Discordant Arrangement.

There was something that struck me as odd at the Sam Roberts concert the Sidekick and I attended Saturday night.

There was a lot of old people there.

Now, I'm close to 40, so when I say someone is "Old", I'm saying around late-50's. I'm not going to judge these people, but I will admit that maybe they were at the wrong concert - I did a quick Google search and there isn't any operas or classical artists named Sam Roberts, so maybe they were at the right venue after all. There where quite a lot of them, (I'd say 10% of the people there) and I just chalked to up to season's ticket holders or some such thing.

But they sure weren't there to have fun.

There's one thing that happens at every concert I've been to: People stand up and groove along to the music and the people behind them stand up and so on and so on. It always happens. Sit down when ya want, but once the music starts, prepare to stand up.

These people were having none of that.

When the teenage (mid-20's? - I can never tell anymore) girls in front of them started dancing, they complained to the usher. When the people in front of the girls were standing, they complained to the usher. No matter what, they complained to the usher. It wasn't just an isolated incident either - I could see him running around to every group of older people and receiving some kind of bitching. This 19-year old kid looked like he was frazzled from having to try to appease all these people, and all because some kids want to dance.

The Sidekick's comment: "These people make the parents from Footloose look like a bunch of party animals."

When I go to a concert, I don't expect to sit down. In fact, I really only use the chair to hold my jacket and to mark the general area where I'm permitted to do my flailing about. (That's dancing, for those of you who have never seen the spectacle of my moves.) There was a bunch of old people around us, but since no one was standing (and I could see just fine) I restrained myself from jumping up.

The Sidekick's brilliant plan saved the day.

He had seen that even though the ushers had moved some people around to seat the dancers and non-dancers together, there was still a couple five or six rows in front of us who weren't looking like they were having a good time. He took it upon himself to approach the usher (who looked completely terrified at the thought of someone else complaining) and suggest that we switch seats  - as stated before, I'm perfectly fine with standing up and dancing my ass off.

So we switched, the people were happy, and all was well.


But the question remains: Who the fuck goes to a ROCK CONCERT and just sits down? Elvis would be rolling in his grave at the sight of it.

That older generation - I'll never understand them.





Later.

Digestive Downfall.

Beer kills me.

As much as I like the foamy beverage, it doesn't seem to reciprocate much at all. Normally, this isn't a problem, but on weekends like this it can be an issue.

You see, I was just in Vic at the Sam Roberts Band concert, and since I'm hanging with the Sidekick (official Beer Snob) there's a lot of the brewskie flowing.

I lost count of the types and amounts of beer that was consumed. (Really, it was all the Sidekick's fault.)

Add coffee, Gin, Denny's, pancakes, and driving to all of that and it means my guts are churning up a storm. I'm sure the wife and kids are really going to appreciate the odor I'm bringing home.

Yet another great thing they don't tell you about middle age.

Maybe I'll be nice and strap a charcoal filter to my ass and save everyone some discomfort.

Or maybe not - I'm kind of an ass that way.

Later.

Sammy.

I know I usually call my TV Sammy, but tonight it's a different story.

Tonight the Sidekick and I are attending the Sam Roberts concert at the Royal Theatre. They are one of my favorite Canadian Bands, and seeing them live is something I've been waiting for and can now check off my list.

Just so you don't feel left out (and to rub it in a bit) here's a couple of samples of what I'll be enjoying:







It's okay to be jealous - I would be if I was you.






Later.

To Good to Be True.

I checked the mail yesterday, and there was some interesting news.

Supposedly, according to the letter I received, their was a multi-millionaire with the same last name as me that died in China in a mysterious hiking accident. The partner in his investments is looking to cash in on the $21 million dollars that was left in-estate, and needs my help. He hasn't given me all the details yet, but it seems almost too good to be true.

Which is why I know it's a crock of shit.

We've all heard this one a thousand times - just usually a Nigerian Prince instead of a wealthy Caucasian. This guy did try really hard, however, and I will give him credit on a couple of things:

• His use of actual paper. Everyone is so used to the email scam that receiving something in the mail almost makes it seem legit. You'd think the cost of the postage and the paper would work against the scammer, but all he needs is for one person to fall for it and his expenses are covered.
• He didn't make it an outrageous sum of money. Having $21 million tied up in a foreign country seems like something that could possibly happen to a person who deals in International business.
• The English language is butchered horribly - almost as bad as when the Sidekick sends a tweet - but he actually apologizes for it at the end of the letter! Would a real scammer do that?

But there were some red flags:

• This guy is supposedly a Investment manager who deals with moving money Internationally - his English should be better, and if he has access to a computer to type this request, he probably has Spellcheck. Like I said above, the apology was nice, but c'mon - who falls for that shit?
• If a Multi-Million Dollar Financier disappered in a mysterious accident, it would have been covered on the news. Bill Gates can't take a shit without someone writing about it, so overlooking a death seems far-feteched.
• Looking up the name Anderson Watson in any search engine brings up 0 results. Google, motherfucker - have you heard of it?

If it turns out that I'm wrong and this kind Chinese gentleman really is trying to give me millions, I will apologize - right after I endorse the cheque with my Unicorn-horn pen and blot the ink with the ass of Santa's Reindeer.






Later.

Partial Timeline.

My Day Off today:

• 7am - Wake up, stumble around house in a daze until I make my way to the kitchen to put coffee on.
• 7:05am -  Go into each kid's room and proceed to wake them up with a combination of tickling and threatening to fart on their heads. (They're Boys - they think farting is the height of comedy.) 
• 7:15am - Hand coffee to the Wife as she gets out of the shower. (Yes, I'm that terrific of a husband.)
• 7:20am - Get breakfast for the Boys, and try to make sure they eat it while they deploy every strategy known to 5 & 8 years olds on how to postpone eating said breakfast. (The Ruthless Parent in me sometimes wants to send them off with no breakfast like they want - but the Shameful Parent knows they'll tell their Teacher "Daddy didn't feed me".)
• 7:40am -  Tell the kids to get dressed - Check with wife to see if it's going to be a "Need a Second Cup" kinda day before she goes to work.
• 7:45am - Find out that the kids must be colorblind - there's no reason they would dress themselves like that on purpose.
• 7:50am -  Redress the kids, and make sure their hair is combed/teeth brushed/faces are clean  - one wants me to gel his hair up in a faux-hawk and the other wants his hair to have the Superman "S"-type curl on the front. (Yup - I've raised a couple of classy ones here, people.)
• 8am -  On my way to get dressed for the gym, pass by the wife getting ready and give her a little Helicopter Dance (no contact). I don't think she appreciates it.
• 8:10am - Tie my shoes, kiss the Wife goodbye, (There's a bit of a twinkle in her eye - maybe the Helicopter worked after all..) and hustle the kids out the door to school.
• 8:30am - Drop the oldest off and let him go to class - take the youngest to kindergarten, where I realize that while mine seem bad at times, they pale to other people's kids in bad behavior. (One Dad tells me his kid pissed on his bedroom floor because he was mad about Lego.) I try not to gloat.
• 8:45am - Sign in at the gym and run my ass off for 45 minutes (give or take). Try to avoid repeat glances at the tatted up, firm-buttocked lass on the stair climber in front of me. (Unsuccessful - Great inspiration, though) Proceed to stretch my hams, glutes, lats, pecs, and any other muscle that feels like jelly.
• 10am - Get home, make a coffee and a sweet omlete for breakfast and say I'm only going to spend 15 min online while I eat.
• 11am - Finally realize that 15 minutes has turned into an hour. (Don't judge me - I bet you've done this too.) Resolve to finish one last thing and then sign off.
• 11:30am - Feel shame and amazement at how quickly a half hour flies by. (But look! Now you can tweet this post! )
• 12pm: Fresh from the shower, dance around naked while listening to the Foo Fighters. (Yes, I checked - the blinds where closed.)
• 12:15pm - Scramble to put pants on when I hear a noise at the door. Relax after realizing it was just the paperboy. Wish my paper was dropped off by out-of-work Supermodel.
• 12:30pm - Try to figure out what I want to blog about today. Running? Work? Batman? Poker? Why I think Gerbils are classier rodents than Guinea Pigs?
• 12:40pm - Start typing. You have no idea how shitty I am at typing. I'm not a touch-typist, and not quite a hunter-pecker, either. People who have seen me type compare my roaming, fumbling hands to a teenage boy undoing his first bra clasp. 
• 1:19pm Post this and hope for the best.

I'd post the rest of the day, but it hasn't happened yet. I could make it up, but all of you would get suspicious if I mentioned winning the lottery or battling dragons I found in my crawlspace. Best to just stick with reality.






Later.

Under The Bus.

I'm enjoying being at the new (old) location for work - everything is going well, I'm getting lots done, and I like just  enough of the people  I'm working with. (They are finally starting to get my sense of what's funny.)

