The Donald is back and some people just never learn

I am back. I was watching the Apprentice last night. I enjoy the show but I see through the Donald. He is great because he is a huckster and promoter extraordinaire. I am not sure about he substance and he does blow a lot of hot air. Anyway, it is apprarent that Summer will be brought into the boardroom and Lenny, the Russian, tells her straight out that in the boardroom to keep her mouth shut if need be.

She is in the boardroom, deservedly so as she did NOTHING. Donald is reaming out Tarek the project manager who is a member of Mensa. I am listening to his arguments and still cannot figure out why he brough both Lee and Lenny into the boardroom. Oh yeah, spite. For such a bright guy he is a bit dim and knows little about power and how to wield it. It was quite enjoyable as a lesson for you kids out there. Never let your emotions, especially anger, rule your decisions. If he had been as smart as he seems to think himself to be, he would have let the slight he felt from Lee pass and strike at him at a later time. Now, he has an enemy (or two) on his own team and will expend energy fighting them off, while they are strong in the knowledge that they can attack at any point and together (the enemy of my enemy is my friend).

Anyway, back to Summer. She was supposed to call some restaurant owners about their promotion at Sam's Club, she made three calls, spoke to one and gave up. If she had just banged the phones for a while, who knows. Well, Trump is reaming Tarek out and is about to lower the boom on him, on the basis of Lenny and Lee's arguments and unwarranted presence in the boardroom, when that idiot Summer interupts him.

There it is. Lenny warned her. It has happened before. She obviously could not read the situation, opens her mouth, pisses Donald off and he has no choice but recall that she was useless in the task and send her packing. Then her send off was full of sour grapes. She cannot figure out what she did "wrong" and that her teammates and all were "stupid". She could not learn from them. Funny, but you can learn something from anyone, you just have to keep your eyes and ears open and your mouth shut.

I would say lesson learned but obviously not as this not the first time this shit has happened. Well, that is a sign of what is going on in my head (not much, yet a lot) as I can see the larger game here. It is a game of power and how to attain it or at least be near the seat of it. Fun stuff, indeed. Where is Iago when you need him? I need him to fetch me a drink. Ciao!

Death meets 70s television

I am back. I can honestly say nothing funny occurred to me this weekend. I have nothing funny to say. I am also not in the mood to tell about my time on the road for GSM. I did see the news this weekend though. It was a tough time for those who spent anytime on television in the 70s. I am now thinking that if you were on television in the 70s and are in your 80s then keep your eyes open as the Grim Reaper seems to be pissed off with your "class".

Word came out that Don Knotts (81), Mr Limpett, Barney Fife and Ralph Furly (Three's Company-70s television), Darren McGavin (83) Carl Kolchak, The Night Stalker, and Dennis Weaver (81), McLeod all died this weekend. The sad part is that both my wife and I thought that Don Knotts was already dead. Oh well, I guess he joins Floyd the Barber in the great Mayberry barbershop in the sky.

I am not sure what, if anything, it all means, but it is something to ponder. Of the three, Don Knotts had the most well known career with work in television and on the big screen. I was not a fan of McLeod and Gunsmoke, so Dennis Weaver had little relevance to me. I did watch McMillan and Wife, once it had gone into syndication. They and Columbo were part of NBC's mystery series. I did like Quincy though, in case anybody was wondering.

The Night Stalker and Carl Kolchak (Darren McGavin) left the most lasting impression. It started as a made for television movie about vampires. It was dark and creepy. It was rather scary as it was dark and mysterious. The series got silly when he would search stories, he was a reporter, about vampires, ghosts, witches and werewolves. It suddenly had a Scooby Doo feel to it, and I could not, still cannot too, stand Scooby Doo, though that Daphne was a cartoon babe, but Velma makes me want to wretch.

In thinking, Velma makes Peppermint Patty from Peanuts look attractive. I do wonder if they were all lesbians. That is the sad thing. Even more sad is that I am coming to the realization that the deaths of Darren McGavin, Dennis Weaver and Don Knotts has me talking about cartoon babes and their sexual orientation. What the fuck is wrong with me? Ciao!

Well, at least I got you here

I am back. I am your faithful scribe, yet I do not have another story of the silly things that naked men do. I am thinking that is a good thing. Then again, what do I know? Now, I am just wasting your time. I am glad you tuned in but I got nothing right now. I am typing for the sake of typing so go on and have a great weekend. Ciao!

Just when I think I have hit the bottom of the "strange" barrel, a new entrant appears

I am back. I am just sitting here listening to "Feel the Pain" by Dinosaur Jr. I love this song. I would "sing" it while trading as a tribute to my trading buddy Andy. He went to school at UMass in Amherst, MA and that is where Dino Jr. (and the Lou Barlow world of projects originated along with the Pixies for that matter). I feel the pain of everyone, then I feel nothing. That pretty much sums me up. If anybody wants to understand me, that is it, written large.

