d.p.a., baby

Back when I was still just getting comfortable in my pubes, a few years before the Y2K Bug changed our lives forever, I found myself manning the grill in a McDonalds kitchen, flipping burgers, snacking on nuggets and pickles (try it) and working, unknowingly, as an WWF proselytizer.

I wore a Stone Cold t-shirt (later replaced by an eyebrow-raised The Rock.) I had a WWF hat. I even, embarrassingly, taped as many WWF Raws and Smackdowns (and eventually, WCW Monday Nitros even) as I could and I even went so far as labeling them. Oooh, this smarts.

Anyhow, back then it was all about catch phrases, and one of the best came from Mr. "Stone Cold" Steve Austin. The Texas Rattlesnake (what a name!?!? Shit, am I proselytizing again?) was a paranoid dude and he taught his minions to watch their backs by wearing his patented "D.T.A.: Don't Trust Anyone" shirt.

I loved that slogan and I probably would have purchased that shirt for myself if our Wal-Mart sold it. (And I probably would have ended up on some pre-9/11 version of a no-fly list too.)

I bring this up now because I recently witnessed something in the underground mall beside the metro near work that made me recall that motto.

I'd say I buy lunch about 90 percent of my workdays, usually because I'm too lazy or, more often, too late in the morning to make myself a sandwich to take with me. So me and my rag-tag group of coal miners head down to either the Promenade or the EC (Eaton's Centre) where we try to get in a sufficient amount of commissary in our alloted 30-minute break period (minus the five to eight minutes we burn waiting for the elevator and walking to the food courts.)

This daily walk takes us past the entrance to the McGill Metro station and down a corridor that I affectionately call the "Hallway of Broken Dreams." There are people huddled along the walls in various states of disrepair. There is the guy with the super red face, who is dressed nicely enough that you think he might be a genius, serial killer. (I have actually seen him cash his change in at one of our Promenade food joints, too. He asked for a five like he was going to deposit it in a bank account. For this reason, it has never even crossed my mind to give him any money.) There is the fat, white, balding, bearded guy with face tattoos who I never try to make eye contact with because he's always smiling and he doesn't look like he should legally be allowed to smile because a smile doesn't look right on his face. There is the tall black dude who comes up to you with his empty fast food cup but doesn't ask for money... he just puts out the cup. I'm not really sure why he does it though, because he is typically dressed better than I am and I have to be done up all business casual (BiziCajji.) And then there's the guy right outside the Promenade turnoff who looks somewhat like the professor from Tintin, but sits in his wheelchair, shrinking away, and on occasion, he will summon within me a bit of pity and I'll throw a few coins into his collection cup.

On Monday, Fitzy and I went down to the EC, where we walked past the regulars, right up to the guy in glasses who is always parked at that spot right where the doors open and where thousands of people rush past him every day. He sits in one of those mechanized wheelchairs and just looks out at you sadly. I think he has Cystic Fibrosis or Multiple Sclerosis: I can't tell the difference. (I'm not trying to be insensitive here. It's all ignorance.)

On Monday though, something happened that made me completely reevaluate the Hallway of Broken Dreams and the entire "help me, I'm hungry" racket. Now I'm not the most sensitive guy when it comes to this kind of charity, as you probably know if you have spent any time around this here blog. I've devoted a lot of meta-ink towards the people asking for money and I think I find it offensive for some reason now, since I was so taken in by them and their persuasiveness when I first arrived here as a naive, small-town guy. Maybe I look at this new hard stance as the first trait that I've genuinely adapted from city living.

Either way, what I saw Monday shocked me. This meek guy in the wheelchair, curled up almost in a ball all of the time because his joints are tangled together, starts yelling something that is barely intelligible with the echo in the hall and because of his difficulties speaking. "Gooooooooo oonnnnnnnn...," it sounds like he's saying. "Goooo oooonnnnnn."

Fitzy and I stop. We see the man looking over to his left, towards a slightly-older-than-middle aged Eastern European woman with a cane, quietly and emotionally pleading for money. "Gooooo onnnnnn..." the little man continues. The lady doesn't seem to notice.

Then, the little man starts to move and he's yelling louder. "GOOOO OONNNNNN!!!" His chair is buzzing as he zips off. There are about twenty people watching now as this little man in the mechanized-wheelchair burns over to the lady and, wouldn't you know it, rams right into her. "GOOOoooOOO!" he continues to yell as he bashes her again. The lady is looking around at us all, horrified. She doesn't know what to say.

