Helloween.

Halloween is now the fourth largest holiday celebrated in North America.

Ghosts, goblins and scaring ourselves rates up there with Christmas and Peace on Earth.

Tonight at my door I've seen witches, angels, hobos, pirates, Spiderman, Batman, Superman, and even Scooby-Do. Nothing really scary, except the couple of kids who were dressed up in suits and said they were Mormons.

It's not my favorite holiday, but then I'm not really a holiday guy. I find the build-up and the stress that people go through to have a "Perfect" holiday only adds to the annoyance of it all. (My favorite thing to do at Halloween when I was younger was to get loaded and have Roman Candle fights with my friends, so what do I know.)

My main frustration with this evening is that I keep having to stop typing to go hand out candy every time the doorbell rings. Unless it's the Playboy bunnies out trick or treating, I'm not going to be impressed.

There it goes again....

Wish me luck...

Later.

Capital N, Small Y......

Big Fucking Q.

Today I woke up feeling like shit.
Stuffy head, runny nose - all the usual things that generally just make you feel like you would rather just go back to bed and tell the world to Fuck Off.

Unfortunately I am also an incredibly responsible individual, so instead of doing the above I got my ass out of bed and went to work. The plus side is that if I'm going to feel like a sack of crap, I'm going to make sure the world knows about it. (If I can subtly infect some of the people that piss me off, then the day wouldn't be so bad after all.)

The strange thing is that going to work actually made me feel better. As long as I was busy and productive, my body didn't have time to realize how shitty it felt.

It wasn't until after I got home that I started to feel like crap again. But the solution to that is in the little green bottle pictured above. My friend NyQuil is going to solve all my issues. (The physical ones anyway.)

I thought I'd type a few words before the coma overwhelms me, but if I don't have a chance you'll all know what happenedlhajhgal khf;gah;fzz zzzz zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.....

That's some powerful shit right there.

Later.

I Feel...The Sith Version.

1. That it's all Obi-Wan's fault. He's the one that's poisoned the council against me.
2. Black is way more slimming than brown.
3. That to build a Galactic Empire you have to break a few eggs. And by eggs I mean Jedi, and by break I mean kill.
4. Jedi may have mind tricks; but only I can Force-Choke my own chicken.
5. One of the perks of being evil is that you get to push Lando around. He's such a fucking pansy.
6. That guys who fly X-Wings are trying to compensate for small dicks. The shit I'm packing needs it's own Star Destroyer.
7. That's there is nothing inherently bad about a LASER SCANNING DEVICE.
8. Hot chicks think respirators are sexy.
9. That just because he's a Jedi doesn't mean Mace is the only guy with a big purple Lightsaber. (If you know what I mean.)
10. No matter how bad it may get, at least I'm not taking orders from a little green midget.

Later.

Don't Get Me Angry.....

You wouldn't like me when I'm angry.
(Classic Hulk line. I had to do it.)

Nothing pisses me off more than when I'm working hard, (Well - just kinda hard. I am Management, after all.) and I go into the back and see somebody just goofing around. Especially when I just asked them to do a certain number of things in a certain amount of time.

It's not like I'm a dick or anything. All I ask is that you do your fucking job. I'm not asking you to dig ditches on the side or to build a ladder to the moon. Just do what I asked of you in a timely fashion.

I swear to God I'd like to take some of those lazy stupid fuckers and just kick them in the ass. Hard.

If it wasn't for the occasional bright moment while I'm at work I think I would go mad....

And then I'd bust out the purple pants.


Later.

Tickets.

I just bought tickets to The Tragically Hip concert in Victoria.

Why the hell do I want to see them, you ask?

I have to admit - I'm not a fan.
But I had said that about Pearl Jam and when The Sidekick dragged me to that concert, he proved me wrong.
Let's hope he can make it two- for-two.

Just in case, maybe I'll bring some eggs to chuck.
The concert's not until January, so I'll let them stay good and warm until then.
I figured I'd smuggle them in by stashing them in my pants.
(I'll at least get two of them past Security, right?)

I'm actually looking forward to it.
(But I won't tell the Sidekick that.)

Later.

A Bit Of Liquid History.

For years I was a pansy drinker.

