Lost Time.

Sometimes I hate the Internet.

I sit down to blog, (about HDTV and 80's bands - an interesting combination) and as soon as I take one click away from what I'm about to do, I'm lost.

I needed a picture, and since it was about a band, I head to Amazon for some cover art. While I'm there I notice that Amazon has a really neat new mp3 listen/purchase thing for albums and check that out for a second. Then I glance up and see "People who viewed this also bought" and notice 3 or 4 other bands that I'd be interested in checking out. After that I decide to check and see if some of my favorite bands have sample things on their albums too, and then I have to start checking back catalogs and then I get stuck looking for rarities and then start seeing what's new and then I'm 45 minutes behind on what I wanted to accomplish. (That's a lot of "and thens".)

So what should have been a 10 second job wasted almost an hour.

I thank God once more that I do not have the Internet at work. (Yet - they are talking about it.) I'd never get anything done. If we do get it, I'm thankful that I won't have unlimited access to it - I'd be in trouble, I can tell you that.

- I just clicked away for a moment to double check something on Amazon, and I'm lost for another 10 minutes. See how this can be a problem?

I'm glad it wasn't YouTube - I'd be gone for days. (Chad Vader is the best.)



Later.

So Fucking Early..

The kids were up at 6:30am today.

Both of them.

Now I have a splitting headache and I'm going off to work. (Talk about bad karma - I must have kicked a puppy in another life.)

It's not as bad as it seems - I did get to sleep in a bit, so I'll be on top of my game at Poker tonight.

Just forgive me if I yawn while I'm taking all the money.


Later.

All Quiet....

I'm on lunch right now.
(Working the Late Shift.)

I was looking forward to coming home for lunch because I knew in advance that no one would be around. The Spouse and Kidlets are down-island today, and I'm the only one here right now.

God it's quiet.

Usually I come home to the kids playing, music or the T.V. on, and I get mauled the minute I walk through the door. That's not a bad thing, mind you, it's just that it's nice to have a little bit of solitude now and then. (Change it up a bit.)

So I have some music playing right now, (Metric, with The Foo & White Stripes to follow) and I'm going to relax and just enjoy the peace. This doesn't happen often, so I should take advantage of it.

Ahhhhh.... That's better.


Later.

Highlight of My Evening.

I just finished watching Episode 3 with The Boy. He loved all the others, and this one was no exception. (He's aware that the acting is somewhat wooden, but too young to care.)

Best part - right after the movie, I asked him if he liked it. He said "Yeah, Daddy, but that part where Darth Vader cries was kinda silly."

I just wanted to hug him. He makes me proud.


Later.

Where's The Beef?

Dvds are pissing me off lately.

Used to be, when you bought almost any DVD, you'd open it up and you would see something worth the $25 you paid for it. There would be a disc with nice artwork and a booklet or extras tucked into the little clip things on the left of the case interior. At worst you would have a scene selections sheet with chapters on it, usually laid out amongst photos or artwork pertaining to the movie.

That's what made buying DVDs so great - packed full of extras, both on and off the disc.

Recently? Not the case. (Pun intended.)

The last four or five movies I bought had nothing in them. Nada. Zip. Zilch. There was a bland, grey disc (or double-sided Fullscreen/Widescreen disc - a crime against God and Man) and nothing else. Granted, none of the discs were Special Editions, but only one of them (Transformers) came as anything other than a regular, plain DVD. There's just nothing left for the consumer anymore.

I can see why people pirate. If all I'm going to get is the movie and absolutely nothing else, why buy? Why not rent and burn, like I know so many others do? Why don't I just download them, if all I'm going to get is 90 minutes of whatever.

The music industry is slowly learning from the piracy battle. Make it worth our while to buy the physical media. Lots of artists are releasing albums with bonus Dvds, custom artwork, or innovative case design. They've tried to make us want the actual disc again.

Dvd makers are going to have to learn this lesson. Give me the extras - that's what I want. If you have to release a Special Edition, do so. (Transformers was a good idea - the only flaw was the the regular Dvd had nothing extra - not even deleted scenes.) You have to give the regular purchaser something, then they'll get hooked and lunge for the Special Editions - just like you want them too.

If you are going to fuck me over on the included contents, at least snap off those little clips inside the case so that they aren't staring at me, taunting me with what isn't there.

But stay away from this shit. I know it's eco-friendly. I know it'll save the planet. But I also know it'll look like crap on my Dvd rack - and that I just won't tolerate.



Later.

Bathroom Wall.

People who write on Bathroom walls confuse me.

I'm not exactly sure what they are trying to accomplish. Do they think that their expressions and proclamations are going to be heard by those they are targeted at? If so, I don't see how. Unless Julie T. sits down where Eric D. was taking a shit, she's never going to know the true depths of his feelings for her. (And that will be hard, because she'd have to sneak into the men's can.)

And are you supposed to enjoy or feel elated by these words? It's great that just before you wiped your ass, you thought about your girlfriend. I'm sure she'd be delighted to know that you hold her in such high regards. (When my colon is finished spasming and I have a hand full of tissue, that's the time I think of my loved ones.)

If you want to get your message out so bad, take an ad out in the paper. I understand that the lure of an audience that has nothing to do for 5-10 minutes but look at what you've written is hard to resist, but try to do it anyway. Jiffy Marker marketing doesn't (and shouldn't) work for everyone.

I think my other major frustration is that Bathroom Walls don't have spellcheck. I know it must be hard to write & defecate at the same time, but a little extra focus is all that's needed. (Or maybe take a dictionary in with you.)

Please flush twice after reading this post - someone needs the water.


Later.

