Thursday, May 31, 2007
Do me a favor
Do me a small favor, all those who come to visit, and please hit the ad link. I am trying to whore myself and want the money that comes with those damned click throughs. I hate to ask, fuck that, I do not mind asking. It is just what I must do. Don't ask, don't get. Thanks and enjoy the show.
A father's pride
I am back. I am also beaming with pride. I did not mention that on Monday, I had attended, as usual, the Lad's baseball game. I even got to coach first base. In that game, the Lad had been swinging at pitches higher than his shoulder. If he made contact, he would end up pounding the ball down into the ground. His first at bat, he swung high, topped the ball for an easy ground out to the pitcher. I admonished him for swinging at something that high.
The message obviously did not sink in. His next at bat, he swings at a pitch over his head. Oddly enough he hits it, into the ground, but down the third base line (he bats from the left), so he singles and drives in a run. He gets to my base where I give a "good job" pat and then ask what he was doing swinging at a pitch over his head. On the way home, I tell him that he did hit the ball, but it was lucky and not by design. I then go on to explain that you have to play the game the "right way".
The right way is the way that gives you the greatest chance of success. In baseball, it is being patient at the plate and swinging at balls you can hit, hard. If you play that way, it may not always work out (nothing does) but you put yourself in the best position to succeed.
He did make a good outfield play that game. Unfortunately, he threw from left field to a third baseman who has no clue what is going in the game and cannot catch. He was pissed but I told him that he did the right thing. It was the right play to make and his execution, the only thing he can control, was excellent. You cannot control if the other players can or cannot catch, so you control yourself.
He has a make-up game yesterday evening for the Thursday game that was cancelled. His first at bat, he swings high, grounds out but drives in the runner from third. I am coaching first again and I give him a look. His second at bat, he waits, gets a lower pitch and pulls the ball "on a rope" into deep right field. It was another legitimate home run. His teammates were running on the field to greet him. It was great to see.
On another note, the coaches son was playing centerfield and was positioning the other outfielders. I liked that, somebody taking charge. He made a nice catch, too. The shortstop was amazing. He made ranged back to catch two flies and consistently got to balls and made the throws to get kids out at first. He is this little guy but he can throw across the diamond.
I am still beaming with pride over the home run, though. It is funny. He hit his only home run at the same park last year. His last at bat of the season and he actually wore his glasses that game and clubbed a homer. This time, he actually listened to me, succeeded because of it and now he can see I may know what I am talking about. Then again, maybe not.
That is my story for today. Ciao!
The message obviously did not sink in. His next at bat, he swings at a pitch over his head. Oddly enough he hits it, into the ground, but down the third base line (he bats from the left), so he singles and drives in a run. He gets to my base where I give a "good job" pat and then ask what he was doing swinging at a pitch over his head. On the way home, I tell him that he did hit the ball, but it was lucky and not by design. I then go on to explain that you have to play the game the "right way".
The right way is the way that gives you the greatest chance of success. In baseball, it is being patient at the plate and swinging at balls you can hit, hard. If you play that way, it may not always work out (nothing does) but you put yourself in the best position to succeed.
He did make a good outfield play that game. Unfortunately, he threw from left field to a third baseman who has no clue what is going in the game and cannot catch. He was pissed but I told him that he did the right thing. It was the right play to make and his execution, the only thing he can control, was excellent. You cannot control if the other players can or cannot catch, so you control yourself.
He has a make-up game yesterday evening for the Thursday game that was cancelled. His first at bat, he swings high, grounds out but drives in the runner from third. I am coaching first again and I give him a look. His second at bat, he waits, gets a lower pitch and pulls the ball "on a rope" into deep right field. It was another legitimate home run. His teammates were running on the field to greet him. It was great to see.
On another note, the coaches son was playing centerfield and was positioning the other outfielders. I liked that, somebody taking charge. He made a nice catch, too. The shortstop was amazing. He made ranged back to catch two flies and consistently got to balls and made the throws to get kids out at first. He is this little guy but he can throw across the diamond.
I am still beaming with pride over the home run, though. It is funny. He hit his only home run at the same park last year. His last at bat of the season and he actually wore his glasses that game and clubbed a homer. This time, he actually listened to me, succeeded because of it and now he can see I may know what I am talking about. Then again, maybe not.
That is my story for today. Ciao!
Wednesday, May 30, 2007
Thanks for stopping by
I am back. I am not sure why. I just have nothing to say. The muse has not been visiting me lately. I think she ran away after the Gay Men's Tennis Tournament at Mayfair. Since then, I have got nada, nothing, zip to say. Gahhhhhhhhh!!!!!
I would call it writer's block. I know some could say "you're not a real writer". To you then I say "Fuck Off!".
There I got that off my chest. Not much to report beyond that. I was informed yesterday that the Outlaws are coming for dinner on Friday. That is cool as they will be gone before 7. I am looking to arrive at 6 only to hear my father in law tell my mother in law that it is time for them to go. That is something for me to look forward to. It will be fun, NOT!
That is life or at least part of my life. I need some new material or at least some new friends. Gotta run, I have a baseball game to watch/coach. Ciao!
I would call it writer's block. I know some could say "you're not a real writer". To you then I say "Fuck Off!".
There I got that off my chest. Not much to report beyond that. I was informed yesterday that the Outlaws are coming for dinner on Friday. That is cool as they will be gone before 7. I am looking to arrive at 6 only to hear my father in law tell my mother in law that it is time for them to go. That is something for me to look forward to. It will be fun, NOT!
That is life or at least part of my life. I need some new material or at least some new friends. Gotta run, I have a baseball game to watch/coach. Ciao!
Monday, May 28, 2007
A kick in the balls. That's Entertainment!
I am back. It is another day of fun with "news". Here is a tidbit that I culled from AP via Yahoo!
Canada seeks man with groin-kick request
Mon May 28, 12:43 PM ET
Police in Ontario are looking for a man who allegedly approached women and asked them to kick him in the groin.
Three women reported similar incidents to police over the past two months, and two of the women reported the suspect was on a bicycle. None of the women reported injuries.
Police Sgt. Cate Welsh said Monday the man's request is not a crime, but they are concerned nonetheless.
"That kind of behavior tends to be a precursor to sexual assault. That's what we're trying to determine," Welsh said.
First off, what the fuck?!!!! If the dude wants somebody to kick him in the nuts, he should ask me. I would dearly love to try to send this fruitcakes nuts flying through his body and out his mouth (or nose) with a good, swift kick. Gooooooooooooooaaaaalllllllllllll!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Second, "That kind of behavior tends to be a precursor to a sexual assault"? It seems to me that is usually the after effect of a sexual assault (if done incorrectly, it would seem. To do it correctly, is to not get kicked in the balls, I would think). But, I am proud to know that I live in a country that allows any man to get kicked in the nuts if he so chooses and can find a consenting nut kicking partner.
That reminds of story/incident in my youth. It was a cold, early spring night back in April of 1979, we, a bunch of friends and myself, were leaving another friends home and getting set to walk home. We were a group of mixed genders. We got to talking of "what would you do if somebody tried to rape you" with one of the girls who was of a more morally loose character (we were 14 years old and in grade 9, so that one was relative then, today, at the same age, she would be giving blow jobs like candy at Halloween (not that there is anything wrong with that)). She mentions how she would kick her hypothetical assailant in the nuts. I chuckled, that is until she reared back with her Greb Kodiak construction boots, thankfully not steel-toed, and kicked me in the nuts. I could eventually breath again and got off the cold asphalt of the street. She bruised my taint, so thankfully it was not a direct blow to my boys.
In looking back, I can only think of two things. One, she could have at least offered to kiss the "booboo" she caused better or better yet just do it. Two, I am still not sold that she would have reacted that way with the adrenaline, fear and emotion coursing through her veins and head. Then again, I never questioned her on that one again. I also have not seen her since high school.
I had a girlfriend, the one that I dumped on her birthday, who did know the above girl as they worked at some camp on summer. My high school (junior high, too) friend also had a reputation there for enjoying her sexuality. I am thinking that the old girlfriend was jealous. Then again, she would have been called a "slut" for her activities. I never did or would have. If she is enjoying herself and she is making the choices, what is the big deal or need to label her in some negative fashion. Then again, I am a philosophical freak and cannot follow convention.
Finally, while I am on the subject, I would love to quote The Jam from their great song "That's Entertainment", which is about the simple things in life and the entertainment value we derive from things we take for granted. It goes something like this.."The crash of glass and the rumble of boots, electric train and a ripped up phone book........lights going out and a kick in the balls. That's entertainment." In fact, Morrissey covered that song, but it was not as good, to me, as either Jam version (album-Sound Affects or demo, off Snap! compilation CD or album).
Watch your nuts and ciao!
Canada seeks man with groin-kick request
Mon May 28, 12:43 PM ET
Police in Ontario are looking for a man who allegedly approached women and asked them to kick him in the groin.
Three women reported similar incidents to police over the past two months, and two of the women reported the suspect was on a bicycle. None of the women reported injuries.
Police Sgt. Cate Welsh said Monday the man's request is not a crime, but they are concerned nonetheless.
"That kind of behavior tends to be a precursor to sexual assault. That's what we're trying to determine," Welsh said.
