Waiting.

Have you ever wondered why you are the kind of person you are?

Why do you do the things you do?

What makes somebody who has it all, risk it?

Is it something in you?

Is it something that can be changed?

I'll have to wait and see..

Later.

Implosion.

There may be a break in scheduled updates.
I have some things to deal with right now.
Wish me luck.

Later.

Time Flies.

Time is relative.

I know I haven't shocked any of you who have progressed beyond 7th Grade science class, but bear with me, it's an opening line.

You see, earlier today while I was at work, the day just seemed to drag by. It was like I could feel each minute as it passed, sucking just a little more life out of me. This went on for about two hours, or to me at the time, an eternity.

Then things started to go downhill. People started messing up my day, causing me to fall behind on some of my tasks. I had to force myself not to strangle these individuals, as going to jail would have put me even further behind. I don't want to get specific with the details, but simply put, people and their organization (or lack thereof) and technical glitches were the source of my dismay.

Then the day seemed to fly by; when it felt like I had been working at something for 10 minutes, a half hour had zipped by. Then I started to get antsy. Heartrate goes up, mind starts working a mile a minute and I start to see all the things that could put me behind even more start to rear their ugly heads. The thing that frustrates me with this is that when I want to take the time out to talk to someone or just relax, I know in the back of my mind that I'm gonna pay for it later.

As my day came to an end, everything started to come together, and I was able to wrap everything up nicely, or at least have it to a point where I can take care of it tomorrow.

Now that it's over, I found that time has slowed again, and it almost seemed like I got to listen to an extra song in the car on the way home.

Funny, that.

Later.

Poster Of A Girl.

As I look around my home, I have one simple question:

Where did all my fuckin' posters go?

I had 'em all.

• The "Haulin' Ass" one, with the chicks in thongs bent over in a pickup truck.
• Pamela Anderson when she was just The Blue Zone Girl, and not some whacked out whore for PETA.
• That Budweiser one where the girls suits blended into the towel behind them
• The periodic table of Beer.
• And of course, all that posters for the bands I used to love back then.

So where did they all go? Like my youth, they seem to have just slipped away when I wasn't looking. I could use the lame excuse of my Mom throwing them out, just like my comics and hockey cards, but that one is just overdone.

I think there comes a time in your life when you have people over at your place and the last thing you want them to look at is a hot piece of ass plastered on your wall. You can tell them your favorite beverage, you don't have to have the banner hanging from the back of the bathroom door. And Jesus Christ, put away the Bob Marley poster or they are going to know you smoke the Gange, and not just think you have "itchy eyes".
There comes a time when the poster goes away and the print takes over. Down comes the Samantha Fox poster where she's all wet and slutty, and up goes a Picasso print of a fucked up French cafe.

I'd like to have them back, but I know that it probably won't happen. They are lost in time, only to be looked upon fondly in my memories.

Until my midlife crisis hits.
Then watch out baby, I'm gonna redecorate my way.

Later.

F-Bomb.

I was watching T.V. last night and I caught a little bit from CBC's The Hour.

The piece was about the widespread use of the word "Fuck" in today's society, yet the still persistent tabooization of the word in regards to being seen on T.V. or Radio. They had even asked the network if they could not bleep it out, just for this one segment, and they were denied repeatedly. Apparently in this day and age, it still carries "dirty sexual connotations", and the powers that be have decided that it is unacceptable.

Now I use that word Fuck at least fifty-seven times a day. It must be my favorite word, or at least in the top 5. It's just so versatile. Check out the Urban Dictionary entry on it, there's 269 definitions! It can be used as a verb, an adverb, a noun, an adjective, you name it, it can do it. Why modern society would be against this word would be anyone's guess. I think it is the most descriptive word in the English Language.

I understand that you don't want your kids saying it all the time, but you know what? Make the proper use of the word acceptable, and then it won't be the taboo word to throw around anymore. Kids will have to use another shock word to get their parents attention, like Cunt.
I'm not saying it should be a staple of children's cartoons, but C'mon, it least lets hear it used properly on T.V. , instead of kids asking why the television is bleeping all the time.

Fuck, fuck, fuckity, fuck fucker, fuck no, fuck yeah, fuck me, fuck you, fuck off. I just love the sound, the force, the way it can change the impact of a sentence just by being there. You can express so much, it's more of a time saving word than anything else.
What's better:
"Excuse me sir, but your repeated attempts to beg for change are tiring and depressing, I would hope that you would seek employment rather than live off the dole and be a drain on society."
Or:
"Fuck off, get a job."
See the time you saved? Isn't this a wonderful word?

