I am back. I do not really feel the muse working today but I will give it the proverbial whirl. I was going to get into another part of last weekend but something came up. My wife invited the outlaws over for dinner tonight. On the one hand, I am pleased that I do not have to go outside to drive home at nine. Then again, any bets on when my father in law starts itching to leave? They got here at four. We have to wait until six thirty for my brother in law to show. At least, I do not have to drive him home.
I am thinking that I should start drinking now. I just overheard my mother in law trying to indoctrinate the lad into the "Cult of Oprah"! I may have to cut her off from him. She has to come up with better things to talk about. Doesn't she??!!!
They brought dessert. It is a lemon meringue pie. I do not eat lemon meringue pie. I just never liked it. The meringue could never compare to a cream like chocolate or coconut cream pie (banana cream pie is a couple notches below in my rating of pie). I guess, wait, I smell cookies. The wife must be bored, she is baking to fill the time. I will have dessert after all. Then again, let us see if my mother in law will be having dessert or will be rushed along by my father in law.
Well, that is all. It is getting dark outside, hell, it is dark. Let the craziness begin! Let the voices be heard! Let us start our anxious engines! This is my castle and in here the neurotic man is king with no usurpers of my rightful throne! Ciao!
Friday, December 29, 2006
Thursday, December 28, 2006
In the Land of the Insane The Neurotic Man Is King!
I am back. I have to say Merry New Year to y'all. (That was said in Eddie Murphy's voice in Trading Places). Again, I am giving stage directions. What is wrong with me? I must be a solopsist. Which in effect means, that I am the only one that exists and everybody and everything is just created by my imagine or me for me. It is very inward and pure ego in thought. Enough of the philosophy class, I am just so "in law"ed out right now and I have not seen them since Saturday.
Here goes dinner last week. I arrive at about five thirty or so. I notice that our car is not parked but my sister in law's minivan is parked in the visitor's strip, er lot. I figure that the wife has gone to a mall with her sister and possibly one or two of the older kids (18 and 15). I am entering the Storm. I come out of the elevator only to find the lad, his two younger cousins (11 and 4) and my mother in law (the kid's grandmother) waiting by the elevator to take coats. They were looking to take ANYBODY'S coat. They were just panhandling for coats!!!! This passes as educational and interactive activity in the outlaws' world.
I get in to find that the only missing members are my wife and her sister. I play a game with some of the kids and we all chat. It is all very nice. It is also nicer that I notice that the bottle of Galliano has not made an appearance. I go into the room with the television and I see my father in law sitting on the couch fumbling with the remote. He tells me that something is wrong with new LCD television. He tells me that it keeps turning on by itself. He turns it off and it turns itself on. Caspar the Friendly fucking Ghost is fucking with my father in law's mind. Either that or the ghost of some South Korean worker (it is a Samsung) just screwing with his head. Of course, it could be that he has forgotten how to work the fucking remote control.
I am going with option number two. He proceeds to show me what he his doing. I have to explain the concept of on and off to him. I tell him to turn it off (it is on) he must press the red power button. He then asks "what color button to push it back on again? Do I press half the button for off and the other half for on?" How would you respond? A spit take? Laugh at the situation in his presence and thus embarrassing him, or not (see blogging about it is much better, I get to paint a picture for others to laugh and he is none the wiser)? Slowly explain to him, patiently, how to work the remote, er the red power button? I chose the last because the laughter would have paralyzed me.
At first, I did not believe him regarding the television coming back on when he was turning it off. I thought he was just talking crazy talk. Then I saw, with my own two eyes, no less, what he was doing. He was not simply pressing the button, he was holding it down. No wonder the thing would go back on. Well, so much for the ghost in the machine.
I will give him the benefit of the doubt and say that with all the activity in his home he was aggravated and anxious about something, I am not sure what, but that distracted him in using the remote. It is a lame excuse when I think about it, but it is plausible, or he has lost about two thirds of his mind. Anyway, I thought that would be forgotten but he would ask me later in the evening, while I was watching television, if it was working okay.
He was in his element groussing at the kids as they ran around. Just kept telling them to "Be Careful". It was what he kept telling me (but my mother in law and my wife do the same thing) as I was trying to replace his light fixture. I need the encouragement to be careful. What the fuck, why don't I try to stick my screwdriver into that electrical outlet? All of sudden, they say, "Be careful." and I suddenly decide that it is a good idea! Ladies and gentlemen, may I introduce you to the Obvious family. There is obviously a gene for not being able to refrain from pointing out the obvious.
Anyway, that is part one of the gathering. There is more, just no time for that now, so remember that in the land of the insane, the neurotic man is king! Ciao!
Here goes dinner last week. I arrive at about five thirty or so. I notice that our car is not parked but my sister in law's minivan is parked in the visitor's strip, er lot. I figure that the wife has gone to a mall with her sister and possibly one or two of the older kids (18 and 15). I am entering the Storm. I come out of the elevator only to find the lad, his two younger cousins (11 and 4) and my mother in law (the kid's grandmother) waiting by the elevator to take coats. They were looking to take ANYBODY'S coat. They were just panhandling for coats!!!! This passes as educational and interactive activity in the outlaws' world.
I get in to find that the only missing members are my wife and her sister. I play a game with some of the kids and we all chat. It is all very nice. It is also nicer that I notice that the bottle of Galliano has not made an appearance. I go into the room with the television and I see my father in law sitting on the couch fumbling with the remote. He tells me that something is wrong with new LCD television. He tells me that it keeps turning on by itself. He turns it off and it turns itself on. Caspar the Friendly fucking Ghost is fucking with my father in law's mind. Either that or the ghost of some South Korean worker (it is a Samsung) just screwing with his head. Of course, it could be that he has forgotten how to work the fucking remote control.
I am going with option number two. He proceeds to show me what he his doing. I have to explain the concept of on and off to him. I tell him to turn it off (it is on) he must press the red power button. He then asks "what color button to push it back on again? Do I press half the button for off and the other half for on?" How would you respond? A spit take? Laugh at the situation in his presence and thus embarrassing him, or not (see blogging about it is much better, I get to paint a picture for others to laugh and he is none the wiser)? Slowly explain to him, patiently, how to work the remote, er the red power button? I chose the last because the laughter would have paralyzed me.
At first, I did not believe him regarding the television coming back on when he was turning it off. I thought he was just talking crazy talk. Then I saw, with my own two eyes, no less, what he was doing. He was not simply pressing the button, he was holding it down. No wonder the thing would go back on. Well, so much for the ghost in the machine.
I will give him the benefit of the doubt and say that with all the activity in his home he was aggravated and anxious about something, I am not sure what, but that distracted him in using the remote. It is a lame excuse when I think about it, but it is plausible, or he has lost about two thirds of his mind. Anyway, I thought that would be forgotten but he would ask me later in the evening, while I was watching television, if it was working okay.
He was in his element groussing at the kids as they ran around. Just kept telling them to "Be Careful". It was what he kept telling me (but my mother in law and my wife do the same thing) as I was trying to replace his light fixture. I need the encouragement to be careful. What the fuck, why don't I try to stick my screwdriver into that electrical outlet? All of sudden, they say, "Be careful." and I suddenly decide that it is a good idea! Ladies and gentlemen, may I introduce you to the Obvious family. There is obviously a gene for not being able to refrain from pointing out the obvious.
Anyway, that is part one of the gathering. There is more, just no time for that now, so remember that in the land of the insane, the neurotic man is king! Ciao!
Monday, December 25, 2006
It is Christmas time again
I am back. It is a special Christmas posting indeed. I could do a weekend that was or more to the point a Friday that was. I did survive but I should do that later. I was not going to post but then I read the news and figured that I could pay tribute to two today, though I guess I should not feel the need to have to have both men share the spotlight, but it is my "show" and one inspired me to write about the other.
It is a sad day as James Brown, the godfather of soul, died today at 73. You could not tell his age from his funky, straight hair (or was that a wig?). The man was a great artist and musician. He was a stage man who knew his sound and music. He could tell which of his band was off in a heartbeat, or single note. Okay, you could not understand a word he had to say, he went through wives like water (recall he had one die while undergoing plastic surgery that he "gave" her for Christmas) and he may have had some tax issues, he was still a joy to behold and listen to. At least, he will live on in song.
This made me think, or is that reminded me in no uncertain terms, that today would have been my father's 72 birthday. We would have gone out for dinner, usually Chinese given the day, or stayed in for a family dinner. We have not done that in over 16 years, though. It is a bit sad still, but a great reminder of the man he was and the man I am trying to be.
With that sappy thought and sentiment, go have your Chinese food, see a movie, or have another in a series of big, family feasts. If it feels good, do it. Ciao!
It is a sad day as James Brown, the godfather of soul, died today at 73. You could not tell his age from his funky, straight hair (or was that a wig?). The man was a great artist and musician. He was a stage man who knew his sound and music. He could tell which of his band was off in a heartbeat, or single note. Okay, you could not understand a word he had to say, he went through wives like water (recall he had one die while undergoing plastic surgery that he "gave" her for Christmas) and he may have had some tax issues, he was still a joy to behold and listen to. At least, he will live on in song.
This made me think, or is that reminded me in no uncertain terms, that today would have been my father's 72 birthday. We would have gone out for dinner, usually Chinese given the day, or stayed in for a family dinner. We have not done that in over 16 years, though. It is a bit sad still, but a great reminder of the man he was and the man I am trying to be.
With that sappy thought and sentiment, go have your Chinese food, see a movie, or have another in a series of big, family feasts. If it feels good, do it. Ciao!
Friday, December 22, 2006
Outlaw hell begins
I am back. This will be short and sweet. I think that today is the fourth anniversary of the death of Joe Strummer of The Clash. It was a sudden death of a 52 year old former punker, who could write a great song and play his guitar. He did have a social conscience which was nice and he was not as annoying and cloying with it as Bono.
That said it is time for me to shuffle off. There is much to be done today. In the end, I have to deal with the outlaws times 20. That is right. After all the starts and stops, a family dinner is being made for the outlaws 50th anniversary. My mother in law kept changing things and stopping things and the burden of all that bullshit fell on the wife. It was she who was doing all the arranging. Anyway, it should come to pass tonight as my sister in law is in from the States with four of her five children. My brother in law is on call and the second oldest is away. That is okay as she is the sullen, smart and morose child (always has been).
The wife's aunt (I would say crazy aunt but they are all fucking nuts. It is as if they all had their ears removed and replaced with more speaking ability, so nobody listens, everybody speaks. The worst part of all of it is that none of them have ever given a thought as to whether anybody wanted, or needed, to hear them speak. It is all just such banal and useless chatter meant to fill time. I prefer the silence because the voices are like chewing on tin foil and the subject matter of their utterances makes me want to ram an icepick in my ear, or actually their ear, which could be fun. What kind of sentence does one get for "pulling a Trotsky" on one's wife's aunt?) whom I have written about before, she of the broken arm from patting herself on the back, called my mother in law to scold her. Apparently, her son and daughter in law were invited to tonight's dinner after they had made other plans so they will not be attending.
It is funny. My mother in law called her to tell her the plans when she was in New York visiting her other daughter. It was left to her to call her son but she did not. Now she is laying blame to anybody but herself. It is so fucking typical. She did this shit in Montreal, six and a half years ago. She lost two sets of directions (hers and my in laws'), reamed out the hotel concierge for not providing directions, and then had the temerity to pull the map and directions I had received from my hands without asking. All this was done in front of her pussy whipped husband and two children. Nobody said a word. I did, as I took the map back assertively. It was at that point I decided that they can allow her to shit all over them and not confront it, but not me. Now, I have a clear understanding. She will not get away with that crap with me. I will confront her.
So tonight should be fun. I mean the wife is expecting words to fly and I just may have to join in to make sure everything is laid out on the table. She will learn that indeed her shit does stink. Of course, that is not a great analogy to raise with a women with a colostomy bag, but it ain't my fault.
Have a great weekend and Merry Christmas one and all! Ciao!
That said it is time for me to shuffle off. There is much to be done today. In the end, I have to deal with the outlaws times 20. That is right. After all the starts and stops, a family dinner is being made for the outlaws 50th anniversary. My mother in law kept changing things and stopping things and the burden of all that bullshit fell on the wife. It was she who was doing all the arranging. Anyway, it should come to pass tonight as my sister in law is in from the States with four of her five children. My brother in law is on call and the second oldest is away. That is okay as she is the sullen, smart and morose child (always has been).
The wife's aunt (I would say crazy aunt but they are all fucking nuts. It is as if they all had their ears removed and replaced with more speaking ability, so nobody listens, everybody speaks. The worst part of all of it is that none of them have ever given a thought as to whether anybody wanted, or needed, to hear them speak. It is all just such banal and useless chatter meant to fill time. I prefer the silence because the voices are like chewing on tin foil and the subject matter of their utterances makes me want to ram an icepick in my ear, or actually their ear, which could be fun. What kind of sentence does one get for "pulling a Trotsky" on one's wife's aunt?) whom I have written about before, she of the broken arm from patting herself on the back, called my mother in law to scold her. Apparently, her son and daughter in law were invited to tonight's dinner after they had made other plans so they will not be attending.
It is funny. My mother in law called her to tell her the plans when she was in New York visiting her other daughter. It was left to her to call her son but she did not. Now she is laying blame to anybody but herself. It is so fucking typical. She did this shit in Montreal, six and a half years ago. She lost two sets of directions (hers and my in laws'), reamed out the hotel concierge for not providing directions, and then had the temerity to pull the map and directions I had received from my hands without asking. All this was done in front of her pussy whipped husband and two children. Nobody said a word. I did, as I took the map back assertively. It was at that point I decided that they can allow her to shit all over them and not confront it, but not me. Now, I have a clear understanding. She will not get away with that crap with me. I will confront her.
So tonight should be fun. I mean the wife is expecting words to fly and I just may have to join in to make sure everything is laid out on the table. She will learn that indeed her shit does stink. Of course, that is not a great analogy to raise with a women with a colostomy bag, but it ain't my fault.
Have a great weekend and Merry Christmas one and all! Ciao!
Wednesday, December 20, 2006
Time, UN and Laughter
I am back. It is another posting of the sublimely banal. My fucking 22 year old clock that has been running fast, only by day, it has been fine during the night, has been running properly (or at least providing a good approximation of the correct time-I mean, does anybody really know what time it is and does anybody really care...about time...) over the last 30 or so hours. What is going on there?
I am thinking that the law of physics have ceased to exist in that corner of my bedroom. Or, more plausibly, that clock is a mini-blackhole. It is just sucking time, matter and energy into some other dimension. Maybe that is where my old, blue baseball glove is. I guess the cleaning lady did not really steal it. We had a cleaning lady at the time that would "throw" stuff out and just take it home with her. The best part of this was, her daughter and husband, lived around the block from my father's store and were customers. What a dilemma. Well, when the husband took ill and passed away (after having many prescriptions filled by us), my mother fired the thieving old lady. Of course, not before she got away with my glove.
It is the Wednesday before Christmas. I just wanted to point that out to y'all. What else is there for me to say today? I do not have much. I mean we have "civil" war (I love that term, as if there is any civility in war, it is what it is. And why does that that august institution, the UN, insist on sending people into former war torn places, always after the fact, and claim that "war crimes" have been commited. What exactly is a war crime? War may be the crime in and of itself, but it takes two and you have to look at the big picture and not just the tragedy of civilians. It is tragic but it is war, especially when it is ignited by their own people. Again, the UN comes in after the fact, but what the fuck are they doing while a genocide occurs in Darfur? I guess Rwanda taught the UN and the West absolutely no lessons. I guess if you are a black African, you are shit out of luck. Get some oil and maybe there is some help available.) in Iraq and Gaza. It is tragically funny if you think about it. People want their "independence" but cannot help themselves from killing each other, but at least it is civil.
Sorry for the rant, but I am sensitive. If I do not laugh, I will cry. Okay, I may be stretching it. I have quoted Homer before, Simpson that is, and I say it again, "It is funny because it is not me". That is how I want you to live, it is all funny unless it happens to me (you). Ciao!
I am thinking that the law of physics have ceased to exist in that corner of my bedroom. Or, more plausibly, that clock is a mini-blackhole. It is just sucking time, matter and energy into some other dimension. Maybe that is where my old, blue baseball glove is. I guess the cleaning lady did not really steal it. We had a cleaning lady at the time that would "throw" stuff out and just take it home with her. The best part of this was, her daughter and husband, lived around the block from my father's store and were customers. What a dilemma. Well, when the husband took ill and passed away (after having many prescriptions filled by us), my mother fired the thieving old lady. Of course, not before she got away with my glove.
It is the Wednesday before Christmas. I just wanted to point that out to y'all. What else is there for me to say today? I do not have much. I mean we have "civil" war (I love that term, as if there is any civility in war, it is what it is. And why does that that august institution, the UN, insist on sending people into former war torn places, always after the fact, and claim that "war crimes" have been commited. What exactly is a war crime? War may be the crime in and of itself, but it takes two and you have to look at the big picture and not just the tragedy of civilians. It is tragic but it is war, especially when it is ignited by their own people. Again, the UN comes in after the fact, but what the fuck are they doing while a genocide occurs in Darfur? I guess Rwanda taught the UN and the West absolutely no lessons. I guess if you are a black African, you are shit out of luck. Get some oil and maybe there is some help available.) in Iraq and Gaza. It is tragically funny if you think about it. People want their "independence" but cannot help themselves from killing each other, but at least it is civil.
