Waiting for the Meteor

I don’t hold much hope for humanity tonight. Perhaps it is the fact that I have to pay attention to two elections right now. One is enough to make ya crazy. Two is enough to make you realize how fucked we are. I am just starting to think there may be too many crazy people in the world. Too many selfish people who only give a fuck about themselves and a handful of people around them. Too many people that are so scared of change and helping others that they are perfectly content to keep their world somewhere between 1957 and 1988.

It feels that the ability to compromise and work as one, for the better of the planet and our species, has been lost. Perhaps it never existed all. Sometimes I look to the sky and think to myself, it wouldn’t be so bad if a meteor just came crashing into earth. Like when your dog hits the switch on the surge protector underneath your desk and your PC is immediately shut down. You know the PC you have not restarted in a month. Your internet browser chugs like a frat boy on spring break. Videos stutter like a senator caught in an expense scandal. Sure you could try closing some tabs or try a different browser, but sometimes things need a reboot.

So among everything else on my mind, there is one topic in particular I would like to emphasize on. That is the easily offended and politically correct inquisition going on. No one better point fingers at anyone except themselves. This isn’t a he said she said thing. This isn’t a battle between the good ol’ boys and the high falutin’ city folk. Point that finger at yourself and call it a night. Don’t worry, I’ve already pointed a finger at myself. Just go ahead and sift through my archive – please do and share – to find the instances where I have been offended. Enjoy zingers such as this and that.

Every group, every demographic, every walk of life. Everyone has been offended lately. That isn’t to say that we shouldn’t be. It is just that everyone is doing it and so everyone else does it to. If they can, why can’t we? Because, maybe you shouldn’t be offended to the point of doing something. Maybe you should just be offended, but not make a big deal about it. Maybe your argument is stealing the thunder from important discussions that need to be had. Maybe your argument shorts other arguments out. Then people begin to lose hope and wonder why they tried in the first place. Then we all start looking to the sky and start waiting for that meteor.

Shit Slinger: The Legendary Oscillating Fan of Judgement

Long ago, in an age before the internet. During a time when the Maple Leafs could have been champions. There was an oscillating fan of legendary origins. A fan for whom without, the phrase “When the shit hits the fan,” would not exist. A fan with many names : Shit Slinger, Vornado Brownblade, Stinkwind of Hoboken, Gandalfini Shithawk.

A fan of mythical deeds and powers that have been forgotten by the human race. The only proof that Shit Slinger ever existed at all is that phrase. We utter it like hindsight prophets. People flee, children cry, everything burns to ash. Yet, the only thing people can say is that the shit has hit the fan.

Forgetting full well that somewhere beyond time and the physical plane; A fan whose original color can no longer be determined, a fan whose protective cage was lost eons ago, a fan who has ascended beyond needing electricity, has decided that we have tempted fate long enough. That we had plenty of chances to steer our ship around the current mess and have failed to do so. Shit Slinger is fickle. Shit Slinger is judgey. Shit Slinger has no patience for our shit.

Ethereal excrement is summoned forth and hurled toward Shit Slinger. Almost as if in slow motion it travels through the air, between three and a half feet and four feet off the ground. Shit Slinger hums and whirrs while sending air traveling to and fro. Travelling between the points of oscillation. Waiting for the moment of impact.

Judgement has been passed. There is not a single thing anyone could do to stop the punishment. Punishment that is sprayed and flung hemispherically outward. Only as a metaphor at first. Then through the process of magic and elder powers is practically applied to us and our situation. The skies open, the earth crumbles, the seas dry up. Still a metaphor, but an apt one none the less.

Remember to set yourself up for success and avoid the wrath of Shit Slinger. Plan ahead and look both ways before crossing the street. Perhaps beg for forgiveness into the nearest fan. Just talk right into it! Not only will you sound like a cool robot, Shit Slinger may consider your plea. Unless it is a box fan of course. Box fans do not deliver messages to Shit Slinger as they are not fans of oscillating fan’s elitism.