I hope that in time the word can gain acceptance on regular T.V. and radio. I would love to hear a Hockey commentator exclaim " Can you believe he made that fucking save? That was fuckin' nuts!"
It would warm my heart.

I'm sure in time the fear of using and appreciating this outstanding piece of linguistics will fade, and it will be accepted for what it is:

A great fuckin' word.

Later.

First Of The Season.

The sizzle is unmistakable.

The smell is divine.

The flavors and textures are amazing.

Crisp yet tender, savory yet sweet.

Can I barbecue a fuckin steak or what?

I'm not gonna say I'm the greatest in the land or anything, but Jesus, I cook a damn fine piece of meat. Maybe it's the first chance I've had to drag the grill out, maybe it was the way my freshly shorn lawn complemented the stark blackness of the grill. But there was something that worked out great.

I prefer to make my own marinades, a little bit of this, a little bit of that, and a pinch of crystal meth thrown in. (Family Secret.) It must be why my grilling techniques are so addictive.

I must grill alone. I prefer that nobody watches. It's just another level of "me" time. Oh, you can come out and ask how I'm doing, but you better get the fuck away as soon as you can, otherwise you screw with my rythm.

I can't wait to char something up tomorrow.

Later.

Reading Material.

So I'm taking a piss.

Wait there's more.

I'm at Timmys with the Sidekick, and as per usual after an Extra-Large Coffee, I head to the restroom. There I proceed to go about my business, and whilst doing so I look, as one normally does, around the urinal for something to stare at other than my own penis.

( Not that it's not interesting to look at, it's just that I've seen it countless times, and familiarity breeds contempt.)

There's nothing there.

Now years ago, it seemed that every restroom you entered was covered with jokes, pictures, witty sayings, and the occasional request for follow-up meetings. A virtual town history could be told from it's bathroom walls. Who loved who. Who was a skank, and who was frigid. There were even requests to help others by flushing twice, since that area needed more water. You found out who was where on what date, and even got to see up and coming artists show off their budding skills at drawing the human anatomy.

Nowadays there's nothing.

Oh, I'm not saying the bathrooms are clean, just that no one seems to have the creativity or the wherewithal to contribute to this "bulletin board" anymore. Where did all these people go? Did they just put away their markers and give up? Nobody could even scratch the paint with their keys?

This could be a foreshadowing a bigger problem: lazy kids.

If these punks can't even drum up the energy to properly vandalize public property, then how are they going to take care of me in my old age?

Fuckin' Punks.

Later.

On A Slow Night.

There has been a lot running through my find lately, and I have no coherent thoughts to put down for this evening.

I'm all a jumble.
What do I want to tell? What do you want to hear? For the few of you who visit here regularly, you know I jump from topic to topic, with no rhyme or reason.

The fact that right now I have nothing to say about anything kinda scares me.

Trust me, it won't be that way for long.

Later.

Technological Impotence.

I said I would talk about it, so I will.
But I think I have my definition wrong.

You see, what got me thinking this way was traveling for five hours on B.C. Ferries. Two and a half hours each way. What did I do? Well, I had something to eat (always an exciting risk when traveling the ferries, as one never knows what one is likely to get), I read a bit, and I strolled about the deck, taking in the sights, and checking out my co-confined traveling companions.

The main thing I noticed while on my travels was the incredible amount of portable technology being used by my fellow passengers. I saw at least seven laptops in use, be it for movies, games, or god forbid, one guy was actually doing work. There were also about twelve kids with PSPs, watching movies or gaming, and there were countless iPods and other mp3 players about. And at the end of my stroll, what did I have to go back to?

A Book.

Now, don't get me wrong. I love books. But I left my current read at home, as it is not my book ( I don't travel with other peoples books - I don't want to risk damaging them.) so I had to make do with what I bought from the Gift Shop. But after seeing all the nifty things others were doing to while away the time, I felt kind of let down by my book.
Hell, it would have been better at that moment if it was an e-book, or a mp3 file of the audiobook, or just something other than a lump of paper in my hand. Just sitting there, taunting me with its flaccid, floppy pages.

I guess it comes down to envy, really. I want the shiny, blinky toys like those other people have. I feel let down by my own lack of technology. Or at least disappointed in what's there.

Later.

14 And A Half Hours.

That's how long, including ferry time, I was on the road today.

It was a long, grueling day, but overall it was worth it to be there and pay my respects.
I'll bitch about B.C. Ferries, stupid drivers, and technological impotence another time.
I'm just too tired right now.

(Technological Impotence? Oh, yeah. I know you'll come back for that one.)

Later.

Dressing Up For Death.

