The BBC reports: “Appeal for dwarf-tossing thrown out” - and then, for those unaware of the finer aspects of the sport, helpfully explains that “the person who throws the dwarf furthest wins”. Which brings back a debate I had years ago with Manh in the UBC cafeteria: dwarf, or midget? The argument spilled over to random diners in the vicinity (”Hey you over there with the pizza - dwarf, or midget?” “Hunh?”), but never reached a satisfactory conclusion before it was time to head to the next class. I was a lot less politically correct in those days.

Last weekend I was up in Summerland, getting in some last minute outdoors climbing at Skaha before the end of the season. Apart from being stuck in a car for five hours with a total stranger on the drive up (which actually turned out to be okay, since Greg’s friend Trevor was nice enough to let me to control the music), it was a nice, if greatly rushed, weekend.

I did shoot off my mouth mockingly trying to defend American foreign policy while among my Canadian family and friends - to the point of being called George Junior by David. (At one point I think I made some stupid comment about carpet bombing being good for the economy. For the record: I really, really don’t mean what I said.) And so, I suppose it’s fittingly ironic that when I got home, there was an envelope from the Selective Service System waiting for me. Inside was the receipt telling me that I’ve been officially registered for the draft.

I knew about the SSS, and I knew that all permanent residents regardless of citizenship were supposed to register, but I never bothered. (I was going to plead ignorance, but then I suppose it’s too late to pretend that.) So the fact that I have a receipt is either a really bad joke at my expense, or (more likely) automatic registration as soon as my green card got approved.

So: no wars til Feb. 15, 2004. Or ever. Please.