Caffeinated Bliss.

I love Coffee.

Correction: I love Store-Made Coffee.

Doesn't matter where I go, Starbucks, Tim Horton's, or that coffee shack at the other end of town - I enjoy it when other people make me coffee.

And it can't be just anyone - it has to be a Coffee Professional.

My Coffee at home? Sucks.
Coffee at Grandma's? Sucks. (Sorry Grams.)
Restaurant Coffee? Sucks.
Regular Cup 'o Joe at work? Sucks most of all.

What do all of the above have in common? (Next to the fact that they all suck?) Neither myself, sweet Grams, the waitress at Ricky's, or any of the people I work with are true Coffee Professionals. There's training involved. Rigorous hours of training, using industrial equipment, to make sure that my beverage is prepared to exact specifications.

If you think of it, it's amazing. Take a 4-dollar crack whore, slap a Tim Horton's Uniform on her, train her up in customer service,(instead of servicing customers, wink-wink) and she can make a better cup of coffee than my Gran. (Bless her sainted little heart.) There's some Johnny Mnemonic -level brain technology going on there. There just has to be.

(If I brought home a 4-dollar crack whore and told my Wife that she was just there to make me coffee, do you think she'd believe me?)

Whatever it is, there's something about having that sweet beverage created just for me that makes it so wonderful. (I'm on my third Extra-Large of the day, and if I have any more, I think I will approach spiritual nirvana.)

If you'll excuse me, I think there's some residue left in the bottom of the cup.


Later.

Best Joke I've Heard All Day..

"What do you call a Dog with stainless steel balls and no back legs?"

......."Sparky."


Mind you, I work with the public, so it's not often that I get any really raunchy ones coming my way. It's just good to see that some people have a good sense of humor on these dreary days. The wind and the rain really seems to bring the asshole out in everyone.

At least I got to laugh.


Later.

Fish 'n Chips

Tonight is Poker Night at The Homestead.

The Sidekick's coming for diner, and after that, the cards start flying. We've got a good crowd coming, so there should be lots of cash floating around. (Some of it will be The Wife's so I hope I can win enough to balance out.)

We've only done Poker here once before and there weren't too many people that time, so this should be entertaining. Hopefully the kids stay asleep - the last thing I need is for The Boy to ask what I'm going to do with those two Aces......

Later.

Unpleasant Concoction.

Nasty has a new word - SunnyD.

I get home from Poker tonight, and look for something to drink. I glance into the fridge and there is nothing - no milk, no soda, nothing.

I rummage around, looking for a stray can of whatever. By this time I'm parched, and would drink practically anything I see.

That's when I spot it.

Way at the back of the fridge, behind the lettuce, is a bottle of SunnyD.

It's been years since I had SunnyD. I hated it then, but maybe it's worth a shot. I glance over at the tap, thinking maybe I should just go with a glass of water instead. But some part of my mind (the retarded part) urges me to chug the cool, crisp SunnyD and quench my thirst.

I scoop the bottle up and twist the cap off, thinking to myself "How bad can it be? It's got a shelf life of two months, and can sit at room temperature for two weeks without having to be refrigerated - it's just full of natural ingredients, right?"

The SunnyD washes down my throat in a wave of flavor. I chug the bottle, slaking my mighty thirst. Then it hits me - the aftertaste. I burp, and it tastes like oranges dipped in gasoline. All of a sudden there's this oily taste in my mouth, and my tongue has gone all fuzzy.

This isn't good.

I go to the bathroom, and after brushing my teeth and tongue twice, I can still slightly taste it. I rinse with water three times, and bust out the Listerine to kill whatever traces may still be left. There is only one problem....

Now I'm thirsty again.

I could just have a glass of water.
Or maybe there's another SunnyD at the back of the fridge......



Later.

Wrapped Around Your Finger.

The Older Boy is a virtual master of manipulation.

I was watching him tonight - we were having dinner at my parent's place. He played my Mother like a pro. Anything he wanted - he got. He knows that all he has to do is look at Grandma and ask sweetly and whatever he wants will be his. ( I busted him earlier tonight trying to convince his Grandfather that there weren't enough Transformers at Grandpa's house, and that The Boy could show him what store to buy them at.)

He doesn't pull any of that shit when we are around, but I leave the room to use the facilities and come back to him bending my Parents to his will. After that, it's too late.

The Grandparents don't notice because he's so polite when he does it. He's not rude, and he never demands - he suggests. He's a true negotiator at heart.

He'll be great with the ladies when he's older.

That's m'boy.


Later.

Corruption.

Someone is influencing my child - and not in a good way.

He likes to listen to music, and asked that I make him a new CD to listen to - something for in the car or at home. I told him to scan the digital channels, and if there is something he likes, his Mother can write it down.

Simple, right?

Nope.

I come home and check out his list. Half of it is Country music. What the fuck? Who lets him listen to Country? I have a kid who likes The Beasties, Foo Fighters and the White Stripes and someone lets him listen to country? Oh Lord - his musical education has been set back years.

I'm thinking aggressive therapy - go full-out Punk or Death Metal to counteract the influence of whatever banjo-twanging he's been forced to hear. Something has to work, it just has to.

I know who the culprit is, too. I'd eliminate her- but she tucks him in every night, and he'd notice if she was gone. I'm thinking robot double, but it'll take some time to get the parts together.

Help me George Clinton, you're my only hope.


Later.

Grapes Gone Bad.

I hate raisins.

I know that hate is a strong word, and I may have been exaggerating in my use of it. I imagine that biting into a raisin is akin to chewing on mummified scrotal sac. (I only say imagine because I've never tried scrotal sac, mummified or fresh.)

