It's been rather cold around here lately. I know that spring's not really the best time of year in Halifax, and I know to expect clouds, drizzle, fog, mist, and rain. But it's not supposed to be this cold.

I'm walking up the hill towards home. I'd recently left the Seahorse. Because it's chilly out, I stick my hands in my pockets. Eww. What's this? Did I get pie and/or vomit in my pocket? Whatever it was, it was cold, chunky, and slimy. Fuck! Then I think about it for a moment and remember that my jacket had been in the back all night, and was nowhere near the pie eating contest. Bravely, I slide my hand out of my pocket to investigate the stinky mess. The fingers on my left hand are covered with mustard, onions, and sauerkraut. It must've happened when I mooched some of KC's food.

Earlier in the evening, competitor Jonathan Stewart stopped at my place for some pre-contest prep, which was some kind of smoke that made me a bit hungrier. I don't know what it was, it was my first time trying anything like that. I think it's what people call "grass." Then it was time for a trip to the liquor store on our way to see Anya and J. Our new band was supposed to jam, but we just drank our beer quickly while KC got a haircut and we listened to Motley Crue. There was some more of that weird smoke, and by the time I got to the bar, I was feeling nice. The socializing took a little longer than planned (time flies when you're having fun), so I arrived in between the first and second bands. That's too bad; I wanted to catch at least some of the Risky Business set. There was a nice sized crowd there, and everywhere I turned someone was saying something to me about pie.

I ditched someone promptly when I saw Christ at the bar. I can't remember who, and I'm sorry, but seeing him meant that the Burdocks were back in town, and the Hold can get ready for our shows. He told me he saw KC wandering around with 2 beers, and I went on a search for KC.

Sharp Like Knives pulled off a fun set. Honestly, I was drunk by then and distracted. I just wandered around saying hi to Nancy and Seth, and looking for KC. I also was realizing that I was really hungry and soon I was going to have to eat pie, but I was filling up on beer; I was on my fifth or sixth by then. Some people showed up after playing in Matt's garage in Truro and since Special Noise brought their instruments, they played a bit and it was a nice little treat. That's when I saw them bringing out the table and laying out all the pies.

I never really planned to try. I knew I wouldn't win. But once it started, a competitive part of me that I was fairly unaware of came out. I guess I wanted to prove that I could pig out even though I am kinda tiny. I also didn't want to lose, and I didn't. It was fucking gross, though. And I love apple pie. I think it would have been easier with ice cream, because the dry crust was hard to swallow. Before moving onto the next pie, you had to eat the entire one before it, including all the crust. Well into my second pie, I started choking on the crust. When you're enjoying a slice or two, a nice, flaky crust can be appreciated. But when you're cramming as much into your mouth as you can, it gets mucky. I figured I'd eat as much as I could by cleaning out the filling, but it screwed me in the end. I just couldn't swallow the crust. I started rinsing it down with beer, and that helped for a bit, but in the end, I did have to use the fucking bucket.

"I heard you threw up and just kept eating."

Well, I didn't exactly throw up. I gagged, and a little pie came back up into my mouth, but not all the way up from my stomach, but before that happened, I shoved more in my face, so there was no room in my mouth. I tried and tried to make it go back down, but I figured I may as well spit it out and keep going. I remember he held the bucket in front of my face in case I had more, and I pushed it away.

Anyway, Desmond Troyer (of Hell City Love) won, and Jon Epworth came in second.

The table was swiftly shoved off to the side, and Oh God played. I wish I could've enjoyed it more, but I was busy sitting in a chair holding my gut. I then had to lay down on a bench for awhile and moan.

After probably an hour of digesting, I could move around and talk again. I was so stuffed, I couldn't even drink any more beer for a bit. When I began feeling a bit more normal, I grabbed KC's a couple times; I was thirsty. The bar closed, and they kicked us out, and we walked home with those Tragic neighbours of ours. We stopped at one of those vendors on the way. KC didn't stuff his face with pie and was hungry. He got a polish sausage. Some other people got other stuff. Secretly, I wanted my own "dog", but I didn't want anyone to know I was hungry again. After all, I had just drank 7 beer and ate 1.7874 pies. But then again, apple pie ain't exactly a meal. My body still wanted meat. I begged KC for a bite of his, which was pretty rude; he was the real hungry one, and it was now his birthday.