First off, what the fuck?!!!! If the dude wants somebody to kick him in the nuts, he should ask me. I would dearly love to try to send this fruitcakes nuts flying through his body and out his mouth (or nose) with a good, swift kick. Gooooooooooooooaaaaalllllllllllll!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Second, "That kind of behavior tends to be a precursor to a sexual assault"? It seems to me that is usually the after effect of a sexual assault (if done incorrectly, it would seem. To do it correctly, is to not get kicked in the balls, I would think). But, I am proud to know that I live in a country that allows any man to get kicked in the nuts if he so chooses and can find a consenting nut kicking partner.
That reminds of story/incident in my youth. It was a cold, early spring night back in April of 1979, we, a bunch of friends and myself, were leaving another friends home and getting set to walk home. We were a group of mixed genders. We got to talking of "what would you do if somebody tried to rape you" with one of the girls who was of a more morally loose character (we were 14 years old and in grade 9, so that one was relative then, today, at the same age, she would be giving blow jobs like candy at Halloween (not that there is anything wrong with that)). She mentions how she would kick her hypothetical assailant in the nuts. I chuckled, that is until she reared back with her Greb Kodiak construction boots, thankfully not steel-toed, and kicked me in the nuts. I could eventually breath again and got off the cold asphalt of the street. She bruised my taint, so thankfully it was not a direct blow to my boys.
In looking back, I can only think of two things. One, she could have at least offered to kiss the "booboo" she caused better or better yet just do it. Two, I am still not sold that she would have reacted that way with the adrenaline, fear and emotion coursing through her veins and head. Then again, I never questioned her on that one again. I also have not seen her since high school.
I had a girlfriend, the one that I dumped on her birthday, who did know the above girl as they worked at some camp on summer. My high school (junior high, too) friend also had a reputation there for enjoying her sexuality. I am thinking that the old girlfriend was jealous. Then again, she would have been called a "slut" for her activities. I never did or would have. If she is enjoying herself and she is making the choices, what is the big deal or need to label her in some negative fashion. Then again, I am a philosophical freak and cannot follow convention.
Finally, while I am on the subject, I would love to quote The Jam from their great song "That's Entertainment", which is about the simple things in life and the entertainment value we derive from things we take for granted. It goes something like this.."The crash of glass and the rumble of boots, electric train and a ripped up phone book........lights going out and a kick in the balls. That's entertainment." In fact, Morrissey covered that song, but it was not as good, to me, as either Jam version (album-Sound Affects or demo, off Snap! compilation CD or album).
Watch your nuts and ciao!
Friday, May 25, 2007
Nothing really
I am back. I just wanted to commemorate this day. On this day and date back in 1979, the state of Florida executed John Spenkilink (I do not know how to spell the dude's name). According to National Lampoon, the state executed him because they could not spell his name and his mail kept getting lost. It was also on that date that the engine fell off an American Airlines DC-10, just as it took off from O'Hare Airport. Too bad, because I would fly on a DC-10 later that summer and I loved those wide body jets and Wardair, too.
That is all. It is also my cousin's birthday and another cousin's anniversary for those keeping score. Gotta go.
Ciao!
That is all. It is also my cousin's birthday and another cousin's anniversary for those keeping score. Gotta go.
Ciao!
Wednesday, May 23, 2007
Some Court Sanctioned Psycho Babble
I am back. I really should change the title of this thing to "Ravings of THE Well Adjusted Madman". I hate to think that I am just one of many. I am unique. I am the only one who is and can be special. Shit, I am engaged in Sylar (Gabriel Gray) think. He was the resident villian in Season One (Chapter One) of "Heroes". He was "killed" by Hiro at the end, but watching his blood trickle on the manhole cover at the end, I do not believe he will remain dead for a minute. Besides, he was a good and tormented villian and the actor who plays him has been resigned, so he has to be back. Too bad, nuclear Ted Sprague and paint the future Isaac Mendez will not be back (Sylar cut off their skulls, absorbing their powers and killing them. That Sylar is just like that).
Heroes is not what I wanted to go off on. I wanted to talk about the trial of Daniel Sylvester. He is the dude who killed and dismembered his York Region neighbor, Alicia Ross. It was a sensational disappearance and murder around these parts two summers ago. Alicia Ross had just got home with her boyfriend and apparently he left and she went outside for a smoke. Then she vanished without a trace. Of course, the boyfriend was the first suspect and her family found him wanting in the search so he was immediately suspect in their eyes. I understand that and then again, it presupposes that they would all act and feel the same emotions.
The feelings of her mother and family would have to be different than his feelings for her. Besides, he knows that he is a suspect and that any and every thing that he does is under a microscope. That is okay. It also forgets that with a microscope you do not see context, so all his actions, etc. are taken out of context. I always thought he was in a no win situation with that one. Kind of like Robert Baltovich, who was wrongly, when you actually look at the evidence and shoddy police and prosecutorial work, of killing his (ex)girlfriend Vanessa Bain in the early 1990s. That dude is waiting for his retrial after his conviction (railroading) was overturned on appeal.
Anyway, Alicia Ross's body parts started to turn up and about 5 weeks after her disappearance, her next door neighbor, Daniel Sylvester, confessed to her killing. That is not what I would call a good neighbor. I am reading his testimony in the newspaper. According to a psychiatrist, he had "angry rape fantasies". Is this opposed to happy rape fantasies? It would seem to me that rape, by its very definition, is angry, so the good doctor is shooting for redundancy in his "diagnosis".
He admits to kneeing her in the chest and bashing her head on the ground after she called him a "fucking loser". He snapped. He snapped and caused her 33 bone fractures including all of her ribs. It is funny, if it is to be believed, that one must take the word of a killer as to what he claims provoked him.
The psychiatrist found him to be a very "dysfunctional man". He had psych issues since he was nine but stopped seeing a therapist. He lived, like a recluse, in his elderly mother's house (sort of a Norman Bates for the suburban set). The doctor said he assault was never intended to be fatal or injurious. How the fuck does this guy KNOW what Sylvester's intentions were? What is he fucking Carnac?
He also masturbated "excessively" (Sylvester I presume, though it could have been the psychiatrist). What is excessive? I now have to know because I do not want to just snap because I whacked off once too often.
He also wanted to "sober" Alicia Ross "up" as she had stared down his mother. Perhaps, she was not all sweetness and light as her family claimed. Then again, sobering her up, was not really Sylvester's job. Then again, as an excessive masturbator, I would have thought strangulation would have been more his thing.
Oh yeah, he whacked off after dumping the body....to relieve tension. I am thinking that after I dump a body of somebody I have just beaten to death, a Xanax would be more tension relieving rather than trying to "bust a nut" in a field with the body of my dead neighbor.
I am thinking that I have to build me some 20 foot fences and wall the old Madman family in. I may leave the father in law out on guard duty. He really would not know the difference and besides the nonsense that he can spew would keep most people away.
I just wanted to share those tidbits of psychological underpinnings and diagnoses with you. It is all after the fact and seems to "justify" what was done. It does not explain it and perhaps it was not something that was preventable. Like much of life, it was inevitable. I guess it was just her sad fate.
Ciao!
Heroes is not what I wanted to go off on. I wanted to talk about the trial of Daniel Sylvester. He is the dude who killed and dismembered his York Region neighbor, Alicia Ross. It was a sensational disappearance and murder around these parts two summers ago. Alicia Ross had just got home with her boyfriend and apparently he left and she went outside for a smoke. Then she vanished without a trace. Of course, the boyfriend was the first suspect and her family found him wanting in the search so he was immediately suspect in their eyes. I understand that and then again, it presupposes that they would all act and feel the same emotions.
The feelings of her mother and family would have to be different than his feelings for her. Besides, he knows that he is a suspect and that any and every thing that he does is under a microscope. That is okay. It also forgets that with a microscope you do not see context, so all his actions, etc. are taken out of context. I always thought he was in a no win situation with that one. Kind of like Robert Baltovich, who was wrongly, when you actually look at the evidence and shoddy police and prosecutorial work, of killing his (ex)girlfriend Vanessa Bain in the early 1990s. That dude is waiting for his retrial after his conviction (railroading) was overturned on appeal.
Anyway, Alicia Ross's body parts started to turn up and about 5 weeks after her disappearance, her next door neighbor, Daniel Sylvester, confessed to her killing. That is not what I would call a good neighbor. I am reading his testimony in the newspaper. According to a psychiatrist, he had "angry rape fantasies". Is this opposed to happy rape fantasies? It would seem to me that rape, by its very definition, is angry, so the good doctor is shooting for redundancy in his "diagnosis".
He admits to kneeing her in the chest and bashing her head on the ground after she called him a "fucking loser". He snapped. He snapped and caused her 33 bone fractures including all of her ribs. It is funny, if it is to be believed, that one must take the word of a killer as to what he claims provoked him.
The psychiatrist found him to be a very "dysfunctional man". He had psych issues since he was nine but stopped seeing a therapist. He lived, like a recluse, in his elderly mother's house (sort of a Norman Bates for the suburban set). The doctor said he assault was never intended to be fatal or injurious. How the fuck does this guy KNOW what Sylvester's intentions were? What is he fucking Carnac?
