****This "bitch-rant-n-rave" (sung to the tune of "shake rattle and roll") is directed at no one in particular and everyone who rides the TTC.
I absolutely, positively HATE people on public transit who get up from their seat or move from their spot LONG Before the bus/subway comes to it's designated stop. Cramming yourself onto the TTC is a delicate balancing act these days, and these people upset the cohesion all because they're paranoid that they're going to miss their stop. I understand that... I really really do. But for fucks sake... when the trains next stop is Yonge/Bloor (for example) do you honestly think you're the only person getting off?? Is this your first time riding the subway?? Are you hoping to be "first" for some unknown chronic-competitive-disorderly reason??? I get so sick of getting bumped and jostled by these people that I've actually begun to make myself an purposeful obstacle just to make them sweat, and for those who refuse to be detained from worming their way to the door whilst the vehicle is still in motion I've even been known to speak to them... (that's something that's frowned upon in today's society, it's an unwritten rule in transit that you should keep to yourself and not be a disturbance) just to let them know "I'm getting off too'. Translation: "fucking chillax before I open a window and personally guarantee you arrive earlier than the rest of us at the next stop". Something I've never actually said to another living being, but the more I traverse this great city, it's bubbling dangerously close to my tactful boiling point. Now that I've said that... I'll say something positive about my commute. "YAY it's fall, which means it's cooler, which means people stink less than they normally do." ....uhh.... ....yeah... I think that's all I can muster for now. Not that I hate my commute entirely. I do enjoy my alone time to read, and listen to my iPod, and conquer the daily sudoku and look at hotties when they're around. But get me on a crowded train or bus when people become rude and unruly and I'm ready to take a swing at someone.
(oh... I feel another one coming on)
I think when I first started riding the subway (daily at least) it was the first time in my adult life that I've been pushed by another human being. To say it leaves me indignant and cranky is a vast understatement. But it happens to people all the time. When you're getting on the subway in particular... it's not at all uncommon to feel hands on your back, pressing you into the person ahead of you. Now what? ...I ask justifies that kind of behaviour? Not one to utter death threats, I have actually responded to pushing with a simple "you push me again, and I'm going to push back" without even turning around to look the offending "pusher" in the eyes. That is SOO not me. I'm not an aggressive person, nor am I rude or even outspoken for that matter.
Look what public transit is doing to me!!!
(now another positive)
Granted there are interesting things happening around you all the time if you're a people watcher. Just a few weeks ago I watched with admiration, a father sitting with his young son (maybe 6 or 7 years old) on the subway and they talked and hugged and laughed, and I genuinely felt warm inside for witnessing such a tender and loving exchange between them. An affectionate (non-creepy) dynamic like that is seldom seen, and I don't think I'll ever forget it. Not to say my dad didn't love me or anything like that. Just it was "closeness" personified and I felt lucky to see it, and almost felt compelled to say something kind to the father about it.
Anyhow, on to a different topic.
The screen-door-in-a-hurricane approach to blogging I've taken sometimes makes me think I'm doing it wrong, if there is such a thing. My friend Bo recently wrote in her blog that she sometimes felt she wasn't talking about things that were worthwhile in her blog, and I can appreciate that completely. I'm no political commentator either, and I don't feel my views on any particular topic are earth-shattering or even relevant at times, but I do feel that it's a great outlet, and I can't believe just how much I enjoy doing it, even if very few people ever read it. I'm a quiet guy by nature, so sometimes I read over the relatively few entries I've made and think "wow, this is me", "I wouldn't ordinarily talk about this stuff to anyone". Maybe that's a good thing too, 'cause I think people in general talk too much and listen too little, and I'd rather be a listener than a talker. Hmmph... I wonder whether Eak would cry foul on these little self-revelations. I'll have to force him to read my blog and give me an honest answer. hee
Alrighty, song o' the day.
"Somewhere Down the Road" by Amy Grant. Amy's been one of my personal faves since I was yea-big. Only recently did I have the opportunity to see her in concert, and I can honestly say she's a beautiful and wise soul. Her music is usually very accessible, and heartfelt. This song is from her album "Behind the Eyes" which was a complete failure commercially, but it's my second-favourite CD by Amy Grant.
So much pain and no good reason why
You've cried until the tears run dry
And nothing else can make you understand
The one thing that you held so dear
Is slipping from your hands
And you say
Why, why, why
Does it go this way
Why, why, why
And all I can say
Somewhere down the road
There'll be answers to the questions
Somewhere down the road
Though we cannot see it now
And somewhere down the road
You will find mighty arms reaching for you
And they will hold the answers at the end of the road
Yesterday I thought I'd seen it all
I thought I'd climbed the highest wall
Now I see the learning never ends
And all I know to do is keep on walking
Walking 'round the bend singing
Why, why, why
Does it go this way
Why, why, why
And all I can say
Somewhere down the road
There'll be answers to the questions
Somewhere down the road
Though we cannot see it now
And somewhere down the road
You will find mighty arms reaching for you
And they will hold the answers at the end of the road
Thursday, September 21, 2006
Wednesday, September 20, 2006
Severed Grapes: A Neutering Tale
I totally forgot to document that Eak and I finally had Porthos fixed. That solemn day was Monday September 18th, and our not-so-wee one is doing well now. Originally it was supposed to be September 11th but upon bringing the little guy into the vet, it turned-out he had an infection that we were unaware of. So he had to go on some medication for a week and we rescheduled the operation to this week.
Eak took him in and stayed with him for the blood test which checked-out perfectly and then the deed was done. The vet's office called to tell us that they had to let Porthos wander free during the day though because he was so distraught and vocal about being cooped-up in a strange place by himself. So he kept everyone company when he wasn't sleeping and we were told he behaved like a perfect little angel as long as he wasn't in the cage. Sounds just like him: create the perfect ruckus til he gets what he wants.
That puppy is such a little bad-ass, even though he's a complete sweetheart. He hates to be alone. He only does things when he feels like it, and he's constantly trying to steal toys, food and attention from poor Cole. But at the same time, he adores Cole... worships him really. It warms my heart. I really must find a way to post pictures from work. I've got some sweet shots that Eak snapped while I was giving both dogs a bath on the weekend.
But back to the neutering for a moment. We're still contending with the guilt of having Porthos fixed. It could just be a "male" camaraderie thing goin' on, but there really is something so basically "evil" about fixing an animal. Even the term "fixing" alludes that something is broken and needs our intervention. I understand why we do it to them, and maybe it's just a cosmic trade-off that an animal pays for enjoying the love and attention of being domesticated, but I still feel like we don't have the right or rather shouldn't have the right. With Porthos, there is a certain comfort in knowing we're not ending his breed. He's a purebred Basset Hound, and although they don't seem to be a "popular" dog, there's no danger of his bloodline completely disappearing. Cole is a completely different story however. It still bothers me (more often than I'd like to admit to the sane) that we had him neutered because he is so perfectly unique. His appearance, his personality, temperament and behaviour.... Cole is one special little dude. And there will never be another dog like him. No offspring, no other occurrence even close to his uniqueness. THAT makes me sad, because I can't help but think he could've fathered puppies that would have passed along all his best traits to a new generation of mixed-breed dogs. (Cole is a beagle/black lab/daschund mix for anyone wondering). -sigh- My special little guy. All in all, I'm just grateful to have such a wonderful dog, and now a second one. I love 'em.
Eak took him in and stayed with him for the blood test which checked-out perfectly and then the deed was done. The vet's office called to tell us that they had to let Porthos wander free during the day though because he was so distraught and vocal about being cooped-up in a strange place by himself. So he kept everyone company when he wasn't sleeping and we were told he behaved like a perfect little angel as long as he wasn't in the cage. Sounds just like him: create the perfect ruckus til he gets what he wants.
That puppy is such a little bad-ass, even though he's a complete sweetheart. He hates to be alone. He only does things when he feels like it, and he's constantly trying to steal toys, food and attention from poor Cole. But at the same time, he adores Cole... worships him really. It warms my heart. I really must find a way to post pictures from work. I've got some sweet shots that Eak snapped while I was giving both dogs a bath on the weekend.
But back to the neutering for a moment. We're still contending with the guilt of having Porthos fixed. It could just be a "male" camaraderie thing goin' on, but there really is something so basically "evil" about fixing an animal. Even the term "fixing" alludes that something is broken and needs our intervention. I understand why we do it to them, and maybe it's just a cosmic trade-off that an animal pays for enjoying the love and attention of being domesticated, but I still feel like we don't have the right or rather shouldn't have the right. With Porthos, there is a certain comfort in knowing we're not ending his breed. He's a purebred Basset Hound, and although they don't seem to be a "popular" dog, there's no danger of his bloodline completely disappearing. Cole is a completely different story however. It still bothers me (more often than I'd like to admit to the sane) that we had him neutered because he is so perfectly unique. His appearance, his personality, temperament and behaviour.... Cole is one special little dude. And there will never be another dog like him. No offspring, no other occurrence even close to his uniqueness. THAT makes me sad, because I can't help but think he could've fathered puppies that would have passed along all his best traits to a new generation of mixed-breed dogs. (Cole is a beagle/black lab/daschund mix for anyone wondering). -sigh- My special little guy. All in all, I'm just grateful to have such a wonderful dog, and now a second one. I love 'em.
Scattered Ramblings
So much can happen in one week, or perhaps I'd be more precise in saying a week can pass so quickly as I feel like so much has been going on, but I'd be hard-pressed to produce an actual list. My life is most certainly uneventful when compared to others. It's just too damned busy for my own personal liking right now. But maybe that's exactly what I need.
To summarize quickly: first of seven modules complete with a final mark of 84%. Second module in progress with extreme bouts of anxiety. Marketing, marketing, marketing. Le sigh!
In happy news, I have a dear, close friend KittyCole, moving to Toronto very soon from Edmonton. She's accepting a fantastic job at CHFI and after 8 long years we'll be living in the same city again! Hell; I would have been equally thrilled at the prospect of living in the same province again. Same city is just cake! And of course my friend Bo and her fiance Andrew are moving to Toronto again after a year's absence. I'm hoping to get reacquainted and spend more time with them once they're here. The last time around I think I missed-out on the opportunity to spend more time with my "Bo", and then before I knew it they were off to Ottawa.
I've got a minor belief that people are cosmically connected, and that the strongest of these connected souls continue to be buoyed to one another throughout their existence. The fact that I've got 2 good friends returning to close proximity seems to fortify that theory.
Being a better friend is something I've got to work harder at. It would seem I've fallen out of practice over the years. It's odd when you're with someone and that relationship becomes the focal point of your life. I've learned (...still learning) friendships just seem to fade in and out throughout the course of life. At a much younger age, that concept would've horrified me, because my friends meant everything. But I've grown much more comfortable and accepting of good-bye's, and the knowledge that true friendships can rekindle in a heartbeat.
I'm truly fortunate that my Eak holds the title of both partner and best friend. It's played a big role in me falling out of touch with other people for sure, but I've never felt a void since I'm always content to just be with him. Lately though, I am realizing that I'm sadly short on good friends. I've attributed that to the fact that I'm generally disappointed in people and not nearly as tolerant of little personality quirks as I used to be. People annoy me. Perhaps that's my shortcoming, but at any rate, that only accounts for my lack of "new" close friends. The close friends that I've fallen out of touch with, there's no legitimate excuse for really. Maybe I need to realize this re-convergence of friends as a catalyst to reach out. Hopefully I will.