Sorry for the rant, but I am sensitive. If I do not laugh, I will cry. Okay, I may be stretching it. I have quoted Homer before, Simpson that is, and I say it again, "It is funny because it is not me". That is how I want you to live, it is all funny unless it happens to me (you). Ciao!
Tuesday, December 19, 2006
Who stinks now and what do I stink of?
I am back. Things have been rather crazy around these parts. Friday, I should have taken odds that my father in law would put the same damn bottle of Galliano on the table. Every fucking week it is the same thing. He asks what kind of wine it is. I then tell him that the fluorescent green liquid in the conical bottle is not wine but Galliano, an Italian liquer. I get the nod of him understanding and then it goes, untouched, back into his liquor cabinet. It gets trotted out again the next Friday with the same lines uttered. I fucking hate reruns.
Well we were done in confusion central and it was on to Sunday. I am skipping Saturday for no apparent reason. Sunday was the Hannukah Party day. First, it was at the lad's Hebrew school. Then, we were at the wife's aunt's house. The food was good, but I had so much caffiene coursing through my veins at the time that I was mega-anxious. I was just a raw nerve waiting to go off. We made it out of there only to have to go to the dinner party of a friend.
It was latke central. Those traditional fried potato pancakes. They were all good. What could be wrong with a grated, with onion, fried, potato. There is nothing wrong with it. Unless, you forget to factor in the stinking oil that splatters everywhere, getting that fried and oniony smell onto your clothes, body and hair. Also, our jackets. I go to put on my jacket Monday morning and it stinks like fried onions. Bleahh. Then again, I keep telling myself, it is not B.O., so it is a good smell, but not constantly.
I had great experience of smelling like a grill. Back in the day, I would go for a late breakfast with my father at one of his old haunts (Mars) on those Sundays when I would work for him (those hard two hour days). I would then go to study and catch a whiff of the grill (fried food) on my sweatshirt. I would make a face and then remember it is better than B.O. so I should not complain. Besides, I got to share that memory with you. Gotta run. Ciao!
Well we were done in confusion central and it was on to Sunday. I am skipping Saturday for no apparent reason. Sunday was the Hannukah Party day. First, it was at the lad's Hebrew school. Then, we were at the wife's aunt's house. The food was good, but I had so much caffiene coursing through my veins at the time that I was mega-anxious. I was just a raw nerve waiting to go off. We made it out of there only to have to go to the dinner party of a friend.
It was latke central. Those traditional fried potato pancakes. They were all good. What could be wrong with a grated, with onion, fried, potato. There is nothing wrong with it. Unless, you forget to factor in the stinking oil that splatters everywhere, getting that fried and oniony smell onto your clothes, body and hair. Also, our jackets. I go to put on my jacket Monday morning and it stinks like fried onions. Bleahh. Then again, I keep telling myself, it is not B.O., so it is a good smell, but not constantly.
I had great experience of smelling like a grill. Back in the day, I would go for a late breakfast with my father at one of his old haunts (Mars) on those Sundays when I would work for him (those hard two hour days). I would then go to study and catch a whiff of the grill (fried food) on my sweatshirt. I would make a face and then remember it is better than B.O. so I should not complain. Besides, I got to share that memory with you. Gotta run. Ciao!
Friday, December 15, 2006
I think that I may have a time machine
I am back. I am also having one of those "What the Fuck?!" moments. I truly believe that I have these things too frequently for any one human being. Then again, I am hyper-connected to the world so that may be why. Then again, I could be delusional and full of shit. At least, I can hold out that possibility and accept it.
Anyway, before I begin, I should tell you all that when I got to Mayfair today, two days after being assualted by the BO stink, there was another BO stink on my arrival. Again, I am not sure if it were the old dude changing (though it was not "old man stink", then again maybe it was "old man decaying from the inside because he has been dead for a while but nobody has been kind enough to let him know it" stink, either way) or the lingering stink of Wednesday evening.
That is an aside that I am so sure y'all wanted to read about. I am pretty sure that you could not sleep last night, bodies all tingly, thinking about that smell. Then again, you bodies may have tingled for another reason, in which case, I hope that got some. Here is the story.
For the past couple of days, my alarm clock has been running fast. I do not mean fast, but enormously fast. I think that it is now reading the time for tomorrow. It has gone into the future. I am pissed. First off, I do not like setting my clock each night and then waking up unsure what time it actually is. I reset it before bed last night and it was fine. I was up and the time matched the time on the television. I go to shower and at 7:50 am the damn clock reads 8:34. What the fuck????? It only picks up time during daylight hours?? I just do not get it.
Let me describe this beautiful clock to you. It is a Viking brand clock with faux wood finish. Viking was the in house brand of Eaton's, the long defunct Canadian department store retailer. I have had the clock since 1984. As I said, it has that plastic faux wood finish. It is a beautiful touch. I think they stole that faux wood plastic from Chrysler since it was used on the interior of their cars to give them that classy look to compete with the burled wood of a Jaguar. Who could tell the difference????!!!! Certainly not I.
I have half a mind to try to take it back. Eaton's has to stand behind its products. It only lasted 22 years, what crappy craftmanship. You would think they would stand behind their products. No wonder they could not cut and went tits up. In fact, they almost took Sears Canada with them when they bought the leases and name out of bankruptcy, created an "upscale" store that had lousy sales. It did look good, though. That has to count for something. Many old ladies were sad to see Eaton's go, but how can you make money selling support hose to the blue haired set?
Anyway, there you have it. I think each time I touch that clock, I will be transported into the future. That may be cool. I am not sure. What fun is it, if you cannot get back. I could be like Dr. Sam Beckett, leaping through time (Quantum Leap reference, I did enjoy that show and they did a funny spoof on it on "Robot Chicken").
I just do not know what to do, beyond buy a new clock. I guess that is what I will have to do. Either that or learn how to translate what seems to be most random. But what does it all mean? Do the Jehovah's Witnesses have the answer to that one? Have a great weekend one and all. Ciao!
Anyway, before I begin, I should tell you all that when I got to Mayfair today, two days after being assualted by the BO stink, there was another BO stink on my arrival. Again, I am not sure if it were the old dude changing (though it was not "old man stink", then again maybe it was "old man decaying from the inside because he has been dead for a while but nobody has been kind enough to let him know it" stink, either way) or the lingering stink of Wednesday evening.
That is an aside that I am so sure y'all wanted to read about. I am pretty sure that you could not sleep last night, bodies all tingly, thinking about that smell. Then again, you bodies may have tingled for another reason, in which case, I hope that got some. Here is the story.
For the past couple of days, my alarm clock has been running fast. I do not mean fast, but enormously fast. I think that it is now reading the time for tomorrow. It has gone into the future. I am pissed. First off, I do not like setting my clock each night and then waking up unsure what time it actually is. I reset it before bed last night and it was fine. I was up and the time matched the time on the television. I go to shower and at 7:50 am the damn clock reads 8:34. What the fuck????? It only picks up time during daylight hours?? I just do not get it.
Let me describe this beautiful clock to you. It is a Viking brand clock with faux wood finish. Viking was the in house brand of Eaton's, the long defunct Canadian department store retailer. I have had the clock since 1984. As I said, it has that plastic faux wood finish. It is a beautiful touch. I think they stole that faux wood plastic from Chrysler since it was used on the interior of their cars to give them that classy look to compete with the burled wood of a Jaguar. Who could tell the difference????!!!! Certainly not I.
I have half a mind to try to take it back. Eaton's has to stand behind its products. It only lasted 22 years, what crappy craftmanship. You would think they would stand behind their products. No wonder they could not cut and went tits up. In fact, they almost took Sears Canada with them when they bought the leases and name out of bankruptcy, created an "upscale" store that had lousy sales. It did look good, though. That has to count for something. Many old ladies were sad to see Eaton's go, but how can you make money selling support hose to the blue haired set?
Anyway, there you have it. I think each time I touch that clock, I will be transported into the future. That may be cool. I am not sure. What fun is it, if you cannot get back. I could be like Dr. Sam Beckett, leaping through time (Quantum Leap reference, I did enjoy that show and they did a funny spoof on it on "Robot Chicken").
I just do not know what to do, beyond buy a new clock. I guess that is what I will have to do. Either that or learn how to translate what seems to be most random. But what does it all mean? Do the Jehovah's Witnesses have the answer to that one? Have a great weekend one and all. Ciao!
Thursday, December 14, 2006
A Stink Like That Should Be Bottled
I am back. Just when I thought it safe to go back to Mayfair, I turn out to be wrong. I go work out yesterday. There is no Stinky Guy to be found. I go to take a shower and come back all nice and clean. I see a guy that I know and he "whispers" that he is changing where he is because somebody stinks. I chuckle as I do smell something.
I then get to my locker and WOAH! This stench seems to be existing my row of lockers. It certainly was not coming from me, unless my organs are rotting from the inside, I have been gooified internally BUT my sense of smell has been destroyed. It just is not so. The saddest part is that the smell would actually get worse. And even more frightening, who ever that stench belonged to was nowhere to be found. There was not a soul, other than me, in that row of lockers at that time.
What the fuck, er funk! It was the "O" without the "B". I also was not about to sniff for the source. It always reminds of people who say "Ewwwww! Smell this!" I am sorry people, but that line does not induce me to take a whiff. If your telling me it stinks, if your emphatically showing me how much it stinks, then I really do not need to smell "it". The smell did have undertones of Fish Sauce. Fish Sauce is a staple of Vietnamese cooking that is the juice from the fermenting of anchovies or shrimp. It is salty and stinks to high hell. I have smelled that smell before but I just cannot place it. What was her name...?
Sorry, I went away there for a second. Ahh yes, that Mayfair smell, I could have sworn was Stinky Guy. But the dude was nowhere to be found. Unless, he had come while I was in the shower, changed and went down to the gym. Stinky Guy is not off the hook here. There was the opporunity for our pathes to have crossed and he left his calling card, a noxious cloud of living, breathing stink. I did not bother to look for his car, in the lot, in the dark when I left. I was curious about that smell but not enough to take time to investigate. I was just happy to have gotten away from it.
It now has me wondering, will that awful stench have taken over Mayfair by now? If so, what will they do to remove the smell? Will they even try? Will my dues go up because of it? If so, I will hit Stinky Guy in the nuts with a shovel. I may just do that for shits and giggles, whadda ya think?
Smelly Dreams to You All. Ciao!
I then get to my locker and WOAH! This stench seems to be existing my row of lockers. It certainly was not coming from me, unless my organs are rotting from the inside, I have been gooified internally BUT my sense of smell has been destroyed. It just is not so. The saddest part is that the smell would actually get worse. And even more frightening, who ever that stench belonged to was nowhere to be found. There was not a soul, other than me, in that row of lockers at that time.
What the fuck, er funk! It was the "O" without the "B". I also was not about to sniff for the source. It always reminds of people who say "Ewwwww! Smell this!" I am sorry people, but that line does not induce me to take a whiff. If your telling me it stinks, if your emphatically showing me how much it stinks, then I really do not need to smell "it". The smell did have undertones of Fish Sauce. Fish Sauce is a staple of Vietnamese cooking that is the juice from the fermenting of anchovies or shrimp. It is salty and stinks to high hell. I have smelled that smell before but I just cannot place it. What was her name...?
Sorry, I went away there for a second. Ahh yes, that Mayfair smell, I could have sworn was Stinky Guy. But the dude was nowhere to be found. Unless, he had come while I was in the shower, changed and went down to the gym. Stinky Guy is not off the hook here. There was the opporunity for our pathes to have crossed and he left his calling card, a noxious cloud of living, breathing stink. I did not bother to look for his car, in the lot, in the dark when I left. I was curious about that smell but not enough to take time to investigate. I was just happy to have gotten away from it.
It now has me wondering, will that awful stench have taken over Mayfair by now? If so, what will they do to remove the smell? Will they even try? Will my dues go up because of it? If so, I will hit Stinky Guy in the nuts with a shovel. I may just do that for shits and giggles, whadda ya think?
Smelly Dreams to You All. Ciao!
Tuesday, December 12, 2006
The older they are, the longer they have lived
I am back. Things are in motion around here so I did not get a chance to post yesterday. I barely have a chance to do so today. That is why this one may be a little lame. I have been glancing at headlines again. I see where Nicole Richie was arrested for a DUI. The things that stupid, little rich girls do. She could not have used the limo with ex-pal Paris Hilton and Britney Spears and her naked beaver. I am serious, apparently she has a rare, hairless beaver as a pet, or is that a hairless muskrat, I am not sure, but I did "read" it somewhere, even if it were my own imagination.
I was reading that the world's oldest woman died recently and the oldest man (116) died as well. Is there some sort of conspiracy? Is Sylar getting to them to reap the benefits of really old age? These people have lived long lives which is cool. It all goes to show you, you get what you get. It is a reminder that we are all dealt our genetic cards and have to make the most of them, in whatever way we see fit. Tomorrow may never come for some, and for others, there are plenty of tomorrows. Then, after all those tomorrows, there is somebody cleaning up their adult diapers. It is that full cycle that is kind of funny. You start in diapers and end up there, with somebody else having to clean up your shit. Go figure.
All your childhood, you are basically taught that to be an adult is to realize that you have to clean up your own shit (literally and figuratively). Then you hit that "tipping point" well into adulthood (for most) and somebody else is cleaning up your shit. Why not skip the middle man? I propose that we ALL revert to adult diapers and have somebody else clean up our shit? I should ask the wife is she loves me enough to do that for me? Any guesses as to that answer?
I am telling you it is a weird world up in my head. But think about it, how much time in life do we "waste" by chewing? Give me food the consistency of oatmeal, and we can save time. Just swallow your gruel and off you go. It does become a problem if you have some sort of spastic symptoms and send the gruel on to your body or across the room, but somebody else will be cleaning it, so.....
Those are the happy thoughts that I would leave you with on this day. Though, living a long and healthy life are pretty happy thoughts. Ciao!
I was reading that the world's oldest woman died recently and the oldest man (116) died as well. Is there some sort of conspiracy? Is Sylar getting to them to reap the benefits of really old age? These people have lived long lives which is cool. It all goes to show you, you get what you get. It is a reminder that we are all dealt our genetic cards and have to make the most of them, in whatever way we see fit. Tomorrow may never come for some, and for others, there are plenty of tomorrows. Then, after all those tomorrows, there is somebody cleaning up their adult diapers. It is that full cycle that is kind of funny. You start in diapers and end up there, with somebody else having to clean up your shit. Go figure.
All your childhood, you are basically taught that to be an adult is to realize that you have to clean up your own shit (literally and figuratively). Then you hit that "tipping point" well into adulthood (for most) and somebody else is cleaning up your shit. Why not skip the middle man? I propose that we ALL revert to adult diapers and have somebody else clean up our shit? I should ask the wife is she loves me enough to do that for me? Any guesses as to that answer?
I am telling you it is a weird world up in my head. But think about it, how much time in life do we "waste" by chewing? Give me food the consistency of oatmeal, and we can save time. Just swallow your gruel and off you go. It does become a problem if you have some sort of spastic symptoms and send the gruel on to your body or across the room, but somebody else will be cleaning it, so.....
Those are the happy thoughts that I would leave you with on this day. Though, living a long and healthy life are pretty happy thoughts. Ciao!
Friday, December 08, 2006
John Lennon, The Who and The Jam!
I am back. I apologize for missing the last two days, but stuff came up and I had to cut something. It is funny how time is limited and that there are only so many hours in the day (24, I have heard). Anyway, I am back now, so you can all rest easy. I should mention that this is post 301, which means I have passed the triple century club and am on my way to 400. Also, I caught the headline that Yoko Ono still will not forgive Mark David Chapman for killing her husband (and meal ticket, though that does continue), John Lennon.
That brought me back to the reality that it was 26 years ago today that John Lennon was shot and killed in New York City. I remember where I was at the time (in bed, listening to the radio) when I heard he had been shot and then that he had died. It sent a chill down my spine then and does to this day. I did not "know" John Lennon but had been affected by his work in a way that I never was with Keith Moon or John Bonham. Besides, I would lose my virginity (what a silly term because I know where my virginity went, I was there when it got "lost". It is more like I "lost" that status or state of virginity, or is that Virginia?, but really more likely that I shuffled off the coil of virginity and became a man, or as manly as one could be without chest hair) either the next day or within the week.
How mature? I am boasting of losing my virginity, yet, it was how I felt back in 1980. It is the same "feeling" that I had 26 years ago today. Which leads me to where my mind has been at of late.
Again, it revolves around music and a feeling I once possessed, or think that I did. I have found myself listening to a lot of music that is old (25 to 30 years old). I have found myself listening to The Jam a lot of late. For those who want to know, The Jam was a Paul Weller band that came out of the rise of UK punk back in the late 1970s. The band was contemporaries with The Clash but given that Paul Weller wrote most of the stuff, his influences were more melodic with an R 'n B sensibility. It laced the rage, or is that faux rage, of punk but added a subtle complexity of dudes who could play their instruments. In fact, there is a direct link in terms of sound from The Who to The Jam. It was the sound of the Mods (see The Who's "Quadrophenia", both movie and album, but not the soundtrack).
The band split in 1982 after releasing and touring for their album, "The Gift". That had "A Town Called Malice" on it and I remember that song getting some airplay back in high school. I also remember Roxy Music's "Avalon" and the Asia album from that time period. The band would split but by 1983, they would release a double album compilation called "Snap". That is the album that I bought, or my father bought for me, when we were shopping for a suit for me to wear to my brother's bar mitzvah.
