On my day off yesterday I decided to venture to the mall, as I was told I should, nay had to go see James Cameron's new movie called Look What I Can Do.....um sorry Avatar. I don't know if I enjoyed it as much as everyone else, its quite a beautiful movie to look at, and Cameron did wonders with the smurfs, my how they have grown; however, it was something else that caught my attention, something that was on the package for the 3D glasses that I recieved. On the back was a warning that the glasses were not to be worn outside, they couldn't be used as sunglasses, do we really need a warning for this, the sad truth is that yes we do need a warning for this. Because you and I know that if there is no warning there is somebody in the world who will try and use these as sunglasses, thinking it could help them. Quite frankly if you think you can use glasses that help enhance things to stare at the sun you should not be allowed outside to begin with.
The warning on the glasses got me thinking about other warnings that you see on things, warnings that should be common sense yet sadly have to be spelled out so the rubes of society won't kill theirselves. How many bottles of chemicals do you see that say this should not be drank, I know most of them are for kids, but they shouldn't be in the reach of kids anyway, if you don't know that there's a warning for that too. In one episode of the Simpsons when the family is watching a commercial for some product I can't remember, Homer says "see because of me there is a warning" sadly this happens far too often, so I think there should be another warning underneath that saids "Warning, you may get a little stupider reading the previous warning."
The one warning that has never made sense to me is the tag on mattresses that strictly forbids the owner from removing the tag of the mattress. I always wondered why this was so important and just how strictly it is enforced. I mean is there a matress tag task force that storms houses if they hear of tags getting removed. Maybe NBC could make a new Law and Order, call it Law and Order: Matress Unit, lets face it NBC could use some new shows, there's only so much Jay Leno you can put on to fill time am I right. Maybe the tag is some kind of tracking device that lets the government know what your doing at all times, all you conspiracy theorists try and sleep tonight now.
Finally, there are the warnings that you see on tv in drug commercials. When the warning for side effects for the drug is longer then the part about the drug itself, perhaps it's not such a miracle drug. I guess the thinking that if the person taking the drug feels all these side effects, they will forget about the pain they are feeling, it's the old stomp on a person's foot to make them forget about their headache technique. There's even warnings for good side effects like lasting more then four and half hours from pills like Viagra, frankly I wouldn't consult my doctor I'd be feeling pretty good about myself. Maybe they should use Viagra as an anti-depressent, I know if I was depressed and used it that I'd have something to brag about, or collapse with blood loss, but hey I couldn't be sad if I was unconscious.
It saddens me a little that we live in a society where we have to be told what to do so much. Obviously it's good that we have laws and some order, but the fact that people have to be told to not stick their hands on an electrified fence scares me somewhat. This is why I could never be a good parent, because my belief is let them try it once, then they will learn, does little Barney want some drano with supper, yes let him try it, if he recovers he will have learned a valauble lesson, milk does a body good, but drano sends you to the hospital.
Wednesday, December 30, 2009
Sunday, December 27, 2009
The Bond's Path Code
No, this is not a new movie with Tom Hanks and Ron Howard. The Bond's Path code is something I have heard about off and on throughout my years, it is something that holds the residents of this place together, yet nobody really knows what it means. For those who don't know Bond's Path is where I grew up, a little Section of Southeast Placentia, about 2o minutes walking distance from Placentia depending on how fast you went. Quite Frankly I was never quite sure where Bond's Path ended and Southeast began, some say the boundary was smelt river, but I'll be darned if I'll let fish dictate our boundries. Growing up as a kid there I always had fun, but then I have a wild imagination so I could make anything fun, from rocks to trees, you name it I imagined it was something else, but anyway I digress.
The majority of the talk of the Bond's Path Code came from one of the local town alcoholics. Now if your from Placentia, and your reading this, your probably not wondering who I'm talkin about, but which alcoholic am I talkin about. The list is a long one folks, I think their may be even a prize for the best alcoholic, but don't quote me on that. This man who shall remain nameless would often carry out the same ritual in accordance of the code, when a resident of Bond's Path left he would drink himself into a stupor(ok he often does this if nobody leaves) and he then proceeds to cry, blubbering about how Bond's Path has lost another one, and the sacred code that exists between all of them. When my sister moved to Sweden he said it, if someone moved to Point Verde, he said it, and I mean Point Verde is just through the woods, I mean unless you get attacked by a moose, he's gonna see you again.