In more frivolous pursuits, I really must document that the Disney animated film "The Wild" is absolute drivel. What prey-tell am I doing watching a kids movie? Eak and I LOVE animation and we will on regular occasion pick up the big feature presentation DVD's for our own viewing pleasure. Favourites: The Incredibles, Monsters Inc., The Little Mermaid, and the like. We finished watching "The Wild" last night and I have actual regrets about the misspent time.
It was quite simply too juvenile to be entertaining to anything less than a bound and gagged 4 year old, subdued with a Ritalin IV drip. Yeah, that's harsh, but I generally enjoy these movies and I've seen enough of them to both recognize and appreciate the merits they hold for the young'uns they're directed at. So in over-stepping my role as someone who has no business critiquing a kids movie (having no kids and not being one myself) I dare say that "The Wild" is a big, though impressively pretty, steaming pile of excrement. The plot was contrived - yeah I know - but even more so than usual. The story was all over the place. The voice-characterizations seemed completely ad-libbed without any heed to where the script intended the story to go. (so so very much shouting and incoherent nattering - and actors assuming their performances were much more funny than they actually were) (ie: the scenery-chewing William Shatner -god love him- as a villainous, carnivore-aspired wildebeest)
Anyhow... enough about that and on to the song selection of the day. A favourite of mine from the early 90's: "Money Can't Buy It" by Annie Lennox. I've never "had" money, in my sweet, short life, but this song is more about acquisition and places that we "hide" in a futile search for happiness and fulfillment through avenues that can never bring us to those things. Or at least that's my interpretation. hee Interestingly enough, Annie actually "rapped" in this song... it's disguised by the musical tone of her voice, but the bridge is definitely rap.
Money can't buy it...baby
Sex can't buy it...baby
Drugs can't buy it...baby
You can't buy it...baby
I believe that love alone might do these things for you
I believe in love alone yea yea
Take the power to set you free
Kick down the door and throw away the key
Give up your needs...
Your poisoned seeds
Find yourself elected to a different kind of creed
I believe that love alone might do these things for you
I believe that love alone might do these things for you
I believe in the power of creation
I believe in the good vibration
I believe in love alone yea yea
Won't somebody tell me what we're coming to
It might take forever till we watch those dreams come true
All the money in the world won't buy peace of mind
You can have it all but you still won't be satisfied
Money can't buy it...baby
Sex can't buy it...baby
Drugs can't buy it...baby
You can't buy it...baby
Now...Hear this Pay attention to me
'Cause I'm a rich white girl and it's plain to see
I got every kind of thing that the money can buy
Let me tell you all about it
Let me amplify
I got DIAMONDS
You heard about those
I got so many that I can't close
my safe
at night
in the dark
Lying awake in a sick dream
I believe that love alone might do these things for you
I believe that love alone might do these things for you
I believe in the power of creation
I believe in the good vibration
I believe in love alone yea yea
****as a PS.... So much can evidently happen in a single Blog entry. What a scattered mess. But oh well.
To summarize quickly: first of seven modules complete with a final mark of 84%. Second module in progress with extreme bouts of anxiety. Marketing, marketing, marketing. Le sigh!
In happy news, I have a dear, close friend KittyCole, moving to Toronto very soon from Edmonton. She's accepting a fantastic job at CHFI and after 8 long years we'll be living in the same city again! Hell; I would have been equally thrilled at the prospect of living in the same province again. Same city is just cake! And of course my friend Bo and her fiance Andrew are moving to Toronto again after a year's absence. I'm hoping to get reacquainted and spend more time with them once they're here. The last time around I think I missed-out on the opportunity to spend more time with my "Bo", and then before I knew it they were off to Ottawa.
I've got a minor belief that people are cosmically connected, and that the strongest of these connected souls continue to be buoyed to one another throughout their existence. The fact that I've got 2 good friends returning to close proximity seems to fortify that theory.
Being a better friend is something I've got to work harder at. It would seem I've fallen out of practice over the years. It's odd when you're with someone and that relationship becomes the focal point of your life. I've learned (...still learning) friendships just seem to fade in and out throughout the course of life. At a much younger age, that concept would've horrified me, because my friends meant everything. But I've grown much more comfortable and accepting of good-bye's, and the knowledge that true friendships can rekindle in a heartbeat.
I'm truly fortunate that my Eak holds the title of both partner and best friend. It's played a big role in me falling out of touch with other people for sure, but I've never felt a void since I'm always content to just be with him. Lately though, I am realizing that I'm sadly short on good friends. I've attributed that to the fact that I'm generally disappointed in people and not nearly as tolerant of little personality quirks as I used to be. People annoy me. Perhaps that's my shortcoming, but at any rate, that only accounts for my lack of "new" close friends. The close friends that I've fallen out of touch with, there's no legitimate excuse for really. Maybe I need to realize this re-convergence of friends as a catalyst to reach out. Hopefully I will.
In more frivolous pursuits, I really must document that the Disney animated film "The Wild" is absolute drivel. What prey-tell am I doing watching a kids movie? Eak and I LOVE animation and we will on regular occasion pick up the big feature presentation DVD's for our own viewing pleasure. Favourites: The Incredibles, Monsters Inc., The Little Mermaid, and the like. We finished watching "The Wild" last night and I have actual regrets about the misspent time.
It was quite simply too juvenile to be entertaining to anything less than a bound and gagged 4 year old, subdued with a Ritalin IV drip. Yeah, that's harsh, but I generally enjoy these movies and I've seen enough of them to both recognize and appreciate the merits they hold for the young'uns they're directed at. So in over-stepping my role as someone who has no business critiquing a kids movie (having no kids and not being one myself) I dare say that "The Wild" is a big, though impressively pretty, steaming pile of excrement. The plot was contrived - yeah I know - but even more so than usual. The story was all over the place. The voice-characterizations seemed completely ad-libbed without any heed to where the script intended the story to go. (so so very much shouting and incoherent nattering - and actors assuming their performances were much more funny than they actually were) (ie: the scenery-chewing William Shatner -god love him- as a villainous, carnivore-aspired wildebeest)
Anyhow... enough about that and on to the song selection of the day. A favourite of mine from the early 90's: "Money Can't Buy It" by Annie Lennox. I've never "had" money, in my sweet, short life, but this song is more about acquisition and places that we "hide" in a futile search for happiness and fulfillment through avenues that can never bring us to those things. Or at least that's my interpretation. hee Interestingly enough, Annie actually "rapped" in this song... it's disguised by the musical tone of her voice, but the bridge is definitely rap.
Money can't buy it...baby
Sex can't buy it...baby
Drugs can't buy it...baby
You can't buy it...baby
I believe that love alone might do these things for you
I believe in love alone yea yea
Take the power to set you free
Kick down the door and throw away the key
Give up your needs...
Your poisoned seeds
Find yourself elected to a different kind of creed
I believe that love alone might do these things for you
I believe that love alone might do these things for you
I believe in the power of creation
I believe in the good vibration
I believe in love alone yea yea
Won't somebody tell me what we're coming to
It might take forever till we watch those dreams come true
All the money in the world won't buy peace of mind
You can have it all but you still won't be satisfied
Money can't buy it...baby
Sex can't buy it...baby
Drugs can't buy it...baby
You can't buy it...baby
Now...Hear this Pay attention to me
'Cause I'm a rich white girl and it's plain to see
I got every kind of thing that the money can buy
Let me tell you all about it
Let me amplify
I got DIAMONDS
You heard about those
I got so many that I can't close
my safe
at night
in the dark
Lying awake in a sick dream
I believe that love alone might do these things for you
I believe that love alone might do these things for you
I believe in the power of creation
I believe in the good vibration
I believe in love alone yea yea
****as a PS.... So much can evidently happen in a single Blog entry. What a scattered mess. But oh well.
Wednesday, September 13, 2006
Just Do It Fucker
Arrrgh... today has been an absolute nightmare. I'm so depressed right now it's disgusting. I've been shamed, and guilted into completing this wretched course. So now on top of knowing it's going to feed on what's left of my soul, I now have less time with which to feed it this week's portion.
How do you tell your boss you've had enough of your profession? How do you tell your boss that you'd just like to keep the status quo until you figure out what you want from your life?
You don't. That's how. And from their perspective I am well-aware that they deserve more than that without being told. I would SO rather pay for this damned course just to make it go away. It's not like I don't have enough to do already for my job. And I've had it spoon-fed to me that they already appreciate what I do and that I'm great at my job. So why does it make me feel so worthless and unfulfilled?
Blah... more than enough "woe is me" to choke on for the day. I'm sorry that anyone has to read this. It's not very enjoyable to be certain, so how about a happy song today. A new artist I discovered 2 weeks ago, by the name of Corinne Bailey Rae. Her whole CD is phenomenal, I highly recommend it.
"I'd Like To"
Lying with you reminds me of those days
Me and Candice waking up to a heat wave
Mother's in the garden inviting everyone
Ooo, we'd cut off our old jeans and go outside.
Neighbour's always smiling with a baby on her knee
Rhea sat on the front step getting her hair combed out and greased
And music, the bass booming, pours from a car parked in the street
Got that new song on repeat.
I'd, I'd like to put my fingers on you
I'd, I'd like to paint these pictures for you
Sometimes you don't understand where I'm coming from
I'm just trying to make you see that i desire the simple things.
Growing up we didn't have a lot of money
Used to spend our summers having parties on the drive
Plastic cups for rum and punch, eating chicken that's hot and sweet
All the women discussing what love is like
Ooh you know what I mean,
and I'm just sitting watching hoping the boys will call for me
Got that new song on repeat.
I'd, I'd like to put my fingers on you
I'd, I'd like to paint these pictures for you
Sometimes you don't understand where I'm coming from
I'm just trying to make you see that i desire the simple things.
Maybe then I will know I want somebody
Delicate, intimate, used to dream of someone to love
Now you come and you go right by me,
I know I'm in love
I'd, I'd like to put my fingers on you
I'd, I'd like to paint these pictures for you
Sometimes you don't understand where I'm coming from
I'm just trying to make you see that i desire the simple things
I'd, I'd like to put my fingers on you
I'd, I'd like to paint these pictures for you
Sometimes you don't understand where I'm coming from
I'm just trying to make you see that i desire the simple things
How do you tell your boss you've had enough of your profession? How do you tell your boss that you'd just like to keep the status quo until you figure out what you want from your life?
You don't. That's how. And from their perspective I am well-aware that they deserve more than that without being told. I would SO rather pay for this damned course just to make it go away. It's not like I don't have enough to do already for my job. And I've had it spoon-fed to me that they already appreciate what I do and that I'm great at my job. So why does it make me feel so worthless and unfulfilled?
Blah... more than enough "woe is me" to choke on for the day. I'm sorry that anyone has to read this. It's not very enjoyable to be certain, so how about a happy song today. A new artist I discovered 2 weeks ago, by the name of Corinne Bailey Rae. Her whole CD is phenomenal, I highly recommend it.