There I was a freshman, with a new suit, and a great double album to get me into the work of The Jam. It worked. The first album was the older, rougher, more punky work and the the second album was more melodic, textured and no less interesting. I made a couple of cassettes of this stuff (I would always listen to the first two sides, early punky stuff, while driving to exams...it just pumped me up and left me with a "no prisoners" attitude that I needed before attacking my exams) and went on my way, so I could drive and listen to them.
Paul Weller would go on to form The Style Council and then do solo work. I have a couple of his CDs and they do get back to his RnB roots. It is good stuff. The best thing is that I have heard that he is doing three concerts in New York. The first devoted to his work with The Jam, the second Style Council and third his solo stuff. I would love to go to that first concert (and I did enjoy Style Council).
I have found myself listening to "Sound Affects" an excellent album of late. It takes me right back to 1983 and how I "felt" back then. That is a good thing in my eyes. I am not trying to relive the past, just to recapture an attitude and feeling that I had. I guess it is not much different from a heroin addict chasing his next high, trying to get the feel of the first one. I am not sure if that is pathetic and sad on my part or just some harmless need to assert my "youth". In any event, I am enjoying the tunage.
Well, I am off to the wife's aunt and uncle's for dinner. Shoot me now! Let the cackling begin! A cacaphony of voices, with nothing being said! That is my next few hours, not to mention the drive to Thornhill, please shoot me! I now have Adam Sandler's lamentation song from the Wedding Singer in my head. "Somebody kill me please!......" Have a great weekend and ciao!
That brought me back to the reality that it was 26 years ago today that John Lennon was shot and killed in New York City. I remember where I was at the time (in bed, listening to the radio) when I heard he had been shot and then that he had died. It sent a chill down my spine then and does to this day. I did not "know" John Lennon but had been affected by his work in a way that I never was with Keith Moon or John Bonham. Besides, I would lose my virginity (what a silly term because I know where my virginity went, I was there when it got "lost". It is more like I "lost" that status or state of virginity, or is that Virginia?, but really more likely that I shuffled off the coil of virginity and became a man, or as manly as one could be without chest hair) either the next day or within the week.
How mature? I am boasting of losing my virginity, yet, it was how I felt back in 1980. It is the same "feeling" that I had 26 years ago today. Which leads me to where my mind has been at of late.
Again, it revolves around music and a feeling I once possessed, or think that I did. I have found myself listening to a lot of music that is old (25 to 30 years old). I have found myself listening to The Jam a lot of late. For those who want to know, The Jam was a Paul Weller band that came out of the rise of UK punk back in the late 1970s. The band was contemporaries with The Clash but given that Paul Weller wrote most of the stuff, his influences were more melodic with an R 'n B sensibility. It laced the rage, or is that faux rage, of punk but added a subtle complexity of dudes who could play their instruments. In fact, there is a direct link in terms of sound from The Who to The Jam. It was the sound of the Mods (see The Who's "Quadrophenia", both movie and album, but not the soundtrack).
The band split in 1982 after releasing and touring for their album, "The Gift". That had "A Town Called Malice" on it and I remember that song getting some airplay back in high school. I also remember Roxy Music's "Avalon" and the Asia album from that time period. The band would split but by 1983, they would release a double album compilation called "Snap". That is the album that I bought, or my father bought for me, when we were shopping for a suit for me to wear to my brother's bar mitzvah.
There I was a freshman, with a new suit, and a great double album to get me into the work of The Jam. It worked. The first album was the older, rougher, more punky work and the the second album was more melodic, textured and no less interesting. I made a couple of cassettes of this stuff (I would always listen to the first two sides, early punky stuff, while driving to exams...it just pumped me up and left me with a "no prisoners" attitude that I needed before attacking my exams) and went on my way, so I could drive and listen to them.
Paul Weller would go on to form The Style Council and then do solo work. I have a couple of his CDs and they do get back to his RnB roots. It is good stuff. The best thing is that I have heard that he is doing three concerts in New York. The first devoted to his work with The Jam, the second Style Council and third his solo stuff. I would love to go to that first concert (and I did enjoy Style Council).
I have found myself listening to "Sound Affects" an excellent album of late. It takes me right back to 1983 and how I "felt" back then. That is a good thing in my eyes. I am not trying to relive the past, just to recapture an attitude and feeling that I had. I guess it is not much different from a heroin addict chasing his next high, trying to get the feel of the first one. I am not sure if that is pathetic and sad on my part or just some harmless need to assert my "youth". In any event, I am enjoying the tunage.
Well, I am off to the wife's aunt and uncle's for dinner. Shoot me now! Let the cackling begin! A cacaphony of voices, with nothing being said! That is my next few hours, not to mention the drive to Thornhill, please shoot me! I now have Adam Sandler's lamentation song from the Wedding Singer in my head. "Somebody kill me please!......" Have a great weekend and ciao!
Tuesday, December 05, 2006
Pop Tarts and Naked Beavers, the quintessential Canadian breakfast
I am back. Did you think that I would not mention the goings on of those "Pop Tarts"? You have a drunk, coked out, anorexic Lindsay Lohan and in a new twist on the Toxic Twins (formerly Steve Tyler and Joe Perry of Aerosmith in their "we will get high on ANY and ALL drug" days), Paris Hilton and Britney Spears.
I could go on the same rant that Lynn Crosbie hit on the Globe and Mail today or even Amy Poehler's jokes on SNL (Weekend Update, which were rather funny). I have my own take. Being male, I see things differently than a female.
First let me say, functionally speaking, the naked beaver is best. Needing a machete to cut through the thick bush is no way to enjoy oneself. It is work and hacking up a hair ball or stray pubic hair is no fun. I had often thought of using those strays as dental floss but it never worked for me. In fact, it brings to mind Beck's new song, "Nausea" and that is just the sensation of a pube tickling the back of my throat, before I would hack it up.
I am not so bothered by the beaver shot. Being male, heterosexual male, it is something that I enjoy seeing. I have a penis, one that I am quite fond of, so I do not need to see any others, but I do not have a vulva (the wife's belongs to the wife). That being said, perhaps she could put on a thong. Britney is like a snail, leaving a trail of slime as she goes. They may have to burn the limo's seat (of course, there will be somebody sniffing it first).
That is always a good move in life, hanging with Paris Hilton. Notice in the picture that you can see Britney's C-section scar, too. She has a month old baby and this is how she is hanging out. I am not moralizing or anything. I think that the picture of her going barefoot into the gas station washroom is far more disgusting. The only problem is that with the paparazzi getting Britney's naked beaver shot, it actually makes Fed-Ex look like the responsible parent.
Then again, at 25 I was not mature enough to raise a child. Hell, at present, I am still not. Then again, there are no upskirt shots of my naked beaver or penis. Of course, who would want pictures of me? It is not like I am crazy and famous like Tom Cruise.
Well, that is all I have to say. Hell, it really is a matter of getting the picture out there anyway. It is worth 10,000 words. A naked beaver, c-section scar and Paris Hilton, who could ask for more. There we have it, the quintessential Canadian breakfast, Pop Tarts and naked beaver. Ciao!
Monday, December 04, 2006
Not much to say
I am back. It is to be short and sweet. I want to send out a belated birthday greeting to JLC and his youngest daughter. There you have it.
The weekend was cold and damp as I recall. As you can see, it was certainly uneventful. I took the lad to basketball and remained at the rec center for the hour. I did my crossword and read. I noticed after the final class that though he was tall, there was a kid there taller and heavier than he. The other kid was 12 and would have "eaten" the lad alive in the paint. I know that that is like. I have spent more time covering guys who are bigger than me, taller and heavier. I love the challenge. Then again, sometimes I come up against a guy who is big and skilled and I get tossed around like a rag doll.
I love the challenge. Last year, we had four guys who worked for the provinical government, three in the Premier's office who were playing before they all flaked out together (it is another confirmation as to why I would NEVER vote for the present provincial government, if they see fit to hire, and the Premier himself, has three of these "types" on his own staff, such small minded people who cannot see fit to fucking communicate their needs or wants, then what does that say about the present government....nothing good). Anyway, one of the guys had about three inches and sixty pounds on me. I covered him good though. I would use my speed (ha! what a relative term), but cause him difficulty when he was on offense and run the floor forcing to tire himself out on defense.
The lad could have done the same and I would have been proud. As long as he faced the challenge, it was good by me. Sometimes you succeed in such situations and sometimes you are tossed around like a rag doll. It is all a matter of picking yourself up off the floor, getting back into the fray, and learning how to make a difference. Sounds a lot like a life lesson.
The lad and I headed to Mayfair for an afternoon swim. It was fun and since they switched to salt water from choline, my eyes and skin did not burn afterward. It did burn when I peed but that is a story for another day or doctor.
That pretty much sums up this weekend. Not much contact with humanity, just family. I will say that dinner with the outlaws was a repeat. My father in law continues to bring out a bottle of Galliano that has to be 30 years old. He asks what it is, thinking it is some kind of wine (flourescent green wine? What fucking kind of grapes does he think that they use? We grow our grapes right beside that nuclear power plant, we irrigate the soil with their heavy water, makes the grapes glow, er, grow.) And so it was again. What can I do? At least, it was a take out meal, so my mother in law did not cook and food had tasted like something.
Going to run for now, ciao!
The weekend was cold and damp as I recall. As you can see, it was certainly uneventful. I took the lad to basketball and remained at the rec center for the hour. I did my crossword and read. I noticed after the final class that though he was tall, there was a kid there taller and heavier than he. The other kid was 12 and would have "eaten" the lad alive in the paint. I know that that is like. I have spent more time covering guys who are bigger than me, taller and heavier. I love the challenge. Then again, sometimes I come up against a guy who is big and skilled and I get tossed around like a rag doll.
I love the challenge. Last year, we had four guys who worked for the provinical government, three in the Premier's office who were playing before they all flaked out together (it is another confirmation as to why I would NEVER vote for the present provincial government, if they see fit to hire, and the Premier himself, has three of these "types" on his own staff, such small minded people who cannot see fit to fucking communicate their needs or wants, then what does that say about the present government....nothing good). Anyway, one of the guys had about three inches and sixty pounds on me. I covered him good though. I would use my speed (ha! what a relative term), but cause him difficulty when he was on offense and run the floor forcing to tire himself out on defense.
The lad could have done the same and I would have been proud. As long as he faced the challenge, it was good by me. Sometimes you succeed in such situations and sometimes you are tossed around like a rag doll. It is all a matter of picking yourself up off the floor, getting back into the fray, and learning how to make a difference. Sounds a lot like a life lesson.
The lad and I headed to Mayfair for an afternoon swim. It was fun and since they switched to salt water from choline, my eyes and skin did not burn afterward. It did burn when I peed but that is a story for another day or doctor.
That pretty much sums up this weekend. Not much contact with humanity, just family. I will say that dinner with the outlaws was a repeat. My father in law continues to bring out a bottle of Galliano that has to be 30 years old. He asks what it is, thinking it is some kind of wine (flourescent green wine? What fucking kind of grapes does he think that they use? We grow our grapes right beside that nuclear power plant, we irrigate the soil with their heavy water, makes the grapes glow, er, grow.) And so it was again. What can I do? At least, it was a take out meal, so my mother in law did not cook and food had tasted like something.
Going to run for now, ciao!
Friday, December 01, 2006
White trash is white trash is what trash. Didn't Gertrude Stein say that?
I am back. Happy December one and all. I am not really celebrating the beginning of December as much as I am celebrating the end of November. That is over so we shall turn the page.
I was just reading that Britney Spears has been hanging out with Paris Hilton. Three weeks removed from having that growth removed from her body, yes I am taking about "Fed-Ex" or her sperm donor. I mean really, the dude is just some sort of walking semen producer just looking for a receptacle. Would you invite him over for dinner?
With Ms. Spears you can see that she has eschewed panties as she hangs with Paris Hilton. There she is leaving a trail of slime as she moves. It is becoming her calling card. Take that and add the photo of her entering a gas station washroom, barefoot and only one conclusion can be drawn. You can take the girl out of the trailer park but you cannot take the trailer park out of the girl. To put it another way, white, trailer trash is still white, trailer trash no matter how much money she has made.
Makes me shake my head and who am I to judge? I am the Well Adjusted Madman, that is who! I had to get that off my chest. It is another episode of stupid celebrities gone wild. Is it any wonder she was not invited to Tom and Katie's wedding? Then again, I was not either. Fucking Crazy Tom Cruise foretting his old buddy WAM. What ever will I do?
I am thinking my sense of purpose is renewed. Then again, I have dinner with the outlaws on the horizon, so that purpose may change. Who knows what the evening holds, let alone tomorrow. That was one great segue, which leads to another....have a super cool weekend. Be just and if you cannot be just, be arbitrary (William Burroughs). Ciao!
I was just reading that Britney Spears has been hanging out with Paris Hilton. Three weeks removed from having that growth removed from her body, yes I am taking about "Fed-Ex" or her sperm donor. I mean really, the dude is just some sort of walking semen producer just looking for a receptacle. Would you invite him over for dinner?
With Ms. Spears you can see that she has eschewed panties as she hangs with Paris Hilton. There she is leaving a trail of slime as she moves. It is becoming her calling card. Take that and add the photo of her entering a gas station washroom, barefoot and only one conclusion can be drawn. You can take the girl out of the trailer park but you cannot take the trailer park out of the girl. To put it another way, white, trailer trash is still white, trailer trash no matter how much money she has made.
Makes me shake my head and who am I to judge? I am the Well Adjusted Madman, that is who! I had to get that off my chest. It is another episode of stupid celebrities gone wild. Is it any wonder she was not invited to Tom and Katie's wedding? Then again, I was not either. Fucking Crazy Tom Cruise foretting his old buddy WAM. What ever will I do?
I am thinking my sense of purpose is renewed. Then again, I have dinner with the outlaws on the horizon, so that purpose may change. Who knows what the evening holds, let alone tomorrow. That was one great segue, which leads to another....have a super cool weekend. Be just and if you cannot be just, be arbitrary (William Burroughs). Ciao!
Thursday, November 30, 2006
Can a simple night out empty the closet?
I am back. For all of our sakes, I am finally over the "November is Death" thing. It is ironic that I am over it on the last day of the cursed month, but it is over. I went out with some of the boys last night. It was an evening with the frat boys, er men, after shiva time. How twisted is that?
It strikes me as some sort of attempt to recreate a fun past, if only for an evening, only to have the ugly truth smack you right in the face. It really is the joyous and dizzying wholeness that is life. How fucking new agey of me to say. I hate seeing it and saying it, but I see it. Life is one big ball of joy and sadness, it all comes and goes. That was big picture meaning of last night. A few dudes getting together to discuss the present, the past and the future.
We, 53, Sambo and Laraby, er Willie, met at a sports bar up north. As rode in 53's car, he was driving and I think it is the first time I have been in a car with him driving (odd memory but just that), I noticed how developed it had become just north of Toronto. I am not sure if I like it. I can recall with some fondness that to see a ton of stars on a clear night, all you had to do was drive up to Rutherford Road. There was nothing there and it was real dark (nothing means no strip malls and concrete and houses) so you could gaze at the stars. No more. The street was chock full of strip malls, big box stores and lights.
The place was cool. A ton of huge screen televisions, pool tables, virtual reality games and off track betting (I think). We just talked about life and laughed a lot. Given the number of our contemporaries that have "suddenly" passed away lately, the topic of conversation turned to the medical and the need/desire for annual physicals (I was thinking with a physician but I guess it could mean with some dude in an alleyway, too, though that is not for me) and the dreaded prostate exam.
It got me thinking, which is always a dangerous thing. Should I ask for foreplay? A little wining and dining? The scary thing is that my doctor was my father's doctor and I can see him asking that same question before the doc stuck his gloved, at least I hope it was gloved, finger up my father's ass. How eerie would that be for him? Then again, fuck his feeling of "eerieness", the bastard has his finger up my butt. Suddenly, I have become his ventroquilist dummy. How degrading?
The second thought is what if I enjoy it? If the revulsion turns to unbridled pleasure, where would that leave me sexually speaking? Is that latent homosexuality calling? Has my life been a lie? My whole world will come down on me all because the doctor unlocked a forbidden door. It is more frightening to think that the key to the forbidden door is a latex covered finger.
Then again, if I enjoy it, I can always buy the wife a strapon and go from there. I guess my whole world may not come down on me. Then again, it may. Then again, who cares? Take the finger like a man (not sure I like how that sounds in a prison setting sort of way), get it over with and rule out any prostatic abnormalities. Do I ask the doc if it was good for him, too, afterwards? Again, I can see my father uttering the same phrase.
Well, I am done for today. The lad needs to type something up for school. Ciao!
It strikes me as some sort of attempt to recreate a fun past, if only for an evening, only to have the ugly truth smack you right in the face. It really is the joyous and dizzying wholeness that is life. How fucking new agey of me to say. I hate seeing it and saying it, but I see it. Life is one big ball of joy and sadness, it all comes and goes. That was big picture meaning of last night. A few dudes getting together to discuss the present, the past and the future.
We, 53, Sambo and Laraby, er Willie, met at a sports bar up north. As rode in 53's car, he was driving and I think it is the first time I have been in a car with him driving (odd memory but just that), I noticed how developed it had become just north of Toronto. I am not sure if I like it. I can recall with some fondness that to see a ton of stars on a clear night, all you had to do was drive up to Rutherford Road. There was nothing there and it was real dark (nothing means no strip malls and concrete and houses) so you could gaze at the stars. No more. The street was chock full of strip malls, big box stores and lights.
