A solid green hardcover notebook

Harvey Kornbluth was born on 14 January 1982, in Toronto, Ontario. This makes him Canadian, and though there is technically nothing wrong with this, he is compelled to apologise for the fact anyway. For the convenience of his parents and the medical staff involved with his birth, Harvey agreed to be born shortly before lunch, at 11:37am. On the day he was born, corn dogs were being served in the hospital cafeteria, but unfortunately they were out of mustard. Somehow, Harvey was forever affected by this error of omission.

His parents, Darryl and Celica Kornbluth, were both killed in a car accident while driving back from synagogue. Though Harvey would never know this, his parents were arguing about the merits of moisturized facial tissue, when, distracted, his father plunged the car into a river. As such, Harvey was raised by his homosexual uncle and his half-Asian lover. They taught him about musicals, Abba and oxycontin addiction.

Harvey was a peculiar child. He was prone to carrying around blank index cards and a copy of the Koran. His favourite cereal was Froot Loops which he ate with too much milk. He always carried an umbrella, even on the hottest summer days. He looked at the stars at night and considered their role in his life in a non-philosophical way. He asked a lot of pointed questions to his peers ("Would you murder a parent to save Santa, and which one?"), and wrote scathing letters to authority figures. In one such missive he wrote:

Mr. Coley,

If it is in fact the case that we are not meant to eat the Play-doh, then I beseech you to explain why it is so delicious. Your humble servant,

Harvey Kornbluth

His adolescence was marked by casual smoking, cold showers and suicide notes placed in public spaces. His threat to self-immolate — which was painted on to the rear of a portable classroom in purple tee-shirt puff paint — was unproven. Nevertheless, it prompted his teachers and caregivers to enroll Harvey in a school for the mentally deranged.

At the institute, Harvey consumed Greek yogurt and learned to ride the unicycle and wrote stream-of-consciousness poetry about the other inmates. In his time, he made only one friend: a tall and charismatic redhead named Miranda, who would shower with her clothes on, and pass Harvey notes at lunch, and scream herself to sleep every single night. Miranda was cured after she smashed a watermelon into pieces with a foam-bat (anger expulsion therapy), and she left the institute. Harvey was alone and depressed.

He worked through his troubled feelings in a solid green hardcover notebook and came to the inescapable conclusion that the world and all the things in it were projections of his mind. Content that this was the only piece of knowledge he could wholeheartedly deem true, Harvey felt a vague sense of responsibility for the figments of his imagination and thirsted no longer — or at least a little bit less — for his own self-initiated demise.

Satisfied with Harvey's new-found (albeit disturbingly flawed) belief in the value of living, the institute released him. It was spring and he was an adult. The first thing Harvey did was find a prostitute and pay her for sex. The second was to procure an umbrella.

Many years later he started this blog, and shares with you those those dark corners of his notebook: the musings of a solipsistic inmate.

Cyberbullying

Two parents argue from opposite sides of the breakfast table.

Dad: Tyson! Where is that kid? His food is getting cold.
Mom: Derek, stop. He doesn’t want to come down. You know he’s feeling low.
Dad: Why? Because of that kid online?
Mom: Yes. He’s being cyberbullied.
Dad: How is that a thing?
Mom: It’s very real.
Dad: Getting bullied online? What kind of a vagina is this kid?
Mom: Derek!
Dad: Look getting bullied on the playground is one thing. Tyson is a twerp and will obviously get pounded by someone bigger than him. But isn’t the computer supposed to be his domain? He’s constantly in front of that thing. Don’t tell me he’s a loser online too.
Mom: Derek. Our son is not a loser. But the other kids are making fun of him online and—
Dad: Can’t he just turn it off? Am I missing something here?
Mom: He’s not going to turn off his computer every time.
Dad: Then tell him to close the tab!
Mom:
Dad:
Mom: I don’t know if he’s using a tabbed browser.
Dad: Jesus, then what kind of a nerd is he?

If you have a significant other...

How could it be possible that his or her parents actually like you? It's not, because you are having sex with their child. Let that sink in. You are blithely fucking (or at least have fucked) something two people created and reared for probably most of their lives. They nursed her wounds when she scraped her knee, and you probably came on her face two nights ago.

That's why the dinner conversation is awkward. It needs to be. Stop complaining because it could be worse.

