This is It.

A fresh notebook for an old story. A boy with a want he can't trade for accomplishment. I sit here waiting for my $5 lunch on this $2 day before heading back to my $30 workday.

This table wobbles making my words shake more than usual. The three girls, or women, beside me talk more politely than their teeth on fork eating. I think this may just be it.

nobody has any money

This is based on a true story, I swear.

So there's this guy, let's call him Eric. He's driving through downtown Guelph during the monsoon we had Tuesday. He spots a woman, no a lady. He spots a lady in her forties standing on the curb with her thumb out. Eric, being a human of the variety we refer to a 'nice', offers this lady and her soaked ass a ride.

Once inside the car Eric asks her where she's headed. I imagine he said something like this,

"Hey there sunshine, where you headed all soaked to the skin like that?"

Okay fine, probably more like this,

"Where can I drop you off?"

"You can give me twenty bucks and I'll give you the best bj in town."

"uh, I don't have any money on me and I don't want anything from you. Can I take you somewhere? Somewhere you can get dry?"

At this point the conversation takes an sharp emotional turn and Eric's new lady friend begins to release a steady stream of water droplets from her eye sockets. (oh uh, clearly that sentence indicates I'm reading too much Vonnegut of late) (uh oh, and that last bracket sentence deal indicates I'm some sort of pretentious book nerd) She composes herself and clearly explains that she really just needs the money.

I'm not sure what her point was in saying that. I suppose she just wanted Eric to know that she didn't actually need to satisfy him in a carnal sense. Pretty sneaky, her real goal was the money the whole time. Eric responds,

"You little witch. You don't even care about me do you? You're not even interested in giving me a bj. Why do I always find myself in relationships with women who are only after my wealth? Get out of my car right this moment. I can't even talk to you right now."

Okay fine, that was his response in the pretend world I call my reality. Back in the "real" world Eric said no deal. With their budding relationship in tatters she gets out of the car while mumbling,

"Fucking city, nobody has any money."

paycheque

I keep meaning to talk to my boss's boss at work. I've been contemplating applying for this manager gig we're hiring for. I don't really want the job so much as I need to increase the dollar amount on my paycheque. I've done too good a job of not working for the dollar amount on my cheque. I need a better balance between being a money grubbing ladder climber and some sort of hippie 'pay me what you can' ideal.

New Feed and Merch Pimping

Apologies to all you bots and spiders, it's been a "dry gulch" around here of late. I've been trying to figure out my life and the role you aren't playing in it. Sorry, it's not your fault.

In case you hadn't noticed, this site does have an RSS feed and it's now different so just subscribe please.

Based on some proding I'm contemplating printing a small run of fbs shirts. If you're interested, email me and let me know which picture you feel best captures the high ideals espoused at this shit show. Remove the word "REMOVE" from that email address if you want me to actually get your email. I love you, I miss you, we'll be together again soon.

speedo's and birth control

I could use a long hike, walk, something outside. I'm eating left-over stir fry in the company lunch area. I pick a hair out of my food. Four women bumble and stumble through gossip at the table in front of me. I alone occupy my gray table for four. My three black plastic chair companions bore themselves.

"Birth control."

I'm on the verge and need to finish. Someone just buy our condo and we'll be off.

"Speedo's."

I'll have to go out to Starbucks, not for the coffee but for the outside world. Should we become accustom to this? The three of them lean in, whisper, giggle and lean back. They wonder about me. What's he writing? What department is he in? Is he doing work? Melanie asked him what he was writing but he never really answered. We should steal his notebook. Take a peek.

"Dawson's Creek, Lord of the Rings."

It's quiet now, the chattering ladies have disappeared back into the gray maze. I won't see them again today.

He's a tad unsocial isn't he? Well he always sits alone, reading or writing. I don't know, he's pleasant enough when I've talked to him. Ya, he can be almost chatty with me. His wife's a photographer. I may get her to do some portraits of the kids.

Really? A photographer? And the unsocial husband is a practicing recluse?

Cable Sucks

I've had cable for two days now and I'm ready to ditch it. It's useless. Sure it's only $30 a month but that means I'm paying $360 a year to get the same 8 networks I got before but on 130 different channels. How many channels do I really need to watch Global on?

"Turn it to global for the end of the news."

"global?"

"ya."

"6, 108, 130, 145, or 345?"

Digital Tether

We haven't had cable television in over three years, since they turned off the free cable we had when we moved in. Well I'm proud to say I'm in the club. Go ahead and welcome me. I feel so connected, so alive. Go ahead, ask me about the latest episode of 24, base all our conversations and communications on Simpson's episodes, I'm on it, I'm there, I'm in the club. It's good to belong.

Common Sense

I finished Lord of the Rings again last week. That 'Scouring of the Shire' chapter really got to me. It felt like Tolkien's statement on civil disobenience and it's role in defining our world.

I'm sure it was more than that but I liked, and picked up on, that. We find the messages and lessons we're after. Frodo and the boys returned home, fresh from saving middle earth, to find things a bit different then they'd left them. The quick and dirty of it is that modern civilization and industrialization moved in and displaced respect and cohabitation along with the general goodwill towards each other.

Trees had been ripped up, social gathering magnets like the Inn's were closed, obscure rules had replaced common sense and were enforced by a new policed state. Frodo didn't waste any time putting it all back to the way it was. Or was it his buddies?

It gets me thinking about common sense, more importantly our sometimes lack of it. We have, over the course of a few centuries and decades, replaced our need for common sense with rules. There's no need to exercise common sense when you've got a rule book in your pocket to take care of that for you.

So, more and more, we have generations of people growing up without ever having to use that skill we call common sense. It's the old quandry, can we have a world of people with common sense when they've never exercised it? Can you raise a responsible child by handling all responsibility for them? Can you mentor a sound decision maker by making decisions for them? Is it possible there's a link between our abandonment of common sense and, I don't know, say a rise in crime?

Looks like I'm running for office again...

Time Travel

I woke up this morning at the age of 32, or maybe it's 33, with a wife and two children and realized time travel is a reality. It just takes patience.

Bit Lessons

Some lessons Bit taught me about a year ago during our text messaging session:

• "life is so much easier not understanding. as soon as you understand things, people start expecting things of you."

Crappy Jobs

My new job blows. I can hardly write anymore and it's because of my crappy job. I have to be somewhat creative, don't have a boss, fictional deadlines, made up HR policies, and I work with people I admire and like.

I don't think I'll ever learn to write with a job like this. I need something that offers more angst, a boss I hate, crappy made-up time filler tasks. Stuff that makes me hate everything about this planet so I can't wait to get home to my family only to retreat into a notebook and bitch about it all.

Sausage Fingers

I tumbled slowly down my street yesterday to buy some cream for an espresso bubbling on the stove. I returned to find the chooch and pumpkin on the kitchen floor, mommy nowhere to be found. Pumpkin, all of one year old by the way, was holding an opened package of breakfast sausages in one hand, her other hand elbow deep in the package. The chooch looked up at me with his hockey helmet and explained "I jus give dat to pumpers".

"What? What the hell's going on here? Pump's, give me that" as I snatched the meat package from her hand. Clenched in the other fist was a full raw breakfast sausage. I literally wrenched the sausage from her fist which she obliterated in the process, squeezing sausage innards over her hand.

Having averted one tragedy, I turned my attention to washing the raw meat off my one year olds hands.

"I jus give dat sausage to pumpers daddy" added the chooch to further explain the breakfast chaos.

"It's okay buddy but we have to cook the animals before we take our place in the foodchain. Hey, what the hell is that?" Having actually looked at the chooch I finally noticed the half eaten raw sausage in his hand.

"Where's the other half of that? Did you eat that?"

"No, I didit."

"Did you eat it? Where is it?"

"What's happening?" asked mom as she returned from whatever guilty pleasures kept her from her carnivorous brood.

"They're eating raw sausages."

"What?"

Upon further inspection we discovered the other half of the chooch's sausage in the package so my children have yet to taste the heady bliss of raw pork.

preacher boy

The chooch now wanders around the house fiddling with a couple of cars or little skateboards in his hands while muttering to himself "god is great, god is great, god is great, god is great". Sometimes he finishes off with an "amen".

I have no intention of contradicting anything the chooch has said there because, assuming you believe he, she, or it exists, how can you argue that god isn't great. Either way I don't really feel like getting into an argument with the chooch over whether the sparkling one exists or is fantabulous. What I'm really curious about is where the hell he came up with that?

The wait is OVER

What's tinted with shades of red and whispers sounds in your ear mixed with caramel and butter yet smells like magic?

Yes daddy, mister Nathan Coles. The outfit's new CD is hitting the yellow asphalt this very day.

Please, just go buy 10 copies. Oh, and for every copy of the CD you purchase you get to read one useless entry on this site free of charge. How you like me now?

If you live on the east coast, go see a show next week. If you're in the GDot, we'll see you on the 26th.

bad pictures

Digital camera's suck, the film takes so long to process.

Panhandling

"Great News From Your Alma Mater"

Those were the words on the envelope, italized to incite me to action. Once I figured out who this Alma Mater chick was my excitement dropped to it's knees and moped around with the brown lettuce. I had an idea what this great news was all about.

Can anyone explain to me how it is that an institution of 'higher learning' can be so intellectually dull?

"Hi, I'm calling from the University of Guelph how are you doing today?"

"I'm okay?"

"Great, we have some exciting projects going on here, can you give us your money?"

"What money? Do you have my record open in front of you?"

"Yes."

"And what does it say there in reference to the remaining balance on my student loans?"

"We don't have that information."

"Well I'd be quite happy to share that with you, I still owe a bank $7,000 for the last time I got all shit-faced and woke up in university. Would you mind adding a note to my record clearly stating that I won't be able to donate any money to you until I'm debt free, which by my calculations should nicely coincide with my hundred and eighty fifth birthday."

"Thanks for your time."

"Not a problem."

computer's feeling insecure

"We're moving all outside access to retinal scans."

"What? Are you serious? They do that?"

"Ah yes, the technologies are readily available these days."

"Sure, but it seems messy."

"It's just optics."

"Optics?"

"Ya."

"Cripes, it seems intrusive, messy, not to mention a little painful."

"Huh?"

"Everytime I enter the building I have to get a rectal scan?"

"Rectal? Eww, not rectal, retinal scan dumb ass. Eyeballs not assholes."

"Oh right, that makes sense. Seriously though, a rectal scan may work better. It's certainly more of a deterrent to entering the building."

Familyless

I was recently contemplating what my life would be like without my wife and our two kids. Here's what I came up with:

"Hey sweets I'm home. Sweets? Family? Oh my fucking god, they're gone. They're fucking gone. I'll never see them again."

"I need a fucking drink. Oh my fuck, we're out of beer, we're out of booze, there is no we, I'm out of booze."

After that I can only assume I'd begin frequenting an endless series of establishments in a painful odyssey ending only when my liver, out of sheer exhaustion, crawls out of my body to find a simple death.

I should really be working for Hallmark with this material. This could be an above average anniversary card.

Working

When I was a very young child, young enough not to remember but old enough to be relieving myself in porcelain bowls as opposed to my own pants, my parents made a decision. They choose a rather invasive operation meant only for my own good. It really had nothing to do with their future or the quality of the separate nursing homes they will soon find themselves lounging in.

The surgery, as finally explained to me by my father as I entered my thirties, was surprisingly simple. A two inch square section of my back scalp was cut and peeled back, not unlike a misplaced mini facelift. Some human cable contained within, my father lacking the medical training or the stomach to watch all that closely or recount accurate details, was severed only to be reattached with a small shinny piece of metal now connecting the loose ends of the cable. From that day forward, whatever fluids, signals or messages were being transmitted along that cable would pass through that metal connector no larger than those coloured fennel seeds they keep in a bowl at the exit of Indian restaurants.

While everything was returned to it's rightful place I still, to this day, have an unexplainable bump on the back left side of my noggin where this handy work took place. The shinny piece of metal would be difficult to find today as it was quickly engulfed and swallowed up by my own living tissue. That tiny shinny piece of metal had three miniscule words neatly engraved on it. Those three words were:

"just work everyday"

I have to get back to work.

writing on the interweb

The people in here are always talking. They use words like java, transactions, developers, code base, acquiring. Why can't we talk to each other? I'm bored of writing about boredom.

Maybe my world has become boring? Why can't I write something fun, something big, bold, and full of red meat, giggles and screams?

I'm on the edge of a decision. I'm thinking of stepping out of the writing closet. I'm thinking of putting some cobbled ramblings on the internet. I'm too lazy to chase around rejection letters or learn what a real story smells like.

"Hi."

"Hey."

"So what do you do?"

"I'm a publisher."

I'm scared of something, just not sure what. Maybe I just don't want to offer a clearer picture of myself? Maybe I'm scared of stumbling in on a conversation:

"No seriously, he put them on the internet."

"And they're really that bad?"

"Well not bad, more funny bad."

I could make that my goal, to entertain people with the low quality of my writing. I should write about green warriors, tall ships, low swampy lakes, a pushy but loving neighbour, that party last Friday. Writing topics are easy to find when you're not looking for them but the good topics only arrive when you stop digging in the closet.

pimp my pimp

With my family away recently I actually watched some TV and was blessed enough to catch a brilliant show called pimp my ride. Oh, hang on, this is the internet, give me a second and let's do that again with a little magic known as a link.

With my family away recently I actually watched some TV and was blessed enough to catch a brilliant show called pimp my ride. That gave me something I had forgotten I was capable of having, an idea. I'm in the process of developing a new reality show called pimp my pimp. You can call the show and ask them to pimp out your low-rent weak styled pimp. Is there anything worse than being too embarrassed to introduce your pimp to your friends and family.

Doing My Part

As long as I continue to impress the people I'm not impressed by I feel I'm doing my part. If you took that seriously then you may be an asshole. Kidding, I thought we were all about the kidding?

Today's Theme Song

She'll be coming round the mountain when she comes
She'll be coming round the mountain when she comes
She'll be coming round the mountain, she'll be coming round the mountain,
She'll be coming round the mountain when she comes

She'll be driving six white horses when she comes
She'll be driving six white horses when she comes
She'll be driving six white horses, she'll be driving six white horses,
She'll be driving six white horses when she comes

Oh, we'll all go out to meet her when she comes
Oh, we'll all go out to meet her when she comes

Oh, we'll all go out to meet her, we'll all go out to meet her,
We'll all go out to meet her when she comes

She'll be wearing red pajamas when she comes
She'll be wearing red pajamas when she comes

She'll be wearing red pajamas, she'll be wearing red pajamas,
She'll be wearing red pajamas when she comes

She will have to sleep with Grandma when she comes
She will have to sleep with Grandma when she comes
She will have to sleep with Grandma, she will have to sleep with Grandma,
She will have to sleep with Grandma when she comes

out of work clowns

There's an entire industry blossoming around the working man, the non-working man, the bored stale man. It's an entertainment industry, a vehicle built to occupy us while we bore away the hours doing nothing in our seemingly pointless jobs.

I've only recently noticed this as it's come into glaring focus. I have less time of late to browse the various outcroppings of this industry. As a result, I have no idea what's going on at lonestarrunner, I'm seriously behind on reading any blogs and I've barely touched the tsn website this week.

This industry consists mostly of websites geared to distract you from the volume of grey surrounding you. Something to keep your gaze so you don't notice your life crawling by your cube on all fours. It's a tv in the minivan driving you to your midlife crisis.

"Oh, I love this movie, how thoughtful of you to have a tv in the minivan, where are we headed again?"

"Next stop is your midlife crisis."

"That's great."

