I will soon be wrapping up this website. It seems to have outlived its purpose, which was to help me score chicks (that was a total effing lie).
My next novel, Toby: A Man , will be released in Cañada in early 2010. I have decided to try something a little bit different, internetically-speaking, as that novel approaches publication.
Later this summer, I will move to France. This website doesn’t scream out “Guy living in France!” to me, not that it ought to. Screaming isn’t polite.

Late last night, I returned from five days in Whitehorse. Among the mail was a letter from the publisher of my first novel. A royalties statement, and news that a cheque is forthcoming.
They spelled my name incorrectly. Very incorrectly. I think there was an R in there.

I washed my car today, in a hurry, at one of those do-it-yourself car washes. I sprayed, and sang to myself. A French version of Heroes , by David Bowie, had been on the radio. I didn’t really know the lyrics, having only heard it the once, and only halfway through. So I made stuff up. My go-to French phrases: Il faut que j’y aille and such.
I want my hot car to look extra hot, because I am selling it before going to France. You see, I have to buy a car in France. Why have two cars, right? Most people do, but they’re sort of right next to each other, in the garage or what have you. Not on different continents.
At the car wash, I did not use soap because it smells funny.
Oh, and also at the car wash, the driver’s side window was open. I soaked some of my personal belongings, including a wool sweater that had been lying on the seat. Now it’s a considerably smaller wool sweater. And I’m stupid.

Why, Canadian dollar, are you doing this to me?
You were at 92 cents US. Now 86 cents. I’m trying to send many of you to the United States, to pay my rent in France. I thought we had a deal. You were going to be at par by the end of June. The newspapers said so.
Thanks, Bank of Canada. Thanks, oil prices. Thanks for nothing, emerging economies of Asia!

Dear ROGER COHEN :
I like what you do. We’ve never met, but I like you. Where do you live? Maybe I can come over sometime with a bottle of wine and blue cheese (favourite crackers?) and we can talk about how you’ll soon retire. I don’t want you to retire. I like your work. But I like your job more.
If you give me your job, I will give you:
My iMac G5
A Sigmund Freud doll
The weed whacker
My copy of Infinite Jest (can’t finish it)
That old coffee maker
Sixty three Canadian dollars
My Israel sweatshirt
Five snowboard lessons
Of course, all of this is negotiable. Call me!
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Copyright © Todd Babiak 2009