"I'd Like To"
Lying with you reminds me of those days
Me and Candice waking up to a heat wave
Mother's in the garden inviting everyone
Ooo, we'd cut off our old jeans and go outside.
Neighbour's always smiling with a baby on her knee
Rhea sat on the front step getting her hair combed out and greased
And music, the bass booming, pours from a car parked in the street
Got that new song on repeat.
I'd, I'd like to put my fingers on you
I'd, I'd like to paint these pictures for you
Sometimes you don't understand where I'm coming from
I'm just trying to make you see that i desire the simple things.
Growing up we didn't have a lot of money
Used to spend our summers having parties on the drive
Plastic cups for rum and punch, eating chicken that's hot and sweet
All the women discussing what love is like
Ooh you know what I mean,
and I'm just sitting watching hoping the boys will call for me
Got that new song on repeat.
I'd, I'd like to put my fingers on you
I'd, I'd like to paint these pictures for you
Sometimes you don't understand where I'm coming from
I'm just trying to make you see that i desire the simple things.
Maybe then I will know I want somebody
Delicate, intimate, used to dream of someone to love
Now you come and you go right by me,
I know I'm in love
I'd, I'd like to put my fingers on you
I'd, I'd like to paint these pictures for you
Sometimes you don't understand where I'm coming from
I'm just trying to make you see that i desire the simple things
I'd, I'd like to put my fingers on you
I'd, I'd like to paint these pictures for you
Sometimes you don't understand where I'm coming from
I'm just trying to make you see that i desire the simple things
Tuesday, September 12, 2006
Please Mama Not the Curling Iron Again
Wow, Tuesday is on its way to expiry and this is my first blog entry of the week. I'm a slacker.
When last I posted I was in a very foul mood indeed, and the aftermath of my decision to "drop out" of that pointless course is still yet to be determined. My boss wants to have a serious talk with me about it tomorrow morning at 11am. Wish me luck, because it cost the station 550-bucks to enrol me and the bastards won't refund the station money. To which I say, "that ain't right". But if I have to pay for it with my own money, sobeit. I am not going to immerse myself in a time-consuming effort to increase my marketing skills and be a sales lap-dog when it's not-at-all what I want my future to hold. Perhaps I'm being unreasonable, but for now, I don't care. There's no extra money involved and no reward but more hard work and a title after my name that no one would understand or respect, and I'm not going to pursue unhappiness. I don't want door #3 Monty... I want what's in the box. ZONK
On to lighter things...
Riding the bus home from Kipling station every night I frequently see a woman with truly horrendous hair. There's a whole whack of equally appropriate adjectives to describe this poor lady's coif as long as it's synonymous with heinous And that's not for her lack of trying to make it absolutely perfect which makes me a jerk for documenting it... but anyhoo... yeah, her hair looks like "ass". She's this little bit of a woman who has mousy, stringy thin hair - which I wouldn't ordinarily comment about because you do the best with what genetics give you, right? Her hair wouldn't be so bad if she'd just embrace it as an unattainable goal and keep it neat, but since 1981 when her mama ceased burning her with the curling iron and allowed her to use it to create her own beastly bangs... she has been feathering the front and the sides of her washed-with-dish-soap-don't-know-what-conditioner-is hair, outwards from her head. BUT -and here's the kicker- doing absosmurfly nothing with the crown or back of her head. So thusly her "Ally McBeal in a wind-tunnel" look is incomplete and she looks like an unmade bed every time I see her. And strangely enough, growing up in a churchy environment around churchy people I always thought she looked conspicuously "christian-like" because as far as I can tell she usually seems pleasant enough, if ever-so out-dated in appearance. And I overheard her speaking with another lady on the bus a while back and they spoke of churchy things. So I know how to spot 'em.
---in the wild, the "gays" are prone to instinctively sensing the presence of their enemies, so as to blend-in and appear "less-gay" to avoid ignorant condemnation, split-second judgement and unwelcome "witnessing" with the intention of conversion and repentance. Surely I jest, 'cause I don't hide my rainbow-coloured man-purse from anyone.
Incidentally, as a disclaimer, I would've ridiculed this woman's awful hair regardless of her spirituality or religious beliefs and no "gays" were harmed in the making of this blog entry.
Shut Your Mouth - by Garbage
Welcome we love you
We hate you
We love you
We want you
We need you
We wish we were like you
They say you're a saint
You're a whore
You're a sinner
That he had you
He made you
He can't live without you.
Would you confess
if we asked
That you nurture the urge
To declare that it's time
To settle down
With a man of your own
You want a baby
A family
A piece of security
Shut your mouth
Try not to panic
Just shut your mouth
If you can do it
What's your opinion on the dire situation
In our land here
Our guest here
Of course you'll be nice here
How do you feel about god and religion
Are you good people
Bad people
Guess it doesn't matter people.
Your place
My place
Make her bring that famous face
You got some
You want some
You wanna let me get you some
We know your music but of course we'd never buy it
It's too fake man
Right man!
We don't give a fucking damn.
I hear you say it
Play it smart girl
Win the game love
Give 'em what they want
What they want to see and you could be a big star
You could go far
Make a landmark
What have you been reading you smart girl?
Win the game love
Give 'em what they want
What they want to see and you could be a big star
You could go far
Make a landmark
Make a shit load.
And the world spins by
With everybody moaning
Pissing, bitching and everyone is shitting
On their friends
On their love
On their oaths
On their honour
On their graves
Out their mouths
And their words say nothing
I waited to say something Oh shut your mouth
I wanted to say something Just shut your mouth
I waited to say something Oh shut your mouth
I wanted to be something Just shut your mouth
When last I posted I was in a very foul mood indeed, and the aftermath of my decision to "drop out" of that pointless course is still yet to be determined. My boss wants to have a serious talk with me about it tomorrow morning at 11am. Wish me luck, because it cost the station 550-bucks to enrol me and the bastards won't refund the station money. To which I say, "that ain't right". But if I have to pay for it with my own money, sobeit. I am not going to immerse myself in a time-consuming effort to increase my marketing skills and be a sales lap-dog when it's not-at-all what I want my future to hold. Perhaps I'm being unreasonable, but for now, I don't care. There's no extra money involved and no reward but more hard work and a title after my name that no one would understand or respect, and I'm not going to pursue unhappiness. I don't want door #3 Monty... I want what's in the box. ZONK
On to lighter things...
Riding the bus home from Kipling station every night I frequently see a woman with truly horrendous hair. There's a whole whack of equally appropriate adjectives to describe this poor lady's coif as long as it's synonymous with heinous And that's not for her lack of trying to make it absolutely perfect which makes me a jerk for documenting it... but anyhoo... yeah, her hair looks like "ass". She's this little bit of a woman who has mousy, stringy thin hair - which I wouldn't ordinarily comment about because you do the best with what genetics give you, right? Her hair wouldn't be so bad if she'd just embrace it as an unattainable goal and keep it neat, but since 1981 when her mama ceased burning her with the curling iron and allowed her to use it to create her own beastly bangs... she has been feathering the front and the sides of her washed-with-dish-soap-don't-know-what-conditioner-is hair, outwards from her head. BUT -and here's the kicker- doing absosmurfly nothing with the crown or back of her head. So thusly her "Ally McBeal in a wind-tunnel" look is incomplete and she looks like an unmade bed every time I see her. And strangely enough, growing up in a churchy environment around churchy people I always thought she looked conspicuously "christian-like" because as far as I can tell she usually seems pleasant enough, if ever-so out-dated in appearance. And I overheard her speaking with another lady on the bus a while back and they spoke of churchy things. So I know how to spot 'em.
---in the wild, the "gays" are prone to instinctively sensing the presence of their enemies, so as to blend-in and appear "less-gay" to avoid ignorant condemnation, split-second judgement and unwelcome "witnessing" with the intention of conversion and repentance. Surely I jest, 'cause I don't hide my rainbow-coloured man-purse from anyone.
Incidentally, as a disclaimer, I would've ridiculed this woman's awful hair regardless of her spirituality or religious beliefs and no "gays" were harmed in the making of this blog entry.
Shut Your Mouth - by Garbage
Welcome we love you
We hate you
We love you
We want you
We need you
We wish we were like you
They say you're a saint
You're a whore
You're a sinner
That he had you
He made you
He can't live without you.
Would you confess
if we asked
That you nurture the urge
To declare that it's time
To settle down
With a man of your own
You want a baby
A family
A piece of security
Shut your mouth
Try not to panic
Just shut your mouth
If you can do it
What's your opinion on the dire situation
In our land here
Our guest here
Of course you'll be nice here
How do you feel about god and religion
Are you good people
Bad people
Guess it doesn't matter people.
Your place
My place
Make her bring that famous face
You got some
You want some
You wanna let me get you some
We know your music but of course we'd never buy it
It's too fake man
Right man!
We don't give a fucking damn.
I hear you say it
Play it smart girl
Win the game love
Give 'em what they want
What they want to see and you could be a big star
You could go far
Make a landmark
What have you been reading you smart girl?
Win the game love
Give 'em what they want
What they want to see and you could be a big star
You could go far
Make a landmark
Make a shit load.
And the world spins by
With everybody moaning
Pissing, bitching and everyone is shitting
On their friends
On their love
On their oaths
On their honour
On their graves
Out their mouths
And their words say nothing
I waited to say something Oh shut your mouth
I wanted to say something Just shut your mouth
I waited to say something Oh shut your mouth
I wanted to be something Just shut your mouth
Saturday, September 09, 2006
Theatre of the Mind
One of the assignments for my course is to summarize what I've learned from the contents of a radio-based article on "the Theatre of the Mind" and to do so in one or two paragraphs. Yes folks; I'm one-week in, and other than putting any spare time I had during the week to good use completing assignments, I've left the arduous task to what I believe to be my one and only weekend to cram it all in. Although I'd have to verify that with the course outline which I left at work. I do believe all my assignments for the first unit must be submitted by this coming Friday. Until I verify that, I'm going to treat that impression as fact to keep a fire lit under my ass. I still haven't decided why I'm taking this damned course in the first place, but I'm wavering back and forth between doing it for myself and just telling my boss I've changed my mind and that I can't fit it into my life's schedule right now. But seeing as how I made the mistake of telling him that this course is "really going to take me back to school" (which I've no doubt it will), I'm also faced with a nagging wont to leap this hurtle just to show myself whether I've got some hard decisions to make; namely a change of career to give myself a little purpose.
The kicker is, that I already know I need to be doing more than what I'm doing. There's no fulfillment in it whatsoever, and all the understanding of what power there is in "truly great radio" ...no joking... I believe that it has that kind of merit... I don't believe radio will ever truly be great again due to the world's commercialism and society's consumerism. Ironic; given where I sit on the cog in the engine of marketing. I call myself a cog because I serve a purpose, but I just spin and keep the machine I work for, working well. But with that grandiose introduction I will proceed with my own little summary of the article, "The Theatre of the Mind".
