All right, I've had it; reading The Rum Diary all week has pretty much destroyed any ability on my part to not be fantasizing constantly about getting the hell out of this town and spending several aimless weeks knocking around some anonymous beach in Dominica in the near and immediate future. Fifteen-degree Tuesdays notwithstanding, I have had it with this cold weather shite. I want to be wearing minimal, loose clothing (if clothing at all). I want to wake up covered in sand-flies. I want to watch the sun rise and only then begin considering finding a bed. Oooh, I like that last part most of all.

Speaking of The Rum Diary, I had the best rum evah last night. We went to Scaramouche for my dad's birthday, and after dinner I ordered a shot of a 15-year-old Demerara rum from Guyana... and holy sweet fucking crap, it tasted like cream mixed with vanilla. Enough of this cheap LCBO shit I've been pumping through my veins - I gotta get me some of that. Although I admit the allure would be greatly enhanced if I was buying it myself somewhere on or near the aforementioned beach.

OK, enough griping. As far as "happiness is": walking hand-in-hand before sunrise, and finding a Lobster Johnson in my bag that I hadn't read yet, have pretty much already made my day.

"The monkeys don't speak, but they move like ninjas."