I have a $5 gift certificate to Amazon.com that I won’t be using (careful — it’s the US site, not the Canadian one). So if you know that you’re going to spend $20 or more at Amazon in the month of August, feel free to apply.

Skill Testing Question: In one of the posts at Phil’s Proof, I once described my search for a suitable birthday gift. Name that gift (you must be specific here), as well as the song I referenced.

First person to comment (and who actually wants this) gets the big prize.

Yesterday night, I was married to Rachel McAdams.

So it was only for a handful of hours.

And so I wasn’t technically conscious.

But I ask you, kind reader, what is consciousness, anyways?

Now, I could go off and talk about how Descartes wondered the very same thing — that is, how do we really know if we’re dreaming or not — cept’ in his day, there was no Rachel McAdams. Descartes was probably dreaming about that saucy wench with the low-cut blouse who served him tea in the afternoons…

But dude, I was married to Rachel McAdams! Don’t you wanna hear about that?

Okay, so Rach — [yeah, I called her “Rach”. She loved it. She called me Phil, by the way. We were tight like that] — Rach and I lived in this itty-bitty quaint house, along with two kittens and a dog. It was back in Canada, of course, because everyone knows that Rachel is from Ontario.

Anyways, we ‘d be sitting on the porch, sipping our drinks. And she’d be dressed in that really sexy bride’s maid costume she had on in Wedding Crashers. Why she was wearing a bride’s maid dress, I have no idea. But piss off. My dream, remember?

Then we’d talk about our day. Nothing fancy. She’d regale me with all the wonderful details of her day: how she fended off advances from Brad Pitt and George Clooney, how she had lunch with Julia Roberts and Nicole Kidman, and how Owen Wilson was inviting us both to his cottage next week.

Then I’d talk about mine: how I sat around at home. Mostly naked. Reading about math and checking my e-mail. Eating Cheeto’s and shit.

She’d think I was the cats pajamas. Real hilarious, you know. Then again, I always seem so much funnier in my dreams.

Oh, and I think Ryan Gosling might have stopped by and tried something shady. I might have punched him, then chased him off with a bat.

Anyways, I had a fantastic time.

Tonight, I think I’m going to try falling asleep to The Notebook.

I know what you’re thinking.

You’re thinking, “Who is that unbeareably handsome guy off to the right?”

Look at those eyes!

Those brown, mellowy eyes that just ooze intelligence and…what is that? A kind of gentle weariness and humorous melancholy?

Maybe. But either way, I bet you were so enamored by those eyes, you didn’t even question my use of the word ‘mellowy’.

And that slump!

Oooh baby. That casual slump that somehow manages to tread the fine line between downright coolness and hopeless slack. It’s a slump that says, “Baby, James Dean s’got nothin’ on me”.

What about that smirk?

A subtle smirk that’s probably maddening to most people if it weren’t so suave. That’s the kind of smirk that’ll get you the ladies, I bet. Or get you beaten up in the 8th grade.

But surely that smirk reminds you of someone?

It’s me, duh!

I love it!

Is this what models feel like when a photographer takes their picture and, through a combination of makeup and photoshop produces a product worthy of a magazine cover?

It sorta looks like me, but not really.

Because for one thing, I hardly look that good in real life.

In any case, the reason I look so good is due to my friend and acquaintance, the talented artist, Captain Slug, who grudgingly put his artistic skills to the test on my behalf.

I was sorta hoping for tights and a cape, but I suppose that suit doesn’t look half bad.

I’m still working on it.

But you can have a gander — just don’t go crazy, mkay?

Hint: Click the post title.

Edit: I’m tweaking things, as we speak — so if you look now, things are going to be a bit wonky.

Yeah, I know this blog has been totally sucking lately. I just can’t help it. For the past few months, I’ve always been like, “Next week, I’ll finally have some time to sort things out”. But week after week passes and my moment never arrives.

There’s always something to do. There was that trip to Kenya to prepare for, conferences to attend, papers to write, prerequisite books to read, and so on and so forth.

And lately? Well, I just finished some long-overdue letters, which, believe it or not, took two or three days to prepare, I’ve had to get a haircut, sort out logistical problems with FedEx and Purolator shipments, and who knows what else.

Consequently, I’m behind on my own studying. At the moment, I’m diligently reading up on Computational Fluid Dynamics and Compressible Flow, as well as finishing up my summer muse, Applied Partial Differential Equations and when I’m bored, I read a few pages from Acheson’s Fluid Dynamics.

So naturally, blogging gets left on the back burner.

But it’s just not the fact that I don’t have a few hours here and there to write something. It’s more the fact that everything is in such disarray I can’t even organize my thoughts to write a coherent post.

So what comes out are these totally lame, totally apologetic, and totally pathetic entries.

Right-O.

So now is the perfect opportunity for you to send me a cute and slightly rambling e-mail telling me how my blog hasn’t sucked, how cool I still am, and how you’re still my number one fan.