Literally Another Shitty Morning

This is what is going on over at the other blog!

the standards of living

At nearly four in the morning, the bedroom light switched on. When my eyes opened I saw my wife heading out the door. There was a mumbly verbal exchange between us. I didn’t know what she had said was going on. All I knew was the light was on and there only one dog on the bed.

By the time I got up and walked toward the door she was in the hall holding onto Bleu, the guy pictured above. You may remember him from this post. Well, Bleu was it again! Although this time he did us a solid and broke out his old trick/conversation piece. He did all of his business in the bathtub.

That is right, when our dog needs to have an unscheduled bathroom break, he will sometimes use the bathtub. It is feat he developed on his own when he was a puppy. In…

View original post 402 more words

Windows 10 And The Open Door Policy

Windows 10. I don’t know what to think about you. Apparently, you will herald a new era of gaming and technology. I have to admit, you had me at free and gaming. I also heard about how it was kind of like 8, but without all the sucky parts. Then I started to find stuff out. Like how you would start charging me for updates after two years. At the sametime 7 and 8 will be supported for many years to come. It isn’t that I am opposed to paying for stuff. It is that I don’t know what paying for updates actually looks like. Can I eventually buy a full copy and get out of these monetized updates? Is this going to be like the cat days of OSX and Snow Leopard?

Then there was that whole bit about automatically downloading onto peoples machines. Even the ones that didn’t reserve a copy. Without so much as a how do you do. Just gobbling up precious monthly gigabytes. On top of that you are apparently a nosey son of a bitch. Looking for cracks and other assorted “nasty” things. While I am not one of those types. I am not sure how I feel about my OS going all, old lady across the street watching out her window between syndicated episodes of Columbo, on me.

At this point, I have a reserved copy that I haven’t installed yet. Every few days it pops up and says “Hey, you wanna have a good time, install me!” I just click the X and close the damn window. I have a funny feeling that if I click anything else I will somehow schedule myself for some sleazy auto install.

Auto install, really? I know it can happen, my wife’s PC just did it. I am sorry honey, I forgot to check the PC at 6 A.M. and cancel any pending install. If you are reading this before I can tell you, don’t worry, all your stuff is still there! There wasn’t any other option. Either, I am going to install right now or in three days. And as promised, you installed in three days. I don’t know how I feel about that. No, I do. I think it is bullshit. It is one thing to pop up a reminder in three days, it is another thing to just auto install. Seems like something malware would do. Not saying you’re malware, just sayin’.

The Fruity and Cocoa Pebbles Platform

Election season is bearing down on us in Canada. The NDP and Liberals are neck and neck. The Conservatives, unfortunately, have not fallen behind by a safe enough distance to allow any breathing room. We have an abundance of progressive parties and one stuck in the mud party. Anything could happen!

There are a lot of campaign promises coming from each and every party. Promises that we are all too aware, will not be kept. That isn’t what I am here to talk about. I am here to offer something to the Conservatives. Something, if they read this blog, they would be surprised by.

Yes Tories, I have seen many of your commercials and heard many of your promises. I heard about the Netflix tax that you will save Canadians from. Most recently I heard about how, if elected you will donate a shit load of money to the Terry Fox Foundation. A foundation, who after catching wind of what you said, kindly stood up and said, “Please don’t.” I know you haven’t been the most popular lately and have been saying you would do all sorts of stuff. Stuff the other parties won’t do.

I have heard your begging and well, I am going to offer something to you. My vote! However, you have to do something for me. It is not an easy task. This is huge and something I have been wanting for a long, long time. Get me Fruity and Cocoa Pebbles in Canada.

I mean a real deal steady supply. None of this only at the now defunct Target Canada. I don’t mean at Superstore, for a limited time. So limited that I only ever see one box of one flavor. I mean I want them as steady and easily obtainable as Frosted Flakes, Trix and Golden Grahams. As in, any time I want them, I can get them.

