Getting Down in Second Life
Warning: Contains some adult content.
My foray into Second Life has been fairly uneventful, unlike a colleague. Within ten minutes of logging in, he was hit by a car and propositioned by a Japanese avatar, who uttered a phrase like: "you wanna sucka me?" Sure, a female avatar asked if she could hug me, but she was not in control of her gestures, and she failed to execute the maneuver. I have no idea how to do that either. And so, I wondered on, and then sat on a bench by a strangely calm sea and stared off into the cyber distance.
Later, I ended up in an adult orgy room. I am not sure how this happened, but my search for a night club went awry and I found myself suddenly surrounded by naked avatars, some of them getting it on. I have no doubt that first lifers look nothing like their sexy pieces of anthropomorphic code. So, I wouldn't say that there was anything especially sexual about the place, unless one is into low-grade anime. By the way, why are there no ugly avatars?
I have to admit that the one thing I had been curious about since joining Second Life was what my avatar looked like without clothing. Most of the places I had visited before had strict rules about nudity, and so I had never been able to take off my clothes. I decided, after a few minutes of virtual voyeurism in this club, to take my pants off. I thought that I would just blend in.
This is where the shocking thing happened. Oh, the horror of it all. I discovered that I had no penis! My avatar looks like an anatomically-correct Michael Jackson doll! Why do female avatars have breasts and male avatars lack penises? This is a serious oversight. But, this lack of appendage explained the advertisements for penises on the walls. It appears that they can be purchased from the Second Life penis makers. I have only earned $4 (Lindens, actually) from my modeling job, and I am fairly sure that this is not enough, especially for a big one.
But, I have a fear of getting a penis, because I am not sure I will know how to operate it. I might end up disappointing some cute Japanese avatar - or her 350 lbs male first-life-counterpart. That would be sad for both of us.
And, speaking of penises, I posted a photo of a naked man on my Flickr account taken after the Toronto Pride Parade. This photo has been viewed more than 1100 times in 24 hours, making it second in rapid view accumulation just ahead of a lingerie-clad mannequin and behind a slaughtered pig. What's wrong with the world?
Technorati Tags: Second Life, penises
Wednesday, June 27, 2007
Monday, June 25, 2007
Endings/Beginnings, part three (see parts one and two)
What does a father say when his 18-year-old daughter announces that she is planning to move in with her boyfriend, a man of 31 or 32 years? On the one hand, he probably wishes that he was the man hooking up with a young woman. On the other, this is his daughter. I guess to preserve family harmony, my dad didn't forbid it, not that he could. "She'd do it anyway," he said to me. And, he was right.
For me, it was a chance to get my own room, and so I was overjoyed when she moved out and I could escape from the room I shared with my brother. My parents awarded me the room, even though I was younger. It was a prize for staying is school while my brother dropped out at age 15
I try to imagine how my sister must have felt when she discovered her boyfriend's secret life, 14 years down the road. He always left early for work, managing some sort of poorly-functioning renovation business, where I once earned a pittance for a summer of labour. He always arrived home very late. It translated to a mere five or six hours of sleep each night. What my sister learned is that much of his time away was spent with his other common-law wife.
He had two places to sleep and eat and shower. His had two lives, opposite, and yet bizarrely the same. He bought two identical Christmas presents each year. I suppose it was easier to remember what he gave if he just bought the same thing twice. He'd buy two bathrobes, two bottles of perfume, two pairs of slippers, two push-up bras, probably in different sizes.
And then she met the women, described as T's wife, a title she claimed for herself. Soon, my sister learned that there were three mortgages on her house; that this woman's father held the third; that a lawyer had perjured herself to implicate my sister; that this women - the other wife - had embezzled money from her own father; that the business was a thin operation, barely holding on, but with big dreams it could never hope to achieve; that someone else held a mortgage on the restaurant and T was just a figurehead owner, not the real man, hardly a man at all.
My sister lost the house. She didn't get a cent from the sale after foreclosure. And who knows where he is now. Part of me wants that information; a part does not.
To be continued ...
Technorati Tags: family, relationships
What does a father say when his 18-year-old daughter announces that she is planning to move in with her boyfriend, a man of 31 or 32 years? On the one hand, he probably wishes that he was the man hooking up with a young woman. On the other, this is his daughter. I guess to preserve family harmony, my dad didn't forbid it, not that he could. "She'd do it anyway," he said to me. And, he was right.
For me, it was a chance to get my own room, and so I was overjoyed when she moved out and I could escape from the room I shared with my brother. My parents awarded me the room, even though I was younger. It was a prize for staying is school while my brother dropped out at age 15
I try to imagine how my sister must have felt when she discovered her boyfriend's secret life, 14 years down the road. He always left early for work, managing some sort of poorly-functioning renovation business, where I once earned a pittance for a summer of labour. He always arrived home very late. It translated to a mere five or six hours of sleep each night. What my sister learned is that much of his time away was spent with his other common-law wife.
He had two places to sleep and eat and shower. His had two lives, opposite, and yet bizarrely the same. He bought two identical Christmas presents each year. I suppose it was easier to remember what he gave if he just bought the same thing twice. He'd buy two bathrobes, two bottles of perfume, two pairs of slippers, two push-up bras, probably in different sizes.
And then she met the women, described as T's wife, a title she claimed for herself. Soon, my sister learned that there were three mortgages on her house; that this woman's father held the third; that a lawyer had perjured herself to implicate my sister; that this women - the other wife - had embezzled money from her own father; that the business was a thin operation, barely holding on, but with big dreams it could never hope to achieve; that someone else held a mortgage on the restaurant and T was just a figurehead owner, not the real man, hardly a man at all.
My sister lost the house. She didn't get a cent from the sale after foreclosure. And who knows where he is now. Part of me wants that information; a part does not.
To be continued ...
Technorati Tags: family, relationships
Thursday, June 21, 2007
The Ice Cream Truck
How many ice cream tucks are there in Toronto? There would have to be hundreds, because the mobile soft-serve ice cream people always show up at dinner, with that infernal music that scrapes against my brain. Years of planning with Euler graphs and computer simulations must have taken place for this to happen in such an orchestrated manner. But, if the mobile soft-serve ice cream people are always at someone's house at dinner, where are the mobile soft-serve ice cream people just before they arrive and where do the mobile soft-serve ice cream people go right after? Does this mean that the mobile soft-serve ice cream people know when everyone eats, and can, therefore, time arrivals accordingly? Where did the mobile soft-serve ice cream people acquire this knowledge? Why is it that when we eat later, the mobile soft-serve ice cream people still manage to arrive when we are eating?
What do the mobile soft-serve ice cream people do in winter? It makes me wonder what the profit margin is in this business.
Technorati Tags: questions, ice cream truck
How many ice cream tucks are there in Toronto? There would have to be hundreds, because the mobile soft-serve ice cream people always show up at dinner, with that infernal music that scrapes against my brain. Years of planning with Euler graphs and computer simulations must have taken place for this to happen in such an orchestrated manner. But, if the mobile soft-serve ice cream people are always at someone's house at dinner, where are the mobile soft-serve ice cream people just before they arrive and where do the mobile soft-serve ice cream people go right after? Does this mean that the mobile soft-serve ice cream people know when everyone eats, and can, therefore, time arrivals accordingly? Where did the mobile soft-serve ice cream people acquire this knowledge? Why is it that when we eat later, the mobile soft-serve ice cream people still manage to arrive when we are eating?
What do the mobile soft-serve ice cream people do in winter? It makes me wonder what the profit margin is in this business.
Technorati Tags: questions, ice cream truck
Monday, June 18, 2007
Jerk
I saw it as though it happened in slow motion -- a cyclist, two cyclists ahead of me on College Street, hitting the ground after being struck by a car door. The good news is that no cars were beside him. The other cyclist and I helped him up, made sure he was alright. The driver got out of his car and was seemed relieved that the cyclist was OK and not angry.
The truly strange part is that the driver was perplexed. He repeated over and over that he did not see the cyclist in his mirror, and he wondered where he came from. Of course, we all told him that he needs to shoulder-check because he has a blind spot, the same way you need to shoulder-check when you change lanes. The driver just could not understand that and it seemed to me as if he was angry at his mirror for letting him down. I believe that the concept of shoulder-checking was completely new to him.
I wonder what box of cereal this guy got his driver's license from.
Technorati Tags: cycling, Toronto, jerks
I saw it as though it happened in slow motion -- a cyclist, two cyclists ahead of me on College Street, hitting the ground after being struck by a car door. The good news is that no cars were beside him. The other cyclist and I helped him up, made sure he was alright. The driver got out of his car and was seemed relieved that the cyclist was OK and not angry.
The truly strange part is that the driver was perplexed. He repeated over and over that he did not see the cyclist in his mirror, and he wondered where he came from. Of course, we all told him that he needs to shoulder-check because he has a blind spot, the same way you need to shoulder-check when you change lanes. The driver just could not understand that and it seemed to me as if he was angry at his mirror for letting him down. I believe that the concept of shoulder-checking was completely new to him.
I wonder what box of cereal this guy got his driver's license from.
Technorati Tags: cycling, Toronto, jerks
Wednesday, June 13, 2007
Endings/Beginnings, part two (read part one)
My father took refuge in his darkened room after my mother was taken away to the psychiatric hospital. Later, we ate in silence in the dim dining room and I remember struggling to see the food on my plate. Perhaps he did not want me to see his face. Days later, my mother returned, for a short time, long enough to celebrate Christmas, and then she fled in my dad's car, heading north to the cottage. She stayed there until the money dried up and the car, neglected and abused, died a slow death, but not before her boyfriend stole it and abandoned it in Rexdale.
My dad is no philosopher, though I think he wishes he was. He has opinions. He offers advice, in a fatherly way. But, it's easy to reject advice when it is steeped in conservative dogma and dispensed far too rigidly. Occasionally, the advice is offered up almost as a plea. "Don't work in a factory," he once advised. That was good advice, but I am sure he felt it might be unavoidable for me, the fourth child in a working class family raised in a small town where the majority of the work is the endless tedium of the factory, the only antidote being cases of beer and liquor.
My mother did not return. She found her way into her mother's house, perhaps the only one who would offer her shelter. Ten years on, she works on an endless stream of seek-a-word puzzles and juvenile crosswords while smoking a chain of cigarettes. Her hair is gray-yellow, a shocking change from the deep black she died it for most of her life.
After some time, my father began to speak with mercenary zeal about dating and meeting someone. He announced that he would not be alone by the same time next year. He was confident. He practised driving to a few restaurants in a neighbouring city, something he had never done before. He has been married to his second wife for 18 years now.
Years later, when A. and I split, turning away from an ill-advised union of the young and the younger (I was the younger), my dad had no advice; instead, he blamed himself and I have never been able to figure out why.
To be continued ...
Technorati Tags: family, dad, relationships, endings, beginnings
My father took refuge in his darkened room after my mother was taken away to the psychiatric hospital. Later, we ate in silence in the dim dining room and I remember struggling to see the food on my plate. Perhaps he did not want me to see his face. Days later, my mother returned, for a short time, long enough to celebrate Christmas, and then she fled in my dad's car, heading north to the cottage. She stayed there until the money dried up and the car, neglected and abused, died a slow death, but not before her boyfriend stole it and abandoned it in Rexdale.
My dad is no philosopher, though I think he wishes he was. He has opinions. He offers advice, in a fatherly way. But, it's easy to reject advice when it is steeped in conservative dogma and dispensed far too rigidly. Occasionally, the advice is offered up almost as a plea. "Don't work in a factory," he once advised. That was good advice, but I am sure he felt it might be unavoidable for me, the fourth child in a working class family raised in a small town where the majority of the work is the endless tedium of the factory, the only antidote being cases of beer and liquor.
My mother did not return. She found her way into her mother's house, perhaps the only one who would offer her shelter. Ten years on, she works on an endless stream of seek-a-word puzzles and juvenile crosswords while smoking a chain of cigarettes. Her hair is gray-yellow, a shocking change from the deep black she died it for most of her life.
After some time, my father began to speak with mercenary zeal about dating and meeting someone. He announced that he would not be alone by the same time next year. He was confident. He practised driving to a few restaurants in a neighbouring city, something he had never done before. He has been married to his second wife for 18 years now.
Years later, when A. and I split, turning away from an ill-advised union of the young and the younger (I was the younger), my dad had no advice; instead, he blamed himself and I have never been able to figure out why.
To be continued ...
Technorati Tags: family, dad, relationships, endings, beginnings
Tuesday, June 12, 2007
Randomness
One item in the following list is NOT true.
1) What did I have for breakfast today: gluten-free Mesa Sunrise cereal with soy milk and then two or three rice cakes with jam. When one has celiac disease, one eats many many rice cakes.
2) What am I wearing: jeans and a t-shirt. Yesterday was far more interesting because I was wearing a shirt that is often mistaken for a table cloth. If I were to lie down on the grass while wearing that shirt, people would have a picnic on me and then the ants and pigeons would show up looking for crumbs.
3) What am I reading: Michael Ondaatje's Running in the Family.
4) What is the last CD I bought: Yesterday, I grabbed a some CDs from Sam the Record Man's 99 cent bin, as the store is closing soon. I got: Jon Gibbons - In Good Company; Black lab - Your Body Above Me (not so sure if I like this); and The X-Files: The Album - Fight the Future (just for the Dust Brothers' version of the X-Files theme).
5) Last thing I did to piss someone off: I submitted a formal copyright complaint to Facebook for copyright violation in one Facebook group. Someone uploaded one of my photographs without permission. It even had my copyright statement right on the photo. The photo has now been removed. I would gladly have permitted the upload if permission had been requested in advance. What is really troubling is that the person who did is a librarian and should be aware of copyright law. Incidentally, a photo of mine will appear on an upcoming University of Toronto brochure.
6) Last thing I took a photo of: My penis.
7) A random thing on my desk: An article entitled: "Fetishes and their Associated Behavior," Sexuality and Diversity 20(2): 2002, p 135-147.
