Question of the Day.

We sell this stuff at work:

Now the question is, What is Nontraditional Firewood?

Is it:

Cow Manure?

Wood Pellets?

A cat?

Whose job is it to determine what's "traditional"?

I don't know about the rest of you, but I'm breaking traditon and going with option 3 - cow poop smells, pellets seem insufficient, and what the hell - I figure all the yowling will drown out the noise from the Wife watching The Biggest Loser.


Works for me.










Later.

5 Things I Hate About The Biggest Loser.

Of the many reality TV shows my Wife is a fan of, The Biggest Loser has to be top of the heap. She records each episode, knows who all the contestants/trainers are, and is enraptured whenever it's on.

I don't hate the show outright - I do believe that it's sending out a positive message, and I like to see the contestant's end results.

But there are some things I can't STAND about the show and drive me nuts whenever I see them:

1. "It's a JOURNEY": Having gone from fat to thin and back again, I understand that losing weight is a long and arduous process. "Journey" is probably the correct word to use in the context of the show. But they use it so fucking much that it kills me. Every time they talk, it's "I'm just starting on my Journey", "Thanks for being part of my journey.", "I'll never forget the things I've learned on this journey.". Journey gets mentioned so much you'd think Steve Perry was a producer for the show - I'm waiting for "Don't Stop Believing" to be played during the closing credits.
2. Tears, Tears, and more Tears: - While they never really show the contestants eating during the show, they do show them crying a lot. Be it at the gym, during a weigh-in, or when they have to vote someone off, there's more crying in this show than almost anything else. I get how being away from your family and friends on a multi-million dollar fitness ranch (Paid for), being trained personally by professionals (for free), and having the opportunity to win $$ and prizes could be emotionally draining (yeah right) - I don't think it's anything to cry about. And the crying when you're voting someone off? Isn't that the point of the show? Suck it up, fatties - put away the Kleenex and get back on the treadmill.
3. Playing the Game is Bad: - To make this point clear, the Biggest Loser is a Game Show. It's a contest to see who can lose the most weight and win the cash at the end. There is a point of the game where the a contestant can go either of two ways when casting their vote for who to eliminate - they can choose to get rid of the person who is the biggest threat to them (who may potentially lose more weight than them), or eliminate someone who is not as much of a threat. Every single time a contestant chooses to "play the game" and get rid of their biggest competitor they are vilified by the other contestants and portrayed in the worst possible light. What's the point of going on the show if you aren't going to try to win? Why is it bad to make sure you get to stay that extra week and last longer than the next guy? Making someone look evil for playing the game by the rules is retarded.
4. Product Placement: Product placement is a fact of life. I understand that. Showing people drinking from their Brita© water jugs or running on the Cybex© treadmills - that's okay by me. Having the contestants do awkward scenes about chewing Extra© gum or eating at Subway© not only look stupid, but really push the fact that the show isn't 100% about helping people - it's about selling products and ideas to people who look to the show for inspiration and motivation.Whoring your show out to advertisers just isn't endearing to me.
5. Show the Work. From what I see of the show it usually follows a format: The contestants do a contest or temptation for a prize, they do some sort of activity or go somewhere with the trainer, they talk about their "journey", someone cries, maybe another contest, they do a "Last Chance" workout with the trainers and then it's off to the weigh-in - where sometimes they drop 10+ pounds in a week. I think it's bullshit. To lose that kind of weight (outside of water weight) a contestant has to burn an extra 5000 calories a day - why not show the work? They are obviously doing it, so why not show it? Show them getting up at 6am and putting 6+ hours a day in the gym. Show the work they do when they aren't stacked in front of a camera. It's great that you can let people know it's possible to lose weight on that scale, but you're lying to your audience by only showing the highlights - put some reality back in the show and have a "day in the life" episode where the effort expended is given the credit it's due.

I know - for a guy who supposedly "hates" the show, I know a lot about it. What can I say? I'm usually in the same room when it's on, and I like to see the workouts that they do - it's hard not to get drawn into it. I just wish that they would fix those things that I've mentioned.