"Sorry, we do have to make a stop or two on the way. Nothing serious, divorce, misery, alcoholism again, and I believe two stops for death."

"Is this the one with Julia Roberts in it? Ocean's something?"

"Ocean's Twelve, yes."

"Great, thanks."

Shooting Messengers

It's been a while since a cliche has come into target. I was thinking about this whole "don't shoot the messenger" business. Have we confirmed this one lately?

Maybe we should be shooting the messenger? Think about it, they're the ones with the shitty news. Take them out of the picture and I'm back to fairy la la land.

What? Now I'm above ignorant bliss? I sort of thought that was the point?

All You Can Be

I have no clue what I am. I know what people think I am. Some think I'm a career man, a computer consultant of sorts. Others feel I'm a floater, some kind of free thinker they can't reign in.

To my parents... To my parents... My parents feel I'm, cripes I'm not sure about my folks. I assume they're biased either way. My mother surely loves and extols everything publicly consumable about my existence, the darker bits invisible. I could do a line of coke in front of her without her noticing.

I plan on being equally blind with my children. Actually, no I don't. I plan on being more accepting, more willing to take the bad and the good. Cripes I feel like some AA ad at this point. Let's face it, I don't know what my parent's are willing to accept about my reality. I really don't give them the chance. I protect them from the darker bits and then blame them when they happen to see some of them. It's delusional on my part.

I don't have the time, energy, capacity, or ability to be everything people think I am. Can you imagine if I truly was all those things? Someone said to me just two nights ago, "I didn't know you were a writer?" My instinct, barely held back, was to agree. I didn't know I was a writer either, but that's because I know I'm not. To some people I'm a talented hockey player. To others I'm a burden on the ice. As long as I can have a nap at some point today then I'll be whatever the hell you want.

hillside

I'll be performing live at this year's hillside. Don't be an idiot, make sure you're there July 22 to 24. I can't believe I have to hold your hand on this stuff.

not your style

I like eating here. It's my perch. I can sit at the front here by the wall of glass separating me from the locals presumably making their way to work and school. I'm doing neither. I'll work later but I'm not here as part of my path to work.

The sun's out for a change. It's peeking at people over the buildings, touching their shoulders as they cross the street. The city's already put some flowers into the concrete containers. A skateboarder jumps a tree stump, another child lights a cigarette.

They're all so prepared, so prepped. The start of another day, a chance to not fuck this one up. I order a grill cheese and tomato with homefries. I've had too many eggs this week and it's too early to eat an entire clubhouse.

I try guessing where people are headed, what jobs or lives they think they're heading to, who they're trying to be. A young dishevelled girl walks by with tears clinging to her cheeks. She walked by heading the other direction only two minutes ago. Her day's not what she'd hoped and it's only just begun. She expected something different, something better or worse depending who you ask but certainly something different. She expected to catch that bus, to make it to her new job on time, to not give up, to not let her parent's down once again, to make the people in her life smile.

It's all simple once you have a routine, once you find a pattern to your life that leaves you alone. A pattern that mostly keeps the people around you from getting too upset with you. The problems start when you find yourself sitting in front of another tv show, alone, wondering how you got there. You think about the job you can barely think about without gurgling with anger. You think of the friends you put in time with. The problem isn't your life, it's you. This life was perfect for you when you settled into it. Now it's that ten year old black suit you drag out for a family wedding. You look in the mirror and can't stand the site of yourself in it, it doesn't fit you right and you're not convinced it was ever your style.

sorry

Ok, if anyone, anywhere, besides this guy and these guys is actually reading this thing called an interweb then I would like to take this opportunity to apologize.

First off, I lead you on. I made you believe that I could keep this up. This would be so embarrassing to type if not for the fact that you fundamentally don't exist and I'm just here minding my own business.

Daddy needs a drum kit. Okay, here's a little test. If you actually exist and you're not like google or yahoo and are just a figment of my imagination who runs away everytime the news machine says there's something wrong with the market with the stocks, then just pick up the phone. Or email me or something. I don't want this to be like that hot chick I knew in high school. We were friends. We talked. Then when I came home to my parent's house one weekend when we were all old and broken, she took four words from her filthy pocket and painted them on the wall. Those words were...

"I can't believe the crush I had on you in high school. I completely worshipped you."

"What?"

"I had such a crush on you."

"You did, of course you did."

Of course the entire time, are you machines even paying attention? You figure out the rest and contact me if you actually exist. Combs, if you still exist, I miss you and I'll buy you a diet coke anyday.

[EDITORIAL NOTE] I'm just kidding, we don't actually have an editor. I can't believe the CFL has instant replay and fbs doesn't have an editor. Is the CFL doing better than us financially? That's embarrassing. Cripes, I'm glad I wrote this editorial note or I would have never learned what's missing. Anyway, the point to this whole thing was to just say if you aren't actually a figment then I'm sorry I don't change things here as much as you may like. If you existed. This is such a difficult conversation...stopping.

Ocean's 11 not bad

Okay, so I got suckered, made the fool of, turned amock. Does 'turned amock' actually say anything? Anyway, call me the King's foolish son but I think I'm the last to learn, purely through hard work I'll add, that the eleven in "Ocean's Eleven" meant that it was only entertaining on it's eleventh viewing. I mistakenly thought the title was somehow related to there being eleven people.

Ok, so only now, half way through this "ocean's 11 not bad thing" do I realize that I'm actually talking about oceans12, so the title should be "ocean's 12 not bad on 11th viewing" and everything written above should be re-read replacing any 11's with 12's. Can you handle that? I know there aren't normally so many tasks and instructions. I don't want you thinking, should I do the crossword in the globe or read fbs? Things are normally simpler now just do what I said.

There's really quite a lot going on right now. I feel like an ass but I think ultimately I'm okay with that.

Dancer II

You know that whole "dance like no one's watching" business? Well all I'm saying is sometimes you should dance like some people are watching because chances are they are.

Dancer

Ok, try and follow me on this one. If you're a guy and you're a good dancer, it means you practiced at home in the mirror way too much. I know it and you know it.

something you'll only get if you live in guelph

my head hurts, I can't feel my legs, and I need something to eat if only to get the taste of sun suns out of my mouth...

Home

This working from home thing is having a negative influence on my life. My realm of forced contact shrunk significantly three months ago when I quit my office job. I'm no longer stuck going out to lunch in a blank town I have to drive 45 minutes to with an acquaintance. There are days and weeks in which I only come into contact with a small subset of family and neighbourhood friends, people I enjoy being around. It's a beautiful thing and I wouldn't swap it for a shot at the NHL. Well, I'd have to think about that one but the impossibility of the latter certainly makes the claim easier.

Trying to write is art not science. It can't be done in the lab. It demands a pallette, a backdrop, a muse. It asks to be shaken up. I change notebooks, different shapes and sizes of paper. Ok, I'm fairly consistent on notebook choices but I do mess it up from time to time.

I write in different spots, coffee shops, home, breakfast joints, pubs. I need that guy with the loose facial hair to walk in with his sport coat barely covering his superman t-shirt. Him and his lady accomplice giving away their non-regular status by ordering off the menu. Cripes, never order breakfast off the menu at the apollo. It's insulting to Cathy. Just describe what you want. Head to the bookshelf if you need to order by numbers with no substitutions.

Recreate the World

Something new, something blue, something lame....

Recreate over at the jumbled letters.

Crappy Pants

I'm not having the best of days up in here. I can't wait until reality tv time so I can feel better about my life. Man those people are idiots.

New Letters

Well look who decided to show up bald over at the jumbled letters.

Same thing only different

Based on popular demand, you the robot, spider or poker site are now truly in control. Get yer archives in two nasty flavours, available at the top of every damn page.

Have fun, knock yourself out and drag your carcass out back.

A brand new day

I had my first Molson Creemore last night and it was outstanding. Believe it or not the second, third, and fourth were even better. Finally someone's helping them clean up their act and get those small town hicks producing a decent beer. Great job corporate Canadiana.

If I see Molson's today it's getting a big hug.

real world

Technically I write even if it's not on paper. I write in my head. I've written in my head as long as I can recall. So much so, I used to question the quality of my brain sponge, whether it was soaking up and expelling the right stuff. I'd have long drawn out exchanges and dialogues with people. I'd play hockey, sing on stage, get the girl.

Maybe it's part of being quiet or a quiet guy, which I am only when the people who know me can't get me to shut up. This is the first time I've comtemplated that what I worried was a lack of sanity may actually be a good thing. When I'm not talking to you, telling you to get bent, hugging you or smashing my teeth off yours, I am doing just that in my head. Who needs the 'real world' when you've got this?

Sanity's so overrated.

Sellout II

Someone needed to translate the marketspeak on this issue to clear things up so I'll take a crack.

"It's a very nicely robust, full-flavoured, well-balance beer," Peter Amirault, senior vice-president of business development for Molson Canada, said in a telephone interview.

translation: "It doesn't taste like yellow water...yet"

"The company is very successful because it has a brand that has shown growth every year."

translation: "Clearly they were fucked financially otherwise why would they whore themselves to us, but I just want to say something to make you think otherwise."

"Creemore is rounding up Molson's brand portfolio and will strongly position us in the domestic super-premium segment, becoming an engine for growth and allowing us to continue to provide beer drinkers with quality products that meet their various preferences, as well as drinking occasions," Kevin Boyce, CEO of Molson Canada, added in a release.

translation: "I've already sold my soul several times this week so I may as well just read something straight from last year's annual report. As well I would just like to take this opportunity to say super-premium."

"Molson's intention is for Creemore to continue operating as a distinct organization benefiting from its own people, knowledge, recipes and marketing methods."

translation: "Relax, obviously we can't fire everyone today."

"Molson understands and appreciates what is special about the Creemore brand and this makes them a great purchaser for the company," Creemore Springs Brewery chairman Bill Wilder said.

translation: "I'd like to lay the groundwork now and promise to act surprised when they gut everything unique about this place."

"Quebecers don't like to drink the same beer as people in Ontario or English Canada."

translation: "I have no idea what to say but I need to say something so I'll state a useless truth no one could possibly bother to argue about. I was going to say that Quebecers don't like to speak the same language as people in Ontario or English Canada but that seemed more transparent and less relevant to the topic at hand."

Get on bored

"Are you making fun of me?"

"Ya, you aren't? I thought we both were?"

Sellout

It's the saddest news in the world.

Why has the one thing I truly loved been taken away from me? I deserve this? Everything's different now.

Done

"Did I already tell you the cat story?"

"Yes."

"Oh."

"Just assume you've told me everything."

Lonely

I feel so free today. I've been wrestling with the fact that this site apparently gets hits from someone or something yet no one seems to be actually reading it based on email, comments, feedback, phone calls, letters, gifts, and other human based interaction.

I decided to open up and look at the actual site stats. I quickly found myself in one of those ignorance is bliss scenarios. It turns out I've been writing to poker sites and google this entire time, I think. This is so freeing since this whole time I incorrectly assumed the odd human was reading this. Suckers, hit me, no hold em, double down.

overhearing horny elbows

"I'm kind of on the injured list these days. I've seriously aggravated both of my shoulders, and I have a hint of tendonitis in both elbows"

"you have horny elbows?"

"no."

"oh, sorry, thought you said you have a hint of testosterone in both elbows"

ping

If you work with techies, or geeks as they're sometimes slandered, you've surely experienced this habit of using tech phrases to describe real world activities.

Example 1: "I'll ping Chachi when I'm done that."

Translation 1: "I'll call Chachi when I'm done that."

The real activities tend to have a much longer history and broader reach than the tech ones so the use of these phrases is partially about obscurity. They're also the computer workers last stab at being part of the in crowd. They never got to say phrases like:

"Dude, I redpointed that 5.12 out at crag x. I almost onsighted it but guyMan yelled beta up to me just as I was about to throw that last double dyno."

In an attempt to better understand this phenomenon, I'm trying out a few research techniques. First I'm using real world terms in tech circles to describe technical activities, essentially reversing the above process.

Example 1.1: "The process should then ftp that over a secure connection to the backup location."

My version: "I'll make sure the stamp's licked on that and I'll walk it over to the storage shed myself."

Second, I'm trying out taking the use of tech phrases literally.

Example 1.2: "I pinged Chachi when I was done."

"Really? I didn't get that call?"

"What call? I pinged you."

Fitting in with the boys Part II

This is how it went when I told my lady about the conversation that inspired that recent playlet

me: "Then I said 'ya, along with every stripper in the golden triangle'"

the love and pillar of my life: "That's stupid. That's not even funny, why would you say that?"

Working At Home

Okay, this is certainly one perq of working at home. Guess who's sitting here in my office right now as I type this?

That's right, none other than big bottle of creemore.

"No I love YOU more..."

"No I love YOU more..."

"Ok fine, I love YOU more..."

Stupid bottle won't admit it loves me too.

Fitting in with the boys

I've been playing hockey the last month or so with a group of city employees. It's pretty much free ice and they're a good bunch of guys. They all work together and know each other so I'm by far the new guy.

I tend to mind my own business. I smile at the odd joke that's not completely an inside one. Today I actually tried to join in. It seemed like a good thing to say right before I said it. Here's how it played out in a playlet:

Curtain raises. A wooden bench runs along a brick wall which lines the back of the stage. It's painted a glossy blue, smeared with black marks and sparse graffitti. A sign warning against alcohol consumption identifies it as a hockey dressing room.

Six guys of varying age, most in their thirties, are partially dressed in hockey equipment. The typical locker room, boys will be boys, banter comes and goes. One character, Brydon, stays to himself and doesn't appear to know the others as well or be a part of their inside jokes.

Steve: "You're playing net today Rick?"

Rick: "Yep, it's my fourth or fifth time."

Steve: "I'll try not to get the puck up too often. I may get you in the crotch a few times though."

Rick: "Ya right. Don't bother, my wife'll kill you."

Brydon: "Ya, her and every other stripper in town."

A door on the right side of the stage slams open, a man enters wearing a solid white one piece spandex outfit. The words "SILENCE" are printed boldly in red ink across the front and back of his suit.

SILENCE (yelling and holding his hands up to the other actors): "Ok, that's it. No more, shut it down boys. Not another word."

SILENCE continues to hold his hands up. He bops, twitches, and jerks around for about a minute exuding a lack of comfort while the others remain quiet. He then exits the room.

Steve: "So should I go white or dark?"

My Second Attempt to Run For Office, with Bono

I went to university so that I would have a large enough debt to incent me into the work force. What would our workforce look like if none of us had debt?

Bono from U2 is parading around trying to get the world to forgive 3rd world debt. It sounds great but would he raise his children that way? Lend them money everytime they ask and then simply forgive the debt when it's repayment time. How would a child raised that way function in a capitalist environment?

Doesn't giving and forgiving debt increase the dependence on debt? What should happen the next time one of those countries needs a loan? Is Bono, surely one of our richest entertainers, really an authority on what's best for someone living with a heavy debt load? The man's worth more than my country and most banks. This is like learning break dancing moves from the pope, rest his soul. Or investment advice from Johnnie the downtown bottle collector. Or hair grooming tips from the Donald. Ok, sorry, way too easy to get lost in that tangent.

I certainly don't know the answer. I don't even know the question or why I'm writing about it. I'm fairly certain that debt forgiveness isn't a path to helping someone live within their means. Bono's starting to bug me now. I hope he's thought about this crap.

Why shouldn't we do this at a personal level if it makes so much sense? The bank has truckloads of cash. It's easily within their power to simply forget about my debt. It sure would be nice. Maybe that's it, I'm just jealous. I'm jealous of third world countries, there I said it.

