Come and keep your comrade warm...

For my inaugural blood donation today, I was joined by George, John and Paul (and not Ringo, because he walked out on the recording of that tune) to I lay horizontal for my momentous 11:29 of blood pumping vigor. But that was not all. I also eavesdropped on a girl discussing with some fellow comrade in the blood line about how she is currently sponsoring not one, but two foster children in Africa. She seemed to get a kick out of saying, "yeah... so I have two kids and I'm only 23," which was then followed by her Angelina Jolie-esque "I'd someday like to have one on every continent". How romantic.

*Insert future blog topic, that my roommate and I have discussed many times: Why only the real thing will do...*

This is puzzling to me. Do I criticize her because she's a do-gooder with two children, whom she's probably saved from the drug and/or prostitution trade(s), or am I just jealous that at this current moment I may feel sorry for those poor bastards on the infomercials but am in no way, shape or form willing to support one? Is it wrong to question why a person might feel compelled to give overseas and not at home? Has she cruised by the Drop-In Centre lately? Better yet, does she live at home with the rents' or is she working-for-the-weekend every single weekend to pay for the dump she curses herself for living in? Once again, the inevitable comparison takes place and suddenly the good karma I've wracked up for giving blood is side-swiped by two foster kids.

Damn. Damn. Damn. Looks like I'll just have to do more good-doing, which I had not planned in my schedule.

Further curious ramblings will discuss the long awaited fall of an empire of drones and automatons somewhere under the University of Calgary umbrella-services. Stay tuned.

PS. Who knew that the Beatles would also be good for listening to when having massive quantities of blood extracted? John probably did. It figures.