And while they are at it, make it so I don't feel guilty for eating a snack while it's on, okay? You'd think that seeing obese people struggle to do exercises would destroy my appetite, but guess again.

Go figure.







Later.

Superbowl North.

Today is the day for the 99th Grey Cup, with the Winnipeg Blue Bombers taking on the hometown B.C. Lions - by the end of the day, there will be tears of joy from the victors, sadness from the defeated and nobody from south of the 49th parallel will give a shit.

Forget that the Grey Cup has been around almost 3 times as long as the Super Bowl - the only people who care about the CFL outside of Canada are the few University players in the states who can't make it to the NFL, and sportswriters who are tired of covering Cricket and Badminton.

I don't know if its the size of the field, the fact that there's one less down, or just that most of the Canadian teams play in weather that makes guys from Green Bay leave icicles in their pants but our brand of football has almost no traction where it counts - down south. (That's where the money is, and money rules sport.)

So what's one of the biggest sporting days in Canada is a very small blip on the North American sports radar.

...and I'm missing it.

Oh yeah - did I mention I was working today? We have a guy on holidays, another who got tickets to the game as a gift, and my boss hasn't worked a Grey Cup in the last 10 years.

So that leaves me.

I've got the game on the 'puter upstairs, but it ain't the same. No beer, no nachos, nothing. And if there's one similarity between American and Canadian football, its the fact that it's always better with beer.






Later.

Eye in the Sky.

I've got to be quick - I'm at work, and while the walls here don't have ears, they literally do have eyes.

I think I've mentioned before that my workplace has a video security system. It's part of the business, and has helped in the past with catching shoplifters and when there is a dispute over cash/etc.

But that all changed yesterday.

Before, someone could view the cameras only if they were up in the office physically sitting in front of the monitor. Now the new owners have made it so that they can monitor the cameras from home on their iPhone or iPad. (Thank you Apple, for taking something that used to be complicated and making an app so any idiot can use it.)

Now I have nothing to hide about what I do while I'm working, but the fact that they have that capability (and are willing to use it) makes it seem more like the security system is more for watching me than watching the ner' do wells who might be in the store.

And that kinda bothers me.

If the system is used to make sure I and my staff are safe and everything is running smoothly, fine. If I get asked why I was talking to someone for a certain period of time or why I wasn't "in view" at a certain time, then I'm going to have a problem.

We'll see how it goes - I'm sure the novelty of watching people do nothing but work will lose it's appeal after a while - after you've been in the building all day are you really going to want to sit and watch from home? I don't think so. (Only if you have no life.)

But I've got to go - who knows if Big Brother is watching...






Later.

1501.

Yesterday I crossed the 1500 post barrier without even noticing.

I'm guessing it's the old age creeping up on me - you figure a guy who writes about himself as much as I do would have some idea of when he's coming up on a milestone.

1500 posts in six years means that you get a post about every day and a half. I know there were days in the past where I double-posted (Remember being able to do it more than once?...ahhh, youth.) and there were stretches where it seemed like I forgot about this place - consistency has never been my strongest point.

And to hit that milestone complaining about what to make for dinner?

Classy all the way.

So raise a glass, say a prayer, jump for joy, or whatever - here's to 1500 more.






Later.

Unwanted Responsibility.

One of the downsides to a day off is having the responsibility of cooking dinner.

It's not that I hate dinner - anyone who has seen me eat knows I enjoy food - it's the fact that deciding what to have is a bitch. It only gets worse when it's a family of four - there's 3 other palates next to mine that I have to please.

(I'd almost say that I envy the Sidekick as he only ever has to cook for himself - the ironic thing is that he loves to cook and doesn't have an audience, while I have an audience and don't really care for cooking. I've told him he can cook for us anytime, but the 6 hour round trip he would have to make doesn't fit into his schedule - selfish, eh?)

Add to the mix the fact that The Wife and I have almost opposite "go-to" instincts when it comes to preparing dinner, and you've got trouble. My go-to meals are soup & sandwich or steak, and hers is Shake n Bake - try to find the middle ground in that - Shake n Bake soup? I don't think so.

