Addicted Still

I'm having my Green Tea and Passionfruit smoothie. With skim milk.

When I asked for it, the guy said: Do you want a cookie* with that? I laughed and said: I wouldn't have ordered skim milk if I was going to have a cookie. He said, you'd be surprised. I guess it's like the people who always have a Diet Coke with their Big Mac and fries.


*He didn't say biscuit or cake or crisp. Thankfully. No need to consult the High Court. This item is taxable, despite its healthiness. This seems wrong.

Pure Blogging Gold

I must thank my good friends at eHarmony for rejecting me because in so doing they have launched me on a summer project that I believe will provide a veritable goldmine of blogging material. I speak, of course, of internet dating.

I found another site to join. I filled out their questionnaire, and they accepted me. And, apparently they think I’m wonderful. To protect the innocent I’ll call it Anti-EHarmony (AEH) for now.

I hardly know where to begin. (Oh, my boss is on vacation for the next 3 weeks, which is great for blogging reasons and for Asian movie festival attendance reasons as well.)

First things first. Guys are stupid.

I want to speak to any woman who would be seriously interested in meeting a guy who uses either of these two words in his on-site nickname: “horny” or “licker”. Really, fellas. I’m going to spend one click of the mouse finding out about a guy nicknamed JoeHorny? That is pathetic.

Actually, thinking about it now, it would probably be great fun to check out what he had to say. Or very, very disturbing.

For research purposes I’ll have to decide whether to investigate this doofus, knowing that everyone can check out who has been checking their profile. And when, and how often. That’s fair, I believe, in this game. That means no stalking without the person’s knowledge. And there is a “block” function that can be used to stop someone from accessing your profile if they are creeping you out. Seems safe enough.

Pathetico No. 2. If you are a middle-aged very, very average looking guy, how much luck do you think you’re going to have when the first line of your profile says: I’m looking to have sex with two women at once. My advice: hire two hookers. There’s no other way, pal. And his name wasn’t even JoeHorny. Gotta give the guy credit for honesty, I suppose. He’s not wasting anyone’s time and I’m certainly not going to waste his.

Tennis Anyone?

I cannot believe how much of this beautiful Sunday I spent indoors watching Wimbledon. It just wouldn't end. Awesome match.

The world's gone Mad! Mad, I tell you

Pringles are not chips. The High Court says so. Well, what can we depend on in this crazy world anymore, I ask you.

"The makers of Pringles were yesterday celebrating a High Court ruling that the snack is not a crisp." (i.e. chip, as they are know round these parts)

"The Pringles case comes several years after McVities successfully argued that Jaffa Cakes were cakes rather than biscuits. Marks & Spencer was involved in a similar wrangle more recently over its tea cakes, which HM Revenue & Customs officials insisted were biscuits." (The Scotsman)

Biscuits, cakes, crisps, non-crisps. What's the world coming to? I despair. All these debates have to do with whether these items are subject to GST-type taxes or not, depending on how they are defined. The world is in turmoil. The centre cannot hold. Anarchy is loosed upon the world.

Romance is Dead to Me

This is hilarious.

I came home from work tonight depressed and feeling sorry for myself. I need to marry a millionaire so I can leave my rotten place of employment forever and live happily ever after.
But where to meet a millionaire?

So, after seeing their many t.v. commercials, I went to eharmony.com to find my match. It’s true! I did. I filled out an incredibly long personality profile which, as instructed, I answered as honestly as I could.

At the end, here is what they told me.

Quote: One of the requirements for successful matching is that participants fall within certain defined profiles. If we find that we will not be able to match a user using these profiles, we feel it is only fair to inform them early in the process.

We are so convinced of the importance of creating compatible matches to help people establish happy, lasting relationships that we sometimes choose not to provide service rather than risk an uncertain match.

Unfortunately, we are not able to make our profiles work for you. Our matching model could not accurately predict with whom you would be best matched.. We hope that you understand, and we regret our inability to provide service for you at this time. Unquote.

I’ve been rejected by eharmony. I’m a hideous troll! Yikes! I am unmatchable.

But, seriously, I remember reading that this company is subtly religious, i.e. it likes to match up churchy people, without ever saying that this is what they are doing. Could this be true? There were 5 or 6 questions about religion and I answered "No" or "Not at all important" to all of them. I suspect this makes me untouchable in their eyes. Don’t they even want to save my soul? Don’t they want my money? My non-existent romantic life = death of capitalism?

If it isn’t the religion thing, then what else? The problem is, of course, that they don’t tell me why I’m unmatchable in their opinion. Where am I falling outside "normal" parameters? I didn’t even hint at "must be George Clooney" or "must be a millionaire". I was being realistic! I guess I shouldn't have answered honestly.

So now what do I do?

Dear Lord

Since this is the week that contains both a Canadian Holiday and an American Holiday, let's take a moment to compare the behaviour of each of these peoples at the gas pump.

Canadians will swear under their breath while filling up, and blame the government, taxes, greedy oil companies for the high prices, whereas Americans...

...will pray at the pump.

Yep, there's a group of people in Ohio who are going to gas stations and forming prayer circles, asking Jesus to lower the price of gas.

They also want to go to Washington and pray in front of the Saudi Embassy. Yep, that'll help. Doesn't the greatest percentage of US oil get imported from Canada? Pray to ME you kooks! I demand it!

Onward I trudge

I received an acknowledgement from NYC of my application to get on the roster.

Sometime in August I'm supposed to check their website to see if my magical application file number appears on the list of people who will be invited to sit the exam.

I spend my life waiting for a moment that just don't come. Bruce would advise I shouldn't waste my time waiting, wouldn't he?

Middle-age health woes

I have to share this because it was such a Dean Martin moment.

JAW Fan calls me to complain about his sore back, and in the background I hear this loud tinkling noise. I'm about to ask if those are ice cubes I hear, but he beats me to it by saying he's fixing himself a vodka.

I believe it was Homer who said: Alcohol, the cause of and solution to, all of life's problems.

I really think he needed to down some painkillers with that vodka, but he preferred to actually wake up tomorrow morning. I just can't figure out how a person drinks vodka while lying on his back on the floor. I can understand ending up on your back on the floor after consuming vodka (especially with painkillers) but not during the consumption process.

My Name is Nanuk...and I am an Addict

I'm sliding down a slippery slope.

Last month while in The Holy City I went to Second Cup with my sis and niece, and I ordered a green tea-and-passion fruit smoothie. I loved it passionately. So, I resisted going back because I knew from that very moment that this was a bad, bad thing.

Who says you can't get hooked on one hit?

Yesterday, in honour of Canada Day (what an excuse!), I went to SC and bought another. It had been a whole month.

Now I'm sipping another one. From one month between Smoothie Nos. 1 and 2, to a mere 24 hours between Nos. 2 and 3.

At least I'm getting them made with skim milk. But still. I'm feeling decadent. .... And loving it.

Survey says

51 percent of U.S. workers 18 and older say their biggest source of stress on the job is their colleagues, according to an online survey.

Only 51 percent, says I?

I thought stupid annoying colleagues would be the main factor for about 95 percent of workers.

