Last Sunday I played Santa for a friend’s company’s Christmas party.
What qualifies me to play Santa, you ask. Well, I have a little round belly, that shakes, when I laugh like a bowlful of jelly. It also shakes when I run or do jumping jacks but that part of the poem got cut.
Last Sunday, as you may remember, was the worst storm in Toronto in over 40 years. The driving was absolutely terrible but I had a duty to these children and I wasn’t about to let them down; also, the party was held at the Sheraton which has an excellent all you can eat brunch.
After having my fill of eggs benedict and bacon I was asked to get ready. I grabbed the costume and went to the washroom to change. I change in a stall because I don’t want a kid coming in and seeing Santa wearing nothing but red pants and a t-shirt that says “NO FAT CHICKS”, it may ruin the illusion.
Changing in a stall is not the best of conditions. Next year I’m demanding a 10’ X 10’ change room, a bottle of Absolut Vodka and unlimited access to the over-18 Naughty Girls list as part of my rider. This costume is the most complicated thing I’ve ever worn. First, everything is safety pinned together. The beard is safety pinned to the hair which is safety pinned to the hat. The gloves are safety pinned, the pant legs are safety pinned.
I put the pants on first, followed by the suspenders, the jacket, the belt and then the mock boots. These are a pair of pleather leggings. I’m not sure that’s even a real material. They may be melted down vinyl copies of The Greatest Hit of Paco for all I know. They are tight and cut off circulation below my knee. They’re not complete boots; they’re supposed to go on over your shoes and make it look like your shoes are part of the boot. The effect is not seamless. I then put the beard, hair and hat on and begin sweating profusely. Santa may be able to handle all that gear at the North Pole but in a toasty hotel lobby it’s a bit much.
I’ve either gained a lot of weight since last year or Santa’s been working out and had his suit taken in a bit. Every time I moved a little fast or bent a little far I felt a button pop. I was worried that when I sat down my pants would rip and my jingle balls would be on display for the kids to see. At that point having them sit on my lap could get me arrested. Thankfully, this did not happen and I got through the event without exposing myself.
There were two kids who were absolutely terrified of me. One was Rooster, my pseudo-niece who is just barely getting used to me when I don’t look like I just climbed down from the mountains to eat road kill and leer at purty women-folk. Snake, my other pseudo-niece had strong suspicions that her fat cranky uncle was playing Santa. She wasn’t entirely sure though and rather than risking offending the real Santa she played it cool and made subtle inquiries as to the type of shoes I wore and where I was at that exact moment. I think we would have been able to fool her but the results from the DNA test and retinal scan come in next week. Maybe the lab will make a mistake.
Friday, December 21, 2007
Monday, December 10, 2007
Bon 'Freakin' Jovi
Last Friday I went to see Bon Jovi. Am I a huge Bon Jovi fan? Let me answer that with another question, do I sound like a 40 year old soccer mom, or a 13 year old girl? No, I'm not a "huge" Bon Jovi fan but he does have catchy numbers and puts on a good show. A friend, who I'll call Monkey (aka Auntie Monkey) wanted to go and being the kind, selfless, devastatingly handsome man that I am, I got tickets and we went.
The show was at the Air Canada Centre. We had seats in the last row, very close to the roof. We were, in fact, so high up, I had to use two canisters of oxygen before the opening act finished. The opening act was Hedley. They're a crappy band with a second rate Mick Jagger impersonator for a front man. At one point the singer said, "are you guys ready for Bon Jovi?" just so he could hear some cheers. He then said, "Bon Jovi is going to rock your world man, think of us as just the warm-up act." Thanks, that is how I think of you? I wasn't there to see the great Hedley/Bon Jovi double bill. I think there were only 8 of us in the ACC at the time.
During Hedley's set two women came to our row and asked if it was row 17. We confirmed it was and they started walking away looking for seats 5 & 6. Seats 5 & 6 were two seats away from us but they walked away before we could say anything. About 15 minutes later, just as Hedley was wrapping up, they came back, looked at us puzzled and walked back down to the usher. Ten or so minutes later they came back and found their seats. I'm not entirely sure what the issue was. The seats are numbered in sequential order. If I'm in seat one, seat two is either to the right of me or to the left of me. The order isn't random - Seat 1, 7, 8, 23, #FA, D sharp, X, 24, a picture of a dog, 19.
After Hedley ended the stadium started filling up fairly quickly. I imagine a lot of people were standing in the hallway plugging their ears. In our row and section, we were seats 1 & 2, 3 & 4 were currently empty and 5 & 6 were occupied by the 40 year old Bon Jovi groupies with 80s hair and a mouthful of teeth that looked like a broken down picket fence. In the section beside us the seats started at 29 and counted down. There was a couple in seats 28 & 27. At least I think they were a couple. It took me a little while to figure out if the wife was a man or a woman because she looked like a very pissed off 15 year old boy. Seats 3 & 4 were then filled by a woman and her daughter who looked to be about 11. She was a cute kid and extremely excited to be at a concert. We then saw a large group of people making their way up the stairs. The man with the 15 year old boy for a wife stood up and the wife moved to seat 29 so she was right beside Monkey. The group all filed in our row with the biggest guy sitting right beside the wife. I thought this odd because I imagined the husband would have purchased a seat beside his wife. So we sat there for a while with the husband standing in front of the wife and looking at her like, "I don't know what to do, what can I do." And her looking back like "well you'd better do something, you got us into this." This went on for a little while until the husband finally went back to his seat which was in the same row but 8 chairs away. The exact number of spaces this group took up. Instead of asking someone in the group if they could all move one seat left or right he decided to spend the rest of the concert looking longingly at his wife from afar and her looking back.
I'm not sure how it was initiated but at one point during the concert one guy in our row told the other people in the row to move down one seat. The husband finally asked or somebody put two and two together but either way the wife moved beside the husband and the group moved to the left. Unfortunately for Monkey this meant that in addition to the gigantic lard ass on her left side (me) she now had a gigantic lard ass on her right side as well. This guy must have been about 1.5 times my size and when he sat down I thought Monkey's head was going to pop right off.
Not much else to report except that the 11 year old was an enthusiastic, if uncoordinated dancer and during much of the concert I feared for my safety and was almost certain I would come out of there with a black eye at minimum. The most embarrassing thing would of course be explaining it; "so you got the black eye when an 11 year old girl hit you at a Bon Jovi concert?"
The show was at the Air Canada Centre. We had seats in the last row, very close to the roof. We were, in fact, so high up, I had to use two canisters of oxygen before the opening act finished. The opening act was Hedley. They're a crappy band with a second rate Mick Jagger impersonator for a front man. At one point the singer said, "are you guys ready for Bon Jovi?" just so he could hear some cheers. He then said, "Bon Jovi is going to rock your world man, think of us as just the warm-up act." Thanks, that is how I think of you? I wasn't there to see the great Hedley/Bon Jovi double bill. I think there were only 8 of us in the ACC at the time.
During Hedley's set two women came to our row and asked if it was row 17. We confirmed it was and they started walking away looking for seats 5 & 6. Seats 5 & 6 were two seats away from us but they walked away before we could say anything. About 15 minutes later, just as Hedley was wrapping up, they came back, looked at us puzzled and walked back down to the usher. Ten or so minutes later they came back and found their seats. I'm not entirely sure what the issue was. The seats are numbered in sequential order. If I'm in seat one, seat two is either to the right of me or to the left of me. The order isn't random - Seat 1, 7, 8, 23, #FA, D sharp, X, 24, a picture of a dog, 19.
After Hedley ended the stadium started filling up fairly quickly. I imagine a lot of people were standing in the hallway plugging their ears. In our row and section, we were seats 1 & 2, 3 & 4 were currently empty and 5 & 6 were occupied by the 40 year old Bon Jovi groupies with 80s hair and a mouthful of teeth that looked like a broken down picket fence. In the section beside us the seats started at 29 and counted down. There was a couple in seats 28 & 27. At least I think they were a couple. It took me a little while to figure out if the wife was a man or a woman because she looked like a very pissed off 15 year old boy. Seats 3 & 4 were then filled by a woman and her daughter who looked to be about 11. She was a cute kid and extremely excited to be at a concert. We then saw a large group of people making their way up the stairs. The man with the 15 year old boy for a wife stood up and the wife moved to seat 29 so she was right beside Monkey. The group all filed in our row with the biggest guy sitting right beside the wife. I thought this odd because I imagined the husband would have purchased a seat beside his wife. So we sat there for a while with the husband standing in front of the wife and looking at her like, "I don't know what to do, what can I do." And her looking back like "well you'd better do something, you got us into this." This went on for a little while until the husband finally went back to his seat which was in the same row but 8 chairs away. The exact number of spaces this group took up. Instead of asking someone in the group if they could all move one seat left or right he decided to spend the rest of the concert looking longingly at his wife from afar and her looking back.
I'm not sure how it was initiated but at one point during the concert one guy in our row told the other people in the row to move down one seat. The husband finally asked or somebody put two and two together but either way the wife moved beside the husband and the group moved to the left. Unfortunately for Monkey this meant that in addition to the gigantic lard ass on her left side (me) she now had a gigantic lard ass on her right side as well. This guy must have been about 1.5 times my size and when he sat down I thought Monkey's head was going to pop right off.
Not much else to report except that the 11 year old was an enthusiastic, if uncoordinated dancer and during much of the concert I feared for my safety and was almost certain I would come out of there with a black eye at minimum. The most embarrassing thing would of course be explaining it; "so you got the black eye when an 11 year old girl hit you at a Bon Jovi concert?"
Wednesday, November 28, 2007
So Fat
I went for a physical last week and for the first time in my life my doctor told me I should lose weight. I know I'm fat. I don't need a doctor to tell me this; I sweat gravy for goodness sake. I haven't seen my feet since the late 80s and I get short of breath if I type too fast. However, when a doctor tells you to lose weight it's time to do something. I know it's not going to be easy but I vow to find a doctor who is fatter than me. When I was living with my parents we had a family doctor who weighed close to 400 pounds and he was great. One time he mentioned to my father that he should drop a few pounds and my dad said "no problem, just give me your exercise regime." The doctor never mentioned it again.
I also had to get blood taken as part of the physical. This is normally not a terribly onerous procedure but I guess he wanted to test everything so he requested a lot of blood. I had to fast for 12 hours prior to the bloodletting. This was difficult for me to do because I usually wake up around 4am and scarf down a couple of BLTs (sans the LT) just to get me through to wake-up time. The lab was supposed to open at 8am and wanting to get it over with and wanting to take the least amount of time off work as possible (just in case my boss reads this) I got there a few minutes before to ensure I would grab the first number. There was a sign on the door saying that the lab wouldn't open until 9am. Great 12 hours of not eating for nothing. I went back the next day at 8am and they were open and I was third in line. I would have been second if I was able to wrestle the number out of the old lady's hands but she was surprisingly feisty for an 82 year old. They call my number, I go in and the nurse has already dropped a couple of things on the floor leading me to wonder how sanitary these conditions are. Is she going to pick those up and use them on the next person? She took 7 vials of blood and knocked 2 empty (thank goodness) containers off the counter.
We'll find out next week if I've got the black lung or not.
I also had to get blood taken as part of the physical. This is normally not a terribly onerous procedure but I guess he wanted to test everything so he requested a lot of blood. I had to fast for 12 hours prior to the bloodletting. This was difficult for me to do because I usually wake up around 4am and scarf down a couple of BLTs (sans the LT) just to get me through to wake-up time. The lab was supposed to open at 8am and wanting to get it over with and wanting to take the least amount of time off work as possible (just in case my boss reads this) I got there a few minutes before to ensure I would grab the first number. There was a sign on the door saying that the lab wouldn't open until 9am. Great 12 hours of not eating for nothing. I went back the next day at 8am and they were open and I was third in line. I would have been second if I was able to wrestle the number out of the old lady's hands but she was surprisingly feisty for an 82 year old. They call my number, I go in and the nurse has already dropped a couple of things on the floor leading me to wonder how sanitary these conditions are. Is she going to pick those up and use them on the next person? She took 7 vials of blood and knocked 2 empty (thank goodness) containers off the counter.
We'll find out next week if I've got the black lung or not.
Monday, November 26, 2007
Ramblings
There was a guy on the streetcar today, well dressed, reading the Globe & Mail and picking his nose like a six year old hillbilly at class picture time. He wasn't just running his thumb along the ridge or pinching the septum and giving it a pull; this guy was in it to win it. He'd stick his finger in, root around for a bit, pull it out, have a look, wipe it on his pants, or paper or bald head and then go back for more. Disgusting? Yes, but I had to actually see it, you're just reading about it.
I went to the One of a Kind Show this weekend. Did I want to go? No, of course not. So why did I go? I took the path of least resistance. I could either listen to my friend cry and whine about it for 3.5 hours and then breakdown and go or I could go immediately and get it over with. I did manage to get a couple of Christmas gifts so it wasn't entirely unproductive. I also bought some roasted soybeans which were being touted as a delicious, nutritious, healthy and low-fat snack. They are quite tasty but the women who own the company are a couple of roly-poly twin sisters who must only eat soybeans when they're sprinkled on top of bacon and butter pie.
There were many men at the show who had short ponytails. This irks me beyond belief but thankfully I was still able to get some sleep over the weekend. These men are usually balding, but not always, and their hair is only shoulder length but for some reason they put it in a ponytail. Is the heaviness on the neck too much for them to bear. Does it feel like a shag carpet brushing up against the skin? Either get it cut or grow it to a respectable length. Don't make me tell you again.
Finally, at breakfast a couple of weekends ago a friend ordered an omelette and the waitress asked how she would like her eggs. How about in the shape of an omelette.
I went to the One of a Kind Show this weekend. Did I want to go? No, of course not. So why did I go? I took the path of least resistance. I could either listen to my friend cry and whine about it for 3.5 hours and then breakdown and go or I could go immediately and get it over with. I did manage to get a couple of Christmas gifts so it wasn't entirely unproductive. I also bought some roasted soybeans which were being touted as a delicious, nutritious, healthy and low-fat snack. They are quite tasty but the women who own the company are a couple of roly-poly twin sisters who must only eat soybeans when they're sprinkled on top of bacon and butter pie.
There were many men at the show who had short ponytails. This irks me beyond belief but thankfully I was still able to get some sleep over the weekend. These men are usually balding, but not always, and their hair is only shoulder length but for some reason they put it in a ponytail. Is the heaviness on the neck too much for them to bear. Does it feel like a shag carpet brushing up against the skin? Either get it cut or grow it to a respectable length. Don't make me tell you again.
Finally, at breakfast a couple of weekends ago a friend ordered an omelette and the waitress asked how she would like her eggs. How about in the shape of an omelette.
Thursday, November 15, 2007
Craigslist
A couple of nights ago I sold a laptop via Craigslist. This was the first time I had used Craigslist and was pretty pleased with it. I put up an ad and within five minutes had about six responses. I replied to the first guy around noon and he said he’d be able to meet me at 7pm to make the purchase. At 6:15pm I received an e-mail from him saying that he would not be able to buy the laptop because he didn’t have any money. This led me to wonder what happened in the previous six hours. Did he have money and then was robbed or perhaps he donated it to purchase new fezzes for circus monkeys. On the other hand he may have been hoping to earn the money in the six hours and came up short.