I also look at what other people buy for dinner everyday - if you think that would inspire or give me ideas, you're completely wrong - it makes everything in every aisle blend together so that nothing stands out. Inspiration is not very forthcoming.

But I'm going to do my best to come up with something - after all, it is my responsibility.

so.....Pizza or KFC?

Or is that just lazy?






Later.

Not Feelin' It.

This Work thing really isn't fun today.

I'm on lunch right now, and I'm practically counting down the hours until I'm done. The fact that I'm going on days off after today just makes it seem like every minute is crawling by at a pace only a handicapped turtle could match.

I've been doing my job, but since I'm not "in the zone" - I've been letting my mind wander and thinking some random thoughts - nothing special, just stuff like:

•  Why do really old women bathe in perfume before they go out in public? Is it because they can't smell themselves or is it some sort of elderly mating ritual?
• How did Rod Stewart ever have a career?
• Do really fat women wear thongs? Why? Wouldn't a tent be better for overall surface area coverage?
• Is that why they are called "Whale Tails"?
• After contemplating that, am I going to be able to eat my lunch?
• Why is the Bible against piercings and tattoos? Jesus had his hands and feet pierced, and no one said shit.
• Do carpets look different to midgets?
• How come the minute I come out of the walk-in freezer, I have to pee?

As you can see, I'm pretty much trying to solve the universe's problems while I'm coasting through my workday. Feel my pain.

Unfortunately, lunch is over and I have to go back now.

Maybe I'll end up with answers to some of my questions... at least it'll make the time go by.








Later.

I Feel:

- That Sidney Crosby's return to the ice is being treated like Jesus is strapping on skates for the first time.

- That although Sid is almost a Canadian deity, I still think Jesus would kick his ass, mostly because Jesus would have Gretsky and Lemeiux as linemates.

- That although I enjoy supporting through Movember movement, I don't think Prostate Cancer is as itchy as what's under my nose.

- That if you already have your Christmas lights and tree up, you should be 1) Slapped, and 2) Slapped again. At least have the decency to wait until December. You don't see the Jewish people putting up Hanakkah stuff already, do ya?

- That if I was on Deal or No Deal, I'd sneeze on my hands and hug Howie Mandel - just to fuck with his mind.

- That seeing stores selling "Gingerbread People" instead of Gingerbread Men makes me want to put icing dicks and boobs on them just to prove a point. What about hermaphrodite Gingerbread? Won't that sell?

-  That the fact that I think about boobs on Gingerbread people worries me deep down.

Short, sweet, and to the point.
What more could you ask for?

Later.

Bustin' My Nutella.

I'm mostly a Peanut Butter fan - along with Coffee and Gin, it completes my Trinity of Scared Foods.

Now it has a partner - not all the time, but just on special occasions. (ie: Whenever I feel like it.)

Nuttella.

Some Nutella with Peanut Butter on Toast?

It's like a orgasm of choco-peanut ecstasy.

If someone told me meth tasted like that, I'd be hooked in a minute.

If you've had it, you know what I'm talking about, and if you haven't - you should. Stop reading and go try it.

Right now.

Really - I'll wait.

.....

See?

Put that with a Coffee, and it has to be the best way to start your day. (Non-sexual of course.)

Fuck it - I'm going to have one right now. I deserve it.

Hey Nutella? Have you ever thought about getting together with Starbucks (or Tim Hortons), and Tanqueray and sponsering a blog? I know a guy who's interested...





Later.

Th-warted.

*First World Problem Alert* 

If you are concerned with starving children, hurricanes, kittens, clean drinking water or the plight of the harbour seals - don't read this. Go to some other blog that's less self centered and more huggy-feely - maybe one with a tofu recipe in the sidebar.

I've got a wart.

No, it's not on my balls - if it was the tone of this post would be more panicky and there would be pictures. It's on the inside of my middle finger on my right hand. This is completely unacceptable as that is my coffee-cup-holding hand and the cup handle pushes directly on the wart when I lift the cup - and that motherfucker hurts like a bitch.