I'm going to borrow money from Bono to pay off my debts and mortgage. He'll understand my plight and he'll forgive me. He'll also forgive me five years from now when I'm back once again looking for another round of forgiveness.

Serious facial hair

As you know, from reading what's written here with the intensity and focus of a fear factor couples contestant, I grew some facial hair last year. I was doing some home renovations at the time, have you ever tried to wield an estwing framing hammer or a sawsall with a cleanly shaven face? It's like playing tackle football in pink panties, I think.

Anyway, it's amazing what you can find on this computerWeb deal. Some people take their facial hair WAY too seriously. Cripes, lighten up pally...

What I've learned about titles so far

Well not much, but I do know that if you put the word 'masterbation' in the title people will at least click that title more than others. You people make me sick, if you are in fact people.

How to be a dick

I was playing hockey recently when a teammate offered me some advice, "you're a nice guy but you gotta stop doing that shit."

Afterwards I was trying to think of some possible alternatives he could have used for the "you're a nice guy but" portion of his monologue. Here are some I've come up with:

• "I know I'm about to be a dick but I'm going to say it anyway.."
• "I don't care for you or your type one bit so..."
• "Something deep inside me is creeping up screaming at me not to say what I'm about to say but..."
• "Let's not bullshit each other. I don't like you, you may not like me but..."
• "In my experience, berating people is the best way to build relationships and encourage behavioural changes so..."

Big bottle of creemore

I love you big bottle of creemore. There I said it. I love big bottle of creemore. I love an inanimate object, a marketing ploy, an idea. My only solace that I at least have feelings for something cool.

It's not like I love Fresca or Ford cars. I suppose everyone thinks the things they love are cool. That guy proclaiming his love for diet coke with lemon thinks it's cool.

Am I the fool? Is it all about percentages? If 60% of people I know agree that my love for big bottle of creemore is cool then I'm cool? I can be even cooler by ditching my friends who don't agree and finding more friends who love big bottle of creemore.

How does this impact the things I love that aren't cool? The secrets. Things like plucking nose hair until the tears stream down your face.

"What's wrong? Are you crying?"

"Nose hairs."

Back hairs as well, although that sometimes requires a teammate. Picking my nose when it really needs it. That's not cool. Zits and popping them. We all love that though, otherwise you'd see more faces full of bulging white heads instead of sore open wounds with the tops clawed clear off.

Ahh but wait. Maybe the fact I'm able to be open with these nasty habits and the pleasures I take in them somehow makes me cool? It shows confidence. Now if I can only pee my pants in public then I'm clearly leaning towards overconfidence with a mix of lowered intelligence and the ability to sit in my own urine.

I'm not sure how big bottle of creemore feels about me. So cold. I'm now pissed about creemore introducing a normal sized bottle. In the beginning I bought into the story they fed me. Stories work when it comes to marketing. Their spiel about the perfect bottle neck, about some rusted old machine they saved in Italy or Spain to cap the bottles. Nothing but a cash grab. Little bottle of creemore means nothing to me. It's a vessel and nothing more.

only about the telling

I hate it that you've made me explicitly say this. Once and for all, what's written here is NOT about you. There I said it. Read the beginning of this for a more thorough explanation or just write something yourself and see what happens.

Recent Barbara Walters Interview With Stephen King:
"Stephen, how have you managed to get away with killing all these people across all these different dimensions? Shouldn't you be in jail?"

Recent Interview With Gene Roddenberry:
"Gene, you're able to visit and travel to all these incredible worlds yet you continue to live on Earth. Tell us, what is it about Earth that keeps you here?"

An Overly Boring View of 1968

I don't recall anything before that day. Amnesia at it's finest. It's the same day we all experience, our birthday. The day we put it all together. The day we begin to realize the part we play.

Before then it's all disconnected parts, trying to clinch a hand, strange appendages we're somehow related to. Then one day it falls into place. We look in the mirror and see ourselves. For the first time in our short lives we spot ourselves in the crowd, we see ourselves from outside ourselves. Our consciousness comes into being and some of it begins to make sense.

You can't describe what it was like before that day. It's pure instinct, reaction and action, stimlus and response. I wonder if we're somehow conscious of the early lessons at the time we learn them. When we struggle to grasp the act of walking we focus solely on that purpose. Once we focus on it enough it slips off into our subconscious and we no longer think of it again.

How aware are we at that point? Could we explain how to walk, how to fire our muscles in the exact sequence to take a step? How to sense our lack of balance and fire off even more muscles to compensate.

We, as a people, as a planet, saw ourselves in the mirror. It was 1968. The year we sent the first manned vessel into orbit. They returned with a mirror. It was a photograph of our planet. A chance to see ourselves from outside ourselves. An act of global enlightenment.

Those photo's gave birth to the Gaia theory. Gaia is the earth goddess, the theory being that our planet is simply a large single organism. It helps ease the daily stress of going to my 9 to 5 job to know that I'm doing my part. My only task is simple, breath in oxygen and breath out CO2, along with gathering plant and animal matter, ingesting it and converting it into a rich fertilizer sometimes called poopnuts. That's it, everything else is gravy.

I enjoy the arrogance of environmentalism. The notion that we can somehow save the planet, or that the planet needs saving, makes me smile. Could some miniscule bacteria living in our blood stream save us? How much of a role do they really play?

Will this organism we inhabit allow us to destroy it or are we simply an irritating insect on it's back? Once it notices us and we become enough of a nuisance it'll get around to dealing with us.

Stupid Labels

I've already touched on my love of the term blogging. Now I will bore you with more details since you clearly haven't asked for them.

Why do people insist on calling it blogging? It's just some type of writing is it not? Since when does the tool you use to publish matter? If you write a story for the local paper in MS Word, are you a Worder or a paperist? A weblog is a means to login and publish pieces of content to be served up on the web.

Stop talking.

Yellow Smells

Please tell me I'm not alone in finding it intriguing when my afternoon pee smells like the chili I had for lunch?

Oh please, dip that rifle in the honey and take your high horse out back for a stroll.

My First Attempt to Run For Office

I'm surrounded by the foot soldiers of higher education, evidently it's that time of year. The snow reluctantly melts away, becomes fodder for the coming spring. Tiny green-brown buds appear on the ends of branches and thousands upon thousands of university students begin the real learning process.

Final exams are mere days away, time to decipher those courses you don't want to have to take again. Begin the guessing game, the goal being far from that of learning. The point of the course, the material you're intended to learn, the building blocks intended to move you forward in your scholastic career all disappear.

Anything you've picked up at this point is an accident, an unlikely byproduct of the few lectures you made it up in time for, or that one assignment you actually did yourself. Today, all that matters is hedging bets. What will this professor put on the exam? That's all that matters, all that ever mattered.

"I heard he didn't even mention chapter six in the lectures and it wasn't on any of the quizzes so I'm not bothering with it."

"He spent three classes on this, I'm focussing on it, forget that other crap."

"I'm only studying the second half of the course, I'm ignoring the whole first half. I'll learn it inside out, that'll be what he focusses on anyway."

"I've already passed that course so I'm not even studying for it."

It's a game, a system. It's the students versus the profs. The student's job is to figure out how to get the marks. Study? Sure but the real gains are in loopholes, old exams, figuring out what parts of the material the prof seems to like, borrowing assignments, getting into group projects with the keen students.

The profs spend their time patching the holes. You have to pass the final exam in order to pass the course regardless of your overall mark. You have to at least hand in every assignment. You must get a passing mark in class participation to pass the course. Group members must assess their fellow group members on their participation.

They'll all gadgets to fill holes. Each rule a clear route marker of a path taken at one point by a student playing the game. Profs are there to improve the game.

When I went on to post secondary education I naively assumed it was about learning, about growing through the courses taken. When I finished I naively assumed that the system was flawed, that it was just a useless game of working the system for marks. Work your ass off on the first assignment or two in order to bias the prof. Slack the rest of the course and your prof will create the excuses for you. Ploy on top of ploy, play the game.

What I've since realized is that the system actually works quite well. I simply misinterpreted the goal of the system. The marks game is perfect training for the salary game. Get good at it and you'll do well in the workplace. Will you contribute to society? Enjoy your career? Lead a fulfilled life? I have no idea, that's completely unrelated. One has nothing to do with the other. You're simply being prepared to function and accept a system where you spend your days pandering to the few people that control the rewards. People that generally know little about you, your life, your work, or your happiness.

It's the chicken and the egg. Which came first, the marks or the salaries? Did the marks system create people craving the salary system or did the marks come about to support and feed the salary system?

A happy society of people controlled by their craving of a manmade fiction, money. I would guess that currency, money, was created as a common language for bartering and nothing more. It's a brilliant way for the blacksmith to interface with the seamstress through the farmer but did anyone intend it to be this?

Wow, it's a serious morning up in here....someone say something funny...please.....

shhmokes....

I'm giving smoking one last ditch attempt. I know I've said this before but I'm serious this time.

I need to smoke. I don't need cigarettes specifically, I need something to occupy my hands and my mind. Something to run out of, something to have to run out to the store to pick up another pack of, something to do when I'm stuck waiting for my ride, somewhere to go when my table empties out to bathroom and smoke breaks and I'm left fiddling with my cell phone.

Silence

I turn the volume down on the stereo slightly. This movie's squealing at me through it. The speakers whistling at high strange pitches. I can now hear the hum of the tv itself, and the chun-chun-chun of the tape turning in the vcr.

Now more aware, I notice the continuous hum of my computer sitting idle beside me. Ok, that has to be turned off. I follow and find more sounds. Out through the family room and into the kitchen I can make out the fuzzing the fridge makes and the rocks being tossed around in the dishwasher.

What sounds are we running from? What could we hear if we didn't constantly fill our ears with this machine generated pollution? Are there sounds we're intentionally avoiding? Distracting ourselves from what's right in front of us.

I return my focus to the movie, enough pop psychology for one joint. Just as I start to put my newly found sounds out of awareness there's a click and then nothing.

Something snaps and the power of hearing and sight slip from me. Complete silence. It's a rush of relief, a great sigh, that useless constant onslaught of audible information gone. That chunk of cheese in my skull usually devoted completely to filtering and sifting through it freed, it's first official lunch break. It's like finally getting the attention of someone after tapping them on the shoulder for twenty nine years.

What do I do now? What can I do? The possibilities flood through my cheeseblock and then wash away, returning me to the nothing. I'll do nothing. I'll keep it clear and wash myself in the silence. The complete and utter silence is all I focus on. Damn, this is great.

Then I hear it again, only backwards this time. A loud click, a whir and the sounds around me scream back to life as the power is returned to my part of the city. Fuck. I contemplate which pole I'd have to ghost my car into to get it back.

managing expectations

"ah daddy?"

"ya buddy, what's up?"

"you have a second?"

"sure, sounds serious? and may I say you're speaking very goodly this afternoon."

"thanks, that second birthday I had last weekend made all the difference, and ya this is serious."

"ok, shoot."

"I just want to let you know that I won't be finishing potty training until my six birthday."

"ah, ok, have we even started your potty training?"

"not really but mom keeps saying things like 'are you going poo?' and 'do you want to use the potty?' to me when I try to hide in the corner and fill my diaper in privacy."

"should we give it more of a chance before you claim your six birthday as the cutoff? I have to say the idea of changing your poopy pants for four more years isn't making this day any better."

"well that's why we're talking about it."

"but aren't most kids out of diapers by three? I think you can do better than six."

"ok fine. I can't keep this up. look, I'm only trying to manage your expectations."

"what?"

"you know, underpromise overdeliver."

"oh cripes, have you been watching Oprah and Dr. Phil with mom again?"

"maybe."

"well back in the real world managing expectations used to be called setting your sites low."

"hold that thought, I need to find a corner."

serial killer

You know that moment when you realize something's actually about you? You're watching tv or reading a book, they're discussing some deviant behaviour or social misfits and slowly you recognize a few points and then there's that jarring moment where you become the person they're discussing.

I got home early yesterday and my lady was watching the last few minutes of our lord, otherwise known as Oprah. They were talking about some guy who killed his pregnant wife and the shrink kept discussing his inability to cope with reality and how he escaped into substances like alcohol and drugs.

Ok, so I need to know, all you people who aren't escaping into alcohol and drugs, where the hell are you escaping to? Don't say serial killing sprees because my insurance rates can't handle me taking on more dangerous habits.

2 kid devices

I caught myself mumbling to myself this morning at 4am, "2's a good number, what's wrong with 2? 2's a good number", as the chooch wailed, whined, and flabergasted in the other room.

Sleep total last night? Four of five hours which is great for a 6 month old. Unfortunately the chooch turned two last month. Two, it's a good number.

tattoo's and teeth rebuttal

I don't know what that was. If I knew I'd have some things figured out and then we wouldn't need each other would we?

tattoo's and teeth

Jeff stepped through the door, the loose pane of glass shaking in the door, it's sound a tap on the shoulder. He entered the room to his left and sat in the welcoming dull green chair. The room smelled of dorito's, magazines, and hash.

The other piece of furniture in the room, an equally dull chair, cuddled up to Ethan. Ethan's green face was upstaged by his vacated tooth. His face defined by what wasn't there.

At the age of nine, on water spread across the park in the winter to make an ice surface, Ethan's tooth stepped into an alien world leaving behind the warm cozy confines of his mouth for good.

It's a look. Ethan sometimes smiles like he's better off without it. It's gives an impression. Some people have earrings, piercings, tattoos, cellphones, cars, something to say I'm not what you see here. I'm more than this, I'm a guy with a piercing. Ethan had his tooth that had left him. It somehow, through it's absence, talked for him.

Jeff on the other hand handn't had any teeth leave. He had to get tattoo's instead.

lockout sex

I keep overhearing people blathering on about how our hospitals are going to be filled to the brim with pregnant ladies come this spring. This grand manifestation of newborns is, of course, all due to the NHL lockout.

"Well they have to do something with all that time....ha ha...chuckle chuckle..."

Should I read anything into the fact that it's always lonely looking heavy set women saying this, call it wishful thinking?

I don't hear any of the women married to us hockey watching couch potatoes suggesting that they're at home making like minks now that Wayne or Mario aren't around. Like the only thing keeping the married couples from copulating is that 3 hours of puck watching while sitting on the couch eating dorito's off their chests.

"Well we would have another child if it wasn't for that Mr. Maclean and his purple sidekick!!"

Eating with my gun

Finally someone's taking some action. It's long been a personal peeve of mine that you have to choose between protecting yourself or eating.

No drinking while packing heat: "law-abiding gun owners should be able to dine in restaurants without leaving their weapons at home or in the car, where they are useless for protection"

You aren't leaving without me

I was dying again yesterday. I'm only today recouperating from the twisted mix of West Nile and SARS that pulled me to the edge. I teetered towards black and I knew it.

Some of us watch our deaths progress, some prefer it's suspense. I can't stand the thought of battling some obscure cancer my entire life only to forget to look both ways at a crosswalk and get run over by a bio-diesel public transit bus. I can't spend my entire life running from a death that isn't mine.

It's part of the beauty of dying, not knowing how we'll go. I don't need to contribute to cosmic irony, if there is such a thing, with my death. I can handle not knowing. My demise may be a ton of metal and glass parked at a Tim Horton's in Toronto or some fleshy heart flap gradually rotting away, being eaten by myself.

If, when we die, it is the end then we'll never know our deaths. That's the attraction of suicide. It's knowing, planning, and carrying out your own passing, taking back that control. I always planned on some grand fall if I killed myself. The idea of falling in a way no one else could appeals to me. An experience only had if it ends in death.