Okay, enought about that. I keep thinking that just when I think I have seen it all, somebody does something to add to the nutbar parade. Again, the setting is Mayfair and the shower (it sounds more gay than it is, but what can I say, when I am naked I can only observe). If it is not naked guys in socks, naked guys in running shoes or a wet, naked guy using the pay phone, it is something else. Yesterday, was that something else. A crazy haired dude, like Kramer gone wrong (or without style) was in the shower, washing only his feet (in flip flops) wearing his underwear. What the fuck is up with that?

Damn, I have my underwear on but my feet seem dirty. Guess I will just go stand in the shower and wash them. It is not as if the water can spray and wet my underwear (there is a comfortable feeling--see my post regarding my 40th birthday somewhere in the archives). By the way, I was being sarcastic if that was not coming across, of which I cannot really be sure considering I do not get direct feedback (hint) in this medium. To quote Dr Phil (TV Psychobabble Quack), "What were you thinking?"

It is beyond me, but now I am anticipating my next visit. I used to go because of my obsession with working out and fitness, now I want to see the latest in strange, naked, male behavior. At least life is not dull, though it is banal. Ciao!

Random rant about what I do not know

I am back. Well, up here in Canada, Bell Canada, the largest telephone company has been found guilty of overcharging its customers. I am no longer a Bell customer. I shifted the long distance away years ago and then did home service about a year ago. The final straw was when those assholes "gave away" my phone number, which I had since 1993 and when I called on the cell to say there is a problem with my line, they tried to upsell me a maintenance service contract for the internal wiring. Like I cared. When the tech came and found the problem and told me, I was incensed.

I switched. Then I read they were found guilty by the CRTC of overcharging customers. The best part is that the no money will be refunded. The money will be forced into better servicing low population areas. For the longest time, we city dwellers have subsidized the rural dwellers. Now, with the advent of satellite services and cell phones, the disconnect of those outside of cities in Canada has been better met. Thank those self proclaimed geniuses at the CRTC (a Canadian version of the FCC in the US, though rather further behind the techonology curve and with a "cultural" mandate to effect, that is why there is Canadian content and the use of US satellite service, both television and radio, is illegal, but how the fuck are they going to stop radio waves from permeating our borders when they cannot stop illegal aliens?) think the money that was "stolen" from Bell customers belongs not to those who have been wronged but to others who may "need".

Somebody shake me. Has Canada become a Marxist utopia? From those who are able to those who need! I am unsure where the fuck that fits in with the CRTC mandate, but given how far behind the curve they are and have been for so long, I am sure they can make it fit. As I think about this whole thing, I am starting to froth at the mouth. It is a good thing it is at the mouth, because froth at any other orifice would be cause for alarm. It would also be another example of how disgusting life is.

I am not putting down life. I love life and all the absurdity that goes along with it. It is just an observation that birth, death, sex and all the stuff of life is pretty disgusting, if thought by a member of a hygienic society. I wish we could get Stinky Guy into hygienic society, but one rant at a time. That is all for this as I have to leave and take the lad to skating. Life in Canada. Ciao!

M-I-C, I hate rodents!

I am back. Damn, just when I thought it was safe to live in the house again, I had another critter sighting. There I was on Friday night, around eleven thirty, watching television while my wife was fast asleep on the couch next to me, snoring away, when what should emerge from under the door to the washing machine but a critter. It poked its head, whole body really, out to say "hello, I am here".

The rat bastard! (Maybe that is not a good term to use here) I, of course, jump up and say something along the lines of "Holy Fuck!". This rouses the wife from her slumbers and sets her heart racing. Now, I have to tell what I saw and deal with her panic, my own sense of panic, and the fact that we still have critter(s) sharing, or is that squating, in our house. She is still in wake up mode so she is not focusing on the area when the critter decides to come out again.

I get up and tell it to get back under the door. The foolish critter listens. The wife "runs" upstairs to bed leaving me to deal with things. It is late and I do not want a fight. I mean what am I going to do, catch it in a pail, take it outside, fill a garbage can halfway with water, toss in critter, let the deep freeze do its thing? It is not a bad idea, except for the cruelty involved, not that it was a real issue for me. It is the fact that the next day and for a while yet, I will have a critter-cicle on the driveway, and that is not good for ANYBODY.

I would put out more poison in the morning. In the meantime, I found some MDF boards and old ceramic tiles that I could use to block the the space between the doors and the floor. At least then it could not appear to us. I would only have to be careful when I did the laundry the next morning. I did that and told the wife and came down, again, to brush my teeth. I could hear the thing in there, trying to get out. Too bad, pays some rent and maybe we can talk things over.

To get a sense of what I think it is, you would have to name my favorite The Stranglers album, which I have on vinyl, on cassette, but have not got it in an MP3 or CD format. Too bad, but that is the quiz for the day. Good luck on that one.