So you can see my dilemma.
My options are:

• Don't use the handle.
• Go left handed.
• Don't drink coffee.
• Cut of my finger.

As a coffee drinker, the last one is probably the most acceptable. If I don't use the handle, I'll burn my hand, going lefty would be like jerking off left-handed (It's just not done), and not drinking coffee would expose people around me to a dangerous situation - because without access to the blessed bean, I'm likely to rip someones head off and have them visually examine their own prostate.

The Wife's suggestions are to get some Compound W and use a travel mug instead. I guess she doesn't like the thought of me with only nine fingers, or else she's got some secret hatred for amputees - I don't know which. I'm going to give her idea a shot, but only because she says I never listen to her - or something like that, I really wasn't paying attention.

I'm sure it'll work itself out - but if the posts seem to be coming a little slow in the next couple of weeks, you'll know it's because I went with my final option - that, and I'll have a nametag that reads "Stumpy".







Later.

Card-iovascular.

I'm Beat. Tired. Sore.

After hitting the gym this morning and running 4 miles, I came home and tried an at-home workout that I had read about a while ago - LifeHacker's Deck of Cards Workout. It's as simple to do as it sounds.

1. Grab deck of cards, shuffle.
2. Flip over the top card - do the corresponding exercise (card # equals reps, face cards are 10)
3. Flip over next card - repeat until done.

While I liked the red card exercises (Hearts = Jumping Jacks, Diamonds = Bench Dips), I groaned inwardly every time a black card (Clubs = Knee to Elbow Plank, Spades = Lunges) came up. I'm convinced that whomever invented Lunges went on to invent Waterboarding as an easier alternative. As it was my first time, I only did half the deck, but let me tell you - there was only one Ace, and a fuckton of black cards. I'm rethinking my shuffling strategy next time.

I do have to say that it's a refreshing change to the regular, planned out routine. The anticipation of the next card, the surprise at how many/little reps you have to do, trying to do it as fast as you can with good form, the torture when you have four spades come up in a row  (okay, skip that last one) - it keeps everything fresh and fun.  I'd like to incorporate it as a once-a-week thing for those days when I want something different.

Next week I'll try 35 cards. Once I can do all 52, I'll start bragging - if I'm not a spent puddle on the floor, that is.

Give it a shot.

(52 pickup is not an option.)







Later.

Visual Acuity.

I'm proud to be a man.

In this day and age of politeness and political correctness, I'm not afraid to stand up and say "I'm a Man, dammit!" I burp, I grunt, I fart - sometimes all at once. I do manly things, like work hard, pay my taxes, go to the gym, enjoy the sight of a fine pair of breasts, and publicly whine about shit on the Internet.

But my gender shames me with a couple of things, and one of those things is going to the restroom.

It doesn't matter if its in the public bathroom at work, the staff men's room, restaurant washrooms, port-a-potties - whatever - every time I go somewhere to take a piss it's like the previous occupant pissed everywhere BUT the toilet (or urinal).

Really guys - we have to do better than this. It's embarrassing. I've seen better accuracy from Stormtroopers in Star Wars movies. At times it looks like the guy before me had some sort of seizure mid-stream - there's no other way to account for the "collateral" spray.

I know I'm not the only one who has noticed this. Type "Urinal Target" into Google Image Search and be amazed at the amount of products people are willing to stick in a urinal just to control the damage. (I was amazed at the amount of Jane Fonda and Barack Obama targets - do Republicans like pissing on people? Isn't there a Glen Beck target a Democrat could piss on?) It's kind of sad that they have to turn it into a game just so we can keep our dicks under control.

And that's what's most shameful of all, isn't it? We praise hunters, athletes, police, and other military personnel for their accuracy with guns, but shouldn't we be shaming every guy for the inaccuracy of what I consider the Most Important Gun? "Jeez Bob, it's great that you can shoot the eye out of a squirrel at 2000 meters, but could ya try not to piss all over the seat?" If you can't keep the one between your legs aimed at a porcelain target, you shouldn't be able to have any other type of gun.