Hanging myself alone in a room seems sad, and boring. Shooting my head off is way too messy. I've never been a fan of my own blood so the idea of spilling it everywhere feels out of character. Freezing, or burning to death, is too drawn out and unnecessarily painful.

What's the point of this thought again? Oh right, I'm rotting inside, dying a slow and sometimes painful death that I'm choosing to ignore. Even that I'm obviously doing a poor job of by rambling on about it here.

automatic technology

Two lines from a recent email:

"they will initiate an automated transfer request"

"I will say 'yes' and the domain will be automatically transfered to you"

Only after reading this email did I begin to recognize how automatic life is.

"I will push the mower and the lawn will automatically be cut"

"I will press the keys and the email will automatically be sent"

"I will swallow the bite and I will automatically be fed"

I could automatically keep this up all day.

trees with a sense of humour

I wish I could say I made up these tree names.

• Australian grey bastard box (Eucalyptus hemiphloia)
• Balsamo, Palo de (Myroxylon balsamum)
• Bâtárd, Angélique (Dicorynia guianensis)

Ok, I went to school with a kid named Palo de Balsamo. I had no clue he was named after a tree.

the juice

Are we joking with all this baseball steriods talk? This is news to you? The FBI knew about this ten years ago? Wow, they're certainly on the ball as well.

I realize how 'I did this before you did' this may sound but I watched kids injecting steriods when I was in high school fifteen years ago. Let's think about this. Canadian high school kids were injecting steriods fifteen years ago so they could look good at the beach and make the high school football team. It's Canada. Our beaches are cold and polluted and our high school football's like playing pro hockey in Florida.

Now take those same kids and give them a hint of millions of dollars and fame? Geee......

shameless chooch shot

Are you kidding me? We were all surprised OJ was there but it really hit the kids hard. Click the pic for bigguns...

cars in a pool

Steven walked into my head, took a look around and decided it wasn't his deal. Since then I haven't been able to forgive him. I try. I want to but I don't control that part of me. I do at a conscious level. I can tell you I've forgiven him. I can tell myself as well but I know I'm full of shit.

It comes with reaching my thirties. As each year passes I see through more and more of my own bullshit. In my teens I could convince myself of anything. I loved playing football, I was good at football, I liked hanging around with football assholes.

Ok, I sucked at football and most of my friends were actually assholes. I only recalled last year that I was cut from the football team one year. There's like 50 kids on a football team and I wasn't good enough to be one of them. How sad is that? I was also the last defencemen cut the one year I tried out for the high school hockey team. I'm perpetually the best on the shittiest team or the worst on the best team.

Steven presents a problem. I'd rather just move forward with our 'relationship' but how do I forgive and move on? I look for points we have in common, things we can argue about. There's something fundamental in our distance. It has to be him too, it can't be all me.

Our relationship is simple and quiet. We drive each other to work. It's great. We're making a difference, saving the planet for all you single passenger fuckers out there. You're driving us all to oblivion you assfucks.

Now that would make carpooling more exciting, if I really was a raging swearing asshole environmentalist. It's what we need more of. Full on white trash mouthy hard drinking environmentalists. The ones we have now are all soft and squishy. That's what's cool about lesbians, they're like a box of nails with a bullhorn strapped to it constantly spouting it's opinions. It's all they think they've got. Carpooling would be more interesting with some more swearing.

It's the same with GO trains. No one on those trains talks human. They all speak this grey language all rounded off at the corners. It's like watching the same teletubbies episode each and everyday. If anyone talks human on a GO train the other grey people think they're lunatics. I do it myself. Think about it, if a guy on a GO train talks the way you talk with your friends loud enough, you'd be wondering if he was in the bag or just plain messed. You'd get off the train chuckling with your grey train friends about that looney bird.

There's an art and etiquette to carpooling. It changes your day, your schedule's displaced. It binds you to other people. I watch the clock in the mornings not because I'm worried about getting to work late but because I can't be late for my carpool. What does that mean? I'm more committed to these carpool people than my job. Now that I like.

Staples and pens

Am I alone in my love of giant paper and pen places like Staples and Office Depot? I could spend a day in that aisle full of pens and try out every damn one of them.

I just can't figure out whether to hate this quirk or embrace it. So if you could just tell me what your opinion is then I can decide whether I want to be more like you or less like you and then I'll have my answer.

pen and paper

I write with pen and paper which sometimes feels so caveman like. I prefer the idea of pen and paper. It's not romance but something like that.

As I sit here sipping my coffee, my dollar store notebook and pen on this small circle of a table with my feet on the ledge, I have no concerns what anyone around me thinks. No one's looking over my shoulder checking out what OS I'm running. Am I coding, playing with a spreadsheet or solitaire.

I'd be an entirely different person to these strangers if I was writing the exact same words into a computer. It's the difference between a guy running by wearing $1000 worth of athletic spandex and moisture wicking, water resistant running garb versus that lady who just ran by in loafers and jeans. Is she out for a jog or late for a meeting? Is she allowed to go for a run dressed like that? Are you actually exercising if you aren't wearing exercise duds? Do you burn less calories?

RRSP Season

I love RRSP season for the pure guilt of it all. Not only the guilt of not having an RRSP but not even knowing what the hell an RRSP is. I'm not even sure what that second R is for. Aren't they Retirement Savings Plans?

I talked to bank lady last week on the phone and she pulled the classic line on me, "you know there's only 26 days left in RSP season?"

"I know the NHL strike is 342 days old."

I did some math in my head and quickly realized I wasn't even close on that number. "No, I'm kidding, of course I know there's only 24 days left."

"26."

"26, well you do know it's actually RRSP right? You missed an R."

I love you

So I haven't written anything here in a few days. I'd kinda come to the conclusion that no one actually read this junk. Only a few human's ever admitted to having read anything here so I assumed those hit things in the log were just robots or spiders. Speaking of which, isn't it cool that robots and spiders have found something in common? They come from such different worlds and yet the internet has brought them together. I feel a musical coming on. Or at least a family guy episode.

Sorry, I'm easily thrown off topic with spiders or robots but the combination is ruthless. Anyway I honestly didn't think anyone read or wanted to read this stuff so I haven't felt compelled to write anything. Since then I've received the odd encouraging email, okay one encouraging email but I'm a very needy person so it doesn't take much, so I'm maybe sort of going to try to write some stuff. It'll probably be about as great as what I just wrote here. 14 lashes.

Slacker

I'm a slacker, not the cool 90's version, I'm talking old school slacker. As in 'to slack', or someone who slacks off, takes it easy, scraps by, does only what's required, lazy. It's a self-image that speaks more about my character than I'm comfortable with.

These days, however, I'm starting to doubt my status as slacker. I'm not sure I've become less of a slacker as much as everyone else has become more committed to their slacking. They've sunk into it over time like an old bed. It could be I've just met more people and realized that what I thought was me doing an exemplary job of slacking was really just par for the course. I may even be a below average slacker.

We're only good for so much output, it's a physical reality. Here's the test. Pick a person you feel represents the opposite of a slacker. Get to know them well, I mean well. You'll find they're slacking somewhere in their life, you just didn't see it before.

There's a certain someone in my family who's a great example. Outwardly, she's the opposite of slacker. She works full-time, her life is completely scheduled, she doesn't seem to ever sit still. If you look closely, however, you'll find she spends a disconcerting amount of time tuned into the TV. Larry King, OJ Simpson, and CNN are her slack time.

I swear I'm committed to slacking, I'm trying. I place great value on staring at walls. It's lazy man's meditation. I've started to enjoy getting stuck in lines, sometimes seeking out the longer lines in grocery stores and license bureaus.

I stand my ground in longer lines when shorter ones develop. It's my alone time, feeling most alone while surrounded by people in a public place. At an airport waiting for my sister-in-law to arrive from BC, sitting in a coffee shop at lunch watching everyone have the same conversation, the same simple chats. No one listening, no one actually talking, responding, everyone glazed over.

"I can help the next person over here."

"Thanks, I'm ok."

Chainmail's Cool

Someone took their camera out for a change.

Cut

As I'm sure you don't know, I got myself a haircut recently. Instead of a simple haircut I ended up receiving an experience. In the end I forgot about the hair cutting part. Arriving at the saloon I was appropriately greeted by the greeter.

"Hi."

"Hi, I think I have a 4:30 appointment."

"Oh, yes, braydon is it?"

"Sure, braydon."

"Have a seat and Andrew will be right with you, can I offer you a cap of chino or a mocha rapper latte?"

"No thanks, I'm fine."

I sat down and flipped through a men's health magazine with a naked actor on the cover while pondering whether I just passed up a free coffee or it would have shown up on my bill. I found an article about binge drinking. Some crackpot doctor's trying to claim it's bad for you. I'll quit binge drinking when you get my life together.

I assumed the next step in my hair journey was the wash. Wrong. Andrew and I ventured up to the chair straight off. We chatted about me and my hair.

"So, how old is this haircut?" as he ran his hands lovingly through my hair.

"Ah, three or four years" as I pondered how he'd developed such a powerful infactuation with my folicle expulsions already.

"Pardon."

"Well, no, it's a shave that just grew out. I haven't had it cut by a pro in three or four years."

"Will you be able to maintain it?"

"Maintain, pardon?" Is he asking if I know how to wash my hair and comb it? Because I don't.

"Well you seem like the shaved head kinda guy, will you maintain this cut?"

"I refuse to answer that question as it will make me resent you like a mother."

We quickly decided on a gameplan that consisted almost entirely of me answering his questions with "umm, I trust you." Andrew gently placed his hand on the back of my head and whispered those words I love to hear from another man, "I'm just going to introduce some essential oils here to relax you, I'll give you a second to take that in." as he waved a tiny brown bottle under my nose. It smelled like a volkswagen van with flowers painted on the side. There, now I'm relaxed.

Now the washing? Ah no, this is the point in the haircut where you receive the massage? That's right, the massage! I'll give you a second to take that in.

When exactly did this practice start or is this saloon a blip on the saloon radar, run by a guy who couldn't decide whether to go into hairdressing or massage therapy? Of all the places on my body I could think of to massage, the scalp is down at the bottom of that list with my elbows. It's a scalp. Isn't this like massaging a piece of soft pine? Am I supposed to feel something?

This is ignoring how completely uncomfortable and borderline shocking it is to have another man begin massaging your brain case seemingly out of the blue. Should I have expected this?

"So just an oil change today? Ok, if you could slip your shoes off we'll just give your feet a good cleaning before we get going. It's all included with the oil change."

We finally moved onto the wash stage now that we were dating. Andrew proceeded to wash my hair for an hour and a half. It reminded me of grade nine when I accidentally scribbled "cram yourself mister mashinter" on an exam and spent ten minutes trying to erase non-erasable ink with an eraser. He scrubbed and massaged my head clean off.

"Is your scalp tingling?"

"Pardon."

"That tingling you're feeling on your scalp, it's a mix of rosemary and fairy dust in the conditioner I just put on."

Again, it's a piece of soft pine. The only thing tingling at this point is my guilt. I'm worried my wife will be jealous of Andrew and what we have together. Did I just cheat on her?

The actual cutting part took all of five minutes and went along quite unceremoniously. He finished up by offering me some nice styling tips. "Have some fun with it" he suggested, referring to my hair. So I went home and obliterated a cheap micky of scotch, chased my hair around the house and had tickle fights until we fell asleep in a heap in front of the fireplace. I had no idea my hair could be this much fun.

Lowbrow Locker Room Humour

"I've got a seventeen and a twenty year old. They're great kids when they're not in the house together. Last night they had an epic battle over who had to do the dishes. They fought for an hour about a job that takes twenty minutes."

"Sounds like they're preparing for marriage."

Group Hugs

Can we just tell it like it is? Sports is a way for guys to hug, and pat each other's bottoms, in a way they're comfortable with. That's why I'm opposed to adding more equipment like mandatory visors in hockey. It's what ruined american style football. You can't get in a good hug with all that equipment on.

Sure if you're a team owner it makes perfect sense. The more equipment you put on the players the further from actual physical contact they are. The frustration and aggression levels creep ever higher and it shows up during the next 'scrum' or bodycheck. Excellent for the bottom line but terrible for the players. Cripes, they just want a hug.

"We need to do something. The players in this league aren't aggressive enough."

"What about offering more money?"

"More money? How do you offer more money to a guy that owns an island and never wears the same article of clothing twice?"

"What about more padding?"

"What are you talking about?"

"More padding. We all know they're out there for the hugs so take their hugs away and they'll work harder for them. It'll frustrate the hell out of them and they'll tear each other apart trying to touch skin."

"Who is this guy?"

"Ah, he's that small gray wrinkle on the backside of your brain just above the only thing you learned in first year psych."

"Oh he's good."

kidding

Look, I was just kidding, as if I've ever binged. You're so gullible for a person I've never met or have any clue who you are or why you're even reading this....

crap

I have no idea if this happens with all kids but it's bizarre. The chooch now hides when he craps. Apparently this is fairly common. Today he wedged himself behind a speaker and almost got completely behind the giant armoire thingy that houses the tv and stereo.

I don't know what else to say but I thought you should know.

"chooch needs his diaper changed."

"really, how do you know?"

"cause he's crammed in behind the speakers."

Binge

I was at the salon the other day. Man I can't get enough of that phrase. It's great with one O or two.

Anyway, while I was there I read, sorry I looked at the pictures in an article about binge drinking. Apparently the point of the article was that binge drinking is bad for your body and can bring about an early onset of dead. It was written by some smart, obviously up and coming, young doctor fresh out of school.

Are they actually suggesting that you stop binge drinking? Everything good I have in my life is because of binge drinking. I don't even want to think about what a dry gray heap of lint my life would be if not for binge drinking. All the best things that have happened to me are the ones I have absolutely no recollection of.

"Man you were dancing up a storm last night?"

"I was?"

"Ya, that flashlight bit you were doing."

"Oh ya, that."

Okay, so binge drinking is supposedly unhealthy? First of all, where's the proof? Some people who drank died? Ok, that's conclusive. Second of all, hello, isn't that the point? Since when was mortality not an admirable goal to strive for? If not for binge drinking by ourselves in a ditch we'd be stuck having to go to war with each other to end this bitter episode you call your life.

Is that really what you want? I'm sorry, call me a selfish chicken but I'll take binge drinking and world peace over a long dirty sober war anyday thank you very much.

Skydiver and a Friday Survey

The addiction continues, I've complete my third online survey. I love you survey and the things you say. Skydiver? Too bad this isn't a 'what's your ideal job' survey.

Magnet for love and affection my ass, boy do I have this interweb thing fooled. I'm saving this to add to my next application to get on the apprentice. I'll get there someday Donald, you just wait.

"Brydon, you're a Skydiver!

...You are a Skydiver which means you are a Seeker / Golden Your primary sub-type is defined by "Seeker" characteristics and your secondary sub-type is defined by "Golden" characteristics.

That means you're open minded, extroverted, free-spirited, and independent. Chances are you're pretty liberal. You're like a magnet for love and affection. People adore you. And, thanks to that healthy dose of self-confidence, you're super-flexible.

How do we know all this? How do we know you're a great leader at work? Or that you're a self-starter and will always volunteer to take on a job? How could we have divined that you're an excellent communicator and tend to spread your enthusiasm to others?"

How? HOW??? I'll do anything to know, how much? How much cash money will it take to divulge your surveying magical secrets?

Track Pants

Working at home's hard.

How do you know when to shower, brush your teeth, and change out of your trackpants?

Orange Chest Hair

"Is your chest hair orange?"

"What? No."

"It is to. Did you finish that whole bag of dorito's?"