8) Strangest reference question I had yesterday: "If I put a stamp on this," said patron holding up one of those large inter-office envelopes riddled with symmetrical holes, "will Canada Post deliver it?" I thought not, but replied "I'll have to plead ignorance on that one." To which he replied, "do you have any envelopes." I sent him to the bookstore. Five minutes later, I was asked for an envelope by another patron. This may seem minor to you, but we are constantly asked for envelopes, tape, glue, scissors, staplers (which we provide), three hole punches (which we provide), telephones, paper clips, liquid paper, post-it notes, paper, pens (which we provide), pencils (which we provide), directions (which we provide), band aids, hand sanitizer, proofreading of essays, correct spelling (which we provide), help in interpreting essay questions, etc. Occasionally, we get a few reference questions.
9) Last TV show I watched: The final episode of the Sopranos.
10) More horrific sight I have ever seen: My dad sunbathing is a thong.
Technorati Tags: randomness, sort of memes
One item in the following list is NOT true.
1) What did I have for breakfast today: gluten-free Mesa Sunrise cereal with soy milk and then two or three rice cakes with jam. When one has celiac disease, one eats many many rice cakes.
2) What am I wearing: jeans and a t-shirt. Yesterday was far more interesting because I was wearing a shirt that is often mistaken for a table cloth. If I were to lie down on the grass while wearing that shirt, people would have a picnic on me and then the ants and pigeons would show up looking for crumbs.
3) What am I reading: Michael Ondaatje's Running in the Family.
4) What is the last CD I bought: Yesterday, I grabbed a some CDs from Sam the Record Man's 99 cent bin, as the store is closing soon. I got: Jon Gibbons - In Good Company; Black lab - Your Body Above Me (not so sure if I like this); and The X-Files: The Album - Fight the Future (just for the Dust Brothers' version of the X-Files theme).
5) Last thing I did to piss someone off: I submitted a formal copyright complaint to Facebook for copyright violation in one Facebook group. Someone uploaded one of my photographs without permission. It even had my copyright statement right on the photo. The photo has now been removed. I would gladly have permitted the upload if permission had been requested in advance. What is really troubling is that the person who did is a librarian and should be aware of copyright law. Incidentally, a photo of mine will appear on an upcoming University of Toronto brochure.
6) Last thing I took a photo of: My penis.
7) A random thing on my desk: An article entitled: "Fetishes and their Associated Behavior," Sexuality and Diversity 20(2): 2002, p 135-147.
8) Strangest reference question I had yesterday: "If I put a stamp on this," said patron holding up one of those large inter-office envelopes riddled with symmetrical holes, "will Canada Post deliver it?" I thought not, but replied "I'll have to plead ignorance on that one." To which he replied, "do you have any envelopes." I sent him to the bookstore. Five minutes later, I was asked for an envelope by another patron. This may seem minor to you, but we are constantly asked for envelopes, tape, glue, scissors, staplers (which we provide), three hole punches (which we provide), telephones, paper clips, liquid paper, post-it notes, paper, pens (which we provide), pencils (which we provide), directions (which we provide), band aids, hand sanitizer, proofreading of essays, correct spelling (which we provide), help in interpreting essay questions, etc. Occasionally, we get a few reference questions.
9) Last TV show I watched: The final episode of the Sopranos.
10) More horrific sight I have ever seen: My dad sunbathing is a thong.
Technorati Tags: randomness, sort of memes
Monday, June 11, 2007
Launch
On Friday night, I had the pleasure of attending the launch of Sandra Kasturi's book of poems, The Animal Bridegroom. It was a well-attended event at The Central on Markham Street. Unfortunately, it was hotter than hell in there, even before the readings began. I saw a few people I hadn't seen in years, most of whom are on Facebook (like, who isn't?).
Sandra published my first poem (two, actually) about 13 years ago. I had two more published in another journal that same year, and then I gave it up and have only written a handful of poems since then. I am not really sure why, but I think that fame was getting to me.
I kept getting demands for autographs and invitations to events I had no interest in attending. I had to retreat to the sidelines. Otherwise, I would have had a Paris Hilton lifestyle, and who wants that? I took a poetry workshop a couple of years ago with Rhea Tregebov, and that was fine, but it did not kick start anything. I have been sticking to prose.
Happy Monday.
Technorati Tags: poetry, launches, books
On Friday night, I had the pleasure of attending the launch of Sandra Kasturi's book of poems, The Animal Bridegroom. It was a well-attended event at The Central on Markham Street. Unfortunately, it was hotter than hell in there, even before the readings began. I saw a few people I hadn't seen in years, most of whom are on Facebook (like, who isn't?).
Sandra published my first poem (two, actually) about 13 years ago. I had two more published in another journal that same year, and then I gave it up and have only written a handful of poems since then. I am not really sure why, but I think that fame was getting to me.
I kept getting demands for autographs and invitations to events I had no interest in attending. I had to retreat to the sidelines. Otherwise, I would have had a Paris Hilton lifestyle, and who wants that? I took a poetry workshop a couple of years ago with Rhea Tregebov, and that was fine, but it did not kick start anything. I have been sticking to prose.
Happy Monday.
Technorati Tags: poetry, launches, books
Friday, June 08, 2007
Back in the Day
Do you remember the good old days when I had lots to say, some of it even funny or interesting? Those days might be gone.
I think I might be getting another cold. The non-stop cold syndrome is the worst thing about being surrounded with children. At least it's Friday.
Technorati Tags: blogging, colds
Do you remember the good old days when I had lots to say, some of it even funny or interesting? Those days might be gone.
I think I might be getting another cold. The non-stop cold syndrome is the worst thing about being surrounded with children. At least it's Friday.
Technorati Tags: blogging, colds
Tuesday, June 05, 2007
Social Etiquette
Caution: this is a boring post, but here it is anyway:
I think that if there's anything that I have perfected, it is standing in a line (or a queue, if you like). There is a delicate balance to be achieved. A socially-appropriate distance must be maintained between you and the person in front. One must be aware of the line as it moves, so as not to leave gaps that are too big, lest someone join the line in the middle. In summary, after so many years on this planet, I know how to stand in a line.
When making purchases, the job is somewhat easier, because one generally has a burden, be it a bunch of bananas, sausages, caviar, or champagne. And yet, when I was in line recently with a container of Baba Ghanouj and two bananas, waiting patiently to pay, an old shriveled woman came up and yelled "are you in line!" at me. She sounded like a pissed off drill sergeant.
I was startled at the volume of the question and because I was clearly in line. I am not sure if it was possible for me to be any more in line. I was as in line as I could be. Any more in line, and I would be in danger of sodomizing the person in front of me. My hands were full, and I had my wallet out, ready to pay. I was in line.
Despite all of the visual clues, this woman had no idea, or perhaps she was trying to force me out of line, maybe make me feel sorry for her and let her in. But, shortly thereafter, I realized that she was a mean old cow.
I was mid way through my transaction when I heard her yell "do you have a smaller bag!" like it was an accusation, that the clerk was holding back the small bags or that she deliberately placed her produce in an over sized bag, just for gags. She probably imagined that the clerks would all laugh at her as she left, and mutter things like, "wow, you really gave her a big bag" and "you win: that's the biggest bag I've ever seen for such a small purchase."
For some reason, the cashier missed the question and the woman let her have it with "did you hear me! I asked if you have a smaller bag ..." She then went on about the size of the bag compared with the size of her purchase.
I hope I don't end up like that.
Technorati Tags: etiquette, shopping, elderly
Caution: this is a boring post, but here it is anyway:
I think that if there's anything that I have perfected, it is standing in a line (or a queue, if you like). There is a delicate balance to be achieved. A socially-appropriate distance must be maintained between you and the person in front. One must be aware of the line as it moves, so as not to leave gaps that are too big, lest someone join the line in the middle. In summary, after so many years on this planet, I know how to stand in a line.
When making purchases, the job is somewhat easier, because one generally has a burden, be it a bunch of bananas, sausages, caviar, or champagne. And yet, when I was in line recently with a container of Baba Ghanouj and two bananas, waiting patiently to pay, an old shriveled woman came up and yelled "are you in line!" at me. She sounded like a pissed off drill sergeant.
I was startled at the volume of the question and because I was clearly in line. I am not sure if it was possible for me to be any more in line. I was as in line as I could be. Any more in line, and I would be in danger of sodomizing the person in front of me. My hands were full, and I had my wallet out, ready to pay. I was in line.
Despite all of the visual clues, this woman had no idea, or perhaps she was trying to force me out of line, maybe make me feel sorry for her and let her in. But, shortly thereafter, I realized that she was a mean old cow.
I was mid way through my transaction when I heard her yell "do you have a smaller bag!" like it was an accusation, that the clerk was holding back the small bags or that she deliberately placed her produce in an over sized bag, just for gags. She probably imagined that the clerks would all laugh at her as she left, and mutter things like, "wow, you really gave her a big bag" and "you win: that's the biggest bag I've ever seen for such a small purchase."
For some reason, the cashier missed the question and the woman let her have it with "did you hear me! I asked if you have a smaller bag ..." She then went on about the size of the bag compared with the size of her purchase.
I hope I don't end up like that.
Technorati Tags: etiquette, shopping, elderly
Monday, June 04, 2007
Endings/Beginnings
Endings are also beginnings. I've often thought that when reading novels or watching films. I believe this because endings are not always satisfactory, especially those children's books that conclude with the cop out "they lived happily ever after." If endings were really endings, we'd have no sequels or prequels or television shows made into films or films made into television shows. The end would be the end and that would be that. In life, the end comes in death, I think. There could be something after that, but I remain to be convinced. For me, that this is the only attractive part about dying: we get to see if there is anything after this life. I suspect that there isn't, but I am not sure I want to delve into religion right now.
There are endings and there are beginnings.
To be continued...
Technorati Tags: life, endings, beginnings
Endings are also beginnings. I've often thought that when reading novels or watching films. I believe this because endings are not always satisfactory, especially those children's books that conclude with the cop out "they lived happily ever after." If endings were really endings, we'd have no sequels or prequels or television shows made into films or films made into television shows. The end would be the end and that would be that. In life, the end comes in death, I think. There could be something after that, but I remain to be convinced. For me, that this is the only attractive part about dying: we get to see if there is anything after this life. I suspect that there isn't, but I am not sure I want to delve into religion right now.
There are endings and there are beginnings.
To be continued...
Technorati Tags: life, endings, beginnings
Friday, June 01, 2007
A Quote
Been a lazy blogger this week, so just a short quote today from Quare Dewd: "Librarians should always get lots of sex, hot chocolate, and cash!"
Technorati Tags: librarians
Been a lazy blogger this week, so just a short quote today from Quare Dewd: "Librarians should always get lots of sex, hot chocolate, and cash!"
Technorati Tags: librarians
Monday, May 28, 2007
A Shoplifter Goes Down
The guy looked like he was moving in slow motion, and I wondered if he was ill, about to have some sort of seizure or simply crumble and roll down the stairs. And then, I realized that the two people behind him on the stairs that ascend from Dollar Rama in the Dufferin Mall had a good grip on his shirt and were holding him back. It made me think of those dreams where all you can do is run in slow motion. Despite his weight, which I estimated to be around 257 lbs, he was unable to free himself from the two female store clerks.
Security had been called, and, seconds later, I watched as two mall security guards sprinted down the hallway and took him down. I turned the stroller away so that my son would not witness the altercation. But, the boy kept craning his neck to get a good look. We strolled past a women with a four or five year old who scooped up her child and said something like: "look, ____, let's go see the guy in handcuffs." She ran over to the growing crowd of spectators, the kid bouncing in her arms. She was unwilling to miss any of the excitement and I wondered if this was an attempt at imparting some sort of life message.
By this time, the perp was face down on the cold and dirty Dufferin Mall floor, his hands locked behind him in silver cuffs. Soon, security had him on his feet and they led him to the interrogation room, probably room 101.
The thing that continues to perplex me is why steal from Dollar Rama?
Technorati Tags: Toronto, Dufferin Mall, Dollar Rama, shoplifting
The guy looked like he was moving in slow motion, and I wondered if he was ill, about to have some sort of seizure or simply crumble and roll down the stairs. And then, I realized that the two people behind him on the stairs that ascend from Dollar Rama in the Dufferin Mall had a good grip on his shirt and were holding him back. It made me think of those dreams where all you can do is run in slow motion. Despite his weight, which I estimated to be around 257 lbs, he was unable to free himself from the two female store clerks.
Security had been called, and, seconds later, I watched as two mall security guards sprinted down the hallway and took him down. I turned the stroller away so that my son would not witness the altercation. But, the boy kept craning his neck to get a good look. We strolled past a women with a four or five year old who scooped up her child and said something like: "look, ____, let's go see the guy in handcuffs." She ran over to the growing crowd of spectators, the kid bouncing in her arms. She was unwilling to miss any of the excitement and I wondered if this was an attempt at imparting some sort of life message.
By this time, the perp was face down on the cold and dirty Dufferin Mall floor, his hands locked behind him in silver cuffs. Soon, security had him on his feet and they led him to the interrogation room, probably room 101.
The thing that continues to perplex me is why steal from Dollar Rama?
Technorati Tags: Toronto, Dufferin Mall, Dollar Rama, shoplifting
Thursday, May 24, 2007
Meme Friday (borrowed from Anna May Won't)
Fill this out about your SENIOR year of high school! The longer ago it was, the more fun the answers will be. (And the older you'll feel.)
I don't think anyone in Canada uses the term senior year. For me, the last year was Grade 13, which has now been abolished and left to the history books.
1. Who was your best friend? - Keith O. & Stephen G.
2. What sports did you play? - Track (100 M, 200 M, 400 M, hurdles, relay); also cross-country team for a while.
3. What kind of car did you drive? - my dad's LTD, when he let me; my sister's boyfriend's for several weeks.
4. It's Friday night, where were you? - party, or at a friend's house with beer and movies.
5. Were you a party animal? - I guess so: there were always parties when you come from a small town.
6. Were you considered a flirt? - I have to say no.
7. Were you in band, orchestra, or choir? - not in grade 13, but I was in the Jr band in earlier years.
8. Were you a nerd? - Jesus, I hope not.
9. Did you get suspended/expelled? - Never. I was never in any kind of trouble. I was a model student, obedient and respectful.