I called the next guy on the list at around 6:30pm and he said he could meet me at 8:45pm. I asked to meet at a Tim Hortons in my neighbourhood because I’ve found in the past that when you’re selling shoddy merchandise to people it’s best not to give your home address. He asked how he would recognize me and I replied that I’d be wearing a red baseball cap. This seemed to stump him and he paused for a bit before muttering, “oh, um, I was planning on wearing a red baseball cap.” I was thinking of telling him that he still could, it wouldn’t confuse me but he said he would wear a grey one. Can you imagine the chaos if we both wore red baseball caps? I’d see him and shriek in terror because I’d know I was wearing a red baseball cap but that guy looks nothing like me. I assumed he’d look nothing like me because he’s 75. My friend asked how I knew he was 75 and the answer is because he told me. Once you reach a certain age, I’m not sure what the exact age is, you’re obligated to tell everyone you speak to how old you are. Some people will follow this up with “years young” as in “75 years young”. At this point you are legally allowed to punch them in the face but it is frowned upon.
The guy sat down and like all people 75 and older proceeded to prattle on about subjects completely unrelated to the task at hand. I don't really give a rat's ass that you used to do typesetting for old man Winterbottom's half-sister's fiance in the 30s and that's how you got to meet the woman who posed for the Sun-maid raisin box. After 45 minutes he finally gave me my money. I distracted him by saying that one of the customers in line looked like Andy Griffith (who is the patron saint of the elderly) and ran out the door cackling.
One last thing, on the streetcar today a blind man got on. A woman near the front tried to take his hand so she could lead him to a seat. The streetcar was very crowded though so she was having a difficult time. The guy in the very front seat finally noticed and got up to give the blind man his seat. As he got up he said, "sorry, I didn't see you there." Nice. I wonder if he goes to schools for the deaf and says the problem with children today is that they just don't listen.
I called the next guy on the list at around 6:30pm and he said he could meet me at 8:45pm. I asked to meet at a Tim Hortons in my neighbourhood because I’ve found in the past that when you’re selling shoddy merchandise to people it’s best not to give your home address. He asked how he would recognize me and I replied that I’d be wearing a red baseball cap. This seemed to stump him and he paused for a bit before muttering, “oh, um, I was planning on wearing a red baseball cap.” I was thinking of telling him that he still could, it wouldn’t confuse me but he said he would wear a grey one. Can you imagine the chaos if we both wore red baseball caps? I’d see him and shriek in terror because I’d know I was wearing a red baseball cap but that guy looks nothing like me. I assumed he’d look nothing like me because he’s 75. My friend asked how I knew he was 75 and the answer is because he told me. Once you reach a certain age, I’m not sure what the exact age is, you’re obligated to tell everyone you speak to how old you are. Some people will follow this up with “years young” as in “75 years young”. At this point you are legally allowed to punch them in the face but it is frowned upon.
The guy sat down and like all people 75 and older proceeded to prattle on about subjects completely unrelated to the task at hand. I don't really give a rat's ass that you used to do typesetting for old man Winterbottom's half-sister's fiance in the 30s and that's how you got to meet the woman who posed for the Sun-maid raisin box. After 45 minutes he finally gave me my money. I distracted him by saying that one of the customers in line looked like Andy Griffith (who is the patron saint of the elderly) and ran out the door cackling.
One last thing, on the streetcar today a blind man got on. A woman near the front tried to take his hand so she could lead him to a seat. The streetcar was very crowded though so she was having a difficult time. The guy in the very front seat finally noticed and got up to give the blind man his seat. As he got up he said, "sorry, I didn't see you there." Nice. I wonder if he goes to schools for the deaf and says the problem with children today is that they just don't listen.
Monday, November 5, 2007
Just Another Weekend
Friday night I went to see Dan in Real Life. Good movie, not great. I'm a huge Steve Carell fan and while this movie had some incredibly funny parts I would not classify it as a comedy. That was my exciting Friday night.
On Saturday I went to my dad's. He lives near Bowmanville so it's not too far of a drive. A friend asked if she could park in my driveway on Saturday because she and a couple girlfriends were taking a fourth girl out for her birthday and they wanted to take one car and my place was a convenient meeting spot. I said that I didn't give a rat's ass, which I've been pretty fond of saying lately, and that my standard parking fees of $20 per half hour or part thereof would still apply. So the four of them met on my driveway and proceeded to blindfold the girl whose birthday it was because they wanted the final destination to be a surprise. Just as they were shoving her in the car my brother rounded the corner to see three Chinese girls trying to get a fourth, blindfolded, Chinese girl in a car. I had to explain to him that although I hadn't signed all the paperwork yet we were starting either a sweatshop or a massage parlour in the apartment.
Sunday was a pretty dull day. I spent the majority of time "smiling" at girls, who are completely out of my league, on Lavalife. Lavalife is an online dating service in which a person enters their specifics (height, body type, religion, ethnicity, salary, smoker, drinker, kids, education, etc) and a biography. A typical profile is something like:
"I'm a single white down to earth gal looking for an easy going guy. I enjoy hanging out with my family and friends. I'm just as comfortable in jeans and t-shirt as I am in a full length ballroom gown. I'm looking to meet someone who is funny, intelligent, thoughtful, kind and ambitious. I'm not into mind games so if you are please don't respond to this ad."
Let's dissect this shall we. You're a single white female. Fabulous, the last dating service I signed up for was all married people. Oh and being female is great. I don't want to give away too much but after my last date I couldn't walk properly for a week. And you're white; thank god you told me because even after seeing your picture and reading your ethnicity I was still wondering.
You enjoy hanging out with your friends. Really? I hate it. There's absolutely nothing I dread more than spending some quality time with my friends.
Just as comfortable in a ball gown as jeans? So when you're going to Walmart to pick up a box of Bugles and some pork rinds you're just as likely to wear either?
And you're looking to meet someone who is funny, intelligent, thoughtful, kind and ambitious. How rare, most people are looking for a thoughtless idiot who enjoys torturing animals.
Finally, we come to my favourite part of the profile, if you're into mind games please don't respond to this ad. I imagine hundreds of guys viewing this ad and saying to themselves, "gee that's too bad, I was thinking of really jerking her around for a couple of months until her self-esteem was shot and then just disappearing. But, she's not into mind games."
On Saturday I went to my dad's. He lives near Bowmanville so it's not too far of a drive. A friend asked if she could park in my driveway on Saturday because she and a couple girlfriends were taking a fourth girl out for her birthday and they wanted to take one car and my place was a convenient meeting spot. I said that I didn't give a rat's ass, which I've been pretty fond of saying lately, and that my standard parking fees of $20 per half hour or part thereof would still apply. So the four of them met on my driveway and proceeded to blindfold the girl whose birthday it was because they wanted the final destination to be a surprise. Just as they were shoving her in the car my brother rounded the corner to see three Chinese girls trying to get a fourth, blindfolded, Chinese girl in a car. I had to explain to him that although I hadn't signed all the paperwork yet we were starting either a sweatshop or a massage parlour in the apartment.
Sunday was a pretty dull day. I spent the majority of time "smiling" at girls, who are completely out of my league, on Lavalife. Lavalife is an online dating service in which a person enters their specifics (height, body type, religion, ethnicity, salary, smoker, drinker, kids, education, etc) and a biography. A typical profile is something like:
"I'm a single white down to earth gal looking for an easy going guy. I enjoy hanging out with my family and friends. I'm just as comfortable in jeans and t-shirt as I am in a full length ballroom gown. I'm looking to meet someone who is funny, intelligent, thoughtful, kind and ambitious. I'm not into mind games so if you are please don't respond to this ad."
Let's dissect this shall we. You're a single white female. Fabulous, the last dating service I signed up for was all married people. Oh and being female is great. I don't want to give away too much but after my last date I couldn't walk properly for a week. And you're white; thank god you told me because even after seeing your picture and reading your ethnicity I was still wondering.
You enjoy hanging out with your friends. Really? I hate it. There's absolutely nothing I dread more than spending some quality time with my friends.
Just as comfortable in a ball gown as jeans? So when you're going to Walmart to pick up a box of Bugles and some pork rinds you're just as likely to wear either?
And you're looking to meet someone who is funny, intelligent, thoughtful, kind and ambitious. How rare, most people are looking for a thoughtless idiot who enjoys torturing animals.
Finally, we come to my favourite part of the profile, if you're into mind games please don't respond to this ad. I imagine hundreds of guys viewing this ad and saying to themselves, "gee that's too bad, I was thinking of really jerking her around for a couple of months until her self-esteem was shot and then just disappearing. But, she's not into mind games."
Thursday, November 1, 2007
Mandatory Entry
I used to have penpals that I never wrote to because I never had anything to say. A friend suggested just making crap up to amuse myself, "sorry, it's taken so long to write. Last month I was involved in a gang war and got shot up pretty bad". I think I ended up writing something like "I hope this correspondence finds you well. I regret to inform you that this letter will be my last. My government needs me to embark on a top secret mission and I must break all contact. Fare thee well good lady." I'm not sure if anyone bought it because I was only 13 at the time. I was thinking of making up a blog entry because nothing remotely interesting has happened lately (not that that has stopped me before).
Last weekend a friend wanted to make cookies because she saw a recipe in a Martha Stewart magazine. I didn't think this would go well for two reasons; 1) she's a perfectionist and 2) her idea of cooking is to put a can of ham in the microwave. Her kitchen is about 3 square feet so she wanted to make them at my place. I said absolutely no way, I refuse to do this, there is not a chance this is going to happen.
So we're at my place making cookies. This is normally a one hour job. It took us nearly six hours.
The main hold up was that we had to chill the dough for an hour. During this hour we decided to grab a bite. By the time we returned an hour and a half later the dough was almost frozen solid. We thought leaving it on the counter for a bit would thaw it out. Eventually, because I didn't want to make this a multi-day affair, we nuked the dough to soften it up. Considering that the dough was frozen and then nuked the cookies turned out very well.
One other thing happened last weekend that I found mildly amusing. I was in Staples and my friend was going on about some other recipe she saw in Martha Stewart. I had little interest in the topic so I was only partially listening while walking around and then I heard her say "are you listening to me?" all snotty-like. I turned around and in an exasperated, annoyed tone said "what?!?!?" It turns out that my friend had long gone her own way and I was shouting at a woman who was talking to her daughter.
I'm sure you're now thinking, geez I wish the bastard would have just made something up instead of writing that boring ass cookie story. Perhaps next entry I'll tell you about the time I single-handedly dismantled a nuclear bomb while performing neurosurgery on the Prime Minister of Belize. I'm sure many of you didn't know that I was once single-handed. Thanks to a rigorous rehab program and Buckley's cough syrup my right hand grew back. It's a long fictitious story but perhaps one day I'll tell it.
Last weekend a friend wanted to make cookies because she saw a recipe in a Martha Stewart magazine. I didn't think this would go well for two reasons; 1) she's a perfectionist and 2) her idea of cooking is to put a can of ham in the microwave. Her kitchen is about 3 square feet so she wanted to make them at my place. I said absolutely no way, I refuse to do this, there is not a chance this is going to happen.
So we're at my place making cookies. This is normally a one hour job. It took us nearly six hours.
The main hold up was that we had to chill the dough for an hour. During this hour we decided to grab a bite. By the time we returned an hour and a half later the dough was almost frozen solid. We thought leaving it on the counter for a bit would thaw it out. Eventually, because I didn't want to make this a multi-day affair, we nuked the dough to soften it up. Considering that the dough was frozen and then nuked the cookies turned out very well.
One other thing happened last weekend that I found mildly amusing. I was in Staples and my friend was going on about some other recipe she saw in Martha Stewart. I had little interest in the topic so I was only partially listening while walking around and then I heard her say "are you listening to me?" all snotty-like. I turned around and in an exasperated, annoyed tone said "what?!?!?" It turns out that my friend had long gone her own way and I was shouting at a woman who was talking to her daughter.
I'm sure you're now thinking, geez I wish the bastard would have just made something up instead of writing that boring ass cookie story. Perhaps next entry I'll tell you about the time I single-handedly dismantled a nuclear bomb while performing neurosurgery on the Prime Minister of Belize. I'm sure many of you didn't know that I was once single-handed. Thanks to a rigorous rehab program and Buckley's cough syrup my right hand grew back. It's a long fictitious story but perhaps one day I'll tell it.
Monday, October 22, 2007
Mmmmm Toasty
A Quizno's opened in the building where I work. I love Quizno's. All we need now is an Arby's and a Laura Secord's and I'll never go home. With any new establishment though there are growing pains. Quizno's has one of the dumbest looking people I have ever seen in my life making the sandwiches. He's the kind of person that just makes you think of banjo music and the cast of Deliverance. The kind of person who always has his mouth open because either his brain hasn't sent the signal to close it or he's in a perpetual state of surprise. "Hey, that's a pretty bird, wow this stove is hot, I wonder if monkeys dream, where did I leave my pants?" I feel sorry for the kid, especially because the way he was wielding the knife today makes it almost certain he's not going to end the week with the same number of fingers he started with (which is probably six on each hand so losing a couple may be a blessing).
Quizno's has a sign with actual size pictures of the sandwiches on it that reads, "Size matters, sandwiches are actual size, taste is 1/4 actual taste." To me, this means that their sandwiches taste 4 times better than a cardboard sign. Not very encouraging. I'd expect the sandwiches to be at least 6 times better.
On a completely different subject I was driving with a friend yesterday (I know it's difficult to believe but I do have one friend) and she refuses to use her signal until just before she gets in the lane. I think she does this because she thinks that as soon as she turns on her signal everyone on the road will conspire to keep her from ever getting into that lane. In actuality it's probably only about 90% of the people that would conspire against her, 9% of the people have tunnel vision and wouldn't even see her signal and the other 1% may let her in depending on how their day went. She thinks if they don't know what she's planning she can sneak in when no one is looking. She puts her signal on though because she doesn't want to be rude. The signal at this point is useless. When I see a car moving into my lane it's not like I think "what the hell is that guy doing? Oh my god the world's gone mad. Wait, oh he's signalling. Nevermind."
Quizno's has a sign with actual size pictures of the sandwiches on it that reads, "Size matters, sandwiches are actual size, taste is 1/4 actual taste." To me, this means that their sandwiches taste 4 times better than a cardboard sign. Not very encouraging. I'd expect the sandwiches to be at least 6 times better.
On a completely different subject I was driving with a friend yesterday (I know it's difficult to believe but I do have one friend) and she refuses to use her signal until just before she gets in the lane. I think she does this because she thinks that as soon as she turns on her signal everyone on the road will conspire to keep her from ever getting into that lane. In actuality it's probably only about 90% of the people that would conspire against her, 9% of the people have tunnel vision and wouldn't even see her signal and the other 1% may let her in depending on how their day went. She thinks if they don't know what she's planning she can sneak in when no one is looking. She puts her signal on though because she doesn't want to be rude. The signal at this point is useless. When I see a car moving into my lane it's not like I think "what the hell is that guy doing? Oh my god the world's gone mad. Wait, oh he's signalling. Nevermind."