Many times I observed this ritual, at first I was too young and didn't understand, asking questions like "Mommy why does he walk funny?" or "Why does he sound funny?' my mom who would always try to shelter me from the bad stuff would say that he had an inner ear problem, luckily my non politically correct dad would be right there to yell and enlighten me on what was really going on. I've done extensive research on the Bond's Path code, I must have asked about 2 or 3 people, and nobody seems to know what its all about. How far back does the code go, is it only this century or does it go back to biblical times? Maybe it had something to do with the old school, like if one student brought in another students wood for the fire, the next day that student would have to bring in double. Maybe it had something to do with the old swimming pool, like if there were a crowd of kids swimming it was understood that you did not pee in the pool.
I have heard stories(and by heard I mean I make them up) that late at night you can see this man staggering through the street of Bond's Path, wailing and muttering on and on about the code, the sacred code. I long for a time when I can see this code, hold the paper in my hands and fully understand what it means. Maybe it's buried in a box underneath the Pinnacle, if anybody is reading this let's go raid the Pinnacle, I'll get the shovels and you get the pitchforks and torches and together we will uncover this mystery. Even if I have my doubts, from stories I have heard the code has helped him on many occasions, such as making him such an accompolished driver he could stop on a dime and give you a nickel change, or helping in confusing times in the far away land of Toronto, when he was stuck on the street corner of walk and don't walk.
Many have asked the man what the code is all about, and the response is the same, a Mr. T level of jibba jabba that no one can understand. Truly it is a secret that will be taken with him to his grave, cause lord knows if he's cremated he's gonna burn for days.
The majority of the talk of the Bond's Path Code came from one of the local town alcoholics. Now if your from Placentia, and your reading this, your probably not wondering who I'm talkin about, but which alcoholic am I talkin about. The list is a long one folks, I think their may be even a prize for the best alcoholic, but don't quote me on that. This man who shall remain nameless would often carry out the same ritual in accordance of the code, when a resident of Bond's Path left he would drink himself into a stupor(ok he often does this if nobody leaves) and he then proceeds to cry, blubbering about how Bond's Path has lost another one, and the sacred code that exists between all of them. When my sister moved to Sweden he said it, if someone moved to Point Verde, he said it, and I mean Point Verde is just through the woods, I mean unless you get attacked by a moose, he's gonna see you again.
Many times I observed this ritual, at first I was too young and didn't understand, asking questions like "Mommy why does he walk funny?" or "Why does he sound funny?' my mom who would always try to shelter me from the bad stuff would say that he had an inner ear problem, luckily my non politically correct dad would be right there to yell and enlighten me on what was really going on. I've done extensive research on the Bond's Path code, I must have asked about 2 or 3 people, and nobody seems to know what its all about. How far back does the code go, is it only this century or does it go back to biblical times? Maybe it had something to do with the old school, like if one student brought in another students wood for the fire, the next day that student would have to bring in double. Maybe it had something to do with the old swimming pool, like if there were a crowd of kids swimming it was understood that you did not pee in the pool.
I have heard stories(and by heard I mean I make them up) that late at night you can see this man staggering through the street of Bond's Path, wailing and muttering on and on about the code, the sacred code. I long for a time when I can see this code, hold the paper in my hands and fully understand what it means. Maybe it's buried in a box underneath the Pinnacle, if anybody is reading this let's go raid the Pinnacle, I'll get the shovels and you get the pitchforks and torches and together we will uncover this mystery. Even if I have my doubts, from stories I have heard the code has helped him on many occasions, such as making him such an accompolished driver he could stop on a dime and give you a nickel change, or helping in confusing times in the far away land of Toronto, when he was stuck on the street corner of walk and don't walk.
Many have asked the man what the code is all about, and the response is the same, a Mr. T level of jibba jabba that no one can understand. Truly it is a secret that will be taken with him to his grave, cause lord knows if he's cremated he's gonna burn for days.
Wednesday, December 23, 2009
Defining the times
Remember the days of the door to door salesman, that nerdy, sometimes creepy guy who went door to door shilling products for big corporations. With the advent of the internet and online shopping, these people have been tossed to the wayside. Avon no longer calls, but sends emails, nobody answers doors to guys with the newest sharpest knife anymore, I tried it, the court date is still pending. Today I had the closest experience to the door to door salesman that I've had it years, strangely enough it didn't come with a rapping, rapping on my chamber door, but on wikipedia of all places.