My jacket is now in the washing machine. Maybe the blood stains from 3 and 4 weeks back will come out with the mustard and onion stank.

edit: photos by Coolie, optimus crime.

ug
My belly hurts, but that didn't stop me from eating some of KC's sausage. I need to lay down.

I started a band with Anya tonight.
I've been lost in thought lately.
Thinking about acquaintances and things.
Drank Horsepower (50% pale, 50% bitter) for the first time tonight.
Good for a buzz.
Goodnight.
Maybe I'll sell you smokes or porn tomorrow.

I've been eating a lot of Corn Flakes lately. One of the good things about being poor is when the parents buy you groceries. Not only because there's suddenly food in the cupboard and it was free, but also because the parents usually buy things that I normally don't. I love cereal, but don't buy it often. It's expensive, and then you have to buy milk on top of that.

I did eat a lot of Corn Flakes when I was a child. I always begged for Frosted Flakes. "No, Crystal. We'll just get Corn Flakes and put sugar on it. It's cheaper." But it wasn't the same. I wanted the cereal with the Tiger on the box, not the Rooster one that my grandparents ate. But I didn't argue. It wasn't fun to piss dad off. At home, the Corn Flakes doused in sugar were pretty yummy; I used a lot of sugar. But Frosted Flakes were frosted, not just sugared, and little me wanted the other chemicals, too. Lately, I've been adding fruit to the flakes. It's really good with bananas. I thought it was gross when my grandparents would suggest adding fruit. I imagine this product was gross.

Seeing the Rooster every day in my kitchen reminds me of the first time I met Mark Regimbal. There was a party at Cam's place in Liverpool. KC, Brian, and I ate some mushrooms. The only mushrooms I'll eat are poisonous. There were a lot of people at Cam's that I didn't know, and the ones I did know, I had just recently met. Some of them were ravers, others were Liverpool jocks grown up and getting wasted. The rest of the folks were the weird Liverpool artist crew. Stephen "sssssuuuuuuccks" Nickerson had one of those laser pointers. Lingley walked around being a walking rave, jerking the laser pointer around himself. It was funny to see, but hard to explain. Stogie and Mark R took some shroomies later than us, and the 5 of us left Cam's to spend some time at the Fort.

The craziness kicked in at the Fort and it was a little hard for me to handle. These guys were going crazy from the drugs at the time where I was coming down. Brian, Ryan, and Mark had just finished living together. It can be very trying to live with people, especially good friends. So they had some issues to discuss and work out so they could be friends again. With the comfortability of their relationships and the energy that comes from hallucinogenics, their discussions turned into yelling matches at times. I plugged my ears and rocked back and forth on the park bench. "Stop fighting. I can't take it. Why are you guys yelling at each other? MOMMY!! DADDY!!! STOP YELLING AT EACH OTHER." Ok, I wasn't serious about all of it, but I wanted to be friends with theses guys and I couldn't understand why they were yelling if they loved each other.

To break the tension, change the subject, and get back to having fun, Mark became the Corn Flakes Rooster. He just ran around the park. He ran in circles. He ran around the lighthouse and jumped up on benches and picnic tables. "I'm the Corn Flakes Rooster. Cock-a-doodle-doo." Over and over and over again.

As we walked from the Fort back to Brian's (we weren't going back to the parents place this fucked; we had planned a slumber party at Brian's) Mark apologized and explained it all to me. He did drugs like that only about once a year, to clear his head. They had to work out those issues. He's sorry. They didn't mean to bother me with the yelling. I told him it's okay. I enjoyed him being the rooster.

Cock-a-doodle-doo.

Gray, gray, gray day.
I've nothing to say.

(The clouds rolled in as Shannen left the store)

edit: I'm sorry I didn't have anything helpful to say. I'm sorry I don't have a way with words, especially when it's important.

I didn't know the beautiful girl, but I believe she touched everyone that knew her, even if it were a brief knowledge.

Sometimes I say what I mean. I think it's a good way to be. I also like to mean what I say. Other times, I say what I don't mean. I like to say the opposite of the common argument to get people to see the other side. I guess in those cases, I do mean what I say, but I don't necessarily believe it. Then there's those times when I say what I mean, and I mean it at the time, only to change my mind later. My opinions and beliefs change constantly. That comes with the belief that there is no truth or knowledge.

Most of the time, I shouldn't be allowed to open my mouth.

"I love Canada so far."

That's good to hear.

"Don't mind us, we're just a bunch of drunk Americans."