Had to go and buy a new shirt today.

My Aunt's funeral is tomorrow, and of course, I'd like to look my best to go pay my respects. It's only natural that at the service for the woman who taught me so much about class and composure, I should show some myself.

I find that I'm at a stage in my life right now when I've stopped going to weddings and started going to funerals. Most of the people I grew up with are now married or whatever, and it seems like all of my elders are slowly dropping one by one. ( With my Aunt dying, my Father is the only person left from his immediate family. No mother, father, sister, brother, grandparents. All gone. Just him. It's a sobering thought.)

It seems that now every time I get dressed up, (with the exception of the staff Christmas Party and The Sidekicks birthday,) it's because someone died. It makes me want to put my good shoes away and hide all my ties.

But that won't help. Death is inevitable. And if my Aunts passing taught me anything, it's to look it in the eye, unafraid, with dignity and your best clothes on.

Later.

Tourist In My Home Town.

Went for a drive with the Sidekick today, and we took some pictures of the hometown to send to a friend in Central Canada. ( As they call Ontario. I call it Back East.) They used to live out in this neck of the woods, so we were sending them some reminders of good ol' coastal life.

You know, I found that this town either looks really good or really bad through a camera lens.
The ocean, the sky, the beaches and even our newer areas in town look fabulous, a great complement to the natural beauty of the coast.
But other areas? Blech. The run down buildings, the empty store fronts, it's just sad. This town never reuses anything. They just build something new and abandon the downtown core.

Plus it's all about condos now. I'm not the biggest lawn guy, but Jesus, doesn't anyone want a yard anymore?

It's strange to see how this place has changed in the years I've been here. But you never really notice it until you try to look at it through another's eyes.

Later.

Best At What I Do.

What would you like to be the best at?

If you had to pick one thing, what would it be?

Would you like to be the best lover, fighter, writer, speller, washer, cook, cleaner, runner, batter, jumper, director, musician, ejaculator, typist, driver, manager, reader, or whatever. It doesn't matter what. Just pick.

If you were the best and no one was ever going to be better than you, would you lose all desire for the act?

I'd like to be second best. I'd try harder. If there was only one guy in the world who was a better lover than me, I think I could handle that. What I couldn't handle is knowing there are 1,258,356,589.5 guys who can "do the job" better than I can. That would be too much of a blow to my ego.

Same with almost anything. Driving, cooking, it doesn't matter. I think that once you've become the best, you have nowhere to go but downhill.

I'd settle for the best at being me. As trite as that may sound, it's my best chance of success, and I am the only judge of when that pinnacle has been reached.

Later.

Turkey Coma.

Fucking Turkey Coma hit me again.

I just woke up from it, and now it's time to go to bed.
How did it sneak up on me like that? With its ninja-like silence, it jumped me from behind and I was powerless to resist. Shit, now I feel like my nights been wasted.

And I didn't even have a chance for dessert.
Should have got a cruller when I had a chance.

Later.

Fuck Like Bunnies.

Well, it's Easter again.

Whoop-de-do.

You know, out of all the holidays going, I think that this is the one that's gone farthest from it's original meaning. What does Jesus dying and rising from the grave have to do with eggs and chocolate and bunny rabbits?

( I know someone will comment about the pagan rites of spring being intertwined and amalgamated with this Judea-Christian event, thus becoming the homogeneous, saccharine filled travesty we have nowadays, but Fuck You, it's my rant.)

I'm not a religious person. In fact, of the Ten commandments, I've busted at least six. (I checked) I just think that the original spirit of the holiday should be kept intact. Easter should be a time for reflection and contemplation about you and God. (Or whomever you believe in.) It shouldn't be about candy and treats and bunnies as pets.

I maybe wrong about this, but you know, I just find that every holiday is the same nowadays. It's about the sale, or the party. Not about the real reason we should be celebrating.

And to top that off, why would the Friday Jesus died be Good Friday? It was a pretty bad day for Him.

Later.

Appreciation.

After being unable to keep anything down for a day and a half, it was a joy to eat food again, as bland as chicken soup may be.

But tonight I had a Caramel Apple Fritter. Timmy-Hos, of course, while out for coffee with the boys.

Let me tell you, that gooey bit of tasty goodness was one of the finest morsels I've ever consumed, after having nothing for so long. (Sure, I'm a chubby guy and could live off my hump, but who wants to do that?)

Was it really as good as I think it was? Or is it just the fact that I'd not had anything with flavor for so long?

Does it matter?

My tummy's happy now. All is good with the world.

Later.

It's Contagious.

You know, I should have expected it.