10. Can you sing the fight song? - What is a fight song?
11. Who was your favorite teacher? - Johnny L. He made me love history; it's probably fair to say I would never have gone to University if I hadn't taken his course.
12. What was your school's full name? - Well, that's a secret.
13. School mascot? - Falcon
14. Did you go to Prom? - Now, maybe my memory is fading, but I am not sure we had a prom (and, that is a term that is not used as much as it is in the USA). There was some sort of formal dinner, I think, but I am not sure it was school-sanctioned. I recall a formal prom-like dance at the end of grade 12. I went with Lisa K.
15. If you could go back and do it over, would you? - Yes, and I would be much better at it.
16. What do you remember most about graduation? - I remember that it was odd seeing all of these people that I hadn't seen for months at the ceremony. I recall that after the ceremony, we went to J.B.'s for a party. But, after I graduated, I remember feeling like I was broke, knowing that my parents would not or could not not pay for my education. That summer, all I could get was a job planting trees, until I got a job tending bar at a local dive.
17. Where were you on senior skip day? - What the hell is Senior skip day? I remember going to the beach one day when we all should have been in math class. Is that what this means?
18. Did you have a job your senior year? - No, and I didn't want one.
19. Where did you go most often for lunch? - Cafeteria. I ate (a packed lunch) and then played euchre.
20. Have you gained weight since then? - I weigh exactly the same now as I did then.
21. What did you do after graduation? - 1) A summer of bad jobs; 2) University, intermingled with summers of bad jobs; 3) worked for MasterCard; 4) MA, mixed with being a TA and an RA; 5) worked for MasterCard, and then the University of Toronto; 6) Master of Library Science degree with summers of mediocre jobs; 7) employment; 8) I will die some day.
22. When did you graduate? - In October
23. Who was your Senior prom date? - see question 14
24. Are you going to your 10 year reunion? - I don't think my class has ever had a reunion, but I would go if there was one.
25. Who was your home room teacher? - I have no idea.
26. Who will repost this after you? As Anna May said, "Anyone who wants a walk down memory lane."
Technorati Tags: memes, school
Fill this out about your SENIOR year of high school! The longer ago it was, the more fun the answers will be. (And the older you'll feel.)
I don't think anyone in Canada uses the term senior year. For me, the last year was Grade 13, which has now been abolished and left to the history books.
1. Who was your best friend? - Keith O. & Stephen G.
2. What sports did you play? - Track (100 M, 200 M, 400 M, hurdles, relay); also cross-country team for a while.
3. What kind of car did you drive? - my dad's LTD, when he let me; my sister's boyfriend's for several weeks.
4. It's Friday night, where were you? - party, or at a friend's house with beer and movies.
5. Were you a party animal? - I guess so: there were always parties when you come from a small town.
6. Were you considered a flirt? - I have to say no.
7. Were you in band, orchestra, or choir? - not in grade 13, but I was in the Jr band in earlier years.
8. Were you a nerd? - Jesus, I hope not.
9. Did you get suspended/expelled? - Never. I was never in any kind of trouble. I was a model student, obedient and respectful.
10. Can you sing the fight song? - What is a fight song?
11. Who was your favorite teacher? - Johnny L. He made me love history; it's probably fair to say I would never have gone to University if I hadn't taken his course.
12. What was your school's full name? - Well, that's a secret.
13. School mascot? - Falcon
14. Did you go to Prom? - Now, maybe my memory is fading, but I am not sure we had a prom (and, that is a term that is not used as much as it is in the USA). There was some sort of formal dinner, I think, but I am not sure it was school-sanctioned. I recall a formal prom-like dance at the end of grade 12. I went with Lisa K.
15. If you could go back and do it over, would you? - Yes, and I would be much better at it.
16. What do you remember most about graduation? - I remember that it was odd seeing all of these people that I hadn't seen for months at the ceremony. I recall that after the ceremony, we went to J.B.'s for a party. But, after I graduated, I remember feeling like I was broke, knowing that my parents would not or could not not pay for my education. That summer, all I could get was a job planting trees, until I got a job tending bar at a local dive.
17. Where were you on senior skip day? - What the hell is Senior skip day? I remember going to the beach one day when we all should have been in math class. Is that what this means?
18. Did you have a job your senior year? - No, and I didn't want one.
19. Where did you go most often for lunch? - Cafeteria. I ate (a packed lunch) and then played euchre.
20. Have you gained weight since then? - I weigh exactly the same now as I did then.
21. What did you do after graduation? - 1) A summer of bad jobs; 2) University, intermingled with summers of bad jobs; 3) worked for MasterCard; 4) MA, mixed with being a TA and an RA; 5) worked for MasterCard, and then the University of Toronto; 6) Master of Library Science degree with summers of mediocre jobs; 7) employment; 8) I will die some day.
22. When did you graduate? - In October
23. Who was your Senior prom date? - see question 14
24. Are you going to your 10 year reunion? - I don't think my class has ever had a reunion, but I would go if there was one.
25. Who was your home room teacher? - I have no idea.
26. Who will repost this after you? As Anna May said, "Anyone who wants a walk down memory lane."
Technorati Tags: memes, school
Burning Outhouse?I think that the political correctness movement has gone too far. Whatever happened to the Burning Schoolhouse?
I mean, this was a feature of back yard fireworks for years, the final event, the thing that all the kids waited for. They wanted to see the schoolhouse go up in flames. It capped a great evening of amateur fireworks, like nothing else.
A burning outhouse conjures up the horrible realities of burning shit (if you'll excuse the grammar).
This was taken in my neighbour's backyard last Sunday night. Canada is the only commonwealth nation to celebrate Victoria Day, and it has nothing to do with Queen Victoria. It's all about marking the day when we can go crazy with gardening, and camping, and opening cottages.
Technorati Tags: Victoria Day, fireworks
Tuesday, May 22, 2007
Found Money?
Fading memory irritates me more than my generally aging body. The weakening back is predictable as are the occasional aches and pains that arrived unannounced when I passed 30. I am sure that my brain will be spared the ravages of Alzheimer's, but I get concerned when I forget minor and sometimes major things.
I can usually remember how to get home on my bike. And, I park my bike in the same place everyday, so that habit will lead me there. I recall once, when returning from lunch, a feeling of panic when I noticed that my bike was gone, and then I remembered that it was in the shop for repairs. I still expect it to be stolen, 'cause that's just what happens in these parts.
I once posted on the virtues of a fading memory (a guest post on Mister Anchovy). It seems that there are other benefits that I forgot.
So, the other day, I shoved my hand into my pocket and found a $5 bill! I exclaimed to the person next to me something like, "Look, 5 bucks! I love it when that happens. It's like free money." And then, reality set in when I realized that I had worn these pants the day before and it was change from some sort of purchase.
But, this reminded me that I used to hide money in books on my bookshelf when I lived at home so that my thieving, high school drop-out brother wouldn't steal from me. The only book he ever read was the Guinness Book of World Records. I just assumed that he was looking for a record he could break, like the most uninterrupted hours of farting, the longest belch, worst breath in the western hemisphere, and the longest time spent straining on the toilet.
Once, I did find a twenty tucked in the pages of my copy of Marx's Communist Manifesto. It was just the thing I needed on a Friday night with the essay done, and a crew of people waiting for me at a bar, back in the day when a bottle of beer was under $2.
Technorati Tags: aging, memory, money, family
Fading memory irritates me more than my generally aging body. The weakening back is predictable as are the occasional aches and pains that arrived unannounced when I passed 30. I am sure that my brain will be spared the ravages of Alzheimer's, but I get concerned when I forget minor and sometimes major things.
I can usually remember how to get home on my bike. And, I park my bike in the same place everyday, so that habit will lead me there. I recall once, when returning from lunch, a feeling of panic when I noticed that my bike was gone, and then I remembered that it was in the shop for repairs. I still expect it to be stolen, 'cause that's just what happens in these parts.
I once posted on the virtues of a fading memory (a guest post on Mister Anchovy). It seems that there are other benefits that I forgot.
So, the other day, I shoved my hand into my pocket and found a $5 bill! I exclaimed to the person next to me something like, "Look, 5 bucks! I love it when that happens. It's like free money." And then, reality set in when I realized that I had worn these pants the day before and it was change from some sort of purchase.
But, this reminded me that I used to hide money in books on my bookshelf when I lived at home so that my thieving, high school drop-out brother wouldn't steal from me. The only book he ever read was the Guinness Book of World Records. I just assumed that he was looking for a record he could break, like the most uninterrupted hours of farting, the longest belch, worst breath in the western hemisphere, and the longest time spent straining on the toilet.
Once, I did find a twenty tucked in the pages of my copy of Marx's Communist Manifesto. It was just the thing I needed on a Friday night with the essay done, and a crew of people waiting for me at a bar, back in the day when a bottle of beer was under $2.
Technorati Tags: aging, memory, money, family
Wednesday, May 16, 2007
Monday, May 14, 2007
On Choirpractors and Homopaths
Every time I speak with my father, I am reminded of the bizarre way in which people from my part of Ontario speak. I mentioned that in a post entitled Dropping the Dialect. In that post, I listed a few key phrases that my father uses. Since his diagnosis with prostate cancer a few years back, he has been seeing a homeopath. He believes that this treatment has helped, and I thinks that's great, even though I am not sure that the stinky tea actually does anything. After all of this time, my father (and my sister, for that matter) are unable to pronounce homeopath.
It is pronounced thusly: 'hO-mE-&-"path
In other words, is has four syllables, including a vowel after hom and before opath. My dad (and sister) continue to say homopath. I suppose that there is a very real possibility that my father is seeing some sort of practitioner with the name homopath, but what kind of medicine or pseudo-medicine this person would dispense is too bizarre to even contemplate so early in the day. Anyway, for some reason, I haven't summoned the courage to tell him that his pronunciation is off.
And this reminds me that my grandmother says sam'ich instead of sandwich. She also cannot say chiropractor. She says choirpractor, which I gather is someone who dispenses chiropractic medicine to large groups of singers.
Anyway, today is conference week. I am at a conference as I type, and will be again tomorrow, when I am presenting with two colleagues. Then, I will be attending another conference from Wednesday to Friday, so you may not hear much from me after today.
Technorati Tags: dialects, family, conferences
Every time I speak with my father, I am reminded of the bizarre way in which people from my part of Ontario speak. I mentioned that in a post entitled Dropping the Dialect. In that post, I listed a few key phrases that my father uses. Since his diagnosis with prostate cancer a few years back, he has been seeing a homeopath. He believes that this treatment has helped, and I thinks that's great, even though I am not sure that the stinky tea actually does anything. After all of this time, my father (and my sister, for that matter) are unable to pronounce homeopath.
It is pronounced thusly: 'hO-mE-&-"path
In other words, is has four syllables, including a vowel after hom and before opath. My dad (and sister) continue to say homopath. I suppose that there is a very real possibility that my father is seeing some sort of practitioner with the name homopath, but what kind of medicine or pseudo-medicine this person would dispense is too bizarre to even contemplate so early in the day. Anyway, for some reason, I haven't summoned the courage to tell him that his pronunciation is off.
And this reminds me that my grandmother says sam'ich instead of sandwich. She also cannot say chiropractor. She says choirpractor, which I gather is someone who dispenses chiropractic medicine to large groups of singers.
Anyway, today is conference week. I am at a conference as I type, and will be again tomorrow, when I am presenting with two colleagues. Then, I will be attending another conference from Wednesday to Friday, so you may not hear much from me after today.
Technorati Tags: dialects, family, conferences
Friday, May 11, 2007
Dreaming of Drugs & Getting Stuff Done
Imagine drug dealers showing up with a dump truck filled with pot. I guess they overestimated the demand, and were quite put out when their buyer only wanted two or three ounces, and not several garbage bags of the stuff. There they were, two dudes in overalls shoveling weed into large bags, like it was cattle manure.
No one could have missed the huge truck stopped in the middle of the street, with these guys offering to sell Mary Jane to anyone passing by. I watched the guys do their business and then noticed a cop heading towards me. I took off and found myself in an appliance store (probably Sears) where I nonchalantly began appraising and comparing refrigerators and stoves.
Mr. Cop started to harass me and grabbed my arm tightly. I protested that watching a drug deal is a sociological event - something anyone would watch - especially given the scope of the operation. I didn't purchase any, never spoke to anyone, and only fled because I felt I had been mistaken for a buyer or seller. This cop had it out for me, and clearly wanted to take me downtown to book me on something or other. The dream ended there.
Clearly, I think the possession and sale of smallish amounts of marijuana should be decriminalized. One ought to be able to cultivate it for one's own use. Forget the wasted time and effort prosecuting small time users. That is crazy.
Work
It's Friday and I have finally finished preparing for my presentation next Tuesday. Next week is conference craziness. I have one conference on Monday and Tuesday, and another Wednesday to Friday evening.
I have almost finished a short opinion article with a co-worker. Hopefully, that will go out soon, and then a co-worker and I have to start preparation for a major presentation for a conference taking place in a few months.
I'll be mostly away next week, so updates may not happen for a few days. Have a nice week. Don't do anything I wouldn't do. Catch you on the flip side.
Technorati Tags: dreams, drugs, work
Imagine drug dealers showing up with a dump truck filled with pot. I guess they overestimated the demand, and were quite put out when their buyer only wanted two or three ounces, and not several garbage bags of the stuff. There they were, two dudes in overalls shoveling weed into large bags, like it was cattle manure.
No one could have missed the huge truck stopped in the middle of the street, with these guys offering to sell Mary Jane to anyone passing by. I watched the guys do their business and then noticed a cop heading towards me. I took off and found myself in an appliance store (probably Sears) where I nonchalantly began appraising and comparing refrigerators and stoves.
Mr. Cop started to harass me and grabbed my arm tightly. I protested that watching a drug deal is a sociological event - something anyone would watch - especially given the scope of the operation. I didn't purchase any, never spoke to anyone, and only fled because I felt I had been mistaken for a buyer or seller. This cop had it out for me, and clearly wanted to take me downtown to book me on something or other. The dream ended there.