Back to the ole drawing board

I've officially given up on the London job. Tomorrow will mark 5 weeks since I wrote the test, and I got nuthin' from them. I have to assume the people who are short-listed for an interview have been contacted by now. And everyone else, i.e. yours truly, is an also-ran. harumph. I knew the test was a c***sucker, but I still held out that little glimmer of hope. The light has gone out now. pffft. extinguished.

Onward. I completed my application for another job. This is not for one specific job, but to be on the roster of our Big Brothers down in NYC. This is a roster of jobs in the writing, editing, and/or reporting field. You get called either to HQ or to some place in the field.

I don't really want a job through these channels, I just want to write the exam to get more exam-writing practice. The test lasts a whole day, and then there's an interview. Again, only if you are successful on the test do you get an interview. Who knows what comes of this.

Problem with being on a roster is you basically have to take whatever position comes open. You have one chance to turn down an assignment. If you turn down a second offer, you are ziiiip off the roster. And there are very few places where our Big Brothers have offices that I'd be interested in moving to. i.e. NYC, Wash, D.C., Paris, and of course, Roma.

But Geneva? There's lots o'jobs in Geneva. yawn. I'd rather shoot myself than move to Geneva. Bor-ing town. Nairobi? I'd rather shoot myself in Geneva than go to Nairobi. So basically it's NYC or bust. Bangkok? Verrry nice place to visit, but I wouldn't want to live there.

I'm sick of my current employer. It's so corrupt. How corrupt is it? you may ask. Here's last week's example: Our head of HR is engaged to be married as soon as his divorce becomes final. His intended is a woman in a technical support job that is graded one level below mine. On the same day we hear about the engagement, we learn that The Intended has been promoted to an analyst job three grades higher than mine. What an amazing coincidence. I can't stand these jerks anymore.

Happy Canada Day!

It's Canada Day, or as it is known in this igloo: Time to Paint the Front Porch Day.

Yesterday, the weather station threw me a curveball and announced it would NOT rain today, so I sped (well, sort of) off to Reno to buy wood stain for the front porch. Is it a sign of lengthy, too lengthy home ownership to be disoriented and lost when Reno no longer carries one's "brand" of wood stain. I was upset. I wanted my brand. No dice.

So I bought CIL instead. Seems okay. But it is oil-based. Strongly oil based. I wondered if some desperate person could come along and siphon the oil off my porch? It is so oil-based that if I was opening the can and using this stuff indoors I would be higher than Harold and Kumar by now. I'd even find their jokes funny probably.

Anyway, first coat is done. Second coat will be applied on the weekend. The exciting joys of summer. Still beats shovelling 20 cm of snow off the darn porch.

Quiet Monday

Ho hum. Another leisurely day at home. Picked up my fantasia programme and have been sitting in the sun reading it. Had to come inside because the sun is strong and was making me wonky.

My big decisions today involve how to fit the Johnnie To movies into my fantasia viewing.

I could get used to this not-working routine. ah.

Note to self: Buy lottery ticket. Do lucky dance.

The Spaniards who blighted my life*

* see YouTube: Bing Crosby and Al Jolson.

Oh well. Seems like I didn't get a single prediction right in the whole tournament. So my fearless prediction for a German victory was doomed to failure.

I usually like Ballack, but I thought he was quite ungentlemanly today. He disappointed me.

Well done, Spain. A good team.

The Cuteness of War

On the few occasions that I have watched CBS Evening News coverage of the Iraq war, I have often wondered how Lara Logan can wear a dorky army helmet that looks like a chamber pot and still manage to be so cute.

I would be thinking, that helmet is regulation ugh-ly and but she's still so cute in it.

Such cuteness will inevitably, in a war zone, make one a victim of....pursuit by a drunken Australian war correspondent.

Oh Lara. You couldn't resist Michael Ware, could you? Well, who could, sez I.

But Mick was just a bit playa in this story, as it appears cutie Lara was also an element in the break-up of some State Department guy's marriage.

It's the helmet. Guys can't resist a gal who's so cute in a helmet.

Hallelujah

Leonard Cohen was amazing. I’m so glad I went. Over the past 30 years I’ve thought of him as a songwriter and a poet, but not really as an entertainer. But he is. Very entertaining. Humble and charismatic.

Highlights. So many highlights. What wasn’t a highlight? For me, the big moment was Hallelujah. Not a song I’ve particularly been drawn to, but the way he performed it last night, with a really surprisingly strong voice, was awesome. You don’t have to be religious to be touched by the power of the word Hallelujah, sung in the right context. It was tremendously moving. Wow. Still can’t get over that.

Next for me was Suzanne. I never realized I’d been waiting 30 years to hear him sing that song in person, but I guess I was. It was amazing.

Also fantastic was Closing Time. What a great, great song. And it really rocked! I’m still singing it in my head. He had an absolutely great band backing him. One guy in particular, on sax and a variety of winds, was so good, I’d go see him on his own. And Lenny is very generous with the spotlight; everyone got lots of solos and he seemed enthralled listening to everyone’s else playing.

And he ran, on and off the stage. And he dropped to his knees and bounced back up. I can barely do that now; I can’t imagine doing it when I’m 70+. I kept thinking: Lenny, slow down, you’ll hurt yourself. He really looked like he could be anybody’s grandpa. Grandpa…with a lively past.

I’ve never much cared for Bird on the Wire, but it was really jazzed up and I liked that a lot too. What else? Take this Waltz. Great. Democracy. Great. Sisters of Mercy. Great. There wasn’t a dud in the whole night. A Thousand Kisses he just recited, didn’t sing, and, hey guess what, it’s a real poem. Gorgeous. I could go on and on and on.

Japanese Toilet Update

Remember how much I raved about the washroom at Narita airport? I still hold fond memories of that bathroom stall.

MSNBC has an article today about this fave topic of mine.

Japanese toilets. How I love ‘em.

“Japanese toilets can warm and wash one's bottom, whisk away odors with built-in fans and play water noises that drown out potty sounds. They play relaxation music, too. "Ave Maria" is a favorite.

“High-end toilets can also sense when someone enters or leaves the bathroom, raising or lowering their lids accordingly. Many models have a "learning mode," which allows them to memorize the lavatory schedules of household members.”

How I love the Japanese.

Here’s a weird fact: 23 to 30 percent of Japanese men now sit while urinating. They do so, the report said, for comfort and for "prevention of urine splash."

Japanese women urinate eight times a day, with an average on-seat time of 96 seconds.

On-seat time. Yo, what’s your on-seat time? I love this statistic.

Holy Pants, Batman

You know what I hate? Being spied on, and then gossiped about. Especially by someone I met once, over 10 years ago.

Background. A few months ago, I was on my usual morning bus ride. I was wearing a short jacket. Nothing much happened. When I got to my desk that morning, as I was sitting down, I felt that I had a piece of tape stuck to my bottom. (I'm wondering now why I never blogged about it, as it was quite funny at the time.) Anyway, I deduced at the time that I'd probably gotten off the bus with this tape on my ass and walked a block to work, again with this tape stuck to my ass, come up in the elevator etc etc. (The more I think about it, the funnier it gets this morning.)

