Wii-Tired.

If you would have told me yesterday that a Plastic Board and Video Disc could make me break out in s sweat, I would have laughed and shaken my head in disbelief.

That was until I went home on my lunch and discovered Wii Fit waiting for me.(Thanks for thinking of us, Cat.)

I only got to try it for a bit, but it was an interesting workout.

I'm sure it will be great for those evenings when I want to burn some energy and going for a run or to the gym would make me look like a fanatic.

I can see how it's successful - you are so in tune with what you are doing in the game that you don't even realize you're exercising.

I'll post more about it when I can, if you can get me off the board.



Later.

Scooped!

The Sidekick beat me to it.

I was going to post about The Watchmen trailer that's been released on the Internet, (I'll also get to see it when I go see The Dark Knight) but the bastard stole my thunder.

The guy posts twice in a week and a half, and he steals it right out from under me? That's just not fair. Sure, I know movies are his shtick and all, but you think I'd beat him to the punch on this one.

I guess I'm slipping in my old age.

I'll let him have the page views - you can check out his site to see what it looks like.

As for the movie, I'm quite stoked. I love the graphic novel, and if it translates half as well on screen, we are in for a treat.

Check it out, I'm sure you'll like it (or at least be intrigued).



Later.

Bat-Fucking- Hilarious.

In honor of The Dark Night opening tomorrow, (or midnight tonight, if you are one of those lucky bastards who got in to a midnight screening) I 'm posting two of the funniest Bat-related images I know.

Enjoy.

Later, Friends - Same Bat-Time, Same Bat-Channel.

The Only Guy I Know Who's Hornier Than Me

The Sidekick and I are going to see Hellboy 2 tonight.

I'm somewhat shocked, as he didn't really care for the first one, but give him any chance to go to the movies, and he'll be there. (I recall a rumor that he was at the theater on the opening day of Mean Girls.)

As much as I liked the first Hellboy, I'm a bit skeptical on this one. I'm worried that there will be too much "monster overload" on the screen, and that what might be a great story has been covered by special effects.

I will say one thing - as long as Ron Pearlman continues to portray the Big Red Guy, I'll probably keep going to these movies. (You have to admit, it's one of the best casting decisions of all time.)

Have no fear, I'll tell you what I thought of it.

Until then, imagine me in the theater, drinking my Timmy's and watching this:







Hellacious Goodness.




Later.

Breakfast Redundancy.

I'll just never understand people sometimes.

We just received this new product in at work, Kraft Bagel-fuls.

They are bagel-textured tubes of bread filled with cream cheese. You throw them in your toaster or microwave and eat 'em "on the go". It's supposed to be a time-saver for those people who are in a hurry.

Doesn't the regular bagel already fill all of the above requirements?

Lets see:

• Heat in toaster - Check.
• Eat with your hands - Check.
• Ability to contain cream cheese - Check.

Yeah - that's what I thought - this product is absolutely useless. You are already using the toaster to heat your regular bagel, so how are you saving time here? If you can't spare the 3.6 seconds it takes to spread cream cheese on said bagel, you have a lot more things to worry about than breakfast, my friend. If you don't like the mess of spreading it yourself, maybe you can stop at one of the many coffeehouses that seem to be everywhere. I'd be surprised if they didn't have bagels and cream cheese.

I think I'm going to inwardly laugh whenever I see someone buying one of these. Sure, you'll never know the horror of opening your fridge to find you've run out of cream cheese, but that's about the only plus I can see - and as I said before - if that's how stressed your mornings can get, you have larger problems that need addressing.

Usually I'm all about the free sample to try these things out. I took a pass on these - if I'm going to go down the long dark path of bread and bread products, I'll do it with a real bagel, like God intended.





Later.

Editorial Ineptitude.

I'm not 100% sure who is directly responsible for the "satirical" cover on the New Yorker, but I'm pretty sure that by the end of the week they'll be unemployed and standing in line counting change - hoping they have enough to cover a Burrito and Coke on the Taco Bell Value Menu.

I don't care that you're a "highbrow" magazine, and that your readers are intelligent enough to get the joke. The average, Fox News-Nascar-watching American isn't going to understand.

I'm not even American, and although I don't find the cover offensive (I understand what they are trying to poke fun at), I still think it's a bad idea. Sure you'll get publicity, but you're also causing a shitstorm of unbelievable proportions.

It's like having a commercial of Ronald McDonald slapping a fat kid. Sure, everyone will watch it, but in the end they'll just think Ronald's a dick.

Just like the guys at the New Yorker.




Later.

Sweating Bullets.

I think I'm going crazy, and here's proof:

I took yesterday off from the gym. It's good to let your body rest, and even I realize that you can't workout all the time.

I was going to go this morning, but decided to sleep in and have a family breakfast before I went to work at noon. As I was getting ready for work, I was feeling guilty about skipping the gym and then it occurred to me: run on my lunch (dinner) break.

It all seemed so simple: Pack my gym gear, get changed at work, run from work to the seawalk. I figured I'd only run a short bit, not too hard, and turn around 10 or so minutes in and head home for a shower and back to work.

I didn't figure on how retarded I am.