If tomorrow, someone were to start spamming every Internet user in New York City to tell them of an alien invasion that would surely devastate civilization as we know it. That particular piece of e-mail wouldn't likely make it past a single junk-mail folder, much less; make them drop what they were doing and fall into a state of panic, bordering on hysteria. Needless to say, it would take a whole lot more than that now, but the story of how one night's radio broadcast of H.G. Wells "War of the Worlds" sent most of New York and New Jersey into a state of mass panic in 1938 is very impressive by today's standards. In the information age we live in, it would take a well-coordinated, mass-media hoax with several mediums disseminating the same misinformation to achieve the same effect.
This article is meant to inspire me as a writer, to appeal to my listening audience through the power of what I imagine and what in-turn they will imagine while listening to my commercials. Radio was once an incredibly powerful medium. And I should aspire to use the same techniques which still make radio great, to hold the attention of my stations listening audience. I don't have to deceive the masses into believing something, big and terrible is happening, but with the appropriate descriptions and right execution, I most certainly could.
There... two paragraphs of drivel that someone wants to hear I've learned. That's not to say I don't believe that to be true, and whether or not it means anything to the laymen who might have the displeasure of reading it I'm not so sure. But in real life there are clients. Clients who aren't interested in "theatre of the mind". Clients who think that because they're a business-owner, that also makes them a bonafide marketing expert. (Not that I'm claiming to be one myself) Then to add to the authentic real-life-experience: there are co-workers who aren't always up to the task of translating your vision into something that works. Co-workers who may or may not feel like giving it their all. Co-workers who do genuinely give it their all, which makes the final product not only craptacular, but sad. I haven't been entertained by radio in years. And I truthfully don't know anyone else who has been either. Cynical bastard, aren't I? I think I've just made a decision about this course.
Now to use theatre of the mind, I think I'll go fill the bathtub with ice cream, top it with 50 cans of whipped topping, stick my arm in up to my shoulder first to see if the cold is even slightly tolerable... brrrr chilly... then stick my head in and eat my way to the drain. Could you picture it?
Now for an angry song recommendation to match my mood. (don't worry, I'll be better by tomorrow)
This is the New Shit - Marilyn Manson
Everything has been said before
nothing left to say anymore
When it's all the same You can ask for it by name
Babble, Babble, Bitch, Bitch Rebel, Rebel, Party, Party Sex, sex, sex, and don't forget the violence
Blah, blah, blah Got your lovey-dovey sad and lonely Stick your stupid slogan in
Everybody sing along
Babble, Babble, Bitch, Bitch Rebel, Rebel, Party, Party Sex, sex, sex, don't forget the violence
Blah, blah, blah Got your lovey-dovey sad and lonely Stick your stupid slogan in
Everybody sing along
Are you motherfuckers ready for the new shit?
Stand up and admit it, tomorrow's never coming
This is the new shit Stand up and admit it
Do we need it? NO!
Do we want it? YEAH!
This is the new shit Stand up and admit it
Babble, Babble, Bitch, Bitch Rebel, Rebel, Party, Party Sex, sex, sex, don't forget the violence
Blah, blah, blah Got your lovey-dovey sad and lonely Stick your stupid slogan in
Everybody sing along
Everything's been said before
nothing left to say anymore
When it's all the same You can ask for it by name
Are you motherfuckers ready for the new shit?
Stand up and admit it, tomorrow's never coming
This is the new shit Stand up and admit it
Do we need it? NO! Do we want it? YEAH!
This is the new shit Stand up and admit it
Now it's you-know-who
I've got the you-know-what
I stick it in the you-know-where
You know why, you don't care
Now it's you-know-who
I've got the you-know-what I stick it in the you-know-where
You know why, you don't care
Now it's you-know-who
I've got the you-know-what
I stick it in the you-know-where You know why, you don't care
Babble, Babble, Bitch, Bitch Rebel, Rebel, Party, Party Sex, sex, sex, don't forget the violence
Blah, blah, blah Got your lovey-dovey sad and lonely Stick your stupid slogan in Everybody sing along
Let us entertain you
Let us entertain you
Let us entertain you
Let us entertain you
The kicker is, that I already know I need to be doing more than what I'm doing. There's no fulfillment in it whatsoever, and all the understanding of what power there is in "truly great radio" ...no joking... I believe that it has that kind of merit... I don't believe radio will ever truly be great again due to the world's commercialism and society's consumerism. Ironic; given where I sit on the cog in the engine of marketing. I call myself a cog because I serve a purpose, but I just spin and keep the machine I work for, working well. But with that grandiose introduction I will proceed with my own little summary of the article, "The Theatre of the Mind".
If tomorrow, someone were to start spamming every Internet user in New York City to tell them of an alien invasion that would surely devastate civilization as we know it. That particular piece of e-mail wouldn't likely make it past a single junk-mail folder, much less; make them drop what they were doing and fall into a state of panic, bordering on hysteria. Needless to say, it would take a whole lot more than that now, but the story of how one night's radio broadcast of H.G. Wells "War of the Worlds" sent most of New York and New Jersey into a state of mass panic in 1938 is very impressive by today's standards. In the information age we live in, it would take a well-coordinated, mass-media hoax with several mediums disseminating the same misinformation to achieve the same effect.
This article is meant to inspire me as a writer, to appeal to my listening audience through the power of what I imagine and what in-turn they will imagine while listening to my commercials. Radio was once an incredibly powerful medium. And I should aspire to use the same techniques which still make radio great, to hold the attention of my stations listening audience. I don't have to deceive the masses into believing something, big and terrible is happening, but with the appropriate descriptions and right execution, I most certainly could.
There... two paragraphs of drivel that someone wants to hear I've learned. That's not to say I don't believe that to be true, and whether or not it means anything to the laymen who might have the displeasure of reading it I'm not so sure. But in real life there are clients. Clients who aren't interested in "theatre of the mind". Clients who think that because they're a business-owner, that also makes them a bonafide marketing expert. (Not that I'm claiming to be one myself) Then to add to the authentic real-life-experience: there are co-workers who aren't always up to the task of translating your vision into something that works. Co-workers who may or may not feel like giving it their all. Co-workers who do genuinely give it their all, which makes the final product not only craptacular, but sad. I haven't been entertained by radio in years. And I truthfully don't know anyone else who has been either. Cynical bastard, aren't I? I think I've just made a decision about this course.
Now to use theatre of the mind, I think I'll go fill the bathtub with ice cream, top it with 50 cans of whipped topping, stick my arm in up to my shoulder first to see if the cold is even slightly tolerable... brrrr chilly... then stick my head in and eat my way to the drain. Could you picture it?
Now for an angry song recommendation to match my mood. (don't worry, I'll be better by tomorrow)
This is the New Shit - Marilyn Manson
Everything has been said before
nothing left to say anymore
When it's all the same You can ask for it by name
Babble, Babble, Bitch, Bitch Rebel, Rebel, Party, Party Sex, sex, sex, and don't forget the violence
Blah, blah, blah Got your lovey-dovey sad and lonely Stick your stupid slogan in
Everybody sing along
Babble, Babble, Bitch, Bitch Rebel, Rebel, Party, Party Sex, sex, sex, don't forget the violence
Blah, blah, blah Got your lovey-dovey sad and lonely Stick your stupid slogan in
Everybody sing along
Are you motherfuckers ready for the new shit?
Stand up and admit it, tomorrow's never coming
This is the new shit Stand up and admit it
Do we need it? NO!
Do we want it? YEAH!
This is the new shit Stand up and admit it
Babble, Babble, Bitch, Bitch Rebel, Rebel, Party, Party Sex, sex, sex, don't forget the violence
Blah, blah, blah Got your lovey-dovey sad and lonely Stick your stupid slogan in
Everybody sing along
Everything's been said before
nothing left to say anymore
When it's all the same You can ask for it by name
Are you motherfuckers ready for the new shit?
Stand up and admit it, tomorrow's never coming
This is the new shit Stand up and admit it
Do we need it? NO! Do we want it? YEAH!
This is the new shit Stand up and admit it
Now it's you-know-who
I've got the you-know-what
I stick it in the you-know-where
You know why, you don't care
Now it's you-know-who
I've got the you-know-what I stick it in the you-know-where
You know why, you don't care
Now it's you-know-who
I've got the you-know-what
I stick it in the you-know-where You know why, you don't care
Babble, Babble, Bitch, Bitch Rebel, Rebel, Party, Party Sex, sex, sex, don't forget the violence
Blah, blah, blah Got your lovey-dovey sad and lonely Stick your stupid slogan in Everybody sing along
Let us entertain you
Let us entertain you
Let us entertain you
Let us entertain you
Thursday, September 07, 2006
TV on DVD
Eak and I are TV on DVD addicts. We literally have over 100 seasons of various shows on DVD, so when I refer to us watching TV at any given time, chances are, we're not watching conventional, first-broadcast programming.
Right now we're bouncing between the 5th season of 3rd Rock from the Sun, the first season of Carnivale (which we've almost finished) and a little-known show called Odyssey 5 (which was cancelled before it finished airing all of it's first-season episodes).
I have a horrible habit of latching onto shows that get cancelled. Yet another way in which I'm a bit of an odd-ball I suppose, but some of the very best shows I've ever watched never made it through a second season.
Blah, interrupted. I'll have to finish this later.
Jude Cole "Heart of Blues" from the CD "A View from 3rd Street".
Well I'm tired of losing you
I'm so tired of losing you
The way you come and go
You must be wearing out your shoes
Well I'm torn Torn in two, torn in two
And I'm looking down the tunnel of our love
But I can't see through
Just a cold dark river and a heart of blues
Uptown, downtown
You're living in the middle ground
East side, west side
You can't find the right side baby
Bad girl, good girl
You've been telling all the world
That I'm your boy, your toy
Then you turn this heart of joy
To a south side, no pride
heart of blues
Oh, hit it
Now if you go
Then don't come back, no
If you leave me tomorrow
Honey don't come back
Get a one-way ticket baby
And just follow the track
Uptown, downtown
You're living in the middle ground
East side, west side
You can't find the right side baby
Bad girl, good girl
You've been telling all the world
That I'm your boy, your toy
Then you turn this heart of joy
To a south side, no pride
Heart of blues, oh
Oh yeah[ Solo ]
Well I'm tired of losing you
Well I'm so tired, baby of losing you
The way you come and go
I got a heart of blues, whoa
Oh, hit it
(Heart of blues)
I got a heart of blues(Heart of blues)
Yeah, just a low-down heart of blues Oh
(Heart of blues)
(Heart of blues)
Right now we're bouncing between the 5th season of 3rd Rock from the Sun, the first season of Carnivale (which we've almost finished) and a little-known show called Odyssey 5 (which was cancelled before it finished airing all of it's first-season episodes).
I have a horrible habit of latching onto shows that get cancelled. Yet another way in which I'm a bit of an odd-ball I suppose, but some of the very best shows I've ever watched never made it through a second season.
Blah, interrupted. I'll have to finish this later.
Jude Cole "Heart of Blues" from the CD "A View from 3rd Street".