A completely whispered dissertation on the milk to cereal ratio

Son? Michael? Psst. Michael. Michael. Michael! Hey, good, you're up. Good morning! What? I think it's 6:30. It's a bit early I know, but I wanted to catch you before school today.

Saturday? Already? I guess Daddy just lost track of the days. That happens sometimes when grownups are "funemployed." No, no. That's just a joke, son. It just makes it seem more... fun. Your mother doesn't get it either. But since you're up, I just wanted to talk to you about something important. It's been on my mind for a while, and I've been putting it off, but anyway -- I hope we can talk about this now. You know how you like to eat cereal each morning? Well, I wanted to talk to you about that. About how to eat cereal.

I know you know how to eat cereal, Michael, but there's a right way and a wrong way. And I'm your father. I have to make sure you know how to do it the right way, OK? Now, for different kinds of cereal there will be different optimal amounts, but no matter what kind of cereal you're eating there will be an amount that is too much or too little. And it's important that you stay within these boundaries.

Michael, please try to pay attention.

Well, this may seem boring but there's a lot to it. We're talking about a delicate balance here. There isn't any other meal that combines starch and dairy products in such an intimate way. I don't want you to take this lightly. But don't be embarrassed about it either. You can always come to me with questions. Do you have any questions now?

Are you sure? You can ask me anything.

No? OK, well, I guess a good place to start would be to go through different kinds of cereal. Flakes are the most common, and there are also shapes, weaves, muesli or grain-based cereals, sugar cereals and then everything else, like bran buds, kasha, and other stuff you probably don't like anyway. But you might want to eat these kinds someday, so it's good to be prepared. Anyway, it almost goes without saying that you should pour the cereal first—

OK, OK, you know this, but I just wanted to make sure. I'm your father, Michael. So, you pour the cereal into the bowl, but not all the way to the top. Do you know why?

That's right! You need to leave room for the milk. You're a smart kid, you know that? You get that from me. Your impatience and temper, that's your mom's doing. But let's not get into that now. Anyway, when you're pouring your milk you're probably wondering, how much room do I leave? And how much milk do you add? Those are kind of tough questions, and I understand if you aren't sure about this. To be honest, when I was your age I had no clue. Really.

Michael, please don't go back to sleep. This next part is important. You see, you have to think about what kind of cereal you poured and it's absorption rate of milk.

Well, "absorption" means how fast the cereal sucks up the milk. Like a sponge. Kind of like your mom is sucking up the money I've worked 30 years for while—

No, no, nevermind. Some cereals, like flakes, absorb milk really fast while others, like those little Os, are much slower. And you've got to think about that before you add the milk.

Just a second. We're not done, yet. Are you like this in school, Michael? You really have to pay attention. I mean, sure you might think you know all about cereal -- I'm sure I certainly did at your age -- but there are other things to consider. Like transportability. You don't want to fill your bowl with so much milk that it is difficult to take to wherever you are having breakfast. You'll spill everywhere. This is why I always make my bowl in the exact spot I consume it. There's no chance of spillage.

What the Hell does she know? You mother has no— I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I mean, yes, I occasionally spill a few flakes in the living room when I am having cereal. But that happens to everyone. Daddy's under a lot of stress these days.

Because some people think it's easy to just find a new job just-like-that, so Daddy spends most of his days as an errand-boy for a temperamental shrew who things being a dermatologist makes her some kind of life-saving--

I'm sorry, I'm getting off topic. This next part is a little tricky, so pay attention. So consider that every cereal has it's maximum absorption level. That's the most amount of milk that will be absorbed by the cereal. So before you even start pouring the milk, you're going to want to think about how much milk you want leftover in the bowl and whether or not you are prepared to drink it. And I don't want you slurping it up with your spoon either. You will have to lift the bowl with both hands, and drink it down.

Because that's the polite thing to do. Breakfast isn't a free-for-all, son. There are rules and there is a right way of going about things. That's what I'm trying to tell you. Some cereals, especially those sugar cereals you like so much, will impart flavour and particles to the leftover milk. Are you prepared for that? Personally, I can't stand the flavour milk takes on—

I'm just teaching our son about cereal.

I know perfectly well what time it is—

Because I think it's important.

Well, he's my son too, so I think—

I was going to do that later. I don't need to answer—

Let's pick this up later, son.