• My work clothes, in a backpack, with shoes and keys and everything = about 10 pounds.
• I'm running at 3:30 in the afternoon - probably the hotest part of the day.
• I should have known that once I started, I wouldn't be able to stop at "just a little bit."

So what did I do?

I ran my usual 6K in almost my best time ever - with the extra 10 pounds on my back. When I got home, I was sweating like mad. I was even sweating after I came out of the shower. (That can't be right.) I was almost done sweating by the time I made it back to work.

Was it hard? Yes.

But it felt great.

I'm thinking of signing up for the local 10K that takes place in October. I could start training soon, and it'll fit right in with the workouts I'm doing now. It'll be one thing to check off my lifetime "To-Do" list.

Next time you see some fool running on the Seawalk in the heat of the day, honk and wave - I'll wave back if I can lift my arms.




Later.

Click, Click, Clit.

Want to have a song that plays on the radio 5 times in eight hours?

Want to have a video that racks up over a million views? (Seriously, there's three or four postings on YouTube with about a million views each.)

All you have to do is be female, hot, talented, and sing about kissing another girl.



I didn't even need the video and I was hooked.

Now does this make me more or less of a man? (I vote more, due to the raging testosterone sapping my will to avoid shitty music.)

I can't help myself - it's genetics.



Later.

Zune-y Tunes.

Don't hate me, Steve Jobs.

Right now, in my hands, I'm holding a Zune.

It's 8Gb of shiny black techno-goodness.

I just finished charging and setting up, and so far I like the feel and innovation of it. There's lots of stuff I haven't tried yet, like wireless syncing and having it play through my 360, but I'll get to that in due time.



I'll check out the video capabilities of it tomorrow. (I'm checking out some video podcasts and stuff as I type right now.) I have to stay at work for lunch anyway, so it's a great time to see if it all works.

I'm impressed so far - I think my iPod might be jealous. (My iPod doesn't play video, so it can't complain - it hasn't been satisfying my needs.) To be fair to the iPod, every new MP3 player that comes out is hyped as the new "iPod killer" - when you're it the top of the heap, everyone wants to take you down.

I'll let you all know how it all works out, and may even let you try it - if you can pry it from my cold, dead hands.





Later

Adverse Reflection.

I bought a pair of sunglasses yesterday, and there was one thing that really bothered me.

The mirrors that they put on the sunglass stand/turner-thing are similar to circus fun house mirrors. Depending on which mirror I looked into, I was either anorexia skinny or morbidly obese. Do I go with round frames to accent my sharp cheekbones, or do I get square to hide what looks like my fourth jowl?

They're also set a midget-height. (I'd say dwarf, but a dwarf might have to use a stool.) You almost have to bend in half to see your refection. I'd have better luck checking my shades on someone's chrome tailpipe.

With no help or thanks to the mirrors, I did end up purchasing some glasses. They even looked good when I got them home and checked them out in a real mirror. The Boys wanted me to buy them some too, but they already have some, and I wasn't about to get the youngest one the Spears-Lohan-Hilton type bug-eyed white ones he wanted so badly.

That'd be therapy for sure.




Later.

Loose Baggage.

I'm not normally one to complain about breasts, but here goes.

There's this lady at the gym who works out at around the same time as I do. She's not the prettiest thing in the world, but she's no behemoth, either. I admire her dedication and the fact that she is trying to improve herself.

The problem is her breasts.

I don't think she's ever heard of a sports bra - or a bra at all for that matter. It's distracting - but not in the oh-my-god-look-at-those-things-move way. It's more like is-she-flipping-flapjacks-under-there? way, which isn't attractive at all.

I'd be willing to mention it to her, but then I'd get the "Stop looking at my breasts" comment, when all I want is for her to settle them down so that they don't accidentally flap out and I throw up mid-rep. I'm saving her dignity and my breakfast.

It's not like it happens all the time. If she ran on the regular treadmills like everyone else, I wouldn't even notice when I'm on the weights side of the gym. It's just that she runs on the extra treadmills, which are located in full view of the weight area. (You can't even look away - it's a gym, after all- there's mirrors everywhere. It's like a hall of mirrors horror show.)

I'm hoping that she'll eventually break down and go the sports bra route. I'm amazed that she hasn't had a black eye or at least felt some level of discomfort from all the movement happening under there.

Until then, I'll be the guy who either stares intently at himself in the mirror all the time, or the one who works out with his eyes closed. (I'll need a spotter for that last one.)




Later.

Uphill Battle.

So yesterday I went running on my lunch break.

I went with one of the guys I work with who runs quite a bit. We changed into our gear at the gym and went outside from there. (Who runs in 25° weather? Retards and Grocery Guys, that's who.)

I'd tell you how the run went, but it's easier to show you:


The green area at the top is where we started, and the line represents how easy the run was at the time: flat, easy pace, nice breeze, etc. There's also a downhill slope about halfway though that, which made the run easier at the start.

The yellow line was where things get ugly - we decided to go for a "longer" run at this point, since things were going so well. I completely forgot that the area we were running into was all uphill. (Hey, I've only lived here for twenty years - I can't remember everything.) This part of the run was harder, but not bad at all. The hill was gradual and mild.

We even got another green area! All downhill, here. The hardest part of this was pacing yourself and trying to lessen the impact on your knees. Easy Peasy, that. The worst part was that the sun had come out from behind the clouds and it had gotten a bit hot by then.