So this a.m. JAW Fan calls and tells me that a friend of his who he no longer sees and who I met once over 10 years ago, saw me that fateful morning, with my piece of tape stuck to my backside, and thought I had ripppped my pants and my underwear was showing. All this was related by another friend, who I also met many years ago, maybe once. I'm not even asking why I was being talked about.

First of all, I can't remember what somebody looks like unless I've met them at least three times, and I certainly can't recognize someone I met once 10+ years ago. How can anyone recognize me in these circumstances? So, yeah, I feel like I was being spied on, and no, those were not my underpants I was exposing to the good folk on the morning commute.

You know how you come up with nicknames for people you see every day but don't actually know them. I guess I'm Underwear Woman or Holey Pants to several people on the bus. I guess it's better than Ms Stinky or Jungle Breath.

Happy St. Johnny B.

My Holiday so far....and it's only 9:03 a.m.

Today is our Fete Nationale. If you don't live here you may well ask how a "province" can have a "national" holiday. You may well ask. But that only proves you don't live here (lucky you). And at age 47, having spent the vast majority of those years in this province, I just can't be bothered to explain it. It's exhausting. Life is too short.

So...my day so far. My Holiday day.

At 6:50 a.m. I am sleeping soudly, but then I hear a loud noise, a tock tock tock tock noise. My street is tres peaceful so a loud noise like this is tres noticeable. I get up and look out the window. There's a cable guy across the street! At six effing fifty. Doesn't he know it's Fete? What is he? Some kind of federalist trouble-maker? I blame Harper for this.

He's pushing a long ladder up against a pole and as each step falls into place: tock, tock, tock, tock. argh. I go back to bed. But now, it's feline bed invasion, as dumb cats who cannot read a calendar properly just think it's Tuesday. They don't know it's Fete! They want breakfast. I shoo them away and after 10 minutes or so, they leave, hating me.

At 7:30 I haven't managed to go back to sleep, but I'm refusing to get up despite the return of the cats and some insistent paws in my face. "Get up, you lazy woman", the cats say, "we don't care that it's Fete. We're anglos and we're hungry." I pull the blanket over my head. And then...in the distance...

A lawn-mower. weep. Isn't there a by-law against noise before 8:00 a.m. I thought there was. Especially on Fete! I can tell it isn't on my street, but on the next street over. Then a second mower joins in. No rest, no Fete for Italian lawn contractors. I guess they're still annoyed about the penalty shoot-out and if they have to be miserable, why spare anyone else. Right.

So I get up at 7:50. Feed the cats. Do they thank me? They do not. By 8:03 I am dressed in my running clothes and sneakers and I'm off to the soccer field to run the perimeter a couple of times. Not joking. I did this. Thank you, cable guy, for waking me early. Thank you, Italian lawn mowing guys, for keeping me awake.

Now I am refreshed, drinking my coffee, and blogging off at the mouth. There's a load of laundry done. I have energy. I deserve a nap in the afternoon.

Enough of this

Another person I know died over the weekend. She was a work colleague who was in Russian class with me over a few years. We "studied" Russian over the lunch hour, but I never learned anything. I have a vocabulary of about 10 words.

Karandash = pencil. whoo hoo.

Anyway, she had cancer and didn't make it to 50.

This is the fourth person I know who has died in the past two months. Which leads me to ask:

What's with all this dyin' shit?

I'm fed up with it.

First my friend Linda, then a translator who worked on our floor, then my neighbour two doors down and now this. Enough. I've had enough.

Used to be, when I heard someone had died, it was somebody's parent. Now it's the people I know themselves. Frig.

Ha Ha

Thanks to a link from the PostPessimist, I found this great site of comics from Kate Beaton. A lot are history related, and some are just weird. But this one is close to my heart for obvious reasons.

Sigh

I said it before, I say it again. I hate penalty shoot-outs. Bleh.

I knew they couldn't go far without Cannavaro. Oh well.

Go Russia.

Here we go again

The Azzurri face the music again today.

And, for a change, I'll be at home in front of the t.v. watching the thing unfold.

I can't stand it.

More soccer

Wow. This Euro just keeps getting more exciting by the day.

I still can't believe the Dutch went down. Wow. Those plucky Russkies.

Folds

I've been searching the internet looking for the right expression to describe Croatia's performance today.

Folded like a cheap suit?
Folded like a concertina? (not bad)
Folded like a crash test dummy?
Folded like a cheap plastic chair?

They all work. I cannot get over the last 5 minutes of that match. And the penalty kicks. I hate the penalty kick shoot-out; I think teams should go to sudden death and just play until someone scores. But today's 3 out of 4 misses by the Crow-hats was unbelievable.

The Turks are an oddball force of nature.

Line of the Day: US Politics Edition

John McCain is so old when he talk about Iraq he calls it Babylon.

har har

Let's talk about feet

More specifically, the severed feet that keep washing up on our western coastline.

Two more just this week.

What is up with this?

I had assumed, when these little feeties started appearing on the news, that they were bare feet. But no. They are severed feet in socks and shoes.

Where are they coming from?

My theory, and I'm sticking to it, is that there is a mad serial killer/foot severer on the loose in Japan, and he throws the severed feet into the ocean and now they are showing up in BC. This theory is based solely on the fact that I have seen entirely too many Takashi Miike movies.

Hump Day Question

Here is the kind of question that could only come from JAW Fan. This is based on the comments posted earlier about JAW Fan admitting that, in a pinch, he’d lather up del Piero. Even though the latter is under age 50, and by definition, not desirable to the former.

Question is: what would you do for a friend? How far would you go for a friend's fun and pleasure?

It’s one thing to lather up del Piero for one’s own future…um…entanglements with him. But what if one was asked to do the lathering up for someone’s else pleasure? Would you do it?

Example: Is JAW Fan prepared to lather up del Piero so that I, Nanuk, can be the one to later….um…enjoy young Alessandro? i.e. there’s no pay-off for JAW Fan. (Well, that point can be argued.)

Or: Would I be prepared to do the lathering up of del P. so that JAW Fan can get the reward? (Probably not. It’s just too unfair.)

Seriously, using different friends and different scenarios, this is an interesting way to judge the closeness of friendships. Of course, if this goes on for too long, del Piero gets rubbed raw.

There is joy in Nanukville

O, my beloved Azzurri. How wonderful you are.

How delightful that you live on, you will get to face Spain, and have your asses handed to you on a plate.

Afghanistan

This whole prison break story in Kandahar is unbelievable. The Taliban breached the prison walls using suicide bombers and sprang a whole bunch of guys. You almost have to think: cooool.

If this was a movie it would star Charles Bronson and Steve McQueen in beards.

Now everybody is in a panic because they think these sprung guys are planning to take over parts of Kandahar. Okay.

Sprung Talibaners: 350
NATO troops in A'stan: 65,000.

That's 185 NATO troops for every Talibaner. And the troops are panicky?

This is a movie, right? This can't be real.

Another High Tension Day

Mama Mia! What will happen to the Azzurri today?

Will the Dutch help them out by pounding the crap out of the Romanians?

Will they help themselves by actually winning?

I can't stand it.