There's only one thing that's bugging me:

The guy I switched with.

He's a good guy, and we've known each other for ages. He took over my old section at the other location. I had found a couple of minor-ish things wrong down here, and I expected for him to do the same there - everyone is different and we all notice different things, so there will be some stuff that we each will find. I didn't say much about what I found, just gave him a heads up and he told me a couple things too.

But I heard from two or three reliable sources that he's slagging me down there - trying to critique my job and blowing anything he found waaay out of proportion.

This fucking pisses me off.

I checked with my bosses, and they don't believe or don't care about any error or missed item on my part.

I confronted my co-worker, and he complety denied saying anything negative. (Repeatedly, in fact - I think he's scared of me.)

I don't really give a shit about it, as I know and am fully confident in my job performance - it's just that for some reason the useless little shit pushed my buttons the wrong way.

I think that a pen to the forehead (Dark Knight style) should be punishment for anyone who pulls this type of shit. (Anyone else agree?)

It's over, it's dealt with, moving on.

Thanks for the rant, Internet, its been fun.

Later.

I Feel:

- That beating up thugs playing Arkham City is almost as much fun as shooting up Zombies in Left 4 Dead.

- That if there was a game where Batman blew the shit outta Zombies, I'd be first in line at the preorder desk.

- That being closer to home means I get a nooner when I go home for lunch.

- That it also means I can play video games.

- That being able to do both in the same lunch hour doesn't say much about my staying power. (Sad face)

- That having once-regular customers ask if I just got back from holidays (when I've actually been gone for 2 years) is kind of a letdown.

- That having the Sidekick finally finish editing the podcast is excellent, because I can then post this.

- That kicking ass at Jeopardy, thereby schooling everyone else in the room, will never get old.

- That after gym, work, dinner and kids, my body and mind are both completely wiped.

- That I used to have the same feeling after Spring Break when I was younger - but it was Gin instead of Gym, Weed instead of Work, and somehow Women replaced both food and kids.

- That I'm finally in good enough shape to keep up to the dreams of my youth.

Later.

Switcheroo.

So after being down in the OR for 20 months, it's my first day back in WP, where I spent my first 8 years.

Some things I noticed:

- Next to Department Heads and long term employees, I have no fucking idea who anyone is.
- But no one knows who the fuck I am either, so it kinda balances out.
- I'm so used to my routine in OR that I'm just kinda wandering today. Boring only begins to describe it.
- The breakroom in OR? A fucking palace, with 2 couches, a recliner, and tons of space.
- The breakroom in WP? I could fit it in my crawlspace. (Hopefully I'll be going to the gym/home on my lunch more often.)
- I have yet to see one redneck today, or sell one pack of cigarettes - in OR, both are staples.
- The people I could usually make my witty/crude/humourous comments to aren't around, and I haven't had a chance to break these new ones into "my" sense of humour.
- Hopefully doing that doesn't involve lawyers.

It'll take a bit to get back into my rhythm, but I'm looking forward to being back - even if it's just because the drive home is 3 minutes instead of 25.

Later.

This Post May Be Late...

.... due to the image you see at the right.

Yup - I lucked out at Wal-Mart and got Arkham City 3 days before it's supposed to be released and due to another fuck up on Wally's part, I also got it for $20 cheaper than I should have.

So I'm taking a night off to beat up the worst that Arkham can throw at me.

What can I say? I'm a nerd.





Later.

Comment Commentary.

I love getting comments.

You have no idea the joy I get when I recieve a notification to my inbox saying that someone has posted a comment to my blog. It means that they've read something of mine and liked/disliked it enough to take the time to respond to it. Be it a compliment or a complaint, it's welcomed.

Except for this guy.

This guy commented on a post from 2005, and while I was initally excited that someone was perusing the archives, (There's gold in them there hills, people.) the comment itself leaves a lot to be desired.

1.  It's in Russian. Tip to the commenter: When leaving comments on an blog that's written in English, it's best to go with that language. Do I go to Arabic blogs and leave comments in Danish? Hell no - because I can't read Arabic and I eat Danish, I don't speak it.
2. After running it through Google Translate, I find out the commenter's name is "Removal of Iron Magnetic Separator". His parents must have fucking hated him. Although the abbreviated "RIMS" makes him sound like a cool secondary character in The Fast & The Furious.
3. His comment is "Supplies of iron, magnetic separators and metal detectors for the industry." WTF? What kinda comment is that? You are adding nothing to the conversation, sir - you remind me of that kid in Elementary school who would interupt our G.I.Joe conversations with repeated shouts of "Pudding!".
4. He somehow bypassed the incredible capatcha security Blogger has on the comments section, meaning he's either smarter than I think, or someone's trained a monkey really well.
5. I will give him credit - commenting on the post about anonymity on the Internet is veeerrry subtle.

So thanks for checking out the blog, RIMS - but no thanks. I'm not in need of a magnetic separator, (my personality is magnetic enough) and I get all my iron from Broccoli. (Veggies - Yay!)

I hope my calling to task of this wayward feedback doesn't discourage others from commenting - I do seriously have a mini-nerdgasm when that notification pops up - and I don't want that to stop.







Later.

I Feel:

1. That having the guy who tries to kill me whenever we workout together tell me he wants to train with me for my Spring Half-Marathon makes me want to run less, not more.
2. That he will find distance running so boring he'll want to quit in 2 weeks. (Bonus for me)
3. That watching Escape from New York is weird - it's version of the future was 14 years ago. Probably why I've never watched 1984 - that, and 1984 doesn't have Snake Plissken.
4. In the last 2 days, I've watched EfNY, and From Hell. After watching Kurt Russell and Johnny Depp flex their acting chops on screen, I'm almost obligated to watch Porn as to not develop a man crush. (It's in my own best interest.)
5. That I spent way too much time at the gym this morning looking at the dimples on the girl's ass in front of me. I feel that balances out how much the gay guy at the gym was creeping over by the treadmills.
6. That I'm so much of a nerd that I got excited when I saw someone else had a Zune at the gym today. 
7. That I want to meet and have coffee with the guys who write this - just when I think I've crossed the line with something, I read Cyanide & Happiness and know I'm not even close.
8. That I like Halloween for two reasons - neither of which involve candy.
9. That those reasons are: The enjoyment my kids get out of dressing up, and the enjoyment I get from the massive amount of slutty costumes women wear now. (Although Slutty Elmo creeps me out.)
10. That saying in my last post that I would put up a full frontal probably scared away more readers than it gained.
11. That Holidays are the greatest thing ever - to fill my days with Movies, Podcasts, Running, Coffee, Writing, and Family is what I'd like to do with my life. Now if only the Lottery or Internet Fame would help me out....

Later.

Wrong Place in the Queue.

I swear Blogger hates me.

They're subtle about it, but I think they do.

I was looking at my Blog on a different computer, and just for shits and giggles, I clicked the "Next Blog >>" thing at the top, just to see what was next in line for someone who was just visiting my little space of online real estate. I get a lot of traffic from that "Next Blog" button, so it's kinda nice to see what's behind me, and maybe where people are coming from.

What I saw kinda shocked me, so I clicked again. And again. And again.

Each of the blogs that followed mine had a common thread - They were written by middle-aged Christian women writing about their families and their faith in the Lord.

WTF?

How did I get in with that bunch?

If it had been just one, I could understand - the random nature of the Internet is kinda sickly-weird in the fact that it would stick a quasi-religious blog behind a guy who talks about his dick as much as he talks about his kids.

But three in a row? That's just too much coincidence.

I think Blogger's just fucking with me - all those posts bitching about Blogs of Note are finally starting to push some buttons... I could probably force them to move me quite easily - a few full-frontal shots should get their attention.

I've got them just where I want them.





Later.

Change of Thanks.

We had Thanksgiving dinner last night - or, if you're an American reader, we had Columbus Day dinner - either way, turkey was consumed, gravy was treated like a beverage, and I slipped into a tryptophan-induced coma sometime around 9pm.

Good times.

As much as I like turkey in the first few weeks of October, I think that we should follow our American brethren and change the holiday to one that celebrates the discovery of our country. They can keep Columbus for themselves, because I think we should have a holiday to celebrate the first people to come to our shores - The Vikings.

(I know I'm totally skipping over the First Nations people here, but really - come up to Canada - they have lots of stuff named after/showing support of them, so I think they're covered -  the Vikings deserve a little something too.)

It's been documented that the Vikings were here around 1000 B.C. - waaay before Columbus came and carried Pocahontas off to Mount Doom (I'm a little fuzzy on American History) - so we should acknowledge that fact with a day dedicated to the Viking way. We could have parties, drink mead, go wenching, read Astrix books, and watch Thor on blue-ray - just the way our Viking ancestors would have celebrated.