Fuck the heck? I debate stepping in between them, but fuck the heck again? What would I do? I can't berate a little man in a wheelchair, can I?

The little man bashes her again and then turns back as the woman starts crying and scurries off the other way. Damn, the little man ran her off the corner like she was some West Side kid selling crack on an East Side street corner in Baltimore, MD. That little man was straight gangsta!

Fitzy and I have lunch. He isn't even fazed. I say, "snap out of it, man! Didn't you see what just happened?" He says, "I once had a guy come up to me on the train in Toronto. He had nuts in his mouth and he just walked up to me and started spitting them in my face and he started saying 'No one is doing anything. Can you believe it?' and he kept spitting the nuts. I just walked away.'" He says he can't be bothered by anything he sees after that.

We ate lunch and then we left and we walked past the little man, looking as sad and pathetic as always. We continued walking back to the coal mine and we saw the bewildered lady, still crying, still with the cane, still frazzled, still asking for money.

And it dawned on me that Stone Cold's motto could be altered just a little bit to encapsulate that experience.

So that's why I say D.P.A: Don't Pity Anyone.

Department of Homeland Security is not cool (THEY KILLED ATDHE.NET!!!!)

Enough is enough...

You know, I haven't been on side with any of these wars in Iraq or Afghanistan and I definitely shook my head in disgust when they decided to bail out the greedy bank execs who brought the world economy to their knees, but the U.S. government has finally gone and done it. They crossed a line by taking something that I cherish dearly.

I just don't know whether I can take it anymore and I know I'm not the only one. Hell, even the Jersey Shore crew is getting out of dodge and moving to Italy.

Who put me over the edge? Well, the Department of Homeland Security did.

The Vancouver Canucks (haven't written about them - or demigod Kesler - during their monumental run these past two months because I'm afraid to jinx them) have called up star prospect Cody Hodgson and he is expected to play tonight. This is a big deal in Canucks-land, because we haven't had a prospect with this much hype and potential since the Sedins were beardless, rosy-cheeked lads.

I'm more than excited to see this kid play and, since I don't have cable, I punched in the web address to my go-to streaming sports site - atdhe.net - to see when the game started. Instead of the turquoise screen that typically loads up, I saw a white screen punctuated by three crests, which all contained eagles in various forms, colours and moods. I thought I'd typed in the incorrect address, as I do about three or four times a day. (Check out this site: http://slinginlingo.blogpot.com. Definitely not what you're looking for.) So I rechecked it and, no, I definitely had it right.

It turns out the Department of Homeland Security has seized the site because it "is unlawful to reproduce or distribute copyrighted material... without authorization."

Well, fuck you DHS! Seriously!

Aren't there bigger fish to fry than a website that provides streaming sports games to people who can't afford cable? Like, wouldn't resources be better spent trying to curtail your country's spiraling debt? Couldn't you wire-tap some swindling CEO? Really, you feel you have to crack down on people watching sports? People who need to watch sports these days to distract themselves from all the problems you are causing? We're still watching the commercials, you idiots. It's not like we're missing the ads that keep these stations on air. The network's ads are actually reaching a larger audience now that they are streaming internationally. Shouldn't this please them?

I don't know what your angle is, Department of Homeland Security. Are you trying to piss off the very people who bury their heads in the sand by getting carried away with their sports teams and,by doing so, are doing everything they can to avoid being pissed off at you?

Are you trying to create terrorists? You take away a man's Vancouver Canucks hockey and what does he have left?

helluva helluva day

Why is it that days that are forecasted as rainy, but turn out gorgeous just feel better than outright gorgeous days? It's obvious, I guess, but today is a helluva, helluva day. Woke up for the second straight day to the high-pitched engines of Formula 1 cars on the pull-out bed in the dining room. My mom is in the city. After a night of food, beers and laughs, we set out for the market and really, Montreal felt like the centre of the universe today. It seemed like every second street was cordoned off for this and that. The magic and newness still hasn't worn off. Went to Jean-Talon market and bought all sorts of Italian foods and fresh fruits, like baskets of apples for $1. Wandered down St. Laurent, which was blocked off for some sort of Grand Prix-inspired Italian street festival. The road was lined with Lamborghinis and Corvettes. People were snapping pictures. A couple, each in their own motorized scooters, cruised by at a leisurely pace. The lady, smoking a cigarette, was heard to say: 'regarde cette auto, esti.."