The place was cool. A ton of huge screen televisions, pool tables, virtual reality games and off track betting (I think). We just talked about life and laughed a lot. Given the number of our contemporaries that have "suddenly" passed away lately, the topic of conversation turned to the medical and the need/desire for annual physicals (I was thinking with a physician but I guess it could mean with some dude in an alleyway, too, though that is not for me) and the dreaded prostate exam.
It got me thinking, which is always a dangerous thing. Should I ask for foreplay? A little wining and dining? The scary thing is that my doctor was my father's doctor and I can see him asking that same question before the doc stuck his gloved, at least I hope it was gloved, finger up my father's ass. How eerie would that be for him? Then again, fuck his feeling of "eerieness", the bastard has his finger up my butt. Suddenly, I have become his ventroquilist dummy. How degrading?
The second thought is what if I enjoy it? If the revulsion turns to unbridled pleasure, where would that leave me sexually speaking? Is that latent homosexuality calling? Has my life been a lie? My whole world will come down on me all because the doctor unlocked a forbidden door. It is more frightening to think that the key to the forbidden door is a latex covered finger.
Then again, if I enjoy it, I can always buy the wife a strapon and go from there. I guess my whole world may not come down on me. Then again, it may. Then again, who cares? Take the finger like a man (not sure I like how that sounds in a prison setting sort of way), get it over with and rule out any prostatic abnormalities. Do I ask the doc if it was good for him, too, afterwards? Again, I can see my father uttering the same phrase.
Well, I am done for today. The lad needs to type something up for school. Ciao!
Tuesday, November 28, 2006
November is death so how can April be the cruelest month.
I am back. This may be the most depressing of posts that I can do, but then again, maybe not. This is my ode to November. Not to be confused with the Guns 'n Roses song "November Rain", though it is always appropriate this time of year. Then again, given this November, there has been no "cold November rain" but warm November rain, which is both freakish (in these parts) but I could get used to it. There are upsides to "global warming" and they are not too hard to find. They do, of course, take some adaptation to change and that is something (change) that we as humans can control (my eyebrow is raised and I hope that sentence just drips with the sarcasm it is meant to convey).
Anyway, over twenty years ago, a friend of mine was in his first year of dental school. They had exams coming up and he was not coming up or out for air. He was burdened with all this work (it is all relative, I have found), it was constantly cold, damp and dark (standard time can be a bitch along with the coming Winter Solstice--stop the Earth from spinning and revolving around the sun and leave it fixed so that it is perpetually summer up here in the northern hemisphere, fuck those in the southern hemisphere, I say) so he tells me that "November is death".
I chuckled at that. I was not in exam mode at that point yet and besides I knew the "game" of winter and spring exams. It was no big deal. Then, I went to law school, the land of 100% finals. In first year, a friend in second year took me under her wing (or large breasts) and got me started on my summaries and studying by about November 20th. That meant weekends studying from about 7 to midnight at the university (it was quiet and we had privacy). We worked by day and then by night. It was okay given the weather. It was cold and damp and dark. Being locked inside did not seem to really make a difference and besides, it was not cold and damp inside. I did have to deal with the flourescent lighting but that is another story.
November was now indeed "death". It was the death month. It was the beginning of bleak as the darkness lasted longer. It was gray and dark in the morning and the sun seemed to set at one in the afternoon, especially on cloudy, rainy days. I finally understood that "November is death".
Given the events of this year, that line is as true as ever, though it is literal now. The funniest thing is that I got married in November. My buddy got married (second time) in November. His sister got married in November. There was a baby naming this November (at least something that is life affirming). Yet, November is death really does stand out this year.
Now, I am left with a single question.....if November is death which month is life? It all goes together as one big whole.
On another note, "Heroes" was its excellent self last night. I liked the six months ago flashback to get some understanding as to how the characters got to where they are in the "present". Sylar was indeed interesting. I am still unsure about Claire Bennett's father though (the cheerleader). I am not sure if he is good, bad or just morally ambiguous in his work. What does he do? How did he start and who does he work for? All questions that should get answered as the story unfolds. The thing that intrigues me most is that there are so many connections and character interconnections. I see it as a metaphor for life or the enlightened life, and how we are all somehow connected in some oddly tangental way. "Prison Break" was good, too, and I like getting the time off to digest what occurred in the fall season.
Done for today. Time to go fishing (or is that phishing?). Ciao!
Anyway, over twenty years ago, a friend of mine was in his first year of dental school. They had exams coming up and he was not coming up or out for air. He was burdened with all this work (it is all relative, I have found), it was constantly cold, damp and dark (standard time can be a bitch along with the coming Winter Solstice--stop the Earth from spinning and revolving around the sun and leave it fixed so that it is perpetually summer up here in the northern hemisphere, fuck those in the southern hemisphere, I say) so he tells me that "November is death".
I chuckled at that. I was not in exam mode at that point yet and besides I knew the "game" of winter and spring exams. It was no big deal. Then, I went to law school, the land of 100% finals. In first year, a friend in second year took me under her wing (or large breasts) and got me started on my summaries and studying by about November 20th. That meant weekends studying from about 7 to midnight at the university (it was quiet and we had privacy). We worked by day and then by night. It was okay given the weather. It was cold and damp and dark. Being locked inside did not seem to really make a difference and besides, it was not cold and damp inside. I did have to deal with the flourescent lighting but that is another story.
November was now indeed "death". It was the death month. It was the beginning of bleak as the darkness lasted longer. It was gray and dark in the morning and the sun seemed to set at one in the afternoon, especially on cloudy, rainy days. I finally understood that "November is death".
Given the events of this year, that line is as true as ever, though it is literal now. The funniest thing is that I got married in November. My buddy got married (second time) in November. His sister got married in November. There was a baby naming this November (at least something that is life affirming). Yet, November is death really does stand out this year.
Now, I am left with a single question.....if November is death which month is life? It all goes together as one big whole.
On another note, "Heroes" was its excellent self last night. I liked the six months ago flashback to get some understanding as to how the characters got to where they are in the "present". Sylar was indeed interesting. I am still unsure about Claire Bennett's father though (the cheerleader). I am not sure if he is good, bad or just morally ambiguous in his work. What does he do? How did he start and who does he work for? All questions that should get answered as the story unfolds. The thing that intrigues me most is that there are so many connections and character interconnections. I see it as a metaphor for life or the enlightened life, and how we are all somehow connected in some oddly tangental way. "Prison Break" was good, too, and I like getting the time off to digest what occurred in the fall season.
Done for today. Time to go fishing (or is that phishing?). Ciao!
Monday, November 27, 2006
The Painting Post
I am back. I am back with avengeance! I am over the Dodge Dart sighting. It was another weekend of painting around these parts. It was part of the "honey-do" list. It was time to do the ceiling in the living room. I think I did it ass backwards again. I probably should have done the ceilings first, but did them last. I did the walls in the kitchen and dining room on November 14th, but really should have done a second coat. The kitchen is not so bad but it is small. The dining room is better but could use a second coat. I guess I could really do it at any time.
Last Saturday, I did the living room walls. Those got two coats. It was just how it worked out. As I finished the room with the first coat, it had dried where I had started, so I just continued with the second coat. I did the ceiling in the dining room and kitchen last Sunday. It was a very flat paint in white. It looks much better. Of course, the job I did 11 years ago was done with a roller on a broom handle. It was streaky, but being the same color as the walls in all the rooms was much easier to do with NO real prep work.
That is what I dislike, the prep work. The hours of taping and cleaning and then the actual painting and cleaning. Returning the furniture and rehanging the pictures is the last thing to be done.
Well, Saturday, it was do the living room ceiling, molding, baseboards and trim. I had to get an eggshell white for that one. The white used on the ceiling of the kitchen and dining room was not durable enough for the baseboards and I did not have enough to do it all. Besides, with the stucco ceiling in the living room and the fact that I avoided painting it and the molding 11 years ago meant that it had not been painted since 1989. I figured it would just suck up the paint. I slapped the white on thick with a great roller. It is done and looks fabulous.
That was a long winded way of saying what kind of weekend it was. Actually, I want to send out a belated happy birthday to my little brother who turned 36 on Saturday. Sunday, was a baby naming party for my buddy Neil's daughter. That was fun as I got to see friends of mine from elementary school, junior high and high school. It was good to see old friends again. I think that is all for today. Something a little more uplifting than what awaits in the near future, I think. Ciao!
Last Saturday, I did the living room walls. Those got two coats. It was just how it worked out. As I finished the room with the first coat, it had dried where I had started, so I just continued with the second coat. I did the ceiling in the dining room and kitchen last Sunday. It was a very flat paint in white. It looks much better. Of course, the job I did 11 years ago was done with a roller on a broom handle. It was streaky, but being the same color as the walls in all the rooms was much easier to do with NO real prep work.
That is what I dislike, the prep work. The hours of taping and cleaning and then the actual painting and cleaning. Returning the furniture and rehanging the pictures is the last thing to be done.
Well, Saturday, it was do the living room ceiling, molding, baseboards and trim. I had to get an eggshell white for that one. The white used on the ceiling of the kitchen and dining room was not durable enough for the baseboards and I did not have enough to do it all. Besides, with the stucco ceiling in the living room and the fact that I avoided painting it and the molding 11 years ago meant that it had not been painted since 1989. I figured it would just suck up the paint. I slapped the white on thick with a great roller. It is done and looks fabulous.
That was a long winded way of saying what kind of weekend it was. Actually, I want to send out a belated happy birthday to my little brother who turned 36 on Saturday. Sunday, was a baby naming party for my buddy Neil's daughter. That was fun as I got to see friends of mine from elementary school, junior high and high school. It was good to see old friends again. I think that is all for today. Something a little more uplifting than what awaits in the near future, I think. Ciao!
Friday, November 24, 2006
I have seen a ghost
I am back. I want to take a moment to wish my American friends a belated Happy Thanksgiving. With that out of the way, it has been a trying week. I was going to do another morose post but as November is still with us, it can wait. As my final post for the week, assuming I do not post on the weekend, I have to tell you all that I saw a ghost today.
This seems to fall within the area of death and it is something different. The ghost I saw is something that I have not seen in about 30 years. I actually saw a Dodge Dart on the street and it was being driven by some woman. A Dodge fucking Dart!
I know that I should not get excited by this. I mean it was the most utilitarian car ever designed in North America. It was the forerunner to those great Chrysler designed cars that were known as K cars. I swear to you that the design team at Chrysler in the 70s had a Soviet sense of the asthetic.
As far back as I remember (the late 60s), the Dodge Dart was the delivery vehicle of choice for my late father. He loved a car that was built like a tank with a great slant 6 engine. The body would fall apart but the engine could not be stopped. He finally made a switch over to GM vehicles in 1979 with a Chevrolet Citation (the first Chevy of the 80s and first front whell drive car built by GM to take on the Japanese--we all know how well that worked out).
I remember the blue Dart from the late 60s, followed by the red Dart with black interior (great for those Sunday drives in the summer, something about the smell of my flesh searing to the interior was enjoyable for the whole family), then the gold Dart and finally the green Dart. The green one, of the mid 70s, had the body falling apart but an engine that would not quit. My father would also only own a single car, so the delivery vehicle was also the family car.
I never thought that I would see one again here. It was such an ugly car that I did not want to see one. With this amount of time elapsed, ugly has given way to cool. It is a nostalgic thing. The car looked so out of place. The tires looked very thin and the squared body made the car look something like an a shoe box on tires the width of a ten speed bicycle. It was freaky.
There you have it. I saw a ghost. A Dodge fucking Dart patrolling the roads. What is the connection and is it a message for me? Have a great weekend and ciao!
This seems to fall within the area of death and it is something different. The ghost I saw is something that I have not seen in about 30 years. I actually saw a Dodge Dart on the street and it was being driven by some woman. A Dodge fucking Dart!
I know that I should not get excited by this. I mean it was the most utilitarian car ever designed in North America. It was the forerunner to those great Chrysler designed cars that were known as K cars. I swear to you that the design team at Chrysler in the 70s had a Soviet sense of the asthetic.
As far back as I remember (the late 60s), the Dodge Dart was the delivery vehicle of choice for my late father. He loved a car that was built like a tank with a great slant 6 engine. The body would fall apart but the engine could not be stopped. He finally made a switch over to GM vehicles in 1979 with a Chevrolet Citation (the first Chevy of the 80s and first front whell drive car built by GM to take on the Japanese--we all know how well that worked out).
I remember the blue Dart from the late 60s, followed by the red Dart with black interior (great for those Sunday drives in the summer, something about the smell of my flesh searing to the interior was enjoyable for the whole family), then the gold Dart and finally the green Dart. The green one, of the mid 70s, had the body falling apart but an engine that would not quit. My father would also only own a single car, so the delivery vehicle was also the family car.
I never thought that I would see one again here. It was such an ugly car that I did not want to see one. With this amount of time elapsed, ugly has given way to cool. It is a nostalgic thing. The car looked so out of place. The tires looked very thin and the squared body made the car look something like an a shoe box on tires the width of a ten speed bicycle. It was freaky.
There you have it. I saw a ghost. A Dodge fucking Dart patrolling the roads. What is the connection and is it a message for me? Have a great weekend and ciao!
Wednesday, November 22, 2006
The sobering reality of death
I am back. I will tell you it was a sad and sobering funeral today. I am thinking that it can only be like that when a 42 year old man is laid to rest. It was standing room only at the funeral. That is a testament to the lives that Kelly touched in his short time on this Earth.
Things like this happen in life and the natural thing to do is to try to make sense of it. Oddly for me, I vacillate between extremes ala "My Dinner With Andre". I can see the possibility of both sides being "true" or "correct". On the one hand, I WANT to believe, as I think we all do, that there is some "meaning" to life. I hold on to the hope, which I realize is not a strategy nor something to really hang one's hat on, that there is some deeper meaning to life. I have not been able to tie it all up into a neat little package, yet, but that it can be done, given enough time.
The other hand holds that life is really a random series of events and things. Any meaning is imposed by the "thinker" mostly as a way to deal with the incredible discomfort that comes with the notion that life is random and uncontrollable by the self. That gives rise to a sense of helplessness and sense of what ever you do does not matter. It is a rather cynical and jaded view AND it is equally as valid the "life has meaning" and is knowable notion.
I can straddle those two worlds. I can accept both as possible and equally valid. The only way to define it is to prove it, by observation, one way or the other. The big problem there is that personal bias will always enter into the observations one makes. On one hand, you look harder to find meaning and maybe ascribe meaning that does not really exist or you believe that any meaning found is by its very nature done just to decrease the level of anxiety that the thought of a meaningless existence can entail.
There is no right answer here. This is just a statement of how my mind is bouncing at this moment in time. There is a lot to be said for the work of early Quantum physicists like Heisenberg, Einstein, Planck and Bohr. Their works really work at the micro and macro vantage points of life. Heisenberg's Uncertainty Principle is a fine idea that gets at how we work with our observations. It also gets to the truth that what you see is not necessarily what you think you see. Besides, you cannot be sure that your very presence and act of observation has not tainted the observations.
It all makes for an uncertain world. It is an ambiguous world. That is an anxiety provoking notion for most people. Not me. I enjoy life in the ambiguous. I can accept a certain lack of control of events in my life. I know the only I control is myself. With that in mind, I know I can adapt and thirve in any situation. I am like a cockroach without the six legs and scurrying when the lights are turned on.
I do not know what any of this means, though. I am working through the message of Kelly's life and untimely passing. It is something worth pondering. The only conclusion that quickly becomes apparent is Carpe Diem. Sieze the day, as those are finite and we do not know when our number will be called. Have a good time, all the time because in reality life is too short. Ciao!
Things like this happen in life and the natural thing to do is to try to make sense of it. Oddly for me, I vacillate between extremes ala "My Dinner With Andre". I can see the possibility of both sides being "true" or "correct". On the one hand, I WANT to believe, as I think we all do, that there is some "meaning" to life. I hold on to the hope, which I realize is not a strategy nor something to really hang one's hat on, that there is some deeper meaning to life. I have not been able to tie it all up into a neat little package, yet, but that it can be done, given enough time.
The other hand holds that life is really a random series of events and things. Any meaning is imposed by the "thinker" mostly as a way to deal with the incredible discomfort that comes with the notion that life is random and uncontrollable by the self. That gives rise to a sense of helplessness and sense of what ever you do does not matter. It is a rather cynical and jaded view AND it is equally as valid the "life has meaning" and is knowable notion.
I can straddle those two worlds. I can accept both as possible and equally valid. The only way to define it is to prove it, by observation, one way or the other. The big problem there is that personal bias will always enter into the observations one makes. On one hand, you look harder to find meaning and maybe ascribe meaning that does not really exist or you believe that any meaning found is by its very nature done just to decrease the level of anxiety that the thought of a meaningless existence can entail.
There is no right answer here. This is just a statement of how my mind is bouncing at this moment in time. There is a lot to be said for the work of early Quantum physicists like Heisenberg, Einstein, Planck and Bohr. Their works really work at the micro and macro vantage points of life. Heisenberg's Uncertainty Principle is a fine idea that gets at how we work with our observations. It also gets to the truth that what you see is not necessarily what you think you see. Besides, you cannot be sure that your very presence and act of observation has not tainted the observations.