The next yellow part was a tougher run through a suburb, nothing major, although the ground was starting to slope dangerously uphill...

The red area represents my own personal hell. A long, steady hill, pounding sun, and I can't even recall what water looks or tastes like. This was the hardest part of the whole fucking run. I'm proud to say that I kept my pace and didn't stop or slow until we reached the top of the hill, clearly marked on the map as "I thought I was dead". (Please forgive my crude writing - my mouse skills aren't what they used to be.) At this point, my lungs were burning and I was thankful it was almost over.

Until the next red part. See, my gym is almost at the top of a very long hill, and we join the main road about halfway up it. I still had to run the last bit to the gym to finish it out. It was hard, but after making it through the previous area, it was almost easy. (I say almost because it really wasn't.)

The air conditioning and the water fountain at the gym were fantastic. I couldn't decide which one I wanted to mount use first. I chose the fountain, in case you are wondering.

All in all it was a good run, and I can't wait to try it again. I think The Sidekick and I will hit the Seawalk first before we tackle this, but I think he'll be ready soon. As long as I have enough energy to beat him to the fountain at the end, it'll be great.

Oh yeah, it'll be awesome.



Later.

Up, Up, And ....Yeah.

Went and saw Hancock tonight.

(Do you know that typing Hancock into Google Image search without SafeSearch on is a bad thing to do? Sure, you get the picture you want, but you also get stuff you don't want to see.)

I liked it. It could have been better, but I really did like it. It starts off great, but somewhere around the middle of the second act, it drops down a notch in intensity and just plateaus. Still a good flick, and worth seeing, but don't expect it to go in any direction you think based on the previews.

But I do have to say one thing - Hancock's scowl ranks up there alongside Derek Zoolander's pout as a facial expression for the ages. It never falters, wavers, or gives up. Will Smith may look angry, or constipated (or angry about being constipated) but he stays true to the character for the entire film.

I'll say it again - I liked it. I'll buy it on DVD when it hits. (But that's nothing special - I want to buy everything on DVD when it hits.)



Later.

Vicious Cycle.

You know what I hate?

I hate it when you go into the washroom to wash your hands - tonight I was handling some dusty stuff - and halfway through washing your hands, you suddenly have to pee.

So you finish washing your hands, dry them off, and then relieve yourself. What do you do then? Wash your hands again, of course. What was the point of washing my hands in the first place if I was just going to have to wash them again? Couldn't my bladder have gotten it's act together sooner, so I wouldn't have to repeat the hand-wash portion of the routine?

Just think of the time I would have saved.

If cleanliness is next to Godliness, I'm something like Jesus's half-step-brother now.
(At least my hands are.)



Later.

Dairy Daycare.

Nothing drives me crazier than Babysitting.

(I'm not talking about Spending Time With My Children.)

When it's my kids, it's not called Babysitting. When it's co-workers ranging from the age of 15 to 62, it's Babysitting, pure and simple.

My two immediate bosses are on holidays right now (one's just going and one comes back Monday) so I walk in today to people just wandering around, looking lost. Considering that most of them have been here longer than I have, I shouldn't have to remind them what tasks have to be completed. ("Hey, guess what? You just have to do the same fucking thing you did last weekend.")

Technically, it's not even my place to remind at least one of these guys - but if he's not going to step up and take charge, who will? I'm not going to let the place run into the ground just so the mice can play.

It's infuriating, really - and as blunt as I was with my criticism and "direction", I still think it'll look like shit when I walk in there to-morrow.

And I'll do it all over again.

Maybe if I smacked them and sent them for a Time Out - do you think that would do it?

It's tempting.



Later.

Sounds Like A Joke.

What do you get when a woman from Ontario suffers brain damage?

- A Newfoundlander.

I know it sounds funny, but it's the real thing. An Ontario woman had a stroke and afterwards developed a Newfie accent. The Doctors treating her didn't know it, because they just assumed she was from Newfoundland originally. Turns out she's got Foreign Accent Syndrome, which causes the change in speech patterns.

I'm wondering - if I smack my head against the wall, will I sound like James Bond? I bet if I smacked it 1000 times, I'd sound like Bono. (Hope the Sidekick appreciates the unnecessary dig at his favorite Irish singer.)

I've got to admit, if that was the only repercussion of having a stoke you'd see people trying to get them all the time. ("Me? Just loading up on the bad cholesterol - I have to give a speech next week, and I'd really like to sound Australian.") Don't laugh - I could see it happening.

As for the lady above - it could have been much worse. As if living in Ontario wasn't bad enough, she could have lived there and sounded like a Quebecois. I wouldn't wish that on anyone.



Later.

Rhyme Of The Ancient Rambler.

Please don't let me grow old(er).

I have seen the future, and it's not pretty.

I went out to lunch today with my parents. I love my Mom and Dad, and they are great people. They adore The Boys, and the kids jump at any chance they get to see them. Everything's great on that part.

The horrible part is anytime my Dad starts to try and talk about anything, it just takes forever. He spends 15 minutes looking for a point and another 15 trying to get there. If you don';t know the general context of what he's talking about it's easy to get lost, as he tends to go off on tangents.