As a gender, I think we have to address this ASAP. It's been ignored long enough. We shouldn't have to stand in another man's puddle while we try to empty our bladder. The next time you're at the urinal and the guy next to you is getting sloppy, make sure you say something to him. (If it makes you feel comfortable, you can always preface it with "No Homo".)

Do it for cleanliness.

Do it for pride.

Do it for our gender.

Control your dick.






Later.

'Stache-is Update

First, the excuses:

1. It's a close up.
2. Crappy cellphone picture.
3. The colour's are washed out, de-emphasizing the ginger-yness of it.
4. You can't see my piercing blue eyes.

Secondly, the positives:

1. It's mostly symetrical.
2. It's stopped itching so much.
3. It centers the roundness of my face.
4. It's helping to cure cancer.

This pic is a couple of days old, so visulize it looking even more manly and that's where I'm at now.

I'm almost getting used to it, but I feel the day that it stops feeling uncomfortable will be the day I shave it off. (It's the under-the-nose part that bugs me the most - always feels like I have a booger or something.) Still, I'm proud of it, and the fact that I get comments on it every day means it's doing it's job as well.

What can I say? Ginger 'Staches rule Movember.





Later.

I Feel:

1. That in my quest to always know where the remote for the T.V. is, I've discovered I can't find my cordless phone.
2. That I finally saw a positive YouTube comment. It was "Now God wants his hands back." and it was in response to this. (What caught my eye was that the spelling and grammar were correct - a rarity for those who have ever delved into the abyss that is YouTube comments.)
3. That I've found a song that perfectly matches my running cadence - it's this. (And the Sidekick will now disown me.) Luckily KOL's Fans still matches it too.
4. That as sexy as Lulemon pants are, when you walk into an aisle at work and a 300lb-ish lady is "adjusting" hers, they lose all sex appeal.
5. That wishing scrubbing with bleach worked on mental pictures doesn't make it so.
6. That because I'm trying to eat healthy and get back into running shape, the 7-11 that's 3 blocks from my house just has to put a special on 2 Donuts for $1. (It's all the proof I need that there's a God and he hates me.)
7. That I'm so glad I don't carry any money with me when I run.
8. That the amount of comments I get on the Ginger-stache means that nobody ever looked at my face before.
9. That it makes me wonder what they were checking out instead....
10. That having my laptop back in fine working order (and at half the price I expected to pay) makes the nerd in me extremely happy.
11. That, like Spinal Tap's amps, this post is awesome because it goes to 11.

Later.

Storage de Atré

I've raved about the blessing of all day Kindergarten before, but now I'm going to let you know of the downside: Art.

The art itself isn't the downside - I enjoy everything that the little guy does - it's the sheer quantity that's being brought home. He had so much stuff the other day I asked him if he was bringing other kid's art home too. (He denies it, but I'm going to keep my eye out.)

I'm sure his teacher is just planting him in front of paint and glue to while away the day. (That's what I'd do if I had a class of 6 year olds to entertain for six hours.) If he either shits rainbows or can't shit at all, I'll know that's the case. Although if he did shit a rainbow, it would probably be on a canvas and she'd send it home in his backpack anyway.

It's only November and he's already filled up one tote and is going to have the second one filled by Christmas. Given his rate of production, he's probably the reincarnation of a master forger in a P.O.W camp in WW2 - if he brings home Identification papers and the ink's still wet, I'm going to freak out.

I'm also worried about fire saftey - that much glue, paint, paper, sparkles and whatnot stored in one place can't be safe. If I told him we had to burn some in the firepit out back, do you think he'd be upset? What if I made it into a hot-dog roast? Do you think he'd mind then? "Hold your hot dog over where your Thanksgiving pictures are, son - all those fake feathers throw off a ton of heat!"

We'll see how it goes - right now The Wife says I'm forbidden to throw anything out upon pain of....well, pain. So until I can either finish the ManCave/Underground Storage Bunker I've been dreaming of or convince The Wife to let go of some of his lesser works (Maybe from his "Impressionist" period of 2 weeks ago), it's going to get worse before it gets better.