He also masturbated "excessively" (Sylvester I presume, though it could have been the psychiatrist). What is excessive? I now have to know because I do not want to just snap because I whacked off once too often.
He also wanted to "sober" Alicia Ross "up" as she had stared down his mother. Perhaps, she was not all sweetness and light as her family claimed. Then again, sobering her up, was not really Sylvester's job. Then again, as an excessive masturbator, I would have thought strangulation would have been more his thing.
Oh yeah, he whacked off after dumping the body....to relieve tension. I am thinking that after I dump a body of somebody I have just beaten to death, a Xanax would be more tension relieving rather than trying to "bust a nut" in a field with the body of my dead neighbor.
I am thinking that I have to build me some 20 foot fences and wall the old Madman family in. I may leave the father in law out on guard duty. He really would not know the difference and besides the nonsense that he can spew would keep most people away.
I just wanted to share those tidbits of psychological underpinnings and diagnoses with you. It is all after the fact and seems to "justify" what was done. It does not explain it and perhaps it was not something that was preventable. Like much of life, it was inevitable. I guess it was just her sad fate.
Ciao!
Tuesday, May 22, 2007
Fireworks and Heroes
I am back. I wish I had a follow up to Saturday's post. I was telling people about the Gay Men's Tennis Tournament, but they did not seem to think it was as funny as I did. What is wrong with you people? That was some kind of funny. I was struck by the number of jokes one could make just on the basis of another's sexual identity.
I never mean to define a person on the basis of just one facet of their person, like sexual orientation, so I do not understand how a person would do that to him or herself. Then again, it is done all the time, though I do not condone it.
As it was Victoria Day yesterday, that meant the obligatory lighting of fireworks. We were at our friend's home for the afternoon and dinner so we brought some fireworks and headed, with children in tow, to the local public school. We were dopes as he we did not bring a bucket of sand with us. That was okay, as there were at least five different crowds with buckets and varying amounts of fireworks. It was pretty cool, though our Cherry Bomb was pretty cool.
The last time we did that there was two years ago. It also happened to rain which made the whole scene rather uncomfortable. Then again, I had no pressing need to get home to watch the season finale of "Heroes" then. I was glad when we left around nine twenty. I had forty minutes to get the Global feed of that fantastic television show (a bit of an oxymoron I know). It was a great episode and both closes a chapter in the story and leaves so much open (without being soooooo implausible). I do not know what I will do Monday nights now (perhaps, get a life should be the first thing on my list of things to do, but that is a story for another day).
Well, with that said, I am done for today. Ciao!
I never mean to define a person on the basis of just one facet of their person, like sexual orientation, so I do not understand how a person would do that to him or herself. Then again, it is done all the time, though I do not condone it.
As it was Victoria Day yesterday, that meant the obligatory lighting of fireworks. We were at our friend's home for the afternoon and dinner so we brought some fireworks and headed, with children in tow, to the local public school. We were dopes as he we did not bring a bucket of sand with us. That was okay, as there were at least five different crowds with buckets and varying amounts of fireworks. It was pretty cool, though our Cherry Bomb was pretty cool.
The last time we did that there was two years ago. It also happened to rain which made the whole scene rather uncomfortable. Then again, I had no pressing need to get home to watch the season finale of "Heroes" then. I was glad when we left around nine twenty. I had forty minutes to get the Global feed of that fantastic television show (a bit of an oxymoron I know). It was a great episode and both closes a chapter in the story and leaves so much open (without being soooooo implausible). I do not know what I will do Monday nights now (perhaps, get a life should be the first thing on my list of things to do, but that is a story for another day).
Well, with that said, I am done for today. Ciao!
Saturday, May 19, 2007
Gay Mens Tennis or what is wrong with bouncing balls
I am back. This is a special Saturday post. The most surreal and funny thing occurred today that I just had to get it down before I forget it. I go to Mayfair today and what is happening.....it is the Gay Men's Open Tennis Tournament. That, in and of itself is not funny, but the thoughts and sights that I got to see were.
First, I walk into the club and see the playing brackets on paper affixed to the window overlooking the pool. I then notice that the title is "Gay Men's Tournament". No problem there. I go into the change room only to see some dude's bringing a whole new meaning to the term "butt of the racquet". That was different.
I am then forced to wonder, since they removed the tennis courts that had been "show" courts which had viewing areas, inside and behind glass, since I could not actually view any of the matches. I wondered about the spectacle of tennis played by guys who rather enjoy balls bouning off their chins. Guys who were used to fondling fuzzy balls doing just that. Picture it, I did, and I am still laughing at the thought.
I go workout and that was ordinary enough. I get back up to change and shower and there is one other guy around. Of course, he has taken the locker immediately beneath mine. I had to wait for him to finish, which was no big deal, but then it dawned on me....I must be a "top". That is pretty cool, I guess.
It also reminded of an Eddie Murphy bit found on Delirious which was filmed back in 1982 or '83 (I first watched in late '83). First he goes on about the history of STDs. First, there was VD, get a shot, clears it right up. Then there was herpes. "You have that shit for life, like luggage" and now AIDS where you die. "What's next, you put your dick in and it just explodes?" I was paraphrasing there.
He then says something along the lines of "I make fun of the homosexuals......cause they.........homosexual. It is okay to be friends with a gay dude. You could play tennis with a gay dude and everything. It is just after playing you say "Well, I am going to go have a beer." and the gay guy will say "Well, I am going to suck somebody's dick." "I'm still going to have that beer, but good luck with that."
A little more humor to an otherwise funny day. Ciao!
First, I walk into the club and see the playing brackets on paper affixed to the window overlooking the pool. I then notice that the title is "Gay Men's Tournament". No problem there. I go into the change room only to see some dude's bringing a whole new meaning to the term "butt of the racquet". That was different.
I am then forced to wonder, since they removed the tennis courts that had been "show" courts which had viewing areas, inside and behind glass, since I could not actually view any of the matches. I wondered about the spectacle of tennis played by guys who rather enjoy balls bouning off their chins. Guys who were used to fondling fuzzy balls doing just that. Picture it, I did, and I am still laughing at the thought.
I go workout and that was ordinary enough. I get back up to change and shower and there is one other guy around. Of course, he has taken the locker immediately beneath mine. I had to wait for him to finish, which was no big deal, but then it dawned on me....I must be a "top". That is pretty cool, I guess.
It also reminded of an Eddie Murphy bit found on Delirious which was filmed back in 1982 or '83 (I first watched in late '83). First he goes on about the history of STDs. First, there was VD, get a shot, clears it right up. Then there was herpes. "You have that shit for life, like luggage" and now AIDS where you die. "What's next, you put your dick in and it just explodes?" I was paraphrasing there.
He then says something along the lines of "I make fun of the homosexuals......cause they.........homosexual. It is okay to be friends with a gay dude. You could play tennis with a gay dude and everything. It is just after playing you say "Well, I am going to go have a beer." and the gay guy will say "Well, I am going to suck somebody's dick." "I'm still going to have that beer, but good luck with that."
A little more humor to an otherwise funny day. Ciao!
Friday, May 18, 2007
Ponder this over the weekend
I am back. I have just one question for y'all to ponder out there over the long weekend (if you live in Canada). It is this. Suppose you wake up in the middle of the night only to find some dude lubing up your asshole. What do you say? What do you do? Now be honest with yourselves.
Well, have yourselves a fantastic long weekend. The weather here is supposed to be good and sunny. I have to go to the Outlaws' soon. I need a drink already. Actually, I need a few drinks, but that is beside the point. I must do my "duty" though nobody, and I mean nobody, really appreciates it. I should also put cotton in my ears to drown out the useless chatter.
On that happy note, ciao!
Well, have yourselves a fantastic long weekend. The weather here is supposed to be good and sunny. I have to go to the Outlaws' soon. I need a drink already. Actually, I need a few drinks, but that is beside the point. I must do my "duty" though nobody, and I mean nobody, really appreciates it. I should also put cotton in my ears to drown out the useless chatter.
On that happy note, ciao!
Thursday, May 17, 2007
A veritable potpourri of nothingness
I am back. I had some amusing thoughts, though probably amusing to me alone. I would like to share them but I have been told that I am bad with sharing. It must be because I am the eldest child. I have been told by the Wife that I do not like to share. It is funny.
I think it is funny because it is a matter of perspective. She was the youngest child in her family, so "sharing", as she puts it, benefited her without cost. As the eldest of three, sharing to me was tantamount as a forced taking to placate my younger sibling(s). I was not given a choice, I was commanded. How can I share when my experience with "sharing" was having shit taken from me? See, it is not my fault I am so fucking selfish and anti-social.
There, now that I have gotten that off of my chest, my self-esteem remains intact.
I was just reading about some woman who was in a wicked (I say that given what occurred) car accident. Her skull was separated from her spine but the skin, spinal cord and other tissue remained intact (damn, "intact" must be word of the day). It is called internal decapitation. She cannot hold her head up, her eyes are crossed and she has trouble swallowing but is otherwise okay. That is gruesome.
