No One Ever Wrote a Poem About Sickly Orange Barf Glow.

I've been mulling it over in my head on how to write up this entry. I can already feel that this could be the spark that could trigger something bad. It could be like Pearl Harbor all over again, (the actual event, not the movie, where I discovered that Ben Affleck has the abilities to return from the dead. Who'd of guessed he was an immortal?) I can see all the people suddenly accelerating an action to apocalyptic proportions. A sane man would just back off and let sleeping dogs lie, but that was never my flavor. And with that, on to the festivities.

I'm going to write my standard disclaimer at this point that any somewhat regular reader will have read before. I like my job...blah, blah, blah, people I work with are cool...yada, yada, yada, Satan has a cubicle near mine, etc, etc, whoops. Ignore the last one. With that being said, it's interesting to watch the ripple effect my entry about our glorious nutbuckets had on some of the office staff. I never really had the intent of the blog actually being read by anyone at the office, let alone the executive team, but what’s done is done. The word nutbucket now has the ability to cause giggling in many of the office staff. I'd like to think that I've made a difference. That's all anyone in the world wants to do.

The only good thing about carrying around a Blackberry is it doubles as an alarm clock. It is usually what wakes me up in the morning, and this morning was no different. My usual morning procedure is to hit my snooze button around a gazillion times on my alarm clock and try to figure out why it's still making strange buzzing sounds even as I hammer the off button. It commonly takes two to three emails before I realize it's my Blackberry and not my alarm clock. The morning practice, after I manage to drag my ass out of my bed, is to grab the BB off of my dresser and see what has blown up while I was trying to sleep. Most often there is a plethora of jokes that my co-workers send to me and a couple of support issues. This morning there was a very enigmatic email sitting there grinning at me. It was from a couple of close co-workers of mine requesting me to "drop by our office" the second I get in. Hmmm...an email like that can only mean one of two things. Something catastrophic has happened that they don't want to tell me about over email, or I'm about to become the butt of some joke. Luckily, I am one of those people that can appreciate a good joke, even if I am the recipient. Funny is funny, no matter who's getting dumped on. I briefly thought about replying and asking what was up, but the little voice in the back of my head said "leave it alone...If it's really bad, you don't want to know yet, and if you are gonna get thrown in the barrel, it will happen anyways. Status Quo baby, Status Quo".

It's in my nature to not let problems lie, and I can tell you, I had a couple of brief battles with the conscience while driving into work. Every red light and every traffic slowdown I was pulling out the BB and starting to reply to the email in question. Thankfully some nice person would always honk at me to wake up and get the hell moving before I made them late for work as well. Thank you kind anonymous stranger, wherever you are. I appreciate you starting out my day in a happy way. I resisted the inhuman urge to reply all the way to work, even when I got stuck in the Tim Horton’s line behind one of the bagel eaters.

As I'm pulling into the parking lot, I felt like I was in some Spielberg film right before all the bad things happen. The skies darkened as the clouds started rolling it. I could almost hear bells tolling beyond the gates of dawn. Something wicked was coming, and it was headed right for me. I knew, right then and there that there wasn't any support issue...I was about to be sodomized (figuratively). There's something to be said about knowing when you are about to get hosed. Even if you don't know what's coming, at least you know it's waiting there for you. You always hope for the kitten in the closet instead of the monster, but we all know which one is waiting.

As I'm sneaking in the building, creeping by the office of doom, I hear a beckoning call filled with saccharine. Shit. I haven't even taken off my jacket yet and I'm already getting accosted. I could have run, I probably should have, but I might as well get it over with. I walk into the office to be greeted by three smiling people. When and entire room is smiling at you, you either showed up for work not wearing pants, or there is a plot afoot. Never trust people smiling in a group. That is my proverb of the day people. Remember it.

I approach the desk where the voice came from, and I'm told that the executive team has a gift for me. I'm instantly looking down the cliff face at the water below, thinking, it doesn't look that far. And from behind her back comes the gift. I see hints of wood, cellophane and labels that I recognize. It's another nutbucket. Another one. I just gave away all my nuts from the first one, and now I have another one to deal with. I later learned that someone else has returned one from their house. That would be the highlight of this whole thing I suppose. People are actually bringing their nutbuckets back. Rebellion is almost here. Throw off our chains, rise up and tell those in power we don't want the nutbucket any more. One person cannot make a difference, many people can. Stand together brothers and sisters, and we will throw off the nougat bonds and salty shackles of our oppressors. Rise up people, rise up.

Damnit. The rant wasn't supposed to be in there, and remember, never trust a group of smiling people, after you check if you are wearing pants.

Wait...Let me check my meter.










Nope, still don't give a fuck.

An Eye for an Eye Leaves the Whole World Blind.

I read something the other night which is haunting me lately. Not in a bad way, but it just got stuck in the brain and won't go into the purge cylinder. It had to do with Buddhism and Zen. It was the term "Mu", which basically translates to "Unask the Question". The thing that got it stuck there is how cool of a concept it is. The way it was described in the book I reading was one disciple asks the teacher about the afterlife. There is no afterlife in this faith and in turn she tells the student the answer is "Mu". Almost as if the question doesn't need to exist because there is no answer, and not like a rhetorical question, but truly no answer. It's like saying the answer to two plus two equals pomegranate. The question and the answer simply do not relate to each other, and there is no answer to the question because the question has no basis. Ughh. I hate it when things in my brain don't translate to paper.