Here's an example:

Dad: "Hey son, did you hear about those hostages being freed?"
Me: "Kinda, Dad - how did they pull it off?"
Dad: "Well, they infiltrated this rebel group and ordered the hostages to meet a yellow helicopter. I don't know why it was yellow - I used to have a yellow car once, you know. '68 Charger - it was great."
Me: "And then what happened?"
Dad: "Well, we sold the car after your older brother was born."
Me: "No Dad - what happened to the hostages, the ones in the yellow helicopter?"
Dad: "How the hell should I know? I only caught it on CNN this morning."

Try dealing with that over your salad with low-fat dressing.

I wonder if my kids have the same frustration when talking to me. Does The Boy look up at me and think I'm an idiot for not understanding a simple reference to some Educational morning show he watches? (So what if there's a Super-Hero who has the power to Spell? He can sit right beside Aquaman in the only-need-you-if-we-go-to-the-library-or-ocean corner.) I'm wondering if he already thinks he's smarter than me. The last rumor I want on the school playground is that I'm an idiot.

But chatting with my Dad is great - if you've got the time. And maybe a map of where the hell the conversation's going.




Later.

I Gotta Get In There.

So I'm at work yesterday, slaving away down an aisle, and I hear a commercial come on over the radio.

Now, normally I ignore the radio as much as possible, but when I hear the words "erotic toys" and "lingerie" thrown around, I pay attention.

It was a commercial for a boutique in Courtneay, and the whole reason I'm writing about it isn't because they were having a half price sale on vibrators, (They aren't) but because of the tagline they used at the end of the commercial.

You know what a tagline is, right? If not, I'm not going to explain it for you - that's what Wikipedia is for.

So what caught my attention? What was the tagline that made me laugh for about five minutes after hearing it? What could possibly be the best advertising slogan ever for an erotic boutique?

Secret Drawers: Please come inside us. (Sung in that perky, sing-song commercial voice)

Is that not the greatest thing ever?

Bravo, marketing people, bravo! I want to go there just based on that - forget what they sell. Anyone with a grasp of the double-entedre like that is someone I have to meet.

But don't worry - if I see a cheap vibrator, I'll pick one up for ya.




Later.

Happy Birthday Canada.

As Canada Days go, this one hasn't been anything special so far. The usual hustle and bustle of everyone trying to have everything done early so they can enjoy the evening.

Well, this year I said Fuck It. I'm not going downtown to crowd myself in amongst the masses and then fight for 45 minutes just to get home. I'm going to a secluded vantage point, where the Family and I can witness the fireworks in relative comfort. (I say relative only because real comfort would be watching them on HDTV.)

So Happy Birthday, Canada - I'm going to enjoy it.



Later.

Bite Of Passage.

The Boy hit a milestone today - he lost his first tooth.

As much as I would have hoped that this would have occured while getting in his first fight or while stopping pucks for an NHL franchise, (Hey, Tiger golfed at 3) it came out naturally, at home, with just a bit of encouragement.

What impressed me the most? The Boy himself yanked it out.
(Does that mean he'll be a dentist? I can live with that.) For him to do that took more guts than anything - people have been telling him about the door-slamming trick since it started wiggleing. I think he yanked it to prevent that from happening.

So we put it in an envelope, wrote "Tooth Fairy" on it and tucked it under his pillow. Right now, the Tooth Fairy is waiting for him to fall asleep so he can get the envelope and replace it with $5.

Yeah, that's right - $5.

I spoil my kids.


Later.

Too Hot To Post.

It's 11:15pm right now, and it's still 25° outside.

That's too fuckin' hot.

Right now my ass cheeks are sticking to the chair, thus breaking my concentration and preventing me from forming any coherent thought.

It's not pleasant.

I didn't remember it being this hot last year - but then I went and looked at a couple of posts from around this time - this is when I was sitting with bags of frozen peas in my crotch, shortly after my vasectomy.

Funny how I look back fondly on that, now. (The peas, not the surgery.)

Ahhhh - Good Times.



Later.

Downtime.

After a day like today, nothing is better than chilling with the Sidekick to vent and relax.

Coffee is my fuel, and the release of frustrations and irritations from dealing with the general public is the dangerous by-product. (I don't think it's harmful to the ozone, but who knows.)

But that's why this post is short: I'm not really here, but at Timmy's - you'll be able to see the steam from when I vent.


Later.

250-Fuc-kYou.

Ten-Digit Dialing is being thrust upon us.

It doesn't bother me that much, but getting used to it's a bitch.

Right now I get a stern female computer voice reminding me to dial the correct way, and my call goes through. Eventually they will have it so the call just doesn't connect unless dialed properly.

I'd rather just have my call not make it. The impersonal reprimand from a machine doesn't teach me anything - it just annoys me so I quickly hang up and dial again. I don't even hear the whole message. (That's how I am with most stern female voices - selective hearing.)

Certain things are easy. All the pre-programmed numbers I deal with? Changed 'em in five minutes and never looked back. It's only when I'm dialing certain numbers (like home) that I find myself making the error over and over.

I'll get used to it eventually. I can adapt.

I feel bad for my sons. By the time they are dating, getting a girls phone number will be a nightmare involving six feet of paper. ("My number? Yeah it's 250-645-8748-79986-54893-2211-28008-0223".)

Ouch.