It's okay to make jokes; I was a lightweight and young enough to be proud of that fact. I remember bugging my friends because I could get drunk on two coolers, and they had to waste their money buying more booze to do the same job.
Don't think I'm retarded, I was only 14.

And yes, I said coolers.

Before you go asking if I had a vagina back then, I must say that initially I hated the taste of beer. It was bitter, sour, and not really to my liking. So I stuck to coolers, which were more palatable. There's only one time that I can recall regretting the fact that I drank coolers.

• I brought along a couple Two Liter bottles of Canada Coolers Tropical Cooler to the 2nd Annual Arches Staff Camping Trip (ie: Three day weekend of Debauchery.) While sitting around the campfire one evening I finished my first bottle and proceeded to open my second. I was dared by people in the crowd to "chug" as much of it as I could. I accepted the challenge, and promptly downed the entire two liter bottle. Bad move. I lasted for about five or ten minutes, and then decided that I wasn't feeling too well. Excusing myself from the campfire, I walked away to get some fresh air. To steady myself I leaned on a convenient tree that wasn't there. I fell down an embankment and was found momentarily by two brothers who were also at the festivities. What did these two stalwart saviors of mine do? Nurse me back to health in the comfort of a tent? No- they dragged me around the campsite only pausing so I could throw up into the bushes. (Bastards.) In the morning you could see little furrows in the ground to mark where they carried me around.

Looking back, it's one of my fondest memories. (Thanks Bish.)

Shortly after, I decided to suck it up, be a man and drink beer. I switched to many different variates over the years, from Budweiser to Rickard's Red to Canadian (Still the favorite.)But beer can be a bit much at times and other alternatives are needed. (The only other acceptable beer is the Draft Beer at The Wee Hideaway in the 'Shwa. But only after hours and with two packs of smokes.)

I switched to Rum. Bacardi, in fact. But the problem with rum, like Vodka, is that everybody else likes it. I would go to a party, set my booze on the counter and when I went to mix another round - Poof! - it's gone. I needed a tasty solution.

I'll never remember how I stumbled upon Gin. I think I had heard of a Tom Collins and decided to try it out. After that, the gates were wide open. I started drinking Gin and Ginger, Gin and Tonic, anything that you could name. The great part of this was that no one else wants to touch the stuff, so it's mine! All mine! Hahahahahaha! - But I'm getting carried away. (I also introduced the Sidekick to Gin. But that's okay, I'm willing to share with him.)

At the last staff Christmas Party, I ordered my last drink of the night - Gin and Ginger - and noticed that the entire 26oz bottle was almost empty. I commented to the bartender about how much Gin she had sold and that it must be getting popular.

She looked at me and said "Nobody else has touched this - It's all you."

What can I say?

Later.

Big Picture.

I got a new T.V. today.

Nothing fancy, just a 32" RCA. (Old School style, not an LCD or Plasma.)
Needed to pick one up because mine was starting to crap out. This is not the T.V. I plan to have in the next 5 years.

This is the T.V. I hope to have in the next year or so. Ever since I got the LCD monitor for the computer I've been enjoying it's shiny goodness. I'd love to have that bright, clean picture while playing NHL '07 or watching Pearl Jam - Touring Band /Foo Fighters - At The Park. Oh, the glory.

But I have to save my pennies for that.

The new T.V. is five inches bigger, which is great. I have yet to hear any woman complain about the extra five inches, so I'm not going to either.

I'm just about to start my days off, which means I'll get to break this puppy in with some Holy Trilogy, and maybe some Indiana Jones just to shake things up. (I have a whole other blog about Indy - don't even get me started.)

So if you happen to see me in the next day or two and my eyes are like saucers and I've had no sleep, you'll know why.

Later.

No Thought.

Mark this day on your calenders.

I can't really think of anything to say.

There has been nothing incredibly dramatic or fantastic happening, and for the first time in a long time, I have absolutely nothing to bitch about.
I'm sure I could find something positive to say or regale all of you with sordid stories from my checkered past, but nobody wants to hear that stuff, right?

Don't worry - I'm sure something or someone will piss me off tomorrow.

My fortune cookie said so.

Later.

Fortune Cookie.

There it sits - The Fortune Cookie.

How they are able to cram enlightened wisdom and the knowledge of my future into a small, folded cookie will always remain a mystery to me.