Clearly, I think the possession and sale of smallish amounts of marijuana should be decriminalized. One ought to be able to cultivate it for one's own use. Forget the wasted time and effort prosecuting small time users. That is crazy.
Work
It's Friday and I have finally finished preparing for my presentation next Tuesday. Next week is conference craziness. I have one conference on Monday and Tuesday, and another Wednesday to Friday evening.
I have almost finished a short opinion article with a co-worker. Hopefully, that will go out soon, and then a co-worker and I have to start preparation for a major presentation for a conference taking place in a few months.
I'll be mostly away next week, so updates may not happen for a few days. Have a nice week. Don't do anything I wouldn't do. Catch you on the flip side.
Technorati Tags: dreams, drugs, work
Thursday, May 10, 2007
Ezekiel Klaar
Well, it's been a busy week. I attended a conference on Tuesday, followed by some free food, free wine, and socializing. It was cool. Last night, I went to an association dinner with awards, free food, free wine, and socializing. Next week is conference week. I am presenting at conference that runs on Monday & Tuesday. Another conference takes up the remainder of the week. There will likely be free food and free wine and socializing - at least I hope so.
You might be interested to know that many librarians are early adopters of web 2.0 technologies. Library 2.0 has been a buzzword for a while now. This might explain why so many librarians have blogs, wikis, and are Flickr and Facebook users. Lately, there has been great interest in online virtual worlds, like Second Life. Finally, I have bent to pressure from all sides and joined Second Life. Ezekiel Klaar was born on May 8, 2007. I am not happy with my avatar by any means.
So, to begin with, I visited the McMaster University Library, but the Second Life Librarian was not in. I did access some online resources in this virtual world, which was odd, to be honest. Somehow, I ended up in some sort of adult club, but, with no virtual money, it seemed pointless, so I fled to a beach, and then to some sort of dance club, where some scantily-clad and decidedly curvy female avatar walked up to me, stood silently next to me for a few seconds, and then walked away. A friend here pointed out to me that this was just like real life.
I am not sure that I need another web 2.0 distraction, so my visits will probably be few and far better, but if you are a member, feel free to friend me. I need a tutor, badly.
Technorati Tags: websites, work, Second Life, web 2.0
Well, it's been a busy week. I attended a conference on Tuesday, followed by some free food, free wine, and socializing. It was cool. Last night, I went to an association dinner with awards, free food, free wine, and socializing. Next week is conference week. I am presenting at conference that runs on Monday & Tuesday. Another conference takes up the remainder of the week. There will likely be free food and free wine and socializing - at least I hope so.
You might be interested to know that many librarians are early adopters of web 2.0 technologies. Library 2.0 has been a buzzword for a while now. This might explain why so many librarians have blogs, wikis, and are Flickr and Facebook users. Lately, there has been great interest in online virtual worlds, like Second Life. Finally, I have bent to pressure from all sides and joined Second Life. Ezekiel Klaar was born on May 8, 2007. I am not happy with my avatar by any means.
So, to begin with, I visited the McMaster University Library, but the Second Life Librarian was not in. I did access some online resources in this virtual world, which was odd, to be honest. Somehow, I ended up in some sort of adult club, but, with no virtual money, it seemed pointless, so I fled to a beach, and then to some sort of dance club, where some scantily-clad and decidedly curvy female avatar walked up to me, stood silently next to me for a few seconds, and then walked away. A friend here pointed out to me that this was just like real life.
I am not sure that I need another web 2.0 distraction, so my visits will probably be few and far better, but if you are a member, feel free to friend me. I need a tutor, badly.
Technorati Tags: websites, work, Second Life, web 2.0
Monday, May 07, 2007
Happy Monday & Stuff
I have no plan for this post. It will be truly extemporaneous. It reminds me of the impromptu speeches we had to deliver in public school. I hated speeches and was quite relieved to be free of them, until grade 10, when our aged, decaying, and cranky teacher made us all deliver speeches. There was a mini rebellion along with a petition. But, it did no good. She even rolled out spelling tests, like we were back in grade 4.
Of course, now when I think of school, I think of Facebook, that addictive crack-cocaine site. I have some advice for the women out there: don't change your names when you get married! It makes it impossible to figure out who you are, especially when you use such crappy profile pictures. How am I supposed to know that Deb X is now Deb Y?
And another thing, I am not so sure about the choices Facebook offers to describe friendships. What does "they hooked up" mean? It sounds sexual, but who can be sure? I wish it would provide a fill-in-the-blank option, like: "They had a one night stand in Poughkeepsie 6.2 years ago;" or, "they met when he ran over her cat with his new Volkswagen."
And now, I am off to do some work. Thanks for listening.
Technorati Tags: facebook, school
I have no plan for this post. It will be truly extemporaneous. It reminds me of the impromptu speeches we had to deliver in public school. I hated speeches and was quite relieved to be free of them, until grade 10, when our aged, decaying, and cranky teacher made us all deliver speeches. There was a mini rebellion along with a petition. But, it did no good. She even rolled out spelling tests, like we were back in grade 4.
Of course, now when I think of school, I think of Facebook, that addictive crack-cocaine site. I have some advice for the women out there: don't change your names when you get married! It makes it impossible to figure out who you are, especially when you use such crappy profile pictures. How am I supposed to know that Deb X is now Deb Y?
And another thing, I am not so sure about the choices Facebook offers to describe friendships. What does "they hooked up" mean? It sounds sexual, but who can be sure? I wish it would provide a fill-in-the-blank option, like: "They had a one night stand in Poughkeepsie 6.2 years ago;" or, "they met when he ran over her cat with his new Volkswagen."
And now, I am off to do some work. Thanks for listening.
Technorati Tags: facebook, school
Thursday, May 03, 2007
Tuesday, May 01, 2007
Deeper into Facebook: Feathered Hair
Someday, Facebook will be banned from workplaces because it has a crack-like effect. I delve into it at lunch or during a break to see if I can uncover some familiar names or faces. There are the inevitable questions of just what exactly constitutes a friend in cyberspace, especially those you may not have seen in 20 years. Just because you knew someone, are they actually your friend? Strictly speaking, if I only added friends, in the true meaning of the word, I'd have about three friends, not the 28, or so, that I actually have at present on Facebook.
In the reality sucks part of life, I stumbled upon a certain alumni group from my high school, in which someone has posted a number of scanned images from one of my old yearbooks. The fashion disasters are rampant, dudes! I am constantly stunned by how we were all so easily duped into accepting certain fashion ideas, like feathered hair.
I had feathered hair and most of my friends had feathered hair. One could even say that, beyond the group of army cadets, most guys and girls in my school had feathered hair. This was one of those rare times in the history of civilization when men's and women's hairstyles were virtually interchangeable. And, we all know who to blame: it was Farrah Fawcett Majors.
The girls wanted to look like Farrah and the guys obviously felt that the only way to achieve any kind of relationship with her was to copy her hairstyle and try to date girls who were copying her hairstyle. But, feathered hair suited me back then: my hair was lustrous and soft and full and rich and feathery, even mellifluous.
There must have been lots of hallway conversations about hair, like:
George: What kind of hair?
Jerry: You know, long dark hair.
George: Flowing?
Jerry: Flowing?
George: Is it flowing? I like flowing, cascading hair. Thick lustrous hair is
very important to me.
Jerry: 'Thick lustrous hair is very important to me,' is that what you said?
George: Yeah, that's right.
Jerry: Just clarifying.
George: Let me ask you this. If you stick your hand in the hair is it easy to
get it out?
Jerry: Do you want to be able to get it out or do you want to not be able to
get it out?
George: I'd like to be able to get it out.
Jerry: I think you'll get it out.
I had planned an extensive discourse on velour, but that will have to wait for another day. OK, off to a meeting.
Technorati Tags: facebook, hair, high school
Someday, Facebook will be banned from workplaces because it has a crack-like effect. I delve into it at lunch or during a break to see if I can uncover some familiar names or faces. There are the inevitable questions of just what exactly constitutes a friend in cyberspace, especially those you may not have seen in 20 years. Just because you knew someone, are they actually your friend? Strictly speaking, if I only added friends, in the true meaning of the word, I'd have about three friends, not the 28, or so, that I actually have at present on Facebook.
In the reality sucks part of life, I stumbled upon a certain alumni group from my high school, in which someone has posted a number of scanned images from one of my old yearbooks. The fashion disasters are rampant, dudes! I am constantly stunned by how we were all so easily duped into accepting certain fashion ideas, like feathered hair.
I had feathered hair and most of my friends had feathered hair. One could even say that, beyond the group of army cadets, most guys and girls in my school had feathered hair. This was one of those rare times in the history of civilization when men's and women's hairstyles were virtually interchangeable. And, we all know who to blame: it was Farrah Fawcett Majors.
The girls wanted to look like Farrah and the guys obviously felt that the only way to achieve any kind of relationship with her was to copy her hairstyle and try to date girls who were copying her hairstyle. But, feathered hair suited me back then: my hair was lustrous and soft and full and rich and feathery, even mellifluous.
There must have been lots of hallway conversations about hair, like:
George: What kind of hair?
Jerry: You know, long dark hair.
George: Flowing?
Jerry: Flowing?
George: Is it flowing? I like flowing, cascading hair. Thick lustrous hair is
very important to me.
Jerry: 'Thick lustrous hair is very important to me,' is that what you said?
George: Yeah, that's right.
Jerry: Just clarifying.
George: Let me ask you this. If you stick your hand in the hair is it easy to
get it out?
Jerry: Do you want to be able to get it out or do you want to not be able to
get it out?
George: I'd like to be able to get it out.
Jerry: I think you'll get it out.
I had planned an extensive discourse on velour, but that will have to wait for another day. OK, off to a meeting.
Technorati Tags: facebook, hair, high school
Monday, April 30, 2007
I will not celebrate meaningless milestones
I will not celebrate meaningless milestones
I will not celebrate meaningless milestones
I will not celebrate meaningless milestones
I will not celebrate meaningless mi
OK, so for whatever it's worth - and that's probably not much - I would like to announce or point out or draw your attention to the fact that this is post #500. Big deal, you say. So do I. Of course, if I had posted with any kind of regularity, I would have reached this meaningless milestone ages ago, maybe years ago. Instead, I am reaching this magic number 4 years in.
I am not suggesting that there are 500 good posts here, simply that there are 500 posts. Sure, some suck and should never have been published. There are far too many posts that are simply apologies for not posting. There are those insidious posts that manage only to say that I have nothing to say. There are a few posts that announce I am ill. And, worst of all, the posts that repeat the message that I am ill and add absolutely nothing of substance. I should have subtracted them, and kept a real tally of real posts, but the mathematics of this proved too much for me, and so I am simply relying on the Blogger stats, which may be wrong.
There are 30 posts I consider to be my favourites. There are dozens that should be recycled, and a few phrases I would like to put on a t-shirts and sell at overly-inflated prices.
To celebrate this meaningless milestone, there will be gluten-free cake and decaf coffee at 2:00 pm.
Thanks for the get well soon comments. They worked and I am, at last, well, but not well enough to write a real post.
Comment moderation remains on: to see why, read these posts: one, two, three, four.
Technorati Tags: blogging
I will not celebrate meaningless milestones
I will not celebrate meaningless milestones
I will not celebrate meaningless milestones
I will not celebrate meaningless mi
OK, so for whatever it's worth - and that's probably not much - I would like to announce or point out or draw your attention to the fact that this is post #500. Big deal, you say. So do I. Of course, if I had posted with any kind of regularity, I would have reached this meaningless milestone ages ago, maybe years ago. Instead, I am reaching this magic number 4 years in.
I am not suggesting that there are 500 good posts here, simply that there are 500 posts. Sure, some suck and should never have been published. There are far too many posts that are simply apologies for not posting. There are those insidious posts that manage only to say that I have nothing to say. There are a few posts that announce I am ill. And, worst of all, the posts that repeat the message that I am ill and add absolutely nothing of substance. I should have subtracted them, and kept a real tally of real posts, but the mathematics of this proved too much for me, and so I am simply relying on the Blogger stats, which may be wrong.
There are 30 posts I consider to be my favourites. There are dozens that should be recycled, and a few phrases I would like to put on a t-shirts and sell at overly-inflated prices.
To celebrate this meaningless milestone, there will be gluten-free cake and decaf coffee at 2:00 pm.
Thanks for the get well soon comments. They worked and I am, at last, well, but not well enough to write a real post.
Comment moderation remains on: to see why, read these posts: one, two, three, four.
Technorati Tags: blogging
Wednesday, April 25, 2007
Still Ill
Yeah, it' sort of like the Smiths song. I am still feeling terrible. This is day three of fever, chills, headaches, etc. This is really horrible. I am beginning to think it is the flu.
Technorati Tags: sick
Yeah, it' sort of like the Smiths song. I am still feeling terrible. This is day three of fever, chills, headaches, etc. This is really horrible. I am beginning to think it is the flu.
Technorati Tags: sick
Monday, April 23, 2007
Je suis malade aujourd'hui
I've come down with something: I have a fever, chills, etc.
The only thing I can report on, before going back to bed, is that I watched The Last Samurai during the weekend. I think Tom looks way too modern to play that role. He seemed completely miscast.
Technorati Tags: sick, movies, Tom Cruise
Wednesday, April 18, 2007
Rural Childhood, or Death by Automobile
I always chuckle when I remember a friend's recollection that half of his kindergarten class ended up in jail, not as kids, mind you, but later, when they had reached jailing age. It's quite a statistic.
My favourite story is the one in which a certain twin (I am not sure what the other twin was up to that day) tried to rob a convenience store with a garden rake. He had a difficult time even with the rake, for he had lost both thumbs in a motorcycle accident, and had a difficult time wielding the rake without opposable digits. I think the police managed to subdue him quickly and efficiently, before he was able to injure anyone.
That this guy was arrested has always pleased me, for my most enduring memory of him was that he fell in front of me during a cross-country skiing race in grade 8 and used his ski poles to try and trip me. That will never happen again, mostly because I haven't gone skiing recently, but I think a lack of thumbs might make skiing problematic.
One of my recollections of youth in a small town is friends and acquaintances lost in automobile accidents. I have a big list, starting with a major crash between our small town and the next. I think that three of five of the the passengers died in that crash, which was fueled by high speed and drugs. It ended in the destruction of the car and a tree. Seat belts were not really enforced back then.