If you read of a guy suffocated Horder's-style by Popsicle sticks and Elmer's glue in the news: Yeah - that'll be me.








Later.

Mobile Monstrosity.

Dear Blogger Mobile App:

You Suck.

With my laptop being out of commission, I've had to use you to publish my posts. Each post for the past week has been typed out on my phone.

I've commented before about mobile blogging, and for quick little posts or thoughts, you do fine. Most of my lunchtime posts work out alright.

In every other aspect, you lick balls.

I don't even want to attempt to insert a picture - no placement options, no sizing options, nothing. Can't even access html to do it manually - I might as well just do it via the browser on my phone if I wanted to waste more time at it. If I ever tried to do a post like Steve at From the Mind of a Mad Man - with all the pictures he uses - I'd be fucked. (Just so you know, making that link took 5 minutes and 12 curses.)

You even make using italics a bitch. If I DARE italicize something and don't publish asap, you fuck up the layouts and add all sorts of odd characters to the page. All that to angle a few letters 15 degrees? That's like burning down a house to fix a squeaky door. (Whomever designed you is never fixing my house.)

I hate to say it, but unless you clean up your act, I'm going to have to find a better app to take care o' my business - you don't want me straying around that dirty Android Marketplace, do you? I didn't think so.

Do something to make you easier to use, don't be so difficult and uptight, and perform the way I want when I want you to.

Is that so much to ask?

(I said the same things to the Wife - I'm hoping your response is better than hers was.)

Later.

Forgotten.

I just got out of my kid's school Remembrance Day ceremonies.

I know it sounds like bitching, but it really wasn't all that inspiring. I recall the ceremonies of my youth, where there were veterans in the audience, death and sacrifice were center stage, and "In Flander's Fields" was a stately, solemn reading followed by a minute of silence that seemed to echo through eternity.

Today's ceremony was more about being nice to each other, and that war was a "bad thing". The statement was more about how we shouldn't say mean things to each other and that we should all just get along. They also spoke about not letting peer pressure force you to make fun of other kids just to "seem cool". (All valid points, but really - on Remembrance Day?)  Flander's Fields was rushed through, and more effort was spent on singing John Lennon's "Imagine" than anything else, and the moment of silence was fleeting.

I've always thought that Remembrance Day should be about honoring those who served and even laid down their lives so that we could have the world we live in, about doing what's right no matter the cost, and that knowing that nothing comes without sacrifice - not to be turned into a hug-fest about being nice and compromising so we all get along. Tell the guy who lost his legs to a land mine that he should have "just compromised".

I know I'm sounding like a rabid conservative, and maybe that's just the mustache talking, but something about it all just rubbed me the wrong way.

I'm meeting my Grandmother later - and I can't wait to tell her about the ceremony. My Grandfather served in the war and Nan herself survived the Blitz, so when I tell her they sang a John Lennon song, she'll lose it. I'm almost positive she's called him a "dirty hippy" in the past, so this should be good.

I just hope she doesn't use her Poppy pin to stab the next deadlock--wearing guy she sees as a form of retaliation.

I'll keep an eye out.

Later.

Preempted.

Tonight's blog post is being missed due to Family Night.

Pizza, Popcorn, and Speed Racer.

If I can't watch my kids drool in amazement at cars they'll never hope to drive, what sort of parent would I be?

(Judging by their reactions whenever we watch this movie, one thing is clear: They are NEVER borrowing the car - ever.)

Wish me luck with that.

Of course now they think sticking a kid and a monkey in the trunk of a race car is a normal thing....

Thanks, Hollywood.

Later.

Just Chuck It.

So I wasn't able to fix my Laptop myself.

The power jack has popped off the motherboard and needs to be re-soldered. It's a fairly common problem with laptops, and makes me realize that Apple's magnet-chargecord-thing actually makes sense. (Don't tell my Apple-fanboy brother - he'll just gloat.)

So I called the 3 places locally that can fix my problem.

