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One of the best features of our apartment is the patio. It's a canopied sanctuary of sorts. Close enough to the bay to be cool and breezy when it's hot elsewhere. But what I've come to appreciate most is the fireplace.

I grew up often in the care of my older Aunt and Uncle when my Mom became a single shift working RN. We'd often spend the summers at their camp ground. Back then they were heavy drinkers, my Uncle an alcoholic. But the responsible type.

My brother and I would frolic about with the other kids and relatives of hard drinking working class folk. Meanwhile the adults would drink and smoke by the fire. Talking about the things drunk people chilling talk about. We'd roast marshmallows and fall asleep.

I guess what's happening is that I'm experiencing that same feeling from the adult side. It's great to have a nice cold beer or three by the fire after work. Down by the bay here in Canada's industrial heartland we can hear the CN rail tracks squealing softly like a backing track to a Sigur Rós track.

I'm in the right spot.

My Wuvable Oaf shirt!

There has been much afoot here at Fartronix Haus. Or more so under-foot in the case of Jelly just shy of a week ago. He was brushing his teeth as the bowels of the building bubbled up and squeezed between his toes. A case of the shit foot. More specifically a case of a broken sewage trap.

Ya see... since the summer our otherwise fabulous apartment has had this unsavoury tendency to smell a little bit like farts. Not bad earth shattering farts, just little toots that linger. Theories were presented and disproved. A dead mouse? The pest control guy says no, wouldn't keep coming back. Radiators need to be flushed? Nope, the system is steam and doesn't need that. The plumbers told us the particular trap had been built with the building some 100 years ago.

The sewage created the least delightful spiral galaxy pattern of poo on our bathroom floor and quickly returned whatever level of hell that it receives it's mail at. Promptly the landlords called a plumber and stopped charging us rent. Kudos to awesome landlords. So it looks like about $300 back in our pockets for the inconvenience as well as a fresh paint job. Score!

But until today there was a 6' deep hole in Doug and Jess' bedroom and a similarly sized pile of poopy dirt. I have pictures but I'm not sure I want to share them. I'm glad it's over. I look forward to fresh delicious smells of baked apple pies, quiet mornings without jack hammers and plumbing that now rushes with the torrential force of modern man for another 100 years.