It's Over

The Relay for Life took place last Friday. Everything went very well. I raised $2,200.00 and the team raised $9,379.00. We were the first place team up until the final week when, out of nowhere, the Brides' Project (if that is their real name) came up with a huge donation and pushed us down to second. They were like snipers hiding in the bushes just waiting for the perfect opportunity to shoot us down.

We were able to erect a tent this year that fit more than one person. Last year, we brought a wonderful tent that was missing poles. I suggested all my teammates stand outside and hold a corner up while I rested peacefully inside. This was not met with the enthusiasm I had hoped for. We ended up erecting my "two person" tent which was very roomy if you happened to be a circus midget and could put your ankles behind your neck. By the way, on the off chance you are a circus midget that can put your ankles behind your neck, contact me, I may have a job for you.

This year we brought the same tent and made sure we had the poles. We did not, however, make sure the poles were complete. After spending 3 hours trying to thread the elastic through the pole pieces and enduring the trash talking of the group on the site next to us we gave up.

Incidentally, the trash talking group next to us is called the Downtown Knit Collective. They're made up mostly of retired women who knit scarves throughout the night and then donate them to the Canadian Cancer Society. Oh, and they drip attitude. We were situated beside them last year and, while I won't go into details, a cashmere scarf using a clove hitch makes an incredibly useful restraint against a 79 year old woman and leaves no bruises.

After giving up on the four person tent we went to our back-up two person tent. A different one from last year that actually fit two people. Now you might think, oh, that was very clever that they brought a back-up tent. Au contraire, what would have been clever is if we'd checked the poles of the main tent. Anyway, we got the tent up without incident and I crawled into it just before the rain started down.

After the Relay, because I wasn't tired enough, I went with Auntie Monkey to Snake and Rooster's house to babysit them for the day. It was the first day of the softball season for Snake so she had two games and a team photo. All spaced far apart and all in different locations. When I wasn't standing in the rain watching 9 year olds play softball I was back at the house lying on the couch. Apparently my lying on the couch sends a message to the girls to use me as a human bouncy castle.

The highlight of my weekend though may have been when we went to the schnitzel house for dinner. On entering, the host asked us if we were with the Corey party. I asked if Corey was taking care of the tab in which case we were most definitely part of the party. Monkey however said, "who's Corey". The host then said "oh, we have a lot of kids here for Corey's party so I thought you may have been with them."

What kind of a kid has his birthday party at a schnitzel house? I soon found out and Corey looked exactly like the kind of kid that would have his party at the schnitzel house. The lederhosen and copy of Mein Kampf under his arm were a dead giveaway. I think Herr Corey may have schnitzeled his pants when everyone yelled Uberraschen!!!

So Close, So Very Freakin' Close

I'm currently sitting at $1415.00 for the Relay for Life; just $585.00 away from my goal of $2000.00.

Many of you have already generously donated and for that I am extremely grateful but I really want to meet my goal so what do I have to do to get the money pouring in? Here are some suggestions:

For a $10.00 donation I will: make you breakfast, read you a story, scream at the top of my lungs in your ear (this probably won't be a very popular selection), give you a shoulder massage OR polish your shoes.

For a $20.00 donation I will: make you breakfast AND not eat any of it, clean your windows (ground floor only), walk your dog for a week (no more than a half-mile a day and no poodles or chihuahuas) OR give you a palm reading while you wait.

For a $50.00 donation I will: give you a shoulder massage while softly singing a lullaby in your ear (women only - for men the song selection will be late 80s metal ballads. For requests of Careless Whisper by Wham please see the "Not Enough Money in the World" donations section.), give you a foot massage (that is, I will massage any 12 inch part of your body - man that sounds really dirty, let's make that a $100 donation).

For a $100.00 donation I will: shave any part of your body and at no extra charge, allow you to shave any part of my body, give you a tattoo, wax your car or dewax your ears.

Holy Geez I'm Tired

May has been a very busy month for me. Last weekend we had the The Third Annual Super Karate Monkey Relay for Life Garage Sale (TASKMRFLGS). I'm proud to report that it was a rousing success with the team raising just under $600.00 for the Relay.

All of your favourite Super Karate Monkeys were there - Bitey, Scratchy, Fatty (that's me), One-Eye, One-Leg and Just-a-Head.

Our featured item this year was a lovely sweater donated (in error) by Jabber-Jaw. The sweater itself was a plain white affair but directly in the centre was a large photo of all three sisters. This kind of item brings up all sorts of questions for me. What kind of a person would wear a sweater with a picture of them self on it; and, more importantly, what kind of person would wear a sweater with a picture of people he didn't know on it. I aimed to find out so I placed the sweater in a place of prominence where all passersby could look upon it with mirth.

Jabber-Jaw came by a little later, drove past the house, mouth agape, turned around drove past the house again, threw the van into park (it may have been on the neighbour's dog), ran over, and while pointing at the sweater, said, in a voice shaking with equal parts terror, embarrassment and anger, "WHAT IS THAT?" Needless to say our featured item was quickly taken off the market.

Other highlights of the sale were a nine year old boy who bought a large Asian decorative fan and a family of seven who bought just about everything else. They would leave when their wagon was full, tow it back home to unload and then they were right back at it.

