It's been some time since my last report on The Gentleman's Review. So much has happened in these past months. Gigs at clubs and bars downtown, half-written computer programs with limited functionality, doctors prognoses, life saving surgery, one night stands, missing organs, hip hop empires, and ganja leaf. Don't know what else i can say. It's self explanatory. Aaron you are the only one who reads The Gentleman's Review. The simple textual cues should jog your memory should you have any questions about detail.

Today I stayed home from the University to test my transmission control protocol implementation. I don't even know how long that last test took. I was testing it by transferring a large file, and when i left for work only half of the packages had been sent. But when I returned home i found, to my pleasure, that my program had properly dealt with the problem with sequence numbers that wrap around back to zero again. Work was enjoyable. Spent the shift with a delightful lady, whom we will call Betty. It was our first shift together and we've made such wonderful plans already! I love her I think. But i must be careful not to let her friendliness lead me to some hasty misunderstandings. In only a few nights we shall drink together. Must not overstep. She admires my hip hop empire. Yet hardly understands it.

I must meet with another young lady in a few days time for drinks. We will call her Sandy. She talks too much. Nauseating.

Last night I found myself in an empty city park. I was standing on the edge of a small lake, surrounded by dark unintersting trees. On the far side of the water was a community soccer field, lit obscenely bright. I had a tall can of Topvar beer in a brown paper bag in one hand. Why was I here? I was to visit a friend at his home, but could not reach him by telephone, and I didn't know where he lived. Forty minutes I waited until he decided to answer one of my calls. Bastard. I began to wonder whether life becomes more interesting when it's told like a story. With letters and words and chapters. Do weblogs count as such? Is there anything inherently interesting about finding oneself alone in the dark expanse of a city park? If there is, am I just making it up? Or am I merely at the mercy of my fool of a friend- stranded in the cold until he happens to hear one of my telephone calls. I attempted twelve of them before he picked up. I don't really know where I'm trying to take this narrative. Maybe I just watch too many movies. When ever I'm about in public I try to look and feel like I'm thinking about something really interesting and on my way to do something very important. Unfortunately, I had no important resolutions in the park, but I did end up doing something worthwhile when I finally got ahold of my friend. We'll call him Thomas. A few of us snuck into a movie theatre and saw The Last King of Scottland. It was an incredible movie. It had everything that I like in a movie: scenes of luxurious items/property, scenes at airports, and that certain aire of 'international intrigue'/ 'global political drama' I find so consuming. It was rather easy to sneak in. We walked towards the fire exits, and immediately some other patrons were exiting, leaving an open door foor us to stroll on in.

Before all that nonsense in the park, I had dinner with Natalia. It went exactly as I had predicted in a previous post on 'The Gentleman's Review'. It's immensely clear she considers me but a friend, and I don't anticipate my fantasies of having a threesome with her, and any other of her lovely little friends, coming true anytime soon. We smoked marijuana then dined at a Carribean restaurant.

I have an examination at school tommorow. I studied very little. I'll probably have to write some hashing functions, expand some binomial summations, count some r-Combinations and r-Permutations, and maybe answer questions about sorting algorithms. It shouldn't be too difficult so long as I'm lucid and focused. I took some melatonin a few hours ago and should now retire to bed. Hopefully will awake having slept nine hours.