Cookies baked with raisins in them? No thanks - I'll take the candy apple from the creepy guy's house on Halloween instead. Putting those shriveled bits into a wonderful thing like cookie dough is like adding fecal graffiti to The Last Supper.

Avoidance is the key - mark my words.

Remember - friends don't let friends eat raisins.


Later.

Eye Catcher.

I'll admit - Tom Ford sure can advertise.

I was flipping through a magazine while on lunch break, and this ad stopped me cold.

I wonder why?

Sex sells, baby.

I gots to get me some cologne.

.....And some private time.


Later.

Increase Penis Girth Today!

A while ago I posted about my E-mail.

I was getting another individual's mail, and it was getting annoying. I sent off a couple of "return to sender" mails, and slowly but surely, word got around that this wasn't their e-mail address anymore. The invitations and family photos dried up.

But now I'm getting spam. Lots of spam.

This account doesn't get used for anything but personal e-mail. I have an account setup elsewhere for this type of thing. Since I'm quite anal about it I'm also confident that no one in my home is giving this address out to anyone else. Which leaves me with one thought:

That bitch is using my e-mail address as a spam address.

I know it's a girl from all the mail I got addressed to "Mindy". (Since there was none for "Mork" I assumed that was her real name.) My best guess is that she's out there entering porn sites and using her old address as a referral dump or even worse, clicking those "punch the monkey" ads and entering my information.

Just tonight I received 21 spam e-mails - that's after getting 15 or so this morning. It's not a major inconvenience, as I have filters and such, but it's a pain knowing that I'm getting them. And knowing that it's not my fault just infuriates me even more.

There has to be a way to get even. I'm not going to be some-one's Internet Bitch.
Revenge will be a dish best served electronically.

Until then, I'll do a little light reading on the subject of girth.


Later.

The Legacy.

The other day I tentatively introduced The Boy to Star Wars.

I've always loved these movies, even if George has mangled and distorted them from what I viewed on the screen as a young boy. I wasn't much older than my son when I first saw Star Wars- I hoped he would enjoy them as much as I.

Did he ever.

We've watched the entire Original Trilogy in the past four days - He loves it. His shock when he found out Vader is Luke's father was priceless, as well as his exclamation of joy when Vader helps destroy the Emperor. (He thought Ewoks were "silly" - my heart swelled with pride.)

He wants to be Darth Vader for Halloween now.
(A lot of parents probably wouldn't think that their child dressing up as a Dark Lord of the Sith is a good idea, but I'm not one of them.)

The Boy wants to watch the Prequels as soon as possible now. I think he'll like those just as much as he did the Original Trilogy. Truth be told, I'd be even more proud if he is just a little disappointed in them - just like I was.

That would be the true passage of the Legacy.


Later.

Skip It.

It's a late night.

I just finished Poker, and I have to hit the sack.

(Why do mornings come so early after Poker?)

Skipping a post isn't something I do lightly. As a matter of fact, I don't skip lightly at all - it's more of a "thud - thud" sound. Not very flattering at all.

What can I say? I'm tired.


Later.

Bass-ackwards.

I was out doing errands today, and I kept running into the same lady over and over, no matter which store or parking lot I was in. (It's a small town, so this isn't the strangest thing.)

She was driving an import Land Rover - that's what made her so noticeable. It's a very nice vehicle, and I thought that it must be odd trying to re-learn to drive with the wheel on the right. I wouldn't mind having one myself.

It wasn't until I was in the Tim Horton's drive-thru that it occurred to me. When driving an import car in Canada, every single drive-thru is of no use to you - you're on the wrong side of the car.

I use drive-thru's a lot. As a parent, anytime I can get a prescription or stop at the bank without having to take the kids out of the car is so much better. To take that out of your life would be a pain in frustration. You'd still be able to use them, but you'd either need a passenger to do all your transactions, or else lean way over, defeating the convenience aspect of the drive-thru. (I'm not about to hand The Boy my bank card - "Punch in Daddy's PIN, son.")

So for now, the thought of an import car is just that - a thought. Until all drive-thru's involve robots to service either side of the car, I'll be on the left, leaning out the window and yelling into the speaker.

Later.

Fat Fingers.

I need help.

When I type, I tend to look at the keys, only glancing periodically at the screen to check my progress. (That's why I'm horrible at instant messaging - anyone who can actually type can converse circles around me, and I haven't even looked at the screen to see what they have said.)

I was just typing another post, and as I looked up to see what I had down I noticed that out of five words, I had four spelled wrong. I was shocked. Some words had an extra letter in them, or a space where there shouldn't be one. I'm not sure what to blame it on - either lack of attention, horrible education, or chubby fingers mashing on the keys.

All I can say is thank God for spell-check. I could have left it that way, but then you would think you were reading The Sidekick's blog and not mine. (Zing!)

I wonder if they make fat-key keyboards. Like those oversized buttons on your Grandma's phone. I need something like that to prevent this horrible event from happening again.

Or I could just run spell-check every thirty seconds, just in case.

Nah, I think the fat keyboard is the way to go.....but I'll need a bigger desk.



Later.

Toilet Humor

Tonight I watched something that surprised me.

The Boy had picked out the movie Flushed Away, and I had groaned at the thought of it. I hadn't heard much about this movie, and wasn't into seeing it.

I'm a Pixar snob, you see - and any movie that wants you to watch it just because the guys from Shrek made it doesn't sit well with me. I got suckered into watching Barnyard once, and that memory haunts me to this day.

