnot. Especially since I bought the Tool album just so I could listen to Viginti Tres and read the lyrics:

Tool Viginti Tres Lyrics
una Infinitas
Abominatio Nascitur Autumno
hic est tuum temptamen quod temptat tua potentia
viginti tres gradus ad summam potestatem

translated :
one infinity
the horror begins in autumn
this is your trial, which tries your (power, might, ability; efficacy, potency)
Twenty three steps to total power.

However, it goes on.

Last night, I met with my MySpace friend Dave at the Wawa in West Chester. We hung out, drank coffee, smoked Newports and he told me some amazing tales. I took a pic of us outside the Wawa:

Today I had to get my PECO (Pennsylvania Electric Company) identity verified. What you have to do to get your electricity hooked up is you phone the electric company, and then you have to go into an affiliate PECO location to prove you are who you say you are. The location they gave me was the West Chester Check Cashing store.

At about 4 pm today, I got the address for this place and headed on over. On the way there, I was thinking about how weird all this 23 and 322 stuff was, and how it must just be some strange coincidence. As I drove past the Wawa, I noticed the signs where Dave and I took our pic just the night before.

Out of the corner of my eye, however, something that clawed my retinal attention like a visial velociraptor.

“What in the sweet fack!?!?!” I said aloud as my hairs stood on end and a chill went up and down my spine.

I had to pull into the parking lot to see if this was indeed true, and it was (click to enlarge):

Look closely at the lodge number for the local Masons.

FACK.

After calming my paranoia and regaining my bearings, I had to re-read the address for West Chester Check Cashing, thinking that by focusing on a new task, I’d switch mental states.

I glanced down at the address and noticed it was 323 E. Gay Street.

Damn. I gotta get crunching some numbers and put these pattern recognition skills of mine to some productive use.

At least I know I still got’em.

So, MK, dear brother, would you STOP sending me articles such as THIS and THIS because I often find myself reading articles such as THIS because of it.

Fackin’ guy.

Today was “piss test & social security” day, and after I got all that taken care of, I drove on up to Valley Forge National Park. This place is incredibly cool. I am going to have to go here at least five times to see everything. The trail network is something else. I’m gonna rent a bike and run down some deer on the trails, of which there were many.

Valley Forge was good to me. I put in a buck twenty-five into a Coke machine and got three Cherry Cokes out of the deal.

God. Bless. Amellica!!

I held my first acorn. I’ve never seen an acorn before.

This was huge. I mean, the acorn was small, but it was a big deal for me.

I went to this Memorial Arch thing. It was pretty big.

There was something about the Masons on the plaque.

And I admired the stone work, obviously.

Here are recreations of the cabins built by the army guys way back when. I read on a plaque how the soldiers were given a prize of twelve dollars for the cabin completed the fastest and also having the highest quality.

Here’s what they look like inside:

I guess these things sleep twelve soldiers. WOW that’s tiny.

The Washington Memorial Chapel was really awesome. Every square inch of that thing is a memorial to some guys somewhere who fought in some war. There’s a weird somber feeling that comes over you when you stop to consider how many people gave their lives for the sake of freedom and all those nice things.

Inside the chapel is the Justice Bell.

This is a field where soldiers trained for battle. Click the pic to enlarge it.

This here’s General von Steuben, the dude who trained a ton of them, from what I understand.

A lot of the roads in the country look like this one, btw.

And finally, this is what my building looks like, where I’ll be living.

So, I’m now living in West Chester, PA. Yes. This means Grandinite.com and AlbertaBlogs.com are now bloggin at you from somewhere west of Philly. I start work next Monday, and have already found an awesome place to live that’s close to work.

I’m not sure what will become of this blog - if I’m gonna have a secret blog to write about these adventures in or what. It depends on the feedback, I guess.

I used to have a series called “Canadian in a Red State”, which was written by my friend who moved to this town last year. I might continue on with this tradition and create a separate category where you can read about my misadventures and fortunes.