One of them comes up to the counter to get a pack of smokes. He asks me where's a good place to party. Well, it depends on what you're looking for. The Seahorse is my favourite place on weekends and it's just up the street from here. "Somewhere for hard rock." You should go to the Attic tonight. Heavy music and 2 dollar drinks. Another one says "Oh yeah and the wet t-shirt contests." My co-worker tells him about the Palace and I sell smokes to the first one. They all leave.

A few minutes later, I'm off.

"I love you!"

Uh,...thanks. Shit. KC said he'd meet me. Did he go down to Loomis with Paul, or is he up by the library? Well, I'll just go up the street a bit and have a smoke.

"Ha ha. That was the best response." [That's also how I responded to Adrian when he said those words to me in grade 10]

"Are you 3 to 4 meters from the entranceway of the store?"

Uh, I don't know.

"Are we those loud, obnoxious Americans you read about in the paper?"

I don't read about them...

They're starting to come over to talk to me. I move a little farther from the door. Before you know it, I'm surrounded by these men, smoking. "Would you be offended if I called you an Eskimo?" I'm not an Eskimo. To his friend, "See, I told you Canadians weren't Eskimos. Those are people from Alaska." I think there are some in Canada, too, like in the Northwest Territories and stuff. "Oh, we're not looking to go to the Northwest Territories." Somehow, this led them to get into an argument about who's hometown was furthest south. "I'm from Georgia." My stepfather's from Louisiana. "I'm from Louisiana!" "Yeah, but I'm from further south; it's right in line with Florida." "No..." I look around and notice KC coming around pizza corner.

"I love you" that same guy says to a girl as she walks by. She's startled and gives him a dirty look. "Do I smell like a dirty American?" he asks me as he leans a little closer. No, I don't smell anything. Wait, you do kinda smell like a Yankee. Well, you guys have a good night, I'm gonna take off with this guy. I hope you find your wet t-shirt contest.

Oh, it's bound to be an interesting summer.

Someone here has a crush on someone at Bloomfield.
It's true.

I was watching "Are You Afraid to Get Laid?". Gertie got very, very excited.

I don't think I've ever seen her like that. Throughout the whole thing, she was rather animated, pacing the living room floor, making a small chirping noise. While Vickers was being interviewed, her chirps grew; they became more of a pprrmmeerow. Then she jumped onto my desk and rubbed herself against the speakers.

Gertie wants Vickers.

My face is still sore, but healing nicely. It was pretty gross yesterday. I didn't clean it when I got home, and the next day, I left it because it stung so much to get wet. By Sunday, I knew I had to do something, so stupidly, I attempted to peroxide it using toilet paper. Big mistake (and I knew it would be). Next thing I know, there's fuzz stuck to it. Being a chicken-shit, I was afraid to take a shower. All those scrapes on various parts of my body. But, by Monday, I HAD to. I felt gross, and I had to go in and talk to my new boss. It did sting, but it felt good in the end. I had pain in my neck; my glands were swollen from trying to fight the developing infection. After the shower, it was easy to clean off the gooey yellow mess. I then had to lean backwards over the bathtub while KC poured peroxide all over my chin. Now the infection is almost cleared up, and it doesn't hurt as much.

I have a job now. The last place I applied, was the first place to call me back. Remember when I acted out at a punk party, guzzling someone's Jagermeister? Now, I work with the person who shared the booze. I work at the Paper Chase. Expect to see me downtown 5 days a week this summer.

There's nothing like waking up buck naked and covered in blood. I really wish someone had snapped a photo. I left my helmet in Emily's room. Sometimes, I think I should have worn it home; that was a tough walk. But then again, it would not have protected my chin, hand, shoulder or knees.

I spent the day yesterday, laying on the couch with crappy Saturday afternoon Global television on, thinking. As I looked back to the night before and remembered what it was like to be lying on the sidewalk on Hunter Street, I got all these memories flooding me; reminding me that nothing has changed. This is not a new thing for me. I've spent plenty of time with my face in the mud, or on the pavement. I'm thankful it's been a long time since I threw up all over a friend's (or worse, stranger's) bed.

The first memory to come to mind was a night leaving Ali's apartment, above Rassy's. The cab was there and I made it down the steep stairs rather quickly. Everything was going good, until I tripped on the door frame, landing on the sidewalk, hands and knees bloody, looking up at my cab.