A Fortune Cookie holds more than just a piece of paper with quaint words and lucky numbers; it holds optimism. You never see a shitty fortune in the cookie. It's always about different things or new horizons.

I'd almost like to be the guy who writes the bad fortune.
How much would it suck to open your cookie after a satisfying meal of Chow-mien and Chop Suey, only to find it says "You'll lose your job tomorrow." or "Your wife is sleeping with the pool boy."
Bet ya that settles the stomach, eh?

I hope that when I crack open it's crunchy outer shell the answers to life fall out.
Or at least the Lotto numbers.

Later.

Adoption.

I want to be reincarnated as an African Baby.

I know it's a tough life, but there is the off chance that you can be adopted by either Angelina Jolie or Madonna.
It's almost like the National Lottery.

I wonder if the kids adjust well to the shock.
They go from famine and poverty to luxury and riches. To go from the most undernourished society to a society that consumes vast quantities of food, and then throws it all up to be skinny.

I wonder if Christina Aguilera would feel about adopting?
Hopefully when she's ready she'll come looking for a Thirty-Four year old white guy instead of some Four or Five year old African kid. I'm way better on the playground. I promise you that.

Later.

Change of Tune.

I find that I'm in the middle of a musical self-revolution.

My musical tastes, which have always been pretty standard, are starting to change, and I'm becoming slightly more picky about what I like and I don't like.

I still appreciate other music, and can understand what others might find interesting about those styles. But you won't find any of them on my iPod.
(Don't worry, I haven't converted to Country - that will never happen.)

I've started to appreciate the "acoustic" side of things, and find myself leaning in that direction more and more. I really enjoy artists like John Mayer and Jack Johnson, but I also like other less heard of artists like Bernard Fanning, Dallas Green or Amos Lee. ( I highly recommend all of them.) The acoustic side of the Foo Fighter's In Your Honor is musical gold.

It doesn't mean I've gone soft, though. I still enjoy a harder style sound, like Audioslave or Arctic Monkeys, but I find that the lyrics have to be there for me to really enjoy it.

I think that is my problem with most Hip-Hop and Rap music that I hear - I'm just tired of listening to how much money and bling and all the bitches they have. (Don't worry Brian - I still enjoy the Rap stylings at the Brothers Bar and Casino.) I know I'm generalizing when I say that, but there is so much crap out there that I don't have time to sift through it all and find the gems.

For now I just stick with what I know and let my eardrums decide.
(Considering I just talked about how bad my hearing is, you think I'd be foolish to let them decide anything.)
But so far it's working out great.

Later.

Pimped Out.

I don't think that I will ever understand the way some people think.

Today while driving downtown I saw a totally customized car. It had tinted windows, skinny rims, racing seats, a glass-pack muffler and what looked like some big subs in the back seat.

All in a silver, 1996 4-door Chevy Caviler.

What's the point?
I thought the idea of "Pimping Out" your performance car was the fact that it's a performance car. It's not a family wagon. I thought the stupidest car I had ever seen was a Hyundai Pony with a spoiler and a hood scoop - and it was - until today.

I wanted to ask the guy what he was trying to tell people by tricking out his car that way. Is he trying to say he's a bad-ass, but a responsible bad-ass? Or is he trying to tell everyone that he is so cool, that anyone who wants to ride in his car has their own door for optimum access to coolness?

It's just sad.

If anyone ever sees me putting spinners and spoilers on the trusty Santa Fe, just stop and shoot me.

Please.

Later.

Breaking News.

I used to have a paper route when I was a kid.

I shouldn't say I had it, my twin brother and I shared the awesome responsibility of delivering the news to the inhabitants of the sleepy little northern town we lived in at the time.

It wasn't like life in the big city.
We weren't just delivery boys dropping the papers off at predetermined homes. No-sirree, we were given an allotment of papers, an area to cover and were told to go door to door selling each paper individually. Try doing that in a northern town in the middle of winter. Trudging through the snow so some schmuck can lecture you about not needing the newspaper when he can watch the news on T.V builds up a lot of bitterness in a young man.

(I'm not even going to mention the fact that back then you could let your twelve year old go around and knock on the doors of complete strangers without a second thought.)

We used to give it a go at the stand alone homes, but let me tell you, if you didn't have your driveway shoveled you ended up being sorely misinformed about the goings -on of the world. The Twin and I would tackle about a block or two of homes, and then we would say "Fuck it" and head for the apartments.