Well I'm tired of losing you
I'm so tired of losing you
The way you come and go
You must be wearing out your shoes
Well I'm torn Torn in two, torn in two
And I'm looking down the tunnel of our love
But I can't see through
Just a cold dark river and a heart of blues
Uptown, downtown
You're living in the middle ground
East side, west side
You can't find the right side baby
Bad girl, good girl
You've been telling all the world
That I'm your boy, your toy
Then you turn this heart of joy
To a south side, no pride
heart of blues
Oh, hit it
Now if you go
Then don't come back, no
If you leave me tomorrow
Honey don't come back
Get a one-way ticket baby
And just follow the track
Uptown, downtown
You're living in the middle ground
East side, west side
You can't find the right side baby
Bad girl, good girl
You've been telling all the world
That I'm your boy, your toy
Then you turn this heart of joy
To a south side, no pride
Heart of blues, oh
Oh yeah[ Solo ]
Well I'm tired of losing you
Well I'm so tired, baby of losing you
The way you come and go
I got a heart of blues, whoa
Oh, hit it
(Heart of blues)
I got a heart of blues(Heart of blues)
Yeah, just a low-down heart of blues Oh
(Heart of blues)
(Heart of blues)
Wednesday, September 06, 2006
Jumpin' Ship
Welcome to the "Everything But Poopie" blog. Deriving it's name from what's left to choose from in names. hee
I originally started blogging on Thursday August 31st on Windows Live Spaces. Which kinda sucked. I just didn't like the formatting or the load times and all the extra crap that came along with it. I thought I was getting an account with "My Space" which turned out to be Windows Live instead, and since I'd only made 4 entries, I thought it best to relocate while I still could with relative ease. I'm all about relative ease. Since I have 2 friends that already maintain their blogs with Beta Blogger, I'm assuming it's a nice place to set up shop.
Today I haven't much time to recount anything as I sit here with 5 minutes to go until I practice holding my breath whilst I brave the sweaty, smelly TTC.
Song of the day is "Breathe In" by Frou Frou. The lyrics are kinda' sorta' nonsensical, but it's a great song.
I read you
and God I'm good at it
I'm so spot on
Chord shapes in air
go press that dissonance
if you dare
And you
breathing in
finesse an innocent
From her partying
And I'm high enough from all the waiting
To ride a wave on your inhaling
And I'm high enough from all the waiting
To ride a wave on your inhaling
'Cause I love you now
Can't help but love, you know...
What part of no
don't you understand
I've told you before
To just get off my case
this isn't happening
stop this now
And I
where was I?
I have to be somewhere
Now where did I put it?
And I'm high enough from all the waiting
To ride a wave on your inhaling
And I'm high enough from all the waiting
To ride a wave on your inhaling
'Cause I love you now
Can't help but love you, now...
Is this it is this it is this it?
Yes
hello we're back
and we're taking calls
Now what was the question?
And I'm high enough from all the waiting
To ride a wave on your inhaling
And I'm high enough from all the waiting
To ride a wave on your inhaling
'Cause I love you now
Can't help but love you, now...
I originally started blogging on Thursday August 31st on Windows Live Spaces. Which kinda sucked. I just didn't like the formatting or the load times and all the extra crap that came along with it. I thought I was getting an account with "My Space" which turned out to be Windows Live instead, and since I'd only made 4 entries, I thought it best to relocate while I still could with relative ease. I'm all about relative ease. Since I have 2 friends that already maintain their blogs with Beta Blogger, I'm assuming it's a nice place to set up shop.
Today I haven't much time to recount anything as I sit here with 5 minutes to go until I practice holding my breath whilst I brave the sweaty, smelly TTC.
Song of the day is "Breathe In" by Frou Frou. The lyrics are kinda' sorta' nonsensical, but it's a great song.
I read you
and God I'm good at it
I'm so spot on
Chord shapes in air
go press that dissonance
if you dare
And you
breathing in
finesse an innocent
From her partying
And I'm high enough from all the waiting
To ride a wave on your inhaling
And I'm high enough from all the waiting
To ride a wave on your inhaling
'Cause I love you now
Can't help but love, you know...
What part of no
don't you understand
I've told you before
To just get off my case
this isn't happening
stop this now
And I
where was I?
I have to be somewhere
Now where did I put it?
And I'm high enough from all the waiting
To ride a wave on your inhaling
And I'm high enough from all the waiting
To ride a wave on your inhaling
'Cause I love you now
Can't help but love you, now...
Is this it is this it is this it?
Yes
hello we're back
and we're taking calls
Now what was the question?
And I'm high enough from all the waiting
To ride a wave on your inhaling
And I'm high enough from all the waiting
To ride a wave on your inhaling
'Cause I love you now
Can't help but love you, now...
Happy Pee
September 05
This weekend I did a very gay thing indeed; I watched West Side Story for the very first time. And loved it. The fact that I loved it is undoubtedly more "gay" than just watching it. I'm discovering more and more that older movies (which West Side Story qualifies as) are very entertaining, if not realistic. And lo and behold if there wasn't a distinct Michael Jackson vibe goin' on during many of the movies choreographed scenes. I for one, had no idea how obviously inspired/influenced he was by this movie - I just always thought his music videos of the 80's were a little overblown and strange. Y'know, the gang-posturing, groin-grabbing, "ho" yelling numbers that you figured were bound to erupt into an all-male street orgy at any moment if they didn't dissolve into barbs of "yo mama's so fat" first. Alas, I likely would have been that much more entertained had they been a little more of either, but I do feel like I've come that much closer to understanding one of history's more perplexing artistic beings. Revelation aside that I'm a Michael Jackson "fan", I don't consider myself an admirer or even a really big fan for a lack of any other more appropriate adjective. So here endeth my ramblings about him. West Side Story: good movie.
My course starts today. Wheeee. There was no starting gun, no fanfare, no unleashing of the hounds... which took me a minute to absorb. Y'know; the realization that I never had any of those genesis-factors present in any other educational incarnation I've undertaken. All that being said, I've already got this sinking feeling that I'm procrastinating. An old habit of mine from my school days so maybe that is the unleashing of the hounds. I think this feeling is just poppin' up because I've never done anything via correspondence before and I have no teacher of sorts to interact with, just a damned deadline. So what have I done thus far? I've started a work log to keep track of what I do in a day, this is something I must do from now til December. Ick. Now that in itself is "something" you might think, but "no", it's just filling numbers into a chart. Hardly worthy of being hailed as my triumphant return to academia. I don't know what would be worthy, but I've got a feeling this course is going to leave me feeling even more deflated about my career than I was when I began. That might be a good thing if it makes me take action. Oh action - why don't you just fall in my lap! I'll show you a good time, and you in-turn repay me with opportunity and financial compensation beyond my wildest dreams. It would seem I've spent my adult life learning that you can hustle opportunity without action. That must be what my brain and other appendages are for. ...And all this time I've aspired to be a motionless lump with a built-in ATM that pumps money out my ass at will. No really, I have.
Blah... I hate the fact that much of my mindset boomerang's back to my own shortcomings. I must change that.
And so I not-so-gracefully switch to the topic of house-training a puppy. Porthos is 6 months old and full of piss and vinegar. The vinegar I'm assuming is a metaphor for all his glorious puppy exuberance, and playful curiosity. Vinegar is also good with copious amounts of salt, on chip-wagon fries. The "piss" factor on the other hand has been an issue for quite a while. In his defense, Porthos has come a long way and he's been a very good boy, about pooping. We've had about 2-3 pooping inside incidents, versus many urine related mishaps. As I had reported earlier on, he now sleeps on our big, comfy, (yet shrinking) king-sized bed. No incidents, no issues; he's been a model puppy in that respect. But with much trepidation, I agreed with Eak that it was time to reinstate the area rugs we'd stowed away since bringin' the little one home. The trepidation came in a big, wet, gushing flow of "happy-pee" before the living room carpet had even been pulled from it's safe hiding spot. "Happy pee" is one of the stumpers in house-training. After all, you don't really want to reprimand or punish your pup for being excited about some good fortune that's come their way. Life's an adventure when you're six months old and haven't sniffed or tasted everything yet. So yeah... Sunday's "happy pee"... came from the acquisition of a grasshopper that Cole had enthusiastically laid-waste to on the balcony and left for dead. Porthos never having seen (or tasted) a grasshopper (dead or otherwise) was very happy for this hand-me-down. Happy enough to pee from the balcony door to the edge of the couch (floor only - thankfully) where he unceremoniously deposited the bug carcass. I'm not just talking piddle; full blown bladder evacuation. I think about it now with a bit of fondness, only because I have to ponder what went through his head. Was the grasshopper not-as-dead as I thought it was, causing him to freak out and drop it? Was there a sudden fear that he'd started something he couldn't stop, thus rendering the grasshopper moot-booty in light of being scolded? The Porthos I thought I knew, would've eaten the grasshopper and moved-on to some other form of mischief. I'd like to think he suddenly realized he was doing wrong and scurried off to pen a letter of apology for not living up to our expectations yet again. More likely than anything: the grasshopper just tasted bad and he circled around to the water dish to cleanse his palette and lap-up more ammo for the next unexpected moment of joy that can only be expressed with pee.
Tomorrow: I ponder how a grasshopper got into our tenth-floor apartment. ...Naw.... I won't. Everybody knows it used the elevator.
Today's song selection (avoiding the obvious choice of something Michael Jackson given how this entry began) is a fun lil' ditty that Eak and I enjoyed, loud, dancin' and "wrecked" on Friday night. A ghost-track from "Rave Un2 the Joy Fantastic".... Pretty Man, by Prince. Fucking awesome track.
Don't hate me cuz I'm beautiful
Hey now, what's up?
Aw, U know how 2 come over here starin' at a brother so hard
Huh, say U what?
CHORUS:
If U wanna be my baby, got 2 tell me so
Over competent lady, better act like U know
If U wanna be my baby, come on take my hand
Tell me that U wanna get with
Prettyman
See me up here dancin', dancin' on the flo'
Got 2 think about doin' just a little mo'
The way I wear my knickers around this booty tight
Make a sister wanna call me up every night - hey!
CHORUS
Everywhere I go, people stop and stare
They just wanna see me swing this pretty hair
If there ever comes a time when it just won't grow
I'll keep it like my brother and buy some mo' - hey!
CHORUS
(Tell me)(Looka here)(Do ya know)(Take my hand)(Say it!)
Ooh, uhIf U wanna be my baby, got (Prettyman)Ooh, Prettyman(Prettyman)
Looka here now In the early morning when I'm feeling nice
I walk by the mirror and kiss it twice
When it comes 2 perfume, i-it's on the shelf
I get it down, if ain't nobody around
I, I, I smell myself
Hey, uh, Prettyman,
looka here I ain't through
Say I don't, uh, wait a minute
Come on, band, break down
I don't care about money, I buy gold by the ounce
Y2K, not today, I write a check and the bank bounce
"Superball" used 2 be my nickname if U ask about love
No money back guarantee when I'm above
Pretty man
If U wanna be my baby, got 2 tell me so
Over competent lady, gotta act like U know
If U wanna be my baby, come on take my hand
Tell me that U wanna get with the Prettyman,
huhMaceo, brother, can U blow?
Uh, pretty From Harlem, uh, ay, off 2 Tokyo
Wait, stop, ah, go Maceo can ya, Maceo, can U blow?
Hey, Prettyman
Oh yeah
Can I scream now?