Friday, October 19, 2007
I NEED A SAFE LIVEING SPACE PLEASE HELP
I guess in most neighbourhoods people post various flyers, notices, want-ads, etc around. We get a lot of them in Cabbagetown and I ignore most but this one caught my eye. It was typed on a crisp white sheet of paper and stuck to the hydro pole with four thumbtacks. I would think that a woman in her dire situation would want to save money but perhaps she's thinking that if somebody does offer her free accomodations she won't have to worry about the thumbtack budget. I kind of went back and forth with whether I should put this up or not. I don't want to make fun of the less fortunate. I don't find humour in the situation or the spelling and grammar errors (okay, some of the errors are a little funny). I find humour in the rants that go nowhere and her selective attitude. She did put her name and phone number on the notice but I'm leaving them off. The remainder of the entry is the text of her notice.
1. I'm living in a rental situation that is struck telly unsafe do to neglected maintenance the building has collapsibility & other hazards to worry about such as everything around and under neath the building and are dangerous.
2. there really arint any laws around hear it's a land thing they just pretend theres laws for manipulation and control tac-tic's, the cop's are worse than the kkk, there lazy creatures that get slaves to make them suits and decorate & build there hell wagons to drive around denie people the right to live they enjoy making cripples and stealing mothers children and body rights there disgusting and inhuman. I'd love to be involved with the construction group restores buildings and then rent them out. I would enjoy planning and doing the building work and the company, it's not really a sexual thing but I enjoy being around people smart enough to design, build & maintain there own houses and area that enjoy doing it. building restoration and maintance is an art it's wonderfull.
3. So I'm basicly looking for somebody in the construction industry who build a safe house (+++++++++not built on land with tunnels or gas lines underneath or larg structures that might fall or burn)>>>>>> to live in that Might rent a safe space to me or wants to help me go claim a piece of land and clear it cultivate it and start a community and make our own callander and make our own holydays. but my grand parents and my sister and her family live in south east mississuage and south west toronto so i need to stay close to them i don't drive. this person must be in my age group (I'm 24) and has a glowing personality and that i would find being around comfortable safe and amesueing yes to an extent I expect to be amused by ythe person I choose to live with so dont call me if you cant also entertain me to.
I dont want to live with a clutter bug i like open space concept breathability, gardins art and the sound of water moveing and a space with big windows lots of light i'm claustra phobic big time i hate bug's lizards & creepy crawlys and i dont want any long haird animals around or things that airnt house trained around. i dont want a high volume of visiters around or trafic around. I hate tv I'm a picky eater no meat or bird eating for me you can eat it i might evan cook it for you but I'm not eating it i do eat fish. to get me to move in you gotta convince me that you thourly checked out the land and area for safty hazords yes the pipes and wast systems around and under the house have to be safe if you think the city maintains them your wrong. there cant be any old gas stations around that might blow up so I'm willing to leave the nabour hood evan the city and come go to a nabourhood one that you and your friends already built an area thats all newly built and releveloped nothing hazordes around or underneath but I do get bord and i like entertianment. so I'm not sure what to do.
if you think we can team up I dont got much to offer but I got an intresting family and storys to tell and entertaining and creative not really talented at anything but hey i aint forceing you to awanser by add hear so.
dont be thinking I'AM going to fall in love with you eather I am in love with a construction worker james d cooper but he thinks im worthless trash and dosint want to be around me or with me so that tells you I'm not a very likeable person to start I'm disagreeable and i'm not willing to have children with any body but james but he whont come around to and if anybody eles other than him trys to get me pregnant understand I will self abort the pregnancy i'm not up for the survival of humanity and i hate people I wanted to have my offspring with hames.
my name is _________ no children age 24 canadian censis internationnell hates me.
I do smoke and I do like drinking and drugs done in moderation and with respect to the body systems. if my letter hear intrest you and you can help me figure out my houseing problame than give me a call.
after 6pm on weekday's and unlimited on weekends
1. I'm living in a rental situation that is struck telly unsafe do to neglected maintenance the building has collapsibility & other hazards to worry about such as everything around and under neath the building and are dangerous.
2. there really arint any laws around hear it's a land thing they just pretend theres laws for manipulation and control tac-tic's, the cop's are worse than the kkk, there lazy creatures that get slaves to make them suits and decorate & build there hell wagons to drive around denie people the right to live they enjoy making cripples and stealing mothers children and body rights there disgusting and inhuman. I'd love to be involved with the construction group restores buildings and then rent them out. I would enjoy planning and doing the building work and the company, it's not really a sexual thing but I enjoy being around people smart enough to design, build & maintain there own houses and area that enjoy doing it. building restoration and maintance is an art it's wonderfull.
3. So I'm basicly looking for somebody in the construction industry who build a safe house (+++++++++not built on land with tunnels or gas lines underneath or larg structures that might fall or burn)>>>>>> to live in that Might rent a safe space to me or wants to help me go claim a piece of land and clear it cultivate it and start a community and make our own callander and make our own holydays. but my grand parents and my sister and her family live in south east mississuage and south west toronto so i need to stay close to them i don't drive. this person must be in my age group (I'm 24) and has a glowing personality and that i would find being around comfortable safe and amesueing yes to an extent I expect to be amused by ythe person I choose to live with so dont call me if you cant also entertain me to.
I dont want to live with a clutter bug i like open space concept breathability, gardins art and the sound of water moveing and a space with big windows lots of light i'm claustra phobic big time i hate bug's lizards & creepy crawlys and i dont want any long haird animals around or things that airnt house trained around. i dont want a high volume of visiters around or trafic around. I hate tv I'm a picky eater no meat or bird eating for me you can eat it i might evan cook it for you but I'm not eating it i do eat fish. to get me to move in you gotta convince me that you thourly checked out the land and area for safty hazords yes the pipes and wast systems around and under the house have to be safe if you think the city maintains them your wrong. there cant be any old gas stations around that might blow up so I'm willing to leave the nabour hood evan the city and come go to a nabourhood one that you and your friends already built an area thats all newly built and releveloped nothing hazordes around or underneath but I do get bord and i like entertianment. so I'm not sure what to do.
if you think we can team up I dont got much to offer but I got an intresting family and storys to tell and entertaining and creative not really talented at anything but hey i aint forceing you to awanser by add hear so.
dont be thinking I'AM going to fall in love with you eather I am in love with a construction worker james d cooper but he thinks im worthless trash and dosint want to be around me or with me so that tells you I'm not a very likeable person to start I'm disagreeable and i'm not willing to have children with any body but james but he whont come around to and if anybody eles other than him trys to get me pregnant understand I will self abort the pregnancy i'm not up for the survival of humanity and i hate people I wanted to have my offspring with hames.
my name is _________ no children age 24 canadian censis internationnell hates me.
I do smoke and I do like drinking and drugs done in moderation and with respect to the body systems. if my letter hear intrest you and you can help me figure out my houseing problame than give me a call.
after 6pm on weekday's and unlimited on weekends
Thursday, October 11, 2007
HodgePodge
I just finished reading When You Catch an Adjective, Kill It by Ben Yagoda. This book has succeeded in destroying any confidence I had in my writing. Each chapter is devoted to a part of speech (noun, verb, article, conjunction) and how only weak, lazy writers ever use adverbs or adjectives (I guess I’m very weak and lazy). You should be able to find the noun or verb that expresses exactly what you are trying to say. Part of my problem is that I don’t really know what the parts of speech are. I know that a conjunction’s function is “hooking up words and phrases and clauses” (I also know that Three is a Magic Number but that’s beside the point). In a sentence like, “the acrobatic monkey did not blame the portly seal” I know that acrobat and portly are adjectives but if you get more complicated than that I’m lost. I suppose there are two options; try and learn grammar or remain blissfully ignorant of all the ways I’m butchering the language. Tough choice but me ain’t good at learnin’ me stuff.
On a completely different note, Irmgard von Stephani died on October 5th. Irmgard was Germany’s oldest person and died at the age of 112. When the oldest person in a country dies it of course means that a new person takes the crown and all the power and glory that go with it. In this case that person was Elsa Tauser. Elsa waited 111 years before she became Germany’s oldest person. Unfortunately it seems the excitement was too much and Elsa died on October 6th.
I’ve been asked to play Santa Claus at a company Christmas party again this year. I of course said yes because there is nothing more enjoyable than wearing an extremely hot, itchy suit while sticky children sit on your lap, poke your belly and tug your beard. The reason I bring this up is it reminded me of the first time I played Santa at this Christmas party about 3 years ago. The office manager, who I had never met, e-mailed me to confirm that I’d be Santa and ask what my measurements where so she could get an appropriate sized costume. Being a complete jackass I e-mailed back my measurements with a throwaway comment that I can only wear hand woven silk. I thought she may be mildly amused and make a mental note to put itching powder in the suit. What actually happened is she took the comment seriously and almost went insane trying to track down a hand woven Santa suit. I had to go into to damage control mode and confirm for her that I was only kidding and any suit would be fine. When we did meet at the Christmas party she must have been in a particularly festive mood as she was able to refrain from kicking me in the nuts which is what I’m sure any reasonable person would have done after spending half a day looking for an imaginary item.
On a completely different note, Irmgard von Stephani died on October 5th. Irmgard was Germany’s oldest person and died at the age of 112. When the oldest person in a country dies it of course means that a new person takes the crown and all the power and glory that go with it. In this case that person was Elsa Tauser. Elsa waited 111 years before she became Germany’s oldest person. Unfortunately it seems the excitement was too much and Elsa died on October 6th.
I’ve been asked to play Santa Claus at a company Christmas party again this year. I of course said yes because there is nothing more enjoyable than wearing an extremely hot, itchy suit while sticky children sit on your lap, poke your belly and tug your beard. The reason I bring this up is it reminded me of the first time I played Santa at this Christmas party about 3 years ago. The office manager, who I had never met, e-mailed me to confirm that I’d be Santa and ask what my measurements where so she could get an appropriate sized costume. Being a complete jackass I e-mailed back my measurements with a throwaway comment that I can only wear hand woven silk. I thought she may be mildly amused and make a mental note to put itching powder in the suit. What actually happened is she took the comment seriously and almost went insane trying to track down a hand woven Santa suit. I had to go into to damage control mode and confirm for her that I was only kidding and any suit would be fine. When we did meet at the Christmas party she must have been in a particularly festive mood as she was able to refrain from kicking me in the nuts which is what I’m sure any reasonable person would have done after spending half a day looking for an imaginary item.
Thursday, October 4, 2007
Feeling Human Again
I took Monday & Tuesday off work and went in on Wednesday. That was a mistake. I felt like hell the whole day and ended up feeling worse than when I started. On Tuesday I made a Herculean effort and went to the drugstore. Got all the way there and realized I'd forgotten my wallet. I think I can say, without hyperbole, that returning home, getting my wallet, and going back to the drug store was the most difficult thing any human being has ever accomplished. Then I ended up picking the wrong stuff anyway. Stupid NyQuil and its similar looking packaging. I've taken enough NyQuil, DayQuil, NeoCitran and Extra Strength Tylenol in the last 4 days to kill all the horses in a mid-size stable.
Today I went to a walk-in clinic. There's one fairly close to home so I walked up there. It of course was closed and nobody else in the building had any idea what their hours were. Great. I walked home, picked up the car and drove to a clinic at Bloor and Sherbourne. I was lucky that there was only one person ahead of me. About 8 people walked in shortly after me and at the pace that clinics work I would guess at least 3 of them are still there. I wouldn't say the doctor there was the best I've ever visited. He would state symptoms and then respond skeptically when I confirmed feeling them.
"Do you have a fever?"
"Yes."
"Really? Does it hurt when people poke your face?"
"People don't poke my face that often but yes it does."
"Really?" poke, poke, poke.
"Yes."
Even if I didn't have a sinus infection that would bother me. Why do doctors do that? Aren't they supposed to ease the pain rather than cause it? "Patient complains of pain in testicles after knee to groin."
I finally got the prescription, got it filled and went back home to load up on medication. After a nap I woke up without the searing pain in my head (it was reduced to a light throb) and a nose not quite so stuffed up. Who knows what tomorrow holds. Perhaps I'll be back up to my regular eating schedule of once every 45 minutes.
Today I went to a walk-in clinic. There's one fairly close to home so I walked up there. It of course was closed and nobody else in the building had any idea what their hours were. Great. I walked home, picked up the car and drove to a clinic at Bloor and Sherbourne. I was lucky that there was only one person ahead of me. About 8 people walked in shortly after me and at the pace that clinics work I would guess at least 3 of them are still there. I wouldn't say the doctor there was the best I've ever visited. He would state symptoms and then respond skeptically when I confirmed feeling them.
"Do you have a fever?"
"Yes."
"Really? Does it hurt when people poke your face?"
"People don't poke my face that often but yes it does."
"Really?" poke, poke, poke.
"Yes."
Even if I didn't have a sinus infection that would bother me. Why do doctors do that? Aren't they supposed to ease the pain rather than cause it? "Patient complains of pain in testicles after knee to groin."
I finally got the prescription, got it filled and went back home to load up on medication. After a nap I woke up without the searing pain in my head (it was reduced to a light throb) and a nose not quite so stuffed up. Who knows what tomorrow holds. Perhaps I'll be back up to my regular eating schedule of once every 45 minutes.
Monday, October 1, 2007
Woe is Me
I feel like crap today. I have massive sinuses and they’re infected. You know what the say about a guy with big sinuses . . . when he gets a sinus infection it hurts like a mother.
Yesterday I bought a new alarm clock because the left bottom half of the numbers on my old one were no longer showing. I woke up at 71:78pm one day and freaked out; “Holy geez, I’m nearly 64 hours late for work. Today I woke up around 4:00am to the sound of beep-beep-beep-beep . . . beep-beep-beep-beep. This pissed me off for two reasons. First, I had set the alarm for 5:45am and second, I like to wake up to music. I tried to shut off the alarm, turn-off the power, flip the switch from music to beep and back again, turn the volume down, press snooze, none of these worked. My hearing in my right ear is almost non-existent, usually this is a bit of an inconvenience but in this case I was quite happy to turn over, sleep on my left ear, and block out the sound. Eventually though I had to turn back over and the beeping continued. I couldn’t find the source of the sound. I pressed my good ear to the clock and the sound got lower. A normal person would take this as a sign that the beeping was not coming from the clock. I took it as a sign that my clock had a personality and was jerking me around. It turns out that the beeping was coming from my old clock that I had unplugged but left in the bedroom. There were batteries in the old clock that retain the time if there was a power outage. These batteries were on their last legs and rather than just dying a peaceful death decided to take Dylan Thomas’s advice and not go gentle into that goodnight. So now my face aches due to the sinuses and I’m tired.