There were three huge apartment buildings in our area. I use the word huge in a relative sense. In a town of about five thousand, a hundred unit apartment building is enormous. We enjoyed working the apartments though, because we were inside instead of exposed to the elements, and because of her.

Normally we alternated knocking on the doors and making our pitch. That is, the Twin would knock and I would be the one doing all the talking. (I swear in all the time we sold papers, he only completed about three sales.) The only time we ever argued about a door was when we came to that special door.

I have no idea what she did in town, where she worked, or if she was just a housewife at home. But every time we delivered the paper she was wearing the skimpiest, most see-through outfits you could imagine. My twelve year old libido was revved up a notch with just the thought of knocking on her door. Some days I felt a bit faint when asking her if she would like to by a paper, just because there was no longer any blood left in the upper half of my body.
The Twin and I would argue for at least two floors before we got to her door. Who knocked last week, who would knock this week, would it be creepy if we both knocked, and if God smiled and we were ever invited in, what he hell would we do?

In the end it never mattered. She would buy a paper, (At least I think she did - I recall giving her papers, but never collecting any money.) we would smile and nod - the door would close and we would pause for just a bit before completing our rounds.

Eventually there came a day when we knocked and she didn't answer. The week after that she didn't either. Then one day the door opened up and there was an old woman standing there and the place reeked like cabbage. We asked what happened to the previous renter and she just said that she didn't know, having just moved in. Dejected, we finished our rounds.

Mysteriously, the week after that, most of our papers were found in a dumpster outside the apartments, and the week after that we no longer had a job.

Our hearts just weren't in the News business anymore.

At least I think it was my heart.

Later.

Good News, Everyone!

My favorite T.V, show is coming back!

(What, a guy can't watch cartoons? It's better than watching some crap like Saved by the Bell. A real man wouldn't be caught dead watching that.)

Futurama was a show ahead of its time. It worked on so many levels. It had blatantly funny gross-out humor, but also had subtle political and social humor, and was presented in a very slick package. I'll never understand why this show was cancelled and they've allowed the Simpsons to just carry on endlessly. (I will give recognition to the Simpsons, though. If it wasn't for that show, the would never have been a Futurama.)

I own all four of the seasons on DVD and trust me, they are watched often.

I'm glad that thanks to DVD, shows like Futurama and Family Guy get a second chance, and that those of us without direct access to a Nielsen box can eventually have a effect on the networks who produced these these shows. (Notice how when you fight with your wallet you almost always win?)

Comedy Central will begin airing new episodes in 2008. I'm not sure if the Canadian version of Comedy Central will carry it as well, but I don't care, At least it gives me until 2008 to get a satellite dish that will carry it, and a kick-ass huge flat screen T.V. to watch all of the 30th century goodness unfold.

If anyone complains, they can kiss my shiny metal ass.

Later.

Split Shift.

Today I had to work a split shift.

One of my fellow co-workers was ill so I was asked to cover for their shift tonight. There is nothing really wrong with a split shift except for the experience of going to work twice in the same day. My mind isn't setup to deal with that type of thing.

I found that like a normal shift, I start out a little slow and then I work up to full speed. Problem with the split shift is that by the time I was in full work mode, it was time to go home. Then when I came back, the process starts all over again. I tell you, a four-hour lunch sure takes the enthusiasm out of going back to work.

But I don't want to whine about it. (I don't want to sound like some farmboy who wants to go to Toshi Station.) All in all, it wasn't a bad thing. I wouldn't want to do it everyday, but once in a while is okay.

I'm off to bed now.
If Uncle Owen calls, tell him I'm dreaming of Power Converters....

Later.

Say What?

I'm sorry, what did you say?

I didn't quite get that.

It's not that I'm an idiot who doesn't understand you, it's just that I think I'm going deaf.

I've always had bad hearing. Chalk it up to my hard-living, Rock & Roll lifestyle, but it's slowly gotten worse over the last five or six years. I find that I have trouble hearing people if there is a lot of ambient noise around or if I'm not focused on them while they are talking.

