I am a 28 year old man. I just got off the night shift in a factory. I am one year older.

This is what getting older feels like. Cold, lonely, with the tree line just in sight.

Every year that I’ve had this blog I’ve put together some sort of lessons learned compilation. Things to take away from the year gone and past, celebrating whatever life lesson I came to understand, even if it is something I should have learned well before I could drive, buy porn and vote.

On april 11th 2011, at the age of 26 years old, I stated “Never have surgery in a foreign country, especially not on your ass in South Korea”. That is some bold, mysterious and disturbing philosophizing by my predecessor. To this day I stand by it, as it may be the truest thing I have or ever will say. My contribution to humanity. But to put your, our, my name on it, publish it on the sopping tabloid that is the internet and then wonder why I work nights in a factory is an unfortunate comment about my perception of how I am be perceived.

A man made of metal said it better than I ever could, “If I only had a brain.”

Before I get to the list, and I will of course get to the list, I got a bone to pick with a guy named Dave. He and I attended public school and high school together, although only during the former can I say we were close friends. Dave was a nice guy who was really good at Super Mario 64.

He possessed the sort of smile you would welcome into your home to sharpen your kitchen knives. I was very good at French, but less so at Mario, especially when it came time to fight Bowser. Dave was not very good at French. As you might have already surmised, our complimentary skill sets complemented well.

So there was a time when Dave and I began the intellectual exchange we call friendship. I liked Dave.

Fast forward to today, or two weeks ago to be more specific. A friend of mine, Ryan, bumps into Dave. The subject of my employment comes up in conversation. Dave was not pleased or proud with the progress I had made in this cruel world and professed such. Enthusiastically.

Dave said he thought I would be a poet. I was confused to hear that Dave’s idea of the epitomy of life’s ziggurat is… poet. And I suppose he was not far off on the want and desire to play with words. I’m just not much for rhyming and I don’t feel the need to wear a beret or grow a goatee, too old for those games now old chum.

By the power of greyskull, did dear Dave ever cast judgement unto my life. Bewildered describes my state. Did Dave and I not bond over videogames and foreign languages?

Nik from two years ago might have been upset by the retelling of this social judgement. Now, with my current level of enlightenment, I can see there is but one difference between Dave and I. The difference being simple: Over the last decade I haven’t thought for one second what I thought Dave would be doing. Let’s just say I was too busy.

So Dave, I wrote you a poem, and I hope it lives up to all of your wildest poetic dreams for me.

Dave is a prick.

I was never very good at writing poetry.

Onto the list of lessons. This year they are simple, few and hopefully truths that will sculpt your life. In no particular order…

Shit I Learned When I Was 27:

1. Getting evicted is ok, so long as you are not the crackhead responsible for the eviction.

2. Throwing a coffee table does not settle an argument.

3. Do not by a car that, under any circumstances and regardless of impossibly low price, has an aftermarket speaker set installed using a mix of wood and drywall screws.

4. When you yell from a balcony, “The (insert season) of (insert name)!!!” ie, “The summer of Nik!!!”, you are dooming yourself.

5. Raccoons don’t like jalapeno peppers.

6. Avoid living in rooms you can’t stand up straight in.

7. Avoid owning nice stuff. It won’t stay nice when you get evicted.

8. Don’t take shit from Dave.

9. It’s now considered ‘therapeutic’ not pathetic to vent frustrations, both viciously and anonymously, against any human or corporate entity from the safety of the internet.

10. Don’t go back and read anything you’ve written that is older than a year… and that you maybe set free onto the internet.

11. The Netipot is the vilest of humanity’s creations.

That’s it, talk next year.

Niky

My apartment has no heat and I don’t know why. That’s a lie, I do know why; no one has turned it on. What I don’t understand is why they haven’t turned it on. The only thing I am certain of is that it’s cold. I am also cold. Someone commented that my situation is like camping, unfortunately, this isn’t a weekend excursion, this is my life. What I save in utilities, I lose in lifespan.

In our universe we don’t have control of the thermostat or our survival. It has been decided this power should not be placed in our hands. Instead it is left to the vintage store beneath us, and either they don’t mind the arctic conditions or they’re trying to better preserve the garbage they attach price tags to.

