The Bird’s The Word, The Bird Forgot The Word

  A few days back, I was having trouble remembering a word. This usually isn’t that big of a deal. A momentary lapse in memory and the word shows up. Or I just use my internal thesaurus and find an acceptable replacement or spray words like a scatter gun, until people get the point. I did the latter.

  In fact, I did it three times in an eight hour-ish period. Because for some reason, the word that I could not recall, couldn’t remember to save my life, I felt like using in three different scenarios. Two of those instances were about the same topic so it’s understandable. The other one was about some other random topic.

  Either way, all the conversations were about taking a couple of different things and putting them together. However, putting these things together and getting them to live in harmony is a bit of challenge. I’d say many sentences and words – oh how the conversation was going so well. Then like a fat kid tripping over the carpet on his run to the buffet for round two of mac and cheese,  the conversation fell flat and immediately stopped. Everyone looked at me, the looks on their faces said, “What’s up with fatty?”

  I stood there in silence, like the wind had been knocked out me. There was stammering. Then, in the presence of mission critical failure, the deluge of words. Some were close, some weren’t. Hell, I even described what I was trying to say and people started blurting out suggestions. Marry is what I landed on, but felt flat. Like drinking water that’s sat for a day.

  However, it did work. The conversation moved on and completed. I went on with life and came home. Around nine that night I was making coffee for the morning. While I was filling the carafe at the sink, I happened to look over at the coffee pot. In that instant, like a sucker punch of knowledge – BOOM! – I saw the word in my head. Its time in the sin bin was up and was once again part of my vocabulary. The word was reconcile!

The MySpace Exodus of Two Thousand Whatever


 

The Rise, The Plague, The Fall

MySpace, remember that? It still exists and at one time, scrolled sideways in an effort to be cool. My page is* derelict and full of plug-ins and quizzes that no longer exist. Remember how easy it was to take the default page and turn into a late nineties DIY blog’s interpretation of a Las Vegasian nightmare?

Someone once said that MySpace was founded on three principles. Skanky pictures, of skanky people, doing skanky things. That isn’t an exact quote, but it is damn close. It may also be only one principle. Either way, they were right, so very right.

MySpace started its descent from popularity around 2007. Facebook threw the first punch and everything else swarmed it. Someone flipped on the lights and the skanky people scurried away like plague infested rats scrambling from a sinking ship. Problem is, they took up residence on the surrounding icebergs, in other words, the new cool social networks.

Back In Your Ass With The Resurrection

A while back, I discovered a vein of skanky people on twitter. One follow back and the next thing I knew, my feed looked like it was straight out MySpace. In other words, the digital equivalent of watching from behind the curtain as the neighbors have a naked fist fight in the front yard and, as the cops pull up, their toddler – the one with tattoos – steps out on the porch shooting a .44 while dropping bombs of the eff and cee variety. Then Ron Jeremy shows up. It was 2004 all over again!

Have you been to MySpace lately? It’s rebranded cleaned up and seems to completely be about music. No one gives a fuck about Tom. I assume he is either chugging beer at the frat house in the sky or moved onto other marketing opportunities. Unfortunately, he left his skanky friends down here.

 


Written at Ikea while waiting to return something, refined at home.

*Was. Now it’s shut down.

Pi Day and National Potato Chip Day


 

That’s it! This is ridics! I’ve written about  all these national days of bullshit celebrating before. How it’s kind of funny, but that the sheer amount of them has jumped the shark. That in some cases they’ve been double booked with actual holidays. According to the one web page I bothered to pull up, there are over 1,200 national days. So in that case, they’re all triple booked and then some. Something just isn’t right about it.

Happy Pi Day

Today, March, 14th, I got on the twitter and saw the Pi Day was trending. As it should. It’s funny and nerdy and all the things that people that would get the joke love so much. There’s also a reason to have it. In case you aren’t keeping up, the date is the rounded up value of the ratio of a circle’s circumference to its diameter. Pies are round, unless you’re a heathen and “Pi” sounds like “pie.”

Unhappy National Potato Chip Day

However, there was something else trending as well, national potato chip day. I don’t recall ever hearing of this one before. Maybe it’s because I’m a national day grinch, but maybe it’s new. That one web page I pulled up couldn’t tell me who created it or when. And honestly, I didn’t care enough to go find another page.

So, what the hell? What kind of people need a day to eat potato chips. That’s a freakin’ bummer. Not to mention that because of such knobbery, Pi Day has to be double booked with national potato chip day. Here’s the M. Night Shyamalan twist, National Pie Day happened back in February.

 


Is there a separate national day for potato crisps?