It could be from all the concerts I've attended over the years, where ear protection was frowned upon. In the 80's you wouldn't have been caught dead at the Def Leppard concert with earplugs in. The only buffer my ears got was from the long flowing locks of my amazing hair. (It wasn't the mullet, there was more hair on the sides.) The best part about concerts those days was that by the end of the show when the booze had worn off, your head was still ringing from the volume enough to cause a buzz of it's own. There were times when my hearing didn't fully return for at least at day or two later. (I'm looking at you, Motley Crue.)

Could my iPod be contributing to my hearing's demise? I don't really care - don't you dare say anything bad about the Pod. I wouldn't blame the iPod if my ears started bleeding mid-playlist.

Some may say that because I'm a man I have selective hearing anyway. That can't be more wrong. How do I know? Because sometimes the things I don't catch is the stuff that I know I want to hear. What's selective about that?

I know that I should just suck it up and go get my hearing tested. But what if I need some sort of hearing aid? Sure, acting like a Secret Service guy would be cool for the first few hours, but after that I would be self conscious about it.

I think I'll do the manly thing and just ignore it.
The only thing I'll have to do is change my catch phrase to "Pardon?"

Later.

Passing The Link.

I'm not sure if I should do this...

I've seen it done on other people's blogs before, but I never thought I'd be doing it myself. I always considered myself above acts like this.
Sure I've done it in the past, but I've never just given one out . I'm afraid I'll do it wrong, and come off as clumsy and inexperienced.

What if it's less than you've expected? What if it's not up to your rigorous standards? ( I know all of you have standards - you're here, aren't you?)

I'll just get it over with.

I thought that this video was fun and different.
Enough to share it with all of you, anyway.
(I know it's probably been around for a while, but then so have I , and look how phenomenal I am.)

Ok Go

(I -ahem- acquired the album that song is from, and it's great as well.)


Later.

Grump.

Some days being in a bad mood makes me feel good.

It's not enough that I'm pissed off about something - there are days when I'm mad and you couldn't tell unless you were using a polygraph and taro cards - it's the fact that I'm mad and I'm going to make sure you know I'm angry.

I don't get so angry that I fly off the handle. I'm not the type of guy that freaks out at the drop of a hat. But you can tell something isn't right.

Sometimes the bad mood will go away on it's own, other times it takes a while longer, and may need some help. I used to drink to release the hatred, but now that I've matured, I've learned that the responsible way to let it go is to bitch about it on the Internet.

Ah yes, I feel better already.

Later.

Chip And A Chair.

There's a saying in poker:
"All you need to win is a chip and a chair."

It fails to mention anything about luck or skill.

Tonight I had neither.

Friday night has become Poker night for me. A few friends get together, throw ten bucks in the pot and deal the cards. It's all in good fun and just getting out is nice.

But winning every once in a while would be sweet too.
The competitive juices get going, and it's all downhill from there.

This game is slightly less addictive than Crack, Sex, and Bittorrent.

But not by much.

Later.

Inspiration.

There are days when I have four or five ideas of things to write about.

There are days when I can't think of a damn thing.

Right now I'm in the middle of a dry spell. The only reason that you've seen anything lately is because I had some ideas drafted out from an earlier time, and just ran with them.

Trust me, looking at the screen for twenty minutes before pulling one of those out of the vault was no peach for me either.

I need some inspiration, something that either enraptures or enrages me enough to spout it to the world.

If I happen to come across it, you'll be the first to hear about it.

Later.

I Feel...

1. That it's a good thing the guy who invented Football had pigs available. It would feel funny to go out and "Toss the catskin around".
2. That the more I walk to work , the more I despise crosswalks. I'm a fat guy - how the hell can you not see me standing there?
3. That a serious case of Pedestrian Rage has not surfaced in the major media. Yet. (Keep watching the papers though.)
4. That Adam Sandler movies are becoming less about the funny-funny and more about the money-money. (Have you seen Click? What kind of comedy is that?)
5. That Blogger's spellchecker still sucks - even if you move to Beta, it's like having a Special Olympian cross-checking your work.
6. That as long as Google's purchase of You Tube doesn't fuck up my Chad Vader fix, I don't care who owns the company.
7. That even though I'm not superstitious, I'm always a bit wary on Friday the Thirteenth. You know, because of all the other superstitious people. Maybe I'll just stay in bed that day. I'll still be available for Poker, though.
8. That learning how to say "I bow before our Nuclear Overlords." in Korean might be a good idea right about now.
9. That I've hit the point where my brain has started to run out of ideas.
10. See?