We can still have our Thanksgiving Turkey Day, but we'll do it closer to Christmas like the Americans do, crushing the two holidays together into one big clusterfuck that lasts for a month. (Sounds good, right?)

I think it's time the Vikings got a day of their own - too long have they been cast aside for cooler stuff like Pirates and Ninjas, and suffered for it. They are pictured as ill-mannered barbarians, when in actuality they were quite well mannered barbarians who were known to use napkins and had doily's to rest the skulls of their victims on. (I get my Viking information from a lot of different places - who knew Martha Stewert was a big Viking Fan?)

I know that pushing something like this through on a national level will take years, but we can implement it ourselves one piece at a time. Have mead next year. The year after, roast a chunk of mutton. The third year, pillage your neighbors - it's a good way to get the whole community involved.

Just something to think about.





Later.

Half of a Half.

The Royal Victoria Marathon is today.

I'm supposed to be running the Half Marathon. (I'd be finishing as I type this, actually.)

But because of how my foot was this summer I wasn't able to train properly, and decided not to race. I could probably have gone down this weekend and muddled through the distance, but I wouldn't have finished with any time that I would be proud of.

But I still wanted to run.

So today I headed out - and while I didn't do the full distance, I did do a distance - 6.55 miles - exactly half the distance of a Half Marathon.

It was as good as I could do for just getting back in shape.

Have no fear, next year I'll be posting my actual finish time - and bragging my ass off,






Later.

Digital Competition

At my house we have an Xbox 360, a Wii, PVR, DVD player, and probably some other items that can be abbreviated in ALLCAPS.

And only one TV.

Sammy, my 42' Plasma that I've had since way back when such things were really expensive, certainly gets a lot of attention, and sometimes this can lead to problems.

I come home from work expecting to have some de-stress time blowing up Zombies/winning the Stanley Cup/ being Batman, and my Wife is catching up on watching her mind-bogglingly inane reality shows?

Problem.

There's a really sweet documentary coming on and it's the same time we promised the Boys they could watch Rio or some other kids crap show?

Problem.

I want to stream a movie on the Xbox and the Wife is playing Super Mario Bros Wii instead?

Problem.

We work through most of these issues with compromise and because I am the Greatest Husband/Father Ever, but it can be a pain in the ass. Sure, we could solve this particular dilemma by just getting another TV, but these same type of conflicts pop up even on other devices like laptops, computers and even phones. (As I type this now, the oldest Boy just asked if he could go on Club Penguin at least 3 times.) and there is no way in hell that I'm hooking everyone in the family up with their own digital paradise.

It always seems that whatever it is that I want to do, there is always someone else using the device that I want.

I think we need to get outside more.

Or maybe I should just send them outside, and that way I can enjoy myself.






Later.

iThink....

- I know I'm a nerd, but I'm amazed at the amount of people in my neck of the woods who don't know who Steve Jobs is.

- Best quote I heard about Steve's passing: "Looks like heaven is getting a design upgrade and will be more user friendly now."

- I'm on the first of my last two days in OR - (does that make any sense at all?) People keep telling me stuff for the weekend and I keep reminding them I'll be gone by then. The blank stare I get, followed by the "Already?" is amusing.

- Coffee and recording a podcast with the Sidekick was fun yesterday. I could totally see doing that for a living. If people would pay to listen to me ramble on about shit it would be a dream come true.

- It's the first day of the NHL season tonight - or as I like to call it, the one day my team has just a good a chance as anyone else of winning the Stanley Cup. (Go Avs!)

- Just noticed that I seem to be doing more list-type rants now. It's either that I can't hold on to a coherent thought longer than two minutes, or my mind shuts down if there hasn't been enough coffee consumed.

- Had a girl comment that the Ryan Kesler nude photo was going in her "spank bank" - not to be sexist, but isn't that a guy thing? Wouldn't girls call it the "Clit Pit" or the "Finger File"?

- I appreciate the fact that the initial baseball playoffs are a best of three -  but just because it means the whole thing is over that much sooner. I only find the last games of the NLCS and the ALCS, as well as the World Series, exciting - the entire season up to then means shit to me.

- ....which is exactly how most Americans feel about Hockey.

- Status update: Still creeped out by the overtly friendly, extremely gay guy at the gym. It's not me, it's him.

- Today someone was compelled to tell me a story about the horrible case of diarrhea they had last night. You need to understand that there is virtually NO social filter where I work. (Sometimes I long for one..)

- Only I can go from a comment about Female Masturbation to a shit story in the same blog post - isn't that why you're here?

Later.

Itinerant Thoughts.

Waiting around for the Sidekick to show up, (We're going to record another podcast today) so I thought I'd fire off some random thoughts:

1. I'm stuffed up (head cold) so I can't taste anything. Life sucks. However, lack of flavor just means you notice texture more. Somehow this is even less appetizing - Muffins lose all their appeal.
2. The gym is a funny place. We go there to be healthier and look better, but we get creeped out when someone looks at our new, improved form. (Ok, maybe the staring creeps me out.)
3. On that note, I'm assuming it's my new, improved form that's being checked out - could be that my underwear is showing, or I put my shorts on inside-out (again).
4. I think that people treat each new iPhone announcement like a proclamation from God - Pretty soon it will be Tim Cook coming down from the mountaintop in Cupertino with a tablet in each hand. The fanboy fervor will be the same.
5. It really bugs me when I'm out of the loop on something - I don't know much about the Amanda Knox thing or what's going on with Occupy Wall Street - that's what happens when you only watch the Sports channels for a week or so.
6. I'm curious to see how my voice sounds on today's podcast - will the head cold add to the deep richness of my voice, or will a nasally wheeze be all you hear?
7. I get a lot of traffic from a site called jobsforsmartpeople.com - I somehow find that incredibly ironic. (And that's actual irony, people - not the Alanis Morrissette definition.)
8. Just noticed that in that video, only Driver-Alanis is wearing her seatbelt - I guess clones deserve to die if there's a crash?
9. I start holidays in two days - you could be jealous, but it's October and it's raining, so you probably won't be. 
10. But right after Holidays is the Sam Roberts concert - you can definitely be jealous of that.

Later.

Criminal Geenius.

I got to witness a crime today.

In fact, I got to watch it over and over again.

The Liquor Store beside work was robbed last night, and since our security cameras cover the entire parking lot, it was my job to scan through our video footage and locate what I could for the Police.

What I saw made me realize that it doesn't take brains to be a criminal. The two gentleman who perpetrated the robbery were quick and efficient at what they did, but they got lucky a couple of times and it was hilarious to watch in a morbid sort of way.

They backed up to the door and used a pry bar to get it open. I give them credit for driving fast enough in the dark that our cameras couldn't make out the plate, but later events lead me to believe the truck was stolen anyway. They were smart enough to bring a chain as well, and their plan to hook up and drive away with the safe seemed to be going off without a hitch.

Until the chain broke, that is. (Comedy of Errors #1)

They were a little too eager on the gas, and the chain snapped in two. Unfortunately it had already done it's primary job and dislodged the safe from it's floor-bolts.

They then proceeded to struggle and roll the safe towards the truck. I guess the Redneck Adrenaline must have kicked in, because they were able to lift it and throw it into the back. (It's not like these guys were superhuman, it's kinda a small safe.)

And that's when the truck started to roll away. (Comedy of Errors #2)

These two geniuses had forgot to set the parking brake. (That's what makes me think the truck was stolen.)

Once they caught the truck and cleaned up the tools, they took off. Again, I admire their enthusiasm, but they were lucky because the video shows the safe allllmost bouncing out the back not once, but twice.

Looking at it over and over while I compiled the DVD made me realize that they were more lucky than smart. There were so many things that went wrong that it was more amazing that the crime succeeded.

Well, kinda succeeded - the safe they got wasn't the main one, and they only got enough to maybe buy an Xbox. (But no games.)

...and they didn't even grab a bottle on the way out,

Like I said - reeeaal smart.







Later.

Ramble On.

*This is the tired and hungry version today - don't expect it to make any sense.*

- Having just worked and warehoused an entire pallet of 2L pop by myself, I am perplexed as to why Pop merchandisers aren't the fittest people on the planet.

- Word to the wise : When sending an elderly person into the store to ask for directions, please don't send the one that doesn't speak English and has just had a stroke. I'm not very good at giving directions to "Saammmoonpount".

- Having someone go on about how good I'm looking now that I'm back running again is like the mental equivalent of Viagra.

- I have a impossible mission for you: Try calling a major telecommunication company's service line and get directly through to a person. I don't think they exist anymore. I swear the numbers I punched in were a Fibbonacci sequence, and I somehow helped unlock the mysteries of the Holy Grail.

- Why is Peanut Butter & Nutella acceptable on a bagel, but if you cram some Reeses cups in there instead, people look at you weird?