Next, I remember a night outside of J's. I think it may have been the first Hold show. I couldn't help with gear; I was laying in the mud with my face hanging over the curb.

I also remember a Snaps show years ago. I made it up the stairs from backstage just fine, but couldn't make it down the two on the other side of the stage, beside the back door and the sound thing. Many people saw me come flying out of seemingly nowhere, and slide across the floor, hitting the wall like the Cottonelle puppy.

But this fall was probably one of the worst. I usually manage to catch myself with my hands and knees. Not so Friday night. Besides wiping out on a bike or skateboard as a child, this was one of the first times I had landed on my face. Now I look beautiful for the job interviews I hope to get soon. I don't remember leaving; I was already passing out. I should learn when NOT to say "can I have some more? KC, can I have some more?" I don't remember tripping or stumbling, or anything that happened after the fall, but I do remember a distinct feeling as my chin collided with the sidewalk. If someone had gone out and scraped the sidewalk, I bet you could clone me. But that would be a very bad idea. I'm surprised I didn't lose any teeth. It hurts to open my mouth too wide, or to swallow, or to laugh. I guess I deserve it for drinking Jim Beam and walking around with a G.G. quote on my back.

"I am slowly going crazy
1-2-3-4-5-6 Switch.

Crazy going slowly am I
6-5-4-3-2-1 Switch."

I don't know who actually wrote or sings that song. I think it may be Sharon, Lois, and Bram. I don't think I ever heard anyone sing it except for me and Patricia, who sang it ALL THE TIME in grades 9 and 10. We were annoying and silly.

neighbour: "Crystal, where are you off to?"

me: "I have to look for a job."

neighbour: "Oh, that's why you look all nice with the makeup and the hair."

Well, I'm doing a lot better than yesterday. It's fucking beautiful out. Also, a different mommy gave us some money so we could eat. It's a shame I'm such a slave to my addictions. I don't even TRY to stop. On one hand, I could stop smoking right now (or actually a few hours ago), but on the other hand, I could but more and be in a good mood when I hand out those resumes. It's obvious which choice I made.

Before heading over to Paul's, KC gave me $7 to eat lunch while I was downtown. Well, put that with the $7 I had left over from yesterday, and it's just enough for a pack of smokes and a coffee. Oh well, I'm not that hungry anyway. My body's getting used to being empty. [It helps that I had practice starving all those years ago in Bedford.* After I broke up with Steve, I said to him "You must hate that I look a lot better now than I ever did when we were together." From subsequent conversations, I found out it was that statement that made him hate me. According to him, it was never about that. Yeah, I guess he was right. If our relationship had any basis on looks, I never would have been with him in the first place.] But, I did eat some oatmeal today, and when I'm done here, I'll probably have some toast.

I handed out some resumes today. Synovate, Sam's, Sock it to Ya, and , ugh, The Second Cup (I know, I know. But I'm desperate and can never figure out which places to walk into). That's it? Only 4. Fuck, today wasn't as productive as I had thought. The only places actually hiring are the call center and the Sock store, which is alright cuz those are on the top of my "want" list. I have to stop into the sock store tomorrow when the owner is there. The guy at the Second Cup kinda creeped me out, but I joked along with him anyway. He said they DID just hire some people, but the turnover's fairly high (cuz, as one of my friends put it "it's the worst place to work in the city"), so I should leave my resume anyway. "When are you available?" I'm available any hour of any day. "No girl has ever answered that question better, but I meant for here." Eww. Yeah, heh, so did I. He wrote that I was "nice" on my resume because of how I had joked along with him. Oh, I hope he doesn't read this. Then he might write "two-faced" on my resume. But that's a good trait in the service industry, isn't it?

I bumped into Jack MacDonald on Spring Garden, in his usual spot in front of the CIBC. I met him a few years ago when I worked at Mahons. He used to come in to get his stories photocopied because we were cheaper than Kinko's and our service was better. Too bad no one else knew that, and the place went under. I've only seen Jack perform once, at the Khyber, in the months after Mahons went under. It was one his first times (or the first) playing with the Hotel Faces. Every time I see him, we have a nice little chat, and I tell him I'll watch out for his next show and come. I almost always know when they're playing, but I haven't kept my word and gone. They're playing Reflections tonight. It's free, so chances are, I'll actually go. I have this itch. I haven't been "out" since last week when I was refused entry to the Attic. Of course, I'll want to drink. But, since KC managed to get a little extra $$$, I think I'll be ok in that department. [He called from Paul's and said he wanted to go to Charlie's tonight. I told him I wanted to go to 'Flections. After I told him Jack was playing, he said "yeah, we should do that...and the beer's cheap." To which I replied, "Yeah, cheaper than Charlie's"] Jack and I had a nice little chat about Jesus. For some reason I didn't expect that from him.