Apparently, we, up here in Canada, are about to clampdown on foreign strippers. The government is going to start denying work permits to foreign strippers to prevent them from being abused and to clamp down on human traficking. It is going to be a sad day up here, especially when it gets cold, when there will be no Eastern European hotties coming over the pond to strip for us gentlemen. They do not age well (the Babushka gene apparently) so you have to see them while they are youngish, or else the mole hairs become really coarse and unattractive. Are we raising enough home grown strippers to fill the demand? That is a legitimate sociological question. I am going to do some research on this, I guess I am going to need a lot of single bills.
Ciao
I think it is funny because it is a matter of perspective. She was the youngest child in her family, so "sharing", as she puts it, benefited her without cost. As the eldest of three, sharing to me was tantamount as a forced taking to placate my younger sibling(s). I was not given a choice, I was commanded. How can I share when my experience with "sharing" was having shit taken from me? See, it is not my fault I am so fucking selfish and anti-social.
There, now that I have gotten that off of my chest, my self-esteem remains intact.
I was just reading about some woman who was in a wicked (I say that given what occurred) car accident. Her skull was separated from her spine but the skin, spinal cord and other tissue remained intact (damn, "intact" must be word of the day). It is called internal decapitation. She cannot hold her head up, her eyes are crossed and she has trouble swallowing but is otherwise okay. That is gruesome.
Apparently, we, up here in Canada, are about to clampdown on foreign strippers. The government is going to start denying work permits to foreign strippers to prevent them from being abused and to clamp down on human traficking. It is going to be a sad day up here, especially when it gets cold, when there will be no Eastern European hotties coming over the pond to strip for us gentlemen. They do not age well (the Babushka gene apparently) so you have to see them while they are youngish, or else the mole hairs become really coarse and unattractive. Are we raising enough home grown strippers to fill the demand? That is a legitimate sociological question. I am going to do some research on this, I guess I am going to need a lot of single bills.
Ciao
Wednesday, May 16, 2007
Man, that woman could multi-task
I am back. I will be short, though not necessarily sweet. I have one thing to write about today and it concerns this woman driving in her black Honda Accord Friday afternoon. She was quite the multi-tasker as she was driving, talking on her cell phone and smoking a cigarette all at the same time. This message is for her, and those of you like her out there. Do us all a favor and pick one, only one of those, activities to do at the same time.
I guess that is not true. I do not care if she smokes and talks on her cellphone at the same time. I do take issue when she is driving. That last thing I need is be involved in another accident. Then again, driving that beast, please ram into me and total the motherfucker. Make my day!
That is all. Ciao!
I guess that is not true. I do not care if she smokes and talks on her cellphone at the same time. I do take issue when she is driving. That last thing I need is be involved in another accident. Then again, driving that beast, please ram into me and total the motherfucker. Make my day!
That is all. Ciao!
Tuesday, May 15, 2007
Falwell that ends well
I am back. Jerry Falwell died. I am rather ambivalent about his death. He, and his brand of intolerance, over reached. He was at one time a religous conservative political force. I am not sure if his Moral Majority was really a majority or a very loud, opinionated and mobilized minority. Again, it is a red state/blue state thing and I am not comfortable with the social conservatives. They seem to be too sure of their themselves and it is all based on faith. Given the infallibility of man, and these are men (read humans), I am sure that they cannot be SURE (even if they project that) of their certainty.
That is just me. I am not looking for adherents but he did frame the issues of the day in terms of good and evil, black and white, etc. It is much the same way that George W. views the world and we can see where that got him and us.
Falwell did have a knack for saying really stupid things. He did seem to blame gays, lesbians, abortionists and others who did not "conform" to his lifestyle or purported proper, biblically speaking, way to live for the attack that was 9/11. It was an incredibly stupid and myopic thing to say. One could just as easily turn the table on him and his followers for that outcome, using his line of reasoning. Perhaps, he had it wrong and the Lord's wrath was directed at him. I do not know.
In fact, it is moot. We may never know the "Meaning of Life" as we live. All I know are these two things. One, you cannot begin to solves the mysteries of life if you cannot open your mind to all the possibilities and that may mean questioning your faith. Two, if somebody tells you how certain they are or they preach the their way as the one and only correct way, run the other way. Invariably they are full of shit and oratorical bluster (or the Inquisition's torture instruments) but they do not have all the answers. They are only men. Men who think rather highly of themselves but men, nonetheless.
On that happy note, I must depart. Ciao!
That is just me. I am not looking for adherents but he did frame the issues of the day in terms of good and evil, black and white, etc. It is much the same way that George W. views the world and we can see where that got him and us.
Falwell did have a knack for saying really stupid things. He did seem to blame gays, lesbians, abortionists and others who did not "conform" to his lifestyle or purported proper, biblically speaking, way to live for the attack that was 9/11. It was an incredibly stupid and myopic thing to say. One could just as easily turn the table on him and his followers for that outcome, using his line of reasoning. Perhaps, he had it wrong and the Lord's wrath was directed at him. I do not know.
In fact, it is moot. We may never know the "Meaning of Life" as we live. All I know are these two things. One, you cannot begin to solves the mysteries of life if you cannot open your mind to all the possibilities and that may mean questioning your faith. Two, if somebody tells you how certain they are or they preach the their way as the one and only correct way, run the other way. Invariably they are full of shit and oratorical bluster (or the Inquisition's torture instruments) but they do not have all the answers. They are only men. Men who think rather highly of themselves but men, nonetheless.
On that happy note, I must depart. Ciao!
Monday, May 14, 2007
Mother's Day Comes But Once a Year, but Everyday is Crazy Old Man Day, apparently
I am back. I could go all linear on you but that is not my style. I first off have to wish any and all mothers out there a belated Happy Mother's Day. Ours was peachy. It was to be the marathon of mothers or is that the mother of marathons? In any event, it was a beautiful day.
The day began with lad getting up after seven. This is great because come the weekend, he gets up early to come into our bed to watch television. It used to be just cartoons, some crappy, but now when there is nothing in the animated vein he enjoys, he watches sports highlights. It just means he wakes me occassionally to give me recaps (to things that I had watched the previous night, so it is not exactly "news" to me). I do enjoy it, except when he feels the need to talk to me while I am trying to drift in and out of consciousness.
He came in with the card and the gift he made for the Wife, his mother. It was 8:30 and I let the Wife sleep in. I got up, made coffee and made the Lad breakfast. He and I go out for a bit around 9:30 and then I have to get bagels as the Outlaws are coming for brunch at 12:30. That means, I figure them to be over by 11 or 11:30 (the Wife has the same "early" gene so is loathe to see it as more pathological than benign. I am one who is constantly late, so I do believe anybody who is that early has some sort of brain damage that does not allow them to FOLLOW FUCKING INSTRUCTIONS, let alone listen to them, but I digress). Lo and behold they were late, but that was because a main North-South artery was closed for weekend construction, so traffic was hellish all weekend.
They arrive by about 1:00 and we eat. They are gone by two. They did have dessert, though, which was shocking. During the meal, my father in law makes fun of the Lad's bed head, to which I reply "you are only jealous". He smiled but I am not sure it is the smile of somebody who recognizes where he is. Anyway, he is clamoring to leave, while my mother in law is talking, always talking (not saying anything, mind you, just talking). I then turn to him and ask him what day it is. He is lost. I tell him it is Mother's Day (and it only comes once a year). I hold my tongue, though I had thought about it in the shower anticipating the brunch to come.
The line was to be, and I did tell the Wife, that somebody should remind her father that today is Mother's Day, not Crazy or Demented Old Man Day, which apparently is everyday. Well, Crazy Old Man got his way and they left. I then mowed the lawn and pulled dandelions, not necessarily in that order.
They were to go my father in law's sister's house (Crazy Aunt, which works well considering her older brother). I was not spending Mother's Day with that mother... that was for sure. But I did threaten my father in law with that one, not that he understood. He did complain that the coffee was too bitter. It was a dark roast with a robust flavor. I could have responded with "You think that coffee is bitter? What fucking day is it?" That would have been cruel. My mother in law complimented me on the coffee. Then again, given her inability to give an honest opinion, I do not take much stock in that one.
Later, we headed to my mother's for dinner with my siblings and their families, so there were 4 mothers in the same room. We did have booze, which I could have used when the Outlaws were over, and I barbecued. It was a lovely Mother's Day for me, I guess I cannot answer for any other mothers, though.
Ciao!
The day began with lad getting up after seven. This is great because come the weekend, he gets up early to come into our bed to watch television. It used to be just cartoons, some crappy, but now when there is nothing in the animated vein he enjoys, he watches sports highlights. It just means he wakes me occassionally to give me recaps (to things that I had watched the previous night, so it is not exactly "news" to me). I do enjoy it, except when he feels the need to talk to me while I am trying to drift in and out of consciousness.
He came in with the card and the gift he made for the Wife, his mother. It was 8:30 and I let the Wife sleep in. I got up, made coffee and made the Lad breakfast. He and I go out for a bit around 9:30 and then I have to get bagels as the Outlaws are coming for brunch at 12:30. That means, I figure them to be over by 11 or 11:30 (the Wife has the same "early" gene so is loathe to see it as more pathological than benign. I am one who is constantly late, so I do believe anybody who is that early has some sort of brain damage that does not allow them to FOLLOW FUCKING INSTRUCTIONS, let alone listen to them, but I digress). Lo and behold they were late, but that was because a main North-South artery was closed for weekend construction, so traffic was hellish all weekend.