- I'm so tired right now that I would choose a nap over a full-body massage from the Swedish Bikini Team.

- The previous statement made me feel old not just because of the mention of needing a nap, but by the inclusion of such an.obvious 80's reference. Watch - next I'll start quoting "Mr. Belvedere."

- Someone shoot me if that happens.

Later.

Forewarned.

Dear Legs:

I'm writing this letter for a couple of reasons:

The first reason is to say thanks and offer congratulations for the nice run you did today. You haven't ran 10K in quite some time, and even though you were nowhere near your best time for that distance, you finished strong and looked good.
I'm almost tempted to say that I can see glimmers of your former greatness - but I don't want to gush to much. You've done well, you've made progress, and with some hard work and dedication you'll be churning out the miles in no time.

About those miles: They are the other reason I'm penning this letter to you. You better get ready to do a lot of them, because your crazy bastard of an owner has delusions of grandeur for beating his best time in the Comox Valley Half-Marathon. He's got a program ready to go in about 3 weeks, so that means you've got to keep up those steady runs you've been doing, because after that, shit's going to get hard.

He just wanted to make sure you knew so that you didn't think he was picking on you when he starts piling on the miles. You know him - Legs that bitch and moan after 10 or so miles really irk him, and we want to keep the big guy happy, right?

So keep up the good work, and for God's sake, get some rest - you're going to need it.

Thanks,
The Brain.

Later.

Beat-ing a Dead Horse.

I hate early Beatles songs.

Can't fucking stand them.

The radio at work is having a Beatles #1 weekend, and while I can appreciate hearing "Let it Be" and "Hey Jude", I want to switch the station the minute they play any of the early Beatles tunes.

Shit like "Please Please Me" and "I Wanna Hold Your Hand"? I'd like to go back in time and discourage Paul, John and the boys from ever recording that crap. The music and lyrics, while cutting edge at the time, really don't age well. Early Beatles are as painful to listen to as Justin Beiber.

(Yeah, I said it - I'll give you time to light torches and form a mob.)

I know that some music doesn't stand the test of time. Kid Rock's "Summertime", that everyone was singing 3 years ago, sounds crappy now. People can accept that. Why can't they acknowledge that there are Beatles songs that aged the same way?

Sometimes we have to accept that our heroes weren't great all the time. Musicians make music that doesn't age well, Artists paint things that lose relevance, and even awesome, cool, middle-aged bloggers produce the occasional shitty post now and then.

Just sayin'

Later.

Scrambling.

- I've decided Poker doesn't like me anymore. I'm basing this on the shitty cards I got and the money I lost, not because I sucked and made stupid mistakes.

- The fact that I have one week until my holidays, and two weeks until my transfer, means that I've temporarily disconnected from giving a shit about this place.

- Except for Casual Friday - I'm very connected to that. (Visually, at least.)

- Just heard a girl call her ass her "dirtbox" - Classy. I'm going to miss Oyster River.

- It's time to change the radio station here, I think. I make that design because the sound of the DJs voice makes me want to reach through the speaker and strangle him.

- It's hard to focus on one of these lists when the breakroom is full and people are talking to me, yet somehow I would be the bad guy if I stabbed them all with a pencil.

- The last two observations make me realize that I miiight have some anger issues to deal with. The best tool? Gin.

Later.

Daily Caffienation.

Today is National Coffee Day.

While I'm normally not a fan of all the made-up celebratory days that are scattered around the calender, this is one of the ones that I can get behind. (Another personal favorite - Steak and a Blowjob Day - even though it's not celebrated at my house.)

Coffee is a staple of my existence. I drink around 5 huge mugs a day, and since I gave up smoking and rarely drink, it's my only vice. (That I'm willing to openly admit to.) A day without coffee is a sad day indeed.

I like my coffee in a variety of ways:

1. XL - 2 Cream, 2 Sweetener. This is my rock, my usual, my standard of being. If I am ever in need of a transfusion of any sort, this is what they should put in instead of blood. There's a cup beside me right now, and God himself couldn't pry it from my hands. (And don't bitch to me about the Sweetener part, either - I know it's horrible and shit, but after all these years, I like the taste. - I wish the Wife would say the same thing.)
2. Venti White Chocolate Mocha. This is what Fat Me used to drink. Fat Me would pound back a couple of these every time he went out for coffee with the Sidekick. (Seems like Fat Me had more money, too - at $5 a pop, he was paying almost a penny a calorie.) When Fat me decided to become Skinny Me, this was the first thing to go. Which put me on to....
3. Skinny Vanilla Sugar-Free Latte. Not nearly as decadent as the coffee above, but I had to wean myself down to something. The Sidekick and I would battle regularly on who's coffee sounded Gayer - my Vanilla, or his Venti Hazelnut Machiatto, Extra Hot, No Foam. (I think he won.)
4. Iced Coffee. While I don't go out and order iced coffee on a regular basis (I drink hot coffee in the summertime, yo - I'm a badass), I do occasionally sneak a sip of the wife's Iced Cappuccino every once in a while. The only reason I include it on this list is because I also include Cold Coffee in this category. Yes - I'm that guy that will drink his coffee even after it's chilled to what seems like less than room temperature.

...So let's just say I reeeeeeeaaalllly like coffee.

(No shit - a search of my blog reveals 139 posts with "coffee" in them. Out of 1400+ posts. One in 10 posts about coffee? I'm almost scared to search for the words "My Penis".)

Anyway - enjoy the day, snag a free cup if you can, and relax and do something you love (May I suggest reading old Midlife Rambler posts?) while drinking one of the world's greatest beverages.






Later.

Dubious Partnership.

Let me just start by stating I just woke up from a nap, so I'm a bit groggy.

Why the nap at 10am?
Because I'm tired.

Why am I tired?
Because I've recently picked up a workout partner, and He's killing me.


As I've stated before, I'm trying to get back into shape. I want to be able to get back to my level of running that I was at before, as well as lose the spare tire that has seemed to wrap itself around my waist.

So for the past couple of weeks, I've been on my own workout schedule, alternating running and weights and having some rest days in there as well. So far, so good.

Recently a guy I used to work with (and will be working with again, after my transfer) has come back to my gym. We used to workout together all the time, and old me was always able to hold my own. I wasn't benching 3 plates a side like this guy, but I was comfortable with my progress. He's glad to be back in my gym, and we've done a couple workouts/runs together - and that's where I think he's trying to kill me.

See, he's still in shape - always has been - and I'm a guy who's coming back. therefore, there are different levels for each of us.

• While he's thinking about how good his post-workout protein shake is going to be, I'm fantasizing that donuts have no calories, so there's no need to lift this heavy bar.
• While he says that he beat me in our 5K run yesterday,(He recalls the old, faster me.) I remind him that he's the pinnacle of fitness, while my ass is the reason spandex was invented.
• He's the guy that the women in the gym drool at as they walk by. I'm the guy they assume is the accountant, who must have free membership as a perk.
• When I woke up this morning, my shoulders were so sore that I winced putting my jacket on - I assume he had no such issues, except for maybe ripping his jacket Hulk-style when he flexes.

I know that he's only trying to help, and I do appreciate it - the motivation to stay committed really helps when you have someone counting on you to be there. (The Sidekick and I both had great progress when we worked out together eons ago.) He's really positive and keeps telling me that in a couple of weeks, I'll be back to how I used to be.

I figure either that or I'll be dead.

If you're looking for my corpse, it'll be either on the treadmill or under a tremendous stack of weights. ( probably 45 pounds?)





Later.

Ramblin'.

- I'm not sure if having the Gay guy at the gym so excited that I'm working out in the mornings again is a good thing or not. That level of enthusiasm is creepy.

- The miles that used to fly by in a blink seem to drag a bit more now. Getting back to my usual pace/speed is going to be a bitch.

- I seem to always wake up at 5am now. Does that mean I'm old? Or does that only count when it's because you have to pee?

- My phone still confuses me - doesn't try to autocorrect "clitoris" - but didn't like me typing "pee".

- Ahhh, clitoris. I can spell it, and I also know where it is. Ladies, tell your friends.

- I wish that the healthiest food on earth was peanut butter. If that was the case, my body could be considered at temple to fitness and nutrition.

- Sometimes I want to send the Kids to school with Peanut Butter Sandwiches, just to see if the school calls in a Hazmat team.

- I always sleep closest to the door - it either signifies I'm a protector, or that I don't want to jump over anyone if I have to bolt for the exit.

- Have I ever stated how much I hate Dire Straits? I'd like to dick-punch every member of the band. If any of them are dead, dig 'em up - I'll dick-punch their rotting corpse.

- The contestants on the Biggest Loser always suprise me. They are amazed that they've lost weight - but isn't that what happens when you remove your head from the KFC bucket and get some exercise?