We went into Cafe Italia and had a couple delicious espressos and watched the Grand Prix qualifications on the few screens set up. The place is a must-see if you ever make it to Montreal. The coffee machines really seem like they're engineered by Ferrari or something. And behind the counter, behind a plate of glass, there are all sorts of coffee machines, Italian chip bags and shaving creams and utensils on display for purchase.

We went down St. Denis after and had a very late breakfast (and beer) and people watched. The streets have been crowded for the last 24 hours. Wherever we go. You walk and you wander into a festival. What everyone has told me is true. We missed Bedouin Soundclash playing a free show by one block. We caught a reggae show last night at le Festival Francophonie. We're gonna go see Les Breastfeeders tonight.

I suppose free festivals and the like are a decent trade off for not being able to see a doctor.

It was weird at one point last night, all these F1, Ferrari-shirt or hat-wearing guidos were standing outside a trendy restaurant in the Old Port and one juiced up dude hooted at my mom. Frig sakes.

I'm a little worn out from the sun. I just changed the tire on my 10-speed, which I picked up from the repair shop, Bike Curious, in the village - they do bike repairs and lesbian haircuts there.

UPDATE on Top Ten List:

The fireworks and people talking to themselves inclusions have been reinforced big time the last 24 hours. My mom and I were walking down Duluth at around 11:30 last night and a group of F1 fans put off some fireworks on the side of the road, like they were casually lighting up smokes.

One inclusion I forgot to put on the list though: Chicks liberally talking about their periods. It's not taboo at all here. In fact, two of my friends started talking about that in front of my mom last night while we were having drinks. Fuck the heck?

BIKE STOLEN CONTEST:

I just replaced the tube in my tire and locked my bike up to our stair rail. The question: How long will it go without being stolen?

Montreal -- and Vancouver, as I learned last week -- have notorious bike theft problems. My friend bought a $300 bike last month, tied it up to our stairs and within 12 hours, it was gone. She hadn't owned it for a day. I have heard horror story after horror story about bikes being trashed or going missing.

So I want to keep a public record of my beauty 10-speed and put down some odds on when it will be ripped away from me.

My guess? I'm going to say early-July - just about the time where I'll have forgotten to update this goofy contest.

taken for granted

I don't know whether I should be frustrated - my initial reaction - or just embarrassed at my own ignorance.

Growing up in Yellowknife, there are many things I have come to take for granted: the Northern Lights 180 nights a year, being able to eat the fish out of any lake, river or creek you dip your pole in (heheh... joke aside, maybe you don't want to eat anything found in Back Bay,) and, as I found out today, the fact that, if you have a medical issue, you can call a clinic, book an appointment and see a doctor.

The past week I indulged in some good old self-inflicted existential stress, which I am evidently prone to from time to time. While it saps my energy and makes me feel like junk for a couple days, I usually come out of the bouts renewed with ambition and drive to do accomplish some task I've always wanted to do. I'm in that stage right now and I feel good.

But a side effect from these days of trivial anxiety and self-beat-upedness (like that word) is that the rosacea on my face explodes in colour, severity and size. Once upon a time, I had a baby-smooth face, but I believe after working in the arsenic plant at one of Yellowknife's gold mines for six months operating a pump and having to wear a ventilator over my face for long periods of time, I started to develop a small red rash on each of my cheeks. Over time, the rosacea has conquered more territory on my face (MANifest destiny?) to the point where, when it flares up, I look like I have severe acne. (Worse than that 'too many cho-co-lut bars' commercial guy, back in the old days when MuchMusic used to play music videos.)

The rosacea has provided some hilarious episodes, like when the pharmacists in the territories messed up my antibiotics on my first and second re-ups - giving me antidepressants by accident. However, it does bother me and make me feel unhealthy and self-conscious. It also gets itchy and crusty and it feels like I'm wearing a mask sometimes. People think it's sunburn. At work, someone will say, "Looks like someone got some sun this weekend." And I'll say, "Mothafucka, it's been raining non-stop the last three days. How the hell could I get sunburnt?" Actually, I won't say that. I'll say, "Yep, forgot my sunblock. Oh shucks."

With this red, bumpy stuff creeping up my nose to my forehead, I figured, I better go get some meds to fight off the bacterial invaders. It's done the trick in the past and I've been off the drugs since moving to Montreal in October. So I called up a clinic and tried to book me an appointment. You know, because I live in Canada and should be able to do this.

