I was carrying part of a bookshelf purchased during a trip to IKEA down my basement stairs when I looked up and was confronted with the rear end of my somewhat famous neighbour, who had offered to help transport the thing from our car to our back door.
For most of my childhood he was just the dad of one of my best friends, that guy who was always golfing and once smoked a cigar in my living room and stank up the house. But now that I'm in Journalism school, knowing him is more exciting.
My mother decided to tell him I've started a blog with Macleans. He apparently thought that was great, but seeked to ensure that I'm not planning on a career in print journalism. Thanks, neighbour!