I was searching through wikipedia coincidentally enough for something else I was going to write, that didn't pan out, when I see it, a plea from the founder of wikipedia himself. Since curiousity killed the cat(it certainly wasn't that burlap sack with rocks if anyone from PETA is reading) I decided to check it out. It was then a funny thing happened, I heard a knocking sound, I opened my chamber door, darkness there and nothing more. Turns out the knocking sound occurred again when I opened the link. Clicking the link was like opening an imaginary door, standing on the other side, Jimmy Wales, the founder of wikpedia, asking me to donate to the site. I was shocked, in this era of modern technology, with a vast sea of resources available, this guy is doing the internet equivalent of selling me encyclopedias door to door.
Sure he didn't have a neat suit or a polished grin, he actually looked quite slovenly, he actually reminded me of the hobo on the Simpsons who created Itchy and Scratchy, bought a house of gold yet still dressed in his hobo garb. He tried to appeal to my good nature, telling me all the things could be learned from wikipedia, and for a low low price I could share in a piece of all this vital information. I guess through the screen he could still see that I wasn't interested, so he began the hard sell, appealing to my sense of community by telling me of all the volunteers that have added information to the site. In the words of the immortal Homer Simpson, do you know these so called volunteers don't even get paid? and as for community, cult members help each other out too, but they usually die in the end.
The thing I find best about wikipedia is that you can go into any page and edit the information, so I made a donation of 2o dollars on the site, then later I went back and edited that, changing it to 10, later again I edited it again and changed it to zero. I was overjoyed at this development, as I haven't been able to change history since my Delorean was repossessed, you try making the payments on those plutonium rods, it's insane. You see Mr. Wales, when you appeal to the good nature of someone, make sure they actually have a good nature.
I can only wonder what kind plan I could get by donating to this site, would I get the A websites the first month, then every letter every month after. I for one prefer to get my information from a source not named skater_boi_rulz25, so I had to say no to Mr. Wales, closing the virtual door on him, and closing the last chapter on the last descendant of the polyester peddlers. Anyways I don't need an encyclopedia, I've read the dictionary front to back, as it turns out the zebra did it *Puts on Shades* I....guess he.........couldn't change his stripes *walks away*
I was searching through wikipedia coincidentally enough for something else I was going to write, that didn't pan out, when I see it, a plea from the founder of wikipedia himself. Since curiousity killed the cat(it certainly wasn't that burlap sack with rocks if anyone from PETA is reading) I decided to check it out. It was then a funny thing happened, I heard a knocking sound, I opened my chamber door, darkness there and nothing more. Turns out the knocking sound occurred again when I opened the link. Clicking the link was like opening an imaginary door, standing on the other side, Jimmy Wales, the founder of wikpedia, asking me to donate to the site. I was shocked, in this era of modern technology, with a vast sea of resources available, this guy is doing the internet equivalent of selling me encyclopedias door to door.
Sure he didn't have a neat suit or a polished grin, he actually looked quite slovenly, he actually reminded me of the hobo on the Simpsons who created Itchy and Scratchy, bought a house of gold yet still dressed in his hobo garb. He tried to appeal to my good nature, telling me all the things could be learned from wikipedia, and for a low low price I could share in a piece of all this vital information. I guess through the screen he could still see that I wasn't interested, so he began the hard sell, appealing to my sense of community by telling me of all the volunteers that have added information to the site. In the words of the immortal Homer Simpson, do you know these so called volunteers don't even get paid? and as for community, cult members help each other out too, but they usually die in the end.
The thing I find best about wikipedia is that you can go into any page and edit the information, so I made a donation of 2o dollars on the site, then later I went back and edited that, changing it to 10, later again I edited it again and changed it to zero. I was overjoyed at this development, as I haven't been able to change history since my Delorean was repossessed, you try making the payments on those plutonium rods, it's insane. You see Mr. Wales, when you appeal to the good nature of someone, make sure they actually have a good nature.