"Who is your family doctor?" the receptionist asked in French.

"I don't have one. I just moved here last year from Yellowknife."

"Okay, do you have a file with us?"

"No, I just moved here last year from Yellowknife."

"Oh, I'm sorry. We're not taking any new clients."

What? New clients? I'm not a client. I'm not a customer. I'm a person who needs to see a doctor. I was appalled and hung up the phone. I looked up another clinic and called and got the same response.

I walked over to my roommate and asked her what the deal was. She said there is such a shortage of doctors in Quebec that no one can get a family doctor anymore if they don't already have one. Fuck the heck?

Also, the only way I could see a doctor would be by going to a walk-in clinic.

For real?

I spoke to some folks at the coal mine... er... call centre over the week and they told me the same thing. They told me I better go in early to get a number. Super early. They said I could go to a private clinic or a dermatologist, but I was like "Fuck that, this is Canada. I'm not paying to see a doctor."

And so it was this morning, I got up early to the buzz of F1 cars on the island, doing practice runs on the Circuit Gilles Villeneuve for this weekend's Grand Prix. I almost thought I was back in Yellowknife for a second, with the cars sounding like the invisible, invincible mosquitoes that buzz in your ears at twilight and turn you psychotic.

I've got three Fridays off this month (shortage of coal at the coal mine... er... calls at the glorified call centre) and I had pegged today as my doctor's visit day. I made my way to the aptly named Complexe Desjardins, passing old bald men wearing Ferrari hats smoking cigars (almost wrote guitars for some reason?) before 9:30 a.m. It took me 30 minutes to find the clinic once at the building. It wasn't the gastro clinic, or the radiology clinic, but instead a hole in the wall on the fifth floor and when I spoke to the receptionist, she told me they were all full for the day. She didn't even hide the fact that she derived some pleasure from telling me this. I hate those kinds of people. Like, just have sex or something and lighten the fudge up. I tapped my book on the table, took a deep breath and... walked away.

For years, I've heard about doctors shortages. Heard we'd be in trouble. Heard people couldn't see doctors or had to wait hours upon hours to do so... While going to school in Calgary, I never had that problem because we had the University clinic. (I won't say why I visited that place, but I'm sure - or at least hope - everyone's gone to a University clinic for the same reasons I did.) And in Yellowknife, that's never a problem at all. You can book three days ahead of time and get an appointment. With all the neck wringing about health benefits for seniors or emergency room waits, at least you can still get the most basic and important service: a doctor's visit. I know that's not the case outside Yellowknife in the smaller communities, but they have logistical issues to blame.

Montreal doesn't.

Is this walk-in, no appointment thing common knowledge amongst Canadians? Am I a small town buffoon for not knowing this?

Either way, the frustration from not seeing a doc is surely to cause my rosacea to expand even further. I'm gonna have to dig some new trenches against this foe. Scalpel.

The land of HAL(ak)

After Game 6, where Jaro Halak fell from the sky to stop 53 shots, Montreal was hit with a bizarre, out-of-season blizzard. A friend at work joked that the snow was falling because the Habs had tied the series and hell had frozen over.

I think I'm going to have to stock up on some canned goods, find a flashlight and some rifle ammo tonight, then. I mean, this is fucked, right? I just watched a series featuring Alex Ovechkin, Nick Backstrom, Mike Green and Alex Semin and Hal Gill was the most dominant player on the ice.

Can't quite get over the upset tonight, although when I really think about it, it's not all that wild.

The Capitals are quickly becoming the East-side Sharks. They rule over the regular season, but their style just doesn't seem to fit into playoff hockey.

They were thoroughly shut down this last week by an overachieving Canadiens team. And while Halak played two of the most solid back-to-back games in recent memory, it was the system that really killed the Caps. Sure, the Caps had a lot of chances, but the Habs kept collapsing on them and really kept Washington's snipers to the outside. Hall Gill and Josh Georges and Markov got in the way of countless shots and knocked away so many pucks that the Caps couldn't get too many cheapies. Hall Gill was a difference maker? Fuck the heck?