I have told my family and they have given me many ideas of what to do. The funniest part is the my sister, living by a ravine, has had mouse troubles for the longest time. She and her husband have always had my mother come in and deal with the traps, setting and removal. My brother, in the same area, has had some mouse trouble but he is "afraid" to clean a trap and deal with the removal. He is the squeemish one.

His wife is pregnant and yesterday's dinner conversation was pre natal classes and child birth. Apparently, my brother figures his mother in law will be in the delivery room with his wife. They both think it better that way. All I could say was that I was there for the birth of my son. I can see how it could traumatize a guy. It is all surreal and messy.

I have longed held the view, since I saw the movie in grade twelve (1982) and the live show (1997) that birth and life, though a miracle, is rather disgusting and icky. Then as I think about it, the "making of the baby", though very pleasurable, is kind of disgusting and icky. It is messy, maybe that is what I mean. Keep in mind that I was raised by a father who felt the need to eat ribs with a knife and fork because of the mess.

I think that is where this is going. Life is messy and cruel. If it is not a woman passing something the size of a bowling ball through her birth canal (and then the gunk that follows, which was something to behold. Anybody know what kind of wine goes best with placenta?) it is freezing a critter in a bucket of water outside on a cold, windy night. It is always something! That is the true lesson, it is always something so take the humor out of it and laugh. The alternative is lying six feet under as worm feed. Have a happy day and ciao!

Just when I thought it was safe to open my eyes....

I am back. Just when I thought I had seen everything and it was safe to open my eyes, I was struck but the strange twice while at Mayfair. In the first instance, I got to the club and was down getting my locker when I spied that some dude (it was a dude since it was the men's locker room) had taken up a bench with his shit while he showered. I thought it rude and considered tossing his stuff, but figured that would only serve to inflame things. Then again, I could have lied about doing it.

Anyway, I have started to undress and put on my workout gear. I have my shirt and shorts on when the old dude (he had gray hair, what was left of it and was certainly older than me and older than 60, so we can call him OGHD, old gray haired dude) arrived on the scene. He was naked except for the pair of running shoes that he was wearing and they were tied up. I still think that the naked but for socks look is not good for any male, but the naked except for running shoes is even more perverse. I can honestly say that I have never seen anything like it before, though I can imagine seeing that sight at a nudist resort, where it would be one big nude-o-rama.

I was thinking about the naked except for socks look on men and figured out what I do not like about it. It is our "dangly bits". I think the look would be neutral at worst on a female because of their curvy bits. The eye follows the curves. With the male, the eye hits the dangly bits, tries to avoid looking and then sees the ridiculous sight of socks. Then one is forced to laugh and the viewee thinks you are laughing at his dangly bits. It can get out of hand and lead to either a fist fight or wrestling in the nude and nobody, I mean nobody, needs to see that.

Given the Winter Olympics, is it just me or do you see problem with two man luge. Guys, in tight gear, lying on top of other guys in tight gear as they slide down an ice track. I mean a mixed pairs luge would not look as gay as two man luge. That is just my observation. What is next two man skeleton where one guy lies on top of his teammate so that his genitals press against his partner's ass? Tell me that would not be gay. (Not that there is anything wrong with that)

Now the second thing is this. As I was leaving, I saw the strange dude. This is the guy that I have seen doing sit ups, naked, in the steam room. Would it be "gay" if somebody trips on him while he doing his situps, falls down and his member ends up in the strange dude's mouth? Just a question (not necessarily a good one). As I was saying, I saw the strange dude. It looked like he had cotton in his ear. He was naked and wet and on the pay phone. I am only left to wonder where he kept that quarter. Thanks man, but keep the change. There is a quarter that probably should be taken out of circulation and then have them burn the phone.

But I have to say, what the fuck is up with the cotton in the ears and use of the phone, naked and wet? Was the call THAT important? Really, where did you keep the quarter to use the pay phone? Why are you such a fucking freak? Though keep it up as it gives me something to tell my loyal friends and even the disloyal ones. Have a great weekend and Ciao!

Happy 1 Year of Posting

I am back. I am not sure why but I am. I just know that I am. Isn't that really all that we know? We are. or at least I am. Being a bit of a solopsist, I really do not believe that anybody but me exists. I have just created all those around me, like extras in a movie, who would not exist but for me.

It got me thinking about something that was funny. At least it was to me and my friend. We had gone down to Florida back in February of 1985. It was an early flight, so we had to be at the airport at around six in the morning. I was up at four thirty and did not get to bed until around two thirty. I will sleep when I am dead (thank you, Warren Zevon). At nine thirty in the morning, the flight attendant did talk us into having a drink. She had said since we had been up for over four hours, that it was really like four in the afternoon to our bodies. Suddenly, it seemed okay to have a double scotch at nine thirty. That was only the beginning.