We’ll see.

My first adventure begins with a search for contact lens solution.

Contact Lens Solution

I had me no contact lennnnns solutionnnn maaaaan . . . .

So I went on a venture to find some and get to know the town a little better.

Everything here seems to be in terms of its relation to the Wawa, which is a gas station/convenience store located in a busier area of town. When I asked someone at the bank where the post office was . . . it was 2 blocks down this street and left at the Wawa. When I asked a guy where I could by me some smokes, he told me of the Wawa.

Wawa.

It’s the axis of West Chester.

I went on down to the Wawa and decided to look for contact lens solution there, but to no avail. They had a sandwich deli thing in there, and I could not for the life of me figure out how to get a sammich. If the deli counter were the internet, I would’ve been www.sammichstruggler.com/lol/at_braats. The people behind the counter were ignoring me, so I asked them how I could go about getting a sammich. I wanted a buffalo chicken sammich, btw.

The girl was like: “Oh, you use the touchscreens to order”.

I was all: “Oh.”

To which she replied: “Here - I’ll show you”. (translation - you’re cute, and I wanna be near you, so I’ll show you . . . chyeah).

There I stood as she punched away, feeling like the biggest ‘tard ever, like some sort of gap-toothed, slack-jawed and inbred yokel who had never seen a computer screen in his life.

Yeah, you had to be there.

Get this - you gotta punch in your sammich preferences - mustard, mayo, onions, tomatoes, type of bun, yadda yadda . . . and boom! - the machine spits out a receipt for you.

Ferreal - this is amazing to me.

Then you go and pay, and the sammich is ready when you get back. At first I thought it was pretty gay, but after thinking about it, I realized I did not have to wait in two lines, but one - all because of the wonders of technology.

But they did not have contact lens solution, so I decided to get lost and try to find my way back.

I somehow ended up in the country, where all the white people live in McMansions. However, there are a few crack shacks, like this place:

Notice, I specified it to be a crack shack, when in fact, that house is whack, but I figured it was time for a lyrical attack, Jack. No - that’s one of the more modest abodes. I couldn’t take pics of the nicer ones because they were more hidden by trees or further away from the road, so the pics ended up looking like this:

That’s pretty much a high-end home in Calgary, probably worth at least a millo dollas.

Enny hoo. I could not help but notice the huge concentration of university kids. It seems every college girl in this town wears the same thing: grey sweatshirt/hoodie, short shorts with little slits in the side, flip-flops and they are always carrying something such as a purse or a book. And they’re all blonde and have wicked tans.

It’s gonna be hard to be a good boy in this town.

But at least it’ll be hard.

I mean, if I did people, and if I were into 18 year olds,  it’d be like . . . like fishing for finless trout in a kid’s pool with a freakin’ net.

On that note, there is a noticeable lack of bars and pubs, for a college town. The drinking age must be 21, so I’ll bet all the boozin’ happens at house parties. It makes sense.

In their place, there’s a ton of cafes, art shops and boutiques for all the money havin’, white skinnin, A-535 smellin old folks and pretentious yuppies to shop at. These parts of town remind me of parts of Calgary or Vancouver, but definitely not Whyte Ave. in Edmonton. Lack of bars - ‘membah?

Still, I had no contact lens solution. I needed  some place affordable and cultured . . . like Wal-Mart . . . but I imagine it’s off one of those off-ramps, er, excuse moi - turnpikes - off the highway, er, interstate. Fack. Nobody calls anything what it is. Always gotta be fancy.

I decided to learn a trick I discovered in Regina, a trick I would later learn is called “Manifesting”. Way back in July, when I was driving by Regina, I needed to go to Future Shop to take back an FM tuner for my iPod. I bought it in Medicine Hat, Alberta, for the ride out and it didn’t work, and I paid cash and I needed it, so . . . yeah. I said out loud: “I need A Future Shop, please”, and I took one exit, then drove around the ring road . . . then I took a right, then another right, and ended up in the Future Shop parking lot before I even realized it - LIKE I KNEW WHERE I WAS GOING. That experience kinda freaked me out.