I can only wonder what kind plan I could get by donating to this site, would I get the A websites the first month, then every letter every month after. I for one prefer to get my information from a source not named skater_boi_rulz25, so I had to say no to Mr. Wales, closing the virtual door on him, and closing the last chapter on the last descendant of the polyester peddlers. Anyways I don't need an encyclopedia, I've read the dictionary front to back, as it turns out the zebra did it *Puts on Shades* I....guess he.........couldn't change his stripes *walks away*
Tuesday, December 22, 2009
How Burger King toys with my emotions
As a red blooded Canadian male the love of meat is encoded into my DNA. Being that I was never one for hunting(a successful hunt for me is finding my other sock in the morning) I require other means for acquiring said meat. The nearest supermarket down from me has a wide variety of meat for me to choose, but sometimes I just don't have the time or energy to cook it myself, so I let others cook it for me. There are not many fast food places I have not tried, in search of the perfect burger I have left no stone unturned, in my heavier days I could walk in and be greeted with a rousing cheer ala Norm from Cheers. The same places over and over can get quite boring, and with the weight loss quest still ongoing I've been trying to eat their less frequently, but just when I think I am out they pull me back in. Radio and television these days are flooded with commercial after commercial about delicious burgers, fast food chains trying to lure me like wailing sirens luring approaching ships. Places like Mcdonalds, Wendys, A&W all spend hundreds of thousands of dollars just to get my measly few dollars, to gorge on the biggest burger they have all the while sobbing uncontrollably; however, it's Burger king that most amazes me, it is their commercials that without a doubt stir up the widest range of emotions in me.
Burger King is a delicious food, just the thought of it makes my arteries clog, but it's not just the grease that raises my blood pressure, it's their choice of who they put in the commercials. I mean really have you ever seen somebody as creepy as the Burger King, there have been numerous commercials where people wake up and this guy is just standing outside their window looking in. If you see this is your first instinct gonna be to get a burger or get a cop? are you gonna drive to burger king? or are you gonna drive out of the city in fear of this guy? I personally cannot watch these commercials with the lights off, as I fear turning on the lights and seeing him in the doorway. Years of his burgers have left me susceptible to heavy breathing after just a couple of steps(even though I'm becoming more sleek and aerodynamic) and would no doubt fall prey to his oncoming attack. I for one think it's time for the peasant class to light the torches and raise the pitchforks, and join as one to overthrow this creepy King, storm his White Castle and rid our television screens of him.
While I don't care much for the Burger King, most of my rage and confusion toward the Burger King franchise is aimed toward their new spokesperson, that guy who promotes their now Bourbon Whopper or whatever it's called. This guy loves the burger so much he has a tattoo of him eating it on his arm, you know what tattoo this guy will never have, a naked lady, cause he obviously has no memory of seeing one. They say the burger doesn't actually contain alchohol, if this is the case this guy is more of a lightweight then me, and I get a buzz from cough syrup; seriously, he takes a couple of bites and he's jumping on the trunk of his car, and dancing in the parking lot like some hipster dufus. They rightly don't give this guys name out, so people can't find him and punch him in the face, but I say cut the middle man, go to Burger King's corporate office and punch their marketing guys in the face.
Burger King leaves me both rubbing my stomach and scratching my head. In the past, when I had their food it was always good, not good for me, but satisfying. On the other hand, they go and do things like filming their employees telling customers that they've discontinued the whopper, do you know what it's like telling a big person they can't have their favorite meal, it's like working at a zoo and saying "hey mr. grizzly bear, we've decided not to give you your salmon today." Sure it sounds like a good idea, until you wonder why that bear claw is coming so close to your head, and then it hits you. I shouldn't have to watch a commerical and wonder what is going to tear my insides out first, the burger or the guy in the commercial. Secondly, if I wanted to watch a redneck hoot and holler and jump on the trunk of his car I'd watch Nascar. Now if you will all excuse me, I'm gonna relax and take a bite of this here apple, this can't hurt me in any way, ow my tooth.
Burger King is a delicious food, just the thought of it makes my arteries clog, but it's not just the grease that raises my blood pressure, it's their choice of who they put in the commercials. I mean really have you ever seen somebody as creepy as the Burger King, there have been numerous commercials where people wake up and this guy is just standing outside their window looking in. If you see this is your first instinct gonna be to get a burger or get a cop? are you gonna drive to burger king? or are you gonna drive out of the city in fear of this guy? I personally cannot watch these commercials with the lights off, as I fear turning on the lights and seeing him in the doorway. Years of his burgers have left me susceptible to heavy breathing after just a couple of steps(even though I'm becoming more sleek and aerodynamic) and would no doubt fall prey to his oncoming attack. I for one think it's time for the peasant class to light the torches and raise the pitchforks, and join as one to overthrow this creepy King, storm his White Castle and rid our television screens of him.