They arrive by about 1:00 and we eat. They are gone by two. They did have dessert, though, which was shocking. During the meal, my father in law makes fun of the Lad's bed head, to which I reply "you are only jealous". He smiled but I am not sure it is the smile of somebody who recognizes where he is. Anyway, he is clamoring to leave, while my mother in law is talking, always talking (not saying anything, mind you, just talking). I then turn to him and ask him what day it is. He is lost. I tell him it is Mother's Day (and it only comes once a year). I hold my tongue, though I had thought about it in the shower anticipating the brunch to come.
The line was to be, and I did tell the Wife, that somebody should remind her father that today is Mother's Day, not Crazy or Demented Old Man Day, which apparently is everyday. Well, Crazy Old Man got his way and they left. I then mowed the lawn and pulled dandelions, not necessarily in that order.
They were to go my father in law's sister's house (Crazy Aunt, which works well considering her older brother). I was not spending Mother's Day with that mother... that was for sure. But I did threaten my father in law with that one, not that he understood. He did complain that the coffee was too bitter. It was a dark roast with a robust flavor. I could have responded with "You think that coffee is bitter? What fucking day is it?" That would have been cruel. My mother in law complimented me on the coffee. Then again, given her inability to give an honest opinion, I do not take much stock in that one.
Later, we headed to my mother's for dinner with my siblings and their families, so there were 4 mothers in the same room. We did have booze, which I could have used when the Outlaws were over, and I barbecued. It was a lovely Mother's Day for me, I guess I cannot answer for any other mothers, though.
Ciao!
Friday, May 11, 2007
Some Friday May 11th memories
I am back. I just wanted to share a memory or two with y'all today. We have a day off from the Outlaws tonight for another function closer to home. I am pleased. I will be more pleased if there is my favorite brain lubricants available, but I guess I will find that out around seven tonight. It should be fun in any event.
Anyway, the first memory goes back to 1979. It was on this day and date that I was allergy tested. That is correct, I subjected myself to many a needle prick and a scratch test. The scratch test was easy. They take a set of razors and basically draw a tic-tac-toe board with them on my back. Then various antigens are dropped on the intersecting cuts and they see what I react to. I could handle that. It was the dam needles that drove me made. By the fifth injection, I was told to stop tensing up. To which I replied, "Let me stick you with the needle multiple times and we will see if you do not tense up!" Damn, I was a mouth 14 year old. Do I have that to look forward to in the future?
The second memory is funnier. It was also on this day and date back in 1984. A good friend of mine had finally finished exams and this was to be our celebration. I picked her up and we stopped at a local public school for a little "bar in the car". Now, I am not proud of my drinking and driving, and I must say that thankfully I never crashed or hit anybody or anything, but I am not condoning the practice now. It is just how it was.
Anyway, the beverage of choice was Southern Comfort. I am not sure why. I do not know of anybody who has not had a puking experience from drinking that shit. I have not touched that crap since 1984, when I had my incident, though I was using full pukage as a goal (I think I wrote about just that attitude a week ago). We finished off the 12 ouncer and we were headed down to bar. I am driving down and for some reason went by the library of our university. I was then told to pull over. My friend was starting to yak. At least she had the good sense to open the door and do it on the road.
At that point, I asked if she was okay or wanted to go home. I was told to head for home. Again, I am not sure what I was thinking, I took a twisty way home. The next thing I know we are in the parking lot of Casa Loma. I am asking if she is okay (besides I have no kleenex in the car, I am male and would wipe my nose on my sleeve or an old t-shirt floating in the car. I ask if she is okay and I get a gutteral "NO!", a big belch and the arching of the back as she continues to hurl out the open car door on the parking lot.
I get her home without incident. She tries to sober up a bit in the car but then upchucks again on her driveway. She goes in, I go home. I was quite sober by then but it was not even eleven. The best part is that I got a cassette stuck in my cassette player and could not remove the thing. I called the next morning, early afternoon really, to see if she was okay. She was, though her mother could be seen the next morning hosing the puke off the driveway. Her mother gave her some sound advice to "It is not nice to brech in front of the boys". How is that for some Old Country (World) wisdom?
Have a nifty weekend, one and all. Ciao!
Anyway, the first memory goes back to 1979. It was on this day and date that I was allergy tested. That is correct, I subjected myself to many a needle prick and a scratch test. The scratch test was easy. They take a set of razors and basically draw a tic-tac-toe board with them on my back. Then various antigens are dropped on the intersecting cuts and they see what I react to. I could handle that. It was the dam needles that drove me made. By the fifth injection, I was told to stop tensing up. To which I replied, "Let me stick you with the needle multiple times and we will see if you do not tense up!" Damn, I was a mouth 14 year old. Do I have that to look forward to in the future?
The second memory is funnier. It was also on this day and date back in 1984. A good friend of mine had finally finished exams and this was to be our celebration. I picked her up and we stopped at a local public school for a little "bar in the car". Now, I am not proud of my drinking and driving, and I must say that thankfully I never crashed or hit anybody or anything, but I am not condoning the practice now. It is just how it was.
Anyway, the beverage of choice was Southern Comfort. I am not sure why. I do not know of anybody who has not had a puking experience from drinking that shit. I have not touched that crap since 1984, when I had my incident, though I was using full pukage as a goal (I think I wrote about just that attitude a week ago). We finished off the 12 ouncer and we were headed down to bar. I am driving down and for some reason went by the library of our university. I was then told to pull over. My friend was starting to yak. At least she had the good sense to open the door and do it on the road.
At that point, I asked if she was okay or wanted to go home. I was told to head for home. Again, I am not sure what I was thinking, I took a twisty way home. The next thing I know we are in the parking lot of Casa Loma. I am asking if she is okay (besides I have no kleenex in the car, I am male and would wipe my nose on my sleeve or an old t-shirt floating in the car. I ask if she is okay and I get a gutteral "NO!", a big belch and the arching of the back as she continues to hurl out the open car door on the parking lot.
I get her home without incident. She tries to sober up a bit in the car but then upchucks again on her driveway. She goes in, I go home. I was quite sober by then but it was not even eleven. The best part is that I got a cassette stuck in my cassette player and could not remove the thing. I called the next morning, early afternoon really, to see if she was okay. She was, though her mother could be seen the next morning hosing the puke off the driveway. Her mother gave her some sound advice to "It is not nice to brech in front of the boys". How is that for some Old Country (World) wisdom?
Have a nifty weekend, one and all. Ciao!
Thursday, May 10, 2007
Play that Sour Stick, proudly
I am back. No time to post yesterday, not that I had anything post-worthy. Then again, when has that simple fact ever stopped me from posting? We had the Lad's school concert. He was up playing his "sour stick" with his class. The "sour stick" is his recorder because the sounds that he has been making with it are rather sour. I am not sure about the recorder as an instrument, though. It may have been something during medieval times, but we have come a long way since then.
I am thinking that they have to update the damn instrument. I mean if they are able to use the fife then at least they have moved forward a few centuries. It has to be better than the recorder.
It is not only the sounds that he makes with it that bother me so. It is just a collector of spit, his spit. If he plays for a long time, read 5 minutes, spit starts to drip out the end (at least, I hope it is spit, now that I think about it.) It is disgusting as he leaves a puddle of saliva on the table. I have to make him play over the sink. It was like when he was still a baby and learned how to crawl. He was always a happy kid, still is, so he would smile and laugh a lot. When ever he had a cold and had to breath from his mouth, the drool would just slide on out. So as he crawled around, he would leave a trail of slime, just like a.......snail (you can fill in the thought there with whatever disgusting image you have, I know I have mine but have too much class to mention it here.)
I just laughed myself silly with that thought. "Too much class", who the fuck am I kidding? I am just thinking that there is no point going for maximum offensiveness when I cannot see the look on the face of the people that I have offended or disgusted. It takes the fun out of doing.
Well, the concert, if one can call it that, was okay. All the classes, all three who performed, had two songs. That was not too bad. Then it was the choirs' turn. They did about 5 songs too many. I think they did 5 songs. I just wanted to go home and take out the trash. That is where my mind was at after the Lad had finished. I mean it is difficult enough to sit and listen to "crap" (I do not want to disparage the effort and practice that went into it, but they needed more time and even then I do not know if that would have really helped) when it is your own child being part of it, but to listen to other kid's crap? I am just not engaged. I was barely engaged by the Lad's class. Then again, I am a selfish prick, so that would explain that.
Just so you understand, I call myself a selfish prick, but I am not bothered by it. It is what it is. I am not ashamed, though some would tell me that I should be. Of course, they are the same people who want something from me, so the attempt at guilt, while futile, is understandable. They just do not know how to appeal to me. They cannot read me or are incapable of reading other people. Narcissistic idiots is what they are, but of course, too unaware to see the truth because it does not match their self image or what they want others to see them as.
Well, fuck 'em all is what I say. Then again, I do not know if I have the time, not to mention the "jam". On that happy note, I am going to run. Ciao!
I am thinking that they have to update the damn instrument. I mean if they are able to use the fife then at least they have moved forward a few centuries. It has to be better than the recorder.