So quick, go change the law that prohibits popular cartoon characters from selling products, such as, but not limited to, cereals in Canada. Let’s fix these damn character licensing and copyright issues. Why are they only in stores for a random and limited time? Are there any other reasons holding them back from being in Canada? Anything I don’t know about and haven’t mentioned? One more thing, I mean the American Pebbles, not that weird crap I have only heard about from the eighties. No Canadian Pebbles from the past.

Fix it! And I will do my part to make all of your wildest – social program killing, oil sand fracking, anti-terrorism bill writing, safe injection site shutting down, CBC obliterating, billion dollar surplus running, pissing in coffee mugs videotaping, recession causing, worst economic growth since the depression celebrating, Keystone XL pleading, old ass fighter jet purchasing, senator slush fund scandaling, second class citizen legislating – dreams come true!

Actually, on second thought, I don’t like any of those things I just mentioned. I will just drive down to the states and get my Fruity and Cocoa Pebbles fix. Then I will vote for someone else. Sorry to get your hopes up.

Boba Fett Is Dead! Long Live… Whatever…

That is right nerds. Boba Fett, the quietest, deadliest, and coolest bounty hunter in the galaxy is dead. I suppose he has been for the last few months or at least ever since it became news that only the movies and that tv show were canon.

After falling into a sarlacc pit at the end of Jedi, everyone left the theatre thinking that quiet tin headed douche, who had captured Han for a bit, had kicked the bucket. Nobody really cared. Some were glad that he was gone. Including me, nobody does that to Han and gets away with it. He didn’t do all that much and died a rather humorous death that wasn’t fitting of his bad ass status. In fact, he died much in the same manner that the nameless and generic gamorrean guards did. Right into the sarlacc pit, which looks like nothing more than a sand sphincter. I should know, I just drew one and am now considered an expert on the subject.

It wasn’t until, later that he came back to life in one of the books. Well, actually, he had never died. Something about his jetpack and a ledge or something. I am not sure and I don’t care enough to google it. The book also contained more information about him, apparently. Maybe he did some really rad stuff, because he is really popular. Everyone likes him, including myself.

Even his toys are sought after and are more difficult to find. There seems to be a higher value put on them. I believe it is akin to how popular Snake Eyes from G.I. Joe was. His toys were more difficult to track down too. While all we knew about him was that he’s a badass and a dog person.

So without the acknowledgement of that book in the new canon. Boba is dead, but don’t fret. I am sure they will bring him back. However, for the moment, he is, dead. My condolences. Also, Han’s cooler.

Expanding A Bit On Fat Shaming with A Dash of Fit Shaming (I Guess?)

About a week ago – unless you are reading this two or more weeks from now – I wrote a post about that atrocious woman and her fat shaming video. I mostly wanted to breakdown some parts of her video and vent. She really ticked me off. It wasn’t that she was hurting my feelings. It was that she was hurting other people’s feelings with ignorant and incendiary commentary. All in the name of stroking her juggernaut of an ego.

Although, her opinions shouldn’t really hurt anyones feelings. Unless that family on the plane, if they truly exist, realizes who was sitting on the plane in the adjacent seat. Otherwise she is basically a fictional character who is tactless, tasteless, and has no idea what she is talking about or who she is speaking to. Of course ignoring her comments is easier said than done.

All of that said, I have had a few comments about my previous post and stance. Some thought that I may be lowering the bar. Saying “Hey, it is fine to be unhealthy. Just feed your kids McDonald’s.” That wasn’t necessarily what I meant. In fact, I think people should take care of themselves. Everyday they should attempt to be their very best. That is a real amorphous concept. My best is different from everyone else’s best and everyone else’s best is different from everyone else’s best.

What I am really trying to say and how I truly feel about the situation is that people should love themselves and their bodies the way they are. At the same time, we should all be trying to improve. What is the end goal? To be healthier than we were before. Does that mean that everyone is going to be ripped and skinny? Nope. That ain’t going to happen.