Yesterday I bought a new alarm clock because the left bottom half of the numbers on my old one were no longer showing. I woke up at 71:78pm one day and freaked out; “Holy geez, I’m nearly 64 hours late for work. Today I woke up around 4:00am to the sound of beep-beep-beep-beep . . . beep-beep-beep-beep. This pissed me off for two reasons. First, I had set the alarm for 5:45am and second, I like to wake up to music. I tried to shut off the alarm, turn-off the power, flip the switch from music to beep and back again, turn the volume down, press snooze, none of these worked. My hearing in my right ear is almost non-existent, usually this is a bit of an inconvenience but in this case I was quite happy to turn over, sleep on my left ear, and block out the sound. Eventually though I had to turn back over and the beeping continued. I couldn’t find the source of the sound. I pressed my good ear to the clock and the sound got lower. A normal person would take this as a sign that the beeping was not coming from the clock. I took it as a sign that my clock had a personality and was jerking me around. It turns out that the beeping was coming from my old clock that I had unplugged but left in the bedroom. There were batteries in the old clock that retain the time if there was a power outage. These batteries were on their last legs and rather than just dying a peaceful death decided to take Dylan Thomas’s advice and not go gentle into that goodnight. So now my face aches due to the sinuses and I’m tired.
Thursday, September 27, 2007
A Good Time to Be Me
The last few days have been filled with a profusion of joyous events. Today in particular goes down as one of the top 250 days so far this year. I've had a hard time waking up recently and have been running a little late, which I hate. I guess it's one of my little quirks that I get antsy if I'm late for something. Another little quirk is I can only eat vegetables if they've been carved to resemble cast members from the seminal 1970s sitcom "Good Times". Anyway, I woke up early enough to get to class with about 45 minutes to spare.
I don't think I mentioned it before but I'm taking a course this week. This is another reason for my good mood. Every morning there is a breakfast laid out for us, there are free hot drinks (e.g., coffee, tea, mochachino) and cold drinks only cost a quarter. Cold drinks used to be free but some bastards would steal them so now they charge a quarter and give the money to charity. At break there is a snack provided. Today was hard-boiled eggs, cheese and crackers. Every afternoon we get ice cream and cookies.
Before I got to class some guy said, "free Globe & Mail sir?" why certainly Jeeves. The paper would have been enough but inside were all kinds of goodies, including; a pen, a Super C Emer'gen-C Vitamin and Mineral Supplement and a bag of microwave popcorn named Jay-Pop. My brother is named Jay so I told him I had the popcorn specially prepared for him. The cooking instructions are only in French so hopefully there will be no radioactive accidents. Please don't complain about my use of the word hopefully. I am aware of the controversy surrounding this word but after careful consideration, decided who really gives a rat's ass.
To top off the day it is the season premiere of The Office tonight. Perhaps tomorrow it will rain gumdrops.
I don't think I mentioned it before but I'm taking a course this week. This is another reason for my good mood. Every morning there is a breakfast laid out for us, there are free hot drinks (e.g., coffee, tea, mochachino) and cold drinks only cost a quarter. Cold drinks used to be free but some bastards would steal them so now they charge a quarter and give the money to charity. At break there is a snack provided. Today was hard-boiled eggs, cheese and crackers. Every afternoon we get ice cream and cookies.
Before I got to class some guy said, "free Globe & Mail sir?" why certainly Jeeves. The paper would have been enough but inside were all kinds of goodies, including; a pen, a Super C Emer'gen-C Vitamin and Mineral Supplement and a bag of microwave popcorn named Jay-Pop. My brother is named Jay so I told him I had the popcorn specially prepared for him. The cooking instructions are only in French so hopefully there will be no radioactive accidents. Please don't complain about my use of the word hopefully. I am aware of the controversy surrounding this word but after careful consideration, decided who really gives a rat's ass.
To top off the day it is the season premiere of The Office tonight. Perhaps tomorrow it will rain gumdrops.
Wednesday, September 26, 2007
Nothing Much
About four days ago I dropped off a prescription at the pharmacy and the pharmacist asked if I wanted to wait for it or come back later. I said I would come back later. She said she would probably have to place an order so early evening the next day should be fine. This made me wonder why she even asked if I would like to wait for it. Do some people actually wait overnight for a prescription. It's a nice Shoppers but I wouldn't want to sleep there.
On Sunday I went up to a friend of a friend's rented cottage. I don't care how tenuous the relationship is; if I get invited to a cottage, I'm going. If Mahmoud Ahmadinejad invites me to Osama bin Laden's cottage for a weekend my response is, "how far can a camel spit and is there a hammock?" Not only was the cottage spacious, comfortable and right on the water (as all cottages should be) the friend of a friend's husband is a professional chef so the eatin' was good.
One of the people at the cottage is an ocularist. This does not mean that he is a practitioner of the Black Arts but almost as cool. He makes artificial eyes. I asked if he felt like somebody was always watching him? His response was a forced smile followed by a move to the other side of the cottage. After that I thought asking what percentage of his clientele are pirates might force him to get in the kayak and paddle to the middle of the lake.
Monday I had a terrible morning. I woke up late so I decided to drive to work. There is construction in my neighbourhood so the roads are very busy. I tried to take a shortcut but ended up having to backtrack because the road I was trying to go to was closed. When I finally got to the parking garage I usually go to the entrance was teeming with cars. Thinking I knew better I tried a different entrance, it was closed and that's probably why all the cars were trying to get into the crowded entrance. I also came as close as I ever have to hitting someone with my car. As I was trying to get to the closed entrance a guy walked out from between two SUVs. I couldn't have been more than an inch from him. He stopped, I swerved, and catastrophe was averted. I looked at him through the rearview mirror to see if his head was implanted up his ass or he was wearing an American Idol shirt. Some sign that would explain his idiocy but I guess it's a mystery that will remain unsolved.
On Sunday I went up to a friend of a friend's rented cottage. I don't care how tenuous the relationship is; if I get invited to a cottage, I'm going. If Mahmoud Ahmadinejad invites me to Osama bin Laden's cottage for a weekend my response is, "how far can a camel spit and is there a hammock?" Not only was the cottage spacious, comfortable and right on the water (as all cottages should be) the friend of a friend's husband is a professional chef so the eatin' was good.
One of the people at the cottage is an ocularist. This does not mean that he is a practitioner of the Black Arts but almost as cool. He makes artificial eyes. I asked if he felt like somebody was always watching him? His response was a forced smile followed by a move to the other side of the cottage. After that I thought asking what percentage of his clientele are pirates might force him to get in the kayak and paddle to the middle of the lake.
Monday I had a terrible morning. I woke up late so I decided to drive to work. There is construction in my neighbourhood so the roads are very busy. I tried to take a shortcut but ended up having to backtrack because the road I was trying to go to was closed. When I finally got to the parking garage I usually go to the entrance was teeming with cars. Thinking I knew better I tried a different entrance, it was closed and that's probably why all the cars were trying to get into the crowded entrance. I also came as close as I ever have to hitting someone with my car. As I was trying to get to the closed entrance a guy walked out from between two SUVs. I couldn't have been more than an inch from him. He stopped, I swerved, and catastrophe was averted. I looked at him through the rearview mirror to see if his head was implanted up his ass or he was wearing an American Idol shirt. Some sign that would explain his idiocy but I guess it's a mystery that will remain unsolved.
Wednesday, September 19, 2007
How Time Flies
Yes, it's been awhile. I was waiting until something interesting happened to me so I could write about it but based on past experience I'd be waiting a pretty damn long time. I know you're busy people and don't have time to waste checking here every 15 minutes to see if anything new has been posted, only to be disappointed, start crying, regain your composure, gather enough spiritual strength to check again and again be disappointed. It's a bitter circle. Bearing that in mind, and because a friend at work suggested it, I've added a mailing list to the page. You can sign up to the list and all new postings will be sent directly to your mailbox. It will certainly kill the traffic on this site but since AdSense has rejected me there's no money to be made anyway. The link is on the right side of the page, or if you like to read upside-down, the left side of the page.
I went to my photography class a couple of days ago. This is an excellent class, very informative, but I know that the more I'm exposed to some of these people, the more they are going to irk me. Artsy, for example, who looks like a chubby Peter Sellers, erased all of the pictures on her 
camera accidentally. I guess her finger slipped and hit all 5 commands in the proper sequence in order to manage this. Now if it happened to me, I would have tried to hide the fact that I was a complete ass-clown and carried on, she however; gasped, clapped her hands to her mouth, shook her head and then stared straight ahead, mouth agape in a look of utter shock and terror. Finally the teacher took notice and asked her what was wrong. When she told him he replied, "why were you playing with your camera when I was talking. That's your own fault." I love this man.
camera accidentally. I guess her finger slipped and hit all 5 commands in the proper sequence in order to manage this. Now if it happened to me, I would have tried to hide the fact that I was a complete ass-clown and carried on, she however; gasped, clapped her hands to her mouth, shook her head and then stared straight ahead, mouth agape in a look of utter shock and terror. Finally the teacher took notice and asked her what was wrong. When she told him he replied, "why were you playing with your camera when I was talking. That's your own fault." I love this man. The class has a wide range of ages and knowledge levels. There is one couple who I'd put at around 90 years old who know a lot about images but nothing about computers or digital photography. I thought perhaps it would be better if they stuck with their cave drawings.
Only one person brought in prints to show the class. The photos were amazing. Really incredible images and a good variety of styles from grungy black and white to intense nature photos bursting with colour. He probably should have brought his stuff in during the last week because he set the bar pretty high. I thought maybe we start with some photos of my Dad passed out on the couch or Snake dressed up as a crossing guard for Halloween. A black and white shot of a little girl looking pensive amidst a cornfield that represents our need to listen to our children and eat more vegetables is really more of a last class kind of shot.
Tuesday, September 11, 2007
First Photography Class
I enrolled in a beginner photography class at Ryerson and last night was the first class. Ryerson isn't very far from where I work so I decided to walk. There was a line-up of people outside the Elgin Theatre and naturally I assumed they were waiting to see me although I had no idea how they found out my route. I forgot about the Toronto International Film Festival, which is what they were actually lined up for. It looked like the action was about to start so I hung around to do a little "star gazing". It's been a dream of mine that one day I'll run into Lucy Liu, our eyes will meet, she'll immediately recognize the potent combination of rugged manliness and a poet's soul that I possess, fall madly in love with me and we live happily ever after surfing in Hawaii. I didn't spot Lucy but I did manage to see Tommy Lee Jones. The unfortunate part is our eyes did meet and he made me his bitch for the night. Ok, that's not entirely true, I did see Tommy Lee Jones and possibly three other celebrities. People were taking pictures of them but I have no idea who they were. I mostly hung around just to irritate the film fest volunteers who kept screaming, "if you do not have a ticket you cannot stand here. You must either cross the street or continue walking. You cannot stand here." Umm, I'm pretty sure your film fest t-shirt and clipboard don't entitle you to any power whatsoever so put a lid on it.
I got to class about 20 minutes early and was the first one there so I had my choice of seat. The desks were crappy tablet arm designs. If you told me yesterday I would have to sit in a tablet arm desk I would have said who cares. That's because yesterday I had no idea what a tablet arm desk was but I looked it up and now know that they are the desks with a small piece of wood extending from one side that you're supposed to be able to balance your binder and textbook on and still have enough room to take accurate notes. If you're my size they also jab painfully into your stomach the entire time you're sitting in them. The classroom was hot and stank like a the locker room at Jenny Craig after a spirited game of tag. The class started filling up, the instructor handed out the agenda and started reviewing it. Something was terribly wrong. He was talking about black and white film, processing negatives, spending time in the dark room. He said we were kind of dinosaurs for wanting to learn about film photography. It slowly dawned on me that I was in the wrong room. I have an incredibly bad habit of remembering key details incorrectly. I once spent a frustrating 45 minutes looking for an address that I thought was 207 but was actually 210. I thought perhaps I was dyslexic but friends have assured me that I'm just an idiot.
I left the B/W film class and went back to the front door where there was a sign listing all the classes and rooms. I was lucky that there were only two photography classes in that building last night and even luckier that the other one was the one I registered for. The good news is that the real class is much bigger and have actual tables I can sit at instead of crappy half desks. The instructor is hilarious and had me laughing the whole class. There are a couple of numbnuts in the class though; there always are. One student said she didn't have a printer and wanted to know how she could show her portfolio if she couldn't print her pictures. Is this really that difficult? How about you buy a printer or print them at a friend's house or take them to a photo studio or upload them and have Shutterfly print them and mail them to you. I wonder if she even has a camera. The other yahoo was a woman with funky red hair, horn-rimmed glasses, lip piercings and tattoos to make her look super-artsy and oh so hip. Just her look was enough to irritate me but what really put me over the edge was that her pants kept riding down displaying a deep, dark, disgusting ass crack. Don't get me wrong, I'm a big fan of callipygian women but if you're ass is the colour and consistency of rice pudding, try to keep it covered up.
I got to class about 20 minutes early and was the first one there so I had my choice of seat. The desks were crappy tablet arm designs. If you told me yesterday I would have to sit in a tablet arm desk I would have said who cares. That's because yesterday I had no idea what a tablet arm desk was but I looked it up and now know that they are the desks with a small piece of wood extending from one side that you're supposed to be able to balance your binder and textbook on and still have enough room to take accurate notes. If you're my size they also jab painfully into your stomach the entire time you're sitting in them. The classroom was hot and stank like a the locker room at Jenny Craig after a spirited game of tag. The class started filling up, the instructor handed out the agenda and started reviewing it. Something was terribly wrong. He was talking about black and white film, processing negatives, spending time in the dark room. He said we were kind of dinosaurs for wanting to learn about film photography. It slowly dawned on me that I was in the wrong room. I have an incredibly bad habit of remembering key details incorrectly. I once spent a frustrating 45 minutes looking for an address that I thought was 207 but was actually 210. I thought perhaps I was dyslexic but friends have assured me that I'm just an idiot.
I left the B/W film class and went back to the front door where there was a sign listing all the classes and rooms. I was lucky that there were only two photography classes in that building last night and even luckier that the other one was the one I registered for. The good news is that the real class is much bigger and have actual tables I can sit at instead of crappy half desks. The instructor is hilarious and had me laughing the whole class. There are a couple of numbnuts in the class though; there always are. One student said she didn't have a printer and wanted to know how she could show her portfolio if she couldn't print her pictures. Is this really that difficult? How about you buy a printer or print them at a friend's house or take them to a photo studio or upload them and have Shutterfly print them and mail them to you. I wonder if she even has a camera. The other yahoo was a woman with funky red hair, horn-rimmed glasses, lip piercings and tattoos to make her look super-artsy and oh so hip. Just her look was enough to irritate me but what really put me over the edge was that her pants kept riding down displaying a deep, dark, disgusting ass crack. Don't get me wrong, I'm a big fan of callipygian women but if you're ass is the colour and consistency of rice pudding, try to keep it covered up.
Monday, September 10, 2007
Surprise Party
The past weekend was the Cabbagetown Festival. For a few years now Snake, her mom, dad, aunts and uncle have congregated at my place and then we go and explore the festival. I live in Cabbagetown so it works out well. A large part of the festival is the vendors in Riverdale park. What usually happens is mommy and the aunts will examine not only every stall, but 98% of the wares therein. After that is complete they decide which stalls to go back to. It's an incredibly time consuming process but at the end of it one of them, perhaps all three, will come away with a handmade, ornamental 18th century style shoe tree, or some such thing.