Anyway, we get down to our hotel and all that. We go out drinking and have a fitful sleep. We spend another day at the beach, drinking, driving (not necessarily in that order, but it was the 80s and drinking and driving was encouraged--cup holders in cars that could hold beer cans, that is my proof). We were sitting around in a pretty delirious state, when I was able to put together a seemingly cogent argument to prove that my friend, Willie, to whom I was talking and vacationing, did not exist. It was so good that he started to laugh hysterically and he was convinced. I had been able to convince a tipsy, sleep deprived dude that he did not exist. For the life of me, I do not remember the logic that I used.

That is what I mean by solopsism at its finest. Anyway, I want to say that the funny thing is that Willie and I departed for Florida on this date in 1985 and one year ago (twenty years after that journey began) I posted my first entry in this blog. Ciao!

Valentine's Day Greetings and Thought

I am back. I came across this tidbit and will ask my question later.

Students embracing virtual sex
By Natalie ArmstrongTue Feb 14, 8:24 AM ET
Call it a sexual revolution of the virtual kind -- young Canadians are practicing a new style of safe sex and the only touching required involves a keyboard.
Of more than 2,500 university and college students polled across Canada, 87 percent of them are having sex over instant messenger, webcams or the telephone, according to results of a national survey released on Monday.
"We were very surprised," Noah Gurza, a founder of Toronto-based CampusKiss.com, an online dating community for students, which commissioned a Canadian CampusKiss & Tell Survey.
"We did realize that new technologies are always embraced by younger individuals, but we didn't think it would've reached such a high number."
Gurza said most post-secondary school students grew up using computer technology, and their lives currently revolve around technology, so it makes sense that it would extend to their sex lives.
"It's now extended within their sexual world, whether it be as a social lubricant as a means to then engage in something that's more real, in more real time, or if it's just a means in itself of pleasuring here and there," he said.
Some 2,684 students from more than 150 university and college campuses across Canada took part in the survey. Fifty-one percent of the participates were female and 49 percent were male.
Of those surveyed, 53 percent of students enjoyed sex over instant messenger, while 44 percent did the deed using a webcam and over the phone.
When it comes to having actual sex, eighty-seven percent of those polled claimed to be sober at the time. Ninety percent of students who responded said their campus promotes and supports safe-sex practices.

On this Valentine's Day, which is a crock of shit as far as I am concerned, but that is me, ever the romantic, I have only one pertinent question. Actually, I wonder why we "need" a day to celebrate our love, when it really should be done every day, especially in how we live, but that is a sappy story for another day. With virtual sex, who ends up sleeping in the virtual wet spot?

Ciao and enjoy!

The trouble with watching what you eat

I am back. I was thinking earlier that I was not getting enought trans fats in my diet. That is why I now find myself eating a tub of Crisco with a large spoon. It is kind of like eating ice cream, without the vanilla or chocolate flavor. The funny thing is that after the first spoonful, it all slides down rather easily. It cannot be any worse for me than eating Cool Whip. I am going to finish this and see what happens, but as I hit the mid way point, I am slowing down and the room is kind of starting to spin.

It is much like drinking too much, without the loss of coordination. I am really starting to feel it, though. If I do not finish this, it is a bit of dare, kind of like I dare you to go hunting with Vice President Cheney, I can always spread some on my feet and the floor and go for a skate on the granite. I am sure my wife would appreciate that, but I could always tell her I was training for the 2010 Whistler/Vancouver Olympics for short track speed skating. In reality, it would be short track Crisco skating, which would really have a field of one, me.

I am going to go for a slide, so ciao!

Life on the inside, of the institution

I am back. I had a whole lot to say today, but as usual I forgot it all. I was reading about kids and adults who have night terrors. I do not have night terrors. I do, however, have day terrors. I get really dirty looks when they occur and I am out in public. I am not sure that the looks are dirty, they may be more looks of horror and fear, so I have that going for me.

I was just on Craigslist in the casual encounters section. It is all voyeuristic and my way to keep an eye on some of the more depraved, or is that liberated, members of the human race. I came across one ad title that has me wondering. "Any girls wnat (sic) to come jerk me off at CAMH I'm an in patient m4w 28" is how the title reads. Now for those of you who do not know, CAMH is the Centre for Addiction and Mental Health. It is the combination of the former Addiction Research Foundation, Clarke Institute (a psychiatric hospital or is the insane asylum) and the Queen Street Mental Health Centre (I think). So here we have a dude, either insane or addicted, sending out an offer to all the ladies to come over and give him a hand job in a mental institution (let's call it what it is).

Give the dude credit for sheer ballsiness, which may be the reason he "needs" the hand job. He could be so "backed up" with sperm that his balls are hanging down to the ground. I am merely speculating here. I am just wondering about ANY female who would consider the offer. Do you tell your mother?

Picture that conversation and the mother bragging to her friends afterward. My Susan (I picked a name out of thin air as I do not really know any Susan or at least one who is willing to give hand jobs to in patients in a nut house, I know I should not be so judgemental, damn "mental" just keeps appearing here) is such a good girl and citizen. Others may feed the homeless, not my Susan. She gives hand jobs, asking nothing in return, to patients in addiction and psychiatric institutes, and I do not mean the doctors. We are so proud of her and her work in the community.