The nice thing about being a regular somewhere (Charlie's for me) is you get perks. Today, my coffee was free. Thanks Bernie.

In the words of Nelson Muntz "I'm so hungry I could puke."

*By no means should this sentence imply any sort of eating disorder. I do have a weird appetite, and I am a skinny girl, but have never had an eating disorder. I was starving in Bedford because, believe it or not, that was the peak of my self-destructive tendencies. I spent all my money on booze, pot, smokes, and acid. My friend worked at a bagel shop and gave all the day-olds to my household. So, for the 2 months (or more) before I met KC, I stayed up 'till morning drinking and getting high and playing video games. Then I would sleep all day, get up, walk to my roommates room (in the t-shirt and panties I had slept in) and start all over again. I usually only stopped for food when I had to. I ate nothing but Kit Kat bars, pizza slices, and untoasted, unbuttered bagels. I was too lazy to do any better.

I'm so fucking depressed right now. That always happens when I'm broke. I know money can't buy happiness, but it sure fucking sucks not having ANY!

I just got back from the grocery store, where I bumped into my new neighbour, Melissa (I love Allan Street). My purse was heavy as I made the trek to the Quinpool Center. In my purse were 2 rolls of dimes, 3 rolls of nickels, and 6 rolls of pennies. That equals my last 19 dollars. Good thing I throw my change in that old wine jug. I came home with 7 dollars left, along with the cat food, cat litter, spaghetti sauce, margarine, Five Alive, and bananas I'd purchased.

I hate having to ask my mom for money, especially when it ends up being just enough for rent and I'm still rolling up dirty coins for some food. In the last couple days, I've eaten canned turkey, Mr. Noodles, oatmeal, and some potato chips. Of course, there would have been more money for food if it weren't for alcoholism. Think of the Mr. Noodles I could've purchased with the money I spent on Sangria yesterday. But it felt good to drink that swill last night. Helped me pretend I wasn't piss-poor. I mean, I was drinking wine.

To make matters worse, I still haven't started looking for a job. I almost finished my resume today. It's a piece of crap, but then again, so am I, and I'll only be using it to apply for jobs that are crap. I would've completed it except for my problem with references. I realized I didn't know how to spell Darlene's last name, and that really, I only have 2 references. They recommend you give at least 3. I haven't been able to motivate myself to hunt for crap when it's raining out and I'm malnourished.

I HAVEN'T EVEN HAD COFFEE TODAY!!! That makes me crazy.

On the bright side, I've really been enjoying this no school thing. I've had all these things building up inside, and now I've had the opportunity to do some sewing and much painting. That feels wonderful.

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The weekend was pretty decent. I was in some pain after FAXE hands, and so wasn't in the mood for much Friday night. I did 5 loads of laundry at the Bluenose. It was nice out, so I sat on the steps and watched people. I never took the time to slow down at that intersection before, but it's a very interesting place to watch people. Ended up renting a Trailer Park Boys DVD and watching half of the third season.

