I hate your friends!

I hate meeting new people, especially new people who other people hope are going to be a new friend. I have friends already, I look at my friend spots kind of like a baseball team, and I got all the roster spots filled. It took me 25 years but I finally got a full team I like, I feel like my team could go all the way this year. I look at my friends friends who aren't friends with my like there in my minor-league system. They're close, still gotta work on some fundementals but they won't get a shot at the big leagues unless a starter gets hurt. It's not like there is a constant barage of people wanting to be my friends, but I'm put in the situation enough that I just want to wear a hat that says "you'll never be my friend", does that make me a bad guy?

Bucket #6 wins your freedom.

As a child I hated waking up early unless it was for cartoons. Waking up at the crack of nine o'clock on a Saturday morning was a weekly ritual for me. I had my favorites. The Transformers and Ghostbusters still affect my moral decisions to this day, but there was one program that really warped my little mind in so many ways: The Bozo the Clown show.

I wasn't a huge fan and rarely made it through a whole show. I don't like clowns at all and, while Bozo and his sidekick Cookie were on the low end of the terror-ometer, my phobia wasn't the reason I couldn't sit through an entire episode. The real reason is that it was fucking boring. Bozo would throw pies and try not to get hit with things propped up on doorways. Kids would scream with glee, there'd be a cartoon, more screaming, blah blah blah. The set looked like it took place in an old auditorium on the bad side of town. I'm sure there were used needles and condoms under the bleachers where the kids sat. If you were raised in the 50's, the production values would have been acceptable but I'm from the generation of Lazer Tag; I needed a little bit more

Even though I was bored out of my skull there was one part of the show that captivated me. I'd flip through the channels until this part came on then I'd shut out all distractions around me and glue myself to the screen. If you watched the show then you probably know the part I'm talking about: the bucket toss. Oh how I loved the bucket toss. The premise of the game (which will now officially be known hereafter as The Toss) was that a kid was picked out of the audience and taken over to Bozo who was standing in front of six buckets lined in a row. There was a line at one end and the kid took his or her place there. Then Bozo would give them a ping pong ball and they'd have to toss the ball into the first bucket. If they made it, Bozo would get Cookie to show them what they'd won and then make them toss another ball into the second bucket. Repeat cycle. The further you progressed, the better the prizes got. By the sixth bucket you were winning bikes, candy, board games, all sorts of crap. The best part was you got to keep all the previous prizes too!

I loved it and hated it at the same time. I loved the concept of prizes. I hated that I would never be able to do The Toss. Why? Was it because I'd never be in Chicago? Nope. Theoretically I could convince my parents to take me there. Was it because I was too old? Hell no. When this was going on I was right in my prime Toss years. The reason I couldn't do The Toss was because I was Canadian. That's right. Canadian. At the beginning of the show (or the end, I can't remember) it said anyone could be a contestant but then had a sub-clause that you had to be an American to play.

Come to think of it, this is probably where my dislike of Americans began. I was already pissed at the prejudice being hurled my way due to being born in the wrong country but, on top of that, I had to watch these kids, these American kids win? I remember what they were like. Have you ever watched the movie "A Christmas Story"? They remind me of the kid who stands in line behind Ralphie at the Santa line up. The one who wore the goggles and smelled of tapioca. Bozo's audience was filled with kids just like that. They were winning bikes while I sat and ate cereal. Or, even worse, they weren't winning bikes while I ate my cereal. I used to get so irritated watching these kids screw up. I remember being absolutely livid when one of them couldn't even get the ball in the first bucket. I literally got up and screamed at the screen with anguish, "You didn't even try!!!"

It was so frustrating seeing these kids fail, especially when I knew I could do better. I have a hard time watching someone else do something and do it badly and that's when nothing is at stake. You put a bike up for grabs, phone in your effort, then march around in Bozo's Grand Parade smiling like nothing happened? Fuck you, you're now my enemy.

As a weird aside, I think I attached a bizarre stigma to the kids who participated in The Toss. To this day I still feel that the kids that made it to bucket #6 went on to lead successful lives and are vastly superior to the majority of the population. The ones that failed miserably are either dead, burn-outs, or on third rate reality TV shows. Perhaps that's why it was so upsetting to know I would never get to play: it was my barometer for future success and I was denied knowing my future simply because I was Canadian. Later in life I would learn that not being an American is far better than being one but at the time it seemed unfair. Health Care? Screw that, I wanted a bike.

Super Freaking Smart.