Maybe mu is the answer to some of the questions we deal with every day. Maybe the questions don't have any basis, and we should teach ourselves to unask the question before we can proceed along our path. This is one of those concepts that is very hard to put down on paper. I'm by no means a Zen ideologist, and that's probably half the reason I can't get this down on paper properly. I can only think of one example that is bound to piss some people off, but when has that ever stopped me. One of the oldest questions that has been asked is "How can God allow this to happen?” If you use the idea of mu it becomes clear as day. By unasking the question it becomes, god does not allow this to happen. God doesn't exist, therefore, how can he allow it to happen?. You must unask the question to try to come up with an answer that makes sense to you. I've been thinking that maybe that the reason that so many people sit there miserable all their life is because they are looking for answers to a question that doesn't correlate. Sometimes we have to spend time figuring out exactly what question we are trying to answer before we can get an answer for it. I've been just as guilty of this as anyone else. When the answer to a question isn't coming to you, maybe you have the question wrong and need to re-examine the facts, or the answer is just forty-two, and you have to accept it and move on.

Short entry today. I just had to get the mad gerbil that was running around in my head down on virtual paper before it consumed me. I'm going to quote James Thurbur today, one of the most underrated writers of all time. Check out The Thurber Carnival if you are interested in finding something new to read.

"It is better to know some of the questions than all of the answers."
James Thurber

Poppa's Got a Brand New Bag

It has always been said that by making a list of what you want to do or accomplish will help you aspire to do whatever is on the list. I've always had a partial list in my head of thing that I'll do before I die (note, I said things I'll do, not things I want to do. That's a fairly important bit). I figure it's about time to actually write it down. I've always acted on impulse so I've been lucky to accomplish many things thus far, but most of the stuff I'm going to note now are things I haven't had the opportunity/means to do or things I've been saving for the right place and time. This list is pretty amorphous and things will be added or adapted as time goes on. The cool thing is, as time goes on, and new ideas are discovered, I can add them as I see fit. The one thing I should jot down is this isn't some crazy form of death wish, or some screwed up idea of when I'm done I can die happy. There are so many things in the world that I haven't even discovered yet that I will want to do and will add to the list. Everything we do should improve and embellish our life in some way, even if only for a few moments. As the saying goes, nothing gold can stay.

I've always wanted to build my own house on a few acres of land, and not as in hire a bunch of people to build what I think I want. I'm talking about planning it out, drawing up the prints, and building it with my own two hands. There are a few things that I will be bringing people in to do, but for the most part it will be all my baby. This way, I'll be sure that I get exactly what I want, and I'll have the satisfaction of building it myself. Strangely enough, I will probably be attacking this one sooner than later.

I've had an addiction to speed for many years now. The measurement, not the drug, and I've finally decided how to calm this one down. I'm going to enter the Gumball 3000 once I have enough money that I can fritter away $80000 on a 5 day adventure without worrying about it. This could take me a few years yet.

A fairly new one to this list is to climb Mount Fuji. Not for any particular religious or meaningful purpose, but just to say that I've done it. Besides, I think it would be a great place to get some shots with the camera, if I even have the energy to lift a camera at that point. Maybe I should get myself into shape before I attempt this one.

I've had the opportunity many times to go bungee jumping and I've always turned it down. It's been a battle a few times, but I've always walked away. Not for any noble reason like someone important talking me out of it, or worried about dying, but because there is only one place to do this one. It has to be done in Australia, off a bridge, and into the water. Got to do this one where it was invented. The only way to fly.

Backpacking it through Europe is one of those things that college students do. If I would have went to college for more than just a few months, I probably would have done it then, but circumstances just weren't right at the time. I want to take three months, trek across Europe on a mountain bike, and see all the sights. I recently went to see Hostel with CG, and I still want to do it, but I may stay out of strange places to sleep in southern Europe.

The last big thing on the list is to go to Tibet and spend some time in a monastery with the monks. Their method of life has always amazed and entranced me, more so when I learned of the Tibetan sky burial. When I decided that this was going to be the way I was going to go, I figured I'd better learn and appreciate the lifestyle before it was too late. It would be pretty hypocritical of me not to experience all of the history behind it before signing off.

There are many other little things that I will do as well, but are hardly worth mentioning. Not to say that the little things aren't as important, in some cases they may be more, but they aren't the monumental things like the ones that I mentioned above, and they simply aren't that exciting to write about.

Shit. I'm sitting here at twenty to seven in the morning, writing an entry in the blog, listening to some stupid infomercial in the background. Time to go to bed. Here's a good silly quote with some thinking involved to close out with. G'night all...

"Irrigation of the land with seawater desalinated by fusion power is ancient. It's called 'rain'."
Michael McClary

You're Gonna Shoot your Eye out, You're Gonna Shoot your Eye out.

Welcome to Wednesday, with this Wednesday being the day after Valentines day. I think Obi summed up Valentines day with the best phrasing I have heard in a long time. Before I quote him I should point out I have never been a big fan of the V-day, it falls into the same category as all my Xmas complaints. Anyhow, here's a quote from Obi. "Vday is an obscene, neo-Marxist, hallmark travesty that the unthinking, docile masses have adopted to pacify their unconscious self-loathing." Isn't that art? I think that pretty much sums it up. The idea of having a day being dedicated as the day to the one you love is absurd. If you truly love someone it will be represented every day, and not just the one day of the year. Enough of that. This entry wasn't meant for me to be used a bitching forum. I've done that enough over the past few entries. I though it would be fun to take all those parables we heard as children and adapt them to fit more into my lifestyle now, or at least point out the fallacies in the ones that I don't feel like adapting. Many of them can be adapted simply by dropping a word or adding one. You'll see what I mean. One last sidenote before I dive in, some of these are in here just because I want them to be. Don't be stupid and do any of this shit. Best case scenario you may find yourself sleeping on the couch, worst case scenario, you could wind up dead.