Hey, hey!
Can I scream now?
Hey, ohhh no!
Hey, hey, hey!
(phone rings)
Hello?
Who is it?
Yes, this is a Prettyman
Princey!
He he he
This weekend I did a very gay thing indeed; I watched West Side Story for the very first time. And loved it. The fact that I loved it is undoubtedly more "gay" than just watching it. I'm discovering more and more that older movies (which West Side Story qualifies as) are very entertaining, if not realistic. And lo and behold if there wasn't a distinct Michael Jackson vibe goin' on during many of the movies choreographed scenes. I for one, had no idea how obviously inspired/influenced he was by this movie - I just always thought his music videos of the 80's were a little overblown and strange. Y'know, the gang-posturing, groin-grabbing, "ho" yelling numbers that you figured were bound to erupt into an all-male street orgy at any moment if they didn't dissolve into barbs of "yo mama's so fat" first. Alas, I likely would have been that much more entertained had they been a little more of either, but I do feel like I've come that much closer to understanding one of history's more perplexing artistic beings. Revelation aside that I'm a Michael Jackson "fan", I don't consider myself an admirer or even a really big fan for a lack of any other more appropriate adjective. So here endeth my ramblings about him. West Side Story: good movie.
My course starts today. Wheeee. There was no starting gun, no fanfare, no unleashing of the hounds... which took me a minute to absorb. Y'know; the realization that I never had any of those genesis-factors present in any other educational incarnation I've undertaken. All that being said, I've already got this sinking feeling that I'm procrastinating. An old habit of mine from my school days so maybe that is the unleashing of the hounds. I think this feeling is just poppin' up because I've never done anything via correspondence before and I have no teacher of sorts to interact with, just a damned deadline. So what have I done thus far? I've started a work log to keep track of what I do in a day, this is something I must do from now til December. Ick. Now that in itself is "something" you might think, but "no", it's just filling numbers into a chart. Hardly worthy of being hailed as my triumphant return to academia. I don't know what would be worthy, but I've got a feeling this course is going to leave me feeling even more deflated about my career than I was when I began. That might be a good thing if it makes me take action. Oh action - why don't you just fall in my lap! I'll show you a good time, and you in-turn repay me with opportunity and financial compensation beyond my wildest dreams. It would seem I've spent my adult life learning that you can hustle opportunity without action. That must be what my brain and other appendages are for. ...And all this time I've aspired to be a motionless lump with a built-in ATM that pumps money out my ass at will. No really, I have.
Blah... I hate the fact that much of my mindset boomerang's back to my own shortcomings. I must change that.
And so I not-so-gracefully switch to the topic of house-training a puppy. Porthos is 6 months old and full of piss and vinegar. The vinegar I'm assuming is a metaphor for all his glorious puppy exuberance, and playful curiosity. Vinegar is also good with copious amounts of salt, on chip-wagon fries. The "piss" factor on the other hand has been an issue for quite a while. In his defense, Porthos has come a long way and he's been a very good boy, about pooping. We've had about 2-3 pooping inside incidents, versus many urine related mishaps. As I had reported earlier on, he now sleeps on our big, comfy, (yet shrinking) king-sized bed. No incidents, no issues; he's been a model puppy in that respect. But with much trepidation, I agreed with Eak that it was time to reinstate the area rugs we'd stowed away since bringin' the little one home. The trepidation came in a big, wet, gushing flow of "happy-pee" before the living room carpet had even been pulled from it's safe hiding spot. "Happy pee" is one of the stumpers in house-training. After all, you don't really want to reprimand or punish your pup for being excited about some good fortune that's come their way. Life's an adventure when you're six months old and haven't sniffed or tasted everything yet. So yeah... Sunday's "happy pee"... came from the acquisition of a grasshopper that Cole had enthusiastically laid-waste to on the balcony and left for dead. Porthos never having seen (or tasted) a grasshopper (dead or otherwise) was very happy for this hand-me-down. Happy enough to pee from the balcony door to the edge of the couch (floor only - thankfully) where he unceremoniously deposited the bug carcass. I'm not just talking piddle; full blown bladder evacuation. I think about it now with a bit of fondness, only because I have to ponder what went through his head. Was the grasshopper not-as-dead as I thought it was, causing him to freak out and drop it? Was there a sudden fear that he'd started something he couldn't stop, thus rendering the grasshopper moot-booty in light of being scolded? The Porthos I thought I knew, would've eaten the grasshopper and moved-on to some other form of mischief. I'd like to think he suddenly realized he was doing wrong and scurried off to pen a letter of apology for not living up to our expectations yet again. More likely than anything: the grasshopper just tasted bad and he circled around to the water dish to cleanse his palette and lap-up more ammo for the next unexpected moment of joy that can only be expressed with pee.
Tomorrow: I ponder how a grasshopper got into our tenth-floor apartment. ...Naw.... I won't. Everybody knows it used the elevator.
Today's song selection (avoiding the obvious choice of something Michael Jackson given how this entry began) is a fun lil' ditty that Eak and I enjoyed, loud, dancin' and "wrecked" on Friday night. A ghost-track from "Rave Un2 the Joy Fantastic".... Pretty Man, by Prince. Fucking awesome track.
Don't hate me cuz I'm beautiful
Hey now, what's up?
Aw, U know how 2 come over here starin' at a brother so hard
Huh, say U what?
CHORUS:
If U wanna be my baby, got 2 tell me so
Over competent lady, better act like U know
If U wanna be my baby, come on take my hand
Tell me that U wanna get with
Prettyman
See me up here dancin', dancin' on the flo'
Got 2 think about doin' just a little mo'
The way I wear my knickers around this booty tight
Make a sister wanna call me up every night - hey!
CHORUS
Everywhere I go, people stop and stare
They just wanna see me swing this pretty hair
If there ever comes a time when it just won't grow
I'll keep it like my brother and buy some mo' - hey!
CHORUS
(Tell me)(Looka here)(Do ya know)(Take my hand)(Say it!)
Ooh, uhIf U wanna be my baby, got (Prettyman)Ooh, Prettyman(Prettyman)
Looka here now In the early morning when I'm feeling nice
I walk by the mirror and kiss it twice
When it comes 2 perfume, i-it's on the shelf
I get it down, if ain't nobody around
I, I, I smell myself
Hey, uh, Prettyman,
looka here I ain't through
Say I don't, uh, wait a minute
Come on, band, break down
I don't care about money, I buy gold by the ounce
Y2K, not today, I write a check and the bank bounce
"Superball" used 2 be my nickname if U ask about love
No money back guarantee when I'm above
Pretty man
If U wanna be my baby, got 2 tell me so
Over competent lady, gotta act like U know
If U wanna be my baby, come on take my hand
Tell me that U wanna get with the Prettyman,
huhMaceo, brother, can U blow?
Uh, pretty From Harlem, uh, ay, off 2 Tokyo
Wait, stop, ah, go Maceo can ya, Maceo, can U blow?
Hey, Prettyman
Oh yeah
Can I scream now?
Hey, hey!
Can I scream now?
Hey, ohhh no!
Hey, hey, hey!
(phone rings)
Hello?
Who is it?
Yes, this is a Prettyman
Princey!
He he he
Boom Boom Aka Laka Laka Boom
September 03
A sleeping puppy truly provides the perfect backdrop for a lazy Sunday morning that should be spent cleaning, and cooking and doing otherwise more productive things. But doing those otherwise more productive things would distract/entertain/stimulate said-puppy and that would be wrong in more ways than I can count. So my suggestion to the unmotivated and the lazy, is to let sleeping dogs lie and let your thoughts flow on the internet. hee
Last night when I took the dogs out in the rain there was this moment of perfect chaos where you silently wonder whether the world is coming to an end. Not that I'm on the lookout for such an event, but when I stepped outside in the parking lot to cross over to the lawn, there were a couple of fire trucks screaming past, a car alarm going off to my left (no theft in progress that I could see) and then an ambulance howling after the firetrucks. Dogs don't care about this type of thing although they should give it some thought considering none of the faint-of-heart little creatures they like to chase (squirrels and birds) would dare be out in the open during a noise-fest from hell like that particular moment. But I was definitely taking note of all that was going on. Every disaster movie ever made contains some blaring car alarm after-all, and coupled with all the sirens, I thought maybe I'd wandered outside at an inopportune moment that would possibly end like it would in one of those movies... y'know hapless fat-guy walking dogs, doesn't notice towering T-rex until he's suddenly looking at a huge set of tonsils and can't feel his legs anymore because they've been left twitching and spasming on the rain-soaked pavement.
Needless to say, that didn't happen, and even though I've heard they're making a Jurassic Park 4, I hereby claim ownership of that scene and there had better not be any gratuitous violence towards animals (namely the dogs) therein.
Ahem... back to the car alarm. I got to thinking that nobody really listens to car alarms anymore, and I personally hardly ever hear them myself. Now whether that's because they aren't being set-off or I'm just not noticing, I couldn't discern honestly. But maybe I'm not hearing car alarms like I used to because people are actually getting the hang of them. That'd be a nice thing. And it's a possibility, because of keyless entry. Who uses their keys to unlock their car anymore right? Now that in turn, got me thinking about how foreign that would have seemed to me 20 years ago and how inevitably, we're one the verge of entirely keyless cars even for the ignition. I'm sure some uselessly rich people already possess these cars, but eventually it'll go wide spread because they'll be completely secure somehow and yadda yadda yadda. So that got me thinking about a voice activated car ignition, and how we'll likely have to program a cars settings one day upon taking ownership. Y'know, give your car a password of sorts and a keyword to start the engine using your voice only. Now if you had a car like that... what would you say to it to make it start? "Engine on?", "Car start?", "Go go gadget car?" All of those don't sound nearly clever enough for me, but at the same time, you don't want to pick something embarrassing to say to turn on your car. I say this because the Trekkie in me was thinking "oh that's simple, I'd just program my car to respond to "engage" and "disengage"... y'know... proper, simple, to-the-point... but Hello!! Nerdy. So what could I tell my car to do that wouldn't become tedious over time? Here's the part where you expect me to have a witty answer for that question, but I don't - 'cause I was on the lookout for salivating carnivorous dinosaurs in the parking lot on my way back in from walking the dogs.
Hence-forth... completely useless ramblings like what you just endured, will be known as "Thought Processes". I have them all the time. And whether or not they air my dirty laundry as one of those crazy people you see roaming Yonge Street in downtown Toronto talking to no one in particular and everyone at once simultaneously... I won't likely ever know, but I figure as long as I can swing them around to come to some kind of coherent point... they will continue to amuse me.
Puppy's still asleep. But farting. I swear it's not me... so I guess it's time to brave the dinosaurs again.
