Tag: Me and Mine

Beach Head

I have done something I have never done. I have beach bummed and will again today. Being albino between the freckles this requires SPF 50 or stronger taken with my tea and rubbed all over as well as a canny set of umbrellas and tarps to actually isolate myself from the slightest contact with any rouge ray of sunlight…but still I am bumming. We have been to three beaches on 4 of the 5 last days and will beach again today and likely tomorrow as well. It is like a week of being in and out of the sauna…over and over. I am appear to be losing contact with my muscular system and have started to forget things. Like what it is like to have dry pants on. Why is it OK to walk around with soaking pants only by the sea? It is like a great conspiracy with strangers. We will all look silly, damp and all be mostly naked but we will only do so when we lay down before Lord Poseidon.

Garrity Of The Times

Ok – I know…we all know…I made The New York Times first (and the Business section is so much cooler than the Arts one) but… it is still very mucho neato that little Stevie Garrity, one of my once teen clients who I met back in 1998, got himself referenced in the global paper of record, too – just this morning on his non-iPod approach to “podcasting”…or what in reality is called web radio:

Producing downloadable audio shows – getting around copyright obstacles with music, creating syndicated content that suits a subscription model of delivery, possibly introducing video – poses fascinating questions that obsess podcasters. But none of this need concern anyone who just wants to listen to new music or independent talk radio in a car or in the gym, where podcasts are most enjoyable. (Many people use portable music players, especially iPods, to listen to podcasts, but others – like Steven Garrity, a Web developer in Charlottetown, Prince Edward Island, who has offered audio programming since 2003 – just hook a Pioneer stereo from the 1970’s up to a laptop.)

Other than the fact is that it is his living room lifestyle that is referenced as globe-worthy news, the neato-est thing is he is also getting married today and…and…ok, its the beginning of my vacation, too, and I am going to Portland, Maine to the beaches which is also where Steve had the best bowl of beef stew he has ever had at a lovely place called Katadyn. It was dubbed The Stew That The Lord MadeTM…and so it was.

I bought him a really neato wedding present that I have yet to send which will make him more of a rock star…if that is possible. Until then, this is my song is my gift for Steve on his big day which I really recommend as a first dance at the reception: [3.5 MB .wma file]. I really think his decision to go with the flesh tone body suit for that first dance is a brave move.

Panhandling Policy

My policy on panhandling is clear:

  • I buy a lot of crap that costs way too much. What a panhandler gives me materially is more honest. I get a bit of “no thing” in return for a small amount of expenditure. A bargain I understand.
  • I pick favourites. I try to support a few who are there all the time. I favour women and the elderly.
  • I do not quibble about giving something that will provide comfort like a good coffee or a bottle of cheap wine. If I ever find myself in that position I expect each of you to give me that – and don’t give me that look when you do.
  • Look in the eye and say “no, thank you” or “have a good day.” Like Mormans, these folk are too easy a target for too many folk.
  • I am no hero as it would be lucky if I gave 1/1000th in this way but it is good to be good and nice to be nice.

Fitba Friday

I am a little unsure the degree to which the Brockville players I marked were better and, conversely, to which I sucked. I only know they seemed to have three guys going by me fairly constantly and when there was a corner I was very happy to be the guy that hugged the post. Fortunately for me, I found my copy of Offspring’s Smash which seemed to make the drive home jolly.

Father’s Day

Am one and got one.

My old man was blitzed as a child, immigrated in his mid-20s, raised a family while making a career change to the ministry, dragged us around Altantic Canada homes and travelling around North America and the UK growing up including Stonehenge (as illustrated), tag-teamed with Mom on we wee three to read like madmen (the one lifeskill which brings success) as his socialist politician mom taught him when she bought the first Penguins as they came out monthly, watched me and pushed me to play basketball, football, soccer and even, oddly, one season of baseball in grade four – they throw that thing right at your head!. I still clearly recall in undergrad soccer at “The Pit” in the north end of Halifax hitting the cross-bar with a massive crack at goal from way beyond where I should have thought possible, turning around and seeing him on the ridge with his face in his hands over the “almost, almost” of it. In recent years, I have been impressed with my father as something of a medical marvel, having survived a number of thingies that are the sorts of thingies that scare the hell out of you. And did it with a certain plucky easy style that you really would think would come with being a man of the cloth but maybe you never thought would play out when the rubber hits the road…for the third time. From my Dad I can quickly see I have got a love of sport – both playing and watching – a healthy distaste for a certain sort of political theory of the few as well as reliance on humour in formal situations – not to mention the importance of a wee bickie with your tea. Critical things.