Don't Eat Crackers in Bed -- Why not? They are a good source of salty goodness, perfect for just before you go down for the night. The crumbs are just little reminders of how good it is to have food, and a bed for that matter, and it can leave you with cool designs on your skin when you wake up in the morning.

Don't run with scissors -- Absolutely never, ever, run with scissors, unless you have to, but if you trip and fall on them it's your own stupidity for running with scissors and maybe you should be dead. It's called natural selection people. Cull the heard so the strong will survive. Muhahahaha. (that was evil laugh...again, harder to type than to do, like sarcasm)

Do as I say, not as I do -- How in the hell did this ever make it into the "Things you should say to your child" list. What a crock. Most of us learn by example, so how do you expect a child to comprehend this one. Better yet, I think that if your kid comes home saying they are wanting to try something, you should be made to do it as well. How can you say Heroin is bad if you haven't tried it hmmm? Beside the addiction angle, and that overdose thing, it might be a fun time...or not.

Don't play with "insert name here" -- It's probably more relative when you get older than when you are younger...the worst I could get into was going outside my designated playing area, or maybe smoking. Now I could get into heavy drugs, heavy drinking, smuggling guns, join a thrill kill cult, or becoming a terrorist. You tell me when this rule is more relevant.

If your (friend, sibling, etc) jumped off a bridge would you? -- I'm actually proud to say that I did see my friend jump off a bridge, and I did follow them, and you know what? It was an absolute blast, and I'd do it again damnit. Just make sure that you check the water level before you jump, or don't, I really don't care.

Wear clean underwear in case you get hit by a car and have to go to the hospital -- If I'm on my way to the hospital from being hit by a car, the last thing I'm going to be worrying about is the state of my underwear. Although, I'd rather be wearing old ratty underwear so the blood won't look out of place, or better yet, If I got killed and I shit myself, why ruin a perfectly good pair of underwear? And why exactly is it a pair of underwear?

If you can't say something nice, don't say anything at all -- I like this one. I liked it as a kid too. I think that it should be enforced with tazers. If you aren't nice, 20 000 Volts across your genitalia, unless you like that sort of thing, then we'll come up with some other from of punishment.

You'll poke your eye out with that -- Again, natural selection. I just love some of the "Accused" things that you could poke your eye out with. I'll give you the screwdriver and the stick. They could poke your eye out if you really tried, but some of the others I question. Back in grade school they used to aerate our lawn, which left lots of dirt plugs laying around...Great fun for throwing at each other, but never did I see any popped eyeballs. What I'd really like to see is someone pop their eye out with an apple. That would be talent.

Money doesn't grow on trees -- It does if you are a Golgafrinchan.

Don't play ball in the house -- I play ball in my house all the time. Now that I have my own stuff, I can break it anytime I want. Where exactly does the dogs tennis ball fit into this equation? Every dog I've ever known has had some kind of a ball...in the house...That means you trust something with an IQ of 20 over your own child. How sad is that. You're going to give your child a complex. Hope it comes back to haunt you, you bastards.

Don't put that in your mouth; you don't know where it's been -- That's half the fun, at least when you get older. It's actually better that you don't know where it's been. That could make it even harder to get it into your mouth, and never, ever think about what you are putting in your mouth...Could make it more difficult.

You'll go blind -- Sheeit. I never thought of it as a detriment, I thought that was the goal.

Enough of this silliness. I'm done.

"Mix a little foolishness with your prudence: It's good to be silly at the right moment."
Horace

How Krull is 500 Times Better than Sex.

This weekend was probably the most slothful weekend I've had in years. The most exciting thing would have been running to Tim Horton's to get my caffeine fix. You know those time lapse photography films where you get to watch the fruit rot in fast forward? If you were to set up a camera in my house pointed at my favorite corner of the couch this weekend, it would be a five minute film where the only change would be me drinking a coffee or lighting a cigar. Seriously. The only leaving of the couch was to get coffee, get a cigar from the humidor, and make food. I love the fact that we live in a wireless world now. I don't have to get up and turn the channel dial (you youngin's won't have any idea what I'm talking about with that), and my phone, remote control, and laptop are all within hands reach. I probably shouldn't be bragging about how lazy I was this weekend, but what the hell. Every once in a while everyone needs to take a weekend and do absolutely nothing. Because of this, I watched more TV this weekend than I have over the past 6 months. I actually feel less intelligent after this weekend, but the TV has given me a couple of topics to write about.

I think it was about 10 years ago or so that I remember the word "Geek" changed in meaning. When I was a kid, geek was one of the worst things you could be called on the playground. It was up there with Nerd, Dweeb or Spas. I think I may have just dated myself with a couple of those. So be it, on with the point. It was one of those fighting words that was guaranteed to start a scrap after British Bulldog. Then, without warning, it was acceptable to be a geek. People wore it like a badge of honor. Everyone who could fix a computer was suddenly getting invited out to parties. Actors were going out and buying glasses so they could look more studious during interviews. Jokes about DOS were getting laughs by everyone, but like every other trend, it seems to have gone too far. I can admit my geekiness, but at the same time, I can find my way around a car engine, and I enjoy playing football and snowboarding. It seems now that the "Geeks" of the world are using it to get out of being anything other than a geek and not trying to do anything outside of the niche. There is a huge pitfall with anyone stereotyping themselves. Once you have labeled yourself, it's very hard to break free of it. It's not only the geek stereotype, but all stereotypes. Once you have accepted you are something, most people stop doing things outside of what they are expected to do. You can miss some very enjoyable things if you stop trying to discover new adventures. I have known a lot of people who get themselves trapped where they won't listen to music outside of their genre, or won't associate with people who don't view the world in the same way. Rather than be part of clique, embrace the parts of all the cliques that you enjoy and be a whole person.