It all makes for an uncertain world. It is an ambiguous world. That is an anxiety provoking notion for most people. Not me. I enjoy life in the ambiguous. I can accept a certain lack of control of events in my life. I know the only I control is myself. With that in mind, I know I can adapt and thirve in any situation. I am like a cockroach without the six legs and scurrying when the lights are turned on.
I do not know what any of this means, though. I am working through the message of Kelly's life and untimely passing. It is something worth pondering. The only conclusion that quickly becomes apparent is Carpe Diem. Sieze the day, as those are finite and we do not know when our number will be called. Have a good time, all the time because in reality life is too short. Ciao!
Tuesday, November 21, 2006
Shaken and not stirred. Life is a strange journey.
I am back. I am writing somewhat reluctantly today. I have had news today that has shaken me to the core. An acquantaince of mine died "suddenly" yesterday. He could not have been more than a year older than I. His name is/was Kelly Silverstein.
Kelly was a good man. I had just seen him two months ago at a fraternity alumni function. I sat with him and did not know he was, if he was at the time, ill. He leaves a wife and two young (early teen/pre teen) sons.
I think the reason I have so shaken and upset is that, from what I have pieced together and heard, he was diagnosed about a month ago with leukemia. This is something that strikes close to home for me. In fact, I want to know which type of leukemia he had.
By way of background, it was acute myelogenous leukemia (AML) that took my father from me/us over 16 years ago. I guess if it was not that, it would have been something else. In any event, I still miss my father and the counsel and guidance that I have lost. I know that I may, may?, not have taken his advice and that in his absence I could be inclined to make him seem, in my own mind, like the second coming of either Socrates or Solomon (he was neither, but there was wisdom in his words and deeds). I am aware of that. It would have been and would be something to treasure, though. Again, you do not know what you have until it is gone.
When Willie's grandfather passed away, Willie's father impressed me, again, with his ability to view his personal sadness in a larger context. He knew how lucky he was that he still had his father at 68 (his age, his father was 98). As somebody who lost his father when he was 26 (which was better than my brother, 19, sister, 22, and own father, 8), he said what I thought.
The other leukemic victim that I knew was my neighbor. She had breast cancer and had chemotherapy. When that was done, she got sick again. It was acute lymphocytic leukemia (ALL) which was probably caused by the chemotherapy. You have to love the fact that the "cure" for one cancer gave you "new" life just to take it away with another form of cancer. Sadly, she passed away about this time last year. That may not have happened had the hospital admitted her quickly for her infection (lung).
I could go into a screed about the state of our health care system, but that is not the point right now. A young, relatively speaking, man has died leaving family and friends grieving. I am just torn up about it and that is all there is to say. Good bye Kelly Silverstein, your journey here was too short and you touched a lot of lives. Ciao!
Kelly was a good man. I had just seen him two months ago at a fraternity alumni function. I sat with him and did not know he was, if he was at the time, ill. He leaves a wife and two young (early teen/pre teen) sons.
I think the reason I have so shaken and upset is that, from what I have pieced together and heard, he was diagnosed about a month ago with leukemia. This is something that strikes close to home for me. In fact, I want to know which type of leukemia he had.
By way of background, it was acute myelogenous leukemia (AML) that took my father from me/us over 16 years ago. I guess if it was not that, it would have been something else. In any event, I still miss my father and the counsel and guidance that I have lost. I know that I may, may?, not have taken his advice and that in his absence I could be inclined to make him seem, in my own mind, like the second coming of either Socrates or Solomon (he was neither, but there was wisdom in his words and deeds). I am aware of that. It would have been and would be something to treasure, though. Again, you do not know what you have until it is gone.
When Willie's grandfather passed away, Willie's father impressed me, again, with his ability to view his personal sadness in a larger context. He knew how lucky he was that he still had his father at 68 (his age, his father was 98). As somebody who lost his father when he was 26 (which was better than my brother, 19, sister, 22, and own father, 8), he said what I thought.
The other leukemic victim that I knew was my neighbor. She had breast cancer and had chemotherapy. When that was done, she got sick again. It was acute lymphocytic leukemia (ALL) which was probably caused by the chemotherapy. You have to love the fact that the "cure" for one cancer gave you "new" life just to take it away with another form of cancer. Sadly, she passed away about this time last year. That may not have happened had the hospital admitted her quickly for her infection (lung).
I could go into a screed about the state of our health care system, but that is not the point right now. A young, relatively speaking, man has died leaving family and friends grieving. I am just torn up about it and that is all there is to say. Good bye Kelly Silverstein, your journey here was too short and you touched a lot of lives. Ciao!
Friday, November 17, 2006
Goodbye, Milton Friedman
I am back. I was not going to post today but something sad came up. It is sad on a larger level as I did not know the man personally. I have admired him and read his books. He spoke to me, or should I say his personal philosophy and work as an economist did. He was Milton Friedman, the scholar/scientist/economist most closely associated with the University of Chicago and the Chicago School of Economics. They did philosophical battle with the Keynesian economists of the day. Their basic, boiled down to something overly simplistic, notion was that people should be free to choose ("Free to Choose" is a great book written by Milton and Rose Friedman from the late 70s and widely influenced the philosophies of Ronald Reagan and Margaret Thatcher) and allow the markets to work. Government should be small, with little economic influence. It is a philosophy that values FREEDOM and individual choice and opposes the tyranny of government.
Now, I realize how boring a subject this can seem to be and to me, it is very fascinating. It is economics espousing a positive human philosophy. If people are given free choice to meet their own interests, good things follow, both personally and economically. It takes a laissez-faire view of government's role in people's lives (minimal, Defense of their subjects from without [defense of the realm] and protection from within [laws, police and courts]), otherwise let people handle their own affairs in any way they see fit within the confines of criminal law. It really means that left to our own devices, we, collectively, through our interactions will develop a set of business norms or laws or generally accepted behavior. It assumes that people are basically good, there are always exceptions and ways to try to deal with such individuals, and will form whatever bonds they need because it is in their interests to do so (sort of akin or exactly like Adam Smith's Invisible Hand notion [Adam Smith, in his book "The Wealth of Nations" published in 1776 and was the forerunner to the Chicago school]).
This is as opposed to Keynesian economics that basically says that government should be very active in the economy (stimulate)(borrow and spend in a recession/down time and reign in budgets, presumably with tax increases, to pay off the debts incurred during recessions in expansion cycles). The problem with this Keynesian notion is that it seems to fall apart in practice with governments unable or unwilling to decrease their spending during the boom times so that the debt is not paid down and then there is more borrowing and spending during the next down cycle. Again, it is like a Marxism, sounds good in theory (some aspects) but does not work in practice due to the influence and self interest of people. Government intervention distorts the decisions people make or can make and thus distorts the economy.
I know there are those who would vociferously disagree and I tend to sense it is due to an assumption that man is basically bad and needs guidance or coerced into being good. They would point out how simplistic my arguments are. They are that way because I do not want to bore anybody, though it is occurring anyway and it is more for background. That to me is the interesting thing. Two groups of people, looking at the same thing, using different basic assumptions and coming with two, very different theories. The big difference is at the assumptive level, and that is the hardest part to prove as fact, given the differences in how people do act.
To make a long story short, Milton Friedman, who was 94, was flagbearer for all those who assume that people are basically good. I wish him a fond farewell into the next realm, whatever or wherever that is. Have a great weekend and ciao!
Now, I realize how boring a subject this can seem to be and to me, it is very fascinating. It is economics espousing a positive human philosophy. If people are given free choice to meet their own interests, good things follow, both personally and economically. It takes a laissez-faire view of government's role in people's lives (minimal, Defense of their subjects from without [defense of the realm] and protection from within [laws, police and courts]), otherwise let people handle their own affairs in any way they see fit within the confines of criminal law. It really means that left to our own devices, we, collectively, through our interactions will develop a set of business norms or laws or generally accepted behavior. It assumes that people are basically good, there are always exceptions and ways to try to deal with such individuals, and will form whatever bonds they need because it is in their interests to do so (sort of akin or exactly like Adam Smith's Invisible Hand notion [Adam Smith, in his book "The Wealth of Nations" published in 1776 and was the forerunner to the Chicago school]).
This is as opposed to Keynesian economics that basically says that government should be very active in the economy (stimulate)(borrow and spend in a recession/down time and reign in budgets, presumably with tax increases, to pay off the debts incurred during recessions in expansion cycles). The problem with this Keynesian notion is that it seems to fall apart in practice with governments unable or unwilling to decrease their spending during the boom times so that the debt is not paid down and then there is more borrowing and spending during the next down cycle. Again, it is like a Marxism, sounds good in theory (some aspects) but does not work in practice due to the influence and self interest of people. Government intervention distorts the decisions people make or can make and thus distorts the economy.
I know there are those who would vociferously disagree and I tend to sense it is due to an assumption that man is basically bad and needs guidance or coerced into being good. They would point out how simplistic my arguments are. They are that way because I do not want to bore anybody, though it is occurring anyway and it is more for background. That to me is the interesting thing. Two groups of people, looking at the same thing, using different basic assumptions and coming with two, very different theories. The big difference is at the assumptive level, and that is the hardest part to prove as fact, given the differences in how people do act.
To make a long story short, Milton Friedman, who was 94, was flagbearer for all those who assume that people are basically good. I wish him a fond farewell into the next realm, whatever or wherever that is. Have a great weekend and ciao!
Thursday, November 16, 2006
Julie Andrews sings "These are a few of my favorite fears"
I am back. These are a few of my favorite fears.
Ablutophobia, the fear of washing or bathing-sadly, I think I have smelled some people with that fear.
Alektorophobia is the fear of chickens. Given how we have eviscerated those buzzards, that could be a rational fear.
What do you do if you are both ambulophobic (fear of walking) and amaxophobic (fear of riding in a car)?
Autodysomophobia is the fear of one that has a vile odor. Please see Ablutophobia above and any posting I have made about Stinky Guy, whom I have not smelled in ages. I hope he is okay.
Autophobia, fear of oneself or of being alone. Does self loathing count as fear? Just thought I would ask.
Those were some of my favorite "A" phobias. You can check out the link and see the rest of the "Alphabet of Fear!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"
Please note that Zemmiphobia is the fear of the great mole rat. I do have to figure that it is one obscure and rare phobia. Then again, what do I know? Going to run. Ciao!
Ablutophobia, the fear of washing or bathing-sadly, I think I have smelled some people with that fear.
Alektorophobia is the fear of chickens. Given how we have eviscerated those buzzards, that could be a rational fear.
What do you do if you are both ambulophobic (fear of walking) and amaxophobic (fear of riding in a car)?
Autodysomophobia is the fear of one that has a vile odor. Please see Ablutophobia above and any posting I have made about Stinky Guy, whom I have not smelled in ages. I hope he is okay.
Autophobia, fear of oneself or of being alone. Does self loathing count as fear? Just thought I would ask.
Those were some of my favorite "A" phobias. You can check out the link and see the rest of the "Alphabet of Fear!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"
Please note that Zemmiphobia is the fear of the great mole rat. I do have to figure that it is one obscure and rare phobia. Then again, what do I know? Going to run. Ciao!
Wednesday, November 15, 2006
More of said same, though funny has been overtaken by profound
I am back. I am not sure why that is, but it is. I was going through the "Awake!" pamphlet left to me by the Jehovah's Witnesses. Let me preface this first. I have nothing against the Jehovah's Witnesses. In fact, as a religion goes, they do preach peace and love, which are positive things, and can only make their adherents better people. I just do not like being preached to and the inference that my religion, of which I am proud, is "wrong", "false" or going to lead me to hell. I figure that Karma exists and I have seen it in action.
This is not a "My Name Is Earl" idea of Karma, though that one is very funny, they should make a television series out of it. It is the attitude that if whatever you focus on, you will receive more of in life. It is about having a humble disposition, and knowing what is truly important and somewhat fixed. It is about being able to count your blessings, no matter how tough the present seems to be. It is not about fixating on material things as they are impermanent and can be taken away. That is all good, so do I NEED somebody trying to "sell" me that their way is the "right" way?
In fact, to "sell" me on the notion that their way is the "right" way, it presupposes that my way is the "wrong" way (or the "left" way). It is an either/or statement. How do they KNOW their way is "right"? They do not know, it is an article of faith. I can appreciate the sense of faith and I still do not find it a compelling notion to get me to switch religions. I need something greater than the circular arguement that faith provides. The only fact that I KNOW is that as a mere mortals, we do not KNOW what comes after life and if there is in fact a single, "right" or "correct" or "true" religion and the rest can and are going to hell.
I just do not buy it. I do buy, and it is an article of faith, that do good things and good things happen. I do find comfort in that sort of karmic tit for tat notion. It is just striving to be a better person and what is wrong with that? I wanted to get this out in the open, so that when I do mock the words and ideas in "Awake!", you will know that I mock it out of love and not hate. I kid because I love. Ciao!
This is not a "My Name Is Earl" idea of Karma, though that one is very funny, they should make a television series out of it. It is the attitude that if whatever you focus on, you will receive more of in life. It is about having a humble disposition, and knowing what is truly important and somewhat fixed. It is about being able to count your blessings, no matter how tough the present seems to be. It is not about fixating on material things as they are impermanent and can be taken away. That is all good, so do I NEED somebody trying to "sell" me that their way is the "right" way?
In fact, to "sell" me on the notion that their way is the "right" way, it presupposes that my way is the "wrong" way (or the "left" way). It is an either/or statement. How do they KNOW their way is "right"? They do not know, it is an article of faith. I can appreciate the sense of faith and I still do not find it a compelling notion to get me to switch religions. I need something greater than the circular arguement that faith provides. The only fact that I KNOW is that as a mere mortals, we do not KNOW what comes after life and if there is in fact a single, "right" or "correct" or "true" religion and the rest can and are going to hell.
I just do not buy it. I do buy, and it is an article of faith, that do good things and good things happen. I do find comfort in that sort of karmic tit for tat notion. It is just striving to be a better person and what is wrong with that? I wanted to get this out in the open, so that when I do mock the words and ideas in "Awake!", you will know that I mock it out of love and not hate. I kid because I love. Ciao!
Tuesday, November 14, 2006
Karma and more visits from Jehovah's Witnesses
I am back. I had another visit on Saturday from the Jehovah's Witnesses. This time I was given the full Watchtower edition. Of course, I prefer "All Along the Watchtower" (Hendrix or Dylan, it is all good, or is that Sol Goode), but that is just me. This time it was an older dude in black and white (it is no wonder that I put on The Specials and did some skanking at dinner that night, I did and still do love those ska bands of the early 80s, The Specials, The Selector, Madness, The English Beat and more recently early No Doubt) and the gray haired lady who did little but smile.
He hands me the pamphlets and tells me that "my wife enjoyed the earlier ones". Is my wife having an affair with a Jehovah's Witness? I punched him right in the face. Wouldn't you know it, the gray haired lady just kept on smiling while her "partner" was bleeding from the nose. Ooops! Okay, I did not punch him, but accusing my wife of having an affair. I need to get those Japanese panties with the GPS and biometric sensors. Those Jehovah's Witnesses have planted an evil seed in my brain.
The ironic part is that the seed they have planted runs counter to their teachings. Spreading the good word and they cause a divorce because one older dude in black and white thinks that he gave my wife a copy of The Watchtower. This is how all the bad in the world starts, a simple misunderstanding. Now, I have to seek my revenge on them for causing my marriage to end.
If that is not bad enough, I am receiving comments from my "What if Opportunity is a Jehovah's Witness?" post from people who will not come forward (Anonymous). One who thinks that I need psychological help and am a moron (what is it dude, am I a moron or in need of psych. help?) and another that links to a Jehovah's Witness website/blog. I think I may have offended the Jehovah's Witnesses. I may have to take it on the lam for a while. Lie low and wait for this to blow over. Then again, I have some great Jehovah's Witness reading material to get me through it.
I may be back to write on what I have read. I have never met any written material that I did not feel the need to mock. Have a great one. Ciao!
He hands me the pamphlets and tells me that "my wife enjoyed the earlier ones". Is my wife having an affair with a Jehovah's Witness? I punched him right in the face. Wouldn't you know it, the gray haired lady just kept on smiling while her "partner" was bleeding from the nose. Ooops! Okay, I did not punch him, but accusing my wife of having an affair. I need to get those Japanese panties with the GPS and biometric sensors. Those Jehovah's Witnesses have planted an evil seed in my brain.
The ironic part is that the seed they have planted runs counter to their teachings. Spreading the good word and they cause a divorce because one older dude in black and white thinks that he gave my wife a copy of The Watchtower. This is how all the bad in the world starts, a simple misunderstanding. Now, I have to seek my revenge on them for causing my marriage to end.
If that is not bad enough, I am receiving comments from my "What if Opportunity is a Jehovah's Witness?" post from people who will not come forward (Anonymous). One who thinks that I need psychological help and am a moron (what is it dude, am I a moron or in need of psych. help?) and another that links to a Jehovah's Witness website/blog. I think I may have offended the Jehovah's Witnesses. I may have to take it on the lam for a while. Lie low and wait for this to blow over. Then again, I have some great Jehovah's Witness reading material to get me through it.
I may be back to write on what I have read. I have never met any written material that I did not feel the need to mock. Have a great one. Ciao!