Rolling all that up, he being 1500 km east shivering at the cottage in frosty PEI as he reported on the phone last night, I am making my own demands clear amongst my own here and we are off on an international junket, going to see the 4-1 but oddly yellow Watertown Wizards take on the Saratoga Phillies, who actually play on the Doubleday field at Cooperstown which is kind of cool. After that we are in search of frozen custard and I have a couple of leads already. Dinner perhaps at Sackets Harbour Brewing or maybe back to Attilo’s pizza in Clayton. Back across the border with a stack of Sunday papers and maybe a growler. It is a tough old life.

Twisted Blankle

I must have twisted my blankle or strained my black as I can’t think of anything to blog about this morning. A pull bloin. Maybe its just fear of the impending first fitba game of the summer tomorrow night, dread at the prospect of the unknown way this corpse will fail me.

I am big on the web nostagia post most of all from yesterday’s slew. Nils took the bait….blait.

A Night Off

Last night my Sympatico high speed was down – you know it is unannounced maintenance when it goes off at 5 pm and is back on in the morning. I don’t bother call support to complain about the semi-annual shutdowns anymore. I just say to myself “yes, I rebooted, thank you.”

How nice that was. I watched TVO’s Studio 2, the best hour of TV in Canada, and a rerun of Heartbeat and thought about how 12 years ago I have a black and white TV with no cable in the near north of Ontario’s Upper Ottawa Valley, no internet, no computer, no CD player. Back then, I read books and I wrote letters and likely watched TVO on Friday night.

Everything So Good

I am trying to find somthing to get me away from the gripping storyline of The Bachelor. I have watched too many reality show finals and I really did not care about any of them. Survivor was dullsville, Amazing Race is somewhat last week and later this week The Apprentice will still have a man with really funny hair on it who everyone treats like he invented beer but will take it all away if you cross him. All sugars, too. And you can’t even wish that you had the good old shows like The Rockford File ’cause you can actually watch them now in the 200 channel universe 24 hours a day and they are awful.

So – what do you do? You surf. And when you surf you come across moments in the life cycle of a topic like this:

Holy Moly! Real reality isn’t quite so dull but I am apparently going to die of everything all at once. That would be bad but it appears health is about bad stuff and there is plenty of it. Bad bad bad. I have no idea what the lady with the phone is smiling about. Maybe she is an urban phone user – her brain is safe. Whew Good. Or maybe she is a rural artist hoping something drastic can improve her style. Bad yet good. Just don’t drink beer and talk on the phone in the country. Bad. Your brain will be doomed. Bad bad bad. Best headline – “Toxic chemicals” in celebrities. That really has to suck:

Celeb-wannabe: So doctor…if I only want a little fame do I still need the big needle?
Doctor: I am afraid so.

Maybe it means celebrities are the source of toxic chemicals. That would be fairly freaky. I hope the celebrities stay away from my town.

So I get off the web and I find this in the file manager of the blog – I photo saved but I don’t think ever used. I look at it and I know Stephen Harper is listening to Aerosmith’s “Dude Looks Like a Lady” in his brain at that very moment. Right about the third chorus. Or he finally tried a beer. Nut-tay. He looks like his is trying to explain what it feels like, too.

But I suppose my day really went wrong when I sensed the end of the universe was truly nigh, knew secretly that monkey were flying out of private places everywhere and noted that the cow to moon ratio must be alarmingly high…all because in Nova Scotia the NDP propped up the Tory minority.