The timing of the festival coincides pretty closely with Auntie Monkey's birthday so we usually take her out to dinner after all the vendors have banned us from their stall screaming, "no I don't have it in mauve. You've seen everything I have already."
This year I was unable to attend either the festival or the dinner. My aunt was having a surprise party for my uncle's 50th birthday and then my dad wanted to take my brother and I out to dinner. My job for the party was to bring my uncle to my aunt's place at 2:30pm. I said I'd pick him up around 1:45pm as I had some errands to run in his neighbourhood. I was running late because even though I wasn't going to the festival Snake and family were still using my place as a base. When Snake arrived she wanted to play chess. I never pass up an opportunity to demonstrate my dazzling intellectual ability by beating a six year old at a game so I agreed. I'll be honest and say that I lost the game but in my defense she did get help from her mommy and aunt, also her little sister Rooster ate my rook and two pawns so that put me at a disadvantage.
We tried to call my uncle to let him know that we were running late but he doesn't have a landline, only a cellphone and it wasn't on. Cellphones are great for reaching people anywhere anytime, the trick is, they have to be on. "Can you hear me now? No . . .how about turning your damn phone on." We did manage to get to my aunt's right on time. The surprise worked well and it was good to see a lot of my relatives who I rarely get to see. My great aunt is almost 95 and still very active and quite sharp. She ends every story with "of course, he's dead now."
"Do you remember Walter Hefferlump? He played the organ at the church. Had a wooden leg and a dog named Skippy. His wife used to churn her own butter. Contracted the measles when he was seven. Tattoo of a hula dancer on his right arm. Wore brown pants once. Wonderful man . . . of course, he's dead now."
The timing of the festival coincides pretty closely with Auntie Monkey's birthday so we usually take her out to dinner after all the vendors have banned us from their stall screaming, "no I don't have it in mauve. You've seen everything I have already."
This year I was unable to attend either the festival or the dinner. My aunt was having a surprise party for my uncle's 50th birthday and then my dad wanted to take my brother and I out to dinner. My job for the party was to bring my uncle to my aunt's place at 2:30pm. I said I'd pick him up around 1:45pm as I had some errands to run in his neighbourhood. I was running late because even though I wasn't going to the festival Snake and family were still using my place as a base. When Snake arrived she wanted to play chess. I never pass up an opportunity to demonstrate my dazzling intellectual ability by beating a six year old at a game so I agreed. I'll be honest and say that I lost the game but in my defense she did get help from her mommy and aunt, also her little sister Rooster ate my rook and two pawns so that put me at a disadvantage.
We tried to call my uncle to let him know that we were running late but he doesn't have a landline, only a cellphone and it wasn't on. Cellphones are great for reaching people anywhere anytime, the trick is, they have to be on. "Can you hear me now? No . . .how about turning your damn phone on." We did manage to get to my aunt's right on time. The surprise worked well and it was good to see a lot of my relatives who I rarely get to see. My great aunt is almost 95 and still very active and quite sharp. She ends every story with "of course, he's dead now."
"Do you remember Walter Hefferlump? He played the organ at the church. Had a wooden leg and a dog named Skippy. His wife used to churn her own butter. Contracted the measles when he was seven. Tattoo of a hula dancer on his right arm. Wore brown pants once. Wonderful man . . . of course, he's dead now."
Sunday, September 9, 2007
Baseball & Birthdays
Yesterday was the last baseball game of the season for Snake. Normally I find baseball interminably boring. When it's played by six year olds though it turns into an entertaining sport. The kids batting swing at the ball like they're trying to swat flies. When a ball is actually hit, and it's not hit directly into the ground, not one child will run after it until it has come to a complete stop. All the kids will then run to the ball, one will jump on it and throw it somewhere, not necessarily where it is supposed to go, but somewhere. The reason the kids don't try to get the ball as soon as it is hit is because at that point they have no idea that the ball was hit. The girl on first base was spinning around, the boy on second was making funny faces at one of the girls on the other team, the boy on third base was sitting down and drawing pictures in the gravel. The outfielders weren't even aware that they were playing. Quite a fun morning.
After the game we had lunch and then I went shopping for my uncle who turned 50 last Tuesday. He wanted a tie that reflected his personality, something with a tattoo design or spiderman pattern. Really? How about something with stripes? That would make my job a lot easier.
After the game we had lunch and then I went shopping for my uncle who turned 50 last Tuesday. He wanted a tie that reflected his personality, something with a tattoo design or spiderman pattern. Really? How about something with stripes? That would make my job a lot easier.
Friday Night Fish & Chips
I took a cab to work on Friday. I don't usually take cabs because they are ridiculously expensive and I'm trying to do more stupid exercise lately. By the way, I can see why not everybody exercises, it's really hard. In the humid weather we've been having lately I sweat so much on my walk home from work that small children must stay at least a half kilometre behind me for for fear that they will be washed away by the river of perspiration. But I digress, back to the cab ride. The driver started singing:
Sunny days
Oh, sunny, sunny, sunny days
Ain't nothin' better in the world, you know
Than lyin' in the sun with your radio
He seemed perturbed that I didn't join in. The rest of the ride was silent until we neared the building and I said "It will be left on Scott" to which he replied, "I know" which I thought was hilarious. How could you possibly know?
It was a great day at work, namely because it was a free casual day, so I got to wear my lederhosen and crop top, and we got off an hour early because some people are moving desks.
For dinner I went to Olde York Fish & Chips on Laird. Best fish and chips in the city in my opinion although I shouldn't be advertising because the place is already crowded enough. I went with my two Vancouver travel buddies because we had to settle the bill from Vancouver and possibly settle a score. Actually we had no score to settle but it sounded ominous so I thought I'd throw that in. The fish and chips shop is particularly crowded on Fridays because Catholics have a ridiculous custom of abstaining from meat on Friday. From what I can gather Catholics don't eat meat on Friday because Jesus was crucified on Friday and by not eating meat they are performing a sacrifice to atone for their sins that week. Seems like a good trade-off.
"Mom, I killed the dog."
"Well, you can forget about Taco Friday young man."
Sunny days
Oh, sunny, sunny, sunny days
Ain't nothin' better in the world, you know
Than lyin' in the sun with your radio
He seemed perturbed that I didn't join in. The rest of the ride was silent until we neared the building and I said "It will be left on Scott" to which he replied, "I know" which I thought was hilarious. How could you possibly know?
It was a great day at work, namely because it was a free casual day, so I got to wear my lederhosen and crop top, and we got off an hour early because some people are moving desks.
For dinner I went to Olde York Fish & Chips on Laird. Best fish and chips in the city in my opinion although I shouldn't be advertising because the place is already crowded enough. I went with my two Vancouver travel buddies because we had to settle the bill from Vancouver and possibly settle a score. Actually we had no score to settle but it sounded ominous so I thought I'd throw that in. The fish and chips shop is particularly crowded on Fridays because Catholics have a ridiculous custom of abstaining from meat on Friday. From what I can gather Catholics don't eat meat on Friday because Jesus was crucified on Friday and by not eating meat they are performing a sacrifice to atone for their sins that week. Seems like a good trade-off.
"Mom, I killed the dog."
"Well, you can forget about Taco Friday young man."
Monday, September 3, 2007
Labour Day Weekend
I guess you can add "lazy" to "fat and cranky". It's been a few days since I've posted. Haven't really done much since then. Didn't think anyone would be interested in reading how many puzzles I completed at jigzone.com (just in case anybody is though, it's lots, and I always beat the average time). I went to the Ukrainian Zabava down at Harbourfront. I know you're thinking how did I possibly get in. That's the hottest ticket in town. Well I know a guy who knows a guy who does a pretty good Schmenge brother impersonation and when you're with a Schmenge brother at a Ukraine festival the world is your oyster.
Nothing overly eventful happened at the festival except I had to listen to Snake lecture me on my dietary habits and lack of exercise. "French fries are bad for you. Tim Hortons sells bad food. You eat too many doughnuts. French fries have too much oil. Oil is bad for you. What do you do for exercise? I ride my bike to school and back everyday and my dad does it twice as much, what do you do for exercise?"
Aren't you six? Ease up there kid. After giving it some thought though I realized she's right. It's not the first time a six year old has had to sit me down and straighten me out. This week I started walking home from work. It's about a 40 minute walk (8 minutes if I don't take any breaks).
Nothing overly eventful happened at the festival except I had to listen to Snake lecture me on my dietary habits and lack of exercise. "French fries are bad for you. Tim Hortons sells bad food. You eat too many doughnuts. French fries have too much oil. Oil is bad for you. What do you do for exercise? I ride my bike to school and back everyday and my dad does it twice as much, what do you do for exercise?"
Aren't you six? Ease up there kid. After giving it some thought though I realized she's right. It's not the first time a six year old has had to sit me down and straighten me out. This week I started walking home from work. It's about a 40 minute walk (8 minutes if I don't take any breaks).
Tuesday, August 28, 2007
Day Two with Snake, Rooster and Pig
Day two started much the same as day one. Snake wanted to play as soon as I got in the door. I don't mind playing so much as long as it doesn't involve me moving. I said, "just let me finish my coffee" while wishing Timmy's sold it by the litre. I could only prolong the inevitable for about 15 minutes before I had to get on the floor and play Arthur Goes to the Library. The floor is a terrible place to sit. As much padding as I have on my ass it's not enough to make the floor comfortable. My legs fall asleep, my back aches because it's got no support and getting up requires Herculean effort. Snake, who's as flexible as an actual snake, of course, has no issues.
While playing, the miraculous happened. Rooster came over voluntarily and sat on my lap for a little bit. As I've mentioned before, Rooster is the cutest almost two year old in the world and likes me about as much as I like vegetables. This is the girl who, on more than one occasion, has nearly gotten me arrested by screaming at the top of her very powerful lungs when I've tried to give her a hug. Thankfully it's not just me. She seems to hate all men although she tolerates her father. After breakfast, when Auntie Ox was feeding Pig and Auntie Monkey was showering Uncle Dog took Rooster so she could get accustomed to him. The theory is that the more time she spends with Uncle Dog, the more she'll become comfortable with him. Rooster screamed for 30 minutes with one 2 minute break for air. If she stays like this in her teen years her father will have no worries about dating.
During the afternoon we went to the Science Centre. I hadn't been since I was a kid and it was much better than I remembered. It wasn't very crowded so Snake was able to try just about everything she wanted without waiting very long. They have an exhibit where you can test your grip strength and another where you can test the speed of your karate chop. I'm as weak as a kitten but have the speed of a cheetah. Another exhibit tests the force of your landing after a jump. Kids jump off a platform about 2 feet high and are supposed to try and land as lightly as they can. The display will tell you the force you landed as a multiple of your weight. The average was about 6 times their weight, Snake came in at nearly 12 times her weight and one big plodding oaf of a kid registered a whopping 21 times his weight. The only thing there was a line-up for was the bobsled simulator. All the children going on were accompanied by an adult so I had the intention of going on with Snake. While waiting in line Auntie Monkey was kind enough to say, "are you gunna fit in that?" Well, it was a distinct possibility that I would not, or if I did, I wouldn't be able to get out and I'd have to wear a bobsled simulator home. With a line-up of people behind me I didn't want to risk it so I let Auntie Monkey go instead.
We met back up with Uncle Dog, Auntie Ox, Rooster, who was taking her nap, and Pig, who spends most of his day sleeping or eating (how I envy him) but does take time out to charm you with his smile or make a grab for your eye. Uncle Dog and Auntie Ox also figured out how to use my camera and decided to take a picture of Pig every other second (every second would have been overdoing it).
The day ended much like yesterday with me going home and passing out.
While playing, the miraculous happened. Rooster came over voluntarily and sat on my lap for a little bit. As I've mentioned before, Rooster is the cutest almost two year old in the world and likes me about as much as I like vegetables. This is the girl who, on more than one occasion, has nearly gotten me arrested by screaming at the top of her very powerful lungs when I've tried to give her a hug. Thankfully it's not just me. She seems to hate all men although she tolerates her father. After breakfast, when Auntie Ox was feeding Pig and Auntie Monkey was showering Uncle Dog took Rooster so she could get accustomed to him. The theory is that the more time she spends with Uncle Dog, the more she'll become comfortable with him. Rooster screamed for 30 minutes with one 2 minute break for air. If she stays like this in her teen years her father will have no worries about dating.
During the afternoon we went to the Science Centre. I hadn't been since I was a kid and it was much better than I remembered. It wasn't very crowded so Snake was able to try just about everything she wanted without waiting very long. They have an exhibit where you can test your grip strength and another where you can test the speed of your karate chop. I'm as weak as a kitten but have the speed of a cheetah. Another exhibit tests the force of your landing after a jump. Kids jump off a platform about 2 feet high and are supposed to try and land as lightly as they can. The display will tell you the force you landed as a multiple of your weight. The average was about 6 times their weight, Snake came in at nearly 12 times her weight and one big plodding oaf of a kid registered a whopping 21 times his weight. The only thing there was a line-up for was the bobsled simulator. All the children going on were accompanied by an adult so I had the intention of going on with Snake. While waiting in line Auntie Monkey was kind enough to say, "are you gunna fit in that?" Well, it was a distinct possibility that I would not, or if I did, I wouldn't be able to get out and I'd have to wear a bobsled simulator home. With a line-up of people behind me I didn't want to risk it so I let Auntie Monkey go instead.
We met back up with Uncle Dog, Auntie Ox, Rooster, who was taking her nap, and Pig, who spends most of his day sleeping or eating (how I envy him) but does take time out to charm you with his smile or make a grab for your eye. Uncle Dog and Auntie Ox also figured out how to use my camera and decided to take a picture of Pig every other second (every second would have been overdoing it).
The day ended much like yesterday with me going home and passing out.
Saturday, August 25, 2007
Day One with Snake, Rooster and Pig
I've decided to give my pseudo-nieces and pseudo-nephew aliases based on their Chinese zodiac signs. I have absolutely no belief in Chinese zodiac (or any other astrological, psychic mumbo-jumbo for that matter) but I liked the sound of Snake, Rooster and Pig so that's what I settled on. Coincidentally though I'm a monkey and the description is spot on; "you are a fat cranky bastard who doesn't believe in psychic mumbo-jumbo".
Before I even had my shoes off Snake wanted to play foosball, Rooster eyed me warily and Pig was having a great time grinning and absorbing his surroundings. Not that his surroundings were any different than any other day but I guess at five months there isn't a lot else to do.
I tried to get out of foosball by saying "did Auntie Ox say it's okay?" Auntie Ox (not her real name) is also known as youngest sister and mother of Pig. Auntie Ox was no help this time; "sure, there's time for foosball before breakfast." We played foosball until breakfast was ready. I won, but just barely. After breakfast Uncle Dog and I took Snake out to the park to try and burn off some of her energy. Unfortunately it started raining so we headed back and played school. Snake was going to be the teacher and I would be the student. She asked who I wanted to be. I said "Eddie" she said "you're Gordon".
During "recess" we had to play indoors because it was raining outside. We played what is possibly the most multifarious game ever invented. Arthur Goes to the Library is basically the card game Concentration with lots of Arthur propaganda surrounding it.
