Hello all.

Things are going well here in the Great White North. Except that it is all wet. We got about 6 feet of snow one day, then it rained all day the next day. The snow melt combined with the rain got our house wet. On the inside. In the basement. Via a crack in the foundation wall. Let me paint a picture for you. Me, standing out in zero degree temps, snowblowing what could only be described as slush away from the house and digging a big hole against the house to patch the foundation. To say that I was soaked would be an understatement. I would like however, to thank Jim at Hudson Trail Outfitters in Fairfax for selling me the Columbia snow suit before I left. It made a HUGE difference. Thanks. You should all go visit him and tell him I said hi, and buy stuff. It makes him happy.

Let’s see, what else is new. I hear that another female (maybe a second by the time you read this) has moved into the Hostel. Don’t give up the fight boys! Don’t let them out number you, or soon there will be pastel towels in the bathroom!

I hear that mutual friend Lapo, has gone gay. It was bound to happen sooner or later, actually, I always knew that he had it in him. Quite literally.

I continue to make plans with Lyn for our impending nuptuials. I never realized how much stuff one has to buy to get married. Aren’t you supposed to get free stuff? It’s kind of like paying for your own birthday party. On a similar note, although I would love to have every one of my old friends at the event, I fully realize that for geographic and economical reasons, some of you may not be able to attend. The wedding is August 27th of this year. I’ll leave it up to you guys. If you would like to come, you are welcome. Send me an email and I will get you an invite and details on how to get here, cost, places to stay, other things to do while you’re here and other stuff. This way, I won’t be spending about 1000 bucks on invites that may only yield 3 attendees. Not that you all aren’t worth it. Haha. If you can’t come, I understand, but we simply can’t be friends anymore. Just kidding. We can still be friends, maybe, if you send a big enough gift.

I mentioned in the sidebar that this installment would contain a discussion of curling. Well, it would except that I still haven’t figured it out. I can tell you a few things about it though, and they are as follows.

1. This sport makes little or no sense to the untrained observer.

2. In light of point #1, I will still try to make some sense.

3. The game is played by two teams on ice, who slide rocks and attempt to get them inside a designated area to score points. Imagine shuffleboard on ice. Sort of.

4. You must yell a lot to play this game. The four players on each team are always yelling at each other. Words such as ‘heavy’, ‘hard’, ‘hurry’, ‘good’, ‘whoa’, and ‘clean’ in addition to others are thrown about a lot. At first, I found myself aroused hearing these words shouted at me, as I was watching womens curling at the time. I thought I must have stumbled onto some combination wintersports/adult channel and was hoping that up next would be the lesbian naked pairs figure skating. Then I realized, quite to my dismay, that they were using these words with regards to the game. What each word means in relation to the game is still somewhat a mystery to me. I still enjoyed the yelling though, does that make me naughty?

5. A game consists of what I have determined to be 8 or 10 ‘ends’ or periods, which makes no sense either. If you play one ‘end’, how can you play 7 more? Isn’t the ‘end’ the END?

6. There is ALWAYS curling on tv in Canada.

7. Curling on TV is habit forming. It sucks you in. There is no action, no fast movement, no snappy music, but it’s like falling asleep to the air conditionerit sort of hypnotizes you. It sends messages to your brain that say “Come. Sit. Watch me for hours. Try to solve the riddle that is curling. Do or do not, there is no try. I am the walrus.”

8. I, and you, are not smart enough to play this game. The announcers discuss strategy and positioning in terms that would make MacArthur drool. I assumed they were just banging rocks around, but OH NO, every bump has a purpose, every play a whole hidden agenda. You cannot be privvy to this information unless you are a player, and to be a player, you have to be a master of motion, dynamics, physics and chemistry. At first glance it looks like a bunch of goofballs throwing rocks around on the ice and yelling like idiots, but don’t be fooled, it is the majesty and the mystery that is curling.

Now, if there is anyone out there that is a curler (is that even the right term?), don’t take offense to my little dissertation. I am only one of the lowly ones, the ‘unknowers’ that don’t partake in your sport. I play hockey. Which in your opinion may be just guys skating around beating each other with sticks, but to me it’s so much more. To me it’s guys beating each other with sticks, but also swearing a lot and drinking too much beer afterwards. That’s what takes it to the next level.