Here is one thing I want to make absolutely clear. People’s bodies vary. Metabolisms are different. If you got a fast one and need to work out minimally other than to hone your rusty pipes or bangin’ ass, good for you. I am so fucking happy for you! I am beside myself with joy! If you are like me, you can eat well enough and still gain weight. Exercising like crazy has helped me, but I am not anywhere near ready for the cover of Men’s Fitness. Besides, I don’t think I want to be.

In closing: love your body and love yourself. Take good care of yourself. Try to be better with each passing day. And for all that is good in the world, eat a goddamn donut! Especially when people bring them into the office. Don’t bitch about how it is going to make you fat or how you are going to have to go the gym after. Just, fucking, eat it. Your soul will thank you!

My First Half Marathon: Epilogue

(Continued From)


 I was tired. I could not have ran another meter. Luckily, I felt like I could still walk at a decent pace. Which was good because I was about twelve kilometers from home. I walked for a bit. Then was forced off the trail by some running groups. I thought they were a bunch of jerks because they couldn’t share the trail and were running three abreast. Two separate groups did the exact same thing. I wanted to yell at them, “Hey! I just ran a half marathon! Give me some respect!” I had ascended. I was in a new class of runner. I was no longer the kind that just runs fives and tens. I could go further now. The next distance goal would be a full marathon. My head kind of spun upon that realization.

 About two kilometers after I stopped, I came across the trailhead that I passed long ago, around kilometer six. I hung a right and headed west. I saw a sign that said Gilmore Station was seven kilometers away. I changed albums. I couldn’t listen to Mastodon’s Blood Mountain anymore. Although fitting for this run, three times was enough. Before I switched, I finished the album’s last song. The one where the hero has perished after battle and ascends into the afterlife. That is the way I have always interpreted it anyway.

 I finished the rest of my water. I called my wife and asked her for a ride. Of course she agreed and we decided to meet near the skytrain.  A cold front was moving in and the wind was blowing. I was growing cold quickly. Cotton mouth was setting in.

 When I finally got to the pick up spot, I was thirsty, cold, and smelled horrendous. I was also bleeding because I had finally pulled the thorns out of my hand. The blowing wind had covered my dried sweat sticky skin with dirt.

 I stood there, watching some radio station put on bean bag throwing contest. I thought about wandering over there and giving it a try. I felt like I could do anything. I had a good sense that I could win whatever it was they were giving away. I had ran a half marathon, I could throw a bean bag like a muth. The wind shifted and I was reminded of how bad I smelled. I decided not to after all.

 My wife showed up and I got in the car. I remarked on how bad I smelled. In a, I wasn’t going to say anything tone, she requested I roll down my window. She had brought along a Clif Bar. It was the one of the best things I had ever tasted.

Nexus 5 Down

Yesterday I did something absolutely stupid. While needlessly jogging through the parking lot to pay for a parking spot, my phone fell out of my hoodie pocket. I knew it was getting close to falling out. I had felt it bouncing around for a stride or two. I guess I have lost some weight so my belly doesn’t pin it against my pocket like it did last fall. As the fateful moment approached, my hand was reaching for my phone. As my hand entered my empty pocket, I heard the thud.

I stopped and turned. My phone, my buddy, was lying face down on the only mound of patched asphalt that seemed to exist. I had a terrible feeling. “Oh no!” I loudly moaned as I flipped it over and saw the shattered screen. I didn’t care that there were people around who heard. My phone’s screen was broken! The point of impact, just on the edge. Whatever had caused it was nearly missed.

I felt terrible. I typically don’t break things. My first G.I. Joe broke after six years of ownership. Even then it seemed to be of natural causes. The elastic holding everything together just broke while he was lying there, perfectly spaced from every other Joe in the box.