File this under "Believe It Or Not"

On Saturday afternoon, yours truly, in the costume of an Italian tenor, including cape, gloves and fake beard made of felt, stood up and sang in front of 30 people, about half of whom were strangers. Yes, me, your humble blogger.

I still can’t believe I did that.

I had written a song parody for a friend’s birthday, and one thing led to another, and it turned into a mini-opera, with me as the soloist and the girls from work as my chorus.

Repeat: I still can’t believe I did that.

Given that a) I’m a total introvert and b) I’m tone deaf and have no voice at all, it was surreal and hilarious.

I volunteered to do this, and was totally calm about it, right up until I started singing. Then about two lines in, I had a panic attack. My hands started trembling, but I knew I had to keep going. A big voice inside my head screamed: What the f*** am I doing here?

And all I had before was 2 shandys. I wasn't even close to drunk.

But we all got through it, got huge screaming laughs, and a standing ovation from all present. And the birthday girl looked pretty pleased. And stunned.

I dunno what’s gotten into me lately.

Happy Bloomsday

Wouldn't it be better to be in Dublin, strolling the streets with a piece of soap in your pocket, than doing whatever it is you are doing right now?

A Painful Victory

Yankees Lose Wang in Rout of Astros

Just one, though, apparently.

D-Day

Happy Father's Day to the dads out there. I know there's a couple of you reading.

As kids, we would always say to my father: what do you want for Father's Day?
Answer: Peace and quiet!*

Repeat joke, every Father's Day and birthday.

*He never got his wish, being outnumbered 3 to 1 on the female-to-male ratio.

Gasp-a, Gasp-a

The Azzurri aren't quite dead yet. They hang on valiantly. Operatically.

Fortunately, les bleus look pretty crappy, so I have great hope for Italy against France. (I know, now I've gone and done it. I've doomed them.)

And the Dutch look like they could win even without taking the field, so even if they use their B side they should still defeat Romania. I hope. Please.

There's no tomorrow

Get out your clichés!

It's do or die for the Azzurri today. It's all or nothing.

Their lovely backs are up against the wall.

My heart is pained to operatic heights.

South Beach Demise

I saw my doctor today and he shook his head, and tsked tsked me.

Seems South Beach is not the right diet for me. He said I can stay on it for 2 to 3 weeks, but then I gotta give up the red meat, cheese and eggs that are staples of the South Beach way of life.

This is a first. Being told not to diet. Well, he didn't actually say that. He's still demanding to see some serious weight loss by October or his patience will officially run out.

I told my sis and she called my doctor a quote killjoy unquote. Enuf said.

Euro News

Now I'm jinxing the Germans!

How do I do it?

TV News

CTV has finally got around to airing Mad Men. I've been waiting forever for this show.

The first episode did not disappoint. It is as has been described: everybody smokes constantly. My sister kept saying "Did people smoke that much?" We can't remember the 60's and smoking, although both our parents smoked at the time. I do recall that.

Also, everyone (i.e the men) is drinking at the office. Love that. The anti-semitism is weirdly casual, and I doubt that black people even exist in this world.

Anyway the show looks great. I love the clothes and the hairstyles. And the amazingly sexist dialogue. At one point, a boss (male, of course) tells a secretary (female, of course) to go home and put her curlers on and relax. My sis said "Anyone who doesn't call herself a feminist should ask herself if THIS is what she wants to go back to."

All the characters seem pretty nasty and conniving. I'll keep watching because I love nastiness, but I think sis will tune out because the creeps on the show were giving her the creeps.

O My Alessandro

As I fear my days of gazing upon the Azzurri are numbered, I just gotta post one lil picture.

What's Italian for "quel babe"?

On the Beach

It's Tuesday. I've been on the South Beach Diet for a whole 8 hours, and I haven't cheated yet.

This is an accomplishment of outstanding proportions.

How come my pants don't feel loose yet? What's taking so long?

Le Grand Prix

Catching up on late news.

If I'm ever at a red light and see Lewis Hamilton coming up behind me, I'm gonna hope my air bag is working. Dumb kid.

The Scottish Play

On the weekend in the Holy City, we did something we’ve never done before. We went to a play.

The National Theatre of Scotland was presenting its play on the Black Watch, and the regiment’s deployment to Iraq. In the spirit of the production, I have to say it was fucking fantastic. Even my army-lovin’ nephew liked it, and he confirmed that the lingo was authentically military, i.e. literally every second word was an “f” word or a “c” word.

The staging was excellent, but the place was sweltering hot. The performances were really really athletic as these guys did a tremendous amount of running, jumping and getting blown up.

The highlight for me was a segment where one guy recites the entire 300-year history of the regiment, while the other actors carry him around and dress and undress him in the evolving uniform. It was so cool, done so fast and so smoothly, I was impressed and not just because I got to watch a Scotsman getting dressed and undressed.

Here’s the YouTube clip of the promo. http://youtube.com/watch?v=6j_DqmTXHP8

The Belmont

(I'm home from Toronto.)

If anyone needs a horse jinxed, just leave a comment at this site.

Apparently my horse jinxing skills are at their most powerful and awesome level ever.

Friday Rount-Up

1) I heard from the folks in London that my exam has been received there and is currently being corrected. This, at least, alleviates my fear that my papers fell into the Atlantic.

2) Seems to be lots of new news on our girl Julie and her boobs and her/their more recent connections to organized crime. Max still hasn’t surfaced. Where in the world in Max?

3) Euro2008 starts tomorrow. Ms. Mushrooms has a question for JAW Fan on this subject: How can he not be a fan of this veritable Man Fest? Any man-watcher worth her/his salt, has to watch soccer, especially Euro soccer. No?

4) Finally, out with the girls last night. In our group of seven (how Canadian), four were sober (including me, I had the car) and three got absolutely hammered. Seriously shit-faced. I then had to endure a drunken tirade from a good friend, about how “stoic” I always am, and how I never get drunk, and never “relax”. Oh, yes, I thought, that is so true. Never.

Over and over and over again

If you were like me as a child, you could listen to the same record many, many times in a row.

What is the song you think you've listened to the most times in your life? (Mr. Anonymous wants to know! Don't disappoint Mr. Anonymous.)

As a kid I must've listened to ABC by the Jackson 5 hundreds of times. I still like it.

Present day, as an ipod wearer, I had to think about what is the song on the ipod I'm most likely to just flip to while I'm the bus, just because I always feel like listening to it. This may be a surprise, but it's Sweet Child o' Mine. I don't think I've ever worn my ipod without listening to it at least once. It's such a great song.

Trousers Rolled

We are old. We got information on the demographics of our staff today.

Of the over 700 employees here, only 15 are in their 20's. 15 out of 700.

We have a mandatory retirement age of 60, but there are 33 people over 60 still working here. Does this make sense?

What happens to youthful enthusiasm and drive and innovation? I guess we say pfffft to that.

A huge chunk of people are in their 50's. Half the staff will be retiring in the next 10 years. It seems like nobody but me is alarmed about this looming mass exodus. It's like everybody is dreaming of their retirement and saying "apres moi, le deluge". Nobody cares.

What's even scarier is that one of the super-ambitious younger managers, the type that the future of the place is being built on, resigned this week. There are greener pastures for her out there. We are so screwed.

