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!
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