Whatever faculties of measured reasoning I have are most often misused. I rationalize for myself doing things that a more disciplined person would easily avoid. I'm not speaking of anything too serious, but they are nuisances, nevertheless. I cannot control my spending. I spend an average of $20 per day on food. A cup of coffee from this cafe, a sandwich from that one, then later a slice from the pizza restaurant. What fuels this spending, often enough, is marijuana consumption. I smoked a small amount from one of my glasswares while waiting for the train to University. An effect of the smoke is a stimulated apetite. It also sets me in a peculiar mood so early in the day. I gain a certain lucidity of thought from the herb. It leaves my mind more accomodating to the computations required by my program of study, or the creative musical tasks I give myself. Surely, it does not allow me any impressive endurance at any such task, but it often gives the kick I need to accomplish anything at all- having left aside the restlessness of sobriety. Having said that, marijuana leaves with me many problems as well. In fact, I attribute all the problems I have in life to the chronic consumption of this herb. A bold statement indeed. I hope to develop my reasons for thinking so in this journal. Not only in this post, certainly. When I inhale the herb so early in the day, I've learned to keep reserved anything I feel neccesssary to say, lest it should be an embarrasment. Social anxiety is one of the reproaches I have for marijuana. It causes this in me. I've wrestled with the idea of abstainting from the herb for some pre-determined period of days. I don't feel I could successfully do it.

I'm a wee bit nervous about a date I have with a girl tommorow nite. It's not a date proper, she has a boyfriend. It's a friendly meeting, we shall say. And we shall call her Natalia. We have a good, although rare rapport with one another. I wish to steal her from this boyfriend. I'm devilishly attracted to her young beauty of 18. I've yet, unfortunately, to develop any attraction to her on an intellectual level. My faculties of measured reason, I fear to admit, are being misused again. This girl, surely, would expect some sort of proper commitment/relationship, if I were to persuade her into some sort of physical romp. At this moment I feel blindly ready to give it to her, should this unlikely oppurtunity present itself. This would surely lead to many regrettable circumstances. Even now I would hesitate to bring her about with friends of my own age. Oh well. I'll march forth to dine with her tommorow, expecting fully an uneventful evening with a hint of akwardness. I'll prompt vaguely probing discussion about her boyfriend. I will smile difficultly at childish musings and gossip about her fellow schoolchildren. And I will just wish I could have sex with her.

I must retire to my studies. I have to read some material about implementing data recovery systems, network connections, and Unix file structure. I hate this material. I have an examination scheduled tommorow. I'm currently in a failing position in this particular course.

Commencing the Gentleman's Review- peculiar in it's intent, indeed. Written with a certain thoughtfulness meant for publication- though it is certain to be read by very few. It is mostly for myself. A personal journal, but it is anonymous. I wish to write as freely as possible on my weblog. I wish to write of my bombastic aspirations in life, my pathetic shortcomings, my thoughts about my studies, and maybe share the sexually deviant dreams I have at night.

There is a desire to initiate a stream of thought. A sort of communication, and/or reflection upon/with myself. I have been with great lovers, great communicators, but do not find myself with one at this point in time. My memory of my own inner broodings and resolutions most often is lost. This is the beginning of a documented semi-daily journal. I will share daily events, and some more broad thoughts on my life as a whole. I feel I am entitled to a sort of self indulgent rambling. It's therapeutic, I've heard. Bound to be helpful. I'm inspired by the sorts of revelations had by Tony Soprano in counsel with his Dr. Melfi. A bizarre point to bring up, I suppose. But I'm obsessed with the television programme. As am I obsessed with the idea of having a psychiatrist of my own. I don't feel I have any particular psychological problems, nor would I feel, particularly, the need for pharmaceuticals if I were to have a Psychiatrist. I just want someone to indulge me. But, alas, I cannot afford that particular indulgence at this point in time. My only income is Employment Insurance cheques written to me bi-weekly by the government. These writings will have to suffice. I was once with a girl who indulged me so. I will give her a fictional name: Lianne. I dated her briefly and ended it abruptly. She didn't meet all my superficial desires in a girl. But she would listen, and think over my bombastic nonsense. I liked that in her.

I felt overwhelmingly dehydrated this past Sunday. I know it was on account of the binge drinking I had done the whole four days previous. I drank cups and cups of water. My trainrides home from the University everyday are restless for this same reason. I become too anxious and dehydrated on account of all the coffee I consume in a day. Delicious bean. Today I returned home via the shopping district, spending $100 on a new blazer that I fancied. I put it on my credit card, despite the fact I'm completely broke.