In Sport News

Ta-da! (Applause, applause, applesauce)

For the first time in my life, my fearless sport prediction has come true. Congratulations Red Wings.

I shall now continue to ride my wave of infallibility.

The Belmont: Big Brown wins. First Triple Crown winner since 1978.

Euro2008: My heart still bleeds Azzurri blue, but the Italians won't do it.
Winner will be: Germany.

American Politics

It would be wrong to ignore the Obama story, so here goes. I'm happy. But I like Hillz and I would've been happy with her getting the nomination, too. So, there ya go. I'm happy. Go Barry!

I hope, when he's President, that he goes back to smoking in public. He's kind of a sexy smoker, and that's what the world needs now.

But who I really like is Michele Obama. Every time I hear her speak, I wanna say "You go, girl" and I've never, ever said "You go, girl" to anyone about anything in my entire life. So, there ya go...girl.

Diet Talk from Kingsley Amis

He said: “The first, indeed the only, requirement of a diet is that it should lose you weight without reducing your alcoholic intake by the smallest degree.”



Amis's three books on drinking have been reissued in a single volume. I'll drink to that.

Here I go again

Next Tuesday I plan to start the South Beach Diet. Why? Well, other than the obvious (I’m fat), I got the book for $2 at the book sale last week and thought, why not?

Why next Tuesday? Because I have a pig-out scheduled for tomorrow night, then I’m off to the Holy City on Saturday for my sis’s birthday on Sunday. (Hello, Dairy Queen Ice Cream Cake.) I shall return on Monday to commence the diet on Tuesday.

I’ll be seeing the doctor on Thursday, where I’ll be able to say to him that I’ve been on a diet for 48 hours, can’t you tell?

Why are you getting a one-week warning about this? It provides ample time to find other blogs to read because I’m going to be a very crabby crab, a chipless crab, a pastaless crab, a carbless crab, while doing this, and it won’t be pretty. I might even write nasty things.

I’m giving it a 3-week try. It appears to work because I've lost a pound this week just thinking about starting it. That's pretty impressive.

Alas, if it doesn’t work, I’ll just find a homeless Japanese woman to come live in my closet and eat all my food while I’m out.

How could he not know?

This is one of those odd news stories that I just don’t get. I’m talking about the guy in Japan who found the woman living in his closet.

Homes in Japan are tiny. How can someone be living in your house and you don’t know it. I take it she never wore squeaky shoes. And his floorboards don’t creak. And he’s a heavy sleeper. I wake up if the cats make too much noise going downstairs.

Over the months, he noticed food disappearing from his house. But this wasn’t enough to do a thorough search of his house? Did he just shrug, and say, oh well, some food disappeared. How long did he wait? I’d be going nuts if food suddenly went missing (especially Pringles). I’d assume the cats had gotten into something and had learned how to open the fridge. They are diabolical.

Also, the first time she went in because the door was unlocked, but what about all the other times. Did the guy never lock his front door? Even after the food started disappearing? If he didn’t, he deserves to have a homeless woman living in his closet.

The guy is dumb. And he lives in Japan, home of Takashi Miike. Did he not realize the danger he was in. Freakish mutilation could have occurred, or at the very least, crazed schoolgirls might’ve chased him and loved him up. Hmmmm.

RIP

To honour the memory of Fredric Baur, I bought a can of Pringles today. I felt obliged.

Good News

The Cloonster is single again.

The sun rises; the sun sets. And George dumps another waitress.

Today in shocking, scandalous chip news

Back on May 5th (you can look it up) I wrote the following: "At the risk of stating the obvious, my urn should be Pringles can. Sour Cream 'n' Onion, if available. Cheez'ums also acceptable in a pinch."

Today, via a loyal reader (you could all fit in one giant Pringles can, probably) comes this alarming news:

"Dr. Fredric J. Baur was so proud of having designed the container for Pringles potato crisps that he asked his family to bury him in one.

His children honored his request. Part of his remains was buried in a Pringles can - along with a regular urn containing the rest - in his grave at Arlington Memorial Gardens in Springfield Township." (Cincinnati.com)

Baur, that freakin' little so-and-so. How dare he steal my idea? Just 'cause he invented it? That's his reason? Harumph. Double harumph.

I'll wager he probably requested the traditional red can, and I'm still leaning toward the green SC and O, so I hope I still have that going for me. gawd. Is nothing sacred?

Today in Politics

Apparently in the Commons today the Opposition will be demanding an official inquiry into Julie, her boobs and her other boob.

I'm so relieved.

Even though it's been more than a week, I'm still enjoying this story. And I was worried it would start to fade away, that the media's interest might sag, so to speak. But no. This story has legs. Legs about boobs. So there ya go.

And if Stockwell Day is defending the government on this, well, even better. That's even more boob for our buck.

Isn't it about time Max the Moob surfaced? He can't stay in hiding forever.

Celeb Death Overload

What do Harvey Korman, Yves St. Laurent and Bo Diddley have in common?

They're all dead.

Don't look for a joke. There isn't any. I'm just keeping up to date on the news.

Benefits of Blogging

I'm doing a NY Times Crossword right now.

Clue for 9 Down: Natl. Poetry Mo.

Answer: (we all know it!) Apr.

Harvey Korman Died

I loved Harvey Korman.

In his honour, everyone should try to muffle their laughter today, and not succeed.

Post-Blue Martini

I'm tired.
Feelin' like hell.
Lookin' like hell.

It was a good evening. I'm strongly contemplating leaving at noon. yawn.

PTSD

After the excitement of yesterday, I seem to be suffering from post-traumatic stress.

Or else, I'm just bored.

And, once again, got nuthin' to blog about.

I have a birthday bash thing to go to tonight. And I just found out I've got a lift, so I don't need to drive. Maybe I'll have a few too many drinks. Then tomorrow I can perch at my desk and feel really miserable.

The Test

Well, I'm back.

How bad was it?

Well, it's 12:50 p.m. and I'm having a beer. I may have another.

Al Swearingen would call this test a c***sucker.

Bad.

I could've done a decent job on it if I had been given 3 hours. But it was 90 minutes. I finished it, but just. And I know I missed a hundred things.

First impression is that I passed the editing part and probably failed the writing part. The writing portion was only 30 minutes and it is so hard to formulate decent sentences (about the legal aspects of shipwrecks! fuck!) under that kind of pressure. Urgh.

I was the only person writing the test. Which is too bad, because when I finished I was so wound up that what I really needed was someone to giggle hysterically with. Fortunately the HR secretary was super nice and listened to me babble a bit.

Gawd.

Le Countdown begins...

In a mere 24 hours from now, I will be at the University of Montreal chicken-scratching my way through my test. urgh.

You'd think they'd lend me a laptop to write on. But no. It's a hand-written examination. Wait until they come to grade it. One look at my penmanship, and they will throw out my application saying, there's been a huge mistake, we gave this test to a 6-year-old. sigh.

Also tomorrow in work-related news, our Ms. Mushrooms boards a big old jet airliner to sunny, flooded New Brunswick. Land of...um....Acadians, and big strange rock formations, and floods. I hope the water levels are under control. I hope her nerves are under control.