While I don't care much for the Burger King, most of my rage and confusion toward the Burger King franchise is aimed toward their new spokesperson, that guy who promotes their now Bourbon Whopper or whatever it's called. This guy loves the burger so much he has a tattoo of him eating it on his arm, you know what tattoo this guy will never have, a naked lady, cause he obviously has no memory of seeing one. They say the burger doesn't actually contain alchohol, if this is the case this guy is more of a lightweight then me, and I get a buzz from cough syrup; seriously, he takes a couple of bites and he's jumping on the trunk of his car, and dancing in the parking lot like some hipster dufus. They rightly don't give this guys name out, so people can't find him and punch him in the face, but I say cut the middle man, go to Burger King's corporate office and punch their marketing guys in the face.
Burger King leaves me both rubbing my stomach and scratching my head. In the past, when I had their food it was always good, not good for me, but satisfying. On the other hand, they go and do things like filming their employees telling customers that they've discontinued the whopper, do you know what it's like telling a big person they can't have their favorite meal, it's like working at a zoo and saying "hey mr. grizzly bear, we've decided not to give you your salmon today." Sure it sounds like a good idea, until you wonder why that bear claw is coming so close to your head, and then it hits you. I shouldn't have to watch a commerical and wonder what is going to tear my insides out first, the burger or the guy in the commercial. Secondly, if I wanted to watch a redneck hoot and holler and jump on the trunk of his car I'd watch Nascar. Now if you will all excuse me, I'm gonna relax and take a bite of this here apple, this can't hurt me in any way, ow my tooth.
Saturday, December 19, 2009
Why people make my head hurt
Have you ever found yourself at work, or in a situation where someone asks you a question, not just any question, but a question of such stupidity that it makes you do a double take. I know some people prefer the good old facepalm, but I prefer the double take, and then slamming my head off the table ala Don Music of Sesame Street. Today at work was one of those days. First a bit about our wait staff, most of them are off in a world where all they see is the dining room, it's an isolated place, not much penetrates the barrier that seperates the dining room from the kitchen, and we've had some waitresses that make me wonder just how much oxygen is in this world. Today at work, one of my good friends was doin her thing, workin away, when a waitress asked if they could stand on one of scales to weigh herself. I bet your thinking this is a perfectly legitimate question, and it would be, if the scale didn't stop at five pounds, you can't even get one food on this thing, let alone two. My friend a little later had a nose bleed, she says there's no relation to the question but I prefer to think her brain exploded.
This is not even the worst question that's ever been asked, not by a long shot. One fateful day a waitress made the mistake of asking me where the ice in the ice machine comes from, without hesitation I whipped around and responded with "Baby Jesus." She did not believe this answer, maybe cause she was of the godless sort, so our maintenance man and fellow troublemaker Kevin told her we had a little man inside that chips away at an ice block all day long. We've had other doozies such as where the water goes when it drains, what animal does a grilled chicken breast come from, or how the paper goes through the lines of a fax machine.
It is times like this that I wish when these questions were asked I could just say "I'm glad you asked me that" and then pull down a flow chart, and be able to answer these questions in a long detailed manner. Failing this, I would like to create a chip that could be painlessly inserted into ones brain, so when the urge to ask a stupid question rises, they recieve a mild electrical shock. I know no one is perfect, and everyone has dumb moments, like the time I got a job at a strip mall, and was subsequently fired because it wasn't that kind of strip mall. To make matters worse it was an ice cream store, so I was unfairly represented, if you know what I mean.
Is it too much to ask for people to think before they ask questions, do they trust me so much that they believe I won't answer sarcastically. Because if this is the case, they don't know me very well, and sarcasm will be unleashed as swiftly and decisively as I see fit. I plan on emailing Stephen Harper about the brain chip, he seems like the type who might be into certain kinds of mind control. Who knows, maybe he can use it to sway the vote, so he can win by being popular, not because he's the best of the worst. Alas, until I get my wish for the chips or the flow charts, or the ninja that hides until I strike a gong and then attacks, I will be stuck having to listen to the stupid questions, but maybe the sound of my head banging on the table will drowned them out, I'll have to be unconscious eventually.