Was (Not Was)Walk the Dinosaur
Boom boom acka-lacka lacka boom
Boom boom acka-lacka boom boom
Boom boom acka-lacka lacka boom
Boom boom acka-lacka boom boom
It was a night like this forty million years ago
I lit a cigarette, picked up a monkey skull to go
The sun was spitting fire, the sky was blue as ice
I felt a little tired, so I watched Miami Vice
I walked the dinosaur, I walked the dinosaur
{Refrain}
Open the door, get on the floor, everybody walk the dinosaur
Open the door, get on the floor, everybody walk the dinosaur
Open the door, get on the floor, everybody walk the dinosaur
Open the door, get on the floor, everybody walk the dinosaur
I met you in a cave, you were painting buffalo
I said I'd be your slave, follow you wherever you go
That night we split a rattlesnake and danced beneath the stars
You fell asleep, I stayed awake and watched the passing cars
And walked the dinosaur, I walked the dinosaur
One night I dreamed of New York
You and I roasting blue pork
In the Statue of Liberty's torch
Elvis landed in a rock-rock-rocket ship
Healed a couple of lepers and disappeared
But where was his beard
A shadow from the sky much too big to be a bird
A screaming crashing noise louder than I've ever heard
It looked like two big silver trees that somehow learned to soar
Suddenly a summer breeze and a mighty lion's roar
I killed the dinosaur, I killed the dinosaur
Open the door, get on the floor, everybody kill the dinosaur
A sleeping puppy truly provides the perfect backdrop for a lazy Sunday morning that should be spent cleaning, and cooking and doing otherwise more productive things. But doing those otherwise more productive things would distract/entertain/stimulate said-puppy and that would be wrong in more ways than I can count. So my suggestion to the unmotivated and the lazy, is to let sleeping dogs lie and let your thoughts flow on the internet. hee
Last night when I took the dogs out in the rain there was this moment of perfect chaos where you silently wonder whether the world is coming to an end. Not that I'm on the lookout for such an event, but when I stepped outside in the parking lot to cross over to the lawn, there were a couple of fire trucks screaming past, a car alarm going off to my left (no theft in progress that I could see) and then an ambulance howling after the firetrucks. Dogs don't care about this type of thing although they should give it some thought considering none of the faint-of-heart little creatures they like to chase (squirrels and birds) would dare be out in the open during a noise-fest from hell like that particular moment. But I was definitely taking note of all that was going on. Every disaster movie ever made contains some blaring car alarm after-all, and coupled with all the sirens, I thought maybe I'd wandered outside at an inopportune moment that would possibly end like it would in one of those movies... y'know hapless fat-guy walking dogs, doesn't notice towering T-rex until he's suddenly looking at a huge set of tonsils and can't feel his legs anymore because they've been left twitching and spasming on the rain-soaked pavement.
Needless to say, that didn't happen, and even though I've heard they're making a Jurassic Park 4, I hereby claim ownership of that scene and there had better not be any gratuitous violence towards animals (namely the dogs) therein.
Ahem... back to the car alarm. I got to thinking that nobody really listens to car alarms anymore, and I personally hardly ever hear them myself. Now whether that's because they aren't being set-off or I'm just not noticing, I couldn't discern honestly. But maybe I'm not hearing car alarms like I used to because people are actually getting the hang of them. That'd be a nice thing. And it's a possibility, because of keyless entry. Who uses their keys to unlock their car anymore right? Now that in turn, got me thinking about how foreign that would have seemed to me 20 years ago and how inevitably, we're one the verge of entirely keyless cars even for the ignition. I'm sure some uselessly rich people already possess these cars, but eventually it'll go wide spread because they'll be completely secure somehow and yadda yadda yadda. So that got me thinking about a voice activated car ignition, and how we'll likely have to program a cars settings one day upon taking ownership. Y'know, give your car a password of sorts and a keyword to start the engine using your voice only. Now if you had a car like that... what would you say to it to make it start? "Engine on?", "Car start?", "Go go gadget car?" All of those don't sound nearly clever enough for me, but at the same time, you don't want to pick something embarrassing to say to turn on your car. I say this because the Trekkie in me was thinking "oh that's simple, I'd just program my car to respond to "engage" and "disengage"... y'know... proper, simple, to-the-point... but Hello!! Nerdy. So what could I tell my car to do that wouldn't become tedious over time? Here's the part where you expect me to have a witty answer for that question, but I don't - 'cause I was on the lookout for salivating carnivorous dinosaurs in the parking lot on my way back in from walking the dogs.
Hence-forth... completely useless ramblings like what you just endured, will be known as "Thought Processes". I have them all the time. And whether or not they air my dirty laundry as one of those crazy people you see roaming Yonge Street in downtown Toronto talking to no one in particular and everyone at once simultaneously... I won't likely ever know, but I figure as long as I can swing them around to come to some kind of coherent point... they will continue to amuse me.
Puppy's still asleep. But farting. I swear it's not me... so I guess it's time to brave the dinosaurs again.
Was (Not Was)Walk the Dinosaur
Boom boom acka-lacka lacka boom
Boom boom acka-lacka boom boom
Boom boom acka-lacka lacka boom
Boom boom acka-lacka boom boom
It was a night like this forty million years ago
I lit a cigarette, picked up a monkey skull to go
The sun was spitting fire, the sky was blue as ice
I felt a little tired, so I watched Miami Vice
I walked the dinosaur, I walked the dinosaur
{Refrain}
Open the door, get on the floor, everybody walk the dinosaur
Open the door, get on the floor, everybody walk the dinosaur
Open the door, get on the floor, everybody walk the dinosaur
Open the door, get on the floor, everybody walk the dinosaur
I met you in a cave, you were painting buffalo
I said I'd be your slave, follow you wherever you go
That night we split a rattlesnake and danced beneath the stars
You fell asleep, I stayed awake and watched the passing cars
And walked the dinosaur, I walked the dinosaur
One night I dreamed of New York
You and I roasting blue pork
In the Statue of Liberty's torch
Elvis landed in a rock-rock-rocket ship
Healed a couple of lepers and disappeared
But where was his beard
A shadow from the sky much too big to be a bird
A screaming crashing noise louder than I've ever heard
It looked like two big silver trees that somehow learned to soar
Suddenly a summer breeze and a mighty lion's roar
I killed the dinosaur, I killed the dinosaur
Open the door, get on the floor, everybody kill the dinosaur
Schoolin'
September 01
Yesterday I failed to document the fact that I received a package in the mail which turned out to be the materials for a diploma program I'm enrolled in to become a "Certified Radio Copywriter" through the Radio Marketing Bureau of Canada. Sheesh... how I've survived this long without it I'll never know.I looked the materials over on my subway ride home and boy oh boy, they're not foolin' around. This puppy's comprehensive. It caused me a significant amount of anxiety because my poor undereducated brain hasn't done anything remotely school-related for 12 years! If anything it's been diminished by substance abuse and general intellectual-coasting all this time. So understandably, a 14 week course with a 2-hour exam to top it off is giving me a bit of the shakes. Why is that I wonder? After all, the entire curriculum is based on the job I've been doing for 12 years. Perhaps I'm afraid to find out I'm doing things wrong. Perhaps it's because there's very little left that compels me to keep doing what I'm doing (professionally) and I find it more than a little daunting to just start giving my all again for the sake of getting an "A" in my profession that I'd gladly leave today if I thought there was something else I was qualified to do. Ahhh life questions! It's odd writing all this inner turmoil down, but this, and several other thousand doubts are bouncing around in my head at any given moment. What a loud head I have. At any rate, I start this course on Tuesday after the long weekend, and they recommend you set aside about 5 hours per week to get it done. That in itself seems like asking too much of me. And I say "me" in particular because I always seem to feel like I'm running around like a chicken with it's head cut off. No small feat for someone who just works 9 to 5 and has no extracurricular stuff going on in his life. Til Tuesday that is.
That's as good a note as any to change the subject and start documenting the fact that I'm a dog lover. Swing batta batta, swing. ...and a miss on that particular segue. But I do love my boys nonetheless. There's Cole, our 9 year old beagle/black lab/daschund mix, and Porthos our 6 month old basset hound puppy. Both spoiled. Both more than worthy of me posting hundreds and hundreds of pictures in my space here. But sadly since I'm doing the blogging at work I'm a little limited. I can't download the picture tool without administrative permission and it's not something I'm likely to ask for since it's oh-so-not work related. I will however, download a bunch of pictures from home once I have the chance (or inkling). Cole's our little princess, yes even though he's a boy he is a bonafide, royal highness, can't-sleep-with-the-pea-under-the-mattress, locked-in-a-tower, damsel in distress, princess. And at age 9, he's not going to change. We've made him into the little diva that he is, and we're subsequently trying NOT to do the same with Porthos. But it's hard. Both Eak and I have an extreme soft-spot for dogs, and we literally do treat them like they're our children. (obvious differences aside - you wouldn't put a baby in a crate with a raw hide, or spoon-feed it beef tripe, but I ramble). Porthos is quite possibly the most stereo-typically storybook cute puppy you could every hope to see. I remember picture books as a kid that were always illustrated with Bassett Hounds whenever the story called for a puppy, and now I know why. Porthos is quite simply the most mild-mannered puppy I've ever encountered. Yeah, he's got a stubborn streak like all hounds, but this dog is very sweet and gentle as they come. He's been hard to house-train, but worth every moment of frustration he's ever caused. Tonight's going to be the test-run for Porthos sleeping on the bed with us instead of in his crate. I'm not terribly worried about it, because he is really well-behaved. I just don't want him deciding to get up in the middle of the night and deciding to get into things. He's getting a little too big for his crate, so we've got to start testing the waters of his independence. We'll see how it goes.
When I said "til Tuesday" above, it gave me the idea for a song suggestion. A very haunting, little-known ditty by Til Tuesday, morbid lyrics courtesy of gifted song-writer Aimee Mann no doubt (but I don't know that for sure). I'm not choosing it for any other reason than it's my favourite song by Til Tuesday. Much better than anything they were ever known for in my opinion. "Long Gone Buddy" by Til Tuesday. Try to find it and give it a listen.
So what if it's breaking my heart at the root
Something that could happen to anyone, I suppose
Never any comfort to get from the truth
from knowing the part of this person that no one knows
So we just cry
with hopelessness
We're making
such a mess
It's long gone, buddy, now - run and go after it
It's long gone, buddy, now - run and go after it
It's not that I'm frightened of being alone
It's just that I know what a burden this grief can be
Everything happens for something, I know
Can't understand for the moment what this could mean
That love is gone
That love is blind
That love is
so unkind
It's long gone, buddy, now - run and go after it
It's long gone, buddy, now - run and go after it
Nobody wants to be happier more than me
Nobody wants to be happier more than I do
but happiness
I must confess
I don't have
It's long gone, buddy, now - run and go after it
It's long gone, buddy, now - run and go after it
Yesterday I failed to document the fact that I received a package in the mail which turned out to be the materials for a diploma program I'm enrolled in to become a "Certified Radio Copywriter" through the Radio Marketing Bureau of Canada. Sheesh... how I've survived this long without it I'll never know.