Remember to get those 100 ml liquids into a plastic bag for security inspection.

Sayonara, Max

I loves me a political resignation.

Today I was browsing Le Devoir’s web site (instead of working, I admit) and they had an "expose" of Julie Coulliard, the Foreign Minister’s ex-squeeze. I thought I’d have to clean my computer because this woman is dirrrty. We already knew about her relationships with Hell’s Angels guys, but this was about her further business dealings with underworld people, her bogus "airport security" business which she has no expertise in at all, the suicide of her ex-business partner, her questioning by police in a murder investigation, etc. Bad news. Ugly news.

And tonight, surprise surprise, Maxime the Foreign Minister is gone, baby, gone.

What an idiot. Maxime has no judgement. There is no way this guy should’ve been holding the highest level security post in the Government. Now what? He left confidential documents in her apartment? Argh. Afghanistan? Who cares about Afghanistan, I have a dangerously hot girlfriend!

No wonder he’s gone. Though I’m no fan of Stevie Harper’s I’ve got to say that at least I know he’s a serious adult, and that he thinks with his brain and not with his wang.

One Day Late

Paul Weller turned 50 yesterday. Happy belated birthday to him.

Everyone's getting old. wah.

You Bet

Dick Martin died. I don't have much to say about this except it will be fun to search obits looking for the word bippy.

Sunday morning chip blogging

I bought the new double-whammy Doritos, the ones with two flavours in the same bag. Interesting concept. Thumbs up for the concept.

As soon as I opened the bag and looked inside, I knew what the fundamental issue would be with these. The issue that will divide the chip-eating population into two camps. The Hillary vs Obama of chip debates. The Hot stuff (good ole girl Hillary) flavoured chips are a deep red and the blue cheese (elitist Obama) flavoured ones are a perky natural corn chip colour. This makes them easy to tell apart. So the question is: How do I eat them?

Do I alternate: a hot stuff, a blue cheese, a hot stuff, a blue cheese? Do I eat all the blue cheese first since this is the flavour I prefer? Or should I eat all the hot stuff first and get them out of the way. It's a dilemma, that's fer shure.

The hot stuff ones are too hot for me. I like spicy food, as anyone who has ever watched me enjoy curry chicken while wiping the sweat off my face, will attest. But I don't much like this particular type of hotness. I'll eat 'em, of course. That goes without saying. But I wouldn't want a full bag of this flavour.

I love the blue cheese, tho. They really have a distinct authentic blue cheesiness taste going down. But not everybody likes blue cheese. In fact, I'd bet a large majority of the population dislikes blue cheese due to its strong flavour. But I like these alot.

Conclusion: I was fortunate in that the proportion of blue cheese to hot stuff chips in my particular single-serving bag was 2 to 1. So I got rid of the hot stuff quickly (i.e. munch, munch, munch) and then could enjoy the blue cheese at my leisure. I still have half the bag left. What self control.

Slacker

Seems like I have no complaints lately, therefore I have nothing to blog about.

This is weird.

Big Game Today

In non-hockey sport* news: The Champions League Final is on today.

Guess I'll have to be a bit distracted by the Internet this afternoon.

Go Chelsea. Kill Man U.


*Note I said "sport" news like they do on the BBC, and not "sports" news. I'm so Eeenglish.

UPDATE: John Terry is dead to me. Useless man.

Asians and Hockey

First, a bit about the Finals: yay, I'm glad we're going to see that Red Wings-Penguins final. (Sorry to anybody who isn't so happy, you know who you are.) My doubts about Detroit persist, though. I can see Pittsburgh winning it all.

In other hockey news, a friend of mine was happy today because her husband's team won a hockey tournament. This was a tournament for Asian teams only, meaning Canadians of Asian descent. And it was the 19th year they held this tournament.

I told her I didn't know what was more surprising: that Asians play hockey at all, or that they are on the 19th anniversary of their league.

Ever seen a Chinese hockey player? I haven't. Other than my friend's husband, and technically speaking I haven't seen him actually playing hockey. The only NHLer I could of that was Asian was Paul Kariya and I think he was only half-Japanese.

I wonder if their goaltenders are half-Chinese, half-French Canadian. Because frankly if you expect to have any success at all, you have to have a French-Canadian goalie.

Will ya look at those?

British men are obsessed with boobs. But not women's boobs, their own.

I blogged about this a long time ago, but I feel compelled to return to this subject because a) it amuses me, and b) it allows me to use one of my new fave words: moobs.

The Health Section of today's Times of London has this headline: Obesity fuels growing ‘boy-boob’ problem.

"Obesity has been blamed for the growing problem of “boy-boobs” – cases of teenage boys with breasts so well developed that surgery is needed to reduce them. "

So if the problem(s) is on an adult male, we use the word moobs, but if it is in regard to a teenage boy we use the term boy-boobs.

I wonder if this is gonna be on my test.

Now I'm not so keen on England. I don't want to go to a country where the men have larger breasts than I do. (Insert your own "not hard to beat" joke here.)

Movie News

News from Cannes that is guaranteed to give JAW Fan a fit: Wong Kar Wai presented the newly issued "definitive version" of Ashes of Time.

Apparently it looks gorgeous, and it's still impossible to know what's going on.

Given these parameters, we can only hope a definitive version of Chinese Odyssey is coming, too.

I love Ashes of Time. Is a DVD on the way...? Yes, please, I would like one. That would be very nice.

Queen of Denial

I just finished cleaning my bathroom. And why was I doing this on a Holiday Monday? Because I'm avoiding something else. The only time my toilet sparkles is when I'm pretending I don't have something else to do.

I'm supposed to be reading sample exams, and looking at vocabulary, prepping for my test. But am I doing that? I am not. I've been cleaning mildew out of the corners of the bathtub tiles with a toothbrush. This is serious denial.

I had a quick read of some of the material, and you know what? It's really British! Yikes! By jove! (Where's Blaque Jacques Parizeau when I need him?) I feel very North American reading this stuffy stuff.

On Friday one of my colleagues was looking at it. She noted one paragraph that began "Annexed hereto" and said: we don't say that. Nope. We don't say that. What are these people, Nazis? Annexed hereto please find the Sudetenland...

If I go over there, I'm going to be such a foreigner! When I lived in Washington I knew I was a foreigner, but the locals didn't. In England, as soon as I open my mouth, the truth will be known. I never done been a real foreigner before. Shucks.
Must buckle down now and study. Oh! Look it's lunch time. How convenient.

In Television News

I am a genius. I repeat. I am a genius.

Nanuk = genius.

Regular readers will know that I've been living with an absolute crap t.v. for the past few months, but paralyzing fear of modern technology has impeded my progress in buying a new set. My set gave everyone a tall giant conehead and stubby little legs. And in the past 2 weeks the bottom of the screen had become so compressed, I couldn't read subtitles anymore.

Lo and behold, couple of nights ago, I'm lying in bed (and like most geniuses all my great ideers come to me in bed or in the shower) and I suddenly remember that I have a SECOND functioning t.v. It used to belong to my parents, and when I took in most of their stuff, I brought that t.v. And it is indeed functioning.