I got up today and felt tired, which was no surprise considering the non-stop events of yesterday.
Work was okay, nothing to get overly excited about, but it was just a normal day.

So what happens within twenty minutes of getting home?
Yeah, you got it.
All of a sudden I'm copying The Boys adventures from last night.
Not fun. Not fun at all.

But I shall overcome.
I know it will pass, and the fact that I have to work tomorrow is an incentive to ride it out.
Plus, I'm supposed to go for coffee with the Sidekick and others tomorrow night, and I can't do that if I'm expelling stuff everywhere.

Wish me well.

Later.

Repeat Every Half Hour.

Nothing freaks me out more than seeing The Boy get sick.

I get home tonight and he's his usual cheery self.

For all of five minutes.

Then he tells me his stomach hurts and next thing you know there's stuff flying out of him like a scene from The Exorcist. Now imagine that scene every thirty minutes and you've encapsulated my night.
Fast forward four hours to the Hospital, were he's being very brave while people he doesn't know are poking and prodding at him. It takes them an hour and a half to tell me what I'd already figured out: Stomach flu. Clear fluids for twelve to eighteen hours. Lucky kid, eh?

Keep in mind I've been on the go since six this morning, add the exhaustion from coming off the adrenaline while dealing with the boy, and I feel like a bag of shit. And I work early, too.

This week just keeps getting better and better, wot?

At least I have some new tunes to keep me occupied, and I'm reading this book were there is this frog named Prince Charming. Go figure.
Thank God for pleasant distractions.

Later.

No Time.

No time for an update.

Posting out of sheer will and dire need for consistancy.

More to follow, when I gots time.

Later.

Goodbye Mugs.

My Aunt just passed away today.

I wasn't told about it until later, as my family wanted to wait for me to come home from Victoria before telling me.

From the high of the concert to the low of someone close passing on, it has been a fucked up day in general. After 6:30pm, the motto of the day became "If it can go wrong, it will go wrong."

But I am not going to bitch. (Really, not the time.)

She was a real great woman, close to us when we were growing up, and was always there for us. She helped reconcile a decades long schism in the family, and did it out of sheer will and strength of love. Her focus was always family, and I have never seen anyone as devoted to their children and grandchildren as she was to hers.
Her illness was sudden, and the deterioration over the last eighteen months was hard on her and those around her. She chose to stop all tests, and die peacefully at home, surrounded by those closest to her. She preferred all others to recall her as she was, and not what her illness had done to her.

She will be missed.

I am not sure when the service is, and there probably won't be anything formal, just a small, impromptu ceremony. I am hoping to be able to attend. I have checked it out with work, and as soon as I have a date, they will accommodate me. For the first time, I would actually like to speak at a service, just to expound upon the virtues of a lady who meant so much to me.


Later.

Motley F**ken Crue.

It might have been the wall of sound, thudding against my chest.
It might have been the lights and fire, burning hot on stage.
It might have been the songs, fresh from my memory.
It might have been Tommys drum solos while swing from the rafters.
It might have been Vinces wailing vocals, Micks screaming guitars, or Nikkis insane bass.
It might have been the girls on stage, grinding and dancing so sinfully.
It might have been the "Titty Cam" girls in the audience flashing their wares.
But for a moment,
Just a moment.

I was eighteen again.

Yeah, I'm sure it was that last one. Or a combination of it all.

It was excellent and exhausting, sore throat and tired legs.
And well worth the drive.

Later.

Two Hundred

Big Number.

That's a lot of thoughts to be putting out there, into the ether.

I know that not all of them are great, or relevant, or mean anything outside of a select group, but that's neither here nor there. I'll chuck them out, and keep doing it because, dammit, the world has a right to know what I'm thinking.

More when I get back from Vic.

Later.

Hit And Miss.

God, I hate downloading music.

Don't get me wrong, I still think that downloading track by track is a much better alternative than the old days of buying a CD for one good song.

My main problem is that there's so much out there. I sit down and have a slight idea of what I'd like to try out, but it's still all hit and miss. Sometimes I fluke out and get some good tunes, but somedays I'll find that I'm dredging the bottom and just pulling up crap.

Hindsight isn't always twenty-twenty, either. I find that a lot of the music I used to listen to in my younger days just hasn't held up as well. I know that sounds funny as I'm going to see Motley Crue this weekend, but really, outside of some of the larger bands, most of the stuff I used to listen to sounds like shit. Do you remember Tuff? Pretty Boy Floyd? E'nuff Z'nuff? I didn't think so, they didn't age well.