That's as good a note as any to change the subject and start documenting the fact that I'm a dog lover. Swing batta batta, swing. ...and a miss on that particular segue. But I do love my boys nonetheless. There's Cole, our 9 year old beagle/black lab/daschund mix, and Porthos our 6 month old basset hound puppy. Both spoiled. Both more than worthy of me posting hundreds and hundreds of pictures in my space here. But sadly since I'm doing the blogging at work I'm a little limited. I can't download the picture tool without administrative permission and it's not something I'm likely to ask for since it's oh-so-not work related. I will however, download a bunch of pictures from home once I have the chance (or inkling). Cole's our little princess, yes even though he's a boy he is a bonafide, royal highness, can't-sleep-with-the-pea-under-the-mattress, locked-in-a-tower, damsel in distress, princess. And at age 9, he's not going to change. We've made him into the little diva that he is, and we're subsequently trying NOT to do the same with Porthos. But it's hard. Both Eak and I have an extreme soft-spot for dogs, and we literally do treat them like they're our children. (obvious differences aside - you wouldn't put a baby in a crate with a raw hide, or spoon-feed it beef tripe, but I ramble). Porthos is quite possibly the most stereo-typically storybook cute puppy you could every hope to see. I remember picture books as a kid that were always illustrated with Bassett Hounds whenever the story called for a puppy, and now I know why. Porthos is quite simply the most mild-mannered puppy I've ever encountered. Yeah, he's got a stubborn streak like all hounds, but this dog is very sweet and gentle as they come. He's been hard to house-train, but worth every moment of frustration he's ever caused. Tonight's going to be the test-run for Porthos sleeping on the bed with us instead of in his crate. I'm not terribly worried about it, because he is really well-behaved. I just don't want him deciding to get up in the middle of the night and deciding to get into things. He's getting a little too big for his crate, so we've got to start testing the waters of his independence. We'll see how it goes.
When I said "til Tuesday" above, it gave me the idea for a song suggestion. A very haunting, little-known ditty by Til Tuesday, morbid lyrics courtesy of gifted song-writer Aimee Mann no doubt (but I don't know that for sure). I'm not choosing it for any other reason than it's my favourite song by Til Tuesday. Much better than anything they were ever known for in my opinion. "Long Gone Buddy" by Til Tuesday. Try to find it and give it a listen.
So what if it's breaking my heart at the root
Something that could happen to anyone, I suppose
Never any comfort to get from the truth
from knowing the part of this person that no one knows
So we just cry
with hopelessness
We're making
such a mess
It's long gone, buddy, now - run and go after it
It's long gone, buddy, now - run and go after it
It's not that I'm frightened of being alone
It's just that I know what a burden this grief can be
Everything happens for something, I know
Can't understand for the moment what this could mean
That love is gone
That love is blind
That love is
so unkind
It's long gone, buddy, now - run and go after it
It's long gone, buddy, now - run and go after it
Nobody wants to be happier more than me
Nobody wants to be happier more than I do
but happiness
I must confess
I don't have
It's long gone, buddy, now - run and go after it
It's long gone, buddy, now - run and go after it
Inaugural Blog
And so I begin blogging. I guess this should be meaningful or witty, or at the very least, engaging, but since I'm the only one who knows of my blog for the time being, I'll be as frivolous and boring as I want to be for now.
My name is John. I aspire to be a writer one day. Not that I'm not a writer right now. Because I am, in a life-choking, constricted, limited to client's whims kind of way. I'm a radio copy writer, and I have been for 12 years as of this November (2006). Is it what I see myself doing for the rest of my life? Not by any means. But it's my lot in life for now. I'm hoping, perhaps foolishly; that some kind of inspirational bug is going to bite me and invoke a need to keep adding to this blog and explore my own psyche and find something worthwhile to eventually write about for a living and subsequently for my own pleasure.
I visit 3 other blogs on a daily basis and they've been a bit of an inspiration. One blog is of a childhood friend whom I've known since I was like 14 years old. She doesn't always post frequently, but it's nice to know she's alive and well. The second blog I visit is another, more distant friend, who's an ex-coworker of mine from my Timmins days. I visit her blog because she's so damned funny and seems to never be at a loss for words. Y'know, one of those people who you meet and might actually say "You should be on the radio" to, which would be perfectly alright because she is on the radio everyday. Life affirming no? The third blog I visit daily is called "the daily slap", the title of which for the longest time kept me quite baffled, since I was only interested in seeing the bountiful pictures of hot men the guy posts every day. Shallow? Perhaps, but me likey.
So how'm I doin' so far? Engaging yet? Have I written anything worthy of being an inaugural blog? Not likely I'd guess, but maybe I'll look back on this one day and smile.
Since I'm undertaking the writing of this blog whilst at work, there's bound to be a lot of interruptions. Of that I can be certain. Interruptions make me bitchy, but there doesn't seem to be a way around it. (open concept office with lots of coworkers who seem to think it's rude to walk past my desk without saying something or being a general disruption to others) I might even be baited into documenting some of the colourful characters I work with eventually. I read somewhere that that's a fatal blogging error, that can sometimes get you fired so being mindful of that I may change a few names. I say "a few" like there's actually any number of people I might bitch about from my workplace when in actuality, there's really only one person who makes me crazy. But I'll save that for another day. As a teaser though: he smells like "hockey bag". What does "hockey bag" smell like you may ask? Like a locker room... a dirty dish rag... a mop that needs to be replaced... a mildewy, nasty, pungent aroma that arrives before him and lingers once he's left the room. Intriguing isn't it? Too bad it's repulsive intrigue instead of something you'd truly like to experience for yourself. The more I ride public transit though, the more I'm learning that it's not an uncommon odour. Not that that makes it any more tolerable.
Anyhow... I'd rather not end my inaugural blog detailing a foul-smelling funk. So I'll close with recommending a song to listen to. Y'see since I've been toying with the idea of writing my own blog for a very long time I wondered at the possibility of doing something meaningful each time I made an entry, and the only thing I could think of that I might be even slightly skilled at, is recommending good music. I've loved music my whole life and have quite an extensive collection. I love all genres, so there's bound to be something for anyone in what I recommend and if you don't like my daily selection, try not to write me off too quickly. I'll try to include the lyrics and the reason why I chose it. My first choice is "Borrowed Heaven" by The Corrs. At a first glance, the lyrics may not seem terribly "deep", but it truly is a beautiful song. As morbid as it might sound, I'd like this one played at my own funeral. Yes, terribly morbid. But the song is very hopeful and has kind of an awe-inspired gratefulness to it. Be happy for what you're given and see the beauty in every day. No short order, but idealistically it's a nice thought. I've loved this song from the first time I heard it in 2004.
All beauty all fade away, borrowed
All moonlight return to day, borrowed
All sunrise all shooting stars, borrowed
All earth bound bare feet in clay
you know we’re standing on
Borrowed borrowed heaven
Borrowed borrowed heaven
All heartache all rivers cried, borrowed
Don’t stay out too late tonight, borrowed
I love you don’t wanna die, borrowed
You taste like paradise, I know I’m breathing in
Borrowed borrowed heaven
Borrowed borrowed heaven
Borrowed borrowed heaven
Borrowed borrowed heaven
You gave me life and I will give it back
But before I do, I’m gonna hold it tight
This is my prayer
All body, all skin all bone, borrowed
All silky, all smooth and warm, borrowed
All pleasure, all pain are one, borrowed
Almighty I stand aloneI know I’m living in
Borrowed borrowed heaven
My name is John. I aspire to be a writer one day. Not that I'm not a writer right now. Because I am, in a life-choking, constricted, limited to client's whims kind of way. I'm a radio copy writer, and I have been for 12 years as of this November (2006). Is it what I see myself doing for the rest of my life? Not by any means. But it's my lot in life for now. I'm hoping, perhaps foolishly; that some kind of inspirational bug is going to bite me and invoke a need to keep adding to this blog and explore my own psyche and find something worthwhile to eventually write about for a living and subsequently for my own pleasure.
I visit 3 other blogs on a daily basis and they've been a bit of an inspiration. One blog is of a childhood friend whom I've known since I was like 14 years old. She doesn't always post frequently, but it's nice to know she's alive and well. The second blog I visit is another, more distant friend, who's an ex-coworker of mine from my Timmins days. I visit her blog because she's so damned funny and seems to never be at a loss for words. Y'know, one of those people who you meet and might actually say "You should be on the radio" to, which would be perfectly alright because she is on the radio everyday. Life affirming no? The third blog I visit daily is called "the daily slap", the title of which for the longest time kept me quite baffled, since I was only interested in seeing the bountiful pictures of hot men the guy posts every day. Shallow? Perhaps, but me likey.
So how'm I doin' so far? Engaging yet? Have I written anything worthy of being an inaugural blog? Not likely I'd guess, but maybe I'll look back on this one day and smile.
Since I'm undertaking the writing of this blog whilst at work, there's bound to be a lot of interruptions. Of that I can be certain. Interruptions make me bitchy, but there doesn't seem to be a way around it. (open concept office with lots of coworkers who seem to think it's rude to walk past my desk without saying something or being a general disruption to others) I might even be baited into documenting some of the colourful characters I work with eventually. I read somewhere that that's a fatal blogging error, that can sometimes get you fired so being mindful of that I may change a few names. I say "a few" like there's actually any number of people I might bitch about from my workplace when in actuality, there's really only one person who makes me crazy. But I'll save that for another day. As a teaser though: he smells like "hockey bag". What does "hockey bag" smell like you may ask? Like a locker room... a dirty dish rag... a mop that needs to be replaced... a mildewy, nasty, pungent aroma that arrives before him and lingers once he's left the room. Intriguing isn't it? Too bad it's repulsive intrigue instead of something you'd truly like to experience for yourself. The more I ride public transit though, the more I'm learning that it's not an uncommon odour. Not that that makes it any more tolerable.
Anyhow... I'd rather not end my inaugural blog detailing a foul-smelling funk. So I'll close with recommending a song to listen to. Y'see since I've been toying with the idea of writing my own blog for a very long time I wondered at the possibility of doing something meaningful each time I made an entry, and the only thing I could think of that I might be even slightly skilled at, is recommending good music. I've loved music my whole life and have quite an extensive collection. I love all genres, so there's bound to be something for anyone in what I recommend and if you don't like my daily selection, try not to write me off too quickly. I'll try to include the lyrics and the reason why I chose it. My first choice is "Borrowed Heaven" by The Corrs. At a first glance, the lyrics may not seem terribly "deep", but it truly is a beautiful song. As morbid as it might sound, I'd like this one played at my own funeral. Yes, terribly morbid. But the song is very hopeful and has kind of an awe-inspired gratefulness to it. Be happy for what you're given and see the beauty in every day. No short order, but idealistically it's a nice thought. I've loved this song from the first time I heard it in 2004.
All beauty all fade away, borrowed
All moonlight return to day, borrowed
All sunrise all shooting stars, borrowed
All earth bound bare feet in clay
you know we’re standing on
Borrowed borrowed heaven
Borrowed borrowed heaven
All heartache all rivers cried, borrowed
Don’t stay out too late tonight, borrowed
I love you don’t wanna die, borrowed
You taste like paradise, I know I’m breathing in
Borrowed borrowed heaven
Borrowed borrowed heaven
Borrowed borrowed heaven
Borrowed borrowed heaven
You gave me life and I will give it back
But before I do, I’m gonna hold it tight
This is my prayer
All body, all skin all bone, borrowed
All silky, all smooth and warm, borrowed
All pleasure, all pain are one, borrowed
Almighty I stand aloneI know I’m living in
Borrowed borrowed heaven
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)