My life's story

Hello, and welcome to the five-hundred-and-first post.

As you can see, it has a spacious interior with plenty of legroom, not that I need it because I'm so damn short.

I was going to do something really special for my 500th post, but I forgot about it at the time. I could tell you my life story, I guess. It's not all that interesting, to be honest. It pretty much ammounts to a couple indesputable facts:

I was born Tuesday, August 5th 1986, at sometime around 8:23am. It was sunny.

My name at birth was Benjamin Fergus, because my parents didn't want to go all traditional-like and name me Victor instead.

I was raised under a park bench by marxists who used to beat me with sociology texts: Emile Durkheim, Thomas Carlyle, Michel Foucault etc.

The rest have been alternating periods of interest and boredom, wherein I've made regular contributions to my RRSP and eaten all my vegetables.

You should wait for it to be televised. Everything's better on television.

I think my family would provide the basis for an excellent reality tv show, like the Osbornes, only interesting in a really weird way.

Ever since I got back from Alert Bay I've been itching to do some silversmithing. I found a piece of beach glass that looks like it came from a really old green Coke bottle and I want to turn it into a pin for my turquoise jacket. Andy says the colour makes me look creative. I honestly don't see it, at least, I don't see the connection there. But that doesn't change the fact that I love the sounds of torches and the smell of hydraulic oil and evaporating flux and slowly burning away the feeling in my fingertips. Makes me feel like an alchemist.