Later.

I Feel Shame.

Yes, I went and saw a movie about an Israeli hairdresser.

That's all I want to hear about it, okay?

Fun movie, but too much hommus for my liking.



Later.

Suspension Of Disbelief.

I can believe a man turns into a Green Monster and smashes things.

I can believe Assassins who can curve bullets in mid-air.

I can believe a man can fly around in a suit of metal.

I can even believe that Keanu Reeves will be able to "whoa" his way through a new movie. (That never should have been remade in the first place.)


But asking me to believe that the modern-day Toronto Maple Leafs are playing in the Stanley Cup Finals? Uh-unh. Stop the bus, I'm gettin' off.

No thanks, Mr. Myers - I can't suspend my disbelief that much.




Later.

The Juice-Box Uncertainty Principle.

As a parent, I find that there's one moment when your child holds complete power over you. The next ten minutes of your life are in their hands, and the outcome can be pleasant or disastrous.

When does this happen?

Anytime you hand a toddler a juice-box.

You see, when ever you give a kid anything, you always tell them to "Hold on tight." - this works great for everything in life except for juice-boxes and kittens. The moment of uncertinty is when you hand them the box and see how they grab it. One of two things can happen:

1. Child grabs box, takes a sip, enjoys tasty beverage, happiness abounds.
2. Child squeezes box, juices shoots out straw - covering child, child's clothes, and any carpet within 500 meters. - the next ten minutes are spent cleaning up and changing clothes. And the kid's still thirsty.

And it can go either way - there's a different outcome each time.

I think I'd almost rather play Russian Roulette with a nail gun. It'd be less stressful. (And messy.)


Later.

Mid-Afternoon Nap.

One of the greatest things in the world is a nap in the middle of the day.

(Especially since I've been getting up @ 5:30 to go to the gym.)

Right now I feel refreshed, alert, and ready to.... take another nap, hopefully.

God I'm such a lazy bastard sometimes.





Later.

Too Cool For School.

With the exclusion of State Troopers and Rock Gods, anyone I see wearing mirrored shades is - I assume, a total douchebag.

So far I haven't been proven wrong.

In this day and age, with all the varied styles and shapes, why would you stick with sunglasses that essentially make you look like a predator? Mirrored shades haven't been cool since '82, and I don't think
they'll come back again anytime soon.

Get some real sunglasses - and maybe a life , while you're at it.

Loser.



Later.

Over-Compensation.

I was outside at work today and saw one of these monstrosities drive by.

With gas at $1.42 a litre, you are basically saying one of two things when driving this truck:

1. I have a very large wallet.
2. I have a very small penis.

Given the fact that the one that drove by me was canary yellow and chromed up shinier than a Rap Star's "grill", I'd say the later is probably right.

I almost wanted to yell out "Nice carbon footprint, motherfucker!" , but I'm not that eco-friendly.



Later.

Closet Hero.

As I've stated before, I'm on my way to Rock Stardom.

I'm rippin', shreddin', and rockin' out with the best of them. There's just one issue - I look like an idiot while I'm doing it.

This normally wouldn't be a problem, but my TV is in my living room, which is at the front of my house, which has a big-ass window that looks right out onto the street. Anyone walking by can look in and see me wailin' on my Whammy Bar. (That's not as dirty as it sounds.)

The only way around this?

I play Guitar Hero with the curtains closed - to hide my shame.

In time, I will emerge from my cocoon and take my rightful place in the pantheon of Guitar Gods. Until I can learn to hammer on without having my tongue clenched in-between my teeth, I'll have to wait. (It'll be a bit - I'm having trouble with a song by Slayer.)

So if you walk by a house and the curtains are closed, yet the grinding sounds of Rock N' Roll are impossible to ignore, just smile and nod - you'll know what's going on back there.




Later.

Can't Take No For An Answer.

I think I do pretty well as a parent. I can handle it all - sickness, injury, hunger, vampires - you name it. But the biggest enemy I have is Perceived Necessity.

Basically, it's sorting out the stuff my kids need from the stuff they just think they need. I can provide a peanut-butter sandwich no problem, but try to convince them they need that instead of the latest Optimus Prime Mega-super-set.

The oldest Boy is the worse. He just doesn't see "no" as being the end of the conversation. He will try to negotiate, stall, suggest, and outright bribe to get what he wants.

At worst, he just keeps asking every five minutes. (And that's the tactic that drives me nuts the most.) I just can't get him to understand that if I said "no" the last 12 times, what makes number 13 so special? He thinks that by asking me over and over it shows how much he "needs" to have what he wants.

That's twisted.

I've tried everything - time outs, time ins, listening to The Stones "You Can't Always Get What You Want" - and it slowly seems to be working. (He gets his tenacity from his Dad - if it was plain 'ol stubbornness, I'd point to the maternal side of the equation.) But every once in a while it pops up again, and the battle ensues once more.

The reassuring thing?


I win at least 45% of the time.




Later.

Bob Villa Can Lick My Balls.

(Not that I'd want him to - that beard would itch.)

Today I was a domestic machine.

I started the day off by fixing a toilet, edging the lawn, weed eating, mowing front and back yards, and finished of with pressure-washing my entryway and driveway.

Did I mention I had the kids with me the whole day? (Juggle that, bitches.) That's got to be worth extra points somehow.