The first one was Staples, who understood my problem and would charge me $50 just to LOOK at it, and then quote me what it would cost to fix. That's like a hooker charging just to look at the goods before quoting the cost to suck your dick.

Fuck that shit.

The next one was a local shop - the guy understood the problem immediately - he then proceeded to tell me that it was irreparable and that I might as well buy a new computer. Wtf? If that one little piece means a new computer, shouldn't it be the most reinforced piece in there? 

Fuck that shit too.

The 3rd guy finally hit the spot. He said its a common repair that they do, should take a couple of hours, and would run me about $100. No extra charges, no pushing for a sale. The only downfall is that it might take 2 days due to backlog. I've already been without for two, so what's a couple more?

The callous attitude of the second guy really pissed me off. For a bit of solder and a couple hours, I'm better off to throw away a $700 laptop that works perfectly? Have we become so disposable a society that chucking things is preferable to even attempting to fix it?

Fuck all that shit. Just fix it.

So now I'm waiting, but I can look forward to getting my "precious" back soon. (Blogging from the phone is losing its charm..)

I'm glad hospitals don't work that way - otherwise I'm not taking the Kids in if they ever break an arm.

Later.

I Feel:

- That Michael Jackson's relevance died long before he did.

- That people who insist upon arguing with an expert in their field (ie: Me with Dairy Products) should be publicly ridiculed for their ignorance and then drawn & quartered.

- That more people should respect the Ginger 'stache. It gets no love at all.

- That the bitch who asked if my "Frotch" matched my 'stache should have been willing to look for herself.

- That having the Sidekick Tweet about the 49er's means he's too embarrassed to Tweet about the Habs.

- That tonight's scheduled operation on my laptop makes me feel half Dr. Oz, half Dr. Frankenstien. ("Tell me what's wrong so I can make you live!!!!")

- That Chocolate Cheerios let me feel like I'm being healthy and dirty at the same time. It's what I imagine fucking a hot (yet dirty) personal trainer would be like.

- That maybe Greece could go to one of those Payday Loan places. Borrowing a couple of billion - how bad could the interest be?

- That someday I just wish my shoes would tie themselves.

- That the only person more disappointed than Greedo in Han's ability to shoot first is Leia - and maybe Chewie.

Later.

Jacked Off.

Welp, my pride and joy is wounded, damaged in the heat of battle.

My Laptop has a busted power jack, and since I don't have time to check it out (working) I've turned it off and am only using it for essentials. (Porn & Banking.)

 I'm one of those people that freaks when anything with a battery is below 50%, and at 42 and falling, I want the laptop to last until I (or someone else) can take a look. I'm confident enough in my nerditude that I can probably get it working enough to get by  - at least I hope so. (Duck tape only goes so far.)

What pisses me of most is that I recently,...um, procured some new music, and was looking forward to listening to it and making some new playlists for the workout/car. Now I'm left with the shitty stuff I've been listening to for weeks. *First World Problem*

Frustration thy name is Toshiba.

Wish me luck.





Later.

Suprise Concurrance.

I'm a fan of The Black Keys.

If you don't know who they are, go here and educate yourself. (Of course, if you are a regular reader we already know you are a person of taste and culture.) You can come back to the blog and thank me later.

So I'm checking out the video for the new single "Lonely Boy" on YouTube -(I highly suggest you check it out below)



And there's an ad right before the video starts -



Normally I skip ads as soon as possible, but for some reason I didn't - and if you've watched it, you'll realize why I'm glad I didn't.

I'm a straight man, but the combination of Ryan Reynolds & Denzel (No last name needed 'cause it's motherfuckin' Denzel) is to much to resist.

The fact that such an awesome looking trailer was matched with an awesome song means one thing:

Good Job, Marketing Boys - I'm going to buy this album and watch the shit outta this movie. (Pictures will NOT be posted of either event.)

But just for the record: I dance waaaay better than the guy in the video.







Later.

Folical Fun for Anal Awareness.

It's Movember, people - which means I grow ridiculous shit on my face to raise awareness and money for Prostate Cancer.