So tonight I see that there is supposed to be a Mets-Yankees game on SportsNet and this motivates me. I cannot watch Johnny Damon distorted anymore. I must see the real him. Johnny Damon, he's worth it.

So around 7:30 I get to work. There are a lot of wires and stuff involved in plugging and unplugging, running the t.v. through the VCR, etc. etc. Long story short, it takes me over an hour to get the "new" t.v. functioning. I missed the season finale of The Simpsons. Which is annoying. And then, worse, I switch the channel over to SportsNet and do I see Johnny Damon? I do not. It's Junior hockey. Oh well. At least it is done.

And it's a still a full 3 weeks before the start of Euro 2008. I will get to watch the Azzurri in all their beautiful glory. I am well pleased.

A Bit o' Hockey

Good for Pittsburgh. They have played really really well and fully deserve to be heading to the Finals. I've grown quite fond of Evgeni Malkin.

I'm worried about my Red Wings prediction now. They are deflating. This is not good. I don't want to watch a Dallas-Pittsburgh final, I wanna watch a Red Wings-Penguins final. Come on guys, smarten up.

As for the World Championships, well, what can you do? Anything can happen in OT. It was worth Russia winning just to watch Ovechkin celebrating. What a happy guy.

The Preakness II

Oh well, I was wrong.

That is one beautiful horse.

The Preakness

Yikes, it's less than a half hour to the Preakness and I haven't done any prep.

Looks like everyone thinks Big Brown is going to do it again.

I predict an upset. I dunno who, but it won't be Big Brown. (Tune in in 30 minutes to hear me say: Oh well, I was wrong.)

Countdown to Meltdown

Found out that my test for the London job will be on May 28. Yipes!

That's 12 days. I should be a complete wreck by then.

What's a participle? What's a gerund? I know nothing.

Predator!

Big news in this part of town today is that somebody who works with somebody who reads this blog has been arrested as a sexual predator.

In discussing the matter, this question came up. The perp is a married father of three little kids, who has a full-time job. This means his life is busy. So how on earth does he find the time to be a sexual predator? That’s a long-term, labour-intensive crime. It’s not like spontaneously robbing a dépanneur ‘cause you’re drunk like the Hilton Bros like to do. This is weeks if not months of chatting to gain the confidence of your young victim, then arranging to meet, and going to a motel, and etc etc. You’d think the guy had a lot of spare time on his hands. I can’t be bothered to ponder his motivations, but where does he find the time? Doesn’t he watch hockey?

Second question. His wife knew nothing about this. Now this may be just me being ignorant because I’ve never been married, but how could the wife not suspect. Her husband has a thing for teen-agers, and this never came up in the conversation, never at all in the intimacy of their bedroom. Never once, he asked “Honey, why don’t you put your hair up in pig-tails and wear this schoolgirl’s uniform?” Or, if so, did she just think he was acting like a horny Japanese businessman? I guess I don’t understand the depths of denial that a person can live with.

Also, and maybe it’s a good thing that I’m nobody’s wife, but she never checked the history on her husband’s computer? I sure would.

Occupation: Worry Wart

Twenty-four hours ago, I got an e-mail inviting me to write an exam for a job I applied for way back in January. I’d assumed I wasn’t under consideration because it had been soooo long, and I’d heard nothing. But apparently I’m in the running.

So I’ve spent the last 24 hours worrying. About moving to London.

Here’s the question: If you are unhappy in your life, then it’s easy to pick up your stuff, move away and start all over again. But what if you are just mildly disgruntled? And you know yourself, and you’ve always been mildly disgruntled, no matter where you are or what you’re doing. Do you still pack up and start over? In mid-life?

I’m a good candidate for this job, but I hope they don’t pick me. That way, they’ve made the decision and I don’t have to.

Putt, putt, beep, beep

I don't like to drive and try to avoid it. But Spring is here, and for the past two weekends I have found myself on the road, specifically Highway 20.

There seem to be an unusually large number of people driving on the highway at 90 km/h. I find this odd. When I pass them, zooming along at a mighty 105 km/h, I note that they are not little grey heads peering over the steering wheel, but regular middle-aged folks. Driving slow.

My frugal brain tells me this is to conserve gas. I can't see why else they are doing this. I'm not complaining about this trend. I'm sure Al Gore would be pleased. I just find it weird.

The Word of the Day

Nogle.

Today’s word comes courtesy of The Globe & Mail, who’ve taken it from a British tabloid. It means not to look. Or more specifically not to ogle. Or not to get caught ogling. To ignore whatever is in your field of vision no matter how tempting it is.

It’s a skill; it’s an art. It requires training.

Apparently, for reasons of domestic peace, it is more important for men than for women to master this art. I must confess I’m no good at nogling. I just gotta look.

Merci Maman

Happy Mudders Day to all the mudders out there.

I was reading Post Secret (use the link) this morning, as it is the Mother's Day Edition. I was struck by the number of postcards written either to or about mothers who have passed away. There are a lot of people out there with unresolved Mom issues. I don't have that problem. Things were always cool between my mother and me, and when she died, there were no unspoken problems lingering in the void.

So I'm delighted that for the first time in 3 years, Mother's Day doesn't hurt. The past two have been very sad, but this year I'm happy. I'm happy that my mother did not leave me screwed up. What a good relationship we had. Yay to that!

Merci Maman for making me normal. I love you. I miss you.

(I know, define "normal", but I know what I mean.)

Let's face it, he deserves his own site

You've read 'em
You love em

Now the collected works of our resident poetic genius are being assembled in one site.

The Inveterate Introvert proudly unveils:

poetryjawfan.blogspot.com

Nickname for Mr. Hairy Ears?

Please see the suggestions in the Comments box way down below.

Vote early, vote often!

Always ahead of the times

Far be it for humble little moi to blow my own horn (Kadooka! Kadooka!)

But.

I would like to direct your attention to a recent posting on the blog of Oprah's O Magazine web site, which is followed-up in today's Globe & Mail. The subject: co-workers' bathroom habits.

HA! sez I.

This is so last month. We were discussing this way back in the glory days of NaPoMo.

I may sue.

http://www.theglobeandmail.com/blogs/theoffice

Today in embarrassing stray accoutrements

I’m not trying to top the feline vulva story, but this is just plain odd.

We have a cafeteria in our building, it is a busy floor. Lots of traffic. When you step out of the elevators, you turn a corner and head down a hallway to the caf. The floor is carpeted in a dark industrial grey.

This morning, right outside the elevator doors, near the corner, on the path that everyone must use to get to their coffee, smack in the middle of the floor, abandoned, orphaned, on the grey carpet, sat a pristine, clean, very white panty liner.

You couldn’t miss it.

I’m still chuckling. I told my colleague, and she informed me later that when she went to the caf it was not there anymore.

But talk about an elephant in the room. How could you wait for the elevators and not laugh. Especially in this place that is so full of snobs and uppity-ups. Thankfully I was alone with my coffee cup and did not have to pretend life was normal.

I think every woman who carries a purse has experienced the runaway pad or tampon that leaps out and lands on the grocery store conveyor belt or the lunchtime restaurant table, but most of us can make the superduper fast retrieve with a minimum of embarrassment. Our reflexes in this situation are very, very good. So I dunno what happened with the little lost panty liner. I’m just glad it wasn’t mine.