- If we get more and more bitter as we get older, does that mean by the time I'm 50 I'll be able harm people with my withering glare? 'Cause that would be neat.

- Puppets are a dying art form. Thank God. Pieces of felt that move and talk? That's the devil's work, people.

Later.

Manual Destimulation

I'm the Tech guy at work.

(I know it's the grocery business, but being the guy who deals with anything computer-related is just another hat I wear.)

Because I'm going to be transferred to another of our locations in two weeks, my boss has as job for me to do before I go: dumb down all the tech stuff I know how to do and put it in a book.

It doesn't matter that there's setup and operations manuals for all those scales, debit machines, terminals, security cameras, etc (you know, the ones I read when we installed the stuff?) - they're too hard - so I have to type out manuals of my own for them to use when I'm not around.

It's fucking boring, tedious, & harder than you think.

Taking something that I can do in minutes and breaking it down step by step is boring. Making sure that it is understandable - to someone who doesn't normally deal with the stuff - and that you haven't missed a step is more challenging than doing the job itself. Imagine you're writing a manual telling someone how to wipe their ass and you forget to explain grabbing toilet paper. Shit can get really messed up if your directions aren't correct.

So I'm having to either mentally walk myself through each step as I write it down, or actually do the job again and stop at each step to make notes. A 15min job takes 3 times as long to document. And I can't use proper terms, either, as "Insert disk drive cable into Modnet port." has to be switched to "Plug silver end of flat beige cable into the 3rd opening on the side of the scale. It will only fit in one, and only one way." - to me, the second one sounds worst than the first, but as long as they understand it, it'll work.

It's probably going to take a small part of each shift over the next two weeks to do it, but when its done I'll look like a hero. (And them being able to do the job without having to bug me will benefit me in the end.)

Just one thing I haven't figured out yet:

Should I type it out, or write it in crayon? Do you think they'd get the hint?

Later.

Rhythmic Ideas.

There are reasons that I write,
Communicating bits of my life -
The things I see from day to day
And whatever thoughts join the fray.

One reason is I think I'm funny
My outlook's bleak but also sunny
I try to tell what makes me laugh
And I publish all my social gaffes.

I'll tell you all about the gym
How running goes, sink or swim
I'll talk about work or drugs
Or if that lady has sweet jugs.

I'm middle aged, but a kid at heart
I don't want to get old, don't even start
Going on about your daily grind
I'm still fretting my receding hairline.

I like to vent and ramble and bitch
And blogging scratches that particular itch
Having others enjoy is a perk for sure
My sense of humour they must endure.

I talk of dicks, and boobs and ass
You'd think I didn't have any class
You may be right my friend indeed
But its my words you're here to read.

And I may have days where I phone it in
My mind's so full of thoughts it spins
To sort them out is a chore, you see
And sometimes the tank's completely empty.

Those are the days that you get what's here
So sit back and have a beer
And read a rambling poem, my friend
Which started well but now must end.

Later.

Coolest.

People say that kids are tough - I agree. (No matter how much you marinade them, they always are stringy and chewy.)

Now that I've grossed you out with some cannibalistic humor, lets get to the meat of the matter (bad pun): Kids.

As troubling as they can be, there are some positives to the entire experience from a "Dad" point of view. These are mine. (Of course, my kids are 5 & 8, your teenager may think you're the biggest dick ever - not my problem.)

1. You are the epitome of "Cool". - It doesn't matter how cool or uncool you were in High School or College, to your kids, you're Joe Fucking Cool and everything you do is to be admired and copied.
2. You can fix anything. - Once you fix one thing for your kids, they automaticlly assume you can fix anything else in the world. Fix a busted Optimus Prime toy? Your child now thinks you can repair a damaged Nuclear reactor. My kids think the only reason I have other people fix things (ie: roof, car) is because I want to spend time with them instead. "Dad could have welded that strut back on, but he'd rather take us to the park."
3. If you know one thing, you know everything.  - I answered a question on Jeopardy once before anyone buzzed in, and got it right. According to my kids, I'm now the smartest man alive, and can answer any question they have - from "Why is the sky blue" to "Why do some dogs squat and some lift their legs"? (Thanks for backing me up, Wikipedia.)
4. You are the best at any game, any time. - My kids saw me complete a season on NHL 11 and win the Stanley Cup, so now they think that I can finish any level on any game in less than 30 seconds. They also think that I rule at Snakes and Ladders, but that's because they don't catch me cheating.

Basically, my kids think I'm the shit.

And I'm quite alright with that.




Later.

Fblabergasted.

Today seems to be a day of rage.

I hear people howling for blood, demanding change, threatening boycotts and legal action.

You're probably thinking Libya, Egypt, or the fact that the U.S. isn't backing Palestine's application for statehood, right?

Wrong.

It's Facebook.

Facebook decided to revamp their layout again - this time it's more like a news page, with "Top Stories" and "Recent news" (I think I even Tweeted about it)- and everyone in my neck of the woods is losing their shit over the changes.

I'm almost ashamed to call some of them "Friends". (I use the apostrophes because their is a huge difference between Facebook friends and Real Friends - If you haven't figured that out already, stop reading, go grow up, and come back and read this blog when you have your big-boy pants on.)

The most impressive display of intelligence that I've seen is that people are doing one of those "Copy this into your Status" things to show Facebook their hatred for the changes. So let me get this straight - they are protesting their displeasure with the site by using it even more and encouraging others to do so as well? I'm sure these people don't understand the word "boycott". If that's the case it means you can show your Boss how much you hate your job by working harder and for less money - that'll show him.

Personally I don't care about the changes - except for the fact that Facebook thinks someone updating about their breakfast is a "Story of Interest to You" - so for now I'll just check in every once in a while until the rage dies down and people forget there ever was a change.

Just like they did last time.





Later.

Nemesis.

I encountered an old Nemesis today - one I hadn't seen in quite some time.

Every encounter between the two of us is extremely unpleasant, usually painful, and leaves me generally frustrated. There's precautions I can take so the two of us don't come across each other, but I forgot about them today - next thing I know, Bam! Nemesis.

My Nemesis?
Chafing.

Don't laugh - I went for a run today, and was wearing the wrong kind of shorts. That, coupled with my chubby-ass legs means that there's some friction going on down in the neather regions. (Not the good friction, either - that I could handle.)

I shrugged off the irritation and kept running - no pain, no gain, right? It wasn't until I jumped in the shower afterwards that I regretted my choice.

Just so you know, water hitting a chafed area is like getting an Indian Burn (do we call them First Nations burn?) from someone whose hands were soaked in kerosene and set on fire.

So my day went to shit from there.

Right now I'm shuffling around at work, trying to prevent my thighs from touching each other. (Its quite a challenge.) I'm waiting until I can go home, put something loose fitting on, and just relax.

Thanks for listening - I  just wanted to share my pain.

Later.

State of the Union.

- Today is the type of Monday that takes other Mondays, bitch-slaps them, and then sodomizes them while eating their lunch.

- When I can wake up late it throws my whole day off - I do not believe there is any amount of coffee that could get me back on track. What is the Starbucks snotty name for a half gallon cup - I'll start with one of those.

- Just heard on the radio that Trooper has 3 sold out shows in Victoria this weekend. My guess is that maximum room capacity is 14 people.

- I'm not one to make light of anyone's injuries, but I do give a dirty chuckle whenever a girl says she has bad knees.

- Quiet people bother me. It's either they don't have anything to say, or they are planning my imminent demise.

- My wife had the audacity to ask me if I play Left 4 Dead (Zombie killing game) with the kids. They're 5 and 8, for chrissakes - they'd be useless, so I only use them as spotters.

- Speaking of the Kids, I'm waiting for the first round of school sickness to occur. They are usually great until they have to hang out with other people's dirty, filthy children. And the wife won't let me wrap them in Saran wrap.

- My phone tried to autocorrect "Saran" to "Satan". I think Satan wrap would be a big seller. The KKK could wrap up the leftovers from the last cross burning.

- Saw a Gif on Reddit - had Alderann shooting first before the Death Star blows it up. Waiting for George to incorporate it into the newest raping of my childhood.

Glad I finished with the nerdiest sentence I've ever written.

Later.

To Cap It Off.

I'm a guy who wears a baseball cap practically every moment he's not at work. I'm the only person I know who thought "Sandwich Artists" have a great job because they get to wear ball caps while working, so you have to take this list with the understanding that I'm a bit biased.

I think that when making a first impression, the way you wear your hat says a lot about you. What's on it (logo, team, etc) says even more, but I'm not going to even get into that right now.

This is what I think when I see someone wearing there baseball cap any one of the following ways:

-  Curved Brim - You're casual, relaxed, and just an average guy being yourself. You could even be a cool motherfucker with his own blog and everything.