With that kind of resume, it is no wonder that I didn’t pay for the extra device protection. The joke is on me I guess. However, it might not be. Even though it will cost $140 to fix the screen, I would have paid more than twice that if I had added the protection plan ever since I’ve owned a smartphone. In addition, I have even been able to find the replacement screens for $47. After watching a few DIY videos though, it seems pretty meticulous. It may not be my cup of tea.

Also, I don’t know what I thought my phone was held together with, but I didn’t think it was double sided tape. Oh, how the mystery is gone!

My First Half Marathon: Soul Crushing Hope

(Concluded From)

 So there I was on the border of New Westminster and Coquitlam. About sixteen kilometers from home. At this point, I thought that I may be closer to Krispy Kreme than to my house. I have to admit, that sounded like a delicious finish line and I thought longer than I should have about telling my wife to meet me there. In all seriousness though, as far as distance was concerned, this was my halfway point. As far as my body was concerned, it felt like we had about another six left.

 As dour as that sounds, I was positive I was heading north. For the first time in almost an hour, I knew exactly where I was. I passed an older woman. There was a look of “Where the hell did he come from?” on her face. She was nice though and we exchanged salutations as I passed. Heading out this far was worth that one exchange. If nothing else, she restored my faith in humanity. I had hope, bleak as it was, impossible as the odds seemed. Soul crushing hope.

 Across the street, I saw a sign for the Central Valley Greenway. A few  meters ahead I came across what I assumed was the westbound route. There were no signs though. Why would there be any? I hadn’t seen a map for such a long time that it stood to reason that there would be no signs. Hesitantly, I stepped onto the trail. Hoping that this wasn’t one more wrong turn. I started the trek home.

I had a long way to go. I knew I wasn’t going to run it all, but I knew I was going to run a half marathon. I called my wife and let her know that I was going to be a bit longer. I could tell she was worried about me. Especially when I told her how far east I had gone. My doubts began to ease. This had to be the correct trail. It was well maintained, wide and flat. I even passed an oncoming runner that I had passed by at kilometer five. I knew I had to be heading the right way.

 For the most part, these last five kilometers were mostly a blur. As I said, the trail was flat. Pretty much just straight running. I also think I started to block out parts. My water was beginning to run low. My thighs were beginning to ache. Luckily, I was able to work that feeling out. Only a few more kilometers remained.

 One of the spots that does stand out is when I ran passed Cariboo Dam. It was at this point that I realized that somewhere around the twelfth kilometer I had seen a sign for the same dam. I could have taken a shortcut and skipped the whole Crack of Doom Trail. Also at this point, I could have been about five kilometers closer to home.

 I should also mention that there had been a race or clinic around much of my route. I finally came across a water table. I stopped for a moment to talk to the people working it. I wanted to ensure I was heading the right direction. As they offered me water, they said I was. For some reason I turned down the water. I was low, but I had enough. Plus I told them, “I wasn’t part of their thing.” Part of me wanted to finish with “I am almost done running a half marathon.” However, that seemed like too much energy. Mostly I just didn’t want to take water because I had given them no money. I thanked them and headed on.

 I came across several  more maps. I paused at each and every single one to make sure I wasn’t lost again. There was some bad news. I wasn’t lost, but I wasn’t nearly as far ahead as I thought I was. That is some morale shattering shit. One foot in front of  the other. I was almost done.

 When the voice on my phone said twenty kilometers, I knew it was time to make sure of one last thing. Just how long is a half marathon in kilometers? Some will say twenty one, but this is rounding down. I wanted to be bang on. I wanted the honor of saying I had done a half. I wanted Strava to send me an email letting me know I could buy a T-shirt. I had come all this way, it would be terrible to stop early. While I had thought of running twenty two kilometers, my cramping thighs were telling me otherwise.

 I slipped my phone off of my arm and started browsing the internet. Twenty one point one was the answer and my goal. Twenty one kilometers came the voice. One foot in front of the other, I told myself. Just one more block. That was it. Less than a minute left. Twenty one point one was announced. I stopped immediately. Moving time 1:53:15. Elapsed time 2:04:10 AVP 5:22.