I'm just kidding, cripes. As if I have chest hair.

The Hair Talk

As if I haven't already made this clear, I haven't paid someone to cut my hair in something like three or four years.

The streak ends today. I'm going to a saloon to get my hair cut. Part of me's excited since I had my appointment booked for me.

"Hi, I'd like to book an appointment...for my husband."

I wonder what the girls at the saloon are saying about me right now.

Part of me's worried since I'm way out of practice on hair talk. You know that point when they ask you.

"So what are we doing today?"

"Ah, let's cut it down a bit."

"So short or just clean it up?"

"Well shorter but not too short and ya clean it up I guess but maybe leave it sort of jagged or rough looking."

"Ok, so trim it up but leave choppy chic."

"Choppy what?"

It's at this point I reassure myself I know where my clippers are at home.

"You screw this up and I swear, I'll take it all off, and don't worry, I will do it."

Cage

It's nice to see Nick Cage is keeping himself busy. I guess that superman gig fell through?

Win?

Oh please. You call that a win? It shouldn't count as a Canadian win in hockey unless it's by at least ten goals.

Carleton Cup

This year's Carleton Cup is fast approaching so get your stuff booked? I'm not sure what to say there, get your skates booked and your drinking boots on? Can you just plan on going on Jan 29th?

As always, pictures from last year are still on the interdigital if you're interested.

Oh, and if you're thinking that putting your hockey equipment on at the hotel and walking around Ottawa looking for a cab is really going to shock the city of Ottawa, don't bother. Apparently this is usual fare in our nation's capital. Someone could have at least thrown me a sideways glance to acknowledge the attempt.

Christmas and doritos

[Editor's Note: I removed the phrase "I'd be jacked about it" from this post. Apparently I have no friends out there actually reading this or someone would have asked me to remove this. I'm going to the bathroom now to make sure I don't have something red on my nose. ]

Christmas gifts are all about sizes and colours these days. The pure energy and excitement of opening gifts dissipates as you age.

I remember the beginning of the end. It was the year I received my first grown up gift, the dreaded alarm clock. I swear I'll never get my kid's an alarm clock as a gift.

Today I was trying to think of a gift, if one exists, that would fill me with that kid excitement. A really nice bottle of scotch? That would get me excited but it wouldn't keep me busy all day trying to figure it out.

The beauty of kid gifts was spending the whole day messing around with them. Gifts that kept me from having time to shower or eat or help clean up the wrapper spread throughout the house. The only gift I can think of is a video game. The same damn gift that accomplished that when I was a kid.

If I got an xbox or playstation 2, I'm sure I'd play the thing all day. I haven't spent any serious time playing video games in years so it'd be partially about the newness of it. The problem is, in the end, I'd hate myself for the hours I'd burn trying to snowboard past that one jump or nail Jeremy Roenick with a solid bodycheck.

It's like those giant bags of jalapeno and chedder doritos. Sure they seem like a grand idea when you're skipping home from the store. It's three hours later when you wake up on the couch, your mouth, fingers, and chest stained orange, that's the problem. Which reminds me, I wonder if I finished that bag?

Boring

You think your job's boring? Try quitting. That last week at my job was painful.

New Year

Happy New Year all you people's that don't exist. Welcome to the same year you just finished but with a different number.

Sorry, it's early in day, maybe I'll come around later to a more robust version of optimism.

Clotheslines

So I was walking along the bike-ride the other day and almost got run over by some redhead on her bike. She barked at me "buddy, get the hell off the bike-ride or someone's going to run you over."

Okay, so maybe that didn't happen but I'm working my way up to a suggestion. We need more clotheslines. I'm not talking mom and your sister's panties kinda clotheslines, I'm talking triple H, tito santana, and the iron sheik clotheslines.

It's called a sideWALK for a reason. It's for people to walk on not ride bikes on. I realize you're busy saving the environment but I'm not about to have my obituary soiled by the words "killed by a CCM ten-speed".

As a compromise how about we legalize clotheslines in some specific situations? If you're walking on the sideWALK and you can get a clean clothesline in on a bike rider then take it. These fines aren't teaching anyone any lessons.

Happy Holly Daze

God I love you people out there if you exist. Ok maybe that's the egg nog talking. I haven't been outside in two days, I haven't showered or brushed my teeth today and santa still loves me.

The Juice

Okay, so looking back I see how transparent I was being when I lashed out at the cheaters. I'm frustrated that I've been trying this writing thing clean for like two or three months and it's going nowhere.

When I see those cheaters profiting from their filthy drugs, well it just gets me thinking. For the record I want to state that I'm clean. My acne, low self esteem, blind rage, and poor sex drive are completely natural. This may not last. If this crappy writing keeps up I may, well all's I'm saying is the juice may help.

Spam Poetry

How can any man avoid the subject line "Proven Effective at stimulating women"?

This spam poetry has it all, the Tatars, the boy, the Turks, and the enemy.

"The Tatars shouted joyfully as they witnessed this marvelous feat and rushed forward to assist in the slaughter; but the boy motioned them all back. He did not wish any more bloodshed than was necessary, and knew that the heaps of unconscious Turks around him would soon recover So he stood alone and faced the enemy, calmly knocking them over as fast as they came near"

Santa's bullshit response

-----------------------
from: santa@papernapkin.net
to: brydon
subject: Nice to hear from you
-----------------------

Ha ha, just kidding. Actually, this is a rejection letter. The person who gave you this email address does not want to have anything to do with you.

This is probably bad news, and many people cope with bad news in phases: denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance. Let us help you through these:

"It must be a mistake": Nope. You got an address in the form anyname@papernapkin.net or anyname@paamail.com, right? Well, all we here at papernapkin.net do is send rejection notices. If you got this email address, it wasn't an accident. No, you've definitely been rejected.

"Why is this happening to me?": Well, there are two main points. First, the person you wrote to obviously had this email address ready to give you, so they probably get hit on a lot. Second, for whatever reason, that person would rather let you get this rejection letter than reject you in person. So who should you be mad at: all the other creeps who have hit on this person before you, ruining your chances; or you yourself for being too intense or scary to be let down gently? Either way, you really shouldn't be "angry" at anyone - what good does that do?

"I promise I'll do better next time": Fine, great, but just not with this same person, okay? The message being sent here is pretty clear. Besides, it may not even be your "fault" - as we pointed out above, this person was hit on enough to memorize anyname@papernapkin.net long before you came along. Maybe you're just out of your league here. Maybe this person has built up some walls that are just too thick to breach. Either way, don't try again. If you do, you're just going to seem like a stalker... or worse! Go ahead and clean up your act if you think you should - just be sure to find a different audience to try it out on.

"I don't care anymore": Aw, we can't leave it like that! Buck up, little nipper! It isn't all bad! At least you were rejected in the privacy of your own email account; you had no chance to do or say anything that you would later regret; and you've saved the time and effort of pursuing a no-chance relationship.

Besides, you didn't just get rejected - you've learned about a great new tool: papernapkin.net. After all, this is nothing personal to us. We have no beef with you, and we'd be just as pleased to serve your rejection needs as we are to serve anybody else. So if you ever need to reject somebody, be sure to tell them to write to you at anyname@papernapkin.net.

How's that? All better now? Good. And good luck to you. Maybe next time you will get a real email address!

Sincerely,
-PN: http://papernapkin.net/

My Santa List

--------------------
from: brydon
to: santa@papernapkin.net
subject: starter list
--------------------

Dear Santa,

Okay, this isn't my complete list but I'm late so I thought I'd just get you started. I'll email you the complete list tomorrow evening which should still give you plenty of time.

- Ok, don't get all offended about this first one, it's a joke...

- Something magnetic. It doesn't really matter what, I just have a thing for magnets. I'd say they're attractive but that could be construed as poor humour.

- A brown sweater. Again, not sure why just have a craving for a brown sweater.

- Some funny T-shirts. I really love funny t-shirts like one of these ones...or all of them, the who farted one makes me giggle......

Ok, that's it for now. Thanks and I love you Santa. I'll get the rest of the list to you soon and thanks again for sharing your email address with me. It's much simpler than dealing with mail.

love,
brydon

The L

So the chooch's taken a shining to the sport of hockey. The bad news for him is he's not very good, which is great news for me since I now live with someone I can actually beat at hockey.

We played kitchen hockey last night and I won by, well mom's mercy rule kicked at 10 to nothing so I didn't count past that. I don't see how the kid's going to learn with mom's mercy rule in place but whatever.

He doesn't even hold the stick right and I can dangle that ball all day long against him. He fell for my move everytime. Why stop going to the well if the water's there?

Baby Talk

When the chooch can't pronounce a word he simply makes up his own rendition. As he develops the skills for the real pronunciation he abandons his made up version. Elmo is 'elmo' these days but it used to be 'glug-glug'. My grownup logic can't find the connection between those two and I like that.

These days, 'thank you' in chooch-speak is 'teetoo'. So, naturally around the house we sometimes talk chooch-speak and say 'teetoo' for thank you.

Last night I picked up a coffee on the way to hockey at Tim Horton's.

"Can I help you?"

"Sure, medium regular please."

"That's $1.25"

"There you go."

"Teetoo, err I mean thank you."

Lessons From Maya

In this holiday season, I love to hear the voices of bright, feeling people. I might not always agree but I enjoy the thinking. These "learnings" from Maya Angelou struck a chord:

• I've learned that no matter what happens, or how bad it seems today, somewhere there's someone locked up in jail wallowing in their miserable cell and then things seem better.
• I've learned that you can tell a lot about a person by the way he/she handles these three things: alcohol, their own backdoor mess and my money.
• I've learned that regardless of your relationship with your parents, you're happy when you're finally able to move out of their house even if you're in your thirties.
• I've learned that making a "living" is not the same thing as making a "life" but it's certainly a hell of a lot more fun and I'm able to drink better scotch.
• I've learned that life sometimes gives you a second chance so why worry about messing things up this first go around.
• I've learned that you shouldn't go through life with a catcher's mitt on both hands unless you're a catcher and in that case just take one mitt off and set it behind you since you need to throw the ball back to the pitcher.
• I've learned that whenever I decide something with an open heart, I usually make the right decision and require surgery to close things back up.
• I've learned that even when I have pains, I don't have to be one, with the right combination of prescriptions and a benefits plan. Oh, and $2 for the dispensing fee.
• I've learned that every day you should reach out and touch someone. People love a warm hug, or just a friendly pat on the back unless they're family. In that case, best stick to the status quo.
• I've learned that people will forget what you said, people will forget what you did, but people will never forget how you made them feel but who can control other people's feelings? So say and do whatever the hell you like and don't sweat the rest.
  Wednesday Dec 22, 2004
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Tim's Clones

I was running late this morning so I stopped at a Tim's I've never stopped at before. Ok, how are they doing this? Does every Tim's have the exact same people working in it? Do they predict which one I'm going to buy my coffee at and move those staff there? Even their names were the same but they didn't seem to recognize me.

Are the Tim Horton's I don't stop and buy coffee from today even open today?

Reeling Up The Hose

I woke up on the wrong side of my life today. I can't help but live my father's life. Everytime I step outside myself and look down, I see only him, hear only him.

I'm not even a better version of him. I don't have a problem being my old man, I'd be happy with that. I could be worse people. It's just that's it's already been done. I'd rather do something new, something at least slightly modified. I'm not striving for originality, I'm not that naive. I'd just like to be a little different than the old man now and again.

I often wonder if I'd be like him had I not known him. Would I still be living his life had he not been around growing up? It must just be learned behaviour. I see the way the chooch watches me. Kids learn by mimicking, by observing, by remembering, by copying. It's why I've never had an original thought.

I watched the older people, studied their moves and acted them out. Life is just one big high school dance. You're standing there surrounded by a bunch of people you only half know. The music's pumping, there are some fine looking ladies nearby, and you have no clue how the hell you're supposed to dance to this shit.

You catch a glimpse of a larger guy twenty feet away twirling his arms like he's reeling up his garden hose. He's so good you can see that hose. You're suddenly brought back to your situation. You take stock and notice no one in your crew is reeling up a garden hose to this song. So you start reeling up yours. The girls eat it up.

Later, on the drive home, you get a compliment from the blue girl, "You had some nice moves out there." Later still, back at your house, sitting on the back patio having a few beers your buddy says "you were just copying that guy with the red bandana."

"What?"

"That bay city roller shit you were doing, you were just copying that red bandana dude."

"What red bandana dude?"

"Fuck you, you know who I mean."

"Sure I do."

Original ideas are such a fleeting ideal. You can't ever have one if you think about it. Once you've thought about it you piece it together. You find all the things you copied, the things you amalgamated into your new image.

The difference between a successful, original artist and average Joe office worker is that the former has come to terms with their replication. Or they've somehow managed to stop worrying about it. Wait, or is that compromise?

The Real Olympics

The 2004 Olympics in Athens were fun to watch. I don't mean the events themselves, they were as numbingly entertaining as always. I'm talking about the 'did I really win or will they take my medal away for bad pee' events?

Clearly Irina was upset and I don't envy the person tasked with breaking the news to her.

I'm in the process of filing a patent for a real-time Olympic pee tester. I plan on selling it to the IOC in time for the next games. The current state of sampling takes too long and no one on staff was fast enough to physically catch that Greek sprinter to actually test him.

Well I've solved that. All bathrooms on site will be plumbed to run through my pee tester and equipped with a flashing red light on top. Everytime an athlete visits the bathroom, we're sampling, and they receive instant feedback. Red light, bad pee, no medals, go home. Green light, go run, jump, and throw your heart out for your country.

Or even better, every athlete must provide their urine sample as part of entry into the event. At the medal ceremony those samples are run through my machine and the podiums the athletes are standing on will light up. Green, you get your medal, red, step down and the next athlete in line is up. The current medal ceremonies are downright boring, this would juice them up nicely.

Any athlete caught peeing in sinks, bushes, mason jars, or anywhere else besides a toilet will face immediate expulsion from the games.

Next customer? MLB here I come.

Friday Links vs Great Christmas Gifts

Some gift ideas to get you back on track. These links were mostly stolen from the yeti.

• Santa Bubble Blower
• Little Whizzer
• Banana guard
• For the lady in your life, but I don't see why guy's can't benefit from this technology.

The Appendage

Ok, sure maybe I saw the finale last night, is it that obvious? I did take some notes....

Jenilawyer: "At the end of the day you're looking for leadership, I've proven myself time and time again to fly under the radar, steer clear of powerlines and tall trees, and lead people where you tell me they should be lead. If you look at the tasks, at the leadership, at my ability to deliver, it's clear the pedulum has swung back to where you can't ignore the point I'm making here. I have degrees from princetown, harvardtown, I take risks but I'm not risky. I'm kooky but not zany, you can take me to thanksgiving dinner and have the confidence I will pass that gravy boat to grandma. I'm driven to deliver what has to be delivered. I jump when jumping's appropriate but also know that sometimes jumping is the wrong response like when you're standing in front of a giant precipice or cliff of large proportions. Look, these people are all great candidates but you have to think about the broader picture, the bigger world, you want someone who has the characteristics I possess without knowing what those actually are, you want someone who looks like me, you want someone who'll feed you buzzwords in long confusing sentences making no sense while at the same time making you feel smart since you're the only one in the room with enough arrogance to convince yourself you've understood what I've said when clearly I'm making no sense at all except this last sentence but I can see you're already tuned out. I have the confidence and track record to allow you to berate me for nothing at all yet keep talking and talking so that no one else has a chance to speak."

The Donald: "She's got some good points here Kelly2000, where are you? You'd better get going here."