-  Bent Brim - You're a redneck. The sharpness of the bend is just a measure in degrees of your redneck-ess - the sharper the bend, the more likely you are to have multiple gun racks in your pickup, and keep trying to invite me to watch NASCAR. You're probably nice, but I will automatically label you as "Cooter" in my mind.

- Flat Brim - In this case, race pays off. I know it sounds bad, but Black guys pull this look off effortlessly. White guys? My first thought is that you're a douche. Second thought is that you're a wannabe douche, and if you have your hoodie unzipped and the hood up over your flat brim hat it will be all I can do to restrain myself from slapping you.

- Backwards - If you are doing something that requires the hat to be backwards (Jetskiing, parasailing, cliff diving) I understand. If you're just walking around with it on backwards I'm going to assume you're a narsisstic bastard who wants everyone to see his face because he thinks he's 20 times prettier than the average guy. (See: Fred Durst)

I know this only covers a few variations, but you get my point. How you wear your chapeaux (if you wear one) says just as much about you as the rest of your outfit. (Unless you're not wearing pants, then that says enough on its own.)

I could probably ramble on more, but I think you get my point. I'm sure there's those out there who disagree or think there's something I missed - but hey, that's what comments are for, right?

Later.

I Feel:

- That having 3 days off in a row is a blessing and a curse.

- That, next to masturbation, blowing away Zombies on the ol' 360 is the best stress relief ever.

- That having my kids in School allows me the time to do stuff for me.

- That not having them around for 6 hours makes me appreciate the time I do get with them.

- That true love is when you purchase shitty music for someone because you know they'd like it - even though it shames you to be seen holding the CD.

- That you know a Hockey game isn't great when you're hoping the puck flies over the glass and takes someone out just to liven things up.

- That reading the review of the Pearl Jam concert in Hamilton makes me want to see them even more.

- That I could post a link to the review, but I'm nobody's bitch.

- That when people talk to me about how fat other people are, it makes me feel skinny.

- That the reason old couples should stay together until death is because her overpowering perfume smell covers up his old man stank. (I work in retail - trust me.)

- That at times, I feel just as stupid about cars as most people do about computers.

- That because I've won the Cup in "Be a Pro" Mode in NHL11, I should just get NHL12 for free. That makes sense, right?

- That I'm not ashamed to say I don't own any R.H.C.P. albums - do I have to turn in my "cool" card now?

- That next to "Yay boobies" too much is being made of Scarlet J's leaked photos.

- That I'll admit I looked, but only because the link was there.

- That I would try to record a solo podcast, but I'm afraid it would come off as half Pee-Wee Herman, half Ted Kasinsky.

- That finding a way to end one of these is almost more difficult than hand-washing a cat.

Later.

Total Cop Out.

No Blog post today - unless this counts as a blog post, and in that case, Welcome!

I thought I'd just leave you with something I stumbled across the other day - it made me laugh, and who doesn't like to laugh? (Okay, maybe people with out tongues because they sound funny - but next to them, everyone likes to laugh.)

Nudity Probable from the irregulars on Vimeo.

See, that's some funny shit right there.

Don't get used to it, because my regular crap will be back tomorrow.



Later

Gaseous Deception.

I stopped off to get gas today, and I'm pretty sure they're fucking me over - and I'm not just talking about my wallet.

I wanted to make sure I had enough gas to last until payday, so I only put $25 in. At $1.23 a litre, it doesn't take long to complete the transaction.

Except tonight it did.

I'm at the pump, nozzle jammed in the gas tank (get your mind out of the gutter), looking around aimlessly as the tank fills. I can hear it running through the hose same as ever, and after a moment or two, I glance over to see where the total is at. (Should almost be done, right?)

I'm only at $13.

I check the dollars/liters total and it seems to line up. But it took almost another 2 minutes to hit $25.

Now either I have the fastest sounding/slowest pump ever,

OR

They're trying to hide how fast put money is going into the tanks by slowing down the whole process without making the pump seem slower. If $25 of gas only took 30 seconds to fill, we would all realize how fast they are sucking us dry. (Once again, get your mind outta the gutter - that's not the sucking I'm talking about.)

Genius, right?
Can't slip anything by me.

I've got my eye on those fuckers.

Later.

To-Done

It's the first day that both The Boys are in School full time.

It's also my day off.

I'm used to always having at least one of The Boys around on my days off, and having to feed, entertain, monitor, play with, and clean up after them. The most I ever get is an hour and a half alone while the oldest was at School and the youngest was in Preschool - I'd usually just head to the gym and get a coffee after - not much time to do anything else.

But now I have from 8:30am to 2:30pm completely wide open. It's a staggering amount of time to fill. Just today I have:

1. Gone to the Gym and worked out.
2. Ran for half an hour.
3. Made myself breakfast. (Mmm eggs.)
4. Unloaded and loaded the dishwasher.
5. Cleaned the Kitchen Counters, Cupboards, & Floors.
6. Three loads of Laundry.
7. Cleaned both bathrooms.
8. Dusted and Vaccummed.
9. Listened to Hollywood Babble-On on Smodcast.
10. Had 2 cups of coffee.

...and now I'm Blogging - and I still have two and a half hours left.

I'm contemplating going out and mowing the lawn, which means I'll still have time to shower before I have to go pick up The Boys. But if I do that now, what am I going to do tomorrow? All this free time is going to drive me mad. (I mean, really - how much masturbation can one man take? Notice I didn't put that on the "done" list - you're welcome.)

I'm sure I'll find some way to fill it. There's always pressure washing the house or staining the deck - or I could go the lazy route and get caught up on all the movies and TV shows The Sidekick is always going on about. (Who has that much free time? I'd have to watch 3 movies a day for an entire year just to break even with the shit he watches.)

I think right now I'll just flip a coin.
Heads - Mow the Lawn, Tails - it's "special time".





Later.

My Phone Thinks I'm Bilingual.

If you've read this blog before, I've made reference to the fact that I blog on my lunch quite a bit. I just pull out my phone, fire up the Blogger App that I have, and merrily type my rambling thoughts into a tiny, tiny digital keyboard.

Sure, like everyone else, I've had autocorrect bite me in the ass and replace "communication" with "condom" - but I'm not a complete retard, so I proofread before I post. (And don't blog drunk, kids - that's just silly.)

Where I have a issue with my phone is in its ability to switch to French at the push of a button - I'll be typing out a thought in English, hit the wrong key (right next to the space bar) and all of a sudden its suède école somethings thaïlandais I Fidj't intendant fo type.

(That is supposed to read "suddenly become something I didn't intend to type".)

The difference between that and the autocorrect mistake is that autocorrect is usually just one word, but hitting the French key fucks up whole sentences.

If it turned my shit writing into the suave words of a French poet, I could handle it - but it makes me sound idiotic, and I can do that all on my own.

Thanks for the help, phone, but no thanks.

Au Revoir.

Lack of Progress.

We have put men on the moon.

We can travel across the country in hours instead of days.

We can power our homes with the sun and wind.

We control the brightness of our world with the flick of a switch.

We can communicate across thousands of miles almost instantly.

We've created virtual worlds in cyberspace.

But if I want to keep paper stored neatly in book like form, I still have to put up with this:

What the fuck is up with up with that?





Later.

Unfunny Papers.

I know it's September 11th.

Like everyone else, I've been talking with other people all week long and the subject always comes down to each of us relating our "Where I was" story.

We remember those who died in the attacks, those who perished trying to help others in the hours that followed, and those who were left without a Dad/Brother/Mother/Sister/Friend.

That being said, I turned to the comics today looking for something to lighten my mood.

14 of the 21 comics were all September 11th related. Morbid, depressing stuff.

I'm not asking for a lot, just something to put a uplifting spin on life. Leave the depressing stuff to the rest of the paper - believe me - the coverage was there.

I'm just of the opinion that the comics are there to bring a bit of brevity to the paper, and not just sink us deeper into gloom. If they weren't supposed to be funny, they would all be Family Circus.

And nobody wants that.

Later.

Man Vs. Food Vs. Wife.

Today: (So Far.)

Coffee.
Pop Tarts.
Coffee.
Grapes.
Peanut Butter Sandwich.
Coffee.
Chili.
Coffee.

...and the Wife is making spaghetti for dinner. Throw another coffee on top of all that, and I think I'm looking at a bout of gastro-intestinal distress.

Pretty sure I'm bound by provincial and federal law to warn the Wife about the Chili, but I think I'll let her find out for herself. In the game of Marriage, you always have to keep your opponent on their toes - the only problem with my plan is that we don't have a dog, so I'll have to blame it on one of the kids.

It's going to be an interesting night.

Later.

Shake, Rattle, & Relax.

So we had an Earthquake today.