I'm going to return to a topic that I've bitched about in the past because it's pissing me off again. The media is cramming it down my throat. When are people going to realize that the corporate idea of what is beautiful is nothing but a lie and a marketing scheme. If you want to be a vacuous, vain and 96 pound wannabe starlet, do it, but do it because you want to, not because some company tells you to. The people I feel sorry for is the kids growing up with this. It's always been there, but when I see a couple of sixteen year olds talking about breast implants, it's time for something to be done. It has gotten to the point now where I find the corporate idea of beauty repulsive. For lack of a better word, it's the "flaws" that make people beautiful. Plastic people are meant for Lego, not for life. Don't get me wrong, if you want to mutilate yourself, by all means do so, but do it because you want to. I'm not one to tell anyone not to do do anything, but do your research before committing to anything that is going to be very hard to undo. This is coming from the guy who has more ink in him than the Bic pen company produced in 1986. I'm wearing these forever, and I don't regret any of them because I spent the time necessary to make sure I would be happy with them for a long time. They all carry memories for me, some good, and some not so good, but they are part of me and remind me of the stuff I need to remember. Think about what you are about to do before you get a disease injected into your face.

I have to stop watching so much TV. I should just turn on the news so I can have a laugh at commander coo-coo bananas before I sign off for the night.

"If you haven't found something strange during the day, it hasn't been much of a day."
John A. Wheeler

Hypothetic Dog and Ponii?

I'm watching TV on this, one of the most gluttonous of Saturdays that I've had in a while, and I've noticed a new trend in the commercials. When I was growing up it seemed all the evils of the world were blamed on smoking. There was a new "how smoking will kill you" campaign running in between every show. Seeing that I was a smoker for fifteen years or so, they worked exceedingly well, and I can tell you it that they had no influence whatsoever on me quitting. Everyone, including all the smokers, knows that it is a bad habit. I question if they had an effect on anyone who quit, but I'm straying off of the topic here. The new evil of the world seems to be online gambling. Apparently it can make you stay up for days on end without sleep and be short tempered. It can also make you stay home on the weekend, and cause you to look like a wanker with a bad haircut. I had no idea that online gambling was responsible for all this, and if they weren't showing me the same commercial over and over and over again I'd never know. According to those symptoms, I guess I have an online gambling problem, only fault in all this is, I can't say I've ever gambled online in my life. I know that there are people who are addicted to gambling, but I don't think it's as far spread as what the cyclopean idiot box dictates. It's just more of the same game that they have been playing for years..."What is the addiction/problem of the week this week?"

It seems that every once in a while, something catches the sights of those who want to feel like they are making a difference and they go medieval on it. I've already mentioned the smoking thing, which at least is almost a noble cause, but I remember when certain music was evil and caused all the woes in the world. I can't remember the last time that anyone slaughtered 38 people because they were listening to Guns N Roses. I can see the logic behind slaughtering GNR for making so much shitty music, but not taking out random people. When they came out, they were being blamed for all the problems in the world as well. That crusade lasted for a long time (sarcasm again), then Doom was the most evil thing to ever be invented. I can tell you, I played Doom for stretches of 14-16 hours when it came out, and I never chased anyone with a chainsaw because the magic pixels told me to. Give me a break people. Everyone needs to realize that if I am addicted to something, out killing people, or doing some other malevolent activity it's because my brain told me too. You can play the blame game all you want, but the reason that a person does something is because either a) they want to and were going to do it anyways without the influence of some outside stimuli, or b) they are screwed up in the head. As hard as it is to accept that your son or daughter has done something wrong, don't try to find a scapegoat, accept that they did it because they wanted too. I know it's harsh, but we all have to accept this. Don't ban my favorite movie/band/video game because your offspring is a fricken psycho, and don't pull it off the shelf because of some right wing wack-job who knows how to scream loud. I do believe in age restrictions, but all of us adults in the world can make our own decisions on what to do/listen to/watch. If you don't want to watch porn, turn the channel. If you don't want to play the violent video game, don't play it. It's as simple as that. We can't let a bunch of people who think they know what is good and evil dictate what we can do. As much as I hate some of the things that people believe are right, I'm not going to tell them to stop believing in it.

Whew. I'm done preaching now. I try not to go down this road too often, but every once in a while I have to let it out or I end up turning into some crazy dictator annoying everyone in the bar...

Why does Marcia Brady have a moustache?

"Who knows with commander coo-coo bananas in charge."
Homer Simpson

"Golf and sex are about the only things you can enjoy without being good at."
Jimmy Demaret

It's Not About Butthole Pleasures, or 15 Other Things to do with a Dead Cat.

So, what to write about today. All the good stories have been told. I once read that there are only seven stories in the world and the thing that makes them interesting is not the story itself, but how it's told. It has become one of those essays that I read years ago and have since lost the title and author. Maybe it never existed. There's a creepy thought, if so, i'll just file the serial number off and claim it as mine. There we go. Mine. There are only Seven stories in the world, it's how you tell them. Precious, my precious.