It is not only the sounds that he makes with it that bother me so. It is just a collector of spit, his spit. If he plays for a long time, read 5 minutes, spit starts to drip out the end (at least, I hope it is spit, now that I think about it.) It is disgusting as he leaves a puddle of saliva on the table. I have to make him play over the sink. It was like when he was still a baby and learned how to crawl. He was always a happy kid, still is, so he would smile and laugh a lot. When ever he had a cold and had to breath from his mouth, the drool would just slide on out. So as he crawled around, he would leave a trail of slime, just like a.......snail (you can fill in the thought there with whatever disgusting image you have, I know I have mine but have too much class to mention it here.)
I just laughed myself silly with that thought. "Too much class", who the fuck am I kidding? I am just thinking that there is no point going for maximum offensiveness when I cannot see the look on the face of the people that I have offended or disgusted. It takes the fun out of doing.
Well, the concert, if one can call it that, was okay. All the classes, all three who performed, had two songs. That was not too bad. Then it was the choirs' turn. They did about 5 songs too many. I think they did 5 songs. I just wanted to go home and take out the trash. That is where my mind was at after the Lad had finished. I mean it is difficult enough to sit and listen to "crap" (I do not want to disparage the effort and practice that went into it, but they needed more time and even then I do not know if that would have really helped) when it is your own child being part of it, but to listen to other kid's crap? I am just not engaged. I was barely engaged by the Lad's class. Then again, I am a selfish prick, so that would explain that.
Just so you understand, I call myself a selfish prick, but I am not bothered by it. It is what it is. I am not ashamed, though some would tell me that I should be. Of course, they are the same people who want something from me, so the attempt at guilt, while futile, is understandable. They just do not know how to appeal to me. They cannot read me or are incapable of reading other people. Narcissistic idiots is what they are, but of course, too unaware to see the truth because it does not match their self image or what they want others to see them as.
Well, fuck 'em all is what I say. Then again, I do not know if I have the time, not to mention the "jam". On that happy note, I am going to run. Ciao!
Tuesday, May 08, 2007
Tainted Pet Food Outrage
I am back. I am outraged. I wasn't before but I am now. Have you been following the tainted pet food thing? I only did so in a precursory manner. I do not own a pet, at least one that was not disposable. I always went with animals that I knew I would not grow emotionally attached to. Talk about your self-fulfilling prophecy, they would die and I would feel nothing. Hell, I felt nothing when they were alive, it seems.
I did write a great story dealing with just that about 25 years ago. I was in high school and my English teacher wanted us to write a two pager on ourselves, so he could get to know us. I just do not reveal myself that easily. I am cheap but I am not easy, unless you ply me with brain lubricant (booze) so that other lubricants follow.
Anyway, I went on to write about my history with disposable pets. I told the story of my goldfish, Sam, whom I would try to pull out of his bowl. He was one slimey fucker. Do you know how hard it is to get a slippery, wriggly goldfish off the counter and back into his bowl of water? Man, if he would just have relaxed, it would have been much easier. I guess the fish panic of gills being useless outside the water may have had something to do with that. In any event, he did not die that way. It may have shortened his life, but it did not kill him directly. So, I accept no responsibility there.
I went on to tell how I would take Sam on nice walks in the park and converse with him. I would just tie a rope to the fish bowl and drag it up and down the street. I embellished. I never thought to take the fish outside. I guess I just did not care enough for Sam to get some "fresh" air.
I told about the birds we had (at least three budgies). I never had the patience to try to teach them to speak. I did enjoy letting them fly loose in the bathroom. That did get boring rather fast, though. I was never too upset when we found them on the bottom of the cage, not moving, and very much dead. It meant that there would be no chirping. Oh well.
Then we moved up the evolutionary chain from fish to birds (we skipped amphibians and reptiles) to mammals. This time it as hamsters. I did tell the story of our second hamster, the lovable Harry II (note that all the pets had the same fucking name. It is not as if there was a unique name given to each. See what I mean about no emotional attachment to these pets?). He was okay as far as rodents go, which really is not all that far. The story really began when we took in my cousin's ill-tempered hamster, known as biting Harry.
I told how biting Harry escaped, filed through the cage, with Harry as a hostage. Yada yada yada, Harry escapes. We have hours of fun before he dies. Biting Harry is found dead in the furnace. It was basically a story about how I bring death to pets or how I do not get emotionally attached to lower forms of life (that could be anything including some humans that I have met along my journey) or any such thing. I did get the response that I wanted. "I am not sure that I have gotten to know you any better, but you created a nice, light tone." Ka-ching for me!
Pretty sad that you had to get through all that bullshit to get to the outrage. If you do not know the cause of the pet food taint was an ingredient imported from China. It was supposed to be wheat gluten, a protein. The damn Chinese factory used melamine and other nitrogenous substances, to make it appear more protein-rich than it was. Now, they have found that tainted food was used in the food pellets used in fish farms.
It is not bad enough that they, with full complicity of the Communist government there, exposed our pets to kidney failure and death, but now they are risking our food supplies. Too bad for them, in the end, they will have nothing. As much as they produce a lot of food in China, the rate of ecological degradation that they are causing for themselves and the rest of the planet, will bite them on the ass directly. It will come about when they have blocked out the sun in their neck of the woods burning dirty coal and bled their waterways dry. How is food going to grow there, then? Anybody think of that one? The Chinese were supposed to have the "longview" in these terms, but I do not see evidence of it here.
They should just go back to making flip-flops and crappy plastic, read poison, toys. I guess leave the feed processing to those who actually give a shit. Of course, I am not quite sure where those who give a shit actually reside. In any event, heads should roll, and it being China, organs harvested for resale (waste not, want not).
I am done. Ciao! I am outraged!
I did write a great story dealing with just that about 25 years ago. I was in high school and my English teacher wanted us to write a two pager on ourselves, so he could get to know us. I just do not reveal myself that easily. I am cheap but I am not easy, unless you ply me with brain lubricant (booze) so that other lubricants follow.
Anyway, I went on to write about my history with disposable pets. I told the story of my goldfish, Sam, whom I would try to pull out of his bowl. He was one slimey fucker. Do you know how hard it is to get a slippery, wriggly goldfish off the counter and back into his bowl of water? Man, if he would just have relaxed, it would have been much easier. I guess the fish panic of gills being useless outside the water may have had something to do with that. In any event, he did not die that way. It may have shortened his life, but it did not kill him directly. So, I accept no responsibility there.
I went on to tell how I would take Sam on nice walks in the park and converse with him. I would just tie a rope to the fish bowl and drag it up and down the street. I embellished. I never thought to take the fish outside. I guess I just did not care enough for Sam to get some "fresh" air.
I told about the birds we had (at least three budgies). I never had the patience to try to teach them to speak. I did enjoy letting them fly loose in the bathroom. That did get boring rather fast, though. I was never too upset when we found them on the bottom of the cage, not moving, and very much dead. It meant that there would be no chirping. Oh well.
Then we moved up the evolutionary chain from fish to birds (we skipped amphibians and reptiles) to mammals. This time it as hamsters. I did tell the story of our second hamster, the lovable Harry II (note that all the pets had the same fucking name. It is not as if there was a unique name given to each. See what I mean about no emotional attachment to these pets?). He was okay as far as rodents go, which really is not all that far. The story really began when we took in my cousin's ill-tempered hamster, known as biting Harry.
I told how biting Harry escaped, filed through the cage, with Harry as a hostage. Yada yada yada, Harry escapes. We have hours of fun before he dies. Biting Harry is found dead in the furnace. It was basically a story about how I bring death to pets or how I do not get emotionally attached to lower forms of life (that could be anything including some humans that I have met along my journey) or any such thing. I did get the response that I wanted. "I am not sure that I have gotten to know you any better, but you created a nice, light tone." Ka-ching for me!
Pretty sad that you had to get through all that bullshit to get to the outrage. If you do not know the cause of the pet food taint was an ingredient imported from China. It was supposed to be wheat gluten, a protein. The damn Chinese factory used melamine and other nitrogenous substances, to make it appear more protein-rich than it was. Now, they have found that tainted food was used in the food pellets used in fish farms.
It is not bad enough that they, with full complicity of the Communist government there, exposed our pets to kidney failure and death, but now they are risking our food supplies. Too bad for them, in the end, they will have nothing. As much as they produce a lot of food in China, the rate of ecological degradation that they are causing for themselves and the rest of the planet, will bite them on the ass directly. It will come about when they have blocked out the sun in their neck of the woods burning dirty coal and bled their waterways dry. How is food going to grow there, then? Anybody think of that one? The Chinese were supposed to have the "longview" in these terms, but I do not see evidence of it here.
They should just go back to making flip-flops and crappy plastic, read poison, toys. I guess leave the feed processing to those who actually give a shit. Of course, I am not quite sure where those who give a shit actually reside. In any event, heads should roll, and it being China, organs harvested for resale (waste not, want not).
I am done. Ciao! I am outraged!
Monday, May 07, 2007
Cold War Nukes, Barbecues, Stinko de Mayo and Negative workouts
I am back. I am being flooded by so many memories these days. I think that this time of year, spring and summer, were some heady times for me in my youth. I never really thought about being as old as I am now. I figured that I would be dead, one way or another. It is not so much suicide, but I really did see nuclear holocaust in our futures twenty or so years ago. That was some good Cold War thinking. As I look back, and I do not want to ignore the recency effect we are all subject to, I think times are actually more dangerous now. That really frightens me.