Finish that off with cleaning the kitchen, doing the dishes, and cooking dinner - it means I don't feel guilty about not going to the gym tonight. (I still would have rather been there.) I have to go back to work tomorrow just to rest.

Yes, I'm that hardcore.

Aren't you proud of me?

I thought so.




Later.

And I Thought Jeans Guy Was Bad...

You'll all remember this guy.

Well, I think I found his Wife.


I was looking to change my cellphone account - upgrade from pay&talk to a shared plan - so I went down to my carrier's store to inquire about my options.

I go in with The Boys, and out from the back comes one of the surliest people I've ever met. She's about 25, very pregnant, and in the foulest of moods. I chalk up the irateness to the fetus within and tell her what I'm looking for and ask what my options are. I think I had interrupted her on her way to her break, so I figured that played a part in her demeanour as well.

She rolls her eyes at me and proceeds to point at the chart on the wall behind her, as if by some miracle I'm supposed to discover what I need amongst the formulaic writing crammed into a postage-stamp sized space. When I enquire if the term comes with a new phone, she slams two models on the counter and just looks at me.

(You have to understand - I'm not an annoying customer - I ask clear questions and am always polite - so her hostility has me somewhat surprised.)

I thanks her for her time and tell her I might be back later. She grunts and heads to the back room. The Boys and I leave.

I'm parked across from the store, and as I'm putting the youngest one in his carseat, I see Miss Sunshine come out the entrance. She's on a mission, and is moving mighty fast - to the smoking area. Yeah, that's right. I even see her light up and puff away as she's making the last few steps there.

I guess the break I was interrupting was the one her and her unborn child were going to have.


You know, if I don't understand the motivations of a guy who wears jeans to the gym, I'm sure as hell not going to understand the motivations behind a woman who smokes while pregnant. As a reformed smoker, I'm really lenient with those who do smoke, (It's your lungs, do what you want.) but even I know that there's sometimes when you just shouldn't smoke - and the nine months of pregnancy seems to fall in that category, right behind playing in a puddle of gas.


In case you were wondering, I didn't change my cell plan after all.




Later

Greased Lightin'

New shoes make a world of difference.

See those babies to the right? Those are what you'll see on my feet next time to catch me running. I shouldn't say see, precisely, because I'll be moving so fast you'll just see a blue/white blur.

Running in these on makes it seem like I was running with lead weights on my feet. Heated lead weights. The airflow and weight on them is remarkable. The extra cushioning is great. (That's to say that there is cushioning - my last pair had virtually none.)

When I ran today, the only thing that prevented me from going father and longer was myself, not my feet. That's the biggest change.

I can't wait to run some more in them - I'm sure that once I finish breaking them in, they'll be even better.



Catch me if you can.




Later.

Just Doing My Job.

The amount of praise and presents one gets for having unprotected sex is amazing.

Today I had waffles for breakfast, (Homemade, not toaster.) cards from the kids, and Guitar Hero 3 waiting in the Living Room when I got out of the shower. Did I also mention the kids let me sleep until 7:15? (That's almost a record.)

You know, all this really isn't necessary. I love being a Dad, no matter how much they may annoy or frustrate me. The presents are a plus, but the real cool part is knowing one of my kids can recite the entire membership of the Justice League, and the other one has almost stopped crapping in his pants. (I say almost 'cause it's a work in progress.)

That day can't come soon enough.


To all the Dads celebrating this day: Happy Father's Day. (That includes you, Pops.)

And to all the don't-wanna-be Dads: Wrap that shit up tight.


Later

No Time

It's Poker Night, I just got home from work, and people will be here in 20 minutes.


You're not really expecting a post, are you?


I didn't think so.


Thanks - I'll make it up, I swear.



Later.

Camera Shy.

So yesterday I bought a webcam.

I need it so that the kids can talk to their Grandparents when they go on their trek across Canada. I'll be cool that they'll be able to see them, and not just have to get by with regular phone conversations.

I hate it.

I'm not a real fan of having my picture taken. I was at one time, but not anymore. You will probably never see a profile picture in the upper right of the blog. (Unless I lose another ten or fifteen pounds - then it'll be a picture of my six-pack.)

I just never look good in pictures. You know that guy, who in every photo is either blinking, yawning, sneezing, has his neck angled weirdly, or is looking anywhere but the camera? That's me. I may think I'm taking a good picture, but it doesn't ever turn out that way.

(The picture in my mind? Chiseled good looks. The reality? I look like a polar bear slathered in bacon fat.)

I look drunk in every picture - even when I'm sober.
(And contrary to popular belief, I'm not a pretty drunk.)

Using the webcam will be a cinch - I'll place the kids in front, and hide behind them while it's in use. That's all it'll be used for. It's not like I'm going to host streaming video on YouTube of me blogging at my desk. (Riveting as that may be.)

And the day I break down and post my face on the web? You'll know that's a sad day indeed.





Later.

Fashionista.

Thank God I never took clothing tips from 80's cartoons.

I did own a pink polo once, but it was 1986 - they were as common as tight-rolled jeans and high-tops.



Now that I think about it, maybe I'll go as Destro for Halloween. Does anyone know where I can get a badass medallion?




Later.