The past weekend was the Asian Hockey Championship and Cultural Event. This is a very large event with a much too small volunteer committee. At one point I was selling merchandise, paying referees and timekeepers, updating the scoreboard, making balloon animals and trying to eat lunch. I knew I was in trouble when I paid a timekeeper with a balloon mouse, tried to twist my cheeseburger into a dog and put up a score as three t-shirts to a hat.

One of the most amusing comments we had this year was a teenage player who came up to reception and asked for his banana and sandwich. Apparently someone on his team had told him that we were giving out free bananas and sandwiches this year. I barely have enough time to eat my own lunch, lord knows I'm not going to be slicing cucumbers and cutting off crusts for this guy.

In the AHC you are allowed to have 2 import players (i.e., non-Asian) however you're allowed to have any number of players with mixed heritage. Two years ago we had a mixed player who looked as Asian as Wayne Gretzky. Players on other teams were complaining that he was an extra import. His defense was that he had a picture of himself with his grandfather in his wallet. Now I'll grant him that his grandfather certainly did look Chinese, in fact, his grandfather came in later to rant about just how Chinese he was. Be that as it may, having a picture of you with someone doesn't prove anything. I have a picture of me at the Vatican but it doesn't mean I'm the Pope. And that picture of me canoodling at Rods of Steel - where the poles do the dancing, doesn't prove anything either.

When we pay the refs and timekeepers each person has to pick up his or her own pay envelope. Last year, one of the refs asked to pick up his friend's envelope and we said that we had to give the pay directly to the person. He replied by saying, "I've known him for over 15 years and I'm a cop, so I'm not going to steal his money." First, being a cop doesn't make you morally responsible. There have certainly been cases of cops breaking the law. Second, just because you say it out loud doesn't make it true.

"I'm a neurosurgeon and a rainbow."
"I'm a deep sea diver and the thing that your mama warned you about."
"I'm a full-time trampoline expert and a part-time lover."
"Hi, I'm a vegan and she's a maneater (Oh oh, here she comes) watch out boy, she'll chew you up. (Oh oh, here she comes) she's a maneater."

Money Money Money Money

The time has come once again for me to request money. Is it easy to live as a single parent of seven children on a puppeteer’s salary? How about if each of those children has an extravagant extracurricular activity including, but not limited to; polo, aviation, deep sea diving, yacht racing and intergalactic travel? Frankly, I have no idea as this situation doesn’t apply to me in the slightest. If I were to hazard a guess though, I’d say it’s not easy, but manageable. Despite everything you may have heard about skyrocketing puppeteer salaries, union dues and material expenses still take a large chunk.

But I digress, I am, of course, asking for pledges to the Relay for Life. As many of you know, the Relay is a twelve hour non-competitive walk that I bust my ass each year to win. This is my tenth year competing – I mean “participating.”

I’ve set a rather lofty goal for myself this year to raise $2,000.00. I’ve calculated that if each of my friends donated $20.00 I’d be able to raise nearly $18.00 (less his inexplicable finder’s fee and parking charges). This is why I must broaden my circle of appeal to; acquaintances, co-workers, former cellmates, current cellmates, muchachos, muchachas, fast food workers, slow food workers (for the most part these are workers in the fast food industry who aren’t as quick on the uptake as their counterparts), members of the press, game show hosts and single parent puppeteers.

In all seriousness cancer fundraising is a cause very close to my heart. The Canadian Cancer Society not only funds research on all types of cancer they also raise awareness, provide information on causes and prevention of cancer and provide support for cancer patients.

You can read more about why I relay and help me reach my goal my clicking the Super Karate Monkey image on the right and then clicking the “Support David!” button. Thank you.

Tax Season

Each year I do the income taxes for my brother and father. The hardest part of this is getting the information from them. Their filing systems leave a little to be desired. My father has a large envelope in which he very neatly places random pieces of paper. A T4 from 1978, an expired coupon to Ponderosa restaurant, duct cleaning flyers and Ziggy cartoons that he has clipped from the newspaper. Almost everything can be found in those envelopes with the exception of current year tax statements. My brother is not quite as meticulous. He will crumple various pieces of paper into little balls and then stash them in every nook and cranny he can find.


This year my dad and I weren't able to connect for him to pass me his envelope of miscellany so I had to get the numbers from him over the phone. He could have sent an e-mail but he types by the hunt and peck method and I'm not sure if he knows how to use backspace so errors are not corrected, or acknowledged, so that wouldn't have been reliable. As it was, I had to pry the proper form names out of him.


"I've go a T4D here."
"Dad, I don't think there's such a thing."
"Sorry, T47G."
"Try again."
"Right, right - it's a T4164."
"Dad, you have a Manitoba Odour-Control Tax Credit?"
"I am using that new soap."

Blackberrys

I'm not against Blackberrys, they certainly have some value, but whenever I look at a user's screen they're almost always playing Brick Breaker or Solitaire. They also, almost always, tell me to stop looking at their screen and, on an unrelated note, put my pants back on.

