What would my blog be without an oldie, but a goodie ... the chimpanzee rant!!!

Those of you who have known me for awhile will recall this article from the online Psychology Student's Society magazine, The Freudian Slip. This is my chance to find out if it was really funny, or just amusing to people who live on coffee and haven't slept in three days if you don't count that brief moment in Arts 41 before the janitor gave them a poke with his broom.

Ah ... the good old days.

FUN FACT: You would not believe how many people have told me that when Barenaked Ladies released "Another Postcard" (a.k.a. "The Chimpanzee Song"), it made them think of me, because of this article.

November 2000

As I come to the end of my psychology degree (exactly one month left!), I have been re-evaluating my time here at the U of S. Last month, during one of my numerous all-nighters (actually, I think I was gabbing with Teri Burant on the phone at the time, but doesn't 'all-nighter' make me sound more studious?), a distressing thought suddenly came to me:

Where is my chimpanzee???

This is probably the true measure of what a hick Saskatchewan village I grew up in, but, in all seriousness, I went into the psychology program fully expecting to be issued my own chimpanzee at some point in time. Likely in third year, we would return to school in the fall, and someone in authority would hand my primate over to me, dressed in a little pair of jeans and a 70s style plaid shirt no doubt. I would be expected to take him home to live with me, and return him at the end of the semester, having learned some sign language or some sort of a maze.

Talk about your ultimate in a bad partner for group work:

"Well, I would have been done on time, Professor, but MR. BANANAS here wasn't holding up his end of the bargain!".

Where would I get such an idea, you ask? Think of every psychologist you've ever seen on TV or in a movie, and they fall into three categories:

1) they have a therapist's couch,
2) they have some sort of primate, or
3) some sort of primate is sitting on their therapist's couch pouring out how his mother never loved him enough and always tried harder when delousing his younger siblings.

I know that they have them hidden somewhere in those U-shaped hallways ... and I'm not leaving without him!