Kelly2000: "I know, she's good. I can't tell if she's incredibly smart and I'm too dumb to understand or she's just reading words randomly from the CEO dictionary."

Jenilawyer: "Look Mr Donald, I know your organizations. I'll take the time to look up one single fact about your company and then feed it to you so you can use it as a barometer to judge us. For instance, does Shelly even know how many employees you have?"

The Donald: "Kelly2000, do you know how many employees I have?"

Kelly2000: "Ahh no sir I don't but being a robot does allow me to remember facts once I've heard them."

The Donald: "Do you?"

Jenilawyer: "Yes sir, 15 gadtrillion sir."

The Donald: "That's right."

Jenilawyer: "I know, that's because I have the street smarts, the experience, and the intellect to have the answer to the one question you'll ask about your company since I fed you that question. I have the perseverance to make you think I know everything about your company because I knew the answer to one question that I allowed you to ask. I have the leadership to be led by you while leading you without you knowing you're being led."

The Donald: "Good point, she's got a good point."

Jenilawyer: "Mr Donald, at the end of the day the day is gone and the night's begun and you need someone with the passion to see your organization through those nights. I'm the person with that passion. In short, you should choose me to the be your next appendage because of all these words."

The Donald: "Ok, that's enough, I need to present the image I'm in charge here so get out so I can ask other people to make a decision and then claim it as mine."

Kooky Spelling Advice

One more reason daddy no likey the interweb. How do you ask someone how to spell something you obviously don't know how to spell using email or messenger? What a pain in the ass...

"How do you spell cookie?"

"cookie."

"No, I know that, not cookie, cooky maybe?"

"cooky?"

"No, like when you're zany or something"

"cocky?"

"No, like you have cookie eyes"

"cookie eyes? Like the gingerbread man?"

"No, cripes, like screwy eyes."

"Oh, kooky?"

"YES..thank you."

Movie Opinions

"So how'd you like the movie last night?"

"Ahh...it was...well...how did you like it?"

"I asked you first."

"I don't know, I haven't read the reviews yet."

"What do you mean you haven't read the reviews? You saw the movie right?"

"Well ya, you expect me to come up with my own opinion?"

"I guess."

"Look, I'll read the reviews, take out the snippets I relate to and build my opinion and then I'll let you know. I'm not trained to develop my opinion on my own."

Reality TV Filler Post

I'm proud to report I've changed my mind once again. Man I'm flexible and free spirited.

I saw another episode of that big fat boss show I mentioned last week. This time around it actually had some humourous parts. My judgement may have been muddied with the combination of booze and having just watched a good episode of Arrested Development.

The draw with a show like the apprentice is in watching Donald and his croonies. It's good because they're not kidding. He's actually serious about this stuff, you can't write humour that real.

Clearly, the only humourous part of this whole fake reality business is the contestants and how serious they take it. The boss guys are "acting" so there's nothing funny about them, in fact they're generally annoying to watch, but hearing the contestants come up with actual responses to questions like "so what?" is good fake reality tv.

From the Mouths of Babes?

So, the chooch's word for skateboard? Apparently it's "bah-dough". I've attempted to apply basic logic to this several times only to feel a sharp cold sensation in the back quarter of my brain which is clearly some important connection coming lose.

"Well the 'bah' part could be board, maybe he's saying it backwards?"

"Or 'dough' could maybe be board but what's 'bah' then?"

"Wait, maybe he's messing with us? He's onto our little 'figure out what he means' deal and he's trying to mess with us by talking gibberish?"

"He is by definition already talking gibberish, so you think he's gibbering up his gibberish on purpose?"

Friday Clickity Clicks

Please note I didn't create, think of, have any part in making, or even find these links. I stole them from other people but you may crack a crack smile if you peep them.

• A quick way to get the nhl rolling again...
• Get in shape, the creepy poodle way...
• A nice little pep talk you deserve...
• a passive aggressive communications course on how to write emails...

The Power of Maybe

"I told you chooch, watch out for the power of words, didn't I warn you about maybe?"

Two minutes earlier..."Buddy, maybe we'll go to park after dinner."

Two hours earlier..."You want to ride your bike? Ok, well maybe we'll ride it after grandma leaves."

Two days earlier..."What? You want to watch Blue's Clues again? Well maybe after we have something to eat."

Two years in the future..."Maybe? I know what maybe means, it means never. You guys suck!"

You/Me

"Hockey you, hockey you" requests the chooch, broken hockey stick in hand, while banging himself on his chest.

Sometimes the simplest things are the most difficult.

"No buddy, you" I say, while pointing at him. Oh lord, he thinks he's you, not me. "I called it babes, your kid's clearly developmentally challenged."

"You" he agrees, demonstrating understanding by continuing to point at himself.

"No, me" I explain, pointing to myself.

"Ya, me" he says, agreeing and pointing at me.

"No, me" I say while taking his hand and pointing it to himself, "me" I say pointing my hand at my chest. "Oh man, I'm with you buddy, we're not going to work through this one today. Maybe we should skip to something simpler? Ok, the girls have the bun, boys have the hot dog..."

Mouthy Business Ideas

I saw these tic-tac ripoff mints at the corner store last night called "Hits". At first glance I thought they were called "Hints" which seemed like brilliant marketing to me.

Next time someone has the halitosis you can offer them a mint, "care for a hint?"

Sorry, no need to scold me, taken care of.....

Communicating

Urban was over the other day. The chooch wandered by with his broken hockey stick.

"Hey buddy, where's the ball? Get your ball to play with your hockey stick."

The chooch wandered into the other room and returned with his hockey ball.

"Hey, he actually got the ball, shit he understands english now?"

"Ah ya."

"Christ, when did that happen?"

"It's sort of a gradual deal I guess."

"It's kinda creepy. It feels like he's eavesdropping."

Passwords

I took a computer science class in grade 11. I can't recall if I had to or if it was one of the six decisions I made in my teens.

Our teacher was a well fed man dressed daily by the costume designer for the then upcoming revenge of the nerds movie. He was being dressed for research purposes. He possessed all the geek trappings, the classic nut brown polyester slacks, the yellowed brown see through shirt with nipples flaring, and of course the pocket protector. To top it all off, he wasn't even a computer nerd but just a nerd. He was a driving instructor who moved into teaching and somehow ended up teaching computer science.

The semester was almost over by the time we were allowed to actually touch the precious computers. Back then the only thing schools had of interest to the average teenager were tools and computers. It was one of their few points of motivational leverage.

You want to touch the computer don't you little one? You can, after you pretend to use a computer for 18 weeks. Think of this piece of paper as your first computer.

When we finally touched the chalice our first act was to login. That required us to choose a password. I picked one I could easily remember and proceeded to login for the first time.

During our next class, I typed in my username and password only to be rebuked by the machine. As I repeated the same actions over and over again I began to recall what the teacher had explained only minutes before when I had no need to listen to him.

"If you can't login, come talk to me. There may have been a problem with your password."

Problem with my password?

"Excuse me mister teacher-who's-name-I-forget, I can't login."

"Oh right, that's because I changed your password."

"Oh, ok."

"What did you pick as your password?"

"Umm..." stalling as I began to realize why we were standing here bartering over logins and passwords, "I used a Jamaican word."

"What was it?"

"Ahh, poontang?"

"Do you know what that word means?"

Of course I knew what the word meant, how can I begin to respect teachers when they treat me like the red tullatubby?

"I'm not sure what it means" I lie, "it's a swear word my Jamaican friends use."

"Well it's Jamaican for pussy."

Ok, you haven't lived until you've had a grade 11 computer science teacher explain to you what poontang means while using the word pussy in their explanation. At this exact moment in a high school in Negril there's a teacher explaining to a young Jamaican lad, "pussy's american slang for poontang".

"Really? I didn't know that", I said, continuing to lie for his sake.

"Ok, well you should be careful what your friends tell you. You can login, your new password is 'jerk'."

"Thank you, I'll try to be more careful what my friends tell me. Did you say my new password is jerk?"

"Yes, jerk", he replied. The slightest hint of a smug satisfied smile crept across his pudgy face as I realized this was his Alamo, this was him taking a stand, him teaching me a lesson in the most cunning of ways. I was fortunate to have such an incredible leader in my life at such a formative age.

"That's great, thank you sir."

Caffeine?

Overheard a thirty something guy placing his order at the Tim Horton's drivethrough. I'm not sure how his thirty somethingness is relevant but I wrote it so it stays...

"Can I get a medium coffee, four, four?"

I had no idea medium, four, four was even a coffee order. Is there no limit, no breaking point?

Routine

It already feels like the chooch is growing up too damn fast. I went out last night which doesn't happen a lot. My days are split between when I can be with my family and when I can't. I work, then come home to spend 'quality time' with the family before the chooch falls asleep and then I fall asleep. Get up and repeat.

It's a routine I know I need. Routine's in our nature or it wouldn't have survived this long. I could, however, stand for a bit less routine. It's one of those crutches we use to gain understanding, get a foothold, keep from turning into that neighbour who doesn't venture out much and smells like fish. Once we're ready we should be able to leave that crutch behind.

"Hi, my name's Brydon and I have a routine."

Brought to you by the letter "J"

The chooch and I went for a long walk last Saturday. We ended up downtown and met up with some friends so daddy could have a pint or two. On the way we worked on learning the alphabet, specifically the letter "J".

Ok, fine, using J walking as a means of teaching the chooch the alphabet may be a stretch and I question whether he'll remember not to tell mommy how he learned "J" but parenting's a grey art people. Yes, it may have been a little about daddy and his urgency to get a pint. Get off your pie in the sky high horse people, at least he's learning.

Dad

You know those moments where it becomes painfully clear that you're doing nothing in this world but gradually becoming your parents?

I went to the office bathroom today and realized I was wearing the jeans that split in the crotch area the night before. When combined with the fact that I'm out of decent 'office wearing' jeans, it lead me to Mark's Work Wearhouse at lunch. I tried on a pair of Levi's, shuttered at the price but somehow justified it to myself. I carried my ripped jeans up to the register, paid for my new jeans and wore them out.

As I got into the car a quiver of panic spilled down from my brain, my right arm tingled and I felt the blood retreating from my head as I realized this is the same kind of pragmatic practical bullshit my dad used to pull. God I hate it when I'm wrong. Or he's right. Or both.

Shopping Scam Uncovered

I recently uncovered a shopping scam taking place under my own roof. I've known about it for a while but only recently decided to let the perpretrator in on their own filthy act.

"How was the mall?"

"Good. I actually got this sweater. It was $40 but it only cost me $10."

"Really, it only cost you $10. So it was on sale for $10?"

"Well it wasn't on sale but it only cost me $10."

"Let me guess, you returned something that cost you $30?"

"Ah, yes, how'd you know?"

"Because it's the same little pyramid scheme you pull all the time. You buy something you know you're not keeping, it doesn't fit right or is the wrong colour. Then you head back into the same store acting like you've got a gift certificate. Hey, guilt free shopping. Wow, $10, what a deal?"

"Shit, how'd you know that? I'm not even sure I knew what I was up to."

"I've had my eye on you."

Difficult

"Why do you always have to be so difficult?"

"Not sure, why must you always perceive me as being difficult?"

Onesy

"I wish I had a onesy on today."

Somedays I'd love to have a onesy on. Do they make these for adults? If not why? What, we're too cool to drop our pants, reach between our legs and unsnap our shirt before we go to the potty?

The best I can do is go back to my one-piece long underwear.

Chooch Teachings

One of the chooch's first syllables was "ga". He woke up from a nap one day, rubbed his eyes, looked at me looking at him and said "ga".

Why then? I'll have to check with him after he pieces together enough syllables to answer that. I doubt he'll remember by then.

It makes you wonder how it all falls into place. Was he aware of it, focussing on that one syllable, hoping to use it as a building block to more entertaining words like dog and game? He said the word dog the day before, I think. It makes sense he could say dog, his two favorite syllables at the time were ga and da. When you flip the order and say da followed by ga you've got dog.

So now the chooch is teaching me linguistics? Or someone's teaching it to me through the chooch? Maybe someday he'll teach me how to spell linguistics.

Our Relationship

I knew it, we are in an abusive relationship. I can't believe I had to threaten myself to get you to pay attention to me. We need a better therapist.

Farewell

That's it, we're done. It was fun while it lasted. This is the last you'll hear from me, I'll pester you no longer. You know how to reach me if you don't hate me all that much.

Goodbye....

Ode To Booze

you're that loonie sized sore on my right hip I scratch every night until you bleed your pink ooze with your disconcerting stench. I know you're bad for me but you're just so much fun, and you hurt and you give me pleasure.

Dentist For a Day

I had the same dentist for a lifetime so I can't recall who messed with my teeth before she did. That was until we moved back to Guelph and I picked up a new one, Dr Fox. My old dentist was some sort of family friend. My father knew her father or her father's father, the connections unclear. It never occurred to me to shop around for dentists.

Dr Fox's office is a completely different world relative to my old dentist. The man runs a tight ship. It turned me off at first, it was too well run. I still haven't sat down in the waiting room, I haven't had a chance to remove my coat in that area yet.

I arrive and Lynn, the receptionist, says "hi Brydon" and a woman standing beside her says "oh, Brydon, you're who I'm looking for, come with me please". I follow her and hang my jacket up when we get to the room with the dentist chair in it.

How many dentist chairs does this guy need? I have yet to sit in the same chair twice and I've seen chairs I have yet to sit in. The office is filled with people that appear to work there. He seems to have dozens of employees, all of which are way too happy with their jobs, way too social. They're having way too much fun messing with people's teeth.

I have a suspicion he turns over his staff daily. That's the only explanation for the atmosphere. Think about it, it'd be great fun to do almost anything for one day, even working with your hands crammed in someone elses filthy mouth.

Movement Entertainment Devices

This isn't new. I was in the office bathroom five years ago and heard a cell phone ring in one of the stalls.

"Daniel Ainsworth", the salesman answered and proceeded to have a full conversation relating to company sales with his pants around his ankles.

It's gone far beyond this. Cellphones with internet access, Palm Pilots with games, Blackberry's with games and email, now the clickity click clicking emits from every stall in every office bathroom. Please be careful next time you borrow someone's cellphone or blackberry, these devices are our modern day restaurant mints.

I felt a little old yesterday when I said to the chooch "son, I remember when we used to read the newspaper on the shitter."

"Huh?" was all he could muster in response.

I then reverted to the line urban's dad used on him as a kid, "I can't believe you came from my penis."

"Huh?"

The Blank Page

Staring at a blank page is humbling and I find myself humbled all too often. When does it get easy? When do I sit down in my armchair with a pint, prop a hardcover book on my lap to support my $1.49 notebook and just write? When does it flow, become second nature, take no thought?

It's a chore most days. I have to force it as I am now and it shows. When it's good, those rare moments, I can't recall what I've written. I don't think it through, I'm unaware.

It always takes a few pages of babbling like this for me to reach that point. I can't stand those first few pages. They're difficult to plow through and I often give up before I have a chance.

Maybe I should start writing "Dear Diary" at the top of pages, at least then I could feign a purpose. This is just painful.

Please don't leave me, give me one more chance? Believe me, I realize there's nothing more boring than reading about someone who can't write. Are we in an abusive relationship? I'm sorry.

Regrets

I can't recall what I thought my life would be like when I reached this age. Maybe I never thought about it or maybe I've forgotten? I suppose I don't spend much time these days contemplating what my life will be like in my forties.

I'm beginning to see how things can slip by. How simple it is to build a lifetime of regrets. It doesn't happen all at once. You nickel and dime your life away on a daily basis until you wake up and realize you've been had. I'm not sure awareness helps either. I like to think that what little awareness I have has kept me away from some cliche regrets.