As soon as the pressure came down on Ovechkin, he reverted back to his old World Junior self and disappeared. He just started floating around, waiting for the puck. I've complained about this all year. Loved Ovech. Loved him. Seriously. But after watching the Sedins over the past year and a bit and just how they work the puck around and thread pass after beautiful pass to each other in ways I've never seen before, I kind of lost a bit of appreciation for Ovechkin's game. His game is individual and it makes the team overly dependent on his rushes and his shot. Washington's whole game plan seems to revolve around getting Ovech or Semin the puck for a shot and then crashing the net. It's kind of boring and predictable. When the Caps were winning, Backstrom was flying and creating chances and Ovechkin was hammering people. Tonight, Ovechkin wasn't physical at all and he didn't skate unless he was getting the puck.

The Canadiens, on the other hand, capitalized on the few chances they had and boom! That's it. Six months wasted for Washington.

I watched the game on delay at a friend's place. I turned off my phone so I couldn't get any updates. And as the game wore down, I had to close the blinds to the street in the final minutes, because we were still a minute or two behind on DVR and we didn't want to get tipped off to the win from some massive, spontaneous street orgy. (At one point, we actually fast-forwarded a bit too far by accident and saw the Caps celebrating early in the third. We all got depressed because they were jumping around after a goal. We rewound the DVR to see what happened. And wouldn't you know it, the goal was disallowed. It was fucked up. That's some 21st Century drama, right there.)

Anyways, that game will definitely end up costing me like $200 over the next two weeks as I watch the game at pubs after work. But that's a happy $200. Plus, I couldn't ask for a better team to try to knock out Crysby and the Pens.

Montrealers are celebrating this one right now, though. If I had been downtown or if I didn't have to work tomorrow, I would be too.

Police sirens are ringing out across the city. Horns are blaring. People are screaming. A section of St. Catherines is shut down (or at least it looked that way from Berri-UQAM.) I don't think anyone can believe this just happened.

Right now, we're living in the land of HAL. Jaroslav Halak just burned the highest scoring team in the league (and probably earned a couple mills in the process when contract time comes around) and Hal Gill proved he's no longer a punchline.

Let's call it McGuire karma...

1:30ish mark if you're impatient...

Let's hope the run continues. (Only so we get more JOEL BOUCHARD HAIR!!!)

Can you say Canucks/Habs finals?

what next?

Legislative Assembly this week = Brothers Grimm on speed = story factory

Let's see:
Budget
Non-confidence vote
Premier addresses affair
Seniors protesting for health benefits
Groenewegen accuses Miltenberger's brother of leaking draft motion
...and many, many more

That's in three days, folks.

What's in store for next week?

Predictions:
Aliens descend from Planet Tramaldefore and take back David Krutko
Legislative Assembly building mysteriously disappears from Yellowknife, turns up in Inuvik
MLAs work together to collectively approve well-rounded budget that gets all regions of the NWT through tough economic times...

Yeah, I know, I'm probably stretching it a bit...

Palin-comparison

Usually I try to be funny on here, but I'm not in the mood. I'm too horrified to attempt humour.

A bold statement to begin: If McCain and Palin somehow pull this thing off, I won't step foot in that country as long as they are in power. Not for a wedding. Concert. Vancouver Canucks, Stanley Cup Game 7. No chance. I'd be too petrified to be surrounded by people who believe she is capable of being a heartbeat away (NOTE: I was told 'heartbeat away' was lazy, so I'll substitute it for 'a slip getting out of the bathtub away'. Cool?) from, basically, becoming the leader of the world.

She couldn't lead my nuts.

"Garsh holy heck, shucksamagoo!"

Before ranting, I just want to say I will refer to her as 'the Sarah Palin', because tonight, she clearly was not a human.

'The Sarah Palin' is the scariest thing presently sucking air. Actually, that's wrong. I'm sure she's a nice enough lady, you know, watching hockey and such. But this position is too big for someone as unaware as she is to be elected into. The fact that she has made it this far is the scary part, I guess.

She never answered one question during the debate, although she called herself a 'straight talker' throughout. If she was uncomfortable with a question, she moved to issues she knew about, regardless of what the moderator asked. She brought her family into everything. She repeated the same stock words, over and over. She winked more than once. She shucked. She said darn more than I can recall. She said doggonit. At one point, she referenced her fucking disabled child to pander to the disabled vote. She avoided specifics like she probably avoids books. She attacked relentlessly, and then accused Biden of attacking.

It was shameful.

On the other hand, I think I'm going to go out and buy a Biden T-shirt. Dude is cool. 

Joe Biden: Old Spice guy.

I've never wanted to have a beer with a politician before that debate.

