5 Things I Hate About The Biggest Loser.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Go figure.







Later.

Superbowl North.

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

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

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

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

...and I'm missing it.

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

So that leaves me.

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






Later.

Eye in the Sky.

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

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

But that all changed yesterday.

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

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

And that kinda bothers me.

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

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

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






Later.

1501.

Yesterday I crossed the 1500 post barrier without even noticing.

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

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

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

Classy all the way.

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






Later.

Unwanted Responsibility.

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

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

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

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

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

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

so.....Pizza or KFC?

Or is that just lazy?






Later.

Not Feelin' It.

This Work thing really isn't fun today.

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

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

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

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

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

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








Later.

I Feel:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Later.

Bustin' My Nutella.

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

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

Nuttella.

Some Nutella with Peanut Butter on Toast?

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

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

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

Right now.

Really - I'll wait.

.....

See?

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

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

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





Later.

Th-warted.

*First World Problem Alert* 

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

I've got a wart.

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

So you can see my dilemma.
My options are:

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

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

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

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







Later.

Card-iovascular.

I'm Beat. Tired. Sore.

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

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

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

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

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

Give it a shot.

(52 pickup is not an option.)







Later.

Visual Acuity.

I'm proud to be a man.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Do it for cleanliness.

Do it for pride.

Do it for our gender.

Control your dick.






Later.

'Stache-is Update

First, the excuses:

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

Secondly, the positives:

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

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

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

What can I say? Ginger 'Staches rule Movember.





Later.

I Feel:

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

Later.

Storage de Atré

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

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

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

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

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

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

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








Later.

Mobile Monstrosity.

Dear Blogger Mobile App:

You Suck.

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

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

In every other aspect, you lick balls.

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

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

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

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

Is that so much to ask?

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

Later.

Forgotten.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I'll keep an eye out.

Later.

Preempted.

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

Pizza, Popcorn, and Speed Racer.

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

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

Wish me luck with that.

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

Thanks, Hollywood.

Later.

Just Chuck It.

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

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

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

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

Fuck that shit.

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

Fuck that shit too.

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

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

Fuck all that shit. Just fix it.

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

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

Later.

I Feel:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Later.

Jacked Off.

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

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

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

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

Frustration thy name is Toshiba.

Wish me luck.





Later.

Suprise Concurrance.

I'm a fan of The Black Keys.

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

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



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



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

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

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

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

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







Later.

Folical Fun for Anal Awareness.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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







Later.

Distractional Segueway.

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

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

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

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

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

My scheduled sense of humor should be back tomorrow.






Later.

Fuck.

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

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

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

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

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

Now my sister is being a fucking cunt.

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

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

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

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





Later.

Hallowed Out.

I'm just not that into Halloween anymore.

I'm down with the spookiness, the zombies, and the mythos of it all, but Halloween seems like more and more of a contrived, forced holiday that it sucks the joy out of it for me.

I enjoy the dressing up - some of the outfits that people come up with are astounding - but I think so much pressure to have a great costume ruins what I think should be the spontaneity of it all.

The fact that I live in a cold, windy, wet area makes taking the tots out trick-or-treating more of a torture than listening to Justin Beiber. They may be running on a sugar high from house to house, but Daddy wishes there was more than cream in his coffee - just to take the edge off, of course.

I'm sure if I was back in my 20's it would be more enjoyable. Back then all you had to do was dress up as Shaggy and try to fuck whichever girl came to the party as Daphne or Velma. (Those were the days, eh?)

But times have changed, I've grown up, and I have to try and remember that its not all about me. The kids really enjoy it, and the satisfaction I do get out of this day is seeing their imaginations at work.

So I'll do my best to persevere - just don't ask what's in my coffee if you see me out tonight - I might just have some "help" in there.

Later.

Fatty Foods and Running Guilt.

Do you see that wonderful creation to your right?

That's an Applebee's Maple Butter Blondie dessert.

It's fucking incredible. It's an orgasm that comes served to you on a sizzling plate. While you're transfixed staring at the stack of ice cream, walnuts and pecans, some sort of magic sauce is poured over - covering the ice cream, boiling and caramelizing as it hits the plate.

And then you eat.

Now, you're probably already 3/4 full from your dinner, but it doesn't matter. Once the taste of this motherfucker hits your palate, you are instantly compelled to finish it all. The wife and I share, and even then we are battling over the last few crumbs.

The worst thing I ever did was look at the nutritional information on my beloved Blondie. Each serving has 990 calories - and that's where the guilt kicks in.

Skinny Me knows that splitting the Blondie (Sound's like an 80's Porn slang, amirite?) was a good idea, but he also knows that those 500 calories, plus what dinner was, equal at least an hour running.

Fatty Me doesn't care - that dessert is worth it.

Skinny Me knows that you can't cut out everything from your diet and, in moderation, a cheat day every once in a while is a good thing.

Fatty Me already wants more. (Fatty Me is a selfish asshole, in case you haven't noticed.)

Thankfully the nearest place we can get the Blondie is a 45 minute drive away - keeping Fatty Me away from it shouldn't be too much of an issue. If it was just down the street, we'd be in trouble.

Maybe if I ran to the restaurant from home (31 miles) I wouldn't feel so guilty about enjoying my dessert.