But this one turned out okay - so much in fact that I might actually buy it. I enjoyed the humor, the kids loved it, and visually it's a great animated movie. There are a ton of in-jokes that the kids missed but I got. (The 2 second shot of Wolverine's uniform won me over.) I'm glad they put something in there for me. Nice of them to think of the parent.

I guess you can't judge a book (or Dvd) by it's cover.

I know most of you thought that with a title like Toilet Humor I'd be talking about what makes me laugh - and you'd be right - this did make me laugh. It can't all be dick and fart jokes, people.



Later.

Dear Corey Hart:

I grew up in the Eighties.

As a young Canadian boy I was force-fed your music, and it has had quite the cumulative effect on me.

I wouldn't call myself impressionable, (I owned parachute pants just like everyone else) but the constant barrage of your lyrics over the years have delved deep into my psyche, causing what I deem to be permanent damage.

I keep wearing sunglasses at night.

I know it's wrong, and that I look like a fool. But for some reason I can't help myself - this affliction, and it's accompanying yearning for wacky morning DeeJays, are the scars that the Eighties have left on my brain. For some strange reason I feel compelled to wear sunglasses as soon as the sun dips below the horizon.

So far this has cost me approximately $323,287.63 in legal costs, from the constant accidents and lawsuits that follow. (Driving with the aforementioned sunglasses on isn't wise at 1:30am.)
Thus we get to the root of the matter.

Corey, I'm gonna need some money to help me out of this jam. I know the royalties from your music are all tied up in investments and what not, so I'm hoping that you will be able to assist with the wages you have from your current job. I will forward this to whichever A&W you are cleaning floors at. (I'm sure your parents will be able to give me the address - you still live with them, right?)

Thanks in advance for your help, Corey - I know it's not your fault - the music was just too good.


Later.

Brownout.

The power went out today at work.

Well, that's not exactly true, as it only went half-out, and we were able to stay open in a reduced capacity. Not too fun considering it's Thanksgiving.

But goddamn, people were assholes. It's not my fault the power's fucked, okay? I had nothing to do with it. So don't treat me like it's a major inconvenience to you. Do you have any idea how much of a inconvenience it is to me? (I didn't think so.) Do you think I like having to stay open and deal with shmucks like you? I'd rather sit in the back and drink beer, playing games while waiting for the power to flicker on. Did I get to do that? No.

Instead I put my best foot forward and bit my lip, even while you insisted that you should be treated like royalty. Demanding that we stay open past our regular time just because you want it? Fuck you. I'm thankful for a lot of things, and one of them is being able to restrain myself from kicking your ass.

...

Ah, that's better.

See, the power did come back on - eventually. (After closing time.) And the Powers That Be made sure that there was a cold beer waiting in the office for me afterwards.

Karma wins again.



Later.

The Shittiest Beer I've Ever Had.

I was out for drinks tonight and I followed the Sidekick's lead.

Bad Decision.

See, he goes out more than I do, and I'm not that much of a drinker. (Anymore.) So when I see him order a beer I've never seen before, I put my faith in him and order the same. (Our tastes run very similar.) It's happened before and has always worked out for the best.

But not tonight.

What was handed to me was the most foul and evil beer I can recall ingesting. (The bartender tells me afterwards that earlier this year the beer was up for recall.) The flavor? Like week old socks soaked in vinegar. The smell? Like wet dog in a closed room.

Oh yeah, it was that good.

If the time I had drinking the beer wasn't exceptionally fun, it would have been a total write off.

Next time, I'm forging my own path, and picking out the exact opposite from what the Sidekick orders.

Unless he orders Gin.
That, my friends, is a whole other ball of wax.


Later.

Roughage.

Thanksgiving is on Monday.
(At least in Canada it is. The Americans have their Thanksgiving at some fucked up time, like three days before Christmas or something.)

It's this time of year that I feel bad for the Vegans.

That salad sure doesn't look as tasty as my Turkey, stuffing, mashed potatoes and gravy. I'm sure it's good and all, but what satisfaction can you get from a salad?

"Honey, that lettuce sure was crisp today - I think I'll nap on the couch for a bit - sleep this big meal off." Say what you will, it's just not the same.

Sure, they'll be lean and long-lived, but I'll be well-fed in my big fat coffin.

Who's laughing now, eh?

Pass the gravy. Will ya?


Later.

De-Composition

I was scrolling through my Blog archives today, looking for something I thought I wrote.

Every once in a while I'd come across a post or two that I was particularly proud of. I'd re-read it, chuckle, and then move on. I never did find what I was looking for - but I did find out something.

I think I'm tapering off.

Much like Motley Crue in it's later years, I just don't have that "zing" in my writing anymore. It's not like it's completely hopeless - I'm still better with the spell-checker than a certain Hetro-Life Mate I know. I think that I started writing just to entertain - and now I blog not so much for all of you, but for me. I've never had a journal before, and since Penthouse Forum sent my letters back (unopened), this is all I have.

Dear Blog....I never thought this would happen to me...

Just doesn't sound right, does it?

Later.

Podcast.

I think I'm a funny guy.

The Sidekick? I think he's hilarious.

Together? We are some funny shit. The banter, the comments - I tell you - it's a fuckin' comedy goldmine.

But when he suggested the idea of doing a podcast - I immediately became skeptical.

Why? The sound of my voice.

I know I think it sounds like melting White Chocolate, but I'm not sure it would go over well with the general public. Every time I call home and hear my answering machine message I become a little more sure that my vocal talents aren't for everyone. (Notice I said vocal, ladies - my oral skills are excellent.) Luckily I have a face built for radio and broadcasting in general.