I feel so bad for him, though. By the middle of the debate, he started repeating things, almost in frustration, reacting to the completely hollow asstalk coming from Palin's mouth, getting worked up to try to explain things to someone as dunce as Palin... which actually might play against him, because people will think he was talking down to the public. I remember hearing him sigh at one time.

Biden spoke issues. Showed his vast wealth of experience.

Biden speaks about at least five specific things that happened in and around Israel during the Bush administration that destabilized the region, showcasing his historical knowledge of the country and the people and the politics over there.

'The Sarah Palin' responds, "I love Israel. I'm glad we can agree on this," and then proceeds to re-spout the same basic gibberish everyone knows about Iran and the threat they possess.

Good Christ! After the debate, pundits are saying Palin did great. 

Fuck the heck?!?!

"She hit a homerun from the heartland." - Sen. Leiberman. Really?

"She seemed to stay on topic more than Joe Biden." - Undecided voter from Idaho, speaking to CBS reporter.

Honestly? I felt like I could have beat her up there.

Biden ANNIHILATED 'the Sarah Palin' tonight. It wasn't even close. She gave a 'shout out' for Jimminy Crickets (yikes, that sounds like something 'the Sarah Palin' might say).

But, of course, the media are talking about the wrong things. Who cares that people feel she's just like you. Or that it's like watching you on stage. 

No offense, but you collect shopping carts outside Wal-Mart. You are not qualified to be vice-President.

Neither is she. She's grossly, grossly incompetent. 

I'm legitimately frightened over the future of the United States of America, in that they would even consider her as vice-president.

This is all the media's fault for lowering public expectations so far for her that the fact that she didn't blank out and puke on herself like burpie baby means people are claiming a victory.

I mean, cah mawn! She didn't answer a damn question. She was pathological. She changed the freekin' subject every single darn, rootin tootin time... Oh, no. I'm becoming Palinized.

Note: Gwen, the moderator, told Biden straight up after the debate "you did great."

He sure did. But I hope Americans realize that.

i don't really like you anymore, facebook

No, this has nothing to do with the goofy new format (which I still can't quite figure out), but with those damn relationship statuses.

It used to kind of make me laugh, you know, watching people go from "single" to "it's complicated" to "in a relationship with..." back to "single" again, all in one week. I would try to imagine what this person's life looked like, or how happy or maybe confused they were with the relationship, and chuckle in incomprehension trying to understand why they would tell the whole world about it, even as it changes forms so drastically in days. Do they even talk to the other person?

We all know a facebook Sara. But does she exist in real life? Or is it all an attention ploy? From the looks of it, she's been dumped more than a recyclable colon camera.

In the past, I've taken the plunge and erased the "single" thing from my profile, but it always came after great consideration and with great care. You have to be ready for the inevitable "who's the lucky girl" or "yeah yeah" or "taking the facebook plunge, eh?" I've bugged friends about it in the past, claiming now things were serious and official.

One friend fell asleep with her profile open and a roommate changed her status from "single" to "engaged." The next day she received calls from people she hadn't heard from in years -- family members even -- congratulating her on the news and asking her all about who the guy was. She had no idea what they were talking about, until they brought up the facebook status change.

Another friend was involved in a break-up, and he said changing the status was the definitive moment commemorating the end.

It's powerful stuff.

Anyways, two great friends (who I will keep anonymous for some reason) recently edited their profiles and 'facebook broke-up', even though they were together and in great shape. 

I called them late the night I saw the news, having returned from a night out, and was shocked, choked, hoping everyone was okay. The young man answered the phone. The two of them (who live in separate cities) were together, painting. They were fine. 

I felt like a douche and asked: "Fuck the heck?" 

They gave me some weird, convoluted logic about not needing facebook to say they were a couple or something (I think?). I said, just wait for the backlash.

I went to sleep feeling better that they were still together, but I felt played and facebook played a part.

Now, whenever I see that damn status thing change, I'll never one-hundred percent believe. (And can we put a ban on people being "married" to their friends? That can't be funny anymore, can it?)

I really don't like you, facebook, for fucking with me. I don't think I'll ever trust you again, facebook, and when the trust is gone, it's only a matter of time before we part ways.

Note: The next day, the still-healthy-couple's statuses had comments from people sympathetic and worried.

I wrote on one of them: "good, you can do a lot better."

A day later, the girl told me she had received a bunch of emails from her friends calling me an asshole for being insensitive. She had to explain everything. 

But that's what happens when you mess with the almighty facebook status. 

Beware of the power.