It irks me to see teenagers - and it irks me even more to see teenagers on Blackberries. If you're still in school and/or don't have a job, you don't need a Blackberry; you don't really even need to be out in public but that's a battle that's bigger than me.

The thing that rattles my snake most about Blackberry users is that they're completely unable to both read a message and get the hell out of my way at the same time. I'm not a patient person to begin with but waiting for some suit and tie to wander out of an elevator, so engrossed in an e-mail that he's completely unaware that there are other people on the planet, makes me wish I could shoot lasers out of my eyes and blow heads apart. That skill would actually come in handy on a number of occasions; can't see the movie screen because some pumpkinhead is sitting in front of you, want to impress a date, stuck beside a bore at a cocktail party.

Getting back to the clueless Blackberry user; unless the e-mail message states that an army of zombies has arisen and is intent on creating a new world order in which the plumpest members of the human species will be turned into slaves and forced to subsist on a diet of human flesh and vegetables, it's not nearly as important as getting the hell out of my way.

Stupid TTC

I hate the TTC. I know that’s about as controversial as taking a firm stance against cannibalism or expressing disapproval of necrophilia but it has to be said. A quick side note; I was once at a work function that had a fairly boring speaker and one of my colleagues asked the organizer to get someone more exciting next time because some of us suffer from necrophilia. She meant, I hope, narcolepsy. Falling asleep during a presentation is bad, but performing the dancing monkey of desire on a corpse? Not during business hours.

The incompetence and arrogance of TTC employees has been thoroughly covered in the papers recently but I haven’t seen some of my petty issues addressed.

I should note that research for this entry was done entirely through Wikipedia and my own memory; neither of which are reliable.

Why do we still have streetcars? There are two cities in North America that still run streetcars as part of the regular transportation system; Toronto and New Orleans. I don’t know much about the Big Easy – and while topless women and heavy drinking have their plus sides – I’m not entirely sure this is a place we should be modeling our transportation system after.

I realize that electrical power rather than gas is probably beneficial to the environment but there are electric powered buses. At least with buses if one gets stuck you don’t have 5 more lined up behind it because they have nowhere else to go. And buses can actually pull up to the curb so you don’t have to risk your life exiting the vehicle while some jerkwad tries to race past the open doors, not because he has anywhere important to go, but because 20 seconds of his time is clearly more valuable than another person’s life.

Here are some quaint facts about the streetcar system.

The TTC still employs blacksmiths. You can even take a tour of their shop. It costs $15 but you’re guaranteed a much more surly, lazy and arrogant worker than you’d encounter with your low $3.00 ride fare. The slogan is “ten times the attitude for five times the price.” Check tour 4 at this link http://www3.ttc.ca/TTC_Business/TTC_Tours/Locations.jsp.

Sand is used on the rails for extra traction in acceleration and braking. Wikipedia states, “A passenger might notice spilled sand on the streetcar floors near the front of the car; this is where the hoppers are loaded.” Yes, I noticed the sand. If it weren’t for the stink of cat urine and rotting vegetables I would have thought I was at the beach. The hoppers must be filled by epileptic blind people.

This system is so antiquated I expect the first aid box to be filled with leeches and scheduling communication to be sent by telegraph.
- ···· · - - -·-· ··· ··- -·-· -·- ···
That would explain why every single day when I come home from work the streetcar has to wait a few minutes before entering the station because there’s no room in the bay. The bay only holds two streetcars but rather than properly scheduling arrival and departure times so that the vehicles run at regular intervals the TTC has decided that it’s much better for the driver to wait until traffic is sufficiently obstructed. An added bonus of this system is that while I’m waiting on the streetcar I can see my connecting bus leave the station.

One of my favourite tricks the TTC pulls is the short turn. This is when I’m comfortably seated on a not too crowded streetcar. An announcement is made – usually something along the lines of, “this car will be short-turning at Parliament. Parliament will be the last stop for this car.” The announcement, of course, is made at Parliament and what the driver is really saying is, “I know you’re comfortable and I could have given you way more notice that this car was short-turning in case you wanted to take an alternate route but I thought it would be better if I kicked you off abruptly and made you, and all the other passengers on this car, and all the passengers currently waiting at the stop, get on the already crowded streetcar behind me. I’m truly sorry that it is not raining.”

I know that switching to electric buses would require hiring people who are capable of working a steering wheel along with the extremely labour intensive and complicated task of pushing two different pedals; GO and NO-GO. Honestly, how hard is it to drive a streetcar? I’ve seen more complicated rides at Centre Island. Pig could drive a streetcar and he’s not even three yet. Of course if he spots something shiny all bets are off.

And finally, the streetcar bell, is it really necessary? Whenever one streetcar passes another the drivers ding their little bells like Quasimodo being electrocuted. Or, perhaps they’re sending some sort of message via Morse code. Streetcars are 23 metres long, 37,000 kilograms and red. I think we can all see them okay without a bell alerting us to their presence.

I see you – Ding
I see you too – Ding Ding
Ding, Ding, Ding, Ding (which one of these pedals is GO?)

By the way, streetcars are not wheelchair accessible so if you are paralyzed from the waist down you'll have an easier time walking to your destination than getting on a streetcar.