Today in unfortunate anatomical conditions...

So there’s a man who often takes the same bus as I do around 4:30. We get on at the same stop, and he is like an accident I can’t turn away from. He’s a middle-aged businessman, usually in a decent suit and very presentable. Except for his problem.

Hairy ears.

And I don’t just mean some old geezer with tufts. Which can sometimes be kinda cute in an old geezer kinda way. I mean the weirdest, grossest, thickest, darkest ear hair I have ever, ever seen. And it’s all over. Completely covers his ears. Like Mighty Peking Man.

Being a hairy beast myself, you’d think I ‘d have a bit of compassion here. But I don’t. It’s the worst thing I’ve ever been subjected to. I kid you not.

He does shave them occasionally, but that seems to make the growing back out part all the more gross.

So here’s my problem. Usually I am in line ahead of him, and I try to get a seat on the bus behind someone who is already sitting because I’m repulsed by this guy’s ears and I don’t want him sitting in front of me.

But last night, the bus was completely empty when we got on, so I had to take any seat, and of course, he sat right in front of me. Not having blinders on me, I had to settle for wearing my ipod as a sensory distraction and staring out the bus window. That was a very long half hour.

I guess the only thing I need is a nickname for him because Mr. Hairy Ears just doesn’t capture the whole nasty experience.

Feline Medical Update

The vet just called. Miss Fatty Hitler is doing okay. Except she has a "swollen vulva".*

Ok.

All together now: Girls: OUCH!!!!! Guys: EWWWWW!!!!

Apparently this happens to dogs sometimes, but this is the first time this vet has seen it in a cat. She's one for the medical books.

Some ointment and soft flannel on her bottom and hopefully she'll be good as new in a week. Then she can start her diet. Lucky girl.


*Again, this couldn't happen during NaPoMo, eh?

In Feline News

I took Miss Hitler to the vet tonight. She is smelly and has stopped grooming herself. I feared some kind of infection. But no. She's just fat, and possibly pre-diabetic.

Apparently, she has gotten too rotund to curl herself up and clean her bottom. Therefore she's been getting dirtier and smellier.

I thought she'd just given up and stopped caring. The George Costanza of cats.

But she's been on diet food for 3 years, I said to the vet. Turns out some cats gain weight on diet foods (just like me! I thought). Too much cereal, too many carbs. So after tomorrow, Miss H. has to be put on a kitty Atkins diet. An Atkitty diet, perhaps? Katkins?

I think I'll put all 3 of the crew on the same diet because it's just gonna be too much of a headache to keep her food separate from the boys.

Atkins for kats? I still can't get over that.

So tomorrow she gets tested for glucose and then put under general anesthesia for a complete shaving. (No obvious smutty jokes, please.) Then I'll have to keep a close eye on how she cleans her bottom, if she can, as the fur grows back. What silliness.

$300 worth of silliness.

Ya win some, ya lose some

On the medical front, I thought this was good:

Long-term use of ibuprofen may reduce the risk of developing Alzheimer's disease, a large US study reports. (BBC News)

This is good for me because I've always preferred ibuprofen over aspirin. Since I'm halfway to losing my marbles already, I'll take any promising news I can get.

And now the punchline:

A separate study also published in Neurology showed people with shorter arms and legs may be at a higher risk for developing dementia later in life. (BBC)

To which I can only ask: what the f***?

I'm doomed.

Today in coffin news

SOUTH CHICAGO HEIGHTS, Ill. — Bill Bramanti will love Pabst Blue Ribbon eternally, and he's got the custom-made beer-can casket to prove it. (The Globe & Mail)

Note to my executor: At the risk of stating the obvious, my urn should be Pringles can. Sour Cream 'n' Onion, if available. Cheez'ums also acceptable in a pinch.

Nah, nah, hey, hey

Goodbye.

No riots last night. No problems. Lotsa police. Everything okay. Glad that's over for another year.

It's a great year to be a hockey fan in Pennsylvania. I hafta take Pittsburgh over Philadelphia. I like Sidney Crosby, but I also like Martin Biron. Oh well. It doesn't matter because I still say Detroit is winning la Coupe Stanley.

Kentucky Derby, So Sad

Poor Eight Belles. That makes me feel really terrible.

Fudge!

I'm not a millionaire. I did not win $20 million last night.

Clearly, there has been a miscommunication between the lottery people and myself. They appear to have missed the point. The point being that I don't want to go back to work next week. I was planning on staying home and counting my piles of money. And then restacking them. And counting them again. Stupid lottery people.

Seal with a Kiss

To end the work week on an odd note, how about that rapist seal?

According to the BBC: "An Antarctic fur seal has been observed trying to have sex with a king penguin. "

We all love us the penguins. They so cute and endearing. I understand that totally. I've been a huge fan of penguins all my life. But, please Mr. Horny Seal, leave the poor penguin alone.

"The bizarre event took place on a beach on Marion Island, a sub-Antarctic island that is home to both fur seals and king penguins."

These things always happen at the beach, don't they? I tell you, youngsters, stay away from the beach. I'll bet that seal was drinking beer and everything.

Why am I not surprised that this outrageous incident took place in the bra-strap snapping Southern Hemisphere? I tell ya, it's wild down there.

I'm desperate!

The lotto prize is $20 million tonight.

I'm not a regular lotto ticket buyer, but I just bought not one, but two tickets! That's $4.00 worth of tickets. 4 whole dollars from Miss Frugal's pocketbook!

That says a lot.

That's how desperate I am. I gotta get outta here.

Decisions, decisions

The Kentucky Derby is run tomorrow. A sure sign of summer.

Who to pick? I know nothing about the horses so I'll have to go by the name. But there are so many!

Cool Coal Man 50/1
Tale of Ekati 25/1
Anak Nakal 66/1
Court Vision 16/1
Eight Belles 16/1
Z Fortune 12/1
Big Truck 20/1
Visionaire 16/1
Pyro 7/1
Colonel John 5/1
Z Humor 66/1
Smooth Air 25/1
Bob Black Jack 25/1
Monba 20/1
Adriano 20/1
Denis of Cork 14/1
Cowboy Cal 50/1
Recapturetheglory 33/1
Gayego 25/1
Big Brown 3/1

I have to go with Denis of Cork, because it is the most MontyPythonesque name. But a double Z exacta is tempting...

A new term: "chair-sniffing scandal"

Just in case you haven't taken the time to go to the link susieq provided in the comments below, here is the story. I don't know whether to laugh or cry.

"A WEST Australian Liberal MP is likely to call for a vote on the party leadership today following the chair-sniffing scandal involving Opposition Leader Troy Buswell.

Mr Buswell has been under intense pressure after admitting to sniffing the chair of a woman Liberal staffer in a Parliament House office in October 2005.

The staffer at the centre of the sniffing incident, who has asked not be named, said Mr Buswell, then deputy to former Liberal leader Matt Birney, lifted the chair and sniffed it in front of her and other people "to get a laugh".

I don't know if this could happen in Parliament here, but it could definitely happen at my workplace.