And now that I have got that bit of plagiarism out of the way, onto the topic at hand, which I've since forgotten. I keep feeling like I have to write something with some deep meaning that is inspirational, but the topic keeps slipping away while I'm not looking. It's like becoming inspired to create some great piece of art, so you go out and get a 200 pound chunk of marble, a bunch of chisels, some pastels (because marble just isn't cool unless it's got some vibrant green in it somewhere), a sandwich for later, and some opium for connecting to your true self. You get all this shit home, set it up in your basement, smoke the opium, eat your sandwich, and proceed to stare at a bunch of chisels, a 200 pound chunk of marble, and some pastels for hours on end with no results. It's a maddening thing, feeling inspired but not knowing what you are inspired to do. I've already created the computer case and cleaned up my basement after the fallout of that creativity spurt, so that's out of the question. I've played guitar for hours this week, but nothing other than cover tunes are coming out, and although cool, not what I'm needing to lose the creativity bug. I don't need another gutted motorcycle in my garage, and I also don't need any more shit attached to my TV, so what to do? I need some more opium. That'll help.

I am a cigar snob. I admit that openly. The problem with this is, once you've driven in a Porsche, you don't want to get out and get back into your '86 tempo. There is only one place that real cigar's come from, and that's Cuba. I've tried many other's from Nicaragua, Dominican Republic, all over the States, Canada and Europe, Brazil, etc., etc., etc., but there is just no substitute. The real problem with this is the same as with the Porsche, they are both unbelievably expensive. I actually considered, in all seriousness, flying down to Cuba for a day, picking up a box of Montecristos, and flying back again because it would still be cheaper than buying them from a tobacconist up here. How sad is that. I don't know what the saddest thing is though, the fact that it's cheaper to fly down there and pick up a box, or the fact I almost did it (and it's still not entirely out of the question). I guess it's all about how far we'll go for our guilty pleasures, and that's what life is all about. It is those small, guilty, sometimes insignificant, little pleasures. It's what keeps us all going as a race. Let's face it people, life is not a magical trek down happy lane where every want and desire is fulfilled. It's the small 10 minute thing that keeps us going and not blowing each other up. To paraphrase Dr. Denis Leary "Life sucks, get a fucking helmet". My view isn't necessarily that bleak, but it is true up to a point. We have to hold on to those little things that we do in order to feel good.

Before I quit smoking cigarettes (I know, sounds hypocritical, so let me tell you the Moloquin philosophy. Cigar's are for pleasure, cigarettes are for addicts, there is a difference, and I don't smoke a box and a half of cigars a day) I read somewhere about keeping a log during your quitting time, because your mind doesn't remember the details of a really shitty experience. I held onto that for a while. Seemed like an interesting experiment to try down the road. I ended up using that method during the summer of unpleasantness and wrote a "novel" about what I was going through during the shittiest time in my life. I never need to go back and look through it, but it is true, the details of that time have been lost, and I know there is a ton of shit in that 200 pages that my mind has completely blanked out. It's for the best that I don't remember alot of it, I know that, but the interesting thing is while I forget all of the horrible feelings I went through during the aftermath, I can remember little stupid shit that pulled me through. I remember the first sunny day that happened after everything blew up and a million other little things like that. It's amazing how the brain will hold onto stuff like that to keep us going, but purges what it doesn't need.

Maybe postal workers have a genetic defect that makes them remember all the shitty things and that's why they gun their co-workers down. Just a thought.

Looks like I pulled a Homer and did the thing I was bitching about in the beginning without meaning to...There we go, point of the day, sometimes when you aren't looking, the thing that you were looking for finds you. As long as it's not a junk yard dog named "Chopper" we're all good.

“Sometimes a cigar is just a cigar.“
Sigmund Freud

All your Base are Belong to Moloquin.

Since my return to the primal version of myself, I have noticed some things have changed in how I act and think now compared to how I acted when I was EXPLETIVE DELETED. I've always been pretty spontaneous, to the degree of dangerous sometimes, but now, since there is nothing to hold me back, I keep getting desires to just do things. Thank God some rationality steps in now and then or I'd really be in trouble. For example, I was headed into work a few mornings ago, the weather was nice, the sun was shining, you could see butterflies and rainbows in the air, everyone was smiling gaily as they drove to work, you could hear Kenny G and his soothing sax in the background, and I had a mad crazy urge to just keep driving until I got to somewhere south and found my spot on the Beach. The worst part was both the little devil guy and the little angel guy were both telling me the same thing. Keep going, it will all be good, just a little time on the beach, that isn't too much to ask is it? It was one of those last minute mad dashes across seven lanes of traffic to get to my exit and get to work. I hate guys like that, and here I was doing the same thing. Damn responsibility. Always stepping in and making me do the right thing.

Maybe that's why I keep postponing my vacation down south. I'm secretly afraid I might not come back this time. Me and KablammaChunk starting up the crabbin/shrimpin business we've been talking about for years. We usually only chat about it after a drink or ten, but you never know, stranger things have been known to happen. It has now become a running joke that we're going to start up a crabbing boat and live off of the sea. It would be like BubbaGump Shrimp, only it would be called MoloChunk, and there wouldn't be anyone missing any legs on the boat, although there would be two "Speshul" guys on board. It’s all in the pursuit of fun and science. I wonder if they ever made a movie like Alive, but out on a boat. That may be required viewing before I give this any more thought.