It is not so much me that I am frightened for but the Lad. He will have to deal with any aftermath, assuming we are not vaporized at ground zero. There is an upside and downside to that one, though. The upside of that kind of death is that it is assumed painless and quick. You also do not have to deal with the aftermath of such an incident. It is simply game over. The downside, obviously, is not being alive. It is a pretty big downside, if you ask me, and it may easily outweigh the upside. That follows the "better the devil you know" theory as opposed to the death as a martyr is a great thing bunch of crap rationalization be used by many an extremist.
On that happy note, I want to move forward. If I spend too much time dwelling on that, I will just spend too much energy on something that I cannot control and that is the destiny of the planet. I can only control my own destiny, so that is where I will focus my energy.
The weekend has come and gone. It was beautiful here. It was a lovely and sunny Stinko de Mayo. We did have our first barbecue of the season. I did not blow up. That is always my concern with the first lighting of the barbecue. My barbecue is going on 14 years old and has seen better days. In fact, I have a small patch of usuable space. There is the center area where the flame and heat are and the rest. I sear the stuff there and put it to the side and let it finish as if it were in an oven. It is almost professional but it is not. The grill owes us nothing. It has been good. I just have to buy a new one. I will just add it to the list. It does mean that cooking for large groups, over three, can be time consuming, but since it is usually people that the Wife has invited, I do not mind being outside and away from any yakking.
Stinko de Mayo also happens to be the first time I put myself through a "negative" workout. That was fresh off of Billfest in 1985. We went to our Nautilus club (Dave and I) and asked for the negative workout. Who knew? The negative is when you go heavy on the weight and have help with the positive and then slowly, muscles remaining contracted, do the negative to the starting position. We did a full body one of those. Then when the wave of nausea passed, we tried to have a drink of water. I know my hand was shaking so badly that I could barely get the paper cup up to my mouth.
Okay, we were cooked at the time. We did collect ourselves and make it home, alive. The next day, it did not seem that bad. I had had worse post workout pain. On the Tuesday (May 7th as it would be) was the worst. I could barely get out of bed. That was the ultimate in post workout pain. I have never felt anything like that since. It was good.
On that happy note, by the way the story segue was the date (May 7), I am done. It is baseball time. Will Willie be there or won't he? That is the question. Ciao!
It is not so much me that I am frightened for but the Lad. He will have to deal with any aftermath, assuming we are not vaporized at ground zero. There is an upside and downside to that one, though. The upside of that kind of death is that it is assumed painless and quick. You also do not have to deal with the aftermath of such an incident. It is simply game over. The downside, obviously, is not being alive. It is a pretty big downside, if you ask me, and it may easily outweigh the upside. That follows the "better the devil you know" theory as opposed to the death as a martyr is a great thing bunch of crap rationalization be used by many an extremist.
On that happy note, I want to move forward. If I spend too much time dwelling on that, I will just spend too much energy on something that I cannot control and that is the destiny of the planet. I can only control my own destiny, so that is where I will focus my energy.
The weekend has come and gone. It was beautiful here. It was a lovely and sunny Stinko de Mayo. We did have our first barbecue of the season. I did not blow up. That is always my concern with the first lighting of the barbecue. My barbecue is going on 14 years old and has seen better days. In fact, I have a small patch of usuable space. There is the center area where the flame and heat are and the rest. I sear the stuff there and put it to the side and let it finish as if it were in an oven. It is almost professional but it is not. The grill owes us nothing. It has been good. I just have to buy a new one. I will just add it to the list. It does mean that cooking for large groups, over three, can be time consuming, but since it is usually people that the Wife has invited, I do not mind being outside and away from any yakking.
Stinko de Mayo also happens to be the first time I put myself through a "negative" workout. That was fresh off of Billfest in 1985. We went to our Nautilus club (Dave and I) and asked for the negative workout. Who knew? The negative is when you go heavy on the weight and have help with the positive and then slowly, muscles remaining contracted, do the negative to the starting position. We did a full body one of those. Then when the wave of nausea passed, we tried to have a drink of water. I know my hand was shaking so badly that I could barely get the paper cup up to my mouth.
Okay, we were cooked at the time. We did collect ourselves and make it home, alive. The next day, it did not seem that bad. I had had worse post workout pain. On the Tuesday (May 7th as it would be) was the worst. I could barely get out of bed. That was the ultimate in post workout pain. I have never felt anything like that since. It was good.
On that happy note, by the way the story segue was the date (May 7), I am done. It is baseball time. Will Willie be there or won't he? That is the question. Ciao!
Friday, May 04, 2007
Puke must be the word of the day
I am back. I was remiss in not mentioning the 22nd anniversary of "Billfest", yesterday. I told the story last year about how Willie, in 1985, after our exams, had said he was going to drink until he puked. I had friends join us just to see him puke. He did not and they may have left, inebriated and disappointed. That is their tough luck.
I was thinking about that on the way to the Lad's baseball game, where I had hoped to see Willie (his daughter is on the same team), but alas neither one was at the game. In any event, the notion of drinking until puking seems so abhorent 22 years later. Only a guy in his teens or early twenties can actually consider drinking until pukage as some sort of goal to reach. What were we thinking?
Yet, I am sure that the Lad will go through something similar. It all makes more sense to me now. Life is not like a line, moving in a linear fashion. There may be a linearity to time (we, as of now, can only move in one direction, unless it is Heroes, in which case all bets are off, and that is forward. Though theoretically, one should be able to travel back in time because time is linear.) and it always moves along forward at the same pace. That is a very Western view to life and history, as well. We tend to view events in small chunks and derive meaning from there.
This contrasts with Eastern philosophies that view things as more circular or cyclical. With events only having meaning in relation to other events and the recurrence of events (sort of like the inevitable changing of the seasons). There is a relationship or interconnectedness of things and you have to understand the relationship to understand the meaning of the piece. The relationship of the piece to the whole.
I am thinking that though time moves in a linear fashion, we are like tires moving on the road. We cycle along the road forward. How is that for integrating two schools of thought? Which really means that it is inevitable, no matter how stupid, that the Lad will binge drink and party till he pukes, or at least hang out with somebody who does. And he will find it amusing, at best, and be a lead participant, at worst. I am just preparing myself for that day.
Anyway, his team lost by like 14-1. He did drive in the only run with a groundout, so I was proud of that. The kid ahead of him in the last innning hit a triple to lead off the inning. Of course, their opponents were mostly older (grade 6s in a 4/5/6 league) so that is the mitigating factor. It was enjoyable, though rather chilly sitting out there.
Well, I am off to the Outlaws' soon. I should have doubled up on lunch. Is it considered impolite to puke up your dinner, right trying to force it down? I am not sure of the etiquette on that one. Of course, were I to pull off such a stunt, my mother in law would not "get" it. I am stalling this as much as possible.
Have a nifty weekend. Ciao!
I was thinking about that on the way to the Lad's baseball game, where I had hoped to see Willie (his daughter is on the same team), but alas neither one was at the game. In any event, the notion of drinking until puking seems so abhorent 22 years later. Only a guy in his teens or early twenties can actually consider drinking until pukage as some sort of goal to reach. What were we thinking?
Yet, I am sure that the Lad will go through something similar. It all makes more sense to me now. Life is not like a line, moving in a linear fashion. There may be a linearity to time (we, as of now, can only move in one direction, unless it is Heroes, in which case all bets are off, and that is forward. Though theoretically, one should be able to travel back in time because time is linear.) and it always moves along forward at the same pace. That is a very Western view to life and history, as well. We tend to view events in small chunks and derive meaning from there.
This contrasts with Eastern philosophies that view things as more circular or cyclical. With events only having meaning in relation to other events and the recurrence of events (sort of like the inevitable changing of the seasons). There is a relationship or interconnectedness of things and you have to understand the relationship to understand the meaning of the piece. The relationship of the piece to the whole.
I am thinking that though time moves in a linear fashion, we are like tires moving on the road. We cycle along the road forward. How is that for integrating two schools of thought? Which really means that it is inevitable, no matter how stupid, that the Lad will binge drink and party till he pukes, or at least hang out with somebody who does. And he will find it amusing, at best, and be a lead participant, at worst. I am just preparing myself for that day.
Anyway, his team lost by like 14-1. He did drive in the only run with a groundout, so I was proud of that. The kid ahead of him in the last innning hit a triple to lead off the inning. Of course, their opponents were mostly older (grade 6s in a 4/5/6 league) so that is the mitigating factor. It was enjoyable, though rather chilly sitting out there.
Well, I am off to the Outlaws' soon. I should have doubled up on lunch. Is it considered impolite to puke up your dinner, right trying to force it down? I am not sure of the etiquette on that one. Of course, were I to pull off such a stunt, my mother in law would not "get" it. I am stalling this as much as possible.
Have a nifty weekend. Ciao!
Thursday, May 03, 2007
Utterances Heard in a Car
I am back. I have been spending an inordinate amount of time in my car making mundane drives to and fro. I have to say that as much as I abhor public transit, actually let me rephrase that, public transit would be great if you could just remove the public, it does provide something that the car cannot.