For all of you back in the States, my friends that are reading this and are unfamiliar with curling, let me just sum up by saying this:

You’ll know as soon as I do. Until then, stay tuned as I will continue to report on the strange customs of your neighbour to the north. (Such as spelling neighboor with a ‘u’.)

Mirror, mirror.

It’s a new year now. Get out and do stuff that you wouldn’t normally do.

It’s about kidding yourself. And being an idiot.

Every year we all make a bunch of lame resolutions. I’m gonna eat better. I’m gonna get in shape. I’m gonna spend less money all that good stuff….

….and it happens…for like 2 weeks. Then you blow it off. It’s a joke. We shouldn’t need a holiday or a specific passage of time in order to make an excuse for us to better ourselves.

You wouldn’t be making these ‘resoultions’ in the middle of the year would you? Maybe you should. maybe you should resolve this year to better yourself everytime you have the opportunity, not just at midnight when you have a funny hat on and a drink in your hand. Better yourself for the actual benefit of winding up a better person, not because it’s fashionable or you need something to talk to people about the first two weeks of the year. If that’s the case, resolve to become a better conversationalist.

I resolve not to resolve anything. To leave it all wide open and see where it goes. I will tackle stuff on the way and there by gain small victories of self along the way as well. These little battles are the stuff that shapes us as people and makes life more interesting…

…are you sure you want to limit yourself to just one at the beginning of the year?

The origin of ‘buKit’.

I’ve had a lot of nicknames. I guess you could say a man (or woman) is defined by his name. Who am I you ask? Why, I’m Kent, doesn’t that say it all? My mom always said she tried to give me a fairly original name. It always bugged the hell out of her that all the guys would call me nicknames. She just wouldn’t understand, it’s simply a guy thing.

My Grandpa always called me kennny-kent when I was little. Now he just calls me ‘that no good grandson of mine.’

My parents called me ‘Tiger’. Maybe they had some foresight into what I would be like in the sack, I don’t know, but it was definitely prophetic. Ahem.

Once I reached jr. high the play on names began. I’ve heard them all. The most popular was ‘Fuckenthall’. Submit yours via e-mail.

Once I moved to Virginia and started hanging with Lapo, (yet another person with lots of nicknames) I really started getting ’em. It’s kinda like getting crabs.

One time when I was working at a drugstore, the manager there went to introduce me to someone, and as I was new, he didn’t know my last name. He looked down at the highlighter on the counter, emblazoned with the word STABILO, and stated, “This is our new stock clerk, Kent Strabilio.” From then on I was Strabilio. Go figure.

Sometime later, maybe months or years, I don’t remember, Lapo introduced me to one of his old high school buddies:

“Mike this is my friend Kent.”
“What’s his name? Clint?” (Note, Mike was intoxicated at the time)
“No, KENT.”
“Well I’m gonna call him Clint.”

It got even worse as time went on. Depending on how drunk everybody was, they’d start calling me anything that had a ‘K’ sound at the beginning. Karey. Kareem. Whatever.

Once I was older, like 18 or 19, my grandpa took to calling me ‘Facky’. I guess it’s cool. That’s what he used to call my dad. Maybe he’s just so old he’s getting us confused.

Once I started playing hockey more name games came about. Enter the age of ‘Hackemall’ and ‘Whackemall’. Real innovative.

Finally we come to the origin of the name I have now. After hockey practice one day, I was wearing a knit winter hat, sans puffy ball, all the way up on my head. Someone remarked that I resembled a man wearing a bucket. Enter Buckethead. My poor mom was beside herself.

Buckethead was to hard to yell out on the ice so I believe it was Lapo who first shortened it to just Bucket. Then when I got my first aol account, Buckethead was taken, surprisingly, and I changed the spelling to Bukithed. In it’s final incarnation it is now just buKit with the capital K just to be mysterious. The buKit is also acceptable in the third person.

I am introduced by all my friends as buKit and lots of my friends now don’t even know my real name. They just think it is my real name I guess. They must be pretty dumb.

So, what’s in a name? Apparently nothing. Almost everybody I know has a nickname. Some have different names depending on which clique they’re hanging out with. Mine’s just buKit. One word, and I think it’s fairly original I think. I haven’t met another buKit yet. Guess when I do I’ll have to change my nickname or move away. Hey, I can think of alot of less appealing one word nicknames….