(Not for the cancer itself - it doesn't need funding. It's for research dollars and awareness about getting checked out.)

So as of the 1st, I shaved my regular facial hair and started rockin' the 'stache. I'm not going for the Victorian-Era curly-mustache, though - I've got the badass biker-stache happening.

I figure I'm raising more awareness than most people only because of the color of mine. When you have brown hair and are sportin' the ginger 'stache tapering to grey-white by the chin, a lot of people ask if you are part of the Movember movement - because only a crazy fucker would sport this look without doing it for a cause. Remember my Playoff Beard? it's like that, but without the Hockey jersey.

We're doing some stuff at work for support as well, so it should be fun as I won't be the only guy looking like a 70's porn reject. I'll post pics of my majestic mustache as the month goes on.

I think we should combine the facial hair of Movember with the Breast Cancer Awareness Month (October) and have Motorboat Marathon. Get the right women, $5 per Motorboat ($3 if you're wearing a Mustache), and we'd have the necessary funds raised by the end of the month. Guaranteed.

I'm willing to be the first in line for tryouts.







Later.

Distractional Segueway.

Let's ignore the last post's ranting and look back to happier times.

Climb inside my Wayback Machine and enjoy a simpler time - like a week and a half ago.

Listen to the Sidekick and I Ramble on after the Sam Roberts concert. We discuss a multitude of subjects, but there's one thing that will stand out: the laughter.

I listened, and it cured my Arthritis and gave me a boner at the same time.*
*Didn't actually happen.

So take a break, grab a beer, and enjoy MidlifeRamblings.

My scheduled sense of humor should be back tomorrow.






Later.

Fuck.

*Warning - This is a rant, and I'm going to come across as bitter and hateful - if you would like to keep thinking of me as a nice human being, stop reading.*

I'm in the midst of a minor family crisis right now.

My Dad (72) had a small heart attack about 10 days ago. He was in the hospital for about 3 or 4 days and then he was released to come home. My Dad is overweight, a diabetic, on depression medications, and takes about 15 pills a day. Releasing him home in the care of my Mom (63), who is a newly retired Nurse, makes sense - she manages him well and has been doing so for years.

Mom had to go to the Hospital last night. She was dizzy, unresponsive, and when she was lucid, said her arms and legs were tingling. Dad did the smart thing and called 911 before he called me. She went into the Hospital at about 6pm, and after she stabilized and was okay to leave Emerg to a room it was almost 1 am. They are sure it's not a heart attack, just something to do with her Asthma (which caused her to hyperventilate) and a dosage change on her meds - Mom's biggest concern was that Dad was looked after.

I volunteered to look after my Dad last night and to take care of his meds, food, etc this morning. Making sure that worry is off Mom's mind means that she can just focus on herself and make sure that she's okay. My sister was going to help today while I was at work, and stay tonight. (Mom is staying one more night waiting for test results and should go home tomorrow.)

Now my sister is being a fucking cunt.

It's hard to describe exactly what she's doing, but somehow she's making it seem like what happened with Mom was all Dad's fault. Somehow in her mind, Mom taking care of my Dad caused all this. I should add right now that I work 5 days a week and she doesn't work at all, and yet I'm the one who goes up to my parents place on my days off each week and fixes things, helps with appointments, etc. Mom and Dad don't even ask her to help because she makes it seem like such a imposition on her time. (Like taking her ass away from Farmville for more than 20 minutes would end the world.) Today when we were at the Hospital she said she couldn't stay with Dad because  she had to make sure her Husband got up for work.

So ditching your sick Dad and easing your sick Mom's mind isn't as important as shutting off the alarm clock for ONE day? That's a fucking complete bitch move.

I'd love to go into some of the other massively cunt-y things she's done in the past 24 hours, but I only have so much time - suffice it to say that after all is said and done, and Mom and Dad are okay and settled down, her and I are going to have a nice, long talk that she is going to fucking hate.

I'm done with her shitty fucking attitude.
I'm done with her shitty way of talking to my Dad.
I'm done with her selfish way of looking at things.
I'm done with her.





Later.