It all just makes me wonder, then again, nothing ventured, nothing gained. But how is the dude getting internet access? My head is spinning (I know) just trying to figure this one out. Who in their "right" mind would respond to this one? Will it be another in patient, I mean she is already there and does not need to commute to get this dude off. Where in the hospital is the "rub and tug" room? Will he be hooked up to the ECT (electroconvulsive Therapy) machine while she is doing her rubbing and tugging, which I hear just heightens the orgasm? So many questions from such a simple request, I just do not know.

On a sadder note, Franklin Cover, the actor who played Tom Willis on the Jeffersons, died. He is joining his "wife", Roxie Roker. Does that mean that Lenny Kravitz is now an orphan? Poor Lenny, first his mother dies and then her television husband dies. It is a sad day in the Kravitz household and my heart goes out to him.

That is all for the week. Ciao!

There's a rat, or a mouse, in the kitchen. What am I going to do?

I am back. People from PETA should not read beyond this point. I have not written about the "critter" issue we had here. It seems we had a "visitor" in the house for about a year. It all started last February. My wife bought this Valentine's candy corn. It was pink, white and red instead of the usual white, orange and black of Halloween. Anyway, she puts it all in a candy dish. That night we had some, but there were many left in the dish. We wake up, go into the kitchen and see that all but one of the candy corn are gone.

When the wife discovers this, she goes ape shit trying to figure out what has happened. The first one to be accused was me. Now, I am not complaining. When I grew up, it was dangerous to leave food lying around the kitchen. My father or brother would hide my, or other family members) stuff. There would be laughter at the search and the look of bewilderment on the victim's face as he or she tried to fathom how their plate had disappeared in the time it took to turn around. I played along in the game, too. I have brought it to my home with my wife. It is like Atlas family tradition, which is rather sad when I think about it but it was all we able to bring with us from the "Old Country". Damn nation of immigrants!

The more she accused me, the more I laughed, the more she and our son thought it was me. Let me categorically say that I am not a fan of candy corn and to quote Bart Simpson, "I didn't do it." I did not. I was just enjoying the reaction so much and how "sure" they were in their conclusions, no matter how wrong. Suddenly, I became the only explanation.

Knowing that I did not do it, I started to think of other explanations. I mean the Laws of Physics have not ceased to exist in my kitchen. Though, it would be kind of cool if that were true, then I could time travel out of my kitchen. In fact, the microwave may be the time machine's controls. If I put instant coffee in it I can travel in time. It is true. Anyway, I was kicking around ideas. I was confounded by two things, one is why there be ONE candy corn remaining? Did the taker not want to seem a pig about things? Was there vanity involved?

It made me think a possibility was a sleep walking, and candy corn eating, family member. I do think that I would have heard the lad get out of bed or the wife for that matter. I can be a sound sleeper, so it was possible, but there was no physical evidence to make a conclusion.

I also thought it could be a critter. I was confounded by the second thing, there was no evidence of a visitor. I could see no droppings.......unless those weren't raisins. Uh oh! Shit! I ate mouse shit! Ewwwwww! Kidding, I am not a big raisin eater and the rest of the family are anti-raisin so there are none in the house. I am bothered by no physical evidence.

Meanwhile, back at the ranch, the wife, and by extension and silly, blind loyalty, lad, can ONLY conclude it was me. It was funny, in a sad way, that they could not, or really would not, try to come up with other theories and test to see if the what was seen and known was plausible according the theory. I almost wish I had done it just for the reaction, confusion and fear, that the whole situation was elliciting from the other two. That was priceless. I doubly wish I had done it because I did not want to deal with a visitor.

I let it be as I did not see, smell, hear or sense anything out of the ordinary. Meanwhile, the wife could not come up with a physical and plausible reason for the missing candy corn. Who leaves just one?! I am still confounded by that. Unless, it was a genius attempt to drive me mad with a superfluous detail that has no meaning (Red Herring), the diabolical rodent. Anyway, she next concluded that it was a ghost or poltergiest. There was a likely option! Thanks for the help, honey. That answered all the questions. I go to sleep and she stays awake hoping for, or against, a ghost sighting. Boo!

Later in the year, things had settled down and the mystery stayed just that. I was in our basement bathroom when I heard some scuffling behind the drywall. I put two and two together and got four. Then I figured that answered part of the question, but raised others that were more unpleasant. Again, I still have seen no droppings or a sighting but I continue to hear something back there from time to time. I am in no mood to tear up drywall and repair it and could not find a point of access from the outside, but what does that really mean?