.....and then maybe I can have a whole one to myself....*evil grin*







Later.

Let's Hear it for Beaver.

It appears some people in our Government want to change our National Mascot from the Beaver to the Polar Bear.

Fuck that noise. Beavers rock.

Hardworking, industrious, big fat tail, buck teeth - Beavers just don't fucking care what people think. They looked at what nature gave them and said, "Fuck 'em - I'm gunna cut down some trees and make a house.". That's the kind of plucky animal I want representing our country.

Polar Bears are only badass because they're bears. Who gives a shit? Winnie the Pooh is a bear and he gets no respect. The fucker is practically retarded. Polar Bears aren't much better - the only time anyone likes a Polar Bear is when it's a rug. No one romanticizes about Polar Bears when they are rifling through the garbage.

Say the word "Beaver" to any international tourist and, next to Pussy, the first thing they'll think of is Canada. (WARNING: If you are a girl, repeatedly saying "Beaver?" to someone who doesn't quite speak English could cause some type of, uhmm...mis-communication .) Say "Polar Bear" and people will nod and point to a Coca-Cola can. Not really an association I'd be proud of.

Sure, individually a Polar Bear will fuck your shit up. But take a thousand Beavers and they'll cut down all your trees, build a dam, and flood your fucking town. Who's more badass, now, eh?

In short, if these people in Government want to "Update" our National Symbol and "Keep it fresh" maybe they should try giving the ol' Beev a trim and shine up that tail - don't go replacing what's not broken.





Later.

Shameful Introduction.

I'd like to introduce you to two people: My Dear & Big Fella.

Who are they, you ask?

Are they characters in my as-yet-unfilmed Porn masterpiece?
Nope.

It's simple, really - My Dear and Big Fella are what I call anyone I run into whose name I can't remember.

Cheezy, right? I know.

It's not my fault - God gave me a great eye for faces (and boobs and butts) but I'm kinda lousy when it comes to names. I'm that guy who says "If I saw them I'd know who it is" when somebody asks if I know someone. I also use it a lot with any ex-employees that used to work for me. After managing a McDonald's (for what seemed like an eternity) I always run into people who remember me after working there for only 6 months - I barely recall any employee who worked less than 2 years.

Big Fella and My Dear work great, though. For women of any age "My Dear" is a personal yet non-creepy greeting, and "Big Fella" works with guys of any age or size. (If they're fat or muscular, they're used to being called Big Fella, and with any other size person it's a nice informal greeting.) I've never had this fail for me, and with working in retail, I use it repeatedly every day - mostly for customers and stuff, but also with people who you haven't seen in years whose name doesn't immediately spring to mind. (If they say hi to me first, I usually respond with a token "Hey..You!" until my brain catches up to my eyes and figures out where I know them from.)

So there you go - my secret is out.

Don't tell anyone, K? Thanks.

By the way, My Dear, I like the way the light of the laptop reflects in your eyes - and you, Big Fella, have you been working out? Nice to see ya, thanks for stopping by.





Later.

A New Groove.

I'm so fucking tired.

For the last 2 years, I was on set days off of Wednesday and Thursday. It was sweet - I always knew what my schedule was, could make plans, and the routine was set.

One of the pluses of the new work location is that I can rotate with my co-workers into weekends off. That means I get to see more of the Boys than just mornings and nights, and it's also great for going to events like this last weekend. (Which I still believe I am recovering from - I just can't party like I used to.)

The thing is, I'm so used to having Wed/Thurs off, that when Wednesday rolls around, I'm fucking exhausted. (Some of you may look at my Twitter and say "Well doesn't the 5 mile run you did have anything to do with it?" - I say no.) My body expects today to be a day off - not really a day of rest, but a no-pressure day.

No such luck.

I'm just about to head back from my lunch break (going to try a 10 minute power-nap and see if that helps) and all I really want to do is sleep instead. I'm contemplating going to bed when my kids do tonight and seeing if there's a difference.

The same sleep schedule as an 8 year old.
Life's not as glamorous as I imagined.





Later

Unfathomable.

My kids were amazed last night.

Why?

Because my Wife cooked rice.

Now cooking rice isn't a new thing around our house - we frequently enjoy the tasty grain. The kids are used to seeing Mommy setup the rice cooker on the counter while getting stuff ready for dinner.

They were excited last night because they got to help pick out what we were having and were looking forward to it as we haven't had rice in a while.

Imagine their disappointment when we found out the rice cooker wasn't working.

The kids were just about to go into whiny/crisis mode (I know - over rice. First World Problems, eh?) when they looked astoundingly at the Wife when she pulled a pot out and put it on the stove. They asked her what she was doing and seemed dumbfounded when she said "Cooking Rice".

My kids have never seen rice cooked on a stove.

As hilarious as that sounds, I somehow feel like I've let them down. If my kids are baffled by the fact that rice can be cooked in something other than a rice cooker on the counter, how are they going to be when they are lost in the wild? I can only picture them wandering around, trying to plug their Nintendo Ds into trees, hoping for a miracle.

I'm wondering what other things they are missing out on - maybe I can surprise them with the news that dishes can be washed by hand or before air conditioning we just opened a window.

Trust me, the situation will be rectified, even if I have to strand them in the park, Man vs. Wild style.




Later.

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.