Later.

Still Ronery.

Looks like I get to rehash this post about North Korea again.

So like I said, the world cries and wails but what are they actually going to do about it? Sanctions? I'm sure that will really hurt Kim Jong Ill. More than likely it would only make the poor people in North Korea even poorer.

I think that it's kind of hypocritical of the Bush administration to condemn North Korea for defying the U.N. demands not to test nuclear weapons. Is this not the same administration that invaded Iraq without U.N approval? Who are they to tell other countries what they can and cannot do?

I don't believe that any country should be developing nuclear weapons. The fact of the matter is that they are only designed for one thing: as much damage as possible. Why do countries like North Korea and Iran feel compelled to have nuclear weapons? Just because the big boys do? Does that mean that I have to get a elephant gun because a guy down the block has one?

The only good thing about all of this (if anything can be considered good about it,) is that people in the general public are finally paying attention to other matters in the world. There were a lot of people around me talking about these tests today. People being informed can only be a good thing. At least they are paying attention to something.

Here's hoping diplomacy can settle the disputes - but if not, just remember: Duck & Cover.
(I'll bet Canadian Tire has a sale on Fallout Shelters next week.)

Later.

Seventh Heaven.

As a guy who likes his hockey and likes his video games, it's been an great weekend.

To start things off my favorite hockey team, The Colorado Avalanche, defeated the Vancouver Canucks last night and I got to enjoy it all while eating Turkey.

As if that wasn't enough, I come home today to find NHL 07 sitting on the counter. I've been looking for this game since it came out, and it's been sold out everywhere. I've only been able to see it in action at the McQuarrie Brothers - and when I'm there I am more concerned with poker than hockey.

So why am I posting so late?

Because I had to play a couple of games, set up my Dynasty, create a player and just get things the way I like it. So far the game looks really good, and the new controls aren't too bad. I find that in the heat of the game I revert back to the controls I'm used to, but I know that that will only plague me for a little bit. Otherwise everything about it is flawless.

My quest for The Stanley Cup (Digital Version) begins tonight.

Later.

Turkey Day, Round Two.

I thought I would try and type out what I can before my brain slides into a Turkey Coma.

Probably be the best sleep I've had in years.

So Turkey day has come and gone once again, and I still wonder what the hell it's all about. Why do we still even have Thanksgiving?

It's not about celebrating the harvest anymore - if it was I'd celebrate every time I went grocery shopping. I know that it's about Family and togetherness, but for 90% of the people I know, getting everyone together into a room and having dinner turns out to be the biggest gong show every year, and for what? Does anyone actually say they are thankful for anything?

Don't get me wrong, I will stand behind my earlier post about why I like Thanksgiving - just because it was all about Turkey. I still think the holiday itself is bullshit though. It's yet another holiday that has completely lost all it's original meaning and become just another commercial excuse.

But that's enough bitching for now.
I feel the sweet embrace of Lady Tryptophan, and she's singing my song.

Later.

Obsolete Communication.

My cellphone is slightly younger than dirt.

Not much younger mind you, but it's at least 2 years old; in cell phone years that's about as old as Methuselah. ( I provided the link for anyone who's not quite up on their Bible references.)

I'd post a picture of my phone, but to tell you the truth I'm a little bit ashamed of it. Pulling out my cell phone in public is like bringing your drunk uncle to the bar with you. There's nothing wrong with it, but after a while it's performance is embarrassing.

I have a pay-as-you-go phone. That type of payment structure works for me and the amount of time I use it. The drawback to this is that I have to buy the phone itself, rather than getting one at a reduced price and signing my life away for two or three years.

But the new phones - oh the new phones...

It seems like the new generation of cell phones can do just about anything. Forget text and voice - I want to check my e-mail and watch full color video. I'm pretty sure somewhere there is a phone that will do your taxes and tongue your balls, but it just isn't on the market yet. (Can you imagine the lineup for that on launch day...)

I'm almost hoping that I might have some accidental damage to my phone, so I could justify getting a new one. But no matter how many times I throw - I mean drop - it, the damn thing keeps working like a charm.