Horticulturally Inadequate

Your Lawn is more than just grass.

The way your lawn looks, and is kept, says a lot about who you are and how you present yourself to the world.

Right now, my lawn says that I'm a lazy-ass piece of shit who couldn't care what the rest of the neighborhood had to say.

(Actually, it's not that bad.)

I haven't really had the time to devote to my lawn like I have in past years. I've only been able to mow and weed-whack, and that's about it. No fertilizer, no weed& feed, and I haven't even touched my side lot where the weeds are getting nasty.

So basically it looks the shits.

It's still about average for my area, it's just that I have high expectations. Thank God for the rental house down the street, and the scuzzy house across from them. If they weren't around, I'd feel even guiltier about my lawn. But next to four foot high grass and toys strewn all over, my lawn looks like something the PGA should be playing on.

Tomorrow's my day off, so some portion of the day will be devoted to the yard. I'll do what I can, and just keep plugging away at it. (I'm thinking about going for a Rock Lawn, or maybe Astro turf - whaddaya think?




Later.

Teeing Up My Balls.

By the time you read this, I'll be on the links.

One of the Reps we deal with is taking me and a couple of guys out golfing at one of the swankier courses around here. Everything is included - carts, booze, dinner - you name it.

I like it when I get to go out like this. It allows me to play courses I wouldn't normally be able to afford. And anytime someone is feeding me free booze, it's a good thing.

So I'll have to change my previous statement:

By the time you read this, i'll be on the links, and hammered out of my mind.

There, that's better.

Wish me luck - I just might need it.



Later.

One Thousand.

One Thousand.

That's a pretty big number.

It's taken me just over three years to reach a Thousand posts. That's a lot of words pouring out of my brain. (Let me tell you, the Google spellchecker's been working overtime lately.)

I always envisioned reaching this milestone. I thought that once I hit it, I would have an epiphany, and the Blogging heavens would open up before me and show me the way.

As I type this, I can tell you my monitor still looks the same.

Maybe post 1001 .......


Later.

Child's Play.

Skipping Rope is hard.

Not the act itself (I'm coordinated enough to pull it off), but the energy it takes to do it continually over a given length of time.

I was looking to get some cardio in today, and I thought I'd try jumping rope. The Sidekick and I have tried it a couple of times at the gym, and it gives you a good increase in your heart rate between sets.

I headed out to the garage and started spinning. As a kid, I remember jumping rope and still being able to play on the monkey bars, run some plays in touch football, and still have a little left over for pulling the pigtails of cute little girls. Of course you never count how many times you skipped, you just did it until it got boring. (Which for me was probably less than 5 minutes.)

I skipped 1100 times tonight, and I'm exhausted. My calves are burning. I don't remember sweating while jumping rope as a child, but there's a small puddle in my garage that says it happens.

I guess it goes to show that even though I still feel like a kid, I can't really preform like one anymore. (But I'll give it my best shot.)

Next time I see some kids doing Double Dutch, I'm going to stop and ask for tips.




Later.

I Feel....

1. That the guy on the Radio is a complete idiot. If you say that "Touch of Grey" is your favorite Grateful Dead song, it really means it's the only Grateful Dead song you know.



2. Forget the protein shakes and supplements - the greatest thing after a hard workout is a Timmy's XL 2 Cream, 2 Sweetener. Start your day off right, dammit.


3. That my ideal job would be just walking around the store and bulshitting with people. Either that or Porn.



4. That sometimes I don't eat enough roughage.
5. That pretty soon I'll be taking a gas can and siphon tube with me on my morning jog. Stealing other peoples gas reduces my carbon footprint, right?



6. That when I wake up feeling like I've slept in late, only to see that it's actually 7am, means I'm either getting up way too early on my gym days, or else I'm still asleep and soon my dream will involve clowns dancing naked.



7. That the less I physically look like Mike Matusow, the more my Poker luck seems to echo his. (How many rivers can one man take?)



8. That running on the Treadmill comes in three stages: Why the hell am I doing this; This feels great, I should do it more often; and When the fuck can I get off this thing?



9. That Peanut Butter should be it's own food group. Healthy or unhealthy, that shit's amazing.



10. That trying to come up with Ten interesting things to say is harder than it looks. Try it sometime. (And yes, complaining about my lack of roughage is interesting. You're reading about it, right?)
    

Later.

Time Flies.

Whoever said "Time flies when you're having fun" was obviously full of shit.

I was having a shitty day today and it still flew by.

I always find that if I have to have everything done by a certain time ( say a half hour earlier than usual), then time seems to run away from me. Things that would normally take 20 minutes to do suddenly take 45. Delays and needless interruptions continually pop up.

(What's that? You want to send a fax? Too bad - the lines tied up. Oh - now the paper's jammed - and there's a busy signal....sucks to be you.)

That's pretty much how my day at work went today.

It would be easier to accept if I was off work tomorrow, but I have to go in and cover the afternoon for someone who is sick. (I'm going to quote my good friend Mr. Hicks - "I'm not even supposed to be here today!") At least I won't be rushed to go anywhere.

I'm sure because I don't really want to be there that time will be a bitch and crawl forward, every second stretching out into eternity...

Oh yeah, it'll be great.




Later.

Dr. Tran, Again.