There are:
Before I even had my shoes off Snake wanted to play foosball, Rooster eyed me warily and Pig was having a great time grinning and absorbing his surroundings. Not that his surroundings were any different than any other day but I guess at five months there isn't a lot else to do.
I tried to get out of foosball by saying "did Auntie Ox say it's okay?" Auntie Ox (not her real name) is also known as youngest sister and mother of Pig. Auntie Ox was no help this time; "sure, there's time for foosball before breakfast." We played foosball until breakfast was ready. I won, but just barely. After breakfast Uncle Dog and I took Snake out to the park to try and burn off some of her energy. Unfortunately it started raining so we headed back and played school. Snake was going to be the teacher and I would be the student. She asked who I wanted to be. I said "Eddie" she said "you're Gordon".
During "recess" we had to play indoors because it was raining outside. We played what is possibly the most multifarious game ever invented. Arthur Goes to the Library is basically the card game Concentration with lots of Arthur propaganda surrounding it.
There are:
- 16 business card sized pieces of cardboard that look like little Arthur books
- 16 cards that match the Arthur books above
- 16 cardboard cut-outs of Arthur characters
- One spinner that has the faces of the 16 Arthur characters above
- A display stand to hold the "books"
You spin the spinner and whichever character it lands on you guess which book they are standing on. If you guess right you get to take the book out of the library. The person with the most books wins. This is actually a great game. It was able to keep Snake entertained for longer than I've ever seen.
Now it was time for lunch; Auntie Ox, Auntie Monkey (middle sister) and Snake made sushi while Rooster covered her face and hair with yogurt. After clean-up time we went over to Uncle S and Aunt L's for swimming (I got tired of animal names and while Uncle S and Aunt L are great people we only spent a few hours with them). Unfortunately it started raining during swimming and while the kids were wet anyway we were a little concerned about the possibility of a lightning strike. We watched The Incredibles inside and S&L's son gave me quite a compliment; "you're just like Mr. Incredible . . . except not strong". Thanks kid, you're just like Brad Pitt except without the looks or talent.
After dinner we returned to Uncle Dog and Auntie Ox's place, got the kids ready for bed and then I went home and passed out exhausted.
Thursday, August 23, 2007
Get in Line, Jerkwad!!!
This irritates me probably way more than it should but it seems that the majority of the population no longer knows how to form a line. The Tim Hortons in the building where I work has two entrances, two cashes, two painfully slow cashiers and about 8 other people milling about behind the counter refusing to make eye contact with customers for fear they'd have to take an order. For my Colombian readers Tim Hortons is a large coffee and doughnut chain in Canada. That's right, I'm huge in Colombia (well, 6 visitors so far).
Okay it looks pretty crappy but you get the gist of the layout.
I've painstakingly drawn an exact replica of the Tim Hortons restaurant for your viewing enjoyment.
Okay it looks pretty crappy but you get the gist of the layout.
Now this is how I think people should line up:
Yes, those little circles are supposed to be people who are all exactly the same size and have perfectly round heads.
Yes, those little circles are supposed to be people who are all exactly the same size and have perfectly round heads.
This is how they actually line up:
Ridiculous. When you see a red guide rope why do you think it would be a better idea to stand right in the path of everybody who has already gotten their coffee and are now trying to get out. These people must have taken a course with my father who has the incredible ability to stand in the most awkward spot at the most awkward of times. I'm certain he'd stop a funeral procession to ask a pallbearer if he's ever seen "Cannibal Women in the Avocado Jungle of Death". Also, after a parade of people holding coffee have tried to squeeze past you saying "excuse me" maybe you'd clue in that you're in the way.
It's not just at this establishment either. The McDonalds across the street has to have one of the most inefficient setups I've ever seen. It's like they designed it to provoke animosity among the customers. When I was a child and went to McDonalds you chose a cashier and waited in that line. If there were six cashiers there were six lines and if you picked the slow one you'd bitch about it to whoever you were with or just stew silently. Now, people stand about 6 feet away from the counter and when one cashier becomes free they all stampede to that cash. Then the whole process starts over again. Also, when I was a child, you would place your order, and step to the side, so the person behind you in line could place their order. When it was time for them to step to the side your order would be complete, you'd move out of the way, they'd move to your spot and the person behind them would place their order. It was a beautiful system. Now, the cash registers are so close together that if you attempted to move to the side you'd step on the person at the next cash. Even if you were able to step to the side the orders aren't filled fast enough for you to get out of the way before the next person steps up. What we're left with is a crowd of people waiting for food mixed in with a crowd of people waiting to rush to a free cashier. Nobody that approaches has any idea who's waiting for what so the question "are you in line" is repeated like a mantra.
The way people line up maybe I am in line and don't know it.
Tuesday, August 21, 2007
Looking Forward to Babysitting
This weekend I will be helping babysit two of the most wonderful children that have ever set foot on this planet. No, I’m not going back in time and babysitting myself at two different ages. If I may be frank, I was an absolutely adorable child (diametrically opposed to my cantankerous self now) and it is very difficult to pick the ages that I was most delightful but if I had to choose I’d say; one and a half when my impish grin melted the hearts of all who passed by our balcony as my father lovingly swung me by my ankle over the side of it, and seven when I debuted my Walter Crankcase (Cronkite) impression to the amusement of my schoolteachers.
But enough of the reminiscing, let’s get back to my pseudo-nieces, as I like to call them. It’s a complicated story but I’m very close friends with three sisters and I like to refer to them as part of my family. They affectionately refer to me as “that guy” as in “what’s that guy doing here?” and “I thought we weren’t speaking to that guy anymore”. The eldest sister and her husband have two girls; aged six and almost two. The six year old is one of the most energetic children I’ve ever met. She plays all sports, often at the same time, plays drums and piano, has an uncanny talent for foosball and is probably working toward her commercial pilot license during her spare time. I know all children are energetic but I worked at a summer camp for five years and we would have a new crop of 60 – 70 kids come in every two weeks, so trust me, I’ve seen a lot of kids and this one has a lot of energy. Unless she has to do something she doesn’t want to. Then, of course, she moves at the pace of a turtle meandering through molasses. The almost two year old barely tolerates me. She is mommy’s girl and if mommy is not around she will grudgingly go to one of her aunts but if they’re busy and she has to go to one of her uncles (I’m generously including myself in that group) it’s time to put the earplugs in and let the wailing begin. She is super cute though and if she thinks you may give her food her opinion of you increases exponentially.
The parents (i.e., eldest sister and her husband) will be dropping the girls off at youngest sister and her husband’s house on Friday. I really should have just given them aliases. Using their real names is out of the question because middle sister is extremely paranoid and thinks that if her name ever appears on the internet hackers will steal her identity, move into her apartment, kicking her out on to the street in the process, and when she tries to get help from friends, family or the government they will all refuse and possibly send her to prison or a mental asylum because she has no identity. Come to think of it, the mental asylum at this point might not be such a bad idea; but, I’ll leave that topic for another day.
One final point, and I would be remiss not to mention this, youngest sister and her husband have an absolutely delightful, four month old, cute as a button boy. I look forward to seeing him but cannot refer to it as babysitting because his parents will be there. Also, his parents are reluctant (emphatically refuse) to let me babysit because four month olds aren’t supposed to play with starter pistols. And, I’m supposed to know this?
But enough of the reminiscing, let’s get back to my pseudo-nieces, as I like to call them. It’s a complicated story but I’m very close friends with three sisters and I like to refer to them as part of my family. They affectionately refer to me as “that guy” as in “what’s that guy doing here?” and “I thought we weren’t speaking to that guy anymore”. The eldest sister and her husband have two girls; aged six and almost two. The six year old is one of the most energetic children I’ve ever met. She plays all sports, often at the same time, plays drums and piano, has an uncanny talent for foosball and is probably working toward her commercial pilot license during her spare time. I know all children are energetic but I worked at a summer camp for five years and we would have a new crop of 60 – 70 kids come in every two weeks, so trust me, I’ve seen a lot of kids and this one has a lot of energy. Unless she has to do something she doesn’t want to. Then, of course, she moves at the pace of a turtle meandering through molasses. The almost two year old barely tolerates me. She is mommy’s girl and if mommy is not around she will grudgingly go to one of her aunts but if they’re busy and she has to go to one of her uncles (I’m generously including myself in that group) it’s time to put the earplugs in and let the wailing begin. She is super cute though and if she thinks you may give her food her opinion of you increases exponentially.
The parents (i.e., eldest sister and her husband) will be dropping the girls off at youngest sister and her husband’s house on Friday. I really should have just given them aliases. Using their real names is out of the question because middle sister is extremely paranoid and thinks that if her name ever appears on the internet hackers will steal her identity, move into her apartment, kicking her out on to the street in the process, and when she tries to get help from friends, family or the government they will all refuse and possibly send her to prison or a mental asylum because she has no identity. Come to think of it, the mental asylum at this point might not be such a bad idea; but, I’ll leave that topic for another day.
One final point, and I would be remiss not to mention this, youngest sister and her husband have an absolutely delightful, four month old, cute as a button boy. I look forward to seeing him but cannot refer to it as babysitting because his parents will be there. Also, his parents are reluctant (emphatically refuse) to let me babysit because four month olds aren’t supposed to play with starter pistols. And, I’m supposed to know this?
Monday, August 20, 2007
Please, No Bad Language
Google AdSense is a branch of Google that pays people to display ads on their website. Google will search your website and display ads on your site that are relevant to the content. The ads come from another Google branch called AdWords. This seems to be a win-win situation. Let's say I own a company that sells hockey equipment. I want to advertise to people who are interested in hockey and ideally, play hockey and therefore need equipment. Google searches sights that have signed up with AdSense and if they have hockey related content my ad gets placed on that sight.
This sounded like easy, if little, money to me. I'm not sure how much AdSense pays but I think it's something like a penny a click. At the torrid pace people visit this blog I would have enough to buy a small coffee at Tim Hortons in 2015.
Once I signed up the first ad they put on my blog was something about funds for the Gulf war. What an excellent match of content with advertisement. There's nothing about Gulf, Guelph, golf or war on the blog. It all turns out to be a moot point anyway because today I received an e-mail from AdSense saying they rejected my application due to "inappropriate language". That seemed a little jingoistic. I only know one language and they didn't even tell me what the appropriate language was. Later I realized they weren't being biased against English but the inappropriate language was swearing. How fucking stupid. This is the gathering place for foul language. The internet is where swear words go to hang out and smoke, probably. It's a shame though; I really could have used that extra four cents a month.
This sounded like easy, if little, money to me. I'm not sure how much AdSense pays but I think it's something like a penny a click. At the torrid pace people visit this blog I would have enough to buy a small coffee at Tim Hortons in 2015.
Once I signed up the first ad they put on my blog was something about funds for the Gulf war. What an excellent match of content with advertisement. There's nothing about Gulf, Guelph, golf or war on the blog. It all turns out to be a moot point anyway because today I received an e-mail from AdSense saying they rejected my application due to "inappropriate language". That seemed a little jingoistic. I only know one language and they didn't even tell me what the appropriate language was. Later I realized they weren't being biased against English but the inappropriate language was swearing. How fucking stupid. This is the gathering place for foul language. The internet is where swear words go to hang out and smoke, probably. It's a shame though; I really could have used that extra four cents a month.
Sunday, August 19, 2007
That's Art?
My brother will find something on the street, on the subway, under a couch, in a restaurant booth or any other random location you can think of, bring it home, clean it (sometimes) and create “art” out of it.
Some of the pieces he currently has, as named by me, are:
Ridiculous Rubber Man in Glass
Absurd Mouse in a Pipe
Red & Black Geez-us
Ludicrous GI Bear
I wouldn’t describe him as a pack rat necessarily. He doesn’t keep the stuff because he thinks it may have some use in the future or for sentimental reasons. He keeps it for its dubious aesthetic value. By the way, have you ever helped a pack rat move? If so than I’m sure you’ll agree with me that these people should be repeatedly beaten using some of the worthless items they’ve made you carry. If you want to clutter your apartment with absolutely useless crap, that’s your choice but don’t make me move empty paint cans and broken cinder blocks to your new apartment. And while I’m on the subject of pack rats and moving why don’t pack rats pack. I’ve been to places where it looked like the move was a surprise to the residents. Do you really think it’s necessary to start that 5000 piece World’s Hardest and Largest Jigsaw Puzzle right now? How about putting your stuff in boxes and marking it fragile instead of throwing your priceless collection of Bay City Roller glasses circa. 1974 available exclusively from K-Mart in a garbage bag and telling me to “be careful, they’re irreplaceable.”
Back to my brother’s art. The problem is he’s right. Thanks to Marcel Duchamp they are pieces of art.
In 1917 Duchamp, a French artist, entered a urinal into an art exhibit and titled it Fountain. He signed the urinal R. Mutt. In 2004 Fountain was named the most influential modern artwork of all time. http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/entertainment/4059997.stm
I’m not disputing that it is the most influential modern artwork of all time. It may very well be. It certainly caused a stir in 1917 and reputedly broke barriers between high art and low art. Its purpose, at least partially, was to liberate the art world of its pretension. Good job Duchamp. Here’s an extremely pretentious quote explaining the meaning of Fountain:
However, "a urinal elevated to the level of a work of art cannot, under any circumstances, be considered as something 'neutral'" Ramirez also offers a highly sexual interpretation of the piece. Because it embodies characteristics of both sexes, he argues that the urinal is neither masculine nor feminine, but "bisexual". Despite its obvious male connections, it also has feminine aspects; it acts as "a receptacle for liquid effusions of different kinds: showers, natural waterfalls, perfumes, etc". Others also support this gendered bisexual interpretation. Greben notes the bisexual nature of Fountain when she writes that: Duchamp "wittily positioned the phallic receptacle on its side to suggest female genitalia”. http://arthist.binghamton.edu/duchamp/fountain.html
Hmm, I wonder if he actually placed it on its side because the bottom is rounded and it’s very difficult to balance that way. Come to think of it the urinal is actually placed on its back. Clearly this says something about the male position of control during intercourse while the powerless woman lies on her back. There’s probably something about golden showers in there too but I’m no art critic.
Duchamp’s goal of breaking down barriers between high and low art was achieved and now everything is considered art. The winner of the 2001 Turner Prize (a prestigious art award) was Martin Creed. Here is a description of his prize winning entry:
For the Turner Prize exhibition, Creed has decided to show Work # 227: The lights going on and off. Nothing is added to the space and nothing is taken away, but at intervals of five seconds the gallery is filled with light and then subsequently thrown into darkness.
This happens in my apartment everyday.
The prize money at the time was £20,000 (over $40,000 CAD). In 1997 a replica Fountain (the original having been long lost) sold for $1,762,500. If everything is art how come when I flick the lights on and off at the Art Gallery of Ontario (AGO) I’m escorted out?
If any one is interested in purchasing some of my brother’s art the bidding starts at $25,000.
For more information on artsy urinals please see www.urinal.net.
Friday, August 17, 2007
I Might Believe in God
I’m an atheist. I have been for quite some time now. It’s not a bad way of life although I do miss singing and dancing in the Baptist choirs of my youth. I think in anybody’s life there will be an event or events so life altering that they cause you to reevaluate your beliefs.