The other day I got my first look at what the Apple iPhone can do for me.
Lets just say, I was blown away. That thing is amazing. It can do nearly everything. I couldn't stop thinking how smart those people who made it must be. I'll bet they wear pretty big hats.
I was lost in thought of Steven Jobs and his crew of brilliant wizards when my mind began to wander. I thought of the geniuses through time. There is this new Apple-gang, Einstein, Newton, Edison and so on. Then I thought back and back, who is the smartest of them all? Who would I most like to meet?
And it hit me!
I don't know who it is or when it happened. But, I would like to shake the hand of the individual who first looked at a cow and said, "I'm going to eat that!".
I'm sure that must have been a long time ago, long before guns and slaughter houses. So that only makes it even more impressive. I know if you plunked me back X-million years I'd certainly be a vegetarian, simply because I wouldn't know how to kill anything. Small things would be too quick, and large ones too dangerous.
I'm not sure how "he" killed that first cow. But in my mind it looks a little like Rocky II. Only at the end of the fight Rocky doesn't win the Heavyweight Belt, he eats Apollo Creed.

My cereals may be dull but my shoes are flamboyant!

I turned 25 a few days ago and, since I've been home all week with a bum ankle, I started doing a little self introspection. I wouldn't go so far as to call it soul searching though I do plan to continue doing that. I'll find that damn soul someday. No, what I was doing wasn't serious enough to be considered much of anything.
It did have a serious start, what with me trying to figure out what the Hell I'm doing with my life but quickly devolved (de-evolved?) into the usual brand of "entertaining only to me and maybe Adam" style of thought. I could see the cereal stash from the couch and started studying it. Let's see: Raisin Bran, Fibre One, Shreddies, All-Bran, Multi-grain Cheerios, and, the wild child of the gang, Apple Cinnamon Cheerios. That's a health conscious bunch. At least 3 of those could be found in the cupboards of old people concerned with prolonging their life. Looking at them, all I can think is, "When the fuck did I get so boring?"

Suspending reality for a minute, if you cut me in half, you would see a series of concentric rings similar to those you would find in the trunk of a tree. Rather than the usual procession of light brown/dark brown, these rings would be a harmony of pastel and primary colours from all the cereals I've eaten whilst growing up. There's your standard shades of Fruit Loops or rather, Froot Loops seeing as proper spelling was tossed to the side once they added a fourth colour. There are miscellaneous blue rings from all those times Kellogg's and General Mills got riske (French hat over the e) and hauled out the forbidden blue food colouring. I realize blue isn't so forbidden now but I am a child of the 80's and back then blue foods were considered taboo. I have another rant about this and blue Kool-Aid but I'll save that for another day. Also in this veritable rainbow are bright red Crunchberry rings and bright purple ones from Frosted Flakes. I realize that technically those should be brown but I've always imagined it turning purple in my stomach so that's how it's going to be. Remember, we left reality's well beaten path and started blazing our own a while back.

Those are not healthy cereals. I'm surprised I didn't get diabetes from eating all that crap. My pancreas would take yours in a Death Match. I guess that's only if the pancreas is responsible for insulin. Which it might not be. I forget. Anyway, You could look at these rings and as they got further from the centre, the colours would start fading until it was looking just like a tree. Our study done, we may now put me back together with no ill effects and slide down to reality again.

"When the fuck did I get so boring?" I know those cereal choices are much better for me than the sugar frosted death crunchies of old but they're so dull! So grown up! And you can't put a cartoon character on a box of Fibre One because it makes other people uncomfortable. What would you even put? A poop with racing stripes and a watch? That's just irregular (yes that's some pun-like wordplay). Even the Honey-nut Cheerio Bee can't go on other boxes of Cheerios. People with no imagination would call him on it. "Hey... bees have nothing to do with apples or cinnamon... what the Hell are you doing here? Get out of here Honey-nut Cheerio Bee!" and then he walks away slowly, lonely, and probably having suicidal thoughts.

I guess we weren't quite back to reality.

Don't get me wrong, these cereals do taste kind of good but it's a different kind of good. I'm just lamenting the lack of fun they suffer from. In the end, I suppose I have to accept the fact that, while I am an adult and I can eat whatever I want, I am an adult and will die a young death unless I start following the lead of seniors everywhere and eat dull, earthy, and healthy cereals.

I refuse to start stealing Senokot though.

Moustaches are good for camoflauge.

