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Showing posts from June, 2007

Hiatus

Dear Readers,

I have a few story ideas percolating around in my head. Unfortunately, every time I resolve to get them out of my head, I'm almost instantly distracted by all manner of possible Internet diversions.
Don't write that down...you could fire off a blog entry, hell, even two, in half the time it'll take you to dig that story out of your cranium. Then you'll feel like you've accomplished something today.
Go play Peggleinstead...you've only got two levels left before you're a Grand Master, after all.
Look at that blogroll. I wonder who wrote what today.

So I'm going to try something radical, at least by my standards. I'm not going to blog for the next month. I know myself well enough to go I can't go cold turkey, at least not without really irritating my wife. Accordingly, I've decided on a couple of rules.

1) I can still read other people's blog entries, but will refrain from commenting on same. Reason being those comments often turn…

The Beddy-Blog

Let me first tell you this: we love our Georgia Peach.
That's her name, usually, Georgia Peach, or just Peach or Peaches. But in the manner of parents everywhere, we reserve the right to call her by her proper name when she's in trouble.
We love our Georgia, yes we do. But love is not wholly incompatible with feeling like you want to reach out and strangle the damned dog.
Take the time I woke up to an odd crunching noise, just forward of my ear. Georgia was merrily munching away on...a stick?
Where the hell did she get a stick?
I reached out and inserted a couple of fingers into our puppy's enormously cavernous jowls. Rooting around for a while, becoming positively beslimed, I eventually dug out a four-inch length of white wire I couldn't immediately identify.
Until I noticed a wire-shaped hole in the electric blanket. Which, by the way, was plugged in. How the lights didn't go out in Georgia I have no idea.

I got a belt last month. A nice wide one, a belt which actua…

Uh, um, aahh...oh, yeah! Piss Off!

Avid readers: do you ever survey your library in search of something to curl up with and think nah, I just read all this?
Well, right now I'm thinking, nah, I just wrote all that.
Seriously. Oh, there are lots of things I could write about, but the frame of mind I'm in right now, they'd all come out either depressingly boring or boringly depressing.
Take Jim Balsillie's upcoming battle royale with the National Hockey League, for example. As a hockey fan who is sick to death of 40 years of Maple Leaf mismanagement, I'd love to write about what will soon be the Hamilton Predators. But the NHL's management makes Toronto's look like, well, RIM's. I highly doubt there will be a team in Hamilton, or anywhere else north of 49, any time soon. Gary Bettman would rather have a failing American team than a successful Canadian team.
Depressing. And, if you're not a hockey fan, boring.
I asked my wife for a blog topic. She thought for a second and then said "Is …

Quickblog

Our air conditioner is making our bedroom a livable place. In fact, it's kind of hard to leave it.
You know what I don't get? Government agencies telling me to set my a/c at 26 degrees. Now what, I ask you, is the point of that? Ours is set at 20 degrees--68 Fahrenheit--you know, room temperature. 26? That's almost as hot as our room gets. If you're supposed to keep your a/c at 26 degrees, you might as well just buy a dehumidifier instead.
There are certain things I'm willing to pay for. Willing to pay a lot for. And very high on the list is a good night's sleep. If I could, I'd get a couple of industrial air conditioners and set the temp at about 12 in there. Then I'd really sleep well.
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It's been a week here in the Breadbin. My mother-in-law underwent exploratory heart surgery yesterday. Nothing like that to ratchet up the stress...and it certainly didn't help that she's deathly allergic to the dye t…

Consequence free?

In my early childhood, at least, I was raised according to the "that'll learn ya" school of parenting. Touch a hot stove --> get burned --> "That'll learn ya not to touch hot stoves". This accomplished a couple of things. One, it made me extremely sensitive to cause-effect relationships. "Consequence" was not a concept that needed explaining in my house. Two, it initiated a loop that eventually made me into something of a bubble boy. I was cursed with a vivid imagination, and it imaginated all sorts of outcomes to the simplest of actions. If, for instance, I should dare to climb a tree, well, than certainly I will fall out of the tree and suffer pain unendurable. This equation was of the 2+2 variety in my mind: axiomatic, unquestionable. The fact the equation would have been valid a great deal of the time, due to my absentminded fogbound dreamy nature, simply reinforced my own perceptions and the perceptions others had of me. I was not a chi…

Bachin' It/The Experiment Ends

I won't be working any more night shifts for the foreseeable future.
Which is really too bad, as I have enjoyed them immensely. There's a sense of importance that washes over you at three in the morning, as if it falls upon you to bring the sunrise. What's more, I was able to get vast amounts of work done, much more than I've ever managed in daylight. No customers will do that.
So why are there no nights in my future? Not through any fault of mine, believe me.
We had a sizeable theft last Tuesday night. I was there at the time, busy like a little beaver in my dairy aisle, while this was going on at the other end of the store. Didn't see or hear a thing. Two of my fellow workers were caught on tape and summarily fired and charged. (I know you're supposed to say 'allegedly' in cases like this, at least until the suspects are convicted, but the camera tells no lies.)
Rumours of additional hanky-panky concerning still other members of the night crew forced my …

I Don't Get It

Much as I would like to, I can't claim to have been born without jealousy installed. It occasionally rears its ugly green head, masquerading as free-floating insecurity, and it always takes me some time to determine what it is. Why, that's jealousy! Get it out of your head! Jealousy, to me, is almost the most irrational emotion imaginable: feeling pain at another's happiness.
(And before you ask, I shall answer: yes, I have, for example, deliberately set up a girl I wanted dearly for myself with a good male friend of mine, on the grounds he was probably better for her than I would be. More than once I have done this. It never took, but it wouldn't have bothered me if it had.)
I've said before that jealousy is corrupted envy. Envy, a perfectly natural state of mind, is wanting something someone else has. Jealousy is wanting something someone else has, such that they can't have it any more. It's a petty and yet supremely damaging emotion, and whenever I feel …

500 and counting

Welcome one and all to my 500th post.
When I started this blog a little over three years ago, I had little idea where it would take me. Five hundred posts, well over a million words, and untold skullsweat later, I'm still not sure.

The nicest thing about Blogger, for me, is the chance to be an editorialist without all that tedious drudgery of being a lowly reporter. No, better yet...I don't have an editor. Doubtless that has led to some rambling, out-of-focus posts, not to mention a small mountain of typos (I'm particularly negligent at closing brackets. But ask any professional writer to name the bane of his existence and chances are it's Mr. Bane, his editor. The nerve of those people--who would try to temper my love of the emdash--who would dare to tell me I use more italics than Cosmopolitan. I know the job of an editor is to make a writer's message clearer, but for a stream of consciousness writer like me, that's akin to telling me what and how to think, and…

Going Moldy....

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