Over the years, I lost a few more friends, like Callan and Philip and Leon, but these were, I think, sober accidents, the kind that might happen on open rural highways with fast cars. I am not sure if these stats are the result of lax drinking and driving laws at the time, or from excessive speed on rural roads, or from the fact that a driver's license was a requirement of life in rural areas. We needed licenses to get out of town or to transport ourselves to parties where we could drink and try to pick up chicks. Of course, I did not drink and drive, but I did accept rides from those who had too much to drink. That was a bad scene, and I am happy that I made it out alive.
Comment moderation remains on: to see why, read these posts: one, two, three, four.
Technorati Tags: youth, drinking, driving, death
I always chuckle when I remember a friend's recollection that half of his kindergarten class ended up in jail, not as kids, mind you, but later, when they had reached jailing age. It's quite a statistic.
My favourite story is the one in which a certain twin (I am not sure what the other twin was up to that day) tried to rob a convenience store with a garden rake. He had a difficult time even with the rake, for he had lost both thumbs in a motorcycle accident, and had a difficult time wielding the rake without opposable digits. I think the police managed to subdue him quickly and efficiently, before he was able to injure anyone.
That this guy was arrested has always pleased me, for my most enduring memory of him was that he fell in front of me during a cross-country skiing race in grade 8 and used his ski poles to try and trip me. That will never happen again, mostly because I haven't gone skiing recently, but I think a lack of thumbs might make skiing problematic.
One of my recollections of youth in a small town is friends and acquaintances lost in automobile accidents. I have a big list, starting with a major crash between our small town and the next. I think that three of five of the the passengers died in that crash, which was fueled by high speed and drugs. It ended in the destruction of the car and a tree. Seat belts were not really enforced back then.
Over the years, I lost a few more friends, like Callan and Philip and Leon, but these were, I think, sober accidents, the kind that might happen on open rural highways with fast cars. I am not sure if these stats are the result of lax drinking and driving laws at the time, or from excessive speed on rural roads, or from the fact that a driver's license was a requirement of life in rural areas. We needed licenses to get out of town or to transport ourselves to parties where we could drink and try to pick up chicks. Of course, I did not drink and drive, but I did accept rides from those who had too much to drink. That was a bad scene, and I am happy that I made it out alive.
Comment moderation remains on: to see why, read these posts: one, two, three, four.
Technorati Tags: youth, drinking, driving, death
Tuesday, April 17, 2007
Borat: Cultural Learnings of America for Make Benefit Glorious Nation of KazakhstanI've tried compiling a list of adjectives to describe this film. Here are a few: juvenile, stupid, moronic, disappointing, ridiculous, dumb, boring, idiotic. Should I go on?
I can laugh at humour that is not politically-correct. I can laugh at dumb stunts, like Jackass. I can laugh at weak non-intellectual comedy. But, Borat simply stinks.
The fact is that most of the humour is cruel. I was amazed to learn that most of the scenes were not staged, making this seem extra cruel.
I really wish that Sacha Baron Cohen would have used a fictional country, rather than Kazakhstan. I am sure that had he done so, few people would have even noticed that the country was fictitious, and he wouldn't have slandered an entire nation.
So, there is plenty of low ball bathroom humour, but this is not brilliant film making. It is appallingly stupid.
I am off to the dentist to have my new crown installed. Later.
Comment moderation remains on: to see why, read these posts: one, two, three, four.
Technorati Tags: Borat, movies
Monday, April 16, 2007
Virginia Tech
Shocking news from Virginia Tech today. I am left wondering what it will take to finally convince lawmakers to make some serious changes to gun control legislation. It stands to reason that if you make the acquisition of guns far more difficult, there will be less violent crime and, hopefully, fewer incidents like this. I strongly believe that the right to keep and bear arms should not be entrenched in the US - or any other - Constitution.
Comment moderation remains on: to see why, read these posts: one, two, three, four.
Technorati Tags: Virginia Tech, guns, gun control
Shocking news from Virginia Tech today. I am left wondering what it will take to finally convince lawmakers to make some serious changes to gun control legislation. It stands to reason that if you make the acquisition of guns far more difficult, there will be less violent crime and, hopefully, fewer incidents like this. I strongly believe that the right to keep and bear arms should not be entrenched in the US - or any other - Constitution.
Comment moderation remains on: to see why, read these posts: one, two, three, four.
Technorati Tags: Virginia Tech, guns, gun control
Saturday, April 14, 2007
Comment Moderation is Now On
Apologies to all of the nice and friendly people who read and comment on my blog. I've been forced to enable comment moderation because I am being stalked by a small-brained Neo-Nazi from Australia. I personally feel that this unwanted attention is bordering on a criminal act, since I have repeatedly asked him to desist. Unfortunately, he continues to leave comments on my blog that are anti-gay, racist and - quite frankly - idiotic, nonsensical, grammatically-incorrect, mean, and boring.
So, he can continue to live out his hateful fantasies on his blog. He can continue to lie about the fact that I comment on his blog. I have no interest in his blog, do not visit it, and certainly do not comment on it. One day, when this stalker is dead, I will open up comments to all without moderation.
Please don't let this stop you from commenting. I am only filtering out the biggest asshole on the web.
Technorati Tags: blogging, comments
Apologies to all of the nice and friendly people who read and comment on my blog. I've been forced to enable comment moderation because I am being stalked by a small-brained Neo-Nazi from Australia. I personally feel that this unwanted attention is bordering on a criminal act, since I have repeatedly asked him to desist. Unfortunately, he continues to leave comments on my blog that are anti-gay, racist and - quite frankly - idiotic, nonsensical, grammatically-incorrect, mean, and boring.
So, he can continue to live out his hateful fantasies on his blog. He can continue to lie about the fact that I comment on his blog. I have no interest in his blog, do not visit it, and certainly do not comment on it. One day, when this stalker is dead, I will open up comments to all without moderation.
Please don't let this stop you from commenting. I am only filtering out the biggest asshole on the web.
Technorati Tags: blogging, comments
Thursday, April 12, 2007
Work & a Dream
I'd really like to post something interesting today, but I have to work on a (mercifully short) presentation for an upcoming conference. And then there is the other conference presentation, but it can wait, as it is several months away. And then there is that article I am supposed to be writing - two actually - but I have been stricken with an odd feeling of disinterest that might have been encouraged by lengthy periods of procrastination and ambivalence.
I have a cold too, and that always serves to kill the energy. If only I could build some sort of bed under my desk, Like George Costanza did on Seinfeld, things would be so much better.
So, all I can offer is this: I only remember bits of the dream, but it centered around Air Canada. They canceled my flight somewhere and bizarrely, they attempted to make it up to me by presenting me with all kinds of gifts, like tickets to MarineLand, a coffee maker, shoe polish, shiny buttons, pet food, a year's supply of laundry detergent, canisters of oxygen, a bushel of green peppers, paper clips, Hank Williams Jr's Greatest Hits on CD, a piranha in fish bowl, and a pound of gummy bears.
All items were presented in person by an Air Canada pilot in uniform who showed up unannounced at my house.
OK, so enough procrastinating...
Technorati Tags: dreams, work
I'd really like to post something interesting today, but I have to work on a (mercifully short) presentation for an upcoming conference. And then there is the other conference presentation, but it can wait, as it is several months away. And then there is that article I am supposed to be writing - two actually - but I have been stricken with an odd feeling of disinterest that might have been encouraged by lengthy periods of procrastination and ambivalence.
I have a cold too, and that always serves to kill the energy. If only I could build some sort of bed under my desk, Like George Costanza did on Seinfeld, things would be so much better.
So, all I can offer is this: I only remember bits of the dream, but it centered around Air Canada. They canceled my flight somewhere and bizarrely, they attempted to make it up to me by presenting me with all kinds of gifts, like tickets to MarineLand, a coffee maker, shoe polish, shiny buttons, pet food, a year's supply of laundry detergent, canisters of oxygen, a bushel of green peppers, paper clips, Hank Williams Jr's Greatest Hits on CD, a piranha in fish bowl, and a pound of gummy bears.
All items were presented in person by an Air Canada pilot in uniform who showed up unannounced at my house.
OK, so enough procrastinating...
Technorati Tags: dreams, work
Tuesday, April 10, 2007
Another One Down
Tonight is the last class - the critique class - in my most recent photography course. This makes four down. If I take 6 more courses, I will get some sort of certificate, but I am not sure I want to do that, even though I have taken 2 of the 3 required courses. There is the possibility that the requirements of the courses displace the natural joy I would normally receive from the creative output.
For the last six years, I have been switching back and forth between writing courses and photography courses, unable to decide which I prefer. I seem to get into one mood or the other, hack away at it, and then switch. Some days, the creation of a blog post is pure magic; at other times, it is a labour most severe. I think the flipping back and forth offers the possibility of breathing new life into the art.
I have taken a few kernels from this blog and expanded them to some greater lengths in the hope that a collection might form, however randomly and incoherently. What I would do with such a collection is quite another story, but the idea of it is enough to convince me to fire up the laptop, from time to time, add a few paragraphs, consider the words, remember, reflect, enhance, embellish, and lie. I always wonder if my recollections of past events bear any kind of resemblance to the actual fact, but, having been trained in the craft of historical research and writing, I say that matters little for the value may be in my skewed perspective.
Perhaps I will take a course in deejaying. I'd like to get down and scratch some vinyl.
Technorati Tags: writing, photography
Tonight is the last class - the critique class - in my most recent photography course. This makes four down. If I take 6 more courses, I will get some sort of certificate, but I am not sure I want to do that, even though I have taken 2 of the 3 required courses. There is the possibility that the requirements of the courses displace the natural joy I would normally receive from the creative output.
For the last six years, I have been switching back and forth between writing courses and photography courses, unable to decide which I prefer. I seem to get into one mood or the other, hack away at it, and then switch. Some days, the creation of a blog post is pure magic; at other times, it is a labour most severe. I think the flipping back and forth offers the possibility of breathing new life into the art.
I have taken a few kernels from this blog and expanded them to some greater lengths in the hope that a collection might form, however randomly and incoherently. What I would do with such a collection is quite another story, but the idea of it is enough to convince me to fire up the laptop, from time to time, add a few paragraphs, consider the words, remember, reflect, enhance, embellish, and lie. I always wonder if my recollections of past events bear any kind of resemblance to the actual fact, but, having been trained in the craft of historical research and writing, I say that matters little for the value may be in my skewed perspective.
Perhaps I will take a course in deejaying. I'd like to get down and scratch some vinyl.
Technorati Tags: writing, photography
Monday, April 09, 2007
Hairy Dream
In what might better be described as a nightmare, I dreamed that I grew a beard. Now, you might not think that this is such a big deal, but it is. The adolescent boy begins to have a fascination with facial hair at an early age, and by this I mean too early an age. In other words, he might begin experimenting with a beard years before he is able to fully grow one. Or, what's worse, he might be satisfied with a mustache, such as a 14 year old can grow, and let me tell you, this is not a pretty sight.
This descent into bad taste may not be enough. So, although he may well shave off the facial abomination, it doesn't mean that the fascination has ended. So, many, like me, decide to grow a beard, perhaps in University when one can least afford it. In the pursuit of women, a beard is of no assistance, something I learned far too slowly. Well, it was of no assistance to me anyway. And yet, I grew a beard twice, once in my undergrad and once during my second masters program, where clearly the Library of Congress Classification System messed with my head so much that I had to experience subject headings personally.
Then there was an extended Christmas break one year when I ventured into the territory of the Van Dyke, but I shaved it off when my boss said: "I don't like that," and a co-worker said: "you look old and decrepit." My dad, of course, was no less candid and announced that I looked far too hippyish for his tastes. He clearly worried about the influence of drugs. His style of haircut centered on the crew cut or the brush cut and he would have gladly paid to inflict that on me.
I've learned that, unless I become totally bald, I'll stick with a clean-shaven face, but I do have the urge, from time-to-time, to try a Robertson Davies or a ZZ Top beard, but that would take far too long, and I'd get bored.
Of course, many men carry off a beard very well. They just do not seem to agree with the shape of my face.
Technorati Tags: beards, dreams
In what might better be described as a nightmare, I dreamed that I grew a beard. Now, you might not think that this is such a big deal, but it is. The adolescent boy begins to have a fascination with facial hair at an early age, and by this I mean too early an age. In other words, he might begin experimenting with a beard years before he is able to fully grow one. Or, what's worse, he might be satisfied with a mustache, such as a 14 year old can grow, and let me tell you, this is not a pretty sight.
This descent into bad taste may not be enough. So, although he may well shave off the facial abomination, it doesn't mean that the fascination has ended. So, many, like me, decide to grow a beard, perhaps in University when one can least afford it. In the pursuit of women, a beard is of no assistance, something I learned far too slowly. Well, it was of no assistance to me anyway. And yet, I grew a beard twice, once in my undergrad and once during my second masters program, where clearly the Library of Congress Classification System messed with my head so much that I had to experience subject headings personally.
Then there was an extended Christmas break one year when I ventured into the territory of the Van Dyke, but I shaved it off when my boss said: "I don't like that," and a co-worker said: "you look old and decrepit." My dad, of course, was no less candid and announced that I looked far too hippyish for his tastes. He clearly worried about the influence of drugs. His style of haircut centered on the crew cut or the brush cut and he would have gladly paid to inflict that on me.
I've learned that, unless I become totally bald, I'll stick with a clean-shaven face, but I do have the urge, from time-to-time, to try a Robertson Davies or a ZZ Top beard, but that would take far too long, and I'd get bored.
Of course, many men carry off a beard very well. They just do not seem to agree with the shape of my face.
Technorati Tags: beards, dreams
Thursday, April 05, 2007
Easter
Easter reminds me that my parents were failures in some aspects of child-rearing. When I realized that the Easter Bunny did not exist - I have no idea how old I was - I suggested that my parents hide our Easter goodies so that we could have an old fashioned Easter Egg Hunt, something I had never experienced. Normally, our eggs and other chocolate paraphernalia were piled into a basket and placed at our reserved eating spaces at the kitchen table.