I also think that it would be tough to have a ten minute conversation, one that other people would find interesting. If you want me to talk about my penis for ten minutes, sure - not a problem, but I don't think The Sidekick is going to want to linger on that subject for too long.
(But if you're reading this, you might want to hear that, right?)

I'm still on the fence about the whole subject - but you never know - things could change.
Until then I'll keep my Barry White -like sounds to myself.

Can ya dig it?


Later.

Awkward Silence.

I hate "The Pause".

You know the one that I'm talking about - the pause while you are waiting for the approval on your debit card when making a purchase.

Sometimes? No pause at all. Transaction completed and I'm on my way.

Occasionally it takes a bit longer and you start to question yourself. Did I punch in the right PIN? Was it the right account? Do I have money in that account? AmIgoingtolooklikeanassandhavetodoitalloveragain? Be aware that this is going through my mind within the five seconds it takes the machine to give it's friendly beep. (My paranoia knows no speed limit.)

I don't want to be one of those people who comes out on the negative end of The Pause. All of a sudden your whole existence as a human is put into question. What kind of life does this guy have if he can't co-ordinate $1.64 in his account for coffee? How did he get here - on the short bus? That's not the perception of myself I'd like others to have.

Thanks to modern technology I'm second-guessing myself almost every time I swipe my card.

Fuck it - I'm going to start paying cash.
But first I have to go to the ATM.


Later.

Applesauce.

See the picture on the right?

That's what my brain feels like right now.

The good thing is that tomorrow is my day off, so I'll be able to (somewhat) relax. The bad thing was that I had to bust my ass at work today just to make sure I had everything done.

It was one of those days that I dread - everything that I had to do took just a little longer than it should. Now while that's not a bad thing during sex, when it happens at work it's not good. If I needed an order form, I couldn't find one. When I did, it had been filled in. When I went to make a copy of a clear form, the photocopier was out of paper.

Do you see where I'm going with this?

I need my day off.
I need my Starbucks Coffee.
I need... well, you know what I need.

Tomorrow is another day.
Thank God.


Later.

The 80's Fight Back.

Thanks to Public Radio and my own twisted psyche, I have been unable to get these songs out of my head.

Will the madness ever stop?

Later.

Patience Rewarded.

Thank you, Dave Grohl.

I'm really enjoying the new album, Echoes, Silence, Patience & Grace. I can't say that there is a track that I don't like. (The Beaconsfield Miners thing is different, but still great.)

My favorite so far? I'd have to say Summer's End.

I don't want to sound Gay or anything, but I really need to see you. It's at the point where I've even entered online contests just to get tickets to your Canadian tour shows. ( The prize also had a 52" TV and Playstation 3, but please don't think that had anything to do with it.) I'm getting that desperate, dude.

But I'd just like to say thanks again - and if you can hook me up with some tickets, it'd be great.
Don't worry - I wouldn't tell anyone.


Later.

Mr Clean

I've been a productive boy today.

Dishes, laundry, vacuuming, getting the kids fed and dressed... and it's early still.

Some days I get the cleaning bug - I'd love to not have to work today, because I'm in the mood to scrub and sterilize my house. It's not that it's dirty, but I just have the energy to accomplish all those little nagging tasks that have been hanging around.

It'll be a shame to waste that energy on work, don't you think?


Later.

One Beer, Two Beer...

Three Beer, Four.

Tonight wasn't a bad night at work, thanks to my friend pictured on the right.

You see, I had to close with one of the other managers. (To prep for our year-end inventory.) The great thing was, he brought beer in with him. Between the two of us, we were done everything early, and spent the last 45 minutes sitting in the office drinking.

How can you have a bad day at work when you have a cold beer in your hand?

The only problem is that after work I felt like continuing the binge. Thank God we ran out of beer - if it had been available, I would have been in real trouble. They say the way to a man's heart is through his stomach, but to get my attention you just have to pop the top. (Ladies - that is a double entendre - take it as you will.)

At least I'm looking forward to work tomorrow -

Maybe there'll be a keg.


Later.

Wish You Were Here

My Nephew's service is today.

If there is one song that conveys how I feel at this time, this would be it.

I played this for my Brother after his service, and for my Aunt after hers.

Lucas - this one's for you.


Later.

An Ounce Of Prevention Is Worth A Pound Of Curl.

I was at the Mall in Courtenay today.

(Yes, Courtenay - I was slumming.)

As I'm walking through the mall, a lady passes by, and I can't help but look. She's dressed in upscale stuff, and everything below her neck seems like it's all in order.

Yet she has this mound of curlers (covered with a hairnet) piled on top of her head. I was confused to say the least.

If you care enough about your appearance to resort to curlers, why would you go out in public with them still in? I mean, the fact that you are using styling tools means that you are aware that others look at you and may judge your presentation. So why on earth would you not take them out before you go anywhere in public?

(I might add that this mall doesn't have a barber shop or salon, so it's not like she was shopping while waiting for the 'do to set.)

Is it just one of those female things I might not understand? I'm also willing to accept that it's a Courtenay thing - what happens in Courtenay stays in Courtenay.

Or maybe I'm just missing out on the next big fad.

Has anyone seen my hairnet?


Later.

The Long And The Short of It.

It's not the size of your pencil, but whether or not you can write cursive.

Be it longhand or shorthand, how you write things is almost as important as what you write. Good punctuation, fluid rhythm and proper syntax always make for and enjoyable read - one that you'll bookmark and read over and over again.

Beware improper uses of the comma and always be conscious of the period. (It's very important - miss one and you're fucked.) Contractions are okay, but for elegance and charm I believe that you should always go with the longer from of the word - it sounds classier, not trashy.