Another thing which has seemed to have changed is my ability to control cravings, desires, whatever you want to call them. I don't know if it's since the end of the whole mess, or since I quit smoking, but the craving cycle has gone crazy. Before it was a gentle tapping at the back of my head, whispering things that I wanted, but I was always able to shoe them away and press on. I think the quitting smoking proved that, but lately it hasn't been just a little whispering voice saying stuff, more of a screaming ten year old in the back seat of the car pulling on my hair and shrieking shit into my ears. I don't know about you, but that pretty much drives me straight to the grocery store at three in the morning to get that can of redbull, or all the ingredients for a Caesar salad just so I can relax without the brat yelling at me anymore. The worst part is, once I've got whatever it was I was craving, I usually don't want it anymore. I end up making four pounds of Caesar salad that just rots in my fridge. What else do you need a crisper for anyways, other than for fermenting salad and making alcohol. I can just see the two ten years old sitting there chuckling and plotting at that one.

"What should we make him get next?"

"How about peanut butter, he hates that doesn't he?"

"Yup, that's a winner, let's do it"

The worst part is, I know what I'm craving, but I won't act upon it. No I'm not ready to reveal what it is yet, but I will tell you what it isn't. It's not cigarettes (I beat those bitches), and it's not peanut butter (I hate that shit). That leaves a whole bunch of things out there, but people who know me will know what I'm babbling about. This is one of the rare times when my filter, the poor, ratty, torn to shit thing that it is, will kick in. Certain things I won't even talk about. Unless you get me drunk. Then I'll tell you everything, including some shit that you didn't want to know. And some shit I didn't even know that I knew. And some shit I made up, because it sounded cool at the time.

I had to get this one in before the Blogger outage tonight. I didn't really think that I was going to write another one, but tell me I can't for this time period, and watch me try. Rebel without a clue.

"Imagination is the beginning of creation. You imagine what you desire, you will what you imagine and at last you create what you will."
George Bernard Shaw

Cacapoopoopeepeeshire, and Other Tales of Horror.

Here comes another one of those pointless (or higher on the pointless scale than usual) entries, simply because I feel like writing, and not because I have any particular point to make. These ones are necessary occasionally, and I needed something to do while I'm waiting for my laundry to finish up. Procrastination bit me in the ass again.

Rome has a great entry about selfishness tonight, and it's definitely worth checking out. I also learned not to invite him out for Italian food, so it's a win-win.

In a recent conversation I was told that my Blog may contain a few too many vulgarities. I'm very open to critiquing so it didn't offend me in the slightest, but it sparked an interesting follow-up conversation. We started talking about how some people are offended by profanity and other's aren't. I am not offended by any words or phrases whatsoever, mostly because I use a lot of them on a daily basis. Ask anyone who works in the same office as me and they'll back me up. I actually see a lot of humor in it. Call me immature, I don't care. Better than being (yuck) mature. Anyways, I started wondering about why vulgar language does bother people. I think the most obvious finger pointing here would be towards religion. There is no question that many religious people don't curse, but I've met many who can curse a blue streak. The methodology behind this one is, it's only cursing if you believe it is a curse. It's that whole guilt idea. I think the salient point of the religion argument is "taking the lords name in vain" designates a profanity. That's makes a lot of my favorite words on the good list. I've always been in the camp of, with so many languages in the world, how can one word be deemed foul when other's aren't? I think a big part of it is due to environment and surroundings. If I was living in Singapore, I don't think that Belgian swear words would be considered nasty, mostly because no one would understand Flemish there, but I think the point is made, albeit abstractly. Vulgar words and phrases can only be judged by individuals and not by society as a whole. This is almost turning into a censorship rant, so I'd better stop now while I still can. Fanny Bandit.

I think I have finally recovered from the Friday night drink fest. My shoes have not, but I have, and I guess that's the important thing. After yesterday's feeling of "Thickness", it's strange how my sense of humor seems to be in a heightened state. Movies, TV, etc., are funny as hell today. I think it was because I was in a state of emotional deprivation for most of the day yesterday. The strange bout of depression I was in last night has disappeared and I'm back to my usual state of wackiness. Not always a good thing, but I'll take it over the alternative.

"I Never" is a great game to play if you are hanging around with open minded people. "I Never" is a horrible game to play if you significant other has a low self-esteem...or so I've heard, and how long exactly does it take for your virginity to grow back? I don't remember them covering this one in Grade Eight health class.

There was a point in there somewhere, but it's been lost in the eddies of time. Tonights entry was brought to you by the country Belgium and the letter "N". All images were picked more or less at random.

"It is one of the superstitions of the human mind to have imagined that virginity could be a virtue."
Voltaire

Oh Brother, we hardly knew ye.

The day after a good bender is always a day of introspection, at least for me it is. I don't know if it's a combination of the chemicals getting purged from the system, the dehydration, or the physical comedown from all the drunk emotions that go on overload after a few (many) pints and shooters, but I'm always left with a strange sense of hollowness. Not in an "I'm lonely" kind of way, but in more of an "I don't completely feel all there" kind of way. Thick, that's a good word for it. Last night was a heavy bender, and there were casualties, the most predominant being Pervert Shoe. He was a good shoe, and led a full life, but it is time for him to be put out to greener pastures.

We started last nights festivities around 9:30 or so over at K's house. The reason for last nights beer fest, if we needed to have one, was to blow off steam from the last month at work. It's been, what's the right word for this, hairy. If you ask newtie, he'll tell you it's been hell, but I'm a bit more of an optimist than him. It was pretty much just a start drinking and get to the finish line kind of night, but rather than give a play by play, I'll just give the highlight. Drunk stories, although amusing, can be pretty harsh in the light of day for certain people, so I think I'm only going to tell one tale, and that may be edited for content and formatted to fit your screen.