Anyway, to make a long story short, a couple of weeks ago, I had a sighting. I saw something run under the washing machine and into a hole, which I knew existed, behind the washing machine, which is beside the bathroom in the basement. The hole is where the PVC pipe that allows the washing machine to drain meets the main drain out of the house. That answered it all for me, except, mouse or rat. I still do not know the answer to that one as I did not examine the stinking body nor do I really care.

I put out a mousetrap with peanut butter as bait beside the washing machine (there is not much room there). In one day, I had good news and bad news. The good was that the trap was set off, the bad was that the bait was gone and there was no critter in the trap. There looked there was some blood, but I did not get the crew from CSI in (or Quincy in another time, the 70s) to check it out. There was silence for a few days and then more noise from behind the wall.

The next choice was the poison. I was against the poison because of the chance of a dead and rotting critter stinking up my bathroom. Obviously that job is left for me and me alone. Anyway, that was the choice as I wanted the thing gone, potential stinks be damned, I will deal with them when they or if they arrive. I smashed up the blue stuff, given the color of it I wonder how bright the critter could have been. It was blue and as we all know there are no naturally occurring blue foods (thank you, George Carlin for pointing that out to me). If you say "blueberries", which I love, they are purple.

I put the crap in a plastic bait station and wedged it beside the washing machine. Anyway, when I looked at the station again the next day, it had moved. Then last Wednesday, we heard a lot of commotion in the plastic while we were watching television. The wife got "scared" and ran upstairs to watch television (out of her sight, out of her mind). I stayed to watch the rest of the Raptor game. I am not afraid of no critter, unless rabid then it is every man, woman or child for himself. My wife can turn tail and run, but I refused to do so. That was the last we heard of the thing. I baited the station again on Monday but it had not moved.

Yesterday, my wife walks in the house and says "something smells like garbage". I could not smell it at the time, but then did. I kept hearing her say that something stinks. Again, thanks for the insight but that has been established. Tell me where the smell is coming from! She has a great sense of smell, but it is limited to "something stinks". It is not like my late father. He could tell you something stunk, but he could also smell a rat fart from 45 kilometers and tell you what the rat had eaten for lunch.

To make a long story short, she found something under the fridge. I had to move the fridge but could only find enourmous dust bunnies. That in and of itself was unpleasant. I was vacuuming the dust, when I saw tail. I was able to move the fridge and push the body towards the side. I put it in a bag and out it went. The source of the smell and likely candy corn thief was gone and not a moment too soo.

Isn't that a happy story? Ciao!

The driving spawn of Britney Spears

I am back. So there you have it, Britney Spears was spotted driving her car with her infant son in her lap. All I can say is NATURAL SELECTION. It is a dead baby waiting to happen. It is bad enough that the father is Kevin Federline, but to drive with the infant in her lap, what the hell is she on? It is always a risk/reward thing and I am hard pressed to see the "reward" here, especially when compared to the risk. Then again, it is her child, so as sad as it could have been, the end result is one, ultimately, of genetics.

She claims to have done it because of a "frightful encounter with the paparazzi". What she was having the baby drive "getaway"?!!!! And frightful encounter with the paparazzi cannot be any more frightful than an encounter with papa (Kevin Federline, useless sac of protoplasm from where I sit). As I re-read that, it comes off as nasty. I will leave it in.

To get her baby out of "harm's way" she put her baby in greater danger. At least the kid got to drive, though reacing the gas and brake would have been a bitch. The use of the baby as driver would throw those paparazzi off (my eyes are rolling now). Man, she is a dumb girl from the bayou. Then again, I am now thinking of her kiss with Madonna and I am getting all warm and fuzzy. Excuse me for a bit.

I am back and much better. Anyway, I am done. Keep your eyes open for driving babies though. Ciao!

STEELERS!

I am back. I forgot to mention something yesterday.....STEELERS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I want to thank my, I have long taken ownership of this team, Pittsburgh Steelers won the franchise's fifth Super Bowl on Sunday. I remember the first four fondly, but then again being a pre-teen and teen at the time, it something to recall fondly. I had a full head of straight hair then, and permed head for the third (1979).

It got me to thinking about my hair again. I know it was the style back in the disco days (daze?) to have perms. We all wanted to look like Gino Vanelli. Now, the style is is not nearly as hairy. I did not want to look like Gino Vanelli. In fact, I thought he really looked like Chewbacca with a perm. That was never a look I aspired to.

In late 1978, the dude who cut my hair, given how straight my hair is/was it had only 1 style so I cannot call the dude a stylist, talked me (and my mother) into giving me the full perm. I sat there with curlers in my hair, smelling that perming solution, which by the way was and is a more pleasant smell than the reek emitted by Stinky Guy. It was freakish. When all was said and done, my hair, long, fine and straight, was curly. I took the bus home.