As stated above - penmanship is key. Keep it neat and legible. Scribbling all over the place doesn't do anyone any good. You want to make your message clear. If someone struggles with your writing, they aren't going to enjoy what you are trying to say.

I hope this all makes sense somehow, and if it doesn't I guess that's my fault. It's hard to sharpen one's own pencil with just one hand.

Has anyone seen my eraser?


Later.

MSG is Not For Me.

Every time I eat Chinese Food I feel like shit.

I ask for no MSG, but there are some items (usually my favorites) that are prepared ahead of time and contain the dreaded ingredient. It doesn't matter what I order - I'm either going to get something I like that makes me feel horrible, or be left unfulfilled. It's a lose/lose situation.

MSG never used to bother me, but I've found that as I've gotten older I just can't hack it anymore. Sometimes I feel so horrible that even the thought of Chinese Food is enough to make me gag.

Yet I keep going back, so who's the real idiot here, right?

Haven't you ever loved something, even when you knew it was bad for you?

I'm a whore for fortune cookies, I'll admit it.
Anyone seen the Pepto-Bismol?


Later.

A Night In.

Tonight was Movie Night.

We watched Monster House with the kids.

I have to admit, I was very impressed. Spielberg and company did a nice job with this one. I'll be honest - it was the first animated movie I've watched on the High-Def setup and it looked gorgeous. The characters and the lighting were awesome.

Oh, yeah - the kids liked it too.

The Youngest One isn't into movies like his older sibling - He would rather do anything else than sit still for 90 minutes. I like that he's not totally committed to the television, but it would be nice if he could enjoy the film , and we didn't have to stop and entertain him every 25 minutes. (I'm sure in 12 years I'll be curing him to get his lazy ass off the couch.)

The oldest one? I think he likes the DVD player more than he likes me. (If the DVD player fed him, I'm sure that would be the case.) I lid - he's great - he just enjoys movies so much because he knows I enjoy them too. I foresee many years of bonding over movies. I'll have him hooked on Kevin Smith - as soon as his Mom will let him watch it. (How old does a kid have to be for dick and fart jokes?)

It's been a pleasant night - we'll have to do it more often.

Now if I can maybe slip Kill Bill into the DVD Player.....we'll be set.


Later.

Dirge, Revisited.

I've found a new tune to add to the Funeral Dirge.

(I know it seems morbid, but bear with me.)

"Home" by the Foo Fighters.

It's such a sweet, haunting melody. Perfect for the occasion.
Dammit, Dave Grohl - did you have to be such a poet?

My man-crush grows deeper.


Later.

Jealousy Unleashed.

The Sidekick left for the Home Office today.

My envy knows no bounds.

It was about six years ago that He and I went East to visit friends. A simple trip that became a Life Experience. The Memories of drinks and laughter are ones that I recall fondly.

Waking in the Vinyl Lounge with a throbbing headache each day, tasting the beer and cigarettes from the night before. (Yes, that's a good memory.) The drive out to Bobcaygeon, the day in the T-Dot, and touring the "Ghetto" of Ontario.

He's got a condensed trip out there, but I still envy him.

The Fucker.

Hopefully I'll just take his money in Poker when he gets back. (That'll show him.)


Later.

A Thousand Words...

..ain't worth shit.

Today I didn't feel like talking much.

I went to work, and because my mind was elsewhere, I wasn't much for conversation. ( It wasn't that I was mopey or anything - I just wasn't chatty, that's all.) But some people feel like the best thing for me to do is talk.

I'm handling the death of my Nephew better than anyone else in the family. But that doesn't mean I'm going to be all sunshine and lollipops for every member of the general public I come across. Just because I'm like that 95% of the time doesn't mean I have to be like that today.

Someone made the comment that I must be really emotional because I'm quiet today. My emotions had little to do with it. Just because I don't feel like verbalizing my feelings to you doesn't mean I'm an emotional wreck - It means I don't want to talk to you.

I'm all good now - going to work and having to interact with people (even the general public) is good for you. And when all else fails I can always bitch on the Internet - that's what it's here for, right?

I'll get back to our regular programming soon, have no fear.


Later.

No Post.

I've had a Death in The Family.

My Nephew, Lucas, passed away this morning at 8am.

He was a sweet boy - he will be missed.

Later.

Somone Dig Up Johnnie Cochran..

..The Juice is in trouble again.


Later.

Creative Mess.

YouTube makes it way too easy to be a lazy Blogger.

Can't think of anything witty to say? Steal someone else's creative idea, post it and comment. Takes no thought and less brain power than eating Cheetos. Seems simple, right?

Wrong.

Eventually you'll stop using your brain, and just live off the funny shit that other people create - you'll be lifting all your lines from comedians and skits you saw on YouTube. Soon, as your brain rots inside your cranium, it'll leak out onto the floor and make a mess on your carpet.

And nobody wants that, do they?

Later.

(I'd like to be able to do the chip shuffle, though.)

5 Reasons Why I Love Harvey Birdman.

The Video says it all.

I can't get enough of this show - I've talked about it before, but every time I watch it, it just gets funnier and funnier. It really fits my sense of humor.

I still have yet to pick up the Third season, but payday's coming up, and I might need to treat myself.

Later.

In The Still Of The Night.

At 5 am this morning, I was awoken by a beeping sound.

I shrugged it off, rolled over and went back to sleep.

The beeping sound came back.

Half-awake, I try to stay conscious long enough to figure out where the sound is coming from. Turns out it's my cell phone, and the battery is dying.

My cell is in my pants pocket, and they are on the chair in the corner. The simple thing to do would be to take the phone out of the pants, turn it off and deal with it in the morning.

But no. At 5am, I'm just not that smart.

