It's a love/hate thing

I'd like to take a moment to write about this guy I know named Josh. He lives in his very own country called Canadad (much like Canada, but not). It's only accessible by helicopter or psychedelic drugs. Josh has the most bizarre job of anyone I know. He's a pylon security guard. You know those orange caution cones construction guys use to block their work area from traffic? Well, it turns out they have a name. Pylons. Josh taught me that. He also taught me that the ski-masks guys wear over their heads when they rob banks or mini-marts are called balaclavas. I'm not sure why he knows that but he does. Anyway, he guards the pylons that block off parking spaces for movie vehicles. Or maybe he's actually just making sure that people don't drive over the pylons to steal the parking spaces. I'm not exactly sure. All I know is that he works in the middle of the night and mostly stands around in the cold.

Since he lives so far away, the only way we keep in touch is through e-mail and phone calls. One time, I called him and he made me talk to his mom. Mostly, I just talk to him though. Over the course of the last three years, we've discovered that math is super important, neither of us is terribly bright when we're talking to each other, and converting from celcius to fahrenheit is hard. We also discovered that we both like beer, monkeys, and karaoke, but not necessarily in that order.

Sometimes, I wish we lived in the same town, but I know that after a few minutes, I'd just want to kick him in the shins so I guess it's better that we don't.