I could not escape the smell of that perming solution, though. It was not pleasant. Nobody told me that I should not wash my hair afterward, so I tried to wash that smell out with a few different shampoos to no avail. I guess that was why the curl was uneven. One side was puffier than the other, but looking back, perhaps that is my head. Then again, my second perm in 1979 was even and better......until it grew out and I had long straight hair at the top and these curls hanging on the bottom. My grade 10 school picture is quite a sight, but then again there were very few 15 year olds that took a good picture. Damn those gawky adolescent years, then again I did not care.

On my walk home from the bus stop, my mother would drive right past me. She said she did not recognize me when I gave her shit when I walked in the door. It made sense then, but subsequent events, life, makes me question her explanation. Then again, she has never, to the best of my knowledge, locked herself in the bathroom, so.....

I went to my friend Neil's house on our way to our other friend Neil's house. I got to the first house, and Neil 1 saw my hair and laughed his ass off. It was cruel in a sense, but Karma is a bitch and he would get his hair uppance later. He would end up with wild hair, so much so that when he arrived at my engagement party, he told me his hair was a mess because he had driven to the party with the window down. Given the disaster on head that morning, I think he drove with the window down and his head out of the window.

We get to Neil 2's house (around the corner) and Neil 2 chokes on his toothbrush. Why he was eating the thing, I still cannot understand. No laughter but his older brother had a perm. We went in the basement to see him and he and I compared notes and tugged on each other's curls. We bonded, but we would bond later in life as well. He is a great guy.

I got to school on the Monday and teachers would do a double take. In fact, the gym teacher would end up questioning my brother (6 years younger) if he was going to show up one day with curly hair like me. He did not.

I forgot to mention that with the curly hair, I had braces and that cheesy, teenage moustache. I was just too afraid to put a sharp blade on my face then. I would do it soon enough when Neil 2's brother would tell me that I looked like Ringo Starr. I just did not want to look like THAT Beatle, no offense Ringo. At least he did not say that I looked my mama beat me with an ugly stick, so thank goodness for small miracles.

Well, isn't it interesting how a Steeler victory in a Super Bowl got me on the subject of hair. Going to run. Ciao!

George S May Days 3

I am back. I have decided to go into the remainder of the trainging for GSM as today is the date on which we finished and I got to go home to see my family, for what was two days. Without going into the minutae of the training, I did have that epiphanic moment on day two. It dawned on me how clever the "procedure" was. It hit the client/prospect/sucker(?) at the most basic of levels, psychologically, fear and greed.

It was all designed to get the business owner to "realize" how they have buggered things up and in how much trouble their business and life was. It was not about selling a solution but selling the problem and then have them ask for "our" help. I figured it out on day two, when I could see how the questions and "findings" would take them to their own conclusion, the one I wanted. It was part courtroom attorney and part psychologist, sociopathic one, mind you, but a psychologist nonetheless.

I was take them on an emotional rollercoaster, but I was in charge and they would not really know it. It was perfect for me as it allowed me to get "inside" somebody else's head, which I am good at, push their emotional buttons. I loved that part.

On the Saturday, we found that Ms. Gill was not there but some old dude in the ugliest sweater imaginable was there. That sweater looked like a Bill Cosby reject, from the 80s. It was as if Jackson Pollack barfed on it. I would say wool, but acrylic was more like it. Poor dead acrylics, used to keep some old dude warm in the cold Chicagoland winter.

I needed some paper and asked the old dude, Jack Biggins. He stared me down, he had intense eyes, and said, "Do I look like somebody who gives a shit?" Mr. Biggins tell me what you really feel. The best part of that day was him coming close during a role play and me noticing that either his head was infested with caterpillars or he had more hair growing out his nose and ears than he had hair on his head. It was quite a look, not one I want to emulate, but then again, I am superficial and shallow.

The remainder of the time was a sort of same old, same old. The days on the road were the most fun and I will continue on with that later. Suffice it to say, packing up, checking out and getting on the plane back to Toronto, in my suit, was kind of liberating. I will say that after ten nights of a poor sleep in a strange bed, I found my first night at home in my own bed rather strange as well. I would learn that it was a hazard of the trade. Live and learn.

Ciao!

It must be hard

I am back. I forgot to write yesterday, duh. I came across the news that Romano Mussolini died at the age of 78. He was the son of Italian Fascist dictator Benito Mussolini. I was thinking that must be hard. It must be hard growing up the son of a dead dictator. The guy was discredited, sold his nation's soul to Nazi Germany and ended up like a human pinata, hanging in the breeze as his own people strung him up.

Romano was only 17 when he last saw his father. I figure that there were those who would say that the apple does not fall far from the tree. Considering how his father ended up, like an apple hanging on a tree, as people pelted it with rocks, I am pretty sure he would not want that said about him. He was a jazz musician.

I wonder how difficult it was to carry the Mussolini name. I mean what about little Stevie Hitler? How was life for him? Or even son of Ceaucescu in Romania, would be a hard act to follow. I think at some level we would all like to be the dictator (It's good to be the king, thank you Mel Brooks) but who among us wants to be the son or daughter of the dictator. Life may be okay as a child there but the shit hits the fan when you become an adult.