My solution was to throw my pants on the floor, and then throw my housecoat on the pants. (I must have thought the housecoat contained a cone of silence.) Seemingly triumphant, I stagger back into bed.

And then it beeps again.

I crawl out of bed and take my phone out of my pocket. I turn it off, and then hurl it (with great force) upon my crumpled housecoat. I proceed back to bed, to close my eyes until dawn's early light.

Or, an hour an a half later when the alarm goes off.

Fuckin' technology - keeps me awake at night.


Later.


(P.S. I'm blaming the 9 bucks I lost at Poker on my phone.)

Size Matters.

Toronto now has the world's worst case of Shrinkage.

Yes, the T-Dot, once proudly flailing Canada's most public phallic symbol, has been relegated to #2 on the ol' size-o-meter.

The Burj Dubai has surpassed it, and I can see Toronto suddenly questioning it's masculinity.

I'm sure that they'll soon pass bylaws ensuring that people drive more Hummers and Corvettes in Toronto, and that they'll say it's "not how tall your building is, but what you do with it." They'll start to scorn size altogether, and instead focus on how great their sports teams are doing ....oh wait.

I know that this must be a crushing blow for Toronto and it's people. But they'll get by - they always have the memories. No-body's laughing and pointing at the little twig of a building they got there, right? (At least not yet.)

And remember Toronto, it could be worse.

You could be Port Alberni.


Later.

The Coolest Fucking Toilet I've Ever Seen.

It's a given that Starbucks has some cool shit going on.

Hip music, trendy lighting, hot coffee. But I didn't think it extended into the bathrooms.

I was wrong.

As I walked into the Starbucks washroom last night after Poker, I noticed the sleek, racecar-like lines of this porcelain wonder. I was perplexed - it didn't have a visible handle - just two buttons on top, but I had to go, and the bladder waits for no one. (A moment of panic crossed my mind - it was almost like the three seashells in Demolition Man.) While I stood there looking about I saw there were instructions on the wall about how to flush the toilet.

I read them while conducting my business. (Yes I can read and pee at the same time, and don't worry - I didn't splash the seat.) Each button corresponds to a bodily function. If all you are doing is Number One - press Button One - and just enough water comes out to rinse the bowl clear. If you're making a deposit (Number Two) - press Button Two and a torrent of water releases, whisking away that concentrated evil you left behind.

What a great way to save water and be ecologically pro-active, don't you think?

Except for people like me who will stand there for five minutes pressing the buttons to see if they can tell there's a difference, and seeing what kind of tsunami they can create by pushing both buttons at once.

Next to that - it's a great fucking idea.


Later.

Night Out.

Tonight I'll be playing in my first ever Poker tournament.

(I know it's not the Ripple Rock, but I'll take what I can get.)

It's a free tourney with a potential cash prize. I'm not expecting to cream the competition, but I hope to do well. The best result would be if the group I'm going with all make the final table. (The chances of that happening are astronomical.)

I'll need some help from lady luck - not much, but the odd Pocket Aces or runner-runner flushes would be nice.

I've been good - I think luck owes me that much.

Later.



Update: Made it to heads up at my table, and was doing well. Busted out when my Full House got beat by Quads. That's right bitches - Quads. I was happy with my performance though, and will go again next time I'm able.

The Pretender

I can't wait for September 25th.
Dave Grohl never disappoints.


Later.

Throne of Wisdom.

I have a confession: I don't remember a damn thing from High School.

Well, anything outside of the social aspects. If it was forced into my brain inside the four walls of the school, I've completely forgotten about it now. I still remember the early stuff, reading, writing, and recess, but anything after that? Not at all.

Practically everything I know I've learned from The Bathroom Reader.
(And just to let you know, I'm not a slouch either - I kick ass at Jeopardy.)

Be it historical facts or trivial quotations, I've accumulated this information while relaxing on the porcelain chair. It's amazing how open your mind is to new snippets of information when you are getting rid of that bean burrito from the night before.

I think it's the combination of great lighting and relative silence that makes the data so easy to absorb. There's no eye strain, and there are no distractions: no phones, no kids, nothing but you and the material. Optimum learning conditions.

The funny thing is, because they are published in the States, I now know more American History and trivia than most college graduates from the States.

But I have to be on the Can to prove it.

I've got to go... I feel an urge to go number two learn about Abraham Lincoln's assassination. Can't hold back the quest for Knowledge!


Later.

Comparative Mortality.

A guy I worked with died today.

He passed away at home.

The fact that it happened wasn't a shock to us. We knew it would occur eventually. (But not as quick as it did.)

He was over 50, didn't take care of himself, and was constantly getting sick. It didn't matter what we said to him about his health, he seemed ambivalent towards his situation. He even started smoking. No exercise and a very sedentary lifestyle didn't help.

I'm sad for him, but even moreso for his family - (his youngest son works for us as well) - they were unable to do anything to make him see what he was doing to himself, and no matter how hard you may have tried, there will always be some semblance of guilt.

I wouldn't want to put my family through that.

I look at myself and ask how committed I am to my health. Doing even the smallest thing is better than doing nothing at all.

I think I'm going to go back to the gym.
And give my kids a hug every time I walk out the door.



Later.

Comfort Zone

I've decided that I'd like to not wear pants.

I just find my Boxer-briefs so much more relaxing.

The first thing I did when I got home tonight? Took of my pants and lounged in a t-shirt and boxers. I didn't even look to see if there was company around. (It wouldn't have mattered if there was.)

I know the question you all want to ask, and the answer is Yes - I take the socks off as well - for maximum relaxation.