Cripes, I need a coffee and maybe a pep talk.

Lemons

It reeks of boredom in here. I can't hear for the mundane. I can't see but the drab. Mister Sub, canned pasta, coke, diet coke with lemon, a cheese sandwich. Coke is pepsi is sprite is juice. I'm offered nothing worth having.

"This new diet coke with lemon blows."

"I know, it tastes like lemon detergent. If they made regular coke with lemon, that'd be good."

I almost mention they sell lemons at grocery stores but I don't want to scare anyone.

"I'm making a new martini tonight but I have to pick up lemon juice, where should I go to get it?"

"I've got lot's of lemons here."

"Ahh, ok, and you can make lemon juice with that right?"

Thief

Someone's stealing money from me almost daily and I think it may be me.

Reality TV

I'm finding it difficult to remember what it was we talked about before Bob Geldof thought up reality tv. The only thing I can think of is Seinfeld.

"So, what's on reality tv tonight?" has replaced the former "what's on tv tonight?"

Now we have the latest advancement, fake reality tv. The latest is basically the apprentice except Donald Trump and his cronies are played by actors. The participants are lead to believe they're in an actual reality tv show but, and this is where it gets tricky, it's actually a fake reality tv show.

Doesn't this just make it a sitcom where the actors are unpaid and untrained? I've only seen part of one episode and it wasn't funny. I appreciate the attempt and can see why someone would take a shot. Here's the problem, reality tv is funny because they aren't kidding. The appeal of the apprentice is Donald and the fact that he's being serious. These fake shows aren't funny because I know they're kidding. Let's get back to reality people.

As for reality tv, in an attempt to slow it's movement, I've removed all the curtains and locks from my home. Please join me in this. If we can all simply spy on each other then we'll have no need for reality tv.

Smug Feedback (Revisited)

Nice. So, google has now proved me wrong. As reported, which as true at the time, google returned nothing for the phrase "smug disregard social convention". Well, now it returns the blue shoes.

I feel vindicated. That's fleeting, however, since I just had to look up vindicated and I think I'm using it wrong. I'm sorry.

Chooch's Cold Hard Stare

The chooch had a doctor's appointment this week. My favourite part of these trips is watching his ever developing repertoire of cold hard stares. Sure he could scream, yell, and squirm like a baby when the doc moves in for her pokes and prodes but that's been done.

The doc leaned in to give the chooch his shot. I glanced towards the window avoiding the sight of my boy squirming. Instead of a baby's squeal there was a whimper and a thud, the whimper sounding more like the doc than the chooch. I turned back to see the needle intended for my son's arm lodged thoroughly in the doc's leg. Her face washed white, looking as though she'd just walked in on her grandparent's doing it. The chooch sat in the same position with but a hint of a grin on this face. My wife, having witnessed his ninjaness, glanced my way beaming the 'did you teach him that?' look.

Ok, maybe what I wish happened didn't but what really transpired was still pretty good. Instead of the standard cry-baby angle, the chooch lays the cold hard stare on the doc. He's the shylock the doc owes twenty large to. He isn't going to say in words what he'll do if she doesn't pay up, instead he'll let her imagination fill in the blanks.

Go ahead doc, take my temperature rectally.

Poppies

I learned something through a few morning experiences that I wanted to pass along...opium and heroin jokes are apparently off limits today.

Comedy With No Audience

Ever since Urban pioneered the art of chess comedy, I've noticed new frontiers of comedy opening before me daily. The problem with most traditional comedy is the audience, they're critical, they laugh, they don't laugh, they have feelings. The beauty in these new types of comedy is the lack of an audience, or an audience on only one who isn't in on the joke anyway.

The latest I've been working on is hockey comedy. It's almost too easy though, people get real serious about this hockey thing. I hope NHL'ers don't take that Stanley Cup business as serious as some of these apes take their rec hockey. Here's a sampling of some of my recent hockey comedy attemmpts:

• We're losing the game 9 to 2. Some chap from the winning side makes a curse laden comment on my skating ability. I scream back at him and his bench "ya, well look at the fucking scoreboard boys". No response, some of them glance up at the scoreboard to double check.
• Scuffle starts, all the players begin the classic pairing off process, otherwise known as 'choosing your dance partner'. When a player from the other team grabs me and pulls me away from the action I turn and give him the biggest sweetest hug I can muster.
• At a faceoff, before the puck drops.
  #2: "Better keep your fucking head up."
  me: "Pardon?"
  "I said keep your head up."
  "Do we know each other? Jim? Is that you?"
• A few more 'just before the puck drops' lines:

  "Sir, your shoes are untied."

  "Your team colours look great on you."

  "I'm really falling for you."
  

God I'm boring.

Visionary Philosopher

I'm developing a new addiction, online surveys. Ok, I've taken the time to actually fill in two so it may not be a true addiction yet. Sometimes they say such nice things to me. Why can't people talk to me like this?

I was too impatient not to just blindly guess at a few of these so I'm unsure of it's accuracy but I'll take philosopher over keyboard massager anyday. Who's Plato again? Was that on the test?

I feel so good about myself now. Mr website, do you have anything I can buy from you while I'm in this good mood?

Comedic Street Genius

Turple and I witnessed possibly the world's greatest comedic street genius at work downtown yesterday. He staggered up to the Cornerstone patio, playing the town drunk role better than any of the town drunks, and asked the patio dwellers, while slurring his words just enough, "Did you guys see some pit bulls go by?"

Genius, beautiful, current. I bow to him and his work and was humbled to see him in action.

Chooch's growth

The chooch continues to grow at an alarming rate. In an attempt to quell the unruly rate of development, we now have him sleeping in the mold of a child his age. Nothing's working.

Conversation Translations

It's sometimes more important to hear the intended message rather than the verbal. For instance, while sitting at the computer at home recently...

"Are you checking your work email?"
[Are you checking your work email because that's the only acceptable thing you should be doing on that computer at this exact moment in time. If you're dicking around with personal email, sports websites, or porn then stop and come do something more appropriate to me.]

"Yes."
[No.]

Egos and Appearances

1. Do you think you're pretty hot?
2. Do you work in the service industry?

If you answered yes to the above questions, please continue reading, all others may go directly here and bone up on your puck bunny skills...

Ok, please try and pay attention because this is important. When someone of the opposite sex takes time to communicate with you it doesn't necessarily mean they want to date, sleep, relate to, or otherwise do anything more than have a less than boring conversation while you pour coffee. Well, except those rare occasions where they do and in that case what are the chances they actually have the nerve to ask you out?

"Hey, can I get a big one of those americano coffee things?"

"Sure."

"How's this coffee bidness working for you?"

"Ok."

"Are you actually reading that monstrosity of a book?"

"Yes."

"Ok, look, I'm married, I have two kids, I love my wife and my family more than my own life, if I was going to risk all that I can absolutely guarantee you it wouldn't be with you."

"Oh, ok, god I feel a little stupid. It's just, well, I am a bit better looking than you so I assumed..."

"I realize that. You're a fine looking person, it's your conversation skills that worry me."

"Ok, let's start over now that I know I'm not sending you the wrong messages."

"Great."

"Yes I am reading that giant book, I'm in school, in women's studies."

"Women's studies eh? Nice try, look I said I was happily married. Cripes you women can't leave a happy man alone can you?"

"What?"

"Thanks, goodbye."

Caller Id Screening

Do you not remember I was at your house last night when the phone rang? You picked up the handset, peeked at the caller id scoreboard, and said "eww, don't need to talk to her."

Here I sit listening to your stinking phone ring in my ear. I know you're at the other end with that goddamn smirk on your face not answering my call. At least I'm indiscriminate in my non-answering of the phone.

My First Ebay Purchase

I admit it, I was completely addicted to ebay for a month. Okay, fine, maybe it was two. Okay, three. Anyway, I'm sure I'm alone on this but my first ebay purchase was one of the more fearful events in my life to date.

Throughout the buying process I showered my little plastic mouse and keyboard with sweat from my nervous palms while trying to work up the guts to make the buy. What the hell was I scared of? That damn internet does steal your money they say, and there's those viruses and bugs but who really cares about that?

At 4:13 am the morning after my first purchase I woke in a full body sweat and realized where my fears lie. That prick who sold me the hockey stick was stealing my identity at this very moment. What a brilliant scam. He was selling small insignificant items through ebay, carefully selecting his items to attract the ideal demographic. It wasn't about the profit on the items, they were simply bait. He was really after was my personal information, credit card number, address, etc. He's parked out front right now watching my bedroom window. How could I have been so stupid? I've lost everything.

It took me hours to calm down and go back to sleep. I got my hockey stick and apparently I still have my so called identity but my suspicions continue. I'm so scared.

Smug Feedback

"Dear Brydon

your becomeing so sick of mediocraty that it's forceing you to fight for your own individuality, and rebel with your smug disregard social convention"

I have no idea what 'smug disregard social convention' refers to. I just read through some of this crap I put here trying to figure out what that comment meant. I should have taken drama in high school or paid attention in english class. You do realize I failed grade ten english? Expecting me to decipher this doesn't seem fair. I hope you're proud of yourself...bully...

I even plugged it into google in quotes and it returned nothing. Apparently no ones ever used that exact mixture of words ever on the interweb. Is that even possible? What about that whole monkeys at the keyboard story?

Halloween Costume

My second costume idea was an expectant father. I thought that was humourous until it got a little real.

We had our second child today, girl, 8 lbs and 10 of those ounces and obviously nicknamed pumpkin. Sure she could use a real name but have we ever been properly prepared?

Old Hollow Eve

I dressed up as Santa Claus for Halloween only to be lectured by a small gathering of parents about how irresponsible I am. If you ever find yourself about to lecture someone about their level of responsibility, stop and think to yourself, is this guy who's dressed up as old saint nick on the day of the dead really concerned about responsibilities? Or would I be better off lecturing Paris Hilton about promiscuity?

Alcoholism's Funny

I'm clearly biased but this is oscar worthy material right?

Taking Action

While I fell short of suggesting some training manual updates, I did my civic duty. I really like this activism stuff. I'm turning a corner in my life, I'm really going to start getting things done, taking action, developing a hero complex.

What I appreciate most about their response is how they simultaneously washed their hands of any true action and made me feel that all they care about is taking said action. Do they have a George Orwell character crafting these responses?

"Dear Valued Customer,

I would like to thank you for contacting us at our Head Office in Oakville, Ontario. We appreciate the time you have taken to let us know about the lack of coffee stirring at one of our locations.

At Tim Hortons the satisfaction of our customers is of utmost importance. Unfortunately, without the store location specified it makes it very difficult for us to investigate and resolve this issue.

If you’d like, we would appreciate if you could call us toll free at 1-888-601-1616 so that we can discuss this matter further. It is through feedback from valued customers, such as yourself, that we are continually able to grow as a company.

Sincerely,

[Names withheld cause I'm skeered]"

Stress and Urinals

Why can't I stress about normal things? Typically, the most stressful point of my day is a trip to a public bathroom. It doesn't matter how many times I visit them, there's always a point midstream when a surge of mild panic hits and the thought scrolls across the scoreboard in my head "shit, am I in the women's bathroom?"

The system I use to calm myself down is simple, just check for the presence of urinals. Urinals tend only to be installed in the men's version of the public bathroom.

Through my life I never quite understood the point to urinals. They don't work particularly well, they spray your own pee back at you, and they smell like mild death. The problem was I thought they were meant to make peeing simpler but now I get it, they're just visual reminders that you've entered the right bathroom. Things are starting to fall into place quite nicely.

Tastebuds

I spent several years commuting to a previous job on the train. In the mornings I'd stand on the concrete waiting area thing waiting for the train to pull into station. Once it arrived I'd wander onto it and find a place to sleep/sit.

Sometimes I'd be on the train early enough to sit and watch other people wander up and down the concrete looking for the perfect train car to sit in. I could read a paper or talk to someone but it was nice to just watch strangers, see the clothes they wear, the coffee's they carry, the expressions on their faces, the glances they share, the glances they hoard.

There was one particular activity I witnessed which I never became comfortable with. It was watching a grown man cram his grubby fingers up his nose, pull some mess out, roll the extracted material around between his forefinger and thumb, and then pop that salty morsel into his mouth.

Okay, sure I'm curious. I mean it's such a convenient treat, always accessible, always with you, and free, but I still can't bring myself to try it.

A Paranoid Business Plan

You know those companies that offices hire to shred their documents. How did that even become a business? Is it really that time consuming or complicated to shred your own documents? It seems less challenging then cutting ones toe nails and most of us are doing that ourselves, I think. Oh crap, am I the only one still cutting my own toenails?

Okay, ignoring that part, has anyone caught on that those companies aren't actually shredding anything? They're simply taking our most precious documents back to their cave and sifting through them. Then they file away the juicy ones for future blackmail purposes or sell them to tabloids, business partners, spouses, or whoever would find them valuable.

Now who's paranoid?

Lessons in Conversing

Republished here with permission from meself:

An illustration of the continuation, or discontinuation, of an exchange of verbal sounds formerly known as a conversation but now only going by names such as rant, haranque, sermon, and soliloquy. Having looked those words up I now know what they mean, for now.

Person you like very much to be talking to at this moment: "oh hey, I'm picking up a coffee before I head to work"

"oh ya, where about's are you working?"

"I'm over at Smitty's but it's just temporary, I'm planning to open my own online tuck-in service in a few months"

"tuck-in eh? how do I get some of that action?"

You: "oh hey, I'm reading a new book but I forgot it at home"

"ahh, new book eh, what are you reading?"

"holy crap it's hot out today"

"well ya but don't complain, it'll be winter soon and then I'll be back to riding my bike in the snow"

"Sheesh the cream is white here"

"ahhh, ok, well I'll catch ya later"

"I need to rent a movie today"

"bye"

Random Hug Attempts

I ended up at a Jack Astor's restaurant recently for dinner. Wow, those kids really like to pretend they're having fun serving us lazy slobs some grub. I felt I should warn you that their website falsely claims:

"when you visit a Jack Astor's, you are not a customer but our guest. We want to welcome you, make you comfortable and provide a warm, friendly atmosphere with attentive service and lots of fun."

For reasons not worth explaining here, I had a medal around my neck this particular night not unlike those they award at the Olympics if your pee isn't full of drugs. While I was making my way to the bathroom one of the zany, comfortable, and friendly staff noticed my medal.

"Hey look at you, you're the medal winner."

"Ya, sure am."

"That's awesome, you're the champ."

"Thanks, can I get a hug?" while opening my welcoming arms and leaning in.

"Ahh, no way."

With that the smile dripped off his face and all over his sneakers. He backed up, pivoted and was gone.

I don't treat guests like that.

Accomplishments

It took me years of expensive counselling to get to where I am today. I used to measure my self-worth by my accomplishments. Get an okay grade, feel good. Make it up that hill, feel good. Build that piece of furniture, feel good. I now know I can feel good about myself and be happy even without those daily accomplishments.

The downside is I don't get shit done anymore.

Worried About The Media?

I don't watch the news or read the papers as much as they say I should. Some days when I do, I find myself worried about it's content. I worry we're focussing on issues and items that could be considered of a trivial nature.

Today is not one of those days. With the looming US election, the ongoing crisis in the middle east, it's good to know that the media is firing on all cylinders.

Kidman wishes she'd been born a brunette

"I would, all things said, have preferred to be a brunette with a dark complexion. But I work with what I have."

My heart goes out to Nicole and the daily battles she faces being born with such overwhelming physical obstacles. I can't imagine having to spend each and everyday working with what I have.