For me, one of those events happened today. I’d heard there was a company in Biel, Switzerland that manufactures an incredible product for stripping wood and was trying to find the name of it (good cover story) when I happened across an article entitled “Jessica Biel’s strip contract”. The gist of the article is that Jessica Biel will play a stripper in her new movie Powder Blue and has agreed to bare her breasts and buttocks (apparently People magazine is big on alliteration). This was the sign I’d been waiting for. Tears of joy ran down my leg. But wait, was this a test? The god I’ve read about is quite fond of jerking people around. Better check the commandments and see if watching a naked woman on a big screen while drinking margaritas and shouting “shake what your mamma gave ya” is a sin.
1. The Detroit Red Wings are the greatest hockey team. Thou shalt worship no other team.
2. Thou shalt not take Steve Yzerman’s name in vain.
3. Thou shalt eat the red smarties last.
4. Sean Connery is the one true Bond though Daniel Craig makes a good false idol.
5. On escalators thou shalt walk on the left and stand on the right.
6. Thou shalt put the left foot in, thou shalt pull the left foot out, thou shalt not shake it all about. 7. Monkey see, monkey do.
8. The salad fork shalt be placed beside the napkin on the left.
9. Thou shalt not kill unless it’s rush hour and the car ahead of you is making a left without signaling leaving you to try and cut into the right lane while 70 cars buzz by.
10. Don’t make me break my foot off in yo ass.
I was clear with the commandments but couldn’t shake the feeling that there had to be a catch. I searched for Powder Blue on IMDB. Dammit, that sneaky bastard. Patrick Swayze is in the cast. That’s like giving somebody a Mars bar wrapped in liver and spinach.
I’m going to hold off on my conversion until the movie comes out and we can see how well the scenes are lit.
Thursday, August 16, 2007
The King is Dead
Elvis Presley died 30 years ago today. I’m a fan of young Elvis. I think he had a great voice and a dynamic personality. Old Elvis on the other hand was kind of nuts. What I really want to discuss though is the myth surrounding his death. I don’t know if anybody believes that he is alive today. Elvis would be 72 now and while that’s not terribly old it’s not the kind of age a guy who ate deep fried everything would normally live to. I’m going to assume that everybody agrees that Elvis is dead at this point. Now, let’s look at the evidence that he didn’t die 30 years ago. These are taken from http://www.elvislives.net/. Remember, they've had 30 years to come up with valid reasons Elvis did not die and these are the best they've got. I’m only going to discuss the first five because I tire easily.
1. ELVIS IS IN THE WITNESS PROTECTION PROGRAM
Most people know about Elvis’ famous meeting with President Nixon. What they don’t know is that during this meeting Nixon issued Elvis Presley a DEA badge, a clue that Elvis was helping investigators with a major case and later had to enter the federal witness protection program. It's ludicrous to believe that the DEA would have issued a badge to someone not working for them, even Elvis Presley.
Elvis collected badges. In exchange for the honorary Drug Enforcement Agency badge Elvis gave Nixon a Colt .45 revolver. This sounds like a smart trade on Nixon’s part. It is ludicrous to think that the DEA would have issued Elvis an actual DEA badge. Making Elvis a drug enforcement agency officer would be like naming Britney Spears as head of the Child Protection Agency.
The honorary badge held about as much clout as my Franken Berry Junior Monster Patrol membership card.
2. ELVIS' NAME IS MISSPELLED ON HIS TOMB.
Elvis’ father, Vernon, misspelled Elvis’ middle name on the grave—Aaron instead of Aron, as his mother named him. This is a sign that Vernon Presley knew that it was not his son in the tomb.
Elvis spelled his middle name as either ‘Aron’ or ‘Aaron’ depending on the combination of pills he took that morning. I do believe it’s possible that Vernon Presley, Elvis’s daddy, simply thought, “maybe I don’t want to look like a backwards-ass, cousin-fucking, hillbilly anymore and will spell my son’s middle name correctly on his gravestone.”
3. PHOTOGRAPHS OF THE CORPSE DON’T RESEMBLE ELVIS
In 1977, the National Enquirer paid a third cousin of Elvis to smuggle a mini-camera in to the viewing of Elvis’ body. The resulting picture was published in the Enquirer, and caused shock waves among fans around the world. The eyebrows, chin, and fingers all looked unlike Elvis.
I’ve never been autopsied or embalmed myself but I think it probably takes a lot out of you. I’ve seen pictures of me after a bad crabcake and wouldn’t say they accurately represent my true beauty. Incidentally, autopsy means “see for yourself” which I think takes things a little too far. There’s a big difference between
“daddy, do yellow and blue really make green”
“see for yourself son”
and
“daddy, does your heart really beat 70 times per minute?”
4. THE COFFIN WAS TOO HEAVY
The coffin weighed 900 pounds: Elvis is known to have been overweight at the time of his death...but not that much. The only plausible account for that weight would be if the body was a wax dummy and there was an air conditioner inside the coffin to keep the wax dummy from melting.
How do they know how much the coffin weighed? Was there a weigh station at the funeral home? 900 pounds does not seem excessive to me. I know it looks like the only plausible answer is that there was a wax dummy inside and an air conditioner to keep it from melting but let’s think about this for a minute.
a) Coffins weigh a lot on their own. Elvis was not exactly known for his subtle taste, and not that he picked the casket, but I imagine it was one of the more elaborate models available.
b) How would they run the air conditioner? Batteries. People probably would have noticed an electrical cord hanging out the end of the box.
c) Why would an air conditioner weigh more than a 6’ tall heavyset man. Air conditioners that cool spaces 5 times the size of the coffin weigh less than 100 pounds.
5. COL. PARKER’S STRANGE QUOTE
Col. Tom Parker, Elvis’ manager, said in a press conference shortly after Elvis’ death: ‘Elvis didn’t die.The body did. We’re keeping up the good spirits. We’re keeping Elvis alive. I talked to him this morning and he told me to 'carry on.’ Is it possible that there was a double entendre to those words: that they had literal truth to them that no one suspected at the time?
This is pretty much the same type of thing that is said anytime someone dies. The body has died but the spirit lives on. Here are some quotes, taken entirely out of context, from the eulogies of The Queen Mother, Pierre Trudeau and Marilyn Monroe. These quotes prove beyond the shadow of a doubt that these three people are still alive and in hiding.
The Queen Mother
Her passing was truly an Easter death -- poised between Good Friday and Easter Day. In the light of the promise that Easter brings, we will lay her to rest knowing that the same hope belongs to all who trust in the One who is the resurrection and the life.
Pierre Trudeau
We have gathered from coast to coast to coast, from one ocean to another, united in our grief, to say goodbye. But this is not the end. He left politics in '84. But he came back for Meech. He came back for Charlottetown. He came back to remind us of who we are and what we're all capable of.
Marilyn Monroe
I cannot say goodbye. Marilyn never liked goodbyes, but in the peculiar way she had of turning things around so that they faced reality - I will say au revoir. For the country to which she has gone, we must all someday visit.
1. ELVIS IS IN THE WITNESS PROTECTION PROGRAM
Most people know about Elvis’ famous meeting with President Nixon. What they don’t know is that during this meeting Nixon issued Elvis Presley a DEA badge, a clue that Elvis was helping investigators with a major case and later had to enter the federal witness protection program. It's ludicrous to believe that the DEA would have issued a badge to someone not working for them, even Elvis Presley.
Elvis collected badges. In exchange for the honorary Drug Enforcement Agency badge Elvis gave Nixon a Colt .45 revolver. This sounds like a smart trade on Nixon’s part. It is ludicrous to think that the DEA would have issued Elvis an actual DEA badge. Making Elvis a drug enforcement agency officer would be like naming Britney Spears as head of the Child Protection Agency.
The honorary badge held about as much clout as my Franken Berry Junior Monster Patrol membership card.
2. ELVIS' NAME IS MISSPELLED ON HIS TOMB.
Elvis’ father, Vernon, misspelled Elvis’ middle name on the grave—Aaron instead of Aron, as his mother named him. This is a sign that Vernon Presley knew that it was not his son in the tomb.
Elvis spelled his middle name as either ‘Aron’ or ‘Aaron’ depending on the combination of pills he took that morning. I do believe it’s possible that Vernon Presley, Elvis’s daddy, simply thought, “maybe I don’t want to look like a backwards-ass, cousin-fucking, hillbilly anymore and will spell my son’s middle name correctly on his gravestone.”
3. PHOTOGRAPHS OF THE CORPSE DON’T RESEMBLE ELVIS
In 1977, the National Enquirer paid a third cousin of Elvis to smuggle a mini-camera in to the viewing of Elvis’ body. The resulting picture was published in the Enquirer, and caused shock waves among fans around the world. The eyebrows, chin, and fingers all looked unlike Elvis.
I’ve never been autopsied or embalmed myself but I think it probably takes a lot out of you. I’ve seen pictures of me after a bad crabcake and wouldn’t say they accurately represent my true beauty. Incidentally, autopsy means “see for yourself” which I think takes things a little too far. There’s a big difference between
“daddy, do yellow and blue really make green”
“see for yourself son”
and
“daddy, does your heart really beat 70 times per minute?”
4. THE COFFIN WAS TOO HEAVY
The coffin weighed 900 pounds: Elvis is known to have been overweight at the time of his death...but not that much. The only plausible account for that weight would be if the body was a wax dummy and there was an air conditioner inside the coffin to keep the wax dummy from melting.
How do they know how much the coffin weighed? Was there a weigh station at the funeral home? 900 pounds does not seem excessive to me. I know it looks like the only plausible answer is that there was a wax dummy inside and an air conditioner to keep it from melting but let’s think about this for a minute.
a) Coffins weigh a lot on their own. Elvis was not exactly known for his subtle taste, and not that he picked the casket, but I imagine it was one of the more elaborate models available.
b) How would they run the air conditioner? Batteries. People probably would have noticed an electrical cord hanging out the end of the box.
c) Why would an air conditioner weigh more than a 6’ tall heavyset man. Air conditioners that cool spaces 5 times the size of the coffin weigh less than 100 pounds.
5. COL. PARKER’S STRANGE QUOTE
Col. Tom Parker, Elvis’ manager, said in a press conference shortly after Elvis’ death: ‘Elvis didn’t die.The body did. We’re keeping up the good spirits. We’re keeping Elvis alive. I talked to him this morning and he told me to 'carry on.’ Is it possible that there was a double entendre to those words: that they had literal truth to them that no one suspected at the time?
This is pretty much the same type of thing that is said anytime someone dies. The body has died but the spirit lives on. Here are some quotes, taken entirely out of context, from the eulogies of The Queen Mother, Pierre Trudeau and Marilyn Monroe. These quotes prove beyond the shadow of a doubt that these three people are still alive and in hiding.
The Queen Mother
Her passing was truly an Easter death -- poised between Good Friday and Easter Day. In the light of the promise that Easter brings, we will lay her to rest knowing that the same hope belongs to all who trust in the One who is the resurrection and the life.
Pierre Trudeau
We have gathered from coast to coast to coast, from one ocean to another, united in our grief, to say goodbye. But this is not the end. He left politics in '84. But he came back for Meech. He came back for Charlottetown. He came back to remind us of who we are and what we're all capable of.
Marilyn Monroe
I cannot say goodbye. Marilyn never liked goodbyes, but in the peculiar way she had of turning things around so that they faced reality - I will say au revoir. For the country to which she has gone, we must all someday visit.
Wednesday, August 15, 2007
Thanks Travis
The New England Journal of Medicine has recently published an article linking obesity to one's social network. The full article is here (http://content.nejm.org/cgi/content/full/357/4/370) but I think the following quote states all we really need to know (plus, the article uses really big words and I didn't want to tax myself):
"A person's chances of becoming obese increased by 57% . . . if he or she had a friend who became obese in a given interval . . . Persons of the same sex had relatively greater influence on each other than those of the opposite sex."
This news comes as a great relief to me. For years now I've attributed my pudgy physique to lack of exercise and a diet consisting of ice cream, bacon and doughnut batter (usually separately but sometimes combined). This study reveals that obviously one of my fat bastard friends is to blame. I racked my brain trying to think who it could be and came up with Travis, who I met in 4th grade. Travis and I were not particularly close, he did not become obese in the time I knew him (he was obese when we met) and I did not become obese until well after we'd lost contact but I really can't think of anybody else who fits the bill and it feels so good to be able to blame my problems on someone else, so Travis it is.
Unfortunately this news also causes some distress. How many people have I made fat over the years? And, how many have they made fat? How many people will refuse my friendship now because they are worried about turning into a tub of goo? My goodness, it's like a big fat unstoppable snowball.
"A person's chances of becoming obese increased by 57% . . . if he or she had a friend who became obese in a given interval . . . Persons of the same sex had relatively greater influence on each other than those of the opposite sex."
This news comes as a great relief to me. For years now I've attributed my pudgy physique to lack of exercise and a diet consisting of ice cream, bacon and doughnut batter (usually separately but sometimes combined). This study reveals that obviously one of my fat bastard friends is to blame. I racked my brain trying to think who it could be and came up with Travis, who I met in 4th grade. Travis and I were not particularly close, he did not become obese in the time I knew him (he was obese when we met) and I did not become obese until well after we'd lost contact but I really can't think of anybody else who fits the bill and it feels so good to be able to blame my problems on someone else, so Travis it is.
Unfortunately this news also causes some distress. How many people have I made fat over the years? And, how many have they made fat? How many people will refuse my friendship now because they are worried about turning into a tub of goo? My goodness, it's like a big fat unstoppable snowball.
Tuesday, August 14, 2007
Back to the Grind
For those of you who have spoken to me or seen me recently this information is old news but I did arrive home safely from Vancouver. For those of you who haven't spoken to or seen me recently, thanks for caring. Would a phone call, a quick visit, an invitation to play miniature golf have killed you?
I haven't done a whole lot since returning. I did get my haircut yesterday which was a bit of a mistake. I don't have an elaborate hairstyle. I get it cut fairly short, leave it a bit longer in front, and use carpenter's glue and candle wax to keep it from sticking up everywhere. I don't know if the woman who cut my hair was inept, lazy or malicious but she shaved my head leaving only a long patch right in front. I've seen this haircut on other people and didn't care for it. I would usually egg them. The Brazilian soccer player Ronaldo had the same haircut at one point and nearly got kicked off the team. I told the woman to just shave the entire thing. I would rather look like a maniac than an idiot (although some people have told me I often look like both).
I haven't done a whole lot since returning. I did get my haircut yesterday which was a bit of a mistake. I don't have an elaborate hairstyle. I get it cut fairly short, leave it a bit longer in front, and use carpenter's glue and candle wax to keep it from sticking up everywhere. I don't know if the woman who cut my hair was inept, lazy or malicious but she shaved my head leaving only a long patch right in front. I've seen this haircut on other people and didn't care for it. I would usually egg them. The Brazilian soccer player Ronaldo had the same haircut at one point and nearly got kicked off the team. I told the woman to just shave the entire thing. I would rather look like a maniac than an idiot (although some people have told me I often look like both).