Because I have Poker tonight, you get to enjoy the magic of Dr. Tran once more.

Although not as funny as my previous posting, this one did cause me to shoot milk out my nose.

Enjoy.





Wish me luck with the cards tonight.



Later.

Shia LeBeouf Is Living My Dream.

Just got back from seeing Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull with The Sidekick - good movie - I'd rate it above Temple, but below Raiders and Last Crusade. For a child of my generation, it was great just to see Indy one last time.

Speaking of my generation, how unfair is it that some kid who's 15 years younger than me gets to be in all the movies I ever dreamed of being a part of? I would have jumped at a chance to be in Transformers, and I certainly would have made a better sidekick than Short Round. ("No worries, Doctor Jones - there's always time for Love.")

This punk LeBeouf is getting all the dream jobs.

And it gets worse.

I checked out IMDB, and it turns out that he's been in stuff that I would have given my left testicle to be in. (And that was even before the surgery.) Check it out:

• Animated Movie: Surf's Up - sure, it sucked, but hey- cartoons.
• Hitchcock Remake: Disturbia
• Comic Book Movie: Constantine
• Asimov Future Movie: I, Robot
• Mindless Action Movie: Charlie's Angels: Full Throttle
• Sci Fi TV Show: The X Files (One episode, but that's one more than I've been in.)

Just to be fair, he's also been in a lot of crap I wouldn't be caught dead watching, never mind being in.

Still, he's the guy living out my childhood fantasies. Thank God he's not cast for a role in The G.I. Joe movie - I would have to eat my liver out of jealousy. (Really I would make a great General Hawk or Duke.)

Now if I could only super-impose me over him when Crystal Skull comes out on DVD - then I just might have to rate it above Raiders.

We'll see.



Later

Welcome Back, Dr. Tran.

I recently found this at a forum I visit, and fell in love all over again.

Dr. Tran is the shit.

There's more at YouTube, but I just thought I'd post the one I liked the most.

Enjoy.







Later.

Dis-Connected.

Blogger was pissing me off this morning.

It was my plan to talk about the song that was going through my head in the shower, but when I went to post, I kept getting a "time out - unable to connect" from Blogger. Oh, I could get to Google just fine, but any other Google site wouldn't work for me.

I even went so far as to reset my modem and router - on the off chance that it might have something to do with it. (It didn't.)

So when I finally get home from work and am able to connect, do you think I can remember the big epiphany I had?

Nope.

(I know it had something to do with the song "Raspberry Beret", but I can't remember anything past that.)

Blame Blogger for your loss.

I know I am.




Later.

Whackin' My Weeds.

Today I armed myself and kicked Mother Nature right in the.... well, you know where.

I've been meaning to tackle some yard work recently, and I've finally gotten my shit together and just done it. I had to pick up some line for my whacker, but once that was done, I was set.

I jumped into the backyard and charged at that bush with everything I had. I flailed my whacker around like a man with a purpose. I wasn't going to stop 'till the job was done or I collapsed from exhaustion, whichever came first. At first I thought I couldn't handle it, but then I got my whacker under control and things fell into place. You know, once you get into a rhythm, it pretty much takes care of itself.

(Please try to ignore all of the obvious sexual innuendo in the previous paragraph. You didn't see it? What the hell are you reading this for?!)

After I was done I cleaned up my whacker, put it away in my garage, and went about with the rest of my day. I'll have to whack it again later in the week, but it's good to get it done anyway - gives one a sense of accomplishment.

I'm enjoying the yard work a lot more - I try to view it as exercise for my weight loss, and not as a chore to be dreaded. Seems to work for me. (It beats doing Squats, that's for sure.)

Who knows - this year I may even get a tan.

(Lets not push it - I'm still whiter than Casper.)




Later.

Overkill.

Yesterday I was mildly retarded.

You see, I went to the gym with The Sidekick, as per usual, and for the warm up we ran about 1.5 miles. We then proceeded to kill ourselves doing our upper body set.

(As we were leaving the gym, I had a guy I work with ask me if I want to come back at lunch and do some more running. Since I now think I'm immortal - I said yes.)

I go to work, and it's a total clusterfuck - the order for my section was inadvertently doubled, and I had to work and stack it all in an organized manner. (Picture lifting 16 pounds from the floor to about 6 feet high - now picture doing it 250 times.) Needless to say, my arms and calves were sore from the lifting and such.

What's a guy to do to relax after that? Oh yeah - go to the gym for lunch, where I proceed to run just over 4 miles in 35 minutes. (Did I mention I was immortal now?) My calf started to cramp a bit near the end, but I'm tough and slugged it out.

Work was okay when I got back, just a lot of running around and restocking- nothing I can't handle. I'm already thinking about relaxing when I get home. I could hear my couch calling to me....

Nope.

After dinner I come up with the great idea of taking the kids to the park - where we proceed to play soccer and try to fly a kite. What do those to things have in common? Right - running. (Yay calves!)

So of course my calves ache today.

Luckily it's my day off from the gym.

I'll just do a little bit of yard work, and if the kids move faster than a brisk walk I'll tell em to slow down.

However Sunday I'm immortal again, so of course I'll be back at the gym. I think all this testosterone is affecting my brain.

But it's worth it - Oh God is it worth it.



Later.