Life on the ice planet Hoth (Star Wars reference) poses some challenges to comfortable living.
Here are five things I hate doing now that I can store raw meat in my bedroom.

by Nikolai Paterak

by Nikolai Paterak

by Nikolai Paterak

by Nikolai Paterak

by Nikolai Paterak

My blog does not have a lot of readers, unfortunately one of them is my fever which has evolved to sentience. She might not have left a comment, but I don’t think she appreciated my last post. (I say my fever is a she, only because men aren’t capable of the level of cruelty I have experienced) Whatever ails me isn’t through with me yet, and it took none to kindly to me toasting my victory yesterday.

This morning things started well though, and I felt better than I had in days. I was optimistic, so I decided to celebrate my new-found good health by painting my closet; the final touch on my new room. I finished the job, but I didn’t last long after.

A familiar shudder ran through me, and so, I once more assumed my – well clothed – fetal hibernation position on the couch. I haven’t left the couch since, and I’m writing the blog from the same spot. At this moment I am now sitting upright. I can’t write huddled in the fetal position…yet.

Liquid nitrogen is trickling through my bones, and all I can do is make a grilled cheese. There is no ketchup in the fridge. Bad to worse.

Again, written and edited under the influence of a fever; be gentle.

I'm reading Walden by Henry David Thoreau, in case you couldn't notice. 

I’m a book snob, there’s no denying it. I read a lot, and along the way I have developed decent taste. I also hate shit. When I see a hard cover copy of Twilight I get a little nauseous. At the same time, I’m the first to admit I have terrible taste in music. You know that terrible song that dripped from your radio twenty times today that you are certain only teenage girls would admit to loving, well, I love it too. And I’m ok with this, even if the passenger in my car isn’t. In my opinion good taste in books makes up for terrible taste in music.

On Writing: A Memoir of the Craft

When it comes to my literary leanings, I read non-fiction for the most part. This Christmas when I unwrapped a Stephen King book from my dad the skin on my nose crinkled like someone beside me farted. I was not impressed. My dad was quick to defend that Stephen King’s On Writing: A Memoir of the Craft, had nothing to do with rabid dogs, pissed off telekinetic teenagers, or someplace where people buried beloved pets.

Stephen King has a large body of work to choose from, and I’ve never chosen any of them. The last Stephen King film adaptation I saw was Dreamcatcher. I can say, with confidence, this is the worst movie I have ever seen twice. I have not read the book, so I can’t comment on how true the film was to Mr.King’s vision. Despite my prejudice after two doses of Dreamcatcher, I gave On Writing an honest go. To my surprise I liked it a lot. Read more…

From my understanding English cottages have food.  My apartment up to this point, has not. Worse than this, from my past experience girls like to eat food, including my girlfriend who arrives in less than an hour. I am certain she would not enjoy the usual garbage that I put inside me to stay alive.

A healthy and balanced diet.

Personally, I’ve abandoned the institution of dinner for the last two months. Often I go without, because you know what’s cheaper than dinner? No dinner. However, when I do ‘indulge’, most civilized people wouldn’t consider my sustenance of choice a meal, or maybe even food.

If you were to exclude the meals I have eaten that were exclusively made up of either Mr.Noodles, Kraft Dinner or baked beans cold out of the can, then I have only had one dinner in my apartment.

You’re probably thinking two things.

1. Isn’t that what hermits live off of while they collect newspapers and wear tinfoil hats?

2. How are you alive or at the very least not crippled with scurvy?

I don’t really have a good answer to any of these questions.

In light of my mission to morph my man cave into an English cottage I have rectified this dietary deficiency. By no means would I say my cupboard is now well stocked, but you could have breakfast, lunch and some sort of dinner without having to eat noodles on all three occasions.

Stay posted for the next installment detailing how Ikea furniture attacked me.

There is a war being waged on the English language. The combatants in this battle think that their time is so valuable that they can’t spare the precious moments to actually type “Laugh out loud” and instead write LOL. Worse yet, I have heard someone say in a conversation, “LOL”. If something is genuinely ‘laugh out loud’, wouldn’t you just laugh?

Unfortunately, I agree with the argument that these should now be in the dictionary. Words that enter common usage need to be integrated officially, so that our language can evolve. If this weren’t the case we would all sound like we’re in a Shakespeare play and use words like ‘forthwith, doth thou or resembleth’. What’s sad is that we are letting the stupid pioneer the path our language evolves down.

How do we combat this wave of ridiculous acronyms? By beating them at their own game. We must create our own words that are actually useful.