When leaving (getting kicked out) a bar at closing time, and you are partying downtown, it can be a real bitch trying to get a cab. Last night was no exception. There were only a couple of party goers left by the time we cut out, so we said our goodbye's and closed out the night. I took a very tanked CG and started the epic journey to get her home. I had full intentions of grabbing a cab along the way, but like most things when you are drunk, plans didn't quite work out the way you had in mind. I should point out that I did try to call a cab on my cell, but there was about a 30 minute wait to get one. It made sense to me to just walk since it would take the same amount of time. Could have been the Guinness speaking because it doesn't seem to make much sense in the light of day. Hailing a cab whilst walking is never like you see in the shows that are set in NYC. You can't just stick out your hand and get one to stop, and trust me, it wasn't for lack of trying. CG was doing everything, including running out in front of them, to try to get a lift. That was when some form of restraint had to be put in place so we didn't up spending the night in a hospital getting her treated for overdose of automobile. With a some guiding, carrying, and gentle nudging we continued the trek to get her to her house. I wasn't far behind her in the alcohol content, but I could walk a little straighter, so I became the guide. After galloping through the mud, getting dragged by a drunk CG across the street multiple times for a reason that was only apparent to her, not finding any available cabs, convincing her that it wasn't a good idea to pee on the side of the road (or on pervert shoe for that matter), and about 40 minutes of stumbling we got CG into her house. The casualty wasn't really apparent yet, and I didn't have the heart to look down at wet and squishing thing that was on my foot. She managed to get herself upstairs and down for the night, so I called for a cab for the second time to get myself home. I had done my good deed, and was ready for some down time. I got a cab surprisingly quickly, and went home. I vaguely remember talking to the cabby about traveling but I was only picking up about a third of the conversation. One third was lost to Guinness, the other third to his heavy Russian accent. My foot was uncomfortable now that I had some heat coming into my body, but wasn't to the point where I was ready to look down yet. I don't even think I was that capable of that thought in my current state. I got into my house, took off the wet squishing thing without looking at it, and went upstairs to chill out before going to bed. There was some TV, and then time for sleep. I didn't truly appreciate the casualty until I got up. I noticed my pants, which I threw into my hamper the night previous, were covered in mud from mid-shin down. This was not looking good. I wandered downstairs and drank about five glasses of water before looking at Pervert Shoe. My poor shoe was dead. Maybe it's fate or karma or whatever since I did the entry about the clothing fairies, but now it's time to get new shoes. CG might get dragged along for that one. She murdered pervert shoe, so it's only fair that she come along for the fun. To be fair, it wasn't really murder, more a death by misadventure.

Originally, I was going to end this entry with some serious writing about dealing and coping with loss, but it doesn't seem right to end with something like that after such a silly tale as the loss of a pair of shoes. It's just not on the same playing field. For anyone who is reading this, I will give one piece of wisdom I have learned. Take it for what it's worth to you. It is normal to feel alone occasionally. It's a natural feeling that everyone goes through. Even though it doesn't feel good, we all have to deal with it in whatever way works best for each of us. Just because we can feel alone, that doesn't mean that you should a) settle for something that is probably not right, b) interpret something for more than what it is, or c) do something rash. Like all feelings, it does pass with time. The old chestnut about time healing all wounds is true. Some things just take longer than others. Even though I am getting better every day, I still go through bouts of depression about the summer of unpleasantness. The thing that I keep in mind is tomorrow things will look different, and you know what, they always do.

"The worst loneliness is not to be comfortable with yourself."
Mark Twain

>>>>>>>

Completely off topic, I just watched "The 40 Year Old Virgin". That is some funny ass shit.

Pervert Shoe, the S&M Koala, and his Son Damien.

Although some of the things in the next couple of paragraphs may come out sounding like they are misogynistic, there is nothing farther from the truth. I just want to throw that out there before anyone reads any further.

I'm pretty sure that most males think get married because they believe they are in love and want to spend the rest of their life with that special person. I personally believe that the average male gets married for one simple reason, which is only deduced later in life. Clothes Shopping. There is no worse torture that can be enforced on the average male than making him go clothes shopping. We instantly turn into that horrible little five year old you see in the Supermarket, screaming their lungs out because they want candy and not broccoli. You know the ones I'm talking about. They travel in packs with some overweight woman in a sundress trying to yell at all of them at once. Like a crowd of angry drunk monkeys in a china shop, only they are more pleasant than what we turn into at the mention of the afore mentioned activity. We whine, pout, swear and generally turn into little bastards if we have to go. It usually only takes a couple of times out with your Significant Other before they have all your sizes memorized, and although you won't get to stay home and watch TV, you will be allowed to go look at magazines, hangout in the food court, etc. This is where the predicament lies for most separated/divorced/widowed males. We are so used to having the clothes fairies do our shopping that it is a completely lost talent. We actually force ourselves to forget how to do it. It is on par with me walking into the John Hopkins clinic and performing open heart surgery. I can give it a good try, but it isn’t going to be pretty. And with this I begin the tale of Pervert Shoe.