Put aside the envronmental impact of driving, all those links in the chain (I am becoming a bit of a closet tree-hugger), I still prefer the freedom and enjoy being in my little bubble separate from the rest of humanity. It is a situation that is a bit of a paradox, kind of like the title of an old Modest Mouse album, "The Lonesome Crowded West". It like being part of the world, yet apart from the world. I kind of, just kind of, miss that interaction with the general public. Observing people as they are, in their natural habitat. I am like fucking Jane Goodall or Dian Fossey, only the chimps/apes I am studying are hairless, or at least have less hair, though some may not have that much less.
Since, I cannot remark on the words of others in cars, I can give you a feeling for the utterances that occur in my vehicle in a typical rush hour drive. This was just yesterday, so please follow along.
"Move up, you fuck!"
"Close that door, dingbat!"
"Nice tits."
"Look at that ass!"
"What are you breaking for numbnutz!"
"Where the fuck did you learn to drive"
"Not in my lane!"
"Get into to the intersection! There was that so fucking hard?"
"Fuck off, cabbie!"
"Ahhhhh, home."
Never a dull moment and never one where the expletives do not fly! Ciao!
Put aside the envronmental impact of driving, all those links in the chain (I am becoming a bit of a closet tree-hugger), I still prefer the freedom and enjoy being in my little bubble separate from the rest of humanity. It is a situation that is a bit of a paradox, kind of like the title of an old Modest Mouse album, "The Lonesome Crowded West". It like being part of the world, yet apart from the world. I kind of, just kind of, miss that interaction with the general public. Observing people as they are, in their natural habitat. I am like fucking Jane Goodall or Dian Fossey, only the chimps/apes I am studying are hairless, or at least have less hair, though some may not have that much less.
Since, I cannot remark on the words of others in cars, I can give you a feeling for the utterances that occur in my vehicle in a typical rush hour drive. This was just yesterday, so please follow along.
"Move up, you fuck!"
"Close that door, dingbat!"
"Nice tits."
"Look at that ass!"
"What are you breaking for numbnutz!"
"Where the fuck did you learn to drive"
"Not in my lane!"
"Get into to the intersection! There was that so fucking hard?"
"Fuck off, cabbie!"
"Ahhhhh, home."
Never a dull moment and never one where the expletives do not fly! Ciao!
Wednesday, May 02, 2007
Haunting Past
I am back. Am I being haunted by my past? If I did not mention previously, and I am too damned lazy to go back and look what I have written in past posts, the Wife has a divorced friend of hers from high school. She has the hots for another dude who is in a similar boat, though he may not be divorced, yet. The Wife mentions the dude's name and wouldn't you know it, I know him.
He is a guy I knew from my first year at university. I liked him. He was bright. He ended up a physiotherapist. He even played some basketball in my weekly game for a bit back in 1991/2. Then, he dropped off of my planet. Turns out he is alive and well, jaded a bit perhaps, and living up in Richmond Hill or Aurora. Whooda thunk it?
Then the Wife mentions another couple, well the male half, who have also split. That one perked my interest. I had dated the female half, briefly, back in 1984. I only started up with her because she was there and I was horny. It was exam time and I needed to kill some tension. However, she misunderstood, or I was not clear in my desires or intentions. It would not be the first time or last time that I did something like that. I like to think that I have learned from it, but being married and not on the prowl, I cannot really test that one out (without serious repercussions).
Anyway, we started dating during exams. That was a time of extreme self focus for me. The world did not exist beyond me when I was in study mode. Then again, I am not sure how that is or was any different in terms of my mind set. It is always about me. Hell, what is this blog, if not about me.
The longer we went out (started in late April) and as exams ended, I realized that she did not do it for me. I had no trouble putting the grab on her, I just saw her as practice, not much more. It was pretty low of me. Of course, I would go much lower. I would actually break up with her on her 20th birthday.
How is that for a find birthday wish. Sweetie, Happy Birthday! Oh, and by the way, I don't think that we should see each other anymore. Happy Fucking Birthday to you!. I felt bad, not so much the next morning, but later that night and into the second day after. Then that feeling passed and it was all good after that for me. That was one great summer for me and to think it all started by ditching a chick on her birthday. I am sorry about the timing, not about the act.
I thought that she was going to kill me at some point, but I am still here. I would run into every so often about five years after that incident. I had heard that she was dating the dude that would become her husband, and ex-husband. I was happy for the both of them and figured that way I was no longer a target. Then again, I am always a target, so I keep my head up.
I am not sure what the point of all this is, but I think that the links to my past are very interesting in a Karmic or cosmic way. Ciao!
He is a guy I knew from my first year at university. I liked him. He was bright. He ended up a physiotherapist. He even played some basketball in my weekly game for a bit back in 1991/2. Then, he dropped off of my planet. Turns out he is alive and well, jaded a bit perhaps, and living up in Richmond Hill or Aurora. Whooda thunk it?
Then the Wife mentions another couple, well the male half, who have also split. That one perked my interest. I had dated the female half, briefly, back in 1984. I only started up with her because she was there and I was horny. It was exam time and I needed to kill some tension. However, she misunderstood, or I was not clear in my desires or intentions. It would not be the first time or last time that I did something like that. I like to think that I have learned from it, but being married and not on the prowl, I cannot really test that one out (without serious repercussions).
Anyway, we started dating during exams. That was a time of extreme self focus for me. The world did not exist beyond me when I was in study mode. Then again, I am not sure how that is or was any different in terms of my mind set. It is always about me. Hell, what is this blog, if not about me.
The longer we went out (started in late April) and as exams ended, I realized that she did not do it for me. I had no trouble putting the grab on her, I just saw her as practice, not much more. It was pretty low of me. Of course, I would go much lower. I would actually break up with her on her 20th birthday.
How is that for a find birthday wish. Sweetie, Happy Birthday! Oh, and by the way, I don't think that we should see each other anymore. Happy Fucking Birthday to you!. I felt bad, not so much the next morning, but later that night and into the second day after. Then that feeling passed and it was all good after that for me. That was one great summer for me and to think it all started by ditching a chick on her birthday. I am sorry about the timing, not about the act.
I thought that she was going to kill me at some point, but I am still here. I would run into every so often about five years after that incident. I had heard that she was dating the dude that would become her husband, and ex-husband. I was happy for the both of them and figured that way I was no longer a target. Then again, I am always a target, so I keep my head up.
I am not sure what the point of all this is, but I think that the links to my past are very interesting in a Karmic or cosmic way. Ciao!
Tuesday, May 01, 2007
Bran for Seniors
I am back. This will be short and sweet. The Lad had his first baseball game yesterday. He seemed more prepared than last year. I arrived at the tail end of his first at bat. He beat one into the ground, stood there and then ran. He was out by a little bit. Had he run right away, he would have beat it out. He said he thought that it was foul. I told him to just run and let the ump decide if it is foul or fair. The worst thing is that he walks back to the plate, picks up his bat and goes again. He hit a single in his next at bat.
The story I am going to tell is what came out of the Lad's mouth on Friday. As we, including the Outlaws, sat eating dinner, my mother in law asked what the Lad ordered at Denny's. He goes on to tell her about his French Toast Slam, that came with three humongous pieces of French toast, two pieces of bacon, two sausages, eggs and home fries. My mother in law remarked about a Senior Slam and goes on to talk, talk, talk about the small portions for seniors. The Lad hearing about a Senior Plate or Senior Slam asked, "What is that? Something with bran?"
I had tears in my eyes, I was laughing so hard. It was said with impeccable timing. He may be my son after all. Then again, at his school's open house a classmate of his said he looked just like me, but I would not take this kid's word for it.
There you have it, the Lad has made the connection between old folks and need for fibre. Then again, that is something he would NEVER see at the Outlaws. Ain't no vegetables that she won't massacre and magically remove any sense of flavor or texture, if she actually bought and prepared vegetables. Perhaps, there is a major need for some bran there. Kind of makes me wonder.
Ciao! Keep eating your bran. Keep regular. The key to life is a healthy and clean colon.
The story I am going to tell is what came out of the Lad's mouth on Friday. As we, including the Outlaws, sat eating dinner, my mother in law asked what the Lad ordered at Denny's. He goes on to tell her about his French Toast Slam, that came with three humongous pieces of French toast, two pieces of bacon, two sausages, eggs and home fries. My mother in law remarked about a Senior Slam and goes on to talk, talk, talk about the small portions for seniors. The Lad hearing about a Senior Plate or Senior Slam asked, "What is that? Something with bran?"
I had tears in my eyes, I was laughing so hard. It was said with impeccable timing. He may be my son after all. Then again, at his school's open house a classmate of his said he looked just like me, but I would not take this kid's word for it.
There you have it, the Lad has made the connection between old folks and need for fibre. Then again, that is something he would NEVER see at the Outlaws. Ain't no vegetables that she won't massacre and magically remove any sense of flavor or texture, if she actually bought and prepared vegetables. Perhaps, there is a major need for some bran there. Kind of makes me wonder.
Ciao! Keep eating your bran. Keep regular. The key to life is a healthy and clean colon.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
Posts