From my understanding, and I'm just quoting public radio, it was a 6.8, about 250 kilometers north of where I am, and it was something like 50 miles underground. No damages, no injuries - I felt it, but most didn't.

Of course, everyone around here lost their shit. We've had people in the store for the last couple hours stocking up on water and canned goods, "Because the next one could be the BIG ONE!". Half these people didn't even feel anything, which makes the panic even more surprising. Checking Facebook is a mixed bag - people freaking out, people being blasé, people wondering what the fuck is going on.

I'm not having a cow. (What an 80's quote - do I get extra points for that?) It came, it's over. If anything does happen, I'm in the best spot for supplies. Of course I'll take the necessary precautions at home, but I think most people should just relax. There's thousands of earthquakes every year that we don't feel - but everyone is freaking out like we are going to be the next Japan.

The only place I hope saw some damage would be Beerfest in Victoria - the Sidekick's there today, and he's been Tweeting about how awesome it is. Some spilled beer would take the wind outta his sails. (I will accept the beer offence).

So I hope people just chill out and relax - I'm more disappointed in the fact that I wasn't at home having a nooner at that time - all that shakin' would make me look like good.

Later.

Change Or Lack Thereof.

I went back to the Gym today.

It's been a while, to say the least. I must have some residual guilt from the donuts last week, because I finally achieved the motivation to get my ass out of bed and go instead of shutting off the alarm and going back to sleep.

•  I won't lie - both the boys are in school full time now, and it's waaay easier to go to the gym at 8:30am than it is at 5:30am.
• If anyone happens to read the archives and recalls that guy who used to get out of bed at 5am after drinking all night and run 20 miles, could you ask him to come back? His body needs him.

When I walked in it was like an episode of The Twilight Zone (would that make me like a young William Shatner?) - everything looked the same, but there were subtle differences from the last time I was there:

• New Girl behind the counter. Bigger than the last one, which is weird for a gym, and she didn't have any tattoos, which is unheard of in mine. (See my previous post "Iron = Ink")
• Only one old lady. The early morning crowd is mainly Hardcores and Geriatrics. The Hardcores are there to get their early morning swole on, and the Geriatrics have either been up since 3am or got up out of fear of shitting their Depends.
• 3 new pieces of equipment - another cable machine, an ab machine, and something to smack you on the ass and tell you how good you look in the mirror. Ok, maybe just 2 machines.

However, there were some good changes too:

• No creepy old gay guy. There's a regular in the 5am group who, although it's not stated publicly, has to be gay - there's no other word for how much he appreciates being around other sweaty men. The gay I can handle - it's the creepy staring that just goes too far. And really, I know I'm an asshole, but I draw the line at publicly bitching out a 65 year old.
• Barely anyone there - I know that will change as the summer ends and we all realize Winter is Coming (Game of Thrones fan, can ya tell?), but the fact that I didn't have to wait for anyone to finish on a machine or find out they were using the weights I wanted was great.

I busted out a workout, feeling the fact that I haven't been here in months with every rep. When you can't lift as much as you used to or run as fast as before, it's kinda humiliating. I swear I saw an extra jiggle when I was running on the treadmill - not a good sign.

But I got it done and still feel fine - at least until tomorrow. If I'm too stiff to type I might have issues.






Later.

Things I've Learned From The Grocery Store - or Why We Won't Survive The Zombie Apocalypse.

Reading the Comments from yesterday, and Tinderno's words got me thinking. I've been in Customer Service for about 25 years now, (the last 9 have been in the Grocery Industry) and the things I've seen don't give me any hope for humankind if there ever is a Zombie Apocalypse.

For Example:

Nobody Plans Anything. - The people I see on a day-to-day basis can't figure out what they want for dinner - forget planning on what they need to survive a Zombie outbreak. These are people who rush into the store Halloween night at 8:30pm wanting pumpkins to carve. Same for Christmas, Valentine's Day, Thanksgiving, whatever. Even when they know it's coming they aren't ready.

People Can't Follow Directions. - This could be the biggest downfall. We have people come into the store and ask where the bathroom is - I tell them it's at the end of asile 1, second white door, marked "Washroom". Guess how many walk into the closet (first white door) or leave out the back exit (third door)? Trust me when I say whatever you guess, it's higher. When the Undead are roaming your neighborhood and you tell another survivor to get the ammo from the 3rd drawer down, are you going to be happy when they throw you a pair of socks? I don't think so.

People Blindly Follow Anyone. - When I worked at the Arches, dressed in my Managerial best, I sometimes had to go to the Grocery store to get extra stuff. Because I kinda looked like I worked there (it's the shirt/tie combo) I'd have tons of people asking where stuff is - and I would give them what I knew were complete bullshit directions. Even though I was in the wrong colored shirt, the fact that I had a tie on was enough to have them believe me and go merrily on their way like Lemmings. After the Minions of Evil start to roam the land, the average guy is just going to follow whomever looks to be in charge, even if it's to their own doom.

People Have No Common Sense. - The amount of people who come up to me and ask (by my judgement) really stupid questions is amazing. Asking if we sell lottery tickets makes sense - some stores don't - however, asking if we sell milk (what grocery store doesn't?) is just sad. As well, coming into a small, 6 aisle store and asking if I have a kids clothing section boggles my mind. Trusting these people to make the right decision when there's rotting corpses walking around? Not likely.

People Can't Handle Change. - Seeing how the average person completely loses their fucking mind when the Debit Terminals aren't working, when they can't get their favorite ice cream (because it's not being made anymore) or when there's no newspaper because of the holiday makes me wonder how bad it will be when the global economy comes crashing down due to World War Z. People shit their pants when it's a Jersey Shore rerun, they'll go crazy when the banking/monetary systems are all gone. And because we've established how little common sense people have, the barter system will have tons of people who traded a goat away for 2 bullets.

Those are just the examples I could come up with today - and it took me longer to type it out than it did to think it up. Weep for humanity, people, because when the movies turn out to be right and everything goes to shit, the people I just described will be the first ones joining the shuffling herd.

Me? I'll be working on my cardio and picking who I'm going to trip while running away.

Later.

First World Problems.

- My alarm went off 30 minutes early because I hit the wrong button when setting it last night.
- Jumped in the shower, shaved, washed, and realized I forgot my towel - had to do the damp naked run to the linen closet.
- Made coffee, took a gulp, burned my mouth. (Not bad, but about the same level of pain as eating Capt'n Crunch.)
- Even with getting up early, left later than I like to and got stuck behind a guy who's previous occupation I assume was a tank driver in WWII - I judge this by age and speed of travel.
- The CD player in the car skipped during the whole drive.
- I forgot to bring my coffee to work. (If you know me, this is a MAJOR malfunction.)

I know in the grand scheme of things these are all "First World Problems", (ie. Compared to the starving child in Africa, my burnt mouth is nothing.) but having a day that's just continually full of shitty little things is quite maddening.

(As I type this, I know I'm sure to read a tweet later from the Home Office in Ontario saying how much he's enjoying the beer on his back deck.)

But now I've vented and moved on - the great thing about First World Problems is that they are easily solved. As for the kid in Africa, he'll have to wait until after my coffee.

Later.

-

I Feel:

- That checking my blog stats and seeing I've gained repeat visitors makes me feel warm and fuzzy.
- That if they keep coming back here, the rest of the Internet must suck ass.
- That the 10,000th repeat visitor will get a night with the Sidekick, no questions asked. (Buy him a snobby beer and anything's possible.)
- That having one of the kids who works for me point out that they can't read an analog clock makes me weep for humanity.
- That being told by another co-worker about the fantastic lunch-time sex they had makes me wish I didn't live 20 minutes away from home.
- That the previous comment is irrelevant - we all know I could do the drive there, the deed itself, and the commute back and still have time for a snack.
- That reading about the Westbro Baptist Church wanting to picket a Foo Fighters concert saddens me, Because even religious nutjobs will get to go to a concert, and I won't.
- That the creator of Lulemon deserves the Nobel Prize for Libido Stimulation.
- That I don't Tweet as much as I should, but I refuse to live-tweet my bathroom breaks.
- That although the most important person in your life should be your spouse, in reality it's the best friend who deletes your History and Porn Stash upon your death.
- That as much as I like the Beatles, I'd rather put a nail in my ear than listen to early stuff like "I Wanna Hold Your Hand".
- That immediately after reading that, the Sidekick disowned me.
- That if you call in to a radio station on a all-request weekend, are one of the lucky ones to actually get through, and ask for Nickelback - your call should be traced and a truckload of music critics sent out to curb-stomp you.
- That slowly but surely, I'm giving in to the Dark Side - but without the angsty whining about sand and my Mom.

Later.

Inception.

After my shitty work day/feel good donut binge last night, I crashed and went to bed.

Rule #1 - That much sugar before bed is NOT good for my mind. (Caffeine is the bomb, though - I drink coffee like snot-nosed kids drink NyQuil.)

