Totally Fucking Gay.

I need your opinion.

I need to settle a matter of utmost importance. It's an ongoing question that can only be answered by an anonymous vote.

Which Coffee order sounds gayer to you?

• Venti White Chocolate Mocha.

Or...

• Venti Hazelnut Latte, Extra Hot, No Foam.

I can't tell you what I think, because one of those orders is mine. The other? It's the Sidekick's - and I think it's way gayer than my regular order. I wouldn't even order his in the Drive-Thru, because to do so would mean I'd eventually have to make eye contact with another human and I wouldn't be able to hide my shame - that's how gay his coffee is.

But I'll leave it up to you. You decide.

I put my fate in your hands.

Later.

Rock Out With My Cock Out.

"We all just wanna be big Rock Stars; live in hilltop houses, drivin' fifteen cars...." Rock Star - Nickelback.

Rock Stardom has always eluded me.

It may be because I can't play an instrument or carry a tune, but that doesn't matter right now. I believe that my main setback was the inability to practice what is known as Rocking Out.

Rocking Out is that strange combination of stance, facial manipulation, and body gyration that Rock Stars do - all while shredding their biggest songs on a killer guitar. Being able to practice my Rocking Out skills would be beneficial, even necessary, for me to attain Rock God-hood.

But I lack some items that are crucial to my needs:

• Killer Guitar. (That I can play.)
• Catalog of Music.
• Talent.

At least two of these problems can be solved if I buy Guitar Hero 3 for the Wii. The aforementioned Guitar (coolly customizable - with stickers!),and the game comes with over 70 songs. The talent? I'll have to supply that, but I think I can manage.

With these tools in hand nothing would stop me from ripping up some funk jams in the comfort of my own home. I know that with only a couple of late night sessions, my path to Rock Stardom would be well on it's way.

Buying it would be like an investment in my future.

Yeah, that's it...

I'd be crazy not to buy it, right?



Later.

(I know the Sidekick's gonna shit 'cause I opened the blog with a Nickelback lyric - it's his favorite band. Hahaha.)

Lost Time.

Sometimes I hate the Internet.

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

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

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

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

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

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



Later.

So Fucking Early..

The kids were up at 6:30am today.

Both of them.

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

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

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


Later.

All Quiet....

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

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

God it's quiet.

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

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

Ahhhhh.... That's better.


Later.

Highlight of My Evening.

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

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

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


Later.

Where's The Beef?

Dvds are pissing me off lately.

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

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

Recently? Not the case. (Pun intended.)

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

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

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

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

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

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



Later.

Bathroom Wall.

People who write on Bathroom walls confuse me.

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

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

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

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

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


Later.

Caffeinated Bliss.

I love Coffee.

Correction: I love Store-Made Coffee.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


Later.

Best Joke I've Heard All Day..

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

......."Sparky."


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

At least I got to laugh.


Later.

Fish 'n Chips

Tonight is Poker Night at The Homestead.

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

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

Later.

Unpleasant Concoction.

Nasty has a new word - SunnyD.

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

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

That's when I spot it.

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

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

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

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

This isn't good.

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

Now I'm thirsty again.

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



Later.

Wrapped Around Your Finger.

The Older Boy is a virtual master of manipulation.

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

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

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

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

That's m'boy.


Later.

Corruption.

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

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

Simple, right?

Nope.

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

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

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

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


Later.

Grapes Gone Bad.

I hate raisins.

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

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

Avoidance is the key - mark my words.

Remember - friends don't let friends eat raisins.


Later.

Eye Catcher.

I'll admit - Tom Ford sure can advertise.

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

I wonder why?

Sex sells, baby.

I gots to get me some cologne.

.....And some private time.


Later.

Increase Penis Girth Today!

A while ago I posted about my E-mail.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


Later.

The Legacy.

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

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

Did he ever.

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

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

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

That would be the true passage of the Legacy.


Later.

Skip It.

It's a late night.

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

(Why do mornings come so early after Poker?)

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

What can I say? I'm tired.


Later.

Bass-ackwards.

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

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

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

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

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

Later.