I know that I'll have to put pants on for work and such, but as soon as I don't have to go anywhere, the pants will be off. If I could get away with it, I'd play Poker in my Boxers. (I think the Sidekick would get a bit unsettled, though.)

The other advantage is that with the pants off, I'm already halfway to naked.
And naked ain't a bad thing. (Unless I'm walking by a mirror.)



Later.

The Sweetest Two Dollars.

Winning money is great.

But winning money from your best friend?

That, good people, is like sex on cake.

It's only two dollars, but that's irrelevant. I don't get to take The Sidekick's money often - We are pretty much even when it comes to Poker - so any victory is a sweet one. (And at Golf? Bonus!)

I was behind in the match. We were playing $.25 a hole and although I was in the lead earlier, I lost some crucial holes and was down $.75 walking to the last tee box. I proposed double or nothing, to at least get my $.75 back, but The Sidekick decided to raise it up to $2. (He'd won the last hole, and was feeling cocky, I guess.)

I'll admit, I didn't play the hole well - I hit to the right, into a ditch and shot right again coming out - I was up by the pin, but off the green. My nice chip shot and shitty putting allowed me to shoot a 5. By some stroke of luck, The Sidekick faltered at the end, and we ended up tying the hole.

Over and done, right?

Not fucking likely. It's playoff time.

First we decided to chip to the green and putt - we tied.
Putt from far away - tie again.
Putt from what seemed like across the galaxy - I finally sink it - but he gets a chance to tie it up.
(This is the moment I thanked God for the shitty putter that he always complains about.)
And....

Ohhh! Shank to the right! I win!

Not only was the shinny Toonie great, but the coffee I bought with it later?
All the sweeter because of it.


Later.


(Thanks for letting me win, buddy.)

Would You Like Some Guilt With Your Coffee?

This makes me feel shameful for enjoying my Venti White Chocolate Mocha.

Only moderately, though. She's right - they are freakin' delicious.

I think the Bible said it best - "Give a man a fish and feed him for a day - Take my coffee and I'll fucking kill you."

I'm not 100% sure of the quote, but it goes something like that.

Later.

Techno Bitch.

I think my iPod has diminished my appreciation for music.

Don't get me wrong - I love my iPod, but I think that it's easy-to-use system and features have corrupted me. It's made it simpler to not explore all of an artist's songs.

I'm from the era of cassette tapes - unless my favorite song on any album was the first one, I had to fast forward and rewind all over the place to get to the track I wanted. God forbid if I had put the tape in on the wrong side - I was listening to completely new material! You were forced to listen to other parts of the album - well, if you were a lazy bastard like me you had to.


Because of this, I discovered songs I'd never be exposed to. But today? Download the one song you want and ignore all the rest of the musician's work. Heck - you're practically ignoring the context in which the song should be heard. Nobody listens to an album straight through anymore. Imagine listening to The Wall in random order. Sure they're good songs, but you are missing the experience of the album. The flow, as you will.

And I don't think that's right.

Sure, there's an album selection area on the iPod, but how many people do you know who listen to an entire album at once? Next to the Sidekick, I can't think of any. (And we all know he's a little strange.) I'm going to try make it a point of listening to the music the way the artist intened, and in the order they selected. Sure, I'll have some tunes that I just can't sit through, but for every one of those, I think I'll find at least a couple of gems.

Fuck You, Steve Jobs - you don't control me.
(I'm just kidding Steve, I love your products.)



Later

Bad Medicine

I was comparing Saturday nights with an 18-year old kid who works with me.

His - Booze, Babes, Body Shots.
Mine - Kids, Kin, Kozy'd up to the T.V.

I know that morally, I had the better evening - but we aren't talking about wall paintings right now. (Ask the Sidekick for an explanation to that joke.) However, I admit I was jealous of the smarmy little bastard - if only for an hour second or two.

I think it's just an indication that I'm itching to go out and get wound up again. It's not like I do it all the time, but I think I'm due. I can feel all the usual symptoms start to flare up again.

[Bon Jovi]

I don't need no needle
To be giving me a thrill
And I don't need no anesthesia
Or a nurse to bring a pill
I got a dirty down addiction
It doesn't leave a track
I got a jones for your affection
Like a monkey on my back

[/Bon Jovi]

Where can a guy get a prescription filled around here?


Later.

Temporal Distortion.

I swear time was moving backwards today.

I glanced at the clock and I'm positive it was moving counter clockwise. Either that or not moving at all. (And before you ask - no, I haven't been smoking illegal narcotics.)

I'm sure it's one of God's forms of punishment. Between him and the Scheduling Manager, one of them has it out for me.(You'd say that too if you knew who I was working with.)

But it will be better tomorrow, right?


Unless tomorrow ends up to be yesterday, which means I'll have to do today all over again.

Which means I'm fucked.


Later.

Compression.

Trying to get three hours of social time, including dinner and visiting, into two hours is a very hard thing to do.

But we pulled it off.

Tonight I was able to get off work, feed the kids and see my grandmother - and still have the kids in bed (slightly) on time. I did have to compromise by telling Grams that we'll be out to see her again on my next day off, but all in all it wasn't too bad.

I do hate rushing things, though. I'm more of a relax-and-chat guy, not a howyadoin'goodtoseeyoutimetogo person. Forcibly cramming pleasantries into a conversation doesn't just happen for me. And trust me, as a parent there are just some things that can't be rushed - a four-year old never does anything quickly when it comes to tidying up or getting ready to leave. (They have to fight the ADD the whole way.)

But now it's over and done with: decompression can occur.
Undo the belt, unzip the pants, and relax.
Oh yeah... that's the ticket.


Later