So next time you see a old, beat up cell phone lying in the middle of a busy street, don't pick it up. It's probably mine, and I'll be on my way to Future Shop looking for a replacement.

Later.

Asshats.

Do you know any Asshats?

I swear that this town has the largest per-capita ratio of Asshats in North America. It's not that people around here go out of their way to be Asshats, I think that it's something in the water that affects them. (Thanks Brita, for helping me dodge that bullet.)

It doesn't matter where I go, or what day or time it is, I can guarantee that I'll run into some ignorant prick with his head buried so far up his ass that they use their colon as a tie clip. Most of the men in this town walk around like they have something to prove. They seem to be about two steps away from a hate crime.

I don't think the women around here help out much either. They seem to think that "Bimbo" is a status symbol that should be attained at all costs. Unfortunately, achieving even that status seems beyond the reach of the average girl in this town.

This can't be the worst place going for Asshats. There must be a place out there with even more Asshats.. (You can't count the Internet. That's the breeding ground for Ashattery.)

How does it change? What can we do to affect change in our community? Is it even worthwhile to try? I could hope that all the Asshats will eventually cancel each other out, but I know that's not going to happen anytime soon.

Until then, I'll just bide my time until the revolution begins.
And make sure the filter on my Brita is up to date.

Later.

Fries n Gravy.

Totally blew my diet today.

Not that I'm actually on a diet or anything, just a conscious decision to eat a bit better.

But the siren song of fries and gravy got to me.

When I was growing up, a bright-eyed boy in a small northern town, the meal of choice was to go to the only restaurant in town and have a plate of fries and gravy. The only acceptable addition to the plate would be salt and pepper, and possibly some ketchup. (If your ketchup to gravy ratio is just right, it's quite tasty - but too much, and it tastes like tomato grease.) If someone had suggested adding cheese curds to the mix, the odds are that a fight would have broken out and someone would have gone home to their mommy crying like the French Canadian pansy they were. (Don't worry, I'm not insulting Quebec, just one particular kid who was from Quebec.) Of course I supplemented this wondrous meal with coffee and cigarettes, trying to be the cool adult while my friends stuffed their faces. (I didn't have to try hard, I was already that cool.)

Later on in my high school years, I would change from gravy to chili and cheese, but that was only for a short time, since gastrointestinal distress is frowned upon by everyone except teenage males.

So while explaining the tasty Ketchup-Gravy mixture in regular conversation, (Doesn't everyone talk about gravy?) I was overcome with a compulsion for the very substance of which I was speaking so eloquently about. I was swayed by my own argument. Damn I'm good.

Since I have the willpower of a blade of grass, a trip to the restaurant was unavoidable.

It didn't taste exactly as I remember, but it was good.
I had the coffee to go with it, like the days of old, but didn't light up a smoke.
(Nostalgia goes only so far.)

Later.

Ideas.

What's the best money making idea you've ever had?

Back when I was a smoker, I thought that one of the greatest things ever would be a gyroscopic, rust-proof, odor-free ashtray that would clip to your golf cart or bag. (This is back when I used to golf lots, which is another nasty habit I've sort of given up.)

That's been it so far. I've yet to come up with anything better.

I think that trying to come up with something that will revolutionize the marketplace is a pretty daunting task. That's why it's probably better to focus on the little things first. If I take care of the smoking golfers now, that's one less demographic I have to worry about on my quest for world domination.

Ideas don't have to be big. I'm pretty sure the guy that invented Post-it notes, either couldn't find tape, or had a fear of thumbtacks. It's either that or he's a glue sniffer that made it to the big time.

God I envy him.

Later.

The Human Conditioning.

If you are hip deep in shit, it must smell terrible.

If you've been hip deep for a week, you probably don't smell anything.

If someone takes some of that shit away, you thank them, even though they haven't helped you back to your previously shit-free state.

I find it amazing how we can condition ourselves to accept almost any circumstances, and that continuation of acceptance then becomes the new status quo. We are grateful for any slight lessening to our circumstances, even though it's still not as good as it was.

Take gas prices for instance. Around here they were at about $1.14/Liter for ages. Now people are raving because it's down to $1.02 or even $0.98. Don't they remember three or four years ago when gas was almost half that?

