So there I was, on one of the escalators of the gigantic Heathrow Airport.

I turned around, and peered at the girl behind me.

“Is it just me,” I said grumpily, “or is there a serious lack of garbage bins in Britain?”

She stammered and muttered something incomprehensible.

Thinking it might be my Canadian accent, I moved my hands and pointed towards my pockets. They were visibly lumpy. I pulled out a mess of receipts, tickets, candy wrappers, documents, and pocket lint.

“I’ve been here a good four hours, and I swear there’s not a single garbage can in this shopping mall of an Airport.”

She stammered again and said something about “You’ll find it if you look hard enough…”

I just hurumphed and that was that.

I guess I should explain why I’m in London.

A few months ago, I decided I’d like to volunteer with the Global Volunteer Network this summer. So for a month, I’ll be a math teacher for young secondary school children in Dagoretti, a small poor village located in the slums and outskirts of Nairobi, the capital of Kenya.

And the question everybody asks me is “Why?”

I think it’s an age thing. Being still a young rascal very much in his early adult years, I suppose I still have that naive outlook in life, you know? I still have that notion that I’m able make a difference in this big ol’ world.

Actually, bleak cynicism doesn’t set in until your mid-20s. That’s a fact.

And having just completed my Master’s and taken one more step towards that odd real world people keep referring to, I think it’s become more and more important for me to find my niche in life. It’s become important for me to find a way to make my mark in life.

But how? Am I to inspire children to learn maths as a teacher? Am I to devote myself to research and hope to make my mark in the world of mathematics? Or am I to become a professional blogger and provide inane ramblings for the rest of the world to read?

What’s my place in all this? I’m not sure.

But maybe the answer lies in Kenya. Maybe I’ll have flash of inspiration and maybe my life will become clear after this trial. Do you think?

I hope so.

Sorry guys, I’ve got to run. There’s 1 min 30 seconds left on this retarded internet station, and so I have to wrap it up. It might be a day or two until I can find my way to another computer. But I will. Love y’all.

Most of you know I’m leaving Ottawa on a trip.

I was hoping to write this awfully grand thing. You know, all the good stuff about why I’m going, where I’m going, and what I’ll be doing.

But I just don’t have time. Sorry. My plane leaves in an hour.

I’ll be in London tomorrow. And I’m hoping to somehow, somehow keep y’all in the loop.

So come back soon.

Oh, I almost forgot.

I’m going to Kenya.

You have no idea how hard it is to find a nice gift for a rich girl.

I mean, guys are easy. Alcohol always raises the spirits.

But girls, man, girls are always so hard. Girlfriends are easy, because the whole romantic crap comes naturally for me. But female friends? That’s a whole new ball game.

And then there’s the rich factor. What do you get a girl who has everything?

A Care Bear.

“Hi, I’m looking for a care bear,” I said, “but none of those post-2000 bears. I want one of the Original Ten.”

The sales girl peered at me strangely.

I counted off my fingers, “Funshine Bear, Grumpy Bear, Tenderheart Bear, Wish Bear, –”

“– I’m sorry,” she interrupted me before I could get through the Original Ten, “we don’t sell those here.”

I could see her shoulders quivering as she snickered silently.

And that’s how it went. Store after store. I must have stopped by a dozen places. Toys’R'Us, Carleton Cards, Hallmark, Special Moments, Zellers, you name it, I went there. All they had were crappy second-rate care bears. Badly mutated care bears. It was awful. A grizzly battlefield of cheap bears made by little Chinese labourers.

Then I went to the Carleton Cards at Billings Bridge Plaza.

You know that 1977 song by Dan Hill, “Sometimes When We touch”?

I almost felt like singing that song. Right there, smack middle in the shopping mall.

Holding my new bear.

“What’s yer’ name lil fella?” I asked.

“Shine Bright Bear,” she said.

Shine Bright Bear had one of those youthful, girly voices. You know, like a typical Disney character. ‘Cept it was so finely articulated that you just knew it was some 45 year old black guy behind that 12 year old itty bitty voice.

Anyways, Shine Bright Bear’s just perfect. She’s all about doing the best she can, and putting a special polish on things. Plus, she loves to dress up, being Care-Bear’s fashion princess and all.

She told me so.

And uh, it’s written on the card.

God, Phil.

Write something. Anything.

I figure each day I don’t write something, I lose 2% of my regular readers.

What 2% of, like, 10 readers?

Come over to the 98% side. That’s what all the cool kids are doing.

Out there, in the big ol’ Internet, there’s a computer forum slanted towards, well, geeks.

I’ve been a member for about half a decade now, and it’s always amusing to see questions about dating pop up. The advice is really fantastic, as the community draws from (mostly) men of all ages 12-60 with varying levels of experience and success in their own love lives.

Here’s the most recent thread, along with the best suggestions.

Your parents give you the ID of some cute girl they found on the side of the road and tell you it’s an opportunity.

Now the question is, I couldnt find the girl in the people pages, but of course she’s on Facebook.

What do I do?

Reply #1
Just explain to your parents you like men. They’ll understand.

Reply #2
“So here’s your ID, wanna go out?”

Sorry man but that screams creepy stalker to me.

Reply #3
Tell her it was destiny that brought you two together.

Then tell her it reminded you of a quest from World of Warcraft…

SCORE!

Reply #4
Just tell her you’re the king of coupons.

Course, there’s a moral to all this.

Go elsewhere for your women problems, stupid.