Later on this summer, my friend Mark told me how we are able to wait for God to supply anything we need, when we are walking in love. The act of manifesting is how love comes back to you. It’s based on the Bible - “If my words abide in you, and you abide in me, ask what you will, and it shall be done unto you”. My Mom does this all the time - like when she loses her keys, she says “K, God. Please show me where my keys are!” and in 5 minutes she finds them.

So I decided to try it with this contact lens solution. “Okay, God. I need some contact lens solution” I said as it was getting dark. I was driving around and had no clue where I was, and just as I decided to make my way to the highway to find something, I saw a church. It had a 7-11 beside it, so I headed in. I looked around in the store and was going to make like a baby and head out, but decided to get a coffee (I didn’t want one). So I poured myself one and went to the till to buy it, still thinking about my contact lens solution.

I paid for my coffee, and just before I got my change back, I told the cashier that they had no contact lens solution, and how they should get some. “We have Renu, actually - the no-rub stuff - it’s behind the counter” she said.

Nice. Exactly the stuff I needed.

If I hadn’t gotten that coffee, I wouldn’t have had an excuse to go to the counter (cuz guys don’t do that unless they have something to buy).

So it all worked out.

THE END.

Yeah. Well, at least this cat blog rocks.

This is my Mom’s cat, Maximus. I bought some Cat Crap lip balm (I’m no panty-waist - bought it for the name only, k?).

This stuff tastes somewhere between Preparation H and Ben-Gay. Not that I know what Prep H tastes like.

*nervous laugh*

Anyhow, the cat was more than happy about the situation, as you can see from the expression on his face.

Fekkin’ stoked, he was.

Stupid cats. And their mind control powers.

CNN.com reports on the Philly Fed’s Business Activity Index, which has actually plunged into negative territory as of late.

Let me get this straight. You are the Philly Fed, and you are surveying the manufacturing sector of the freakin’ rust belt to gauge the overall regional economic outlook. Or perhaps that’s CNN’s take on the matter.

Sounds decent enough, but maybe they should read the last article I posted a link to.

Meanwhile, hospitaL administrators like Steven Altschuler, president of Children’s Hospital of Philadelphia, are on a hiring spree. Altschuler has added the equivalent of 4,000 new full-time jobs since he took over six years ago, almost doubling the hospital’s workforce. To put this in perspective, all the nonhealth-care businesses in the Philadelphia area combined added virtually no jobs over the same stretch.

Altschuler plans to add 3,000 more employees over the next five years as the hospital, one of the nation’s leading pediatric centers, spends $1.7 billion to expand. Next up is a new 1.2 million-square-foot research facility that will be packed with well-paid scientists and support staff. “Health care is the major engine for the economy of the city of Philadelphia,” says Altschuler.

http://www.businessweek.com

For years, everyone from politicians on both sides of the aisle to corporate execs to your Aunt Tilly have justifiably bemoaned American health care — the out-of-control costs, the vast inefficiencies, the lack of access, and the often inexplicable blunders.
But the very real problems with the health-care system mask a simple fact: Without it the nation’s labor market would be in a deep coma. Since 2001, 1.7 million new jobs have been added in the health-care sector, which includes related industries such as pharmaceuticals and health insurance. Meanwhile, the number of private-sector jobs outside of health care is no higher than it was five years ago.

I ran into these guys in Rimbey once.

This is just too stupid.

What’s next? Cameras in washrooms that berate you for not washing your hands?

Big Brother is shouting at you

Big Brother is not only watching you - now he’s barking orders too. Britain’s first ‘talking’ CCTV cameras have arrived, publicly berating bad behaviour and shaming offenders into acting more responsibly.

The system allows control room operators who spot any anti-social acts - from dropping litter to late-night brawls - to send out a verbal warning: ‘We are watching you’.