On that note I present to you…
For sure + certain = Forsuretain

Pronounced: For +Sher + Ten

Definition: To be used, in context, when one is absolutely positively for sure certain of anything.

For the sake of the English language, adopt this word in everyday usage and begin to create your own words so we can continue to fight the good fight.

PS. I’ve already started using it in my office, and I have actually heard people say it by accident. People… we’re winning.

Please post what words you think we should try to sneak into the dictionary.

Mark as Spam

Spam has gotten a lot of bad press.  Nobody is a big fan of the canned meat, and people aren’t a fan of their junk email folder filling up with notifications about viagra. This blog is not about the garbage meat you buy, but the garbage mail you receive for free.

Having my own blog has given me perspective. Since it’s birth I have recieved A LOT of spam comments.  So much that this blog is actually the second version due to technical errors caused by spam on its predecessor, but I’m not angry.

Rest assured the Chronicles of Nik is now secure under a layer of spam filters, but the sneakier ones still get through and boy are they friendly. What was once a complete shit storm of prescription drug sales has become unsolicited encouragement!




Here are the top 6 reasons why I love getting spam comments posted to my blogs:

1.  They never fail to inspire me with their encouraging posts.  A more recent comment said,”Amazing post, honest!” Hard not to feel good with that in my pocket.

2.  These optimistic spammers end fifty percent of their comments on my blog with exclamation marks which makes for an exciting read.

3  Spam comments offer deep insight about what keeps them coming back to my blog.  When I received this comment about my post, “This is why I respect your site.”  I knew that my message was getting across.

4.  The sites that these spam comments represent are personally relevant to my writing, such as a recent note left by http://flashdrivesbulk.net.  This speaks to me.

5.  Based on comments such as, “Great post, truly!” I know for certain that they have actually read my blog.

6.  Finally, it’s nice getting comments(nudge nudge) even if they are from disgustingly positive insightful robots with phenomenal taste.

If you want to subscribe to my blog by email that would be cool, and you should CLICK HERE

Our beautiful home that was robbed.

It was the Friday before the Canada day long weekend in 2007, and before we could celebrate we were made victims. Our house was broken into and our most treasured possessions were taken, video games, dvds and a cell phone.

This break and enter is not your classic case in that our did not lock in the traditional sense, however it did close most of the time.  For the burglar this meant that their was not much breaking required for entry.

Getting your prized possessions stolen is no laughing matter regardless of how few they may be. The way you discover the theft of your belongings, is subject to circumstances.

Below is a carefully constructed timeline of the theft:
-Go to bed Thursday night at 1130pm.
-Wake up at 530am to go to work with my room mate, Coop.
-Coop tries to find his cell phone, unable.  I tell him, “Coop we have to go, we were late 15 minutes ago.  I went to bed last and the phone was on the coffee table.  We’ll find it when we get back.”
-Return from work that afternoon with cheap delicious pizza, and sit around our living room to have this conversation.
Nik, “I don’t know where your phone could be, I went to bed last and it was sitting right there(pointing at the coffee table).”
Coop, “Well maybe someone robbed us?”
Nik, “If they were going to steal your cell phone they would have taken everything”
-At this moment I pause, opened up the TV cabinet and realized they had stolen everything electronic of any value.  This did not include the TV, which was of no value.  A lot of my stuff but more importantly our roommate Ross’ life long collection of DVDs.
Nik, “I had a good run really.”  I smiled giggling, “We can’t tell Ross, he’ll cry.”
-I also realized later that the criminal may have stolen one Birkenstock.  As it turned out the robber was a potential evil mastermind.
-Ross was not told until the end of the long weekend.  We elected another house member, Jake, to break the bad news.  We pardoned our self from this duty on the grounds that we could not break this devastating news in a tender manner to Ross given the obvious hilarity of the situation.  Allegedly, Ross almost did cry.

Conclusion:  Through the use of detective skills we deduced that we were robbed between the hours of 1130pm and 530am.  They in fact had stolen Coop’s phone… and everything else.

Afterthought, a week later we couldn’t find the blanket we used as a couch cover.  The culprit as it turned out, not only stole our shit but used our couch cover to rap up his haul and make off with our prize electronics like an evil Santa.  Salt in wound.

Lesson- lock your door, or at the very least have a door that will close.  Our door did neither of these things well or consistently.