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Thursday, April 5, 2018

Just a Rainy April Day

Last evenings's bedtime was 11:44 p.m., and I retired leaving my younger brother Mark sitting up watching a T.V. news station.

Maybe he only wanted to finish his mug of beer; and then he, too, went to his bedroom for the night.

We had not spent the evening as we usually do ─ i.e., watching a few episodes of our preferred T.V. series via our Android TV Box (and the Terrarium application).

I keep a list of the many series that we follow, and the one next scheduled to watch was The Defenders ─ the third episode.

However, only the first two links to sources were functioning ─ Terrarium ran through 77 supposed other sources for the episode without finding one that actually worked. (So why are they pulled in as sources if they do not function?)

Unfortunately, those first two that did access the episode buffered abominably, and thus we had to forsake the series.

Incidentally, I tried to access the episode again late this morning with identical results.

Anyway, rather than move along on that list of mine of T.V. series that we follow, I decided to tune in a movie, and so I selected Tucker & Dale Vs. Evil.

Mark was quite drunk, but this proved to be a hearty antidote to any slips by him into unconsciousness. He thoroughly enjoyed the kooky movie.

It was gory as heck, but the incongruousness of how the inadvertent early deaths happened was almost understandable ─ just overboard. The events were not crass like the Scary Movie series.

Besides, the two "hillbillies" were nice guys ─ it wasn't their faults that the college students and even a cop kept managing to kill themselves off.

And it was heart-warming seeing the finish of the movie with the burly hillbilly (Dale) ─ who was the emotionally softest of the two ─ find true love with the attractive surviving blonde (Allison).

Even Mark admitted to that.

One adept move I liked about the movie was how deceptive the opening was ─ if a viewer did not know better, one would think that a full-fledged horror movie was in the works. Here's the official trailer to the movie:

The beginning is so very foreboding, absolutely pregnant with threat.

My sleep overnight was actually rather good ─ I seemed to have a decent block of it, and never cared enough to check the time until 5:33 a.m.

And that is when I decided to rise so that I could get a good start on the new post I should soon have fully developed at Latin Impressions, one of my six hosted websites.

Both of my stepsons had to work today; and although eldest Tho rose late, he still managed to get up and leave just before his younger brother Poté.

It's been a wet day ─ a steady rain throughout.

Mark was up from bed before 8:30 a.m. And if not for his presence now that he is retired, I would have returned to bed for a nap around 9:30 a.m.

Instead, I watched some T.V. with him via the Android TV Box. I wanted to see if that episode of The Defenders was now available with a new and fully functional source; but as I have already said, it was not.

So instead we watched episodes of a couple of sitcoms; and then I tuned in a movie I had already seen and which I suspected would have some interest for him. I watched a little of the movie while I had some breakfast, and then I came upstairs to my bedroom for that desired nap.

It was a good nap, and I was in bed for over an hour. I rose and emerged from my bedroom to find Mark shut up in his room and probably into his own nap.

When finally he, too, emerged, I think that it may have been approaching 2:55 p.m. before he headed away for the afternoon.

I also believe that my wife Jack is working at her friend Fanta's Thai restaurant in Langley today, so I am expecting Jack home late this evening to spend the night.

I still have so many more of the photos that were taken earlier this year when she returned to her Thailand home for an extended visit with her mother.

An early portion of that holiday was spent in Bali ─ Jack took five of her family members there to have a reunion with her two sons, who had both booked the same two weeks off work in order to make that Bali reunion possible.

Most of the Bali photos that Jack brought back here to Canada were taken by her nephew Mark, who is trying to make a name for himself in photography.

Perhaps he wanted to record the litter on this beach near where they were staying. All of these beach photos were taken on January 27, 2018:

This is a much lovelier beach sight ─ Mark's wife Kæ̂m or Gâaem:

There are more beach photos, but I do not wish to be overwhelming in one post.

After my stepsons returned home to Canada, and their mother Jack and the five other family members had returned to Thailand, nearly a month later there was a marriage ─ photographer Mark's older sister.

I don't know for certain, but I am guessing that these photos were probably taken in some auditorium or hall in the city of Udon Thani, for Jack's home village of Nong Soong is maybe a 15-minute drive from the city.

The date is February 25, 2018. And these are the groom and bride, along with what may well be the Thai equivalent of a flower girl:

And again, I am going to stop with those ─ there are far too many more photos for a single post.

I had a decent session of exercising out in the backyard tool shed in the early mid-afternoon. My current regimen comprises sets of just four exercises, and takes approximately 12 minutes to complete.

I am a shadow of the calorie-burner that I was when I was a younger man. I wish that could change, but it will not until a financial miracle makes the change possible.

I am going to bring today's post to a close now with this old journal entry of mine from 41 years ago when I was 27 years old, and living in a basement housekeeping unit in New Westminster.

I was renting my hideaway in a private home located on Ninth Street [Google map], and two houses up from Third Avenue. 
TUESDAY, April 5, 1977

The day is going to be glorious; a true betokener of Summer.

I finished my letter to Jean, but won't mail it till I seal tape the envelope at mom's tomorrow.

[Jean Michelle Martin, née Black was a U.S. pen-pal I had back then.]  

I was forced to open it after losing a stamp (which I eventually found under "monarchist" in my dictionary).

Someone knocked at 11:00 a.m., but I did not answer. 

I am frightened today. I don't like my physique, nor the clothes I have (which aggravate my image), and so chose to waste entirely this sunny day and hide within doors from people everywhere.

If only God would give me that sorely needed lottery win!

I am prone normally to overindulge in food while suffering this mood, but I've decided abstention is the road to some solution; I'll temper my appetite, or at least, cater to it minimally. 

I need a home of my own with its own private yard; the populace, curse them, is keeping me spiritually stunted here in my prison.

After work on a letter to Terri, I ate, then put myself to bed for a nap; I now feel more optimistic.

Still, I squandered my day.

Bed at 10:00 p.m. Make that 11:00 p.m. (due to further TV).
Depression, and general low-esteem and a natural reclusivity, have been prime factors all of my life. 

Anyone I cared to have paying me a visit knew that I would only answer knocking if a special code knock was used ─ or if the caller had the sense to speak out loud enough for me to know who was there.

Incidentally, Terri Martin was also a U.S. pen-pal I had back then ─ but no relation to Jean. We were all fans of Marvel Comics, and had "met" through the fan letter pages that many super-hero issues contained.

I wish that I could reestablish contact with either of those ladies, but I never retained any correspondence from them. 

My life was to undergo a major upheaval after living in New Westminster since possibly as far back as 1968, and nobody I had ever come to know during my stay in New Westminster was to carry over into the rest of my life ─ not even pen-pals.

It was practically as if that near-decade of my life was just tossed aside or made to disappear. Reading these old journal entries as I copy them each day into the relevant present blog post is sometimes revealing beyond explanation, and frequently very hurtful.   

I recognize so much of who I was back then; but sometimes I am almost a stranger who I am only becoming familiar with through his written accounts. 
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