In response to my suggestion, my parents (obviously having no idea what an Easter Egg Hunt was all about) simply placed the baskets under our beds. I looked under my bed, and there it was: my Easter basket. My siblings found their baskets under their beds too. So much for that.
Later, I wondered if it was all about equity. What if one child found more eggs than the others? What then? Maybe they were just too lazy to hide the bloody things.
2005's Easter post was much better.
My week off is almost over.
Technorati Tags: Easter, holidays
Easter reminds me that my parents were failures in some aspects of child-rearing. When I realized that the Easter Bunny did not exist - I have no idea how old I was - I suggested that my parents hide our Easter goodies so that we could have an old fashioned Easter Egg Hunt, something I had never experienced. Normally, our eggs and other chocolate paraphernalia were piled into a basket and placed at our reserved eating spaces at the kitchen table.
In response to my suggestion, my parents (obviously having no idea what an Easter Egg Hunt was all about) simply placed the baskets under our beds. I looked under my bed, and there it was: my Easter basket. My siblings found their baskets under their beds too. So much for that.
Later, I wondered if it was all about equity. What if one child found more eggs than the others? What then? Maybe they were just too lazy to hide the bloody things.
2005's Easter post was much better.
My week off is almost over.
Technorati Tags: Easter, holidays
Tuesday, April 03, 2007
Even More Keyword Mayhem
Because I am taking it easy this week on the blogging front, I'll post something easy. Here's a new list of some keywords used to find my site, mostly for my amusement. I can't imagine why you'd even be interested.
why is wearing makeup to bed bad - if you have to ask that question, there must be something seriously wrong.
how the greater flamingo got its name - it's the opposite of the lesser flamingo?
fractured penis pictures - I wonder if this is for comparison or perhaps an insurance claim?
asian fashion low crotch pants - from a curious chap in New South Wales!
beach "brother penis" - perhaps this searcher, from Greece, would have more luck with: beach "brother's penis"
portman+square+orgy - not sure how this led anyone here. I wonder if that is Natalie Portman.
Natalie Portman erect nipples - Hmmm.
"chinese word for toilet" - no idea.
fucking the dog used as an expression for slacking at work - someone from Ontario, no doubt.
large breasts, gaynor - Gloria?
fish - freud phallic symbol - sometimes a fish is just a fish.
nympho librarian - I'm under the impression that this is a myth, but I'll keep my eyes open.
dead budgies - Yup, I wrote something about dead budgies, but why not try the image search.
wrinkled old man in his speedo - my dad!
farting tight jeans - fetish?
wearing jeans and sandals - if you are looking for the green light on that, I'll have to plead ignorance.
what are the lyrics to franklin + turtle
kfc jingle mp3
canadian tire jingle - OK, so some weirdos keep hitting my site because I panned that idiotic Canadian Tire jingle, which is so horrible, even Queen's Bohemian Rhapsody is better. Why would anyone want hear this again? Same goes for KFC & Franklin.
silk ascot pictures - Why!
recording of the farting post - I could do a podcast of that one, I suppose.
hanks porn - Tom Hanks, or do you mean hank's?
library, fish turd from toilet - I am assuming that fish is a verb here. I can't imagine.
Technorati Tags: searching, blogging
Because I am taking it easy this week on the blogging front, I'll post something easy. Here's a new list of some keywords used to find my site, mostly for my amusement. I can't imagine why you'd even be interested.
why is wearing makeup to bed bad - if you have to ask that question, there must be something seriously wrong.
how the greater flamingo got its name - it's the opposite of the lesser flamingo?
fractured penis pictures - I wonder if this is for comparison or perhaps an insurance claim?
asian fashion low crotch pants - from a curious chap in New South Wales!
beach "brother penis" - perhaps this searcher, from Greece, would have more luck with: beach "brother's penis"
portman+square+orgy - not sure how this led anyone here. I wonder if that is Natalie Portman.
Natalie Portman erect nipples - Hmmm.
"chinese word for toilet" - no idea.
fucking the dog used as an expression for slacking at work - someone from Ontario, no doubt.
large breasts, gaynor - Gloria?
fish - freud phallic symbol - sometimes a fish is just a fish.
nympho librarian - I'm under the impression that this is a myth, but I'll keep my eyes open.
dead budgies - Yup, I wrote something about dead budgies, but why not try the image search.
wrinkled old man in his speedo - my dad!
farting tight jeans - fetish?
wearing jeans and sandals - if you are looking for the green light on that, I'll have to plead ignorance.
what are the lyrics to franklin + turtle
kfc jingle mp3
canadian tire jingle - OK, so some weirdos keep hitting my site because I panned that idiotic Canadian Tire jingle, which is so horrible, even Queen's Bohemian Rhapsody is better. Why would anyone want hear this again? Same goes for KFC & Franklin.
silk ascot pictures - Why!
recording of the farting post - I could do a podcast of that one, I suppose.
hanks porn - Tom Hanks, or do you mean hank's?
library, fish turd from toilet - I am assuming that fish is a verb here. I can't imagine.
Technorati Tags: searching, blogging
Sunday, April 01, 2007
...almost: I am taking a week off work, so I might end up blogging erratically. You never know. If I had been more with it, I would have posted an April Fool's joke, but it seemed like too much work. Google had a few good jokes today.
Technorati Tags: blogging
Friday, March 30, 2007
A Reply to kate from Budgewoi, NSW
I was going to post this in a comment on the original post, but I decided to put it here instead.
kate from Budgewoi NSW wrote:
"Will silly americans ever get it right..."
I am not American! Had Vest or you bothered to read my site or its subtitle, you both would have learned that, plus a whole lot more, but maybe you don't know where Toronto is?
"vest is a master at spoof, harmless as a kitten,..."
A master of spoof? If you think his homophobic insults are spoof, you are as bad as he is. If he had read my blog, he would have learned that I am a nice guy, not to mention the fact that I am not gay (not that there's anything wrong with that), but that wouldn't matter to him anyway. If he hates you, the worst insult he can think of is to accuse you of being gay. That says enough to me about him.
Prejudice has no place in civilized society. He is uncivilized and certainly not harmless. He might as well put on the KKK uniform. His views are out-of-date, hurtful, and opposed to fundamental human rights.
He can't have it both ways. If he wants to throw insults at me and my readers, he should be a man and use his real name (whatever that is) or his blogger name with a link back to his blog, and not hide behind a myriad of pseudonyms.
"...it was he who was goaded initially but few of you are unaware of it..."
What do you mean by "few of you"? Do you mean bloggers? Do you mean Americans? I have never once goaded him. He came to my blog uninvited and acted like a school yard bully. The fact is, Vest and I share similar heritages, but, since his plan of action is to insult, and not to be informed, he never learned that. And, I assume you meant, few of you are aware of it.
Let him retaliate. What's he going to do, call me a faggot, again? It's very tiring and predictable.
"like you hateful people are doing right now."
Vest is the hateful one. He's the one calling people faggots and cock suckers, not me. By defending him, you are as bad as he is. Why do you think I am hateful? I can't defend myself? I asked him several times not to comment on my blog, but he just couldn't help himself. I kept deleting and deleting. He left over 80 comments on one post on another blog.
"I know the guy, you only think you do and wished you could."
Maybe. I am a student of history, and have a graduate degree in history. I have studied war, and wrote a thesis on foreign policy which focused heavily on some military conflicts. When I read about his role in the Royal British Navy on his blog, I was intrigued. The fact is, if he had engaged in web 2.0 discourse like a civilized person, we might have gotten along. But, why would I want to know a bigot?
"ps. Is it a privilege americans have , and that is strike down or bully and not expect retalliation?"
I am not American. You meant retaliation, not retalliation, right? Bully? You are defending the biggest blog bully I have ever had the misfortune to encounter! I think you are also referring to the American Government and the American Military. Trust me, I am not fan of American foreign policy, and, I think that the war in Iraq is obscene. If you or he had read my blog... but I have already said that.
"I feel so sad for you"
Don't. I feel sad for you that are you defending a racist, a homophobe, a sexist, and someone who clearly has no idea what he fought for in WWII.
Technorati Tags: trolls, John Leonard Spencer, Leslie John Bowyer, Christopher Leslie Bowyer, assholes, losers, homophobes, racists, sexists, fascists
I was going to post this in a comment on the original post, but I decided to put it here instead.
kate from Budgewoi NSW wrote:
"Will silly americans ever get it right..."
I am not American! Had Vest or you bothered to read my site or its subtitle, you both would have learned that, plus a whole lot more, but maybe you don't know where Toronto is?
"vest is a master at spoof, harmless as a kitten,..."
A master of spoof? If you think his homophobic insults are spoof, you are as bad as he is. If he had read my blog, he would have learned that I am a nice guy, not to mention the fact that I am not gay (not that there's anything wrong with that), but that wouldn't matter to him anyway. If he hates you, the worst insult he can think of is to accuse you of being gay. That says enough to me about him.
Prejudice has no place in civilized society. He is uncivilized and certainly not harmless. He might as well put on the KKK uniform. His views are out-of-date, hurtful, and opposed to fundamental human rights.
He can't have it both ways. If he wants to throw insults at me and my readers, he should be a man and use his real name (whatever that is) or his blogger name with a link back to his blog, and not hide behind a myriad of pseudonyms.
"...it was he who was goaded initially but few of you are unaware of it..."
What do you mean by "few of you"? Do you mean bloggers? Do you mean Americans? I have never once goaded him. He came to my blog uninvited and acted like a school yard bully. The fact is, Vest and I share similar heritages, but, since his plan of action is to insult, and not to be informed, he never learned that. And, I assume you meant, few of you are aware of it.
Let him retaliate. What's he going to do, call me a faggot, again? It's very tiring and predictable.
"like you hateful people are doing right now."
Vest is the hateful one. He's the one calling people faggots and cock suckers, not me. By defending him, you are as bad as he is. Why do you think I am hateful? I can't defend myself? I asked him several times not to comment on my blog, but he just couldn't help himself. I kept deleting and deleting. He left over 80 comments on one post on another blog.
"I know the guy, you only think you do and wished you could."
Maybe. I am a student of history, and have a graduate degree in history. I have studied war, and wrote a thesis on foreign policy which focused heavily on some military conflicts. When I read about his role in the Royal British Navy on his blog, I was intrigued. The fact is, if he had engaged in web 2.0 discourse like a civilized person, we might have gotten along. But, why would I want to know a bigot?
"ps. Is it a privilege americans have , and that is strike down or bully and not expect retalliation?"
I am not American. You meant retaliation, not retalliation, right? Bully? You are defending the biggest blog bully I have ever had the misfortune to encounter! I think you are also referring to the American Government and the American Military. Trust me, I am not fan of American foreign policy, and, I think that the war in Iraq is obscene. If you or he had read my blog... but I have already said that.
"I feel so sad for you"
Don't. I feel sad for you that are you defending a racist, a homophobe, a sexist, and someone who clearly has no idea what he fought for in WWII.
Technorati Tags: trolls, John Leonard Spencer, Leslie John Bowyer, Christopher Leslie Bowyer, assholes, losers, homophobes, racists, sexists, fascists
Thursday, March 29, 2007
59
Here's an interesting piece of trivia. This is post #59 this year. Did I ever fall off the blogging bandwagon last year! In 2006, I posted only 58 times, down from 220 posts the year before. Perhaps I needed a rest.
Dentist
After my recent cleaning, I had to return to be fitted for a crown. I'm feeling a bit like Thomas Levy in the Marathon Man at the moment, except that I am fairly sure that my dentist is not a former Nazi SS dentist from Auschwitz. Still, I had several needles to freeze the area, drilling to remove the old filling, more freezing because I could still feel the drill, more drilling, grinding, filling, more grinding to reduce the area so that it could accommodate the final crown by which point the freezing was mostly worn off, and since I hate the feeling of the freezing, I opted to finish the procedure without it, and so endured a great deal of pain.
Jail Guitar Doors
This is a great story. Billy Bragg has donated six guitars as part of a new program called Jail Guitar Doors, named after a Clash song. "Ex-prisoners who have actively participated in such sessions have a re-conviction rate of between 10% - 15%, compared to the national average of 61%." Who would have predicted that learning to play the guitar would have this outcome?
Sopranos
I am psyched for the return of the Sopranos on April 8th. Sadly, it's the end of what is probably the greatest show in the history of television.
Technorati Tags: blogging, dentist, music, tv, Billy Bragg, Sopranos
Here's an interesting piece of trivia. This is post #59 this year. Did I ever fall off the blogging bandwagon last year! In 2006, I posted only 58 times, down from 220 posts the year before. Perhaps I needed a rest.
Dentist
After my recent cleaning, I had to return to be fitted for a crown. I'm feeling a bit like Thomas Levy in the Marathon Man at the moment, except that I am fairly sure that my dentist is not a former Nazi SS dentist from Auschwitz. Still, I had several needles to freeze the area, drilling to remove the old filling, more freezing because I could still feel the drill, more drilling, grinding, filling, more grinding to reduce the area so that it could accommodate the final crown by which point the freezing was mostly worn off, and since I hate the feeling of the freezing, I opted to finish the procedure without it, and so endured a great deal of pain.
Jail Guitar Doors
This is a great story. Billy Bragg has donated six guitars as part of a new program called Jail Guitar Doors, named after a Clash song. "Ex-prisoners who have actively participated in such sessions have a re-conviction rate of between 10% - 15%, compared to the national average of 61%." Who would have predicted that learning to play the guitar would have this outcome?
Sopranos
I am psyched for the return of the Sopranos on April 8th. Sadly, it's the end of what is probably the greatest show in the history of television.
Technorati Tags: blogging, dentist, music, tv, Billy Bragg, Sopranos
Wednesday, March 28, 2007
He'll be Dead SoonLook at this face, if you can. I know it's hideous, distorted from a permanent sneer, from a rage brought on by the fact that the world is filled with people he hates. They don't share his racist, homophobic, sexist, and fascist views. He's angry that he has been crippled with impotence, that he smells like an old person, that he is rotting from the inside out. The good news is that this coward will be dead soon. He's half dead now.