And I just can't trust scanning the radio either. They say Payola is a thing of the past, but c'mon, the general public can't really have that much shitty taste in music. There's got to be big-wigs somewhere deciding what music is going to make you empty your pockets to buy the accessories and live the lifestyle. Just look at what Rap did for all those wanna-be white boys wearing baggy pants and headbands in winter. They didn't come up with that shit on their own.

But here I sit, facing the monitor, trying to decide visually what will be best audibly.
That seems real ass-backwards now, doesn't it?

Later.

Hole In My Lip.

Within 5 minutes of getting to work today, I spilled coffee on my shirt.

That doesn't piss me off, 'cause when you look this good, what's a coffee stain in the grand scheme of things?

What pisses me off is every third person I meet asking "What's that on your shirt?"
It's a one inch coffee stain, fuckhead, what's it look like. I could have had a sign saying "Kick me in the balls", and people still would have noticed the fucking coffee stain. Like they never spilled anything, ever. Sons of bitches.

Whew, glad to get that off my chest.

Sometimes it's the little things that drive you batshit crazy.

Later.

Bet You Look Good On The Dance Floor.

I like to dance.

Dancing at work is an enjoyable thing to do, mainly because I don't care what people think, and seeing a chubby white guy rockin' out to the radio is an enlightening experience for most.

I don't think I'm the greatest dancer, (unless we're talking the horizontal mambo) but I can hold my own. With no formal training, I still look better than at least half the other white dudes out there. But I rarely get a chance to display my expertise. Obviously the Lord has seen to it that my gifts go unappreciated.

Shitty, that.

Later.

Food For Thought.

What's the one thing you love (or loved) to eat that makes other people just shake their head?
I don't really have anything strange now, but back in the day when I worked at the Arches, there were two things:

The first was to eat Chicken McNuggets with hot Caramel sauce. - Don't knock it until you've tried it. The Caramel sauce ads a unique flavor to the chicken, mixing and melting in your mouth to make the normally inedible chunks a gastrointestinal delight.

The second? Well, I'd take a large coffee cup, fill it half full of Vanilla Shake, top it off with coffee, two packs of sugar, give it a quick stir, and chuck in the microwave for about 15 seconds. I called it a Vanilla Frappachino, and it was like sex in a cup. I'd drink about 4 a day, which is the amount I'd like to have sex too, if I could get away with it.

Although these items are rarely consumeded anymore, if at all, they are still remembered fondly, and to this day, when explain them to others they just look at me like I'm nuts.

How about you?

Later.

Lost In My Own Backyard.

Had to go down Island today, not far, only the halfway mark.

I wasn't driving, but the person who was, a lifelong island resident, somehow got lost taking a shortcut.
How?
I have no fucking clue.
But my comment of " It's not a shortcut if it takes an extra hour" was not appreciated.

Go figure.

On the way back, I tried to be helpful.
Offered maps, directions, navigational assistance.
I was like a human Onstar right in the passenger seat.
Was it welcomed?
What do you think?

Driving all day can be either a very plesant or a very frustrating experiance.
I'll let you decide which one this was.

Later.

Levels.

I'm a talker.

But I find that when I talk to people, I tend to divide them up into groups, and each group has a different level of conversation. I know it doesn't make much sense, but I'll try to explain.

• Level 1: I don't know you, we've just met. - I'll talk to you about the weather, sports teams, non threatening global events, you get the picture.
• Level 2: Friendly Banter - "How's your wife and my kids" kinda shit. Slightly off color jokes OK, but nothing too extreme.
• Level 3: Opinions Count - We'll talk about semi-serious subjects, tell stories, relate some experiences. Nothing too deep, or personal. I may relate the occasional off -color comment.
• Level 4: I Care What You Think - I'll actually listen when you tell me things, and care about the results. I may confide in you, and you will experience what type of crude S.O.B I can be.
• Level 5: Let It All Hang Out - Not many make it this far. If you do, you either love me, or hate my guts. Your choice.

Everyday chats? Normally Level 1 or 2.

Coffee with the Sidekick? 5 all the way.

Am I crazy for thinking this way? Or does everyone do it to some extent?

How Deep do you go?

Later.

Spring Forward.

I fuckin' hate daylight savings time.
At least this part of it. I'm not tired, yet I have to go to bed an hour earlier, just because some clock is telling me it's later than it really is.

Why do we do this? For more sunlight?
Look at me. Does my pasty skin need more sunlight? Do I look like a sunlight person to you? Not a fucking chance. Yet I have to lose sleep just like every other Joe Six-pack out there.
I'd bitch to someone, but I'm not sure who and I don't think they would care.

But you all do, right?

Right?

Later.