Friday, November 10, 2006
Another thing not to stuff up your ass (as if you need the warning)
I am back. I will have to be brief. I am off to the outlaws' soon for dinner. I am girding for more insanity. My father in law had another assessment with his gerontologist. He scored higher than he did in February. Of course, when asked what year we were in, he said "1922". The man was not even born in 1922. He owns a fucking LCD television (being able to actually work it is another story) but he thinks it is 1922. I am waiting for him to put on a tricorn, stuff his hand in his breast pocket, say it is 1802 and say he is Napoleon. Then I HAVE to sell tickets. I mean by this point, it is performance art. It is all fun and games until he starts to fingerpaint on the walls using his own feces, then I have to rescind any invititations here. I am not cleaning that shit (literally and figuratively).
I have culled another story from my "they should not be allowed to consider breeding" file. Here it is.
Brit burns bum with firecracker
Thu Nov 9, 9:37 PM ET
A 22-year-old man suffered internal injuries after lighting a small firecracker he had inserted into his buttocks, paramedics said Thursday. The incident took place Sunday, when Britain celebrated Bonfire Night, traditionally marked with fireworks to celebrate the Guy Fawkes' gunpowder plot to blow up Parliament in the 17th century.
The man suffered burns and other unspecified internal injuries in the incident in Sunderland, 275 miles north of London.
Katherine Shenton, a spokeswoman for the North East Ambulance Service, said a caller had phoned in that the victim was bleeding after the firecracker exploded.
Several of the man's friends recorded the incident on a mobile phone. The blurry images show a man bent over with his pants down and a white flash as the firecracker explodes.
The Times newspaper reported the man is a soldier who recently returned from Iraq.
The Iraqis could not get him, so he decided to get himself. In the immortal words of Jeff Spicoli, "People on 'ludes should not drive" and people should not stuff firecrackers up their ass and light them. I am really frightened that I have to say that, given it really is obvious and I hate stating the obvious. Then again, obviously, some people are able to ignore the obvious, obviously at their own peril.
Again, if I am going to stuff something up my ass, firecrackers (lit or not), is not one of them. Of course, my post nuclear holocaust me would have me shooting lasers from my ass, though shooting lit firecrackers could be fun, too. Then again, the risk that the "shoot" somehow malfunctions, leaving me with just the explosion and an explanation for the proctologist, kind of puts me off that "power".
Nice friends though. Nobody stopping the insanity. To make matters worse, they took pictures. That is what friends are for. Enjoy the weekend. Ciao!
I have culled another story from my "they should not be allowed to consider breeding" file. Here it is.
Brit burns bum with firecracker
Thu Nov 9, 9:37 PM ET
A 22-year-old man suffered internal injuries after lighting a small firecracker he had inserted into his buttocks, paramedics said Thursday. The incident took place Sunday, when Britain celebrated Bonfire Night, traditionally marked with fireworks to celebrate the Guy Fawkes' gunpowder plot to blow up Parliament in the 17th century.
The man suffered burns and other unspecified internal injuries in the incident in Sunderland, 275 miles north of London.
Katherine Shenton, a spokeswoman for the North East Ambulance Service, said a caller had phoned in that the victim was bleeding after the firecracker exploded.
Several of the man's friends recorded the incident on a mobile phone. The blurry images show a man bent over with his pants down and a white flash as the firecracker explodes.
The Times newspaper reported the man is a soldier who recently returned from Iraq.
The Iraqis could not get him, so he decided to get himself. In the immortal words of Jeff Spicoli, "People on 'ludes should not drive" and people should not stuff firecrackers up their ass and light them. I am really frightened that I have to say that, given it really is obvious and I hate stating the obvious. Then again, obviously, some people are able to ignore the obvious, obviously at their own peril.
Again, if I am going to stuff something up my ass, firecrackers (lit or not), is not one of them. Of course, my post nuclear holocaust me would have me shooting lasers from my ass, though shooting lit firecrackers could be fun, too. Then again, the risk that the "shoot" somehow malfunctions, leaving me with just the explosion and an explanation for the proctologist, kind of puts me off that "power".
Nice friends though. Nobody stopping the insanity. To make matters worse, they took pictures. That is what friends are for. Enjoy the weekend. Ciao!
Wednesday, November 08, 2006
A bit of this, a bit of that
I am back. I have missed a couple of days here. The most frustrating was yesterday. I was good to go, but had no electricity (in our area) for over six hours. No lights, no heat, no hot water. No heat, because the ventor motor for both furnace and hot water heater are electric. With those not working, the damn things do not go on. In fact, without electricity there is no power to the fan to force the hot air through the duct work. I am thinking that my brother's gas burner, hot water radiators may be a better way to heat these houses. Then again, I am sure that the combustion gases have to be vented and those would be powered by electricity. I should ask him.
Anyway, I had that going for me. Nothing like trying to work while freezing and given it was a gray November day (with rain, but not too cold, which is odd) I could barely see things even in the afternoon. To make matters worse, I, like a bit of a twit, decided to run a couple of scans on my laptop. I ended up running down the battery, so I had no computer that I could use. I just did not think that the power would be off for that long. Silly me. You would think that I would have learned from the blackout of 2003.
On a lighter note, I received a comment from my November 2 posting. I published it. It was interesting. I was called a moron and that I need psychological or psychiatric counseling. It was posted by "Anonymous". Now, Anonymous, if that is your real name, I am a bit unclear as to how I am a moron. It may be true, you just did not give me any evidence to support your conclusion. As to the need for counseling, the same would apply. I may just need that, but I am not sure what "offended" you enough to approach such a personal subject with me. Be that as it may, I respect your opinion. Then again, I may be a moron and need some sort of psychological counseling but in hiding behind the "Anonymous" marker, perhaps you need to grow a pair, or at least take you balls out of your mother's purse. No offense.
I did receive some interesting comments on the Moonies as well. It seems they are still in business, but doing so a little more quietly. I thank the dude who posted that comment.
Anyway, I have to run. I have to play Mr. Mom and then visit with Willie's family. Sadly, his grandfather, all of 98, passed away. My condolences and thoughts go out to he and his family. At the funeral, I was struck by the fact that they spoke so well of the man and how modest and humble he was. I have always thought that about Willie and his parents. It is funny and he set a great example for the following generations to emulate. That is just on a personal level, which does carry great weight.
Ciao!
Anyway, I had that going for me. Nothing like trying to work while freezing and given it was a gray November day (with rain, but not too cold, which is odd) I could barely see things even in the afternoon. To make matters worse, I, like a bit of a twit, decided to run a couple of scans on my laptop. I ended up running down the battery, so I had no computer that I could use. I just did not think that the power would be off for that long. Silly me. You would think that I would have learned from the blackout of 2003.
On a lighter note, I received a comment from my November 2 posting. I published it. It was interesting. I was called a moron and that I need psychological or psychiatric counseling. It was posted by "Anonymous". Now, Anonymous, if that is your real name, I am a bit unclear as to how I am a moron. It may be true, you just did not give me any evidence to support your conclusion. As to the need for counseling, the same would apply. I may just need that, but I am not sure what "offended" you enough to approach such a personal subject with me. Be that as it may, I respect your opinion. Then again, I may be a moron and need some sort of psychological counseling but in hiding behind the "Anonymous" marker, perhaps you need to grow a pair, or at least take you balls out of your mother's purse. No offense.
I did receive some interesting comments on the Moonies as well. It seems they are still in business, but doing so a little more quietly. I thank the dude who posted that comment.
Anyway, I have to run. I have to play Mr. Mom and then visit with Willie's family. Sadly, his grandfather, all of 98, passed away. My condolences and thoughts go out to he and his family. At the funeral, I was struck by the fact that they spoke so well of the man and how modest and humble he was. I have always thought that about Willie and his parents. It is funny and he set a great example for the following generations to emulate. That is just on a personal level, which does carry great weight.
Ciao!
Friday, November 03, 2006
I got nothing
I am back. I am sitting here listening to Stevie Wonder's "Innervisions". He put that album out in 1973. Along with "Talking Book" (also 1973) and "Songs In The Key Of Life", the three make up the quintessential Stevie Wonder collection. I know I do not mention "Ebony and Ivory" or "I Just Called To Say I Love You". Those were from the, "I am in it for the money" collection. That, of course, would include any Who album after "Who Are You" but I do have a soft spot for "Face Dances" though it was not great.
I do not feel a rant coming on. What the hell is wrong with me? I know a list too long to get into here. I am mustering up the courage I am going to need for the Friday night dinner with my outlaws. This one is special as it is their 50th Anniversary tomorrow. 50 years? That is cool. Some people do not live 50 years (will I be one of them? I hope not, I want to get to 50 + one day and then croak.) I do wish them another 50 years together.
That is all for this week. I will be among the people this weekend, so I am thinking I will have something to rant about then.
I do not feel a rant coming on. What the hell is wrong with me? I know a list too long to get into here. I am mustering up the courage I am going to need for the Friday night dinner with my outlaws. This one is special as it is their 50th Anniversary tomorrow. 50 years? That is cool. Some people do not live 50 years (will I be one of them? I hope not, I want to get to 50 + one day and then croak.) I do wish them another 50 years together.
That is all for this week. I will be among the people this weekend, so I am thinking I will have something to rant about then.
Thursday, November 02, 2006
Halloween Recap
I am back. I have some Halloween fun to recap. I took the lad out for Halloween. I said that his costume was too highbrow for some. I mentioned that he was going as Edvard Munch's "The Scream". The wife had found a frame and attached black neoprene with a hole for the lad's face. He had white gloves taped up near the face so as to look like he was holding his head in his hands. The kids at school had no idea what he was. These kids are clowns, football players and such. I cannot understand how elementary school kids do not know from "The Scream". What is that all about? What are they teaching our kids?
Well, on the street, where it really counts, he rocked. He had decided to wear the gloves and do the anguished face. The wife streaked his face with grease paint in the appropriate "The Scream" colors. It looked awesome, when he wanted it to. Now, to be quite honest, nobody got his costume without asking. When they did ask and hear his explanation (and face), all were impressed. Of course, to the nanny set, who did find it a giggle, it looked like he was a picture, with his face in the frame. We had a good haul, though and that is really what Halloween is all about.
He and wife decided to gon farther. They went to this funky house across the bridge. The house looks like it is unfinished, but it has been that way for at least three years. Anyway, the woman there went to art school. She loved the costume. And who would not?
The lad and wife had carved a couple of pumplins. One was with bats and the other was a skull with flames at the top of his head. They were cool. At about eight, I blew out the candles and brought in the mat that screams when you step on it. It scares the crap out of little kids, though there are those who figure it out and love to jump on it repeatedly. We were left with the dregs of candy.
The next morning the two pumpkins were gone. There was no remnants to suggest somebody smashed the pumpkins on our or our neighbors' properties. Who the fuck stole those Jack O'lanterns? Why? This is a greater mystery than how they get the caramel in the Caramilk chocolate bar (there, you can tell I am Canadian with that line). Ciao!
Well, on the street, where it really counts, he rocked. He had decided to wear the gloves and do the anguished face. The wife streaked his face with grease paint in the appropriate "The Scream" colors. It looked awesome, when he wanted it to. Now, to be quite honest, nobody got his costume without asking. When they did ask and hear his explanation (and face), all were impressed. Of course, to the nanny set, who did find it a giggle, it looked like he was a picture, with his face in the frame. We had a good haul, though and that is really what Halloween is all about.
He and wife decided to gon farther. They went to this funky house across the bridge. The house looks like it is unfinished, but it has been that way for at least three years. Anyway, the woman there went to art school. She loved the costume. And who would not?
The lad and wife had carved a couple of pumplins. One was with bats and the other was a skull with flames at the top of his head. They were cool. At about eight, I blew out the candles and brought in the mat that screams when you step on it. It scares the crap out of little kids, though there are those who figure it out and love to jump on it repeatedly. We were left with the dregs of candy.
The next morning the two pumpkins were gone. There was no remnants to suggest somebody smashed the pumpkins on our or our neighbors' properties. Who the fuck stole those Jack O'lanterns? Why? This is a greater mystery than how they get the caramel in the Caramilk chocolate bar (there, you can tell I am Canadian with that line). Ciao!
Tuesday, October 31, 2006
The Halloween Post-now with more tricks than treats
I am back. It is Halloween for those of you without a sense of dates. I figure those pumpkins and spooky house decorations should be a giveaway, but no. I am sitting here eating some Dots. For those of you who do not know, Dots are a chewy fruit flavored candy made by Tootsie Roll. They are really ju-jubes and come in the red, yellow, green, orange and black colors with corresponding flavors. They are doing the job of ripping my fillings right out of my head.
That is a bad thing, but it may be good. It would cause me to get those amalgam fillings replaced. Then again, all it means is that the mercury in the amalgam has leached into my body. Which would explain my descent into madness. The phrase "mad as a hatter" was coined because hat makers of the time, would after time working on their hats, come across as quite insane. The funniest part is that they worked with mercury and their madness was a sign of mercury poisoning. I also have enjoyed lead based paint chips (with salsa or onion dip, of course). Those are some great brain foods, ranking right up there with fish (Omega 3 fatty acids).
That has taken me to some of my favorite Halloween crap. I try not to give out stuff that I like. That is why we usually go for chips. This way, I know for sure that I will not eat them before Halloween. I am looking forward to see the lad's haul this year. As he has gotten older, he is able to cover more ground and understands the concept of maximizing his haul. It has only taken me about four years of explaining for him to have caught on.
I like any not peanut butter chocolate. Reese Peanut Butter Cups and Reese's Pieces are out in my eyes. I like those Mars bars, Aero, Kit Kat, Caramilk and Crunchie candy bars. I enjoy Twizzlers and Nibs. That is about all, though. I have never been a fan of Rockets or salty things like chips and Hickory Sticks. Then again, I have always enjoyed an good apple with a razor blade in it. By the way, who would give out apples (these days or any days)?
This year the lad is going as Edvard Munch's "The Scream". How obscure is that! I love it! He is going to add a bit of culture (nothing wrong with depicting the haunting angst of modern life-see yesterday's post about starting my own cult, as to why these cults appear and "work"). It all started when that stolen Norwegian painting was recovered. It seemed like a good idea for a costume to me. He has a frame with neoprene. He justs sticks his head into the hole and he is the face of the screamer.
Just think, last year at this time, I was sitting in the cold. Our furnace had died, almost catching fire as it turned out, early the previous Saturday morning (Oct. 29th). My furnace guy was away for the weekend but came that Monday morning. I had the thing replaced and all was working and warming by Wednesday. It was colder in the house for Halloween than it was outside. That freaks me out but that is my reality.
With that said, I wish you all a safe and scary Halloween. Ciao!
That is a bad thing, but it may be good. It would cause me to get those amalgam fillings replaced. Then again, all it means is that the mercury in the amalgam has leached into my body. Which would explain my descent into madness. The phrase "mad as a hatter" was coined because hat makers of the time, would after time working on their hats, come across as quite insane. The funniest part is that they worked with mercury and their madness was a sign of mercury poisoning. I also have enjoyed lead based paint chips (with salsa or onion dip, of course). Those are some great brain foods, ranking right up there with fish (Omega 3 fatty acids).
That has taken me to some of my favorite Halloween crap. I try not to give out stuff that I like. That is why we usually go for chips. This way, I know for sure that I will not eat them before Halloween. I am looking forward to see the lad's haul this year. As he has gotten older, he is able to cover more ground and understands the concept of maximizing his haul. It has only taken me about four years of explaining for him to have caught on.
I like any not peanut butter chocolate. Reese Peanut Butter Cups and Reese's Pieces are out in my eyes. I like those Mars bars, Aero, Kit Kat, Caramilk and Crunchie candy bars. I enjoy Twizzlers and Nibs. That is about all, though. I have never been a fan of Rockets or salty things like chips and Hickory Sticks. Then again, I have always enjoyed an good apple with a razor blade in it. By the way, who would give out apples (these days or any days)?
This year the lad is going as Edvard Munch's "The Scream". How obscure is that! I love it! He is going to add a bit of culture (nothing wrong with depicting the haunting angst of modern life-see yesterday's post about starting my own cult, as to why these cults appear and "work"). It all started when that stolen Norwegian painting was recovered. It seemed like a good idea for a costume to me. He has a frame with neoprene. He justs sticks his head into the hole and he is the face of the screamer.
Just think, last year at this time, I was sitting in the cold. Our furnace had died, almost catching fire as it turned out, early the previous Saturday morning (Oct. 29th). My furnace guy was away for the weekend but came that Monday morning. I had the thing replaced and all was working and warming by Wednesday. It was colder in the house for Halloween than it was outside. That freaks me out but that is my reality.
With that said, I wish you all a safe and scary Halloween. Ciao!
Monday, October 30, 2006
What's a false prophet got to do to get a drink around here?
I am back. I did not return on Friday after all. Quelle surprise? Just let me get my bearings. Thursday was the Jehovah's Witnesses and the double blowjob and Friday was Englebert Humperdink having dry granny panties thrown his way, so what have I missed. Ah yes. If I were king.
Not king actually, but the Jehovah's Witnesses gave me a great idea. Actually, it is one that I have had before but they helped bring it back to the front of my mind. I should start a religious cult. That is the way to do things. I have it all thought out using the template of "old" cults and using technology. Let me preface this all by stating explicitly, "I am one sick fuck!". I can deal with it (can you?).