Today I was thinking about job security. I'm probably getting bumped out of my position at FCL. I am fine with this and am actually quite happy. I may be the first person there to ever crack a grin after being told they were getting laid off. I started thinking about what I was going to do after and then a thought popped into my head. I began to think about what Saddam Hussein's body doubles migh be doing for work now. His capture and execution must have really been rough on them. Sure it was a dangerous job but I like to think that they reaped some sort of sweet palatial benefits from it back when Saddam was in power. Now? Not only are they out of a job, they're probably hated more than the average Iraqi citzen. At least when I'm done with my job there won't be mobs wanting to string me up.

Well, maybe one or two.

Where's the button that says, "I'm feeling hesitant about this."

There is a new development in my life that has started to worry me. I recently had the hard drive on my computer crash and needed a replacement. Because I am cheap and impatient I had the guy who fixed it only do a partial install and I figured I would do the rest. I brought it home and started the long process of reinstalling programs and trying to get a set up similiar to what I had before. It was during this process that my latest cause for worry reared it's head: I am a "yes man" when it comes to computers.
If you're familiar with installation procedures you'll know that you're often presented with many screens asking you what to do. These do not bother me. It's their little siblings that get on my nerves. These are the ones that are written in some sort of esoteric computer jargon (I know jack shit about computers) that tell you something and then you are presented with the options of "Ok" and "Cancel". At first I was hesitant to choose but not out of fear. I simply wanted more information. This is not usually an option or, if it is, there's more lingo that I don't understand. After some hesitation I just chose "Ok". Then another screen popped up.
Ok.
Restart.
More screens.
Ok. Ok. Ok.
Restart. Restart. Restart.
For the most part I didn't even know what I was agreeing to, I was just doing it because it seemed like that's what the computer wanted. If the computer was happy, I was happy. Just saying yes made everything that much easier. When I realized this I felt dirty. The computer was having it's way with me and I was just sitting there happily clicking away. Now, feeling unhappy, I timidly chose the "Cancel" option on the next one and waited to see what would happen. Another screen popped up telling me that I should have chosen "Ok" and more or less asked whether I really wanted to cancel it. Given the tone of the message it felt like one of those last chance kind of moments and I ended up taking the computer's suggestion.
After I'd consented to every single one of the computer's wishes I sat back and comtemplated what had just occured. I was this computer's bitch and not only that, I was choosing to be victimized. For all I know it had been mocking me and asking me if I was stupid and if I liked what it was doing to me in it's computer-y way and I had been agreeing with it the whole while. This bothered me because I am not a yes man in real life, nor do I just agree to things to make it easier for everyone. Quite the opposite, actually. But here I was just slutting it up for the computer all because I was ill informed.
A greater man than I could have turned that story into a witty article that drew comparisons between the situation and the lack of sex education in public schools which leads to forced sexual situations. Or perhaps a politically themed one on how the parties force you into agreeing to things that you don't want for veiled promises of what you do want. Sadly, I am not a great man so all you're getting is a hastily typed blog entry. I quickly grew bored of feeling sullied by my computer and did something else, something which absolved me of my issues and made me feel clean: I checked the standings in my hockey pool then I unplugged the machine. As it's life slowly drained away I felt more in control. It had it's way with me for a little while but, left to my whims, it was living on borrowed time. With this knowledge secure, I shut it down for the night, went to bed, and dreamed assertive dreams.

Best fake names...

Alright, this post is open for anyone to add to in comments or edit and add your own -- best fake names (porn names, sports names, ironic names, screen names, wrestling names, whatever) we can come up with.

Richard Slippery
Jeremiah Uppercut
Slim McPunch
Scooter Twoply
Sammy Headfake

Free mail

Speaking of mail, here's how to beat the mail delivery system. Post offices have to return unstamped mail to the sender, right? So, don't put a stamp on it, simply switch the sender address and the address you're sending the mail to. Then the post office will return the mail to the address you want to deliver it to!

Avoiding the mailman

Why don't we go and get the mail right away when it gets dropped off? We see the mailman (mailperson, mail delivery person, what's the PC term, now?) coming, we hear them drop our mail in the box, yet we don't go out immediately. We wait... then when he/she is out of sight we crack the door and get the mail. Are we embarrassed that the mailman is going to think we're too anxious? That we're so bored we're waiting around for the mail? That we have no life?

Mr. Suave

So Dracula can't see his reflection in a mirror right?

Then why is it that that mother-fucker never has a cow-lick or some shit between his teeth?