Meet John Leonard Spencer, sometimes known as Leslie John Bowyer or Christopher Leslie Bowyer or Les Bowyer. He is the person behind dailygaggle[dot]blogspot[dot]com. He's also the moron I wrote about in this post.
This is the man who has been posting anonymous comments on my blog. It's easy to slander people when one can hide behind a fake name. I deleted most of asinine comments, but some are still there.
Here's an example of the hateful garbage he writes. In my post about Facebook, I left a comment that said:
"Oddly, half of the librarians here are on Facebook..."
His reply was: "And the other half faggots"
This gives you a good idea of this man's values. If he hates you, and he hates everyone, he hurls anti-gay insults. John Leonard Spencer called me a c&#% sucker. It's obvious that he hates himself. I think he should just come out of the closet. What do you say, Leslie?
Johnny has written a book called Waving Goodbye to a Thousand Flies and, because he could not find anyone stupid enough to publish it, he did so himself, via Tafford Publishing, a vanity press that lets any incompetent, uneducated, imbecilic, moronic person publish any drivel they want, as long as they pay for it. He must have saved his cash from his years working as a rent boy. To complete the vain cycle, he comments here and there under the name Leslie Bowyer, to drum up interest in his book. Of his own book, he once said: "I found the book Wholesomly [sic] interesting with few dull moments." It's fraudulent and desperate.
Here's what the reviewers are saying about John Leonard Spencer's book, Waving Goodbye to a Thousand Flies:
"Never have I seen such awful writing. Spencer is a man preoccupied with himself, probably from an early age, when he developed an addiction to masturbation and a love of phallus-shaped vegetables."
"If we judged books by how conceited the author is, Spencer deserves a A+"
"The errors of syntax overwhelm the book. It is difficult to read a book that is so laden with obtuse remarks, and so lacking in any kind of coherent structure."
"A Dog of a book."
"Two thumbs down, way down."
"The publisher should be executed."
"Waving Goodbye to a Thousand Flies is obviously written by a man that has spent most of his life masturbating with chronic frequency. It's clear that he is now impotent, but he has fond memories of bashing the bishop and shoving foreign objects up his rectum."
"Spencer gives credit to Freud's theory of the Oedipus complex, except that he never outgrew it. Spencer is a mommy's boy."
I'm not the only one he has felt the need to pester: he has been trolling tshsmom's site too. He is like an adolescent school boy, desperate for attention.
Beware of this loser. Too bad Blogger won't let us block by IP address.
Host Name 218-215-2-161.people.net.au
IP Address 218.215.2.161
Country Australia
Region New South Wales
City Sydney
ISP Swiftel Communications
Technorati Tags: trolls, John Leonard Spencer, Leslie John Bowyer, Christopher Leslie Bowyer, assholes, losers, homophobes, racists, sexists, fascists
Tuesday, March 27, 2007
A Visit with a Sadist ... I mean Dental Hygienist
The mere fact that the chair reclines, speaks of torture. Sure, the chair might be comfortable, at least for a while, especially since it's after work, and hours of thinking about issues, problems, and the endless meetings. So, it's not so bad to be fully reclined in a comfortable chair, even if the ceiling tiles are unspeakably ugly. You'd think in this environment, someone would pay to have something nice on the ceiling, like a plasma screen with peaceful images flowing through the neon and xenon. Instead, there's a few square feet of tile decay.
I sat down, felt the chair roll back, affirmed that I was comfortable, and hoped that she would leave me alone for a few minutes so I could get some sleep. Instead, I heard the jangle of the instruments being readied.
Some famous comedian once observed that dentists tell us not to put sharp metal objects into our mouths, only to put sharp metal objects into our mouths when we visit them. Aside from the needle and the drill, they rarely inflict serious pain on us. But, the dental hygienist, at least mine, has a different method of operation.
I believe that she was hired from some secret spy organization - like the Alliance of Twelve - that uses dental torture to extract information like coordinates, access codes, bank account numbers, and shoe sizes. She could be gentler if she wanted to be, but I believe that she inflicts pain in direct proportion to the amount of flossing she thinks we are not doing. It's getting worse too and it's clear to me that, as she ages, she has less ability to moderate the amount of pressure she uses when she stabs the sharp pointy metal implements into my gum line.
After my last visit, my mouth was is so much pain that I found it difficult to brush for a week. I suppose, as an inducement to floss more, it might work. Frankly, I'd like to hire someone to floss my teeth for me, or maybe I could train a monkey to do it.
Technorati Tags: dentist, pain
The mere fact that the chair reclines, speaks of torture. Sure, the chair might be comfortable, at least for a while, especially since it's after work, and hours of thinking about issues, problems, and the endless meetings. So, it's not so bad to be fully reclined in a comfortable chair, even if the ceiling tiles are unspeakably ugly. You'd think in this environment, someone would pay to have something nice on the ceiling, like a plasma screen with peaceful images flowing through the neon and xenon. Instead, there's a few square feet of tile decay.
I sat down, felt the chair roll back, affirmed that I was comfortable, and hoped that she would leave me alone for a few minutes so I could get some sleep. Instead, I heard the jangle of the instruments being readied.
Some famous comedian once observed that dentists tell us not to put sharp metal objects into our mouths, only to put sharp metal objects into our mouths when we visit them. Aside from the needle and the drill, they rarely inflict serious pain on us. But, the dental hygienist, at least mine, has a different method of operation.
I believe that she was hired from some secret spy organization - like the Alliance of Twelve - that uses dental torture to extract information like coordinates, access codes, bank account numbers, and shoe sizes. She could be gentler if she wanted to be, but I believe that she inflicts pain in direct proportion to the amount of flossing she thinks we are not doing. It's getting worse too and it's clear to me that, as she ages, she has less ability to moderate the amount of pressure she uses when she stabs the sharp pointy metal implements into my gum line.
After my last visit, my mouth was is so much pain that I found it difficult to brush for a week. I suppose, as an inducement to floss more, it might work. Frankly, I'd like to hire someone to floss my teeth for me, or maybe I could train a monkey to do it.
Technorati Tags: dentist, pain
Monday, March 26, 2007
Facebook & Enemies
Well, I finally set up a profile on Facebook, using my real name, not my fishy alias. Aside from the fact that there is no one there from my graduating year in high school, I have only one concern, and you might call it an enhancement request.
When someone adds you as a friend, you can either reject or confirm this action. So, if they are not your friend, you reject. If you hate them, you reject. If they have friended you just because you have listed Captain Beefheart in your musical preferences, you can go either way. But, I think it would make far more sense to be able to add a list of enemies. This would be useful for certain colleagues (the close-talking type). I refer to him as a Facebook whore, because he seems to inhabit that space to the detriment of all else. He found my profile mere minutes after I had set it up.
Then there are those high school losers, who wouldn't really qualify as friends, simply because you knew them (so far, no one like that has crossed paths with me). Maybe it would be more appropriate if they were enemies.
And, finally, we have trolls like Bozo the Brit. He must have very low self-esteem, if his idea of amusement is to leave mean comments on my blog about other people.
By the way, I considered adding a profile to Assbook, but I am far too shy for that.
Technorati Tags: Facebook, social networks, friends, enemies
Well, I finally set up a profile on Facebook, using my real name, not my fishy alias. Aside from the fact that there is no one there from my graduating year in high school, I have only one concern, and you might call it an enhancement request.
When someone adds you as a friend, you can either reject or confirm this action. So, if they are not your friend, you reject. If you hate them, you reject. If they have friended you just because you have listed Captain Beefheart in your musical preferences, you can go either way. But, I think it would make far more sense to be able to add a list of enemies. This would be useful for certain colleagues (the close-talking type). I refer to him as a Facebook whore, because he seems to inhabit that space to the detriment of all else. He found my profile mere minutes after I had set it up.
Then there are those high school losers, who wouldn't really qualify as friends, simply because you knew them (so far, no one like that has crossed paths with me). Maybe it would be more appropriate if they were enemies.
And, finally, we have trolls like Bozo the Brit. He must have very low self-esteem, if his idea of amusement is to leave mean comments on my blog about other people.
By the way, I considered adding a profile to Assbook, but I am far too shy for that.
Technorati Tags: Facebook, social networks, friends, enemies
Friday, March 23, 2007
The Close Talker and the Egomaniac
I still haven't figured out what term best applies to him, but my colleague has been described as a buffoon, idiot, and moron. I am sad to report that I can add Close Talker to the list. Glass of wine in hand, I orchestrated a creeping backwards maneuver, with him in close pursuit, until we were no less than six feet away from where our conversation began only ten minutes earlier. This is how snakes move - silently and inexorably, millimeter by millimeter until they swallow their pray or find a place to warm up in the sun. The good news is that we ended up beside the open bar, and I turned to my right and said: "red wine please." She refilled my glass.
My back should be sore, for it was arched away from him, trying to avoid his breath on my face, the light random drizzle from his mouth, and his exploding Ps. If anyone had been paying close attention, they would have approached me and offered to push me upright. When the dinner bell rang, I found a good seat in the middle of the room and chose a chair that afforded me a good view of the podium, so I would not have to twist my head around like an owl to see the person speaking. The bad news is that I sat right next to an egomaniac.
A simple question turned into a 15 minute exposition of how freaking wonderful she is, and then on she went about her grants, her research, her publications, her life-long interest in learning. I got the whole story of her childhood and how she was the first woman in her class to attend college. I had to sneak in that I was the first person in my family to attend University. She bulldozed over that. It was exhausting listening to her. But, there was free wine, a substance that can counteract the effects of a poison.
Technorati Tags: dinners, colleagues, work
I still haven't figured out what term best applies to him, but my colleague has been described as a buffoon, idiot, and moron. I am sad to report that I can add Close Talker to the list. Glass of wine in hand, I orchestrated a creeping backwards maneuver, with him in close pursuit, until we were no less than six feet away from where our conversation began only ten minutes earlier. This is how snakes move - silently and inexorably, millimeter by millimeter until they swallow their pray or find a place to warm up in the sun. The good news is that we ended up beside the open bar, and I turned to my right and said: "red wine please." She refilled my glass.
My back should be sore, for it was arched away from him, trying to avoid his breath on my face, the light random drizzle from his mouth, and his exploding Ps. If anyone had been paying close attention, they would have approached me and offered to push me upright. When the dinner bell rang, I found a good seat in the middle of the room and chose a chair that afforded me a good view of the podium, so I would not have to twist my head around like an owl to see the person speaking. The bad news is that I sat right next to an egomaniac.
A simple question turned into a 15 minute exposition of how freaking wonderful she is, and then on she went about her grants, her research, her publications, her life-long interest in learning. I got the whole story of her childhood and how she was the first woman in her class to attend college. I had to sneak in that I was the first person in my family to attend University. She bulldozed over that. It was exhausting listening to her. But, there was free wine, a substance that can counteract the effects of a poison.
Technorati Tags: dinners, colleagues, work
Thursday, March 22, 2007
Confession #4
While living in residence, during my undergrad degree, I watched The Young and the Restless. Yes, it's true. Gary S. had two things in of importance in his room: a coffee maker and a TV.
I had a discussion recently with a friend about residence, and I recalled that I lost three things in residence:
1) A magnetic chess set. I am certain that Peter D. has it. Please mail it to me.
2) An old-fashioned toaster. You know, the ones that permit toasting only on one side, and then you have to turn down the sides and flip the bread over. Look at this page if you want a general idea of what it was like. If you are wondering what I would do with an old toaster, since they are now so sophisticated, I would turn it into a guitar amplifier.
Sharon B. has my toaster, but probably sold it ages ago in a lawn sale. She had a Camaro too and a very very short boyfriend who looked like a shrunken version of Ricardo Montalban, without the muscles, charm, wardrobe, or looks, and with an unfortunate mustache, the kind which 16 years old boys try to grow. Now that I think about it, he looked nothing like Ricardo Montalban.
3) Two coffee mugs. Gary S. has these, or had them.
Several of us, including Running42k, if my memory is serving me correctly, kept mugs in his room, and we all made a daily trip at 4:30 to drink coffee and watch Y&R.
All of this not that terribly interesting, but I have to confess that I got hooked. It was like crack. In the summer, I tried to fit my work schedule around Y&R. I would work late shifts at the bar, rather than early ones, so I could see the show before coming in to work. My dad did not have a VCR, so taping was not an option, but I did make a few trips out to a friend's place to see the shows that she taped if I missed them.
After my addiction passed and I tuned in after several months of staying clean, I discovered that absolutely nothing had happened for months, except that some other dude was playing Jack, and we all had to pretend that it was the same guy. It was like when they swapped out Kinchloe on Hogan's Heroes for some other black guy, because they assumed that no one would notice.
Anyway, I am ready to start pursuing my acting career, and I plan to start with a soap opera. If you know anyone hiring actors, please let me know. I could do a good Victor or Brad.
Technorati Tags: confessions, tv, Young and the Restless
While living in residence, during my undergrad degree, I watched The Young and the Restless. Yes, it's true. Gary S. had two things in of importance in his room: a coffee maker and a TV.
I had a discussion recently with a friend about residence, and I recalled that I lost three things in residence:
1) A magnetic chess set. I am certain that Peter D. has it. Please mail it to me.
2) An old-fashioned toaster. You know, the ones that permit toasting only on one side, and then you have to turn down the sides and flip the bread over. Look at this page if you want a general idea of what it was like. If you are wondering what I would do with an old toaster, since they are now so sophisticated, I would turn it into a guitar amplifier.
Sharon B. has my toaster, but probably sold it ages ago in a lawn sale. She had a Camaro too and a very very short boyfriend who looked like a shrunken version of Ricardo Montalban, without the muscles, charm, wardrobe, or looks, and with an unfortunate mustache, the kind which 16 years old boys try to grow. Now that I think about it, he looked nothing like Ricardo Montalban.
3) Two coffee mugs. Gary S. has these, or had them.
Several of us, including Running42k, if my memory is serving me correctly, kept mugs in his room, and we all made a daily trip at 4:30 to drink coffee and watch Y&R.
