Here's a mildly interesting article. He says basically that one should procrastinate by doing slightly less important things than whatever is the most pressing deadline. Thus you're procrastinating, but still getting useful work done.
Structured Procrastination
I think it somewhat hits the mark. During this past school year, when I had many projects on the go, I would often procrastinate by working on my thesis research instead, which isn't really due until 2007. And, when I'd finally finished all but one of my course projects, I was far less effective at the one that remained, because I only had the one thing to do, and thus procrastination meant doing nothing whatsoever. Similarly, a girl I know has often claimed that she is most productive and successful when she has a million things to do; I viewed this claim with great skepticism, but I'm starting to think there might be something to it.

Then again, this method requires you to enjoy your secondary activities and that they be useful. Watching Bond movies and replays of Warcraft games might not be as effective.

So, in an effort to awaken the drunken frat boy that lies dormant within me, I participated in a little known sporting event this weekend, known as "sloshball." For the uninitiated, let me explain. We Canadians have a sport, played often in gym classes nationwide, that goes by the name "soccer baseball," which makes clear its origins as the merger of one great sport with one boring sport, to create something both bizarre and mediocre. Americans apparently know it as "California kickball," or simply kickball. In any case, when kickball is paired with the mass consumption of beer, the result is a Frankenstein, bastard child of a bastard child sport called sloshball. The rules are very much like standard kickball, except that:
1) As many people as you like may remain at second base, indefinitely, so long as one player is available to bat.
2) A keg is placed at second base.
3) All participants must have a beer in one hand at all times, and upon emptying it must proceed to the keg to refill. Hence the team in the field must play with one hand, while attempting to avoid spilling beer.
4) Any disputed calls are settled by a drink-off between the two individuals involved, or representatives chosen from their respective teams.
Post-game hijinks included the partial destruction of nearby scaffolding, frisbee tossing resulting in one broken nose, keg-walking, and a shirtless keg-tossing (ie. manliness, obviously) competition, of which yours truly was the champion. Though I have a sneaking suspicion I may be too old for this shit. And now back to my regularly scheduled computational fluid dynamics research.

I've gotten this sucker in my inbox multiple times now. So I thought I'd just pop it up here for all of you guys.


Now we wait for Mr.Listers Intelligent Design of Dance video.

For those that did get the e-mail.

I remember back when Kelvin was hiring their studs during the summer. Now this. Makes me glad that I was a GP Pipate. But as long as you don't give Satan an inch then he won't be your ruler. I guess that Kelvin sign gives new meaning to TA.

I've decided to be the Anne Geddes of the postmodern era and draw little babies.

These are two frames of an animation I did of a man flying on a door with wings. I built the man and the door and then chroma-keyed him into real footage of the sky.

Curiously enough, my life is currently like this animation. Perhaps not so much enchanted but rather precarious. Although I suppose enchantment may mean many different things. Maybe cursed would be a better word. I warn you all, I am followed by a black dark heavy curse and it is dangerous to even know me.

Well currently I'm somewhat... for lack of a better word... homeless. That's not to say I don't have a roof over my head, it's just that the roof isn't quite mine. My life's possessions litter my studio where Bruce is currently napping. You see, being the good girlfriend I am, I welcomed Bruce with open arms into a chaotic mouldy hell. That is... the "renovated" suite I was supposed to be renting. "Renovation" is the keyword. Not much of a word really but there are a few assumptions that go hand in hand with it, like, "new" or perhaps "safe" or... "repaired". None of these things seemed to be the case in my illegal suite.

But I jump ahead of myself! I mentioned mould. Well, I have no proof. I didn't see anything but what the "handyman" (oh Jerry, you devil you!) told me is too horrifying to mention. So I won't mention it. But I will mention strange allergic reactions and bloody noses. A curse! Not only did people who entered the apartment get bloody noses but those who stood near us outside would spontaneously start to bleed! A curse! It spreads like ebola.

I don't have the patience to describe more right now but suffice it to say I may have my day in court! Small claims court, that is. Not very glamourous and perhaps labouriously slow.

So for now, I hang on to this enchanted and cursed door and wait to see where it will take me.

---UPDATE---
I can't get images to work in this stupid software. So here's two links.
Ceiling damage due to flying lid
Coated ceiling and light fixture

Have you ever wondered what it would be like if every exposed surface of your kitchen was caked with a spattering of dried maple syrup? Well, thanks to my roommate Bernardo, we need wonder no longer! I awoke this morning to a loud bang, and assumed something or someone had fallen off a shelf. I ignored it for a while until my hunger drove me upstairs for breakfast. As I ascended the stairs, I noticed a battered can sitting idly on one of the steps. "Curious," I thought to myself. As I rounded the corner into the kitchen I nodded hello to Bernardo, who immediately shouted for me to stop. That's when I looked around and discovered that blotches of a sticky substance covered the floor, ceiling, walls, windows, fridge, stove and everything else in sight. The floor was slick with water, as Bernardo had already begun to mop. Apparently he had been cooking up some odd ethnic sweet dessert-like substance, and had thus placed a closed tin of it in a pot of boiling water with a lid on, and left the room. Shortly thereafter, an explosion ensued, blasting the pot lid 6 feet into the air with sufficient force that the pot rim cut a well-defined circle into the tile immediately above. The tin itself must have ricocheted about the room until it finally came to rest on the stairs down to my basement bedroom. As a result I have just spent the preceding 2 hours scrubbing, alongside Bernardo whose back problems flared up earlier this week. Cool pictures to follow soon!

Bond trailer (in english!) for those to lazy to click on the link:


***UPDATE***
the english version of the Bond trailer is up
*******

What does rusty trombone, dirty sanchez and donkey punch have in common?

That's right! They were all used in last nights monologue by Craig Ferguson.
Ain't he grand!
(sarcasm not intended)

Laissez le compte à rebours commencer....

... I mean...

Let the countdown begin...