Pervert Shoe is the tale of my shoes. Specifically my right shoe. It is in a very sad state of disrepair, but I cannot go out and buy new shoes. It is simply not in my abilities. I can't take the pandering of the people at some shoe store as they are trying to get me to buy the new $400 Nike's that are more aerodynamic, have a special liquid insert to help me with my lift between steps, cook me breakfast, and find me which stock to play to become independently wealthy by the time I'm 33. You would swear that these guys eat, breathe, and shit shoes. They are reciting shit about shoes like a physicist recites equations about the atomic weight of Nobelium. I don't know what scares me more, the fact that some one spends this much time studying the shoes, or that these people are forced to memorize them, and be excited about it. They're just shoes. Maybe that's why I don't understand fashion. If it's just cloth cut some special way, why is it $300.00? Back to the tale of my shoe. It has now become Iconic. My friends and I have become so used to pervert shoe that I can't give them up, even though I know I should. He is a character in a comic now. I protect him like the red-headed bastard stepchild. It bothers me that I talk this way about my shoe, but I know that the day will come when I have to give them up. That's why I miss the clothing fairies. They would just be gone, and I would have new shoes when I came home from work. No fuss, No muss, just new shoes. My shoes would disappear humanely in the night, and I'd have new shoes when I woke up to go to work in the morning.

I think I need a vacation or something.

"Most people would rather be certain they're miserable than risk being happy."
Robert Anthony

Bachin' it in the Grocery Store.

Inspiration can come from the oddest places. I was out grabbing lunch from the friendly neighborhood grocery store when the proverbial muse shat on my head. Of all places, it hit me while waiting to buy my lunch in the express checkout line. You get to see the most interesting mix of people in the grocery store. It's kind of like dropping in on friends when they don't know you're coming. There is something about seeing your friends in a jogging suit with fuzzy bunny slippers that takes all the mystery out of them. People, for the most part, don't really seem to care about appearance or charisma whilst shopping for food, but the most eclectic mix is the bachelor.

There are three types of bachelor shoppers according to my calculations. The newborn (or reborn, it's a dual stage category), the perpetually depressed, and the career bachelor. I'm currently in the newborn shopping stage. What this means is I'm usually only buying things that are remotely healthy for me, and trying to recover some of the physique I had at 19-22. Looking down at the checkout line belt you will see a collection of salads, meats, water, fruits, vegetables and juices. If they are hardcore you'll see powerdrinks and possibly redbull. I don't know if it's delusions of grandeur or not, but most recovering bachelors hit this stage. They either start right away with this one, fall into the depressed one first and then come out swinging to the new(re)born stage. There are a couple of variations in the stages depending on the will power of the victim, but it usually a combo of the two. The second one is the depressed stage. These are the guys walking around in the 24 hour grocery stores at two in the morning wearing track pants, a 1988 Winter Olympics T-shirt and flip flops. Don't confuse this with the married guy out getting something for his wife. Watch the speed. Married guy will be flying all over the place frantically trying to get it all done as quick as possible. Depressed bachelor will be either shuffling very slowly or staring at the same thing on the shelf for ten minutes. You can laugh at these guys if you want. They probably won't notice. It's more of a memory thing for them. They seem to remember shopping at some point, and return because that's what you are supposed to do. Checkout belt usually holds 7 days of frozen dinners, snacks of all kinds, condiments, absolutely nothing green, and possibly a cake or two. Drinks, toiletries, and cleaning products will all be forgotten. It's the nature of the beast. The most amusing one by far is the career bachelor. These guys floor me. I'm sure they're happy and all in their solitude, but the shopping belt is hilarious. These guys are usually walking around the store, nicely dressed, with a basket, in a very cheerful mood picking out their items. Usually no more than a basket though. They are at the point where they know what they want and just go and get it as they need, which is what makes for the hilarity in the checkout line. There was a career bachelor in front of me in the line today at lunch, and no shit, this is what came out of his basket. Two cans of cat food, a bag of Smokey Bacon chips, a bag of party mix, a container of pistachio nuts, and a loaf of 100% whole wheat bread. That is a combination of things that is never meant to be in the same basket. Is that not art?

Shopping always sucks, especially food shopping. There is very few ways to make this an exciting experience, but in a past life a friend and I had invented the all time best food shopping game of all time. Here comes the disclaimer. I was 18, shopping with a room mate, and probably under the influence of something when this game was invented. Do not try what you are about to read at home. The rules were pretty simple. One of us had the cart (warning, this is last sane statement of the game), and the other would go find a toilet brush from one of the aisles. Who got what was determined by a coin flip. The object of the game was to finish shopping before a) we were kicked out of the store, or b) one of us couldn't walk anymore. The person with the cart had the responsibility of finding the items on the list and put them in the cart for check out. Because this was the position that sucked, you got the bigger weapon (the cart). The second person's job was to try to sneak things into the cart without the first person seeing them, but you had to hit the person with the cart in the back of the head with the toilet brush for the item to stay. It was the person with the carts job to stop the item from getting in the cart by either a) hearing the second person coming and swing the cart around at the best time to cause the most damage, or b) chase the second person down and rear-end them with the cart before leaving the aisle that you were currently in. If contact was made between the cart and the opponent with the toilet brush, you would switch positions with a 15 sec head start for the person with the brush. Let’s pause for a second. I shit you not. We played this game. I don't think I could get away with it now, not because I'd be embarrassed to try, but because I don't think I could get anyone to play it with me.

No quote today. I had one in the bank from last Sunday.

It's Just too Good Not to Share...

Or it could be the addiction to the Blackberries coming out again. Thx to Rome for the find. This isn't a real entry, but I couldn't resist sharing this one with everyone. Personally, I'd love to see the damn things go down. Maybe I could get a couple of hours sleep through the night without some being emailed about some Viagra emergency.