Here we go. There has always been one cult or another out there, picking up disciples, for as long as I can remember. I recall the Hare Krishnas in the 60s and 70s, Jim Jones, the Moonies, and those around the millenium (the one from Quebec-Rafaelites (?) and that one out near LA where they wore robes, Nikes and were waiting for UFOs to take them from Earth). These are all good ideas.
First off, I have to be in charge. It is the sociopath in me. I could do a great job preaching "the word" and I am quite certain that I could find me some lost souls. These lost souls exist everywhere as they are all seeking some sort of divine intervention to understand their life's purpose or meaning. Conventional religions do not necessarily reach these people. In a society like ours, that has rewarded immediate gratification, people want enlightenment and they want it now (just like Veruca Salt). That is just one of the empty promises I can make. I hate to break the news to y'all but enlightenment is anything but immediate gratification. You really do need to be able to accept enlightened thinking and that, in any conventional sense, is not easy for most people to do. It is damn hard given a lifetime of teaching and other social pressures to be able to rethink your relationship to yourself, others and world in general.
Anyway, there I am picking up lost souls, like some sort of low grade Grim Reaper. I like the use of Jim Jones-type of devotion to me. I was thinking that I could not be a cult follower (though I can picture people proseltyzing the "word of Dave"--"Dave is my prophet" I love the sound of it, especially the sense of familiarity, like you can be enlightened by a Dave, Bob, Steve, Bill, choose any shortened version of a name). I was thinking about those people in LA in the robes and Nikes waiting to be taken by the UFOs and recalled that a number of guys were castrated. Well, I do not give a shit, if "Dave" tells me I should have my balls cut off, "Dave" is going to get a swift kick in his. You may have my mind, but leave me with my balls, I have grown rather attached to them, thank you.
I do like the idea of castation if I am leader, though. It would give me pick of the female litter. In fact, like all good Sultans, nothing wrong with having a bunch of eunuchs working the harem for you. This way I have all that lost soul pussy to myself (I am shallow but I am not stupid and I can count).
Here is where it gets modern, though. I figure that after some manipulations of the mental variety, assume they are intellectually pliable and have fallen under my "spell". Damn, those Jehovah's Witnesses would characterize me as a false religion but I will show them. They would, of course, turn over their worldy possessions to me, er the cause of which I will have sole signing banking authority. So, I gots me some cash and stuff. I am thinking that I could get the lady devotees to dress in robes and stuff and then decree that they please me and each other. Break out the webcam, set up a website and sell subscriptions. There is a modern stream of revenue right there. I am sure I can do deeper there, too.
Of course, I realize the greatest downfalls. One is that this shit would come to a disasterous end, at least for somebody. I can see it get boring all that control. It would be good for a bit then the thrill would die as the sense of a challenge also faded. Besides, most of these cults have ended in suicide/murder-suicide, those the Unification Church of Rev. Moon still exists I believe, you just do not see the mass arranged marriages anymore. Am I in the mood to kill others and myself (ala Jim Jones)? Hell, no!
I am thinking that I would have to get the dying in order to move on, with the cash of course (a false prophet's got to eat, too). I could then recreate the movement in another place and time. Ohhhh, this idea keeps on working. It is like the stock market, just a grand experiment in human psychology.
I am liking the idea. Since I have shared it first with y'all, I have a proposition. Anybody want to sign on as early disciples? Tell you what, my friends, is anybody looking? I am willing to share. I am flexible on the castration thing for early disciples. In fact, you could become a full participant with "right hand" status (and no, I do not mean you get to give me handjobs, though, the door is not fully closed on that idea). What do you think? Care to take on the world with me? Think about it. Ciao!
Not king actually, but the Jehovah's Witnesses gave me a great idea. Actually, it is one that I have had before but they helped bring it back to the front of my mind. I should start a religious cult. That is the way to do things. I have it all thought out using the template of "old" cults and using technology. Let me preface this all by stating explicitly, "I am one sick fuck!". I can deal with it (can you?).
Here we go. There has always been one cult or another out there, picking up disciples, for as long as I can remember. I recall the Hare Krishnas in the 60s and 70s, Jim Jones, the Moonies, and those around the millenium (the one from Quebec-Rafaelites (?) and that one out near LA where they wore robes, Nikes and were waiting for UFOs to take them from Earth). These are all good ideas.
First off, I have to be in charge. It is the sociopath in me. I could do a great job preaching "the word" and I am quite certain that I could find me some lost souls. These lost souls exist everywhere as they are all seeking some sort of divine intervention to understand their life's purpose or meaning. Conventional religions do not necessarily reach these people. In a society like ours, that has rewarded immediate gratification, people want enlightenment and they want it now (just like Veruca Salt). That is just one of the empty promises I can make. I hate to break the news to y'all but enlightenment is anything but immediate gratification. You really do need to be able to accept enlightened thinking and that, in any conventional sense, is not easy for most people to do. It is damn hard given a lifetime of teaching and other social pressures to be able to rethink your relationship to yourself, others and world in general.
Anyway, there I am picking up lost souls, like some sort of low grade Grim Reaper. I like the use of Jim Jones-type of devotion to me. I was thinking that I could not be a cult follower (though I can picture people proseltyzing the "word of Dave"--"Dave is my prophet" I love the sound of it, especially the sense of familiarity, like you can be enlightened by a Dave, Bob, Steve, Bill, choose any shortened version of a name). I was thinking about those people in LA in the robes and Nikes waiting to be taken by the UFOs and recalled that a number of guys were castrated. Well, I do not give a shit, if "Dave" tells me I should have my balls cut off, "Dave" is going to get a swift kick in his. You may have my mind, but leave me with my balls, I have grown rather attached to them, thank you.
I do like the idea of castation if I am leader, though. It would give me pick of the female litter. In fact, like all good Sultans, nothing wrong with having a bunch of eunuchs working the harem for you. This way I have all that lost soul pussy to myself (I am shallow but I am not stupid and I can count).
Here is where it gets modern, though. I figure that after some manipulations of the mental variety, assume they are intellectually pliable and have fallen under my "spell". Damn, those Jehovah's Witnesses would characterize me as a false religion but I will show them. They would, of course, turn over their worldy possessions to me, er the cause of which I will have sole signing banking authority. So, I gots me some cash and stuff. I am thinking that I could get the lady devotees to dress in robes and stuff and then decree that they please me and each other. Break out the webcam, set up a website and sell subscriptions. There is a modern stream of revenue right there. I am sure I can do deeper there, too.
Of course, I realize the greatest downfalls. One is that this shit would come to a disasterous end, at least for somebody. I can see it get boring all that control. It would be good for a bit then the thrill would die as the sense of a challenge also faded. Besides, most of these cults have ended in suicide/murder-suicide, those the Unification Church of Rev. Moon still exists I believe, you just do not see the mass arranged marriages anymore. Am I in the mood to kill others and myself (ala Jim Jones)? Hell, no!
I am thinking that I would have to get the dying in order to move on, with the cash of course (a false prophet's got to eat, too). I could then recreate the movement in another place and time. Ohhhh, this idea keeps on working. It is like the stock market, just a grand experiment in human psychology.
I am liking the idea. Since I have shared it first with y'all, I have a proposition. Anybody want to sign on as early disciples? Tell you what, my friends, is anybody looking? I am willing to share. I am flexible on the castration thing for early disciples. In fact, you could become a full participant with "right hand" status (and no, I do not mean you get to give me handjobs, though, the door is not fully closed on that idea). What do you think? Care to take on the world with me? Think about it. Ciao!
Friday, October 27, 2006
Englebert Humperdink and Granny Panties
I am back. I am also early. This may be a two post day. I had an idea to build on yesterday's post that I would like to explore, but not right now. I was struck by something in the news, if I can call it that, and was compelled to get it down in the ethers. It is pretty funny but then again I always seem to crack myself up, so I am not a credible judge of my own humor.
I was reading that Englebert Humperdink, the English singer, who is 70 and still performs in Las Vegas still has women throw their panties at him (or is that to him or just give them to him). I am thinking that these ladies may risk having their brittle arm bones break if they try to throw their panties at/to him. Like Tom Jones, in their primes, ladies just "loved" the two crooners. In fact, they had the same manager, but Humperdink felt that he was being treated as Number 2 (not shit, but close) client, so he fired the manager.
In any event, I was thinking about how at 70, the ladies keep giving their panties to Englebert Humperdink (I think that I like the sound of his name...keep saying it to yourself and tell me it does not grow on you. Just keep repeating "Humperdink" and see where that gets you.). I am thinking that the size of the panties of (each one) has grown tremendously. He says that he has four generations of women at his show, but I just do not see the 70 year old singer dude getting a lot of skimpy, thongs tossed his way. I do see a lot of large "granny panties" coming his way. You know those ones, they are actually large enough to be used carry your groceries, notwithstanding the two large leg/thigh holes, obviously. You could use them as a hammock if you so chose.
Given their ages, you can be assured that the granny panties tossed his way are drier than the Sahara desert. Poor post-menopausal women just do not "lube" up like younger feminitas. Though, if the panties are a bit damp, my guess would be that it is not the moistness of excitement but a sign of incontinence. I do figure that dry granny panties, or even slightly urine damped granny panties, beats soiled Depends, though. Of course, that is just me.
Enjoy the early chuckle. I did. Ciao!
I was reading that Englebert Humperdink, the English singer, who is 70 and still performs in Las Vegas still has women throw their panties at him (or is that to him or just give them to him). I am thinking that these ladies may risk having their brittle arm bones break if they try to throw their panties at/to him. Like Tom Jones, in their primes, ladies just "loved" the two crooners. In fact, they had the same manager, but Humperdink felt that he was being treated as Number 2 (not shit, but close) client, so he fired the manager.
In any event, I was thinking about how at 70, the ladies keep giving their panties to Englebert Humperdink (I think that I like the sound of his name...keep saying it to yourself and tell me it does not grow on you. Just keep repeating "Humperdink" and see where that gets you.). I am thinking that the size of the panties of (each one) has grown tremendously. He says that he has four generations of women at his show, but I just do not see the 70 year old singer dude getting a lot of skimpy, thongs tossed his way. I do see a lot of large "granny panties" coming his way. You know those ones, they are actually large enough to be used carry your groceries, notwithstanding the two large leg/thigh holes, obviously. You could use them as a hammock if you so chose.
Given their ages, you can be assured that the granny panties tossed his way are drier than the Sahara desert. Poor post-menopausal women just do not "lube" up like younger feminitas. Though, if the panties are a bit damp, my guess would be that it is not the moistness of excitement but a sign of incontinence. I do figure that dry granny panties, or even slightly urine damped granny panties, beats soiled Depends, though. Of course, that is just me.
Enjoy the early chuckle. I did. Ciao!
Thursday, October 26, 2006
What if Opportunity Is a Jehovah's Witness?
I am back. I had a crazy thought. Actually, it was a number of crazy thoughts. At least, I am aware of them. It all started with a knock on the door. Idiot that I am, I answer it. Well, I espied two women at the door. With the municipal election going on here, I figured it was people canvassing for mayoral candidate. Ooops, my mistake. I see the color pamphlet in her hand and I do not even look up. It was the Jehovah's Witnesses (and to think that I never even saw the crime). She shoves the pamphlet in my hand and then they say "goodbye". No kiss, no pleasantries, no double blow job. Fucking Jehovah's Witnesses do not know how to close the sale!
So there I am with a raging hard on and marketing material from the Jehovah's Witnesses. No blow job. Damn, I did not know how difficult it was to write stories for Penthouse Forum! I wanted something different. I was tired of the same old story. "I never believed the stories in here were true. Until this happened to me. Let me describe myself. I am a junior at a small mid-western college........." I had a good one going there with me and two comely, Jehovah's Witnesses babes.
As I think about it, and read it, I am thinking that the Jehovah's Witnesses could save more souls with some new marketing material. I know that the color stuff they do is much better than "WatchTower" in black and white, but why stop there? In fact, they should go all out. Convert the souls, save the souls with .......sex. That sells and would really add some sizzle to the stuff they are giving away, presently.
I was handed "The End of False Religion Is Near!". According to this a "False Religion" "meddles in war and politics", "spreads false doctrine" and "tolerates immoral sex". As far as I am concerned with sex, the more immoral, the better it is (except for the sheep, goat or chicken). In the "How will false religion end?" section, there is a lot to be said about a harlot in dressed in purple, using incense and is extremely wealthy. She sounds good to me, but I may think twice if she has a hair lip, large scars or a moustache. The "True Religion" section is pretty much what you would expect, love, peace, family, high moral standards.
Yeah, I know, but where is the fun? I am not talking Dionyssian (a little to high brow a reference for this crowd? He was the Greek god of wine or the Greek party god) orgies, though, that would be a nice touch. I am still fantasizing about the Jehovah's Witnesses double blow job. Wow! That was a good one! Where was I....oh yeah, Dionyssus and orgies and Jehovah's Witnesses and double blow jobs. That is a religion I can hang my hat on.
Besides, Jehovah's Witnesses is the religion practiced by noted child diddler and resident of Bahrain, Michael Jackson. I am thinking he was doing a bit too much "love" preaching to the young'uns. Though, I do wonder if he was part of a double blow job. Sorry, I cannot get the image out of my head now. Me getting a double blow job from the Jehovah's Witnesses ladies while I am standing at the front door with it wide open. I am picturing what that would look like to somebody either walking or driving by the front of the house. Try explaining that one to the neighbors, cops, wife or condo corporation. Then again, as far as the males go, they would be in awe and jealous.
I am done but I may muse on this some more. Ciao!
So there I am with a raging hard on and marketing material from the Jehovah's Witnesses. No blow job. Damn, I did not know how difficult it was to write stories for Penthouse Forum! I wanted something different. I was tired of the same old story. "I never believed the stories in here were true. Until this happened to me. Let me describe myself. I am a junior at a small mid-western college........." I had a good one going there with me and two comely, Jehovah's Witnesses babes.
As I think about it, and read it, I am thinking that the Jehovah's Witnesses could save more souls with some new marketing material. I know that the color stuff they do is much better than "WatchTower" in black and white, but why stop there? In fact, they should go all out. Convert the souls, save the souls with .......sex. That sells and would really add some sizzle to the stuff they are giving away, presently.
I was handed "The End of False Religion Is Near!". According to this a "False Religion" "meddles in war and politics", "spreads false doctrine" and "tolerates immoral sex". As far as I am concerned with sex, the more immoral, the better it is (except for the sheep, goat or chicken). In the "How will false religion end?" section, there is a lot to be said about a harlot in dressed in purple, using incense and is extremely wealthy. She sounds good to me, but I may think twice if she has a hair lip, large scars or a moustache. The "True Religion" section is pretty much what you would expect, love, peace, family, high moral standards.
Yeah, I know, but where is the fun? I am not talking Dionyssian (a little to high brow a reference for this crowd? He was the Greek god of wine or the Greek party god) orgies, though, that would be a nice touch. I am still fantasizing about the Jehovah's Witnesses double blow job. Wow! That was a good one! Where was I....oh yeah, Dionyssus and orgies and Jehovah's Witnesses and double blow jobs. That is a religion I can hang my hat on.
Besides, Jehovah's Witnesses is the religion practiced by noted child diddler and resident of Bahrain, Michael Jackson. I am thinking he was doing a bit too much "love" preaching to the young'uns. Though, I do wonder if he was part of a double blow job. Sorry, I cannot get the image out of my head now. Me getting a double blow job from the Jehovah's Witnesses ladies while I am standing at the front door with it wide open. I am picturing what that would look like to somebody either walking or driving by the front of the house. Try explaining that one to the neighbors, cops, wife or condo corporation. Then again, as far as the males go, they would be in awe and jealous.
I am done but I may muse on this some more. Ciao!
Wednesday, October 25, 2006
Tacos, Street Meat and Socrates--What is the connection?
I am back. Sorry, I did not post yesterday, but it was just one of those things. I did see something that set me off this weekend, though. I was watching a commercial on television (I am not sure what was the bigger "mistake" watching television or actually watching the commercial). It was for Old El Paso Taco Shells. They have flattened the bottoms of the shells, making it easier to stuff the tacos. What a great idea, I thought.
Then reality hit. I hate fucking tacos! You have to put a tarp down when ever you eat those things. You bite them and the shell shatters, sending ground meat (I cannot say for sure what kind of meat it is, though), lettuce and crap falling to the floor. If you are unlucky, that crap hits your pants on the way down (Gravity is a bitch!) leaving a stain. Not just a stain, but a taco stinking stain. I am not sure if it is the cumin used, but it is that earthy, B.O. stink of a stain.
That is something nobody needs. Whose idea was this taco? There's a winner idea. Give me a hand held food that explodes and crumbles when you bite into it! The tacos are cheap but the dry cleaning bills are getting to be rather expensive. Fuck Taco Bell! Fuck them to hell!
Of course, there is one type of taco of which I am fond. The pink taco, which I have never had crumble when I ate. Explode, yes, but never crumble. Too much information? Well, at least I am not posting the details of the stomach flu.
I could say the same thing about street meat or street hot dogs. Of course, I cannot say that I was ever sober when eating them. They are the vestiges of the drunk and/or high guy who is feeling peckish. I load up the sauerkraut, mustard, hot peppers and onions (I figure that if I am eating this I have given up the hope of meeting some female companionship this night, so I do not care if my breath stinks. Besides, it just may mask the smell of the booze.) I take a bite and can only watch as the toppings fall out and down.