McDonaldz All Day Breakfast


 

Today’s the day Canada! A thing that is sure to make the masses and fast-food enthusiasts clamor and whoop with joy. Something muttered upon drunken ears, that carries the promise of bliss that rivals the second coming. There is a milestone happening today that may or may not be widely known. I for one, knew nothing of it. It could be because I don’t have cable and haven’t gone to the proper sites to earn the ads in my facebook. It’s possibly because I have my nose buried in a book when I’m on the bus and missed the public transit campaign. I know for sure it’s because when I was told, I was into my cups and forgot about it for over a week until I saw it on twitter. McDonaldz’s all day breakfast is here, in Canada!

My McDonaldz All Day Breakfast Jingle and The Rest of The Post

No matter what time of day, morning, noon, night. After a workout or before you and your spouse fight. Anywhere or anytime, you can pick some McBreakfast foods for a few bucks and ninety-nine.*

I just made that all up! Much in the same way that I am winging this entire post. Here’s the thing, I don’t remember** the last time I had McDonaldz breakfast. There are two reasons for this and they aren’t as high falutin’ as someone else’s who says, “I don’t remember the last time I had McDonaldz breakfast.” would be.

First, I’ve been vegetarian for almost a decade. Which has taken the fun out of fast food breakfast. Sure, I still do egg and diary, but processed cheese is grody. I was never into the weird omelet skin eggs either. Second, McDonaldz doesn’t  have fucking biscuits in Canada. Now for some, that isn’t a big deal, and in fact, many Canadians aren’t aware of an issue. However, for those of us from the Midwest, South and anywhere that voted for Trump, this is a big enough deal for all of us to throw our hands in the air and scream, “Heavens, I do declare!”

Biscuits are an integral breakfast food. In fact, one cannot have a sausage biscuit, without the biscuit. It is true that, McDonaldz Canada does have english muffins and other carbohydrate vehicles. In fact, they have plenty of breakfast food and it’s served all day. Go. Enjoy. You won’t see me there though, I’m a biscuit man.

 


Getcha’ some!

 

* At participating locations.

** December 2015, but before then it was a very long time.

If It Isn’t Trump, It’s The Introverts


 

Holy freakin’ smokes! Has anyone else hit their limit of political posts they can see within a day? That’s basically all facebook is now, just post after post of the leftist doom and gloom or the victorious chortles of righties. Thankfully, twitter is still full of erotic authors trying to sell me their bigfoot on alien action, but that isn’t enough. Not the bigfoot on alien action, the respite from politics.

I just can’t do it anymore! I’m not calling it quits on politics forever, but there are only so many posts one can read that solidify their viewpoint to the consistency of cookies made from concrete. That’s why I’ve decided to quit reading anything that has a whiff of the political. Whether it be from the U.S., Canada, or anywhere in the world. Kelly Leitch’s odd video was the last, for the time being. I thought it was a good place to stop.

A New Day

It was with this new found resolve, that I waded back into the primordial pool that is facebook. I had my bullshit waders on and one big water wing around my entire head. I sounded like Darth Vader passing gas, couldn’t see shit, and felt happy. That was, until I scrolled headlong into, at least, three posts about being introverted. I don’t know what they said because, before politics, introvert posts were the thing I swore off of.

For a group of humble people who don’t want to draw attention to themselves, introverts sure do love sharing articles on how to tell if you’re one of them, how to talk to them and how great it is to be one. There are so many of these dang posts that people can’t help but click on them. If curiosity kills cats, then cats must be an endangered species*.

Poets and Penis Wrinkles

There are only so many times I’m going to fall for the possibility that I could be an introvert that slipped through the cracks. I’m not one, I know that and so does everyone who knows me. Although, I do like to hang out by myself and sip scotch while reading a book on a Saturday night more than my extroverted ass should. That doesn’t mean that I am an introvert and that is the problem with these posts.

They have convinced hundreds of thousands of extroverts that they are introverts. Just because they like to be quiet sometimes. Furthermore, the articles typically make introversion sound far more appealing than extroversion. Quiet, hard working, organized. Forms fiercely loyal friendships with a small number of people. Good ghawd, what isn’t to like? That sounds so much better than the implied loud, brash, fist bumping, macro brewed rice lager chugging, slutty social butterfly venture capitalist who’s too busy talking or being a choad blaster to look at their calendar and make note of one of their acquaintance’s birthdays.

It’s no wonder that extroverts think they are introverts, that they wish they were introverts. Who wouldn’t want to be hip, cool, and reserved instead of, I don’t know, socially sweaty? But enough’s enough, if it isn’t Trump, it’s the introverts and neither is on my “Want to read” list. For now.

 


I’m going to go read!

 

*Not that that matters any longer, because Trump