I had the weirdest dream - I was working, and was losing it on some guy who was late for his shift (repressed rage, anyone?). As I was leaving the store after chewing this guy out, I walked into the sunlight - and woke up.

When I looked up, it was 7:05 - I work at 7:30, and it's a 20 minute drive away. I jumped up, started coffee, had the fastest shower/shave in history and busted my ass getting to work.

I made it to work by 7:35.

Thank God I'm the boss today, because otherwise I'd have to explain to someone that the reason I'm late is because I was dreaming about giving someone shit for being late.

And that would have made me sound like more of a nut than I am.

Later.

Pastrinomical Relaxation.

Today at work, I walked into a Clusterfuck.

None of the issues were work related, except for the fact that they happened at work. Most of it was people's dramatic bullshit and the main frustration was just having to deal with it all. The added bonus of having a guy blow off his shift and having to do his job as well as mine was just the icing on the cake.

...and it's funny I mention icing, because after I ranted my frustrations to the wife, I come home to find a freshly made coffee and donuts.

Let's just say that the donuts may not have been good for my waistline, but they were good for my soul. Each delicious bite took me juuust a bit further from my shitty day - and that can only be a good thing.

So I'd like to give props to the Wife - she somehow knew what would make my day, and came through with flying colors. (Considering the only other option to ensure my cheerfulness would have been a blowjob, I guess I should be disappointed, but whatever..Donuts!)




Later.

Smore Than Expected.

People look at me strange when I say I don't like S'mores. They stare at me like I just told them I torture puppies on my days off.

Then they always say, "Really?", like it's also something I lie about for shock value.

Why is it so hard to understand that the sickly-sweet taste of marshmallow simply turns my stomach? Or that I hate them because when you do try to eat them, they crumble and fall apart into a gooey, nasty mess? (The same reason I hate eating Tacos - Pink Taco aside - that I'm a big fan of eating.)

Graham Cracker? I like it - crush it, make a crust, put cheesecake on it, and I'll demolish it like a fat guy eating...well, cheesecake.

Chocolate? I'm a huge fan - as anyone who's seen me and a box of Reese's Pieces can testify to.

And that leaves the Marshmallow as the deal-breaker. I can't get past it. To me, the only reason marshmallow was created was to make Rice Krispies consumable by humans. (Get it? Otherwise they suck!)

Until they somehow figure out a way to make marshmallow not taste like the inside of a Smurf's asshole, I'll just keep my fireside camping treats contained to throwing puppies on the fire.

What? I never denied anything - I just said they look at me strange.




Later.

Smartphoney Pants.

So I'm texting the Sidekick while sitting in Starbucks waiting to pick my kids up from a Birthday Party.

(Aren't I just the picture of Urban Dad-hood?)

The Sidekick comes up with a great idea: Why don't we have a separate blog just for our podcasts, so we can have them all in the same spot and in an easier format to see? (Without being surrounded by post after post of my whiny shit, is what I imagine he's also thinking.)

Since I'm already using my wicked-cool Android phone, I simply head to Blogger, and before you can say "You're such a fucking nerd.", bam! New blog setup.

We haven't moved the archives over yet, but it'll be there soon.
There will also be some newer podcasts from us (hopefully) soon, as well as some that the Sidekick might do with random people. Who knows, maybe I'll even have a solo point or two I might want to speak out on.

No matter your reason, when you get a chance, head on over for a listen - it only stings for a bit.

MidlifeRamblings.

I'd just like to point out that I did all that from my smartphone, while we were texting, in about 10 minutes.

I'm a techno genius, yo.

Later.

Scrabble'd

I don't normally play games on my phone. Let's just say I installed Angry Birds and then uninstalled it again.

(The Angry Birds phenomenon is a whole other post - I really don't get that one at all.)

However, I had a friend introduce me to Scrabble Online and I'm hooked. I was up until 1:30am the other night finishing a game with someone just because it was so close in score and I was on a good roll and didn't want to put it away.

The things I used to loathe about the game when I was younger are some of the things I like so much now: the strategy, the vocabulary, and the fact that you're actually learning while you play. (Who knew Qi and Xi were words?)

It's nice because there's no pressure for time - you submit your word, it gets graded and scored, and then it's the other guys turn - but you move on to your next random game until it's your turn in that game again. I'm playing 5 games right now - and only losing in one so far, thanks.

If you're down with the Scrabble, look me up - there's only one "MidlifeRambler" - and I can do wicked things with X, Q, J, V, and even the letter Y.

Bring it.

Later.

Start and Stop.

Seriously - I had a post here.

I'm really tired today, I'm at work, and I just blanked out.

I started typing, but it was all ranting and bitchiness, so I stopped. I started again, but lost the point I was trying to make, so I stopped. I tried to write something witty and observational, but it turned out to be neither, so I stopped.

This is about the best its going to get today, people.

Later.

Fasten-ating Situation.

"A button, a button, my kingdom for a button." - Me.

Why the soliloquy, you may ask? (And even if you didn't, you're going to hear anyway.) I know its not normal for me to bust out my semi-Shakespearian chops, but it all comes down to a missing button on my shirt.

It wouldn't be a problem except that the button I'm missing is, to me, the most important fastener on the shirt - the second button down.

(You think I'd write about missing a bottom button? What kind of blog do you think this is? I'd just tuck that shit in my pants and carry on.)

The second button is the one that holds it all together. At this time of year we don't wear ties, so the collar button is always undone and without the second button, my shirt is open to the middle of my chest - making me look like a reject from a 70's disco movie.

Adding to that image is the fact that I'm quite hirstute , so there's a forest of manly chest hair breaking out all over the place, straining towards the sun. Might as well throw a couple of gold medallions on there just to top it off.

So as you can see, my two options are to either button right up to my collar and go all Revenge of the Nerds or leave it wide open and appear to be a Tony Montoya wannabe.

(Just so you know, I'm going with the Tony look - at least he got laid. Sure, the nerd did too, but he also had a Darth Vader mask going for him, and I'm fresh out.)

I figure my options at this point are either keep broadcasting the manly chest-hairness, staple it closed, or see if I can somehow carve a button out of something.

I'll try and keep you posted, but that staple option is looking pretty sweet right now.

Later.

I Feel:

- That I totally have the personality, voice, and most importantly, the face for radio.
- That people who have heard the Podcasts will agree that I could only host the "Talking with Tourettes" hour.
- That the more I deal with people who lose their shit over the tiniest thing the more I want to stab them in the eye.
- That the above makes me one of the people who I want to stab so much.
- That nothing brings out the competitive nerd in me quite like Scrabble online. I want to beat them down with my mass vocab, yo.
- That if I had to choose each morning between sex or coffee, I'd take the one where the extra cream doesn't come from me.
- That when I was a child, I used to look at the arrival of the Sear's Christmas catalogue with merriment and wonder - as a parent, it now fills me with dread and terror.
- That being expected to come up with the dirty reply to anyone's comment is a responsibility that's not to be taken lightly...much like my penis.
- That being told you smell good by a beautiful woman would be a wonderful compliment that brightens my day - unfortunately I end up with an 82 year old woman with three teeth wearing a bathrobe. (Welcome to Oyster River, y'all.)

Later.

Paternal Realization.

As I sat at my parents the other day, I realized one thing:

My Dad is Grandpa Simpson.

(For your information, I do not look like Homer.)

My Father looks nothing like Abraham Simpson, in fact they are as opposite as can be when it comes to appearance. Where they are alike is how they tell a story.

This realization hit me while my Dad and I were talking about cars. Dad was telling me about his first car (a '34 Plymouth) and the story, which realistically should have taken less than 2 minutes, sprawled on for almost 20.

It starts with where he bought the car - instead of just stating the location, Dad went on about why he moved there and where he was working at the time. He then went on to how he met the friend of the friend of the guy who sold him the car, where he went for lunch when he took it on the first test drive, and so on. After a while the blur of names, places and people were a jumble in my mind. (And he says I never listen.)

When he was talking about the car, I asked what color it was and pulled up a picture on my phone. He looked at the photo, looked at me, and asked how I got that picture on my phone. I told him I looked it up while he was speaking and he just couldn't get it - he thought I'd seen one and taken a picture - he gets the camera phone part, but the Internet on the phone is a foreign to him as hugging a Nazi would have been to Abe Simpson.

I try to keep him from wandering off topic as much I can - guiding him back to the origin of the conversation with pointed questions or observations, but most of the time I'd have more luck trying to bathe a dozen cats at once. If he's on a roll or its about the government, good luck keeping it contained.

I dig my Dad, and any chance to spend time with him is wonderful. I just have to remember that when he starts to talk about the "Good 'ol days" I should just shut up, pour a coffee and get a comfortable chair - it's going to be a while.

Later.