There's always the example of abusive relationships. Sometimes a man will physically & mentally abuse his wife, girlfriend or significant other and yet she still stays. She'll even say it's better, because he's not hitting her anymore. So only half the abuse is okay? Why not carry on back to the days when you weren't hit at all? Why settle for anything less?

Look at how we as a people deal with our governments. We are so accustomed to them lying and cheating and overall general incompetence that when they occasionally do the job they are supposed to do people get all excited and feel that it's all working great. Shouldn't they have been doing that good of a job all the time? Why do we accept the lowest common denominator?

I'm not foolish. (Really, I'm not.) I don't expect everything to be perfect, or for people to give 110% all the time. But it seems to me that we used to reward excellence. Now we reward competence. I don't think it's fair.

I don't have the answers.
I'm not even sure where to begin fixing it.

But godamn it pisses me off.

Later.

Almost Time..

It's almost Hockey time again.

I know the Sidekick already posted about this a while ago, and while I hate to follow in anyone's footsteps, I just thought I'd add a different spin on what he had to say.

He's excited, I'm wary.
He's thrilled that his team may be a legitimate contender for the Cup (Yeah, Right) and I just find that I'm not really anticipating it the way I thought I would.

I hope I'm wrong.

I hope that the growing pains the NHL suffered will be gone.
I hope that the players will have adapted to the new rules so we can see fast-paced, end to end Hockey and not just special teams deciding every game.
I hope the young, underpaid guys light it up, and show the "money" players how it should be done.
I hope that the excitment I used to have comes back.

I'm hoping for a lot.

Later.

Visual Arts.

Yeah, I read comics.

So what?

What I find truly sad is that there are so many great movies out there that have been adapted from comics and received critical praise and yet comics are still treated as nothing more than picture books for kids.

When people think "Comic Book Movie" they only think about Spiderman or X-Men. They never think of Road to Perdition, A History of Violence or The Crow. They don't seem to realize that these excellent stories are most than just pictures in a book. I would put a good comic book writer up against a mainstream writer any day of the week.

I also think that in a fight, Alan Moore would kick Stephen King's ass, but that's beside the point.

Why are comics such a ridiculed art form? Because there are pictures? Tolkien's work is full of pictures and maps, and he is considered a literary genius. Is it because they are escapist fiction? Superheros go right alongside Beowulf, Grendel and Jason and The Argonauts in my opinion.

Don't try and use Archie comics as as excuse either; Harry Potter outsells Archie, and no one is saying J.K. Rowling isn't a "real" author. (Plus, watching Archie trying to get a three-way with Betty and Veronica was a great constant plot line.)

I hope in time that comics will come out from under the "Kiddie" banner and be recognized for the literary works that they are. Don't judge all comics by the few that you see in your local store: there are so many great works out there that don't have a cape or a pair of tights in them. Check out Bone, Strangers in Paradise or Fables - they are all very, very good reads.

I know one guy spouting off won't change the mind of many who may come across this, but I hope it at least plants a seed, a nugget, a kernel of hope to examine a different way to approach literature.

Later.

1,2,3,....

So it's Inventory time at work again.

I fucking hate counting.

When I win the lottery, I think I'll have someone do all my counting for me. I'll buy everything with change, and have someone on staff to count out each coin by hand.

I could just do a half-assed job of inventory, but my pride and obsessive compulsiveness means I count every little thing that needs to be done. The whole process takes a couple of days, and this is only the first one.

The good part of it is that since I'm the one doing most of the counting, I get to reorganize those areas I'm in, all in the name of "easier inventory". My shaping of the new work environment continues.

If I have trouble sleeping tonight I'm not counting anything.
I'd rather deal with the insomnia.

Later.

Oral Upgrade.

Got a new Toothbrush today.

The old one was starting to get a little worn and ratty. The bristles were soft and it just wasn't cutting it anymore.

I think the change is overdue - at least my gums do, anyway.

Breaking in a new toothbrush is a very arduous process. It felt like I was scraping my teeth with a Brillo pad and rock salt. Not even the Vanilla-mintyness of my toothpaste could turn that experience pleasant. But I know in time I will come to appreciate this new brush as much as I did my old one.

I retired Old Softy to the garbage can, so he can join his brothers and sisters in the landfill. Soon some rat will have the whitest teeth in the dump.

Ah, the circle of life continues.

Later.