I'm Not As Funny As You Think I Am

A friend of a friend of a friend of a friend expressed an opinion about me recently, that being I'm "not as cool or funny as you think he is."

Yes, and the point is? Maybe I should clear this up. I, me, being of sound mind and pear-like body, willingly admit that I'm nowhere near as funny or cool as other peoples think I am, nor have I ever claimed to be.

While we're on this topic, here are some other truths I've recently uncovered:

• I'll never ever be as funny or cool as you.
  
• I'm starting to suspect that TV news people aren't always dressed up in suits. I have no actual proof as I've never seen one outside of a newscast but I'm keeping an eye out.
  
• Brad Pitt may not be as hot as you think he his in some of his movies.

With further thought I'm a little concerned about this person's opinion of the rest of my friends. As he only mentioned me, does that mean he thinks the rest of my friends are as funny and cool as he thinks they are?

It feels right to be confused once again.

Best Behaviour

I was invited out to dinner last week. I politely declined when it was requested that I "be on my best behaviour."

Don't invite me if me isn't what you're after. I'm sure there are many other more or less "behaved" versions of myself out there who'd be happy to have dinner with you.

Employee Training Manual Updates

The first of several updates to employee training manuals. Each of these updates will be passed along to the companies themselves. This first update is for Tim Horton's

As explained on their website, Tim's creates Coffee Connoisseurs:

"An important part of our intensive training program structure includes a coffee training course. Here, Tim Hortons store owners and management learn about roasting, green beans, quality assurance, brewing and machinery. Each trainee takes part in a hands-on cupping demonstration that highlights the extremes in flavors that coffee beans from different countries can have. Similar to wine tasting, "cupping" allows participants to get a sense of the different aromas and flavors associated with coffee."

Here's my updated, and I would say simplified, version:
"An important part of our intensive training program structure includes a coffee stirring course."

Since when does anyone in a Tim's need to know about green beans, brewing, or cupping? These people will never see a coffee bean let alone a green one. What these people need is intensive stirring training. As part of that training, each employee will be required to drink their morning coffee with cream and sugar. The sensitivity part of this training requires that those morning coffees be drank unstirred so they can savour those last two sips of sugar heaven and be reminded what it's like to hand over an unstirred coffee.

Further experiential training on top of this will include:

• All employee lunches will include poutine with the cheese and gravy added first followed by the fries on top.
  
• All employee sandwiches will be served with a single fist sized dollop of mayonaise in the center, unspread.

Excellent Customer Service

Me with my plumbing issues: "Excuse me, you only had three of these on the shelf, I need one more, do you know if you have anymore tucked away in back?"

High school (in progress) kid employee: "No we don't. But I'll look on the computer anyway."

Tick tock tick tock, hey I like those track pants......ummm.....lad dee doo.......

"Hey, any luck?"

"It says we have eight in stock."

"Oh great, maybe they're above or in back?"

We start down the aisle together. Half way down the aisle he turns and hands me back the parts.

"If you need anymore help you'll have to ask someone else, that's me they just paged on the PA"

He walks off, presumably to help some guy sitting on his couch watching the Bills game instead of actually coming into the store. One more reason I just love Canadian Tire money.

NHL Lockout And Personal Safety

"Sabres Forward Adam Mair Charged in Fight"

This is only the beginning. We need to get this hockey season going soon. This has nothing to do with entertainment or saving the game, I'm worried about getting beat up.

These guys are starting to get nasty right on schedule but without an appropriate outlet. Do we really want them roaming the streets picking on us? Let's get them back on the ice so they can beat each other up.

Show Your Brain

The worst thing you can do to your career is lose the need to verbalize as a means to exposing your brain to other people. Unfortunately, some things shouldn't be exposed so much.

Smell Test

Does the bar ever get in trouble for smelling like me?

Shopping Wisdom

I went clothes shopping today for the first time in two years, three months, and forty two days. Someone once told me you shouldn't go food shopping when you're hungry. You'll spend too much on food you don't need.

Someone should also have told me you shouldn't go clothes shopping when you think you're looking good. I tried on three items and they all looked spectacular on me. I couldn't tell if it was me or the clothes. I'm hanging onto the receipt until my opinion of myself returns to reasonable.

Piece Of Meat Filler Post

Things got a little paranoid during this morning's Timmy's visit.

"Can I help you?"

"Ya, can I get a large regular?"

"Will that be everything?"

"You don't have to treat me like some piece of meat."

"Pardon?"

"I see you looking at me. I didn't ask to be born with this body you know?"

"..."

"Ya that's everything thanks."

"That's a dollar thirty five."

"Thanks, sorry."

"That's alright."

It's filler people, we all get desperate, freakin critics.

Beauty In Spam?

I was compelled this morning to open and read an email that was clearly spam and I was blown away.

Here's the first paragraph:

"immediately kind weight friday recognize. going writing cry dog, discipline happened rich journal manners. earth art thousand eye sense hurt" laughing but justice figure neither kept smooth recess engaged afterwards?

wait ALL P0PULAR S0FTWAARES FROM $20 hardly understood foreign"

It's beautiful right? I'm not sure the point of the email or why someone would send it out to everyone on the interdigital, maybe I'm expected to buy softwaares from $20? I had no idea I was receiving such brilliant poetry in my little inbox each and everyday only to ignore it.

Is there a spoken word circuit I can take this prose on? I can't stop reading it, going writing cry dog, wow. Here's the rest of the email since I know you're hooked:

"fourth area master passed thursday hoped niece, soul are may two reference gave monday sugar example. saw regard sister question terrible, its season twenty tying land common fixed hardly because. among best beauty written price touched minute bed wonder, share round expected case nor worst? program spent she kind fallen. old marriage
eleven cut before description even. guess either clothes him allowed morning though excitement" person enemy stranger way" step easily stories has gentleman""

Legal Action Against Nature

A civil suit has been filed in an Atlanta court against Nature. The suit, filed by Sam Rothouse, claims that Nature was irresponsible in failing to erect proper fencing around the edge of a cliff.

Sam's son, Samson, wandered off the edge of the cliff during their two week summer vacation. Amazingly, he plummeted approximately 20 feet to a ledge where he lay seemingly unhurt.

"He sounded like he was doing fine at that point. He was a little banged up but his spirits were high." said Sam.

Sam communicated with his son, asking him to lay still while they sent for help. Samson was still in danger, lying on the barely two foot width shelf with a drop off of about another 350 feet below him. That was when things took a turn for the bizarre.

"He yelled up that he was okay. He said he was just going to walk out." said Sam. "I wasn't quite sure what he meant until I heard him yell, and then we heard the thump."

Samson apparently felt he was healthy enough to walk off a two foot ledge down a 350 foot sheer cliff.

"Look, this kid grew up in a society where safety is built in. He grew accustomed to having safety issues being taken care of for him. This kid clearly wasn't stupid but he's never experienced falling off a cliff of any size. Hell, he's never known or even seen a cliff that didn't have a safety fence. He's only experienced walking into fencing" explained the lawyer representing Sam's family.

"Clearly Nature had a responsibility to meet the expectation of safety set out by society and failed to due so. This negligence led directly to this tragic loss of life."

Clearing My Throat?

I can't figure out how to email someone that clearing my throat sound I make when someone's intentionally ignoring me and I want them to know that I know that they're ignoring me and I'm not so happy about it. Email's hard.

Gossip, The Key to Being Heard

I've recently figured out how to get people to listen to me, especially the female variety. I simply phrase everything in the form of gossip. Or just grab their attention with a gossip snippet to kick things off.

Example 1.1.1:
I'm reading this book right now where the character lives in this place that used to be six apartments. He ripped down all the walls between them and...

Example 1.1.2:
I'm pretty sure this guy I know is having an affair with someone in his office. He lives in this place that used to be six apartments. He ripped down all the walls between them and...

Example 1.2.1:
I scored a goal and assisted on a second the other night. Afterwards I was talking to Rick about...

Example 1.2.2:
I think my boss is in love with me. I scored a goal and assisted on a second the other night. Afterwards I was talking to Rick about...

Sure you'll have to answer questions like "What did that story have to do with your boss being in love with you?" but by then you'll have told your story and it'll have been intently listened to.

$393.75 Worth Of Filler Material

Potentially annoying boy: "Those free samples are huge."

Pointing to what are quite clearly regular sized cinnamon buns.

Random Tim Horton's Heather: "I don't know what those are. We got two new cookies, two new timbits, and those."

"And you don't get to try them all?"

"Today's my first day back. I haven't work in...I haven't worked in two days and I'm sore."

"Sore?"

"Yep."

Rolling up her shirt sleeve to reveal a puffy sunburnt arm.

"Ouch, nice burn. Oh ya, check this out."

Rolling up his shirt sleeve to reveal his glowing white wonderbread arm.

"You got nothing."

"Oh ya."

"You know where I was?"

"Ah no? Wait, I know, Hamilton, am I right?"

As he ponders whether random Tim Horton's Heather actually thinks a total stranger would know where she was the last two days or this is just some brilliant ruse to introduce the next item she would like to discuss.

"No, Hanover. We found a campsite for 25 dollars a night, had the water right behind us, went to the casino and I won three hundred and ninety three dollars and seventy five cents."

"What? These coffee's should be on you."

"Ya."

"Nice. High five."

Leaning in to receive requested high five.

"Have a good one Heather."

"Ya. Bye."

Man I miss Heather, things were so easy with her, we really understood each other and we could talk about anything.

Biology Lesson

"Why the hell are bodies so dumb? We grow a new person inside ourselves and then have to cram it out this little hole?"

"I guess it makes sense. We couldn't walk around with some gapping hole in our bodies."

Lonely Loser No More

I'm getting a cell phone but not because I need one. I actually can't think of any real reason to get one.

My mother, of course, feels I need one for when my car breaks down on the side of that scary road in her mind. It used to be that when your car broke down someone would stop and lend a hand. Now everyone has a cell phone, and assumes everyone else has one, so no one stops to help. The reason I need a cell phone when my car breaks down isn't because I don't have a cell phone, it's because you have one. Cripes you make me mad.

Sorry, back to the reason I'm getting one. I need a cell phone so that I never have to be the lonely loser again. When I get stuck sitting by myself on a patio, hop on the cell phone.

"Look honey, that guy's not a lonely loser, he's on the phone."

When I'm crossing a large intersection and the light changes, stranding me on that median thingy in the middle with everyone sitting in their cars staring at me, out comes the cell phone.

"Oh, that guy's ok, he's not a creep, he's got friends, he's on the phone with them now."

I'll never be alone again.

Salt Grains

I've become overly literal of late. In the process I'm finding it difficult to understand the origins of some of our more common cliches. For instance, take it with a grain of salt.

When someone outright lies to me, makes crap up, or says something just plain stupid, how exactly does this grain of salt we like to mention help? Sure it's simply a polite way of saying someone I have to put up with, since they're family or a friend of a friend, is an idiot and says dumb shit so just ignore him. Where I get lost is how salt entered into the picture?

Update
This is why I hate the internet. I miss not knowing stuff. At this rate I'll be able to answer trivia questions, start enjoying jeopardy, and actually get one of those pie pieces when someone forces me to sit for a game of trivial pursuit:

"Salt was thought to have healing properties and to be an antidote to poisons. To take (eat or drink) something "with a grain of salt" was to practice preventive medicine. One would do this if they were suspicious that the food might be poisonous or may cause illness."

It's going to take me weeks to forget this and return to my blissful saline ignorance.

The Chooch's Heeead

Finally, I'm no longer alone in my big headedness within my family. The growth of the chooch's head shows no signs of slowing. Man I hope his body can keep up or he's going to be one lop-sided teenager.

Anatomy Lesson

My Bleeding Heart

The Swollen Twins


Blowfish In The Mirror


Blood On The Mind

These warning labels on cigarette packs must be stopped. I found myself staring at Urban's pack of smokes and in no time I couldn't swallow because of the swollen twins in my throat, my bloody brain was pounding in my skull, and my bleeding heart kept skipping beats. I got up to piddle, looked in the mirror and sure enough my teeth looked exactly like the blowfish.

I'm at the tender age where stress and fear are a way of life. I'm often too scared to answer the phone or step outside, for no reason at all. I really don't need support from the government when it comes to fostering these emotions.

So now I'm smoking again. I had to order a shot of tequila and light my first smoke in two decades in order to calm myself down. Is this approach to prevention working? I haven't bought a car in years, are there overtly graphic pictures of car accident victims taped to the showroom models to discourage their purchase?

Construction Brydon

It's construction week in my world. I'm destroying my house and starting new. Any work of this magnitude requires a mustache and that's where I began.

Yesterday, during a lunch break downtown a fine gentlemen started a sentence with "you look like a contractor....".

I rudely interrupted him to say "why thank you", and then one of us got a warm hug for the kind words they'd just said.

Another Prank Only I Like

I stumbled onto this one accidentally. I rode my bike downtown last night for a leisurely pint. I locked my bike up as usual and sat down on the patio. About half way through my pint I noticed someone unlocking the bike locked to the same street thingy as mine. He seemed slightly confused, pensive, reflective, and then progressively angry as he shifted around. My bike appeared to be the target of his developing hate.

I was bored with the current topic of conversation so I wandered over.

"How's it going?"

"Shit, do you know whose bike this is?"

"Ahhh, I think so, why? what's up?"

"They locked my bike up when they locked theirs."

"Oh shit, I'm sorry, that's my bike."

I could do little to surpress my giggles as I unlocked his bike and freed his metal mule. That's when the cogs began to churn. I remembered I had an extra bike lock in my basement. I now carry two locks downtown, one for my bike and another which I use to secure someone else's randomly chosen bike. You're not going home until I say you're going home mister.

Ear Filters

"Can you do me a favour while you're over there and turn the stereo up?"

"Sure."

"What are doing? Turn it down."

"But you just asked me to turn it up."

"I meant turn it down."

A Prank Apparently Only Funny To Me

Don't bother trying this one at the office. I've tried this several times only to get fear, confusion, and even anger as responses. I have yet to receive laughter or even a hint of appreciation for this prank.

People, why can't we have some fun while we wait for a certain country, no names please, to lead us in a rousing rendition of collective suicide?

If you ignore my advice to steer clear of this prank, then next time you need to do a number two, don't lock the door to the bathroom stall. In fact leave it slightly ajar. I know, I know, it's juvenile toilet humour, when did I promise you maturity and sophistication?

Anyway, it's never worked for me. I had no clue John in finance would get so lathered up over me leaving the stall unlocked, and slightly open, while I sat and did my business? It's a joke John, think about it. Why are we taking bathrooms so seriously?

Word Association: Buckwheat

I received a fluffy down pillow for my thirty second birthday. In recounting my gifts to a friend she offered a suggestion.

"You should get a buckwheat pillow, they're yummy comfortable."

"A what pillow?"

"A buckwheat pillow."

Note to marketing genuises, word associations are important. Maybe it's just me but which would you like to wrap your arms around as you doze off to your dreamy starry la la place?

Another Self-Important Loser Starts a Blog

Ok, quick contest, name the 4939259439th loser to publish meaningless thoughts and experiences from their daily life, thinking someone out there, while living essentially the same life, wants to read them? If you guessed yourself then you're incorrect and in a worse situation than me but I'm really glad you exist.

Correct answer: me.

If something here seems plageristically familiar then I most likely stole it from here, here or here.

Please note that I will be accepting soft yet appreciable blows to my head if I ever use the word blog again on this site, except in the case where I'm quoting someone else or describing another site that can only be accurately described using that word.