Where is Idi Amin's son, Lionel? You do not here much about him. What about Castro's son, Duane? Only in Haiti did one get a good passing of the baton from Papa Doc Duvalier to his son, and bad sparkling wine, Baby Duck, er I mean Doc, Duvalier. Of course, son could not hold power like Pere, so he is in exile while his country continues to rot. Though the sad history of Haiti may be fodder for another day.

The point I am trying to make is that we should not be so hard on the offspring of dictators as they do not have it that easy. Of course, the power to say "Off with this head" and the means to have somebody carry it through may be a fair trade off. Enjoy the weekend. Ciao.

Going Postal and other fun dances

I am back. I was taken by that woman in California (?), the former postal worker, who went back to her former place of employment and went, well...postal. She killed seven, I think, former co-workers, herself (I think, I really did not read for details, just scanned so I am fuzzy on the particulars of this one, but at least I admit that) and a former neighbor of hers when she lived in California. She had moved to New Mexico after losing her job, though it could be the opposite, where she did her killing in New Mexico and had moved to California, it does not really matter.

It was odd. This was not a female thing to do. This was very male. It was the cliche of going postal. I am struck how "ordinary" it has become. I was not "shocked" to hear of a postal worker or former postal worker going back to his place of employment and settling his grudges the American Way, with a gun. I am not slagging Americans or America here, it is just manifestation of some of the "costs" of American society. I think that the benefits outweigh the costs on whole, but there are things that could certainly be improved.

Anyway, I am just shocked at how ordinary this sort of thing is. Has Nancy Grace (I really loathe her, assuming that what I see is not merely her "show" facade) been going off on this one? I think she is more taken with the abductions and murders du jour. It almost too much to bear, but bear I will.

The Superbowl (XL) is set to go on Sunday. Being a Steelers fan from the 70s, I am relishing this. Go Steelers! Win a ring for the Bus and Coach Cowher!

That was quite the digression. Funny, but I think the thought train just jumped the track. This is uncharted water for me. I am working here without a safety net. I will be okay as long as I do not look down. Damn that vertigo. The room is spinning. If you hear a thud it is only me passing out. The feeling is gone now. Where was I?......

Oh yeah, ciao! Get ready to Go Postal! And a birthday send out to Mr. Hayeems, enjoy it where ever you are.

George S May Part 2

I am back. I have nothing else on my mind, so I will go back into the George S May story as it relates to me. When I finished last, I had arrived at the scenic La Quinta Inn in the Village of Elk Grove Village, IL, which has just too many "villages" in its name. It is rather redundant, but I do not live there, so I really do not care.

As the van was to pick "us", as I had not met any other trainees yet, up at 7:30 am in the lobby, I woke up at six to shower, dress and eat breakfast. I was up at five or so with some excitement. I did my thing and got on the shuttle bus to the training center where I met a dude from LA, who was in Vegas for a different training and was shuttled to Chicago for this training. He was originally in Field Services and these dudes are the "sales" people. We were training in Survey Services (Executive Analyst) and we were not selling services.

We get to "class" and I end up sitting in the back. I meet the dude next to me. He seems okay and we do lunch together. The training was a bit much. We went over the forms we had to fill out, and filled them out, those that were in the packet I received at the hotel. Our instructor, Diane Gill, was from the south and had a folksy charm about her. She started the teaching after we introduced ourselves to each other.

After class, I made dinner plans with they guy next to me, Bill, and Bruce from Dallas. The three of us hit the Spaghetti Warehouse, which was one of two restaurants beside the La Quinta. We each had a drink and then started to talk. The other two guys were divorce. Bruce's story was very poignant given he felt he had grown apart from his wife and they had two children that he loved dearly.

Bill's story was just too weird. I mean he was telling us about how he discovered that his wife was having an affair with a cop. He fished a used condom out of the garbage and confronted his wife with it. My "strange" detector started to flash. I just met you dude, that was WAY too much information. I mean, we divorced as she was cheating on me would have sufficed. No, we get details like the soiled condom, soiled by somebody other than he. I am now wondering if he examined the contents, but that is a story for another day.

I felt so out of it as I had a young child at home and was still married. The funny thing is that Bruce is a great guy and I have kept in touch with him, though it is not the easiest thing. He did remarry in April and I am happy for him. He is also a big Mavericks fan, so I am glad his team is doing as well as it is. Bill, on the other hand, was like a fish out of water, and those comments sort of pointed it out.

A couple of evenings later, the Friday, a bunch of us (at least 12) met at the Spaghetti Warehouse for another dinner. Bruce, who wears glasses, did not make it as his glasses broke and he had to go to Lenscrafters to get a new pair. I ended up sitting across from a lovely Southern Belle and the conversation was fun with Bill at the other side of the table. I would later find out that he told that story (soiled condom) to anybody who would listen. Odd but true.

That is all for this post. Ciao.