It is not pleasant watching mustard laced sauerkraut, hot peppers and chopped onions land on your shoes, or in my case, boots. Fuck that! Then I am left to wonder how I got the mustard stain on the bottom of my pants and why I have cabbage in my pant cuffs. Can you see Socrates wondering about that? I cannot.
There, I have done it. I have opened up the delusion where I compare myself to Socrates for all to see. The only real problem is that it may be an apt comparison. Of course, I am neither Greek nor dead. I can say with some confidence that at one point I will reach one of those states. I am not sure how I will be able to convince my friends and family that I am Greek, though.
I am done for today. Enjoy and ciao!
Then reality hit. I hate fucking tacos! You have to put a tarp down when ever you eat those things. You bite them and the shell shatters, sending ground meat (I cannot say for sure what kind of meat it is, though), lettuce and crap falling to the floor. If you are unlucky, that crap hits your pants on the way down (Gravity is a bitch!) leaving a stain. Not just a stain, but a taco stinking stain. I am not sure if it is the cumin used, but it is that earthy, B.O. stink of a stain.
That is something nobody needs. Whose idea was this taco? There's a winner idea. Give me a hand held food that explodes and crumbles when you bite into it! The tacos are cheap but the dry cleaning bills are getting to be rather expensive. Fuck Taco Bell! Fuck them to hell!
Of course, there is one type of taco of which I am fond. The pink taco, which I have never had crumble when I ate. Explode, yes, but never crumble. Too much information? Well, at least I am not posting the details of the stomach flu.
I could say the same thing about street meat or street hot dogs. Of course, I cannot say that I was ever sober when eating them. They are the vestiges of the drunk and/or high guy who is feeling peckish. I load up the sauerkraut, mustard, hot peppers and onions (I figure that if I am eating this I have given up the hope of meeting some female companionship this night, so I do not care if my breath stinks. Besides, it just may mask the smell of the booze.) I take a bite and can only watch as the toppings fall out and down.
It is not pleasant watching mustard laced sauerkraut, hot peppers and chopped onions land on your shoes, or in my case, boots. Fuck that! Then I am left to wonder how I got the mustard stain on the bottom of my pants and why I have cabbage in my pant cuffs. Can you see Socrates wondering about that? I cannot.
There, I have done it. I have opened up the delusion where I compare myself to Socrates for all to see. The only real problem is that it may be an apt comparison. Of course, I am neither Greek nor dead. I can say with some confidence that at one point I will reach one of those states. I am not sure how I will be able to convince my friends and family that I am Greek, though.
I am done for today. Enjoy and ciao!
Monday, October 23, 2006
A weekend it was
I am back. It was one of those weekends around here. In fact, the greatest amount of excitement, or activity, was a trip to Costco. What a fucking life I lead! I would like to blame it all on the weather. Mid to late October (sun setting earlier/rising later) and gray and rainy. The bright side is that it is not November. That means, though it was damp and rainy, it was not overly cold. Those November rains, with the lack of daylight and colder temperatures, chill me to the bone.
That, of course, leads me somewhere else. I guess I would not be chilled to the bone if I had enough sense to wear pants in November. There is nothing like those cold November rains and winds to hit your balls and cause my scrotum to fold like an accordian and my testicles to high tail it into my abdomen (or throat, but that may be more of a February phenomenon). I should know better but there is nothing funny about knowing better. Of course, I am not sure that the neighbors see it that way, but if they do not like the view then they should just shut the blinds.
Sunday was a pisser. The lad had a birthday party that took him to the CN Tower. He had his normal height fear issues apparently. I have the same so I cannot blame him for that one. He did tell me that he was stuffed in the minivan drive down and there was no seat belt for him. I was not pleased, but nothing bad had occurred and I could not turn back time to deal with it, so I figured it was done. I told him not to tell his mother. She would get upset and do nothing but fret. Worry about what could have occurred, losing sight of the FACT, that nothing did occur. Besides, unless she could back in time, what good would telling her do?
What does he do? He tells her. Needless to say, I had a good yell at him. He did watch "Daredevil" in the van on the way down. I was pissed about that one. When we were in the Domincan, it was on television one night before he was going to bed. I was watching it, but he started to whinge about how the beginning was "scary". Instead of listening to me and seeing it so he could put the events into context, he just reacted like the wife. I had to listen to "he is scared" and turn the channel. I was pissed about that because again there was a larger picture that both of them failed to appreciated.
The wife does not like "Heroes". She finds it too violent. Again, no contextual examination on her part. I explained to her that it is like a comic book, at least a Marvel or DC comic that I recall as a kid (I loved Spiderman, Ironman, Daredevil and got into X-Men). They were dark and violent, but it was all about the obstacles and trials "good" had to endure to triumph over "evil". It is like life in that we all have obstacles to overcome in order to move forward. No big deal.
She claims that it is not "comic book" like. I then have to turn to her and say, "You read fucking Archie comics and Richie Rich! It is not like those and besides neither of those was even remotely funny! Read a Marvel comic and see what I mean." I got a grudging "maybe" and that was that. The good thing is that she has aerobics when it begins so I am well into the show when she comes home. She knows I will not change it, so she has to watch it. It is a good show and it sets up like a comic book.
It is a live action version of X-Men. The "powers" seem to be similar with different types of people having them. There is a teenage cheerleader who has the super healing power of Wolverine. She does not carry his emotional baggage (again read the comic, see the movies). I am always fascinated by these things because they all hit home. The sense of a greater purpose, powers, abilities and curses, grappling with a sense of self and societal alienation. Common themes in humanity, literature and teenagers. That is what Stan Lee spoke to back in the 60s when his most famous characters were "born".
That is all for today. I could go into a familial rant but I will not. Ciao!
That, of course, leads me somewhere else. I guess I would not be chilled to the bone if I had enough sense to wear pants in November. There is nothing like those cold November rains and winds to hit your balls and cause my scrotum to fold like an accordian and my testicles to high tail it into my abdomen (or throat, but that may be more of a February phenomenon). I should know better but there is nothing funny about knowing better. Of course, I am not sure that the neighbors see it that way, but if they do not like the view then they should just shut the blinds.
Sunday was a pisser. The lad had a birthday party that took him to the CN Tower. He had his normal height fear issues apparently. I have the same so I cannot blame him for that one. He did tell me that he was stuffed in the minivan drive down and there was no seat belt for him. I was not pleased, but nothing bad had occurred and I could not turn back time to deal with it, so I figured it was done. I told him not to tell his mother. She would get upset and do nothing but fret. Worry about what could have occurred, losing sight of the FACT, that nothing did occur. Besides, unless she could back in time, what good would telling her do?
What does he do? He tells her. Needless to say, I had a good yell at him. He did watch "Daredevil" in the van on the way down. I was pissed about that one. When we were in the Domincan, it was on television one night before he was going to bed. I was watching it, but he started to whinge about how the beginning was "scary". Instead of listening to me and seeing it so he could put the events into context, he just reacted like the wife. I had to listen to "he is scared" and turn the channel. I was pissed about that because again there was a larger picture that both of them failed to appreciated.
The wife does not like "Heroes". She finds it too violent. Again, no contextual examination on her part. I explained to her that it is like a comic book, at least a Marvel or DC comic that I recall as a kid (I loved Spiderman, Ironman, Daredevil and got into X-Men). They were dark and violent, but it was all about the obstacles and trials "good" had to endure to triumph over "evil". It is like life in that we all have obstacles to overcome in order to move forward. No big deal.
She claims that it is not "comic book" like. I then have to turn to her and say, "You read fucking Archie comics and Richie Rich! It is not like those and besides neither of those was even remotely funny! Read a Marvel comic and see what I mean." I got a grudging "maybe" and that was that. The good thing is that she has aerobics when it begins so I am well into the show when she comes home. She knows I will not change it, so she has to watch it. It is a good show and it sets up like a comic book.
It is a live action version of X-Men. The "powers" seem to be similar with different types of people having them. There is a teenage cheerleader who has the super healing power of Wolverine. She does not carry his emotional baggage (again read the comic, see the movies). I am always fascinated by these things because they all hit home. The sense of a greater purpose, powers, abilities and curses, grappling with a sense of self and societal alienation. Common themes in humanity, literature and teenagers. That is what Stan Lee spoke to back in the 60s when his most famous characters were "born".
That is all for today. I could go into a familial rant but I will not. Ciao!
Friday, October 20, 2006
Apparently, you do not have to be a man to stink at Mayfair. Or smelly enough for a man, but the Stink of a Woman (the one not starring Al Pacino)
I am back. Sorry, I have neglected the posting for a couple of days but I was uninspired. I need me a muse. Somebody who inspires me to be funny and write. I will be taking applications so send it along to whomever you think may be a good muse for me.
That bit of housekeeping out of the way, there is a new entrant into Mayfair's stinkiest member. Oddly enough, it is not Stinky Guy this time. It was some woman. Now, her smell may be worse. She is trying to mask her woman stink by dousing herself in some sort of perfume. I am thinking it is Eau de Make Me Want To Vomit Once My Lightheadedness Goes Away. I think it is the newest scent from Calvin Klein ("Ocean" did not sell that well but Tia was a great model for the magazine ad spread).
It gets better. I overhear her telling one of the fitness instructors/trainers who will be "working" with her, that she came from work and "felt" like she was dirty and smelled. I see, she feels "dirty and stinky" and chooses to try to mask by dousing herself with a perfume. I would love to say it smelled like and Airwick in a sewer but I could not get beyond the stink of the perfume. Strong enough for a man, but made for an elephant. A dainty fucking elephant, not to say this woman was or is an elephant but she may be prone to elephant stink, which is just fucking unnatural in ANY human being who has spent a life time exposed to indoor plumbing.
The galling thing about it is that Mayfair has showers. If she came from work and felt "dirty" and "smelly", she could have easily taken a short shower BEFORE she worked out. I know that is too much trouble and takes too much time. It is better to pull a fucking Pepe Le Pew and douse yourself with some artificial stink spray, that presumably smells nice if a reasonable amount is used, so as to bother anybody who is unfortunate enought to come within nose shot. Nothing like offending others because you are too fucking lazy, or dim, to take a fucking shower. If that is not the height of selfish, I am not sure what is. Hell, even I would not do something like that. If I think I stink, which I most certainly do not, I take fucking shower! It is not difficult!
That got me wondering about woman stink. I have had the mispleasure of smelling man stink (see Stinky Guy and his toxic gas cloud). I never see commercials with guys saying how they just do not feel "fresh". I guess it is not a male thing to want to feel "fresh". And how does a female not feel "fresh"? I am not sure, but I may have an inkling, what that is all about. I figure is you are not fresh or feeling fresh, again I am not sure what it is to "feel" fresh, then take a fucking shower/bath and quit telling me about your lack of freshness. I am not sure if covering up the problem, masking it with some sort of perfume, is the way to go.
Did this woman take a steaming dump beforehand? If so, take a shower. I mean there is no secret to it and they do not hide the showers at Mayfair. Of course, I have never been in the women's change area and shower, so I really have no first hand knowledge. But I have to figure
if there were no showers a lot of woman folk would have complained and I would have heard about that.
In any event, I am no longer near that smell so my head is no longer hurts each time I inhale. With that I should get ready for another crazy Friday night dinner with the outlaws. Have a fantastic weekend. Ciao!
That bit of housekeeping out of the way, there is a new entrant into Mayfair's stinkiest member. Oddly enough, it is not Stinky Guy this time. It was some woman. Now, her smell may be worse. She is trying to mask her woman stink by dousing herself in some sort of perfume. I am thinking it is Eau de Make Me Want To Vomit Once My Lightheadedness Goes Away. I think it is the newest scent from Calvin Klein ("Ocean" did not sell that well but Tia was a great model for the magazine ad spread).
It gets better. I overhear her telling one of the fitness instructors/trainers who will be "working" with her, that she came from work and "felt" like she was dirty and smelled. I see, she feels "dirty and stinky" and chooses to try to mask by dousing herself with a perfume. I would love to say it smelled like and Airwick in a sewer but I could not get beyond the stink of the perfume. Strong enough for a man, but made for an elephant. A dainty fucking elephant, not to say this woman was or is an elephant but she may be prone to elephant stink, which is just fucking unnatural in ANY human being who has spent a life time exposed to indoor plumbing.
The galling thing about it is that Mayfair has showers. If she came from work and felt "dirty" and "smelly", she could have easily taken a short shower BEFORE she worked out. I know that is too much trouble and takes too much time. It is better to pull a fucking Pepe Le Pew and douse yourself with some artificial stink spray, that presumably smells nice if a reasonable amount is used, so as to bother anybody who is unfortunate enought to come within nose shot. Nothing like offending others because you are too fucking lazy, or dim, to take a fucking shower. If that is not the height of selfish, I am not sure what is. Hell, even I would not do something like that. If I think I stink, which I most certainly do not, I take fucking shower! It is not difficult!
That got me wondering about woman stink. I have had the mispleasure of smelling man stink (see Stinky Guy and his toxic gas cloud). I never see commercials with guys saying how they just do not feel "fresh". I guess it is not a male thing to want to feel "fresh". And how does a female not feel "fresh"? I am not sure, but I may have an inkling, what that is all about. I figure is you are not fresh or feeling fresh, again I am not sure what it is to "feel" fresh, then take a fucking shower/bath and quit telling me about your lack of freshness. I am not sure if covering up the problem, masking it with some sort of perfume, is the way to go.
Did this woman take a steaming dump beforehand? If so, take a shower. I mean there is no secret to it and they do not hide the showers at Mayfair. Of course, I have never been in the women's change area and shower, so I really have no first hand knowledge. But I have to figure
if there were no showers a lot of woman folk would have complained and I would have heard about that.
In any event, I am no longer near that smell so my head is no longer hurts each time I inhale. With that I should get ready for another crazy Friday night dinner with the outlaws. Have a fantastic weekend. Ciao!
Tuesday, October 17, 2006
Finally, I speak of NK Nukes
I am back. The world is an absurd place. That is all that I can say. Have you heard the North Korean response to the UN Security Council (security? This group could not work adequate security for a grade school presentation) sanctions in response to the NK's test of a nuclear bomb? They consider it, get this, a "declaration of war".
How fucking absurd is this? They go against world opinion and dire warnings from most of the world and test their nuclear device. In doing so, they make their one benefactor in the world, China, look feeble and ignorant. They embarrass the Chinese and in essence flip the world the finger. They do all this and then consider the repercussions a "declaration of war". I guess this is as opposed to starving their people, maintaining the worlds fourth largest army (which, by the way, has not seen ANY combat in over 50 years) and building and testing nukes contrary to the wishes of the world and their largest benefactor, but the Security Council's response is a "declaration of war"? Well, fuck it, let the fucking war begin.
If they want a war, then it seems to be that the present is the time to do it. Even with a million man army, they have no food. They may have 50 years of arms built up but then again they are old. If their missile test is anything to look at, their technology is rudimentary at best and very unreliable. They do run the risk of blowing themselves up as much as hitting their targets. There is no evidence that they can arm those missiles with nuclear warheads at this time, as well. I am thinking that the best worst case scenario is to go to war with them now.
I realize it is very easy for me to say from the safety of my home in North America. I may have a different opinion if I were living in China (would I know this whole thing was going on if I did?) or South Korea, and maybe Japan and Taiwan. Those first two would bear the brunt of a land war with refugees streaming in both directions. It is not "good" but can you let Kim Jong-il get stronger and more proficient with their nukes and missile technology?
The dude is like Dr. Strangelove or Blofeldt from SPECTRE (the good Bond films of the 60s). He cannot shoot straight and has a crude means of extortion, but it has worked until now. I am just thinking that with their "declaration of war" response, poetic justice may be a Tomahawk missile strike right up his ass. I think that would solve things in the short term. You would still have to "destroy" those high up underneath him as well. Then you have the issue of feeding his starving people. It is not a simple situation, there are too many moving parts.
Just look at the dude, though. That hair, those glasses. Would you buy a used nuclear warhear, er car, from this dude? Dig the suit and the look of being an egg on stilts. You have to love the chicken legs that "Great Leader" has. Look to the top of the post as I cannot figure out how to load the fucking picture where I want it. (I get what I pay for, obviously, but then again, I have a voice here, disembodied, but a voice nonetheless)
He has, along with his dead father, Kim Il Sung, have so isolated his country from the rest of the world, except China. They have nothing they can trade, save for rocks, and finished nukes. We can all thank that Pakistani "hero" A. Q. Khan for all this, as he sold the technology to the North Koreans (Iranians and Libyans, too). He is one great humanitarian, like the Muslim Oppenheimer, without the same sense of angst about the consequences. Knowledge without conscience is a dangerous thing. I will say they have done a better job as a father-son despot thing than the Duvaliers in Haiti, but of course, Haiti is an economic and political basket case and has been since the beginning of time.
The country does resemble what I imagined life would be like in Oceania in Orwell's "1984". I loved that book, having first read it in 1978 at the age of 14. That is why the whole thing strikes me as absurd. Dear Leader Kim Jong-il has studied Western movies. He has now taken on the character of the mad antagonist in a James Bond film, but better, he is fucking modern day Dr. Strangelove, without Peter Sellers charm. Fucking world we live! Then again, it beats the Black Death (good old plague days of the dark and middle ages, but of course, that is a rat story for another day).
I think this was a disjointed post and I hope the picture of Dear Leader appears. If it does not, then only one conclusion can be drawn, the North Koreans' have inflitrated my computer and none of us are safe, then again, none of us are truly safe. Warming and drying thought for this wet and rainy Tuesday. Ciao!
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