Drock called on Saturday. Colleen and Al were in PEI with Flagshipsinker, he was already drinking, and it was nice out, so he called to invite us to a barbeque. We splurged on an 8-pack and found our way to the South-End. I didn't exactly expect to not know ANYONE there, but it was a good time. As soon as we got through the door, Drock and some guy, Mike (who was in the Shitheads) offered up some burgers. I was surprised that Derek was offering me a burger made of beef, but someone else had brought them. In the backyard grilling them up, Drock says "I hope you all die of that cow disease. I'll laugh." It was much appreciated to have some free food. I thought I'd opted out of food when I bought beer. A ketchup/mustard mixture dribbled onto my jacket, very close to a stain left by Alfred's blood. The people were nice enough, and I got into some fairly interesting conversations with some of them. I never thought I'd have someone ask me who my favourite thinkers were. Ugg, that was the topic of the philosophy classes I dropped. I only really took a few first and second year courses, and Logic was the only class I excelled in. I can only remember names of a few: Descartes, Spinoza, Newton, Hobbes. The dogs were much of my entertainment, as I ended up sitting on the floor. They kept crawling on top of me, trying to get everyone's beer. They managed to spill KC's at least once, and lick as much of it off the carpet as they could before it soaked in. My newly clean jeans soaked the rest up, and now the knees are pretty brown. I got embarrassed for the first time in awhile that night. It involved the slow-filling toilet. First time I use the toilet, it doesn't flush. FUCK!! I'm on my period. No one wants to look at my bloody-rag-piss all night. So I take the lid off the back of the toilet and there's no water inside. Then there's a knock on the door and a girl is asking me if I'll be long. I say no, and keep trying to get the damn thing to work. Finally, I pop my head out the door and say "I can't get it to flush, and it's gross; I'm on my period." We introduce ourselves AFTER she helps me fill the back up with water from the sink and bathtub. People I knew started showing up as I was running out of beer. I bought one off Jared and KC bummed a few from different people. I saw Katy for the first time in ages, and that was nice. A little after midnight, I was outta beer and people were having more fun with each other than with me, so KC and I packed up and went home, to watch more Trailer Park Boys.

I don't really remember Sunday, except I know I spent a lot of time redesigning Target: Monkey. When he went to help Paul a bit (he's working at Yo Rodeo! for his work-term), I looked around. I checked out this site by the only person to ever comment on id dreams. Through exploring his links, I found one that I found rather interesting. Wil Wheaton. I thought, "nah, can't really be him." It is. Growing up with the Trekkie parents I had, I knew who he was right away. He played Wesley on the Next Generation. He was also in one of my favourite movies, Stand By Me. I haven't perused his site much, just the "if this is your first time here..." and faq's. He might even read this someday, after I email him to tell him I linked him (that's what he asks, and I suppose it's fair). That night, more Trailer Park Boys.

Yesterday, I painted a lot, sewed a bit, and ate crap.

Today, besides the grocery store and the resume, I talked some political stuff for Much Music. I'm for gay marriage. I think marriage in general is silly, but people should be able to love who they want. So if they want to get married, they should be able to. I don't see how legalizing pot is any different than having alcohol legal. Controlling the substance would make it safer for users. They will know it's not laced. The government could tax it and put the money into health care. Government should put more money into schools so the schools don't feel they have to raise tuition all the time. And what's with the student loan program. It's supposed to help us, but the rates are so high, by the time you pay it back, you will probably pay back twice as much as what you borrowed. THEN, I got to hold the Much Music mic and say "I'm Crystal _____, here in Halifax, and my question is for Stephen Harper. What are you going to do about the rising tuition?" or some garbage. They said I was well spoken, but I felt like I sounded like and idiot.

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Now, my stomach is eating itself and I have to call my mom to tell her I got the money, thanks, and we should be fine as KC's getting paid on Friday. I don't really want to call her when I'm depressed. The last time, the conversation went a little too far in a certain direction. But I was supposed to call her yesterday. It's the least I could do.

I've probably seen the Porky's trilogy more times in my life than the Star Wars trilogy. That's saying a lot, because I loved Star Wars as a child and have seen it repeatedly even in recent years. It's saying a lot, but I think it's true.

Although it's been about 15 years since I've seen Porky's, I know that it [or they, I usually watched all three in a row] was my favourite movie when I was 7 or 8. I used to put it on every time there was nothing on TV. I watched it daily for quite awhile. There were things in the movie I didn't understand at such a young age, even though my parents taught me about sex a couple years before they brought it up at school. "They put it where!!!??! Not in me they don't." At 7 I thought it was gross. At 24, I'm glad they put it there.

One part I can still remember, but didn't understand then, was the scene with the condom. One of the main characters blew up a condom and humped some girls from behind on the schoolyard. I knew it represented a penis, but I didn't know what condoms were and I thought it was just a balloon.

The movie taught me that guys are pigs who will sneak under a deck or something to peek into the girls locker-room. It also taught me that girls have a lot of power over the pigs that want at their pussies.

I found out last week that a remake is planned, produced by Howard Stern. I have an urge to watch it again to see what I think as a grown-up.

"The hard things to remake are the ones that were good. But this one was terrible,"--Stephen Cole, a Toronto author who writes about entertainment and sports.

Maybe I didn't think it was terrible because I was 8. But to re-watch it now, I know I would enjoy it for nostalgic reasons, even if it is terrible.