All of this not that terribly interesting, but I have to confess that I got hooked. It was like crack. In the summer, I tried to fit my work schedule around Y&R. I would work late shifts at the bar, rather than early ones, so I could see the show before coming in to work. My dad did not have a VCR, so taping was not an option, but I did make a few trips out to a friend's place to see the shows that she taped if I missed them.
After my addiction passed and I tuned in after several months of staying clean, I discovered that absolutely nothing had happened for months, except that some other dude was playing Jack, and we all had to pretend that it was the same guy. It was like when they swapped out Kinchloe on Hogan's Heroes for some other black guy, because they assumed that no one would notice.
Anyway, I am ready to start pursuing my acting career, and I plan to start with a soap opera. If you know anyone hiring actors, please let me know. I could do a good Victor or Brad.
Technorati Tags: confessions, tv, Young and the Restless
Tuesday, March 20, 2007
Fish Heads & the Woody Allen of Chemistry
So, here's the Fish Heads video, if you care:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LzpN9ce_qF0
Ii tried to embed this video using YouTube instructions, and using about four other methods posted on the web, and they all failed. I keep getting a Blogger error, and Blogger kept stripping off some of my closing tags. I'd put them it, and Blogger stripped them off in a vicious and irritating cycle. Damn you Blogger.
So, this morning, I went to a short conference, or a long meeting, at MaRS. I am not sure what the best description is, but I was bored stiff. I am not a chemist, not even close. My only knowledge of chemistry comes from the chemistry set I received for Christmas when I was about ten years old. I was never able to make anything truly combustible, even when I paired it with the electronics set I received the same year. I bet Carter from Hogan's Heroes could have made something deadly with it.
But, one of the presenters was rather entertaining in a Woody Allenish sort of way. He had that distinctive accent, like Woody or even George Costanza, along with that halting cadence characteristic of Allen. I found it very amusing to hear this guy say things like "non-hydrogen heteratom" and "stoichiometry analysis." Even then I was terribly bored and very hungry, and the lunch was gluten city, so I fled to find lunch at a place around the corner and came back here to get caught up with work and eat chocolate.
Technorati Tags: Fish Heads, music, videos, novelty songs, chemistry
So, here's the Fish Heads video, if you care:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LzpN9ce_qF0
Ii tried to embed this video using YouTube instructions, and using about four other methods posted on the web, and they all failed. I keep getting a Blogger error, and Blogger kept stripping off some of my closing tags. I'd put them it, and Blogger stripped them off in a vicious and irritating cycle. Damn you Blogger.
So, this morning, I went to a short conference, or a long meeting, at MaRS. I am not sure what the best description is, but I was bored stiff. I am not a chemist, not even close. My only knowledge of chemistry comes from the chemistry set I received for Christmas when I was about ten years old. I was never able to make anything truly combustible, even when I paired it with the electronics set I received the same year. I bet Carter from Hogan's Heroes could have made something deadly with it.
But, one of the presenters was rather entertaining in a Woody Allenish sort of way. He had that distinctive accent, like Woody or even George Costanza, along with that halting cadence characteristic of Allen. I found it very amusing to hear this guy say things like "non-hydrogen heteratom" and "stoichiometry analysis." Even then I was terribly bored and very hungry, and the lunch was gluten city, so I fled to find lunch at a place around the corner and came back here to get caught up with work and eat chocolate.
Technorati Tags: Fish Heads, music, videos, novelty songs, chemistry
Monday, March 19, 2007
Mad at Madonna
I am seriously annoyed that Madonna has a new clothing line with H&M. I am also seriously annoyed that she has published a series of kid's book, especially since her first book received the largest launch in publishing history. I am seriously annoyed that the rich and famous get to do whatever they want, even if they have no talent for it.
In case you missed it, there's a growing list of celebrities who have written kid's books. Some of these are probably good, like those by John Lithgow and Jerry Seinfeld, but I have not read them. But, do we really need books by Jamie Lee Curtis, Katie Couric, Sarah Ferguson, the Duchess of York, John Travolta, Jane Seymour, Spike Lee, and Dr. Laura?
Of course, publishers love these celebrity books because they rake in buckets of cash and H&M will probably do the same with Madonna's clothes. It sucks.
I am supposed to be writing an abstract now, so off I go...
Listening to: The Dears - Gang of Losers (liberated from a delete bin for $5, marked down from $37! It's an import with a funky package).
Technorati Tags: Madonna, books, celebrities, clothes
I am seriously annoyed that Madonna has a new clothing line with H&M. I am also seriously annoyed that she has published a series of kid's book, especially since her first book received the largest launch in publishing history. I am seriously annoyed that the rich and famous get to do whatever they want, even if they have no talent for it.
In case you missed it, there's a growing list of celebrities who have written kid's books. Some of these are probably good, like those by John Lithgow and Jerry Seinfeld, but I have not read them. But, do we really need books by Jamie Lee Curtis, Katie Couric, Sarah Ferguson, the Duchess of York, John Travolta, Jane Seymour, Spike Lee, and Dr. Laura?
Of course, publishers love these celebrity books because they rake in buckets of cash and H&M will probably do the same with Madonna's clothes. It sucks.
I am supposed to be writing an abstract now, so off I go...
Listening to: The Dears - Gang of Losers (liberated from a delete bin for $5, marked down from $37! It's an import with a funky package).
Technorati Tags: Madonna, books, celebrities, clothes
Friday, March 16, 2007
Coke and Pork and Worms
I need your help. Have you seen one of the several videos floating around the web that show people pouring Coca-Cola onto raw pork? After a few minutes, the worms crawl out of the meat. Now, my first thought was: Who the hell would drink Coke if it is noxious enough to force innocent worms from the comfort of a slab of pork? Well, I'll allow that Coke mixed with rum is OK.
The now infamous video seems to have been removed from YouTube, but any web search will find videos that support or refute the allegations along with a few humorous attempts to show all manner of biological entities emerging from pork, like plastic rabbits. Some argue that Coke simply makes a nice marinade. Others argue that pork is infested with worms (trichinae) and will cause trichinosis. I have heard that there has not been a case of this in Canada for years. Who knows what is happening in the USA.
I'd try this myself, but I don't drink Coke and I do not want to support the corporation, despite occasionally purchasing Dasani, primarily because it is usually stocked here. Did you know that Dasani isn't even spring water? It's tap water that has been remineralized. Have a look at the ingredients. Yeah, that's right, it's water with ingredients.
So, if you are willing, go out any purchase some raw pork, throw it into a dish, and pour some Coke on it. Let me know how it turns out. I'll trust you.
Technorati Tags: pork, coca-cola, trichinosis
I need your help. Have you seen one of the several videos floating around the web that show people pouring Coca-Cola onto raw pork? After a few minutes, the worms crawl out of the meat. Now, my first thought was: Who the hell would drink Coke if it is noxious enough to force innocent worms from the comfort of a slab of pork? Well, I'll allow that Coke mixed with rum is OK.
The now infamous video seems to have been removed from YouTube, but any web search will find videos that support or refute the allegations along with a few humorous attempts to show all manner of biological entities emerging from pork, like plastic rabbits. Some argue that Coke simply makes a nice marinade. Others argue that pork is infested with worms (trichinae) and will cause trichinosis. I have heard that there has not been a case of this in Canada for years. Who knows what is happening in the USA.
I'd try this myself, but I don't drink Coke and I do not want to support the corporation, despite occasionally purchasing Dasani, primarily because it is usually stocked here. Did you know that Dasani isn't even spring water? It's tap water that has been remineralized. Have a look at the ingredients. Yeah, that's right, it's water with ingredients.
So, if you are willing, go out any purchase some raw pork, throw it into a dish, and pour some Coke on it. Let me know how it turns out. I'll trust you.
Technorati Tags: pork, coca-cola, trichinosis
Thursday, March 15, 2007
1) How to fly a helicopter I am not sure if this comes from watching too many episodes of Magnum PI as a young boy, or from years of listening to Darryl Dahmer. Anyway, it would be so cool to be able to fly a helicopter like Carrie-Anne Moss in The Matrix.
2) How to build a spacecraft that really works and is fast enough to get me to Pluto in, say, 2 to 3 minutes. I'd like to be able to get to Alpha Centauri in half an hour.
3) How to break dance I am not so sure I want a callous on the top of my head the size of a grapefruit, but it would be cool to spin on my head and do all of those crazy moves. Besides, I could then audition for So You Think You Can Dance.
4) Sign language I'd have to figure out which language first, because there are many types. This would really only be cool if everyone I know also learns.
5) How to ride a unicycle I saw a high school kid riding a unicycle to school on Bathurst Street once, and it just made me wonder why I was on two wheels when I could have been on one.
6) How to juggle No, I am not planning to join the circus. My friend, Colin, could do this in grade 7, and I was amazed. Have you ever wondered why jugglers drop something in every performance? It's to make juggling look harder than it is. I've tried, and it is as difficult as it looks.
7) How to become a millionaire overnight Wait, I have to check my lottery ticket ... crap, I can't cross that one off the list.
8) How to make myself invisible Yes, I love Heroes. I have long known which superpower I would like: It's immortality, but I think that being invisible would be far cooler. If I could combine both, that would be awesome. Oh, and if I could read people's minds. I think I want to be Sylar.
I was going to list 10 things, but I can only think of 8 at the moment.
Technorati Tags: memes
Tuesday, March 13, 2007
Fish Heads
Fish heads, Fish heads
Rolly polly Fish heads
Fish heads, Fish heads
Eat them up, Yummm
Fish heads, Fish heads
Rolly polly Fish heads
Fish heads, Fish heads
Eat them up, Yummm
In the morning
Laughing, happy
Fish Heads
In the evening
Floating in the soup
Fish heads, Fish heads
Rolly polly Fish heads
Fish heads, Fish heads
Eat them up, Yummm
Ask a Fish head
Anything you want to
They won't answer
They can't talk
Fish heads, Fish heads
Rolly polly Fish heads
Fish heads, Fish heads
Eat them up, Yummm
I took a Fish head
Out to see a movie
Didn't have to pay
To get it in
Fish heads, Fish heads
Rolly polly Fish heads
Fish heads, Fish heads
Eat them up, Yummm
They can't play baseball
They don't wear sweaters
They're not good dancers
They don't play drums
Fish heads, Fish heads
Rolly polly Fish heads
Fish heads, Fish heads
Eat them up, Yummm
Rolly polly Fish heads
Are never seen drinking
Cappacino in Italian restaurants
With Oriental women...Yeah
Fish heads, Fish heads
Rolly polly Fish heads
Fish heads, Fish heads
Eat them up, Yummm
Fish heads, Fish heads
Rolly polly Fish heads
Fish heads, Fish heads
Eat them up, Yummm...
(Yummm)
Fish heads, Fish heads
Rolly polly Fish heads
Fish heads, Fish heads
Eat them up, Yummm
Fish heads, Fish heads
Rolly polly Fish heads
Fish heads, Fish heads
Eat them up, Yummm
YEAH!!!!!!!!!
by Barnes and Barnes
Technorati Tags: songs, music, fish heads
Fish heads, Fish heads
Rolly polly Fish heads
Fish heads, Fish heads
Eat them up, Yummm
Fish heads, Fish heads
Rolly polly Fish heads
Fish heads, Fish heads
Eat them up, Yummm
In the morning
Laughing, happy
Fish Heads
In the evening
Floating in the soup
Fish heads, Fish heads
Rolly polly Fish heads
Fish heads, Fish heads
Eat them up, Yummm
Ask a Fish head
Anything you want to
They won't answer
They can't talk
Fish heads, Fish heads
Rolly polly Fish heads
Fish heads, Fish heads
Eat them up, Yummm
I took a Fish head
Out to see a movie
Didn't have to pay
To get it in
Fish heads, Fish heads
Rolly polly Fish heads
Fish heads, Fish heads
Eat them up, Yummm
They can't play baseball
They don't wear sweaters
They're not good dancers
They don't play drums
Fish heads, Fish heads
Rolly polly Fish heads
Fish heads, Fish heads
Eat them up, Yummm
Rolly polly Fish heads
Are never seen drinking
Cappacino in Italian restaurants
With Oriental women...Yeah
Fish heads, Fish heads
Rolly polly Fish heads
Fish heads, Fish heads
Eat them up, Yummm
Fish heads, Fish heads
Rolly polly Fish heads
Fish heads, Fish heads
Eat them up, Yummm...
(Yummm)
Fish heads, Fish heads
Rolly polly Fish heads
Fish heads, Fish heads
Eat them up, Yummm
Fish heads, Fish heads
Rolly polly Fish heads
Fish heads, Fish heads
Eat them up, Yummm
YEAH!!!!!!!!!
by Barnes and Barnes
Technorati Tags: songs, music, fish heads
Monday, March 12, 2007
Dream
In my dream last night, I met Adolf Hitler, sort of. I am not sure where I was going or what I was doing, but I had to ask a truck driver to move his rig. I walked around to the driver's side, looked up, and was not surprised to see Adolf Hitler behind the wheel.
You might think that the chap simply looked like Hitler. I was convinced that it was him, and yet, I was not too concerned about it. He had the famous truncated mustache, the deep black hair that fell into his eyes, and a yellow uniform with all manner of insignia and decoration.
The thing that troubled me was what to call him. I needed to get his attention, and I just looked up, unsure whether I should say: "Hey, Adolf!" or "Hey, Hitler!" The rest would have been easy: "move your damn truck out of the way." He was probably parked in the bike lane, now that I think of it.
Technorati Tags: dreams, Hitler
In my dream last night, I met Adolf Hitler, sort of. I am not sure where I was going or what I was doing, but I had to ask a truck driver to move his rig. I walked around to the driver's side, looked up, and was not surprised to see Adolf Hitler behind the wheel.
You might think that the chap simply looked like Hitler. I was convinced that it was him, and yet, I was not too concerned about it. He had the famous truncated mustache, the deep black hair that fell into his eyes, and a yellow uniform with all manner of insignia and decoration.
The thing that troubled me was what to call him. I needed to get his attention, and I just looked up, unsure whether I should say: "Hey, Adolf!" or "Hey, Hitler!" The rest would have been easy: "move your damn truck out of the way." He was probably parked in the bike lane, now that I think of it.
Technorati Tags: dreams, Hitler
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