Saturday, August 11, 2007
Days Seven & Eight
Yesterday we went to Granville Island and Chinatown. Granville Island is really cool. It, like Pike's Place Market, is very similar to the St. Lawrence Market except on a larger scale and with, what looks to me, fresher food. I didn't buy any of the fresh food because I have nowhere to store it and I didn't want to carry it around all day. I did however buy a maple ice cream bar from Roger's Chocolate. Roger's Chocolate started in 1885 and has about 10 locations in the Vancouver area. They were listed in just about every guide book I looked at as the number one place for chocolate. Ahnes has never heard of them. She doesn't get out much.
The Vancouver Chinatown is similar to every other Chinatown I've ever visited. Stores crammed with wares for ridiculously low prices. Eleven shoes for $3.00. Not pairs of shoes mind you, just eleven shoes, various sizes. They have a couple of funky little shops interspersed among the Chinese stores.
We went to a charming little restaurant for dinner. I believe the name of it was the Keg. I think that's about it for day seven.
Day eight was the last true day of our vacation as we fly out tomorrow at 7:00am. We had to drop of the rental car by 11:00am so we (I) decided to go to IHOP for breakfast. I had never been to an IHOP before and it truly was a magical experience. A dirty crowded diner with crusty old waitresses reminiscent of the kind you'd find in a truck stop serving massive portions of artery hardening food. I had the bacon lover's special because, based on every Cosmo quiz I've ever taken, I do love bacon.
The rest of the day was spent shopping. I tried to explain to the ladies that possessions are fleeting but they counter- argued with shoes are pretty. I went back to the hotel early and rested my weary bones. We met Ahnes, Charles, a former student of Charles's and a friend of hers for dinner. Charles introduced me to his former student who said, "I'm Minjung from Korea." I replied, "I'm Dave, from my father's penis." That got the evening off to a great start. Her friend Tomoko, from Japan, was rail thin and ate like a horse. Bitch. We went to a Greek restaurant named Stephos which was excellent. Big line-up though so either make reservations or be prepared to wait a bit.
The Vancouver Chinatown is similar to every other Chinatown I've ever visited. Stores crammed with wares for ridiculously low prices. Eleven shoes for $3.00. Not pairs of shoes mind you, just eleven shoes, various sizes. They have a couple of funky little shops interspersed among the Chinese stores.
We went to a charming little restaurant for dinner. I believe the name of it was the Keg. I think that's about it for day seven.
Day eight was the last true day of our vacation as we fly out tomorrow at 7:00am. We had to drop of the rental car by 11:00am so we (I) decided to go to IHOP for breakfast. I had never been to an IHOP before and it truly was a magical experience. A dirty crowded diner with crusty old waitresses reminiscent of the kind you'd find in a truck stop serving massive portions of artery hardening food. I had the bacon lover's special because, based on every Cosmo quiz I've ever taken, I do love bacon.
The rest of the day was spent shopping. I tried to explain to the ladies that possessions are fleeting but they counter- argued with shoes are pretty. I went back to the hotel early and rested my weary bones. We met Ahnes, Charles, a former student of Charles's and a friend of hers for dinner. Charles introduced me to his former student who said, "I'm Minjung from Korea." I replied, "I'm Dave, from my father's penis." That got the evening off to a great start. Her friend Tomoko, from Japan, was rail thin and ate like a horse. Bitch. We went to a Greek restaurant named Stephos which was excellent. Big line-up though so either make reservations or be prepared to wait a bit.
Thursday, August 9, 2007
Day Six
A jam packed day full of fun and excitement. We woke up early once again so we could maximize our time in Seattle. I was extremely tired from staying up so late the night before so Rose drove while Joyce navigated. So far during the trip Joyce has been quite happy to sit in the backseat and repeatedly yell out directions or tell us, well after the fact, that we missed a turn. However, when we tried to make her the official navigator she always somehow weaseled out of it. Not today my friend. The border guard was jovial and told the ladies to keep an eye on me. Ridiculous advice really. No one can control me border guard – no one.
We went to Seattle Centre which is the home of the Space Needle, the Science Fiction Museum and the Experience Music Project. As ugly as the Space Needle looks in pictures it is much worse in reality. It looks like the CN Tower’s welfare scamming cousin.
The SF Museum and the EMP are two museums in one building. They are both funded by Paul Allen (the co-founder of Microsoft) and designed by Frank Gehry. The EMP was originally supposed to be composed entirely of Jimi Hendrix memorabilia but Paul Allen had a falling out with the family and it is now an interactive music experience. You can record your own songs and produce your own albums. The same kind of thing you’ve been able to do at the Ex for about 15 years. We went into both museums but only to see the gift shops. In the SF museum the cashier at the gift shop must have thought he’d died and gone to heaven when he got that job. Prototypical SF fan with long orange hair, a scruffy beard and ill-fitting brown polyester clothes. As we walked in we overheard part of his conversation with another one of the workers, “You humans do tend to choose foods based more on taste than nutritional composition”.
We stopped in at McDonald’s for lunch. They have iced coffee at McDonald’s so I ordered one with my combo. I got the large which was a whopping 32 ounces. Is coffee a diuretic? Find out what happens later in the day.
After lunch we headed to Pike’s Place Market which is similar to St. Lawrence Market but on a larger scale. There is one fish stand that is famous for the workers throwing the fish to each other. We watched that for about an hour without ever getting a really good picture of anyone throwing or catching a fish. They did it plenty of times but there are large crowds and it happens so fast that it makes getting a picture difficult.
We started heading back to the car when I had a strong urge to go to the washroom. Strong may be a bit too mild of a term, let’s say a physically powerful urge to go. Went in to the Marriot Hotel where they told me the washroom was down a long hall and to the right. Got there, one stall – occupied. While I was waiting, another man came in. He wanted to go into the stall as well, I told him I was waiting for it, he said okay and left. The man in the stall, hearing this brief conversation, decided be helpful and very slowly give me directions to another washroom. “Make a . . . right out this . . . door, go down . . . the stairs, take your first left and then a sharp right . . .” I didn’t think I had time to hear all his instructions never mind carry them out; plus, the guy who came in and left was probably already headed there anyway. I went in to Starbucks. Yes, of course they have a washroom. It is at the end of a very long hall and you need a pass code to get in. The pass code is 9542766423. Seriously? How about 9999. I happy to say that disaster was narrowly averted; but, in typing that code into the washroom door keypad I’m certain I now know the tension a bomb technician must feel when defusing an explosive device.
Feeling relieved, we headed off to the Museum of Flight. This is sponsored by the Boeing Aircraft Company and was very interesting. A lot of exhibits showing the history of flight, etc. We then went to see Bruce Lee’s grave. While looking for the grave we saw a group of about six Chinese teenagers walking through the cemetery. Let’s follow them I thought. Joyce suggested they might actually be there to visit a relative but I followed my gut and sure enough they led us right to him. I mentioned to them that I was a little hesitant to follow them in case they were there for a relative and I was party crashing a very somber moment. Then one of them pointed to a tombstone beside Bruce’s and said, “that’s my grandfather”. I felt terrible until I realized P.J. Malone was probably not really his grandfather.
We went to Seattle Centre which is the home of the Space Needle, the Science Fiction Museum and the Experience Music Project. As ugly as the Space Needle looks in pictures it is much worse in reality. It looks like the CN Tower’s welfare scamming cousin.
The SF Museum and the EMP are two museums in one building. They are both funded by Paul Allen (the co-founder of Microsoft) and designed by Frank Gehry. The EMP was originally supposed to be composed entirely of Jimi Hendrix memorabilia but Paul Allen had a falling out with the family and it is now an interactive music experience. You can record your own songs and produce your own albums. The same kind of thing you’ve been able to do at the Ex for about 15 years. We went into both museums but only to see the gift shops. In the SF museum the cashier at the gift shop must have thought he’d died and gone to heaven when he got that job. Prototypical SF fan with long orange hair, a scruffy beard and ill-fitting brown polyester clothes. As we walked in we overheard part of his conversation with another one of the workers, “You humans do tend to choose foods based more on taste than nutritional composition”.
We stopped in at McDonald’s for lunch. They have iced coffee at McDonald’s so I ordered one with my combo. I got the large which was a whopping 32 ounces. Is coffee a diuretic? Find out what happens later in the day.
After lunch we headed to Pike’s Place Market which is similar to St. Lawrence Market but on a larger scale. There is one fish stand that is famous for the workers throwing the fish to each other. We watched that for about an hour without ever getting a really good picture of anyone throwing or catching a fish. They did it plenty of times but there are large crowds and it happens so fast that it makes getting a picture difficult.
We started heading back to the car when I had a strong urge to go to the washroom. Strong may be a bit too mild of a term, let’s say a physically powerful urge to go. Went in to the Marriot Hotel where they told me the washroom was down a long hall and to the right. Got there, one stall – occupied. While I was waiting, another man came in. He wanted to go into the stall as well, I told him I was waiting for it, he said okay and left. The man in the stall, hearing this brief conversation, decided be helpful and very slowly give me directions to another washroom. “Make a . . . right out this . . . door, go down . . . the stairs, take your first left and then a sharp right . . .” I didn’t think I had time to hear all his instructions never mind carry them out; plus, the guy who came in and left was probably already headed there anyway. I went in to Starbucks. Yes, of course they have a washroom. It is at the end of a very long hall and you need a pass code to get in. The pass code is 9542766423. Seriously? How about 9999. I happy to say that disaster was narrowly averted; but, in typing that code into the washroom door keypad I’m certain I now know the tension a bomb technician must feel when defusing an explosive device.
Feeling relieved, we headed off to the Museum of Flight. This is sponsored by the Boeing Aircraft Company and was very interesting. A lot of exhibits showing the history of flight, etc. We then went to see Bruce Lee’s grave. While looking for the grave we saw a group of about six Chinese teenagers walking through the cemetery. Let’s follow them I thought. Joyce suggested they might actually be there to visit a relative but I followed my gut and sure enough they led us right to him. I mentioned to them that I was a little hesitant to follow them in case they were there for a relative and I was party crashing a very somber moment. Then one of them pointed to a tombstone beside Bruce’s and said, “that’s my grandfather”. I felt terrible until I realized P.J. Malone was probably not really his grandfather.
Wednesday, August 8, 2007
Day Five
This was a hell of a long day. We got up early in order to catch the 9:00am ferry to Victoria. Once in Victoria we went to Butchart Gardens. A sprawling 55 acres of every flower imaginable, most of them remarkably delicious. I guess the best way to describe Butchart Gardens is to picture the most stunning garden you can think of and then imagine thirty senior citizens standing behind you croaking in a raspy voice, “isn’t that beautiful, my goodness I’ve never seen anything so wonderful”. Yes you have. You’ve seen 40 acres of the exact same thing. Sorry, went off on a bit of a tangent there. The garden was actually quite nice and while a little crowded not impossible to navigate through.
I then had a bizarre experience at an Esso station. I went in to grab a coffee but they only had a self-serve counter. This was okay, I’ve poured coffee for myself on occasion and if I may say so, I get most of it in the cup. The problem was this woman who was also getting coffee was making inane pseudo sexual comments. She called me a “three cream man” and said she liked three cream men. While handing me a lid she said, “are you large, or extra large” and you don’t even want to know what she said up the sweetener. Anyway, I’m meeting her for dinner later.
We then went to downtown Victoria which has some cute little shops and some nice views. Not a whole lot to report here. We had dinner at an Italian restaurant and then left around 5:30pm thinking we might catch the 6:00pm ferry. On the way to the ferry the radio gave a report that the 6:00pm was full and the 7:00pm was filling up fast. This was all I needed to hear in order to drive like a maniac the remainder of the way to the ferry dock. When we go to the dock we didn’t actually realize it and were still cruising along at 110km/hr. A dock worker enjoying a coffee break bolted from her seat with a panicked look in her eye to signal me to slow down. A little man directing dock traffic started waving his clipboard slowly indicating that I should slow down. When he started waving it at the speed of a hummingbird’s wings I thought maybe I should slow down. We got to the ferry dock at 6:15pm – we caught the 9:00pm ferry. Yes, we waited nearly three hours in the car. How did we amuse ourselves? By making fun of the people around us of course. There was one in particular that I’ll mention. A Korean woman, about 25 years old, wearing a pair of leather looking leopard print short-shorts and fur boots. The highlight of the ferry wait was when she bent over to get something out of her trunk. I nearly became a three cream man then, if you know what I mean.
It’s 2:43am right now so if there are spelling or grammatical errors or just plain ridiculousness in this post how about cutting me some slack.
Day Four
Today we went to Stanley Park. What an incredibly massive place. To be quite honest I can’t really remember what we did there. I know we saw a flower garden and some totem poles. The two things that stand out most in my mind are; the girl in the wetsuit and the lard-ass in high heels. The girl in the wetsuit is a bronze statue inspired by the little mermaid statue in Copenhagen. In my opinion neither one is all that spectacular but both seem to be very popular. The lard-ass in high heels was a lard-ass wearing pink camouflage pants and stiletto heels. “I’m going hiking today what footwear should I choose? Something that will make my feet blister and swell and possibly hobble me for life seems like a good choice.”
After Stanley Park we met up with Ahnes and Charles and they took us to a place called Deep Cove. The place looked beautiful from the car window which is how we had to view it because there were no damn parking spots. Since we couldn’t find parking at Deep Cove we went to Mount Seymour. I was quite excited about this because I consider myself something of an aficionado of the adult film series “Seymour Butts”. Well, there were few butts to be found on Mount Seymour. The adventure ended with a trip to Rice Lake. There were hiking trails or some such nonsense at Rice Lake. I decided to skip the trails because hiking is very much like walking except it is usually done uphill in a hot sticky environment with countless insects wanting a taste of your sweet sweet blood. Once the others finished hiking we were supposed to make another stop but I hadn’t eaten for over six hours at this point (I usually go no more than fifteen minutes) and was in an advanced stage of crankiness.
We headed back to Ahnes and Charles’s where Ahnes cooked up another fabulous dinner. Rose would like everyone to know that she drove back to the hotel but was too tired to give me the beating I so richly deserve. Perhaps tomorrow.
After Stanley Park we met up with Ahnes and Charles and they took us to a place called Deep Cove. The place looked beautiful from the car window which is how we had to view it because there were no damn parking spots. Since we couldn’t find parking at Deep Cove we went to Mount Seymour. I was quite excited about this because I consider myself something of an aficionado of the adult film series “Seymour Butts”. Well, there were few butts to be found on Mount Seymour. The adventure ended with a trip to Rice Lake. There were hiking trails or some such nonsense at Rice Lake. I decided to skip the trails because hiking is very much like walking except it is usually done uphill in a hot sticky environment with countless insects wanting a taste of your sweet sweet blood. Once the others finished hiking we were supposed to make another stop but I hadn’t eaten for over six hours at this point (I usually go no more than fifteen minutes) and was in an advanced stage of crankiness.
We headed back to Ahnes and Charles’s where Ahnes cooked up another fabulous dinner. Rose would like everyone to know that she drove back to the hotel but was too tired to give me the beating I so richly deserve. Perhaps tomorrow.
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