This is not even the worst question that's ever been asked, not by a long shot. One fateful day a waitress made the mistake of asking me where the ice in the ice machine comes from, without hesitation I whipped around and responded with "Baby Jesus." She did not believe this answer, maybe cause she was of the godless sort, so our maintenance man and fellow troublemaker Kevin told her we had a little man inside that chips away at an ice block all day long. We've had other doozies such as where the water goes when it drains, what animal does a grilled chicken breast come from, or how the paper goes through the lines of a fax machine.
It is times like this that I wish when these questions were asked I could just say "I'm glad you asked me that" and then pull down a flow chart, and be able to answer these questions in a long detailed manner. Failing this, I would like to create a chip that could be painlessly inserted into ones brain, so when the urge to ask a stupid question rises, they recieve a mild electrical shock. I know no one is perfect, and everyone has dumb moments, like the time I got a job at a strip mall, and was subsequently fired because it wasn't that kind of strip mall. To make matters worse it was an ice cream store, so I was unfairly represented, if you know what I mean.
Is it too much to ask for people to think before they ask questions, do they trust me so much that they believe I won't answer sarcastically. Because if this is the case, they don't know me very well, and sarcasm will be unleashed as swiftly and decisively as I see fit. I plan on emailing Stephen Harper about the brain chip, he seems like the type who might be into certain kinds of mind control. Who knows, maybe he can use it to sway the vote, so he can win by being popular, not because he's the best of the worst. Alas, until I get my wish for the chips or the flow charts, or the ninja that hides until I strike a gong and then attacks, I will be stuck having to listen to the stupid questions, but maybe the sound of my head banging on the table will drowned them out, I'll have to be unconscious eventually.
Wednesday, December 16, 2009
From where I sit
From where I sit I can see many things, the room where I sit is small yet comfortable, I see a screen, in it's reflection a bigger screen. There is much technology in this room, trophies I have earned through hard work, and have been able to spoil myself with. My new 50 inch plasma tv, which has brightened my life, literally, the screen is pretty bright, better becareful I guess or I won't see anything where I sit.
From where I sit I see the toys I have decorated the apartment with, all the old rubber wrestlers that adorn the wall, there to remind to me of when things were simpler. Each one a symbol of how those that raised and cared for me worked hard to ensure my childhood was a good one. Each and every one has a story to me. From where I sit I see Hulk Hogan, the first one I ever opened, reminding me that despite the shell he's become I worshipped him like no other. From there I scan to the ones my brothers brought back from trips, when they didn't have to bring me anything at all. In each face I see the faces of the people who looked out for me and made sure I was taken care of before themselves, and that's why I have no complaints about my life from where I sit. That is why they have not been sold, that is why I will always keep them so I can see them from where I sit.
From where I sit I can see pictures of family, I see their genuine happiness to be with a group of people they actually want to spend time with, and I am happy for them. I see them with their new families or old families, old bonds tightened, and new ones formed. From where I sit I can see two dogs, dogs unlike any others. These dogs have brought immence joy to their homes, their loyalty unquestioned, their ability to entertain and amuse. Their ability to sense sadness without being in the same room, causing them to run and remove it with the touch of a paw or jumping in a lap. From where I sit I need more pictures, cause surrounded by close family is not a bad place to sit at all.
From where I sit I can spin my computer chair around, and around, and around, and around, and around, and around, and around until I'm quite dizzy, luckily from where I sit I can see pepto bismol, that should take away the nausea. C'mon ya didn't think this whole thing was gonna be serious did ya.
From where I sit there is a lot of clutter, I guess I should clean, but work makes me so lazy that usually I like to stay where I sit. From where I sit I see my teacup, containing the remnants of my only addiction, it's a relaxation without the high, and good till the last drop. From where I sit I can see snow, rain, trees, Bobby, Jane, Lucas.....sorry I guess I see Romper Room where I sit.
From where I sit I see the toys I have decorated the apartment with, all the old rubber wrestlers that adorn the wall, there to remind to me of when things were simpler. Each one a symbol of how those that raised and cared for me worked hard to ensure my childhood was a good one. Each and every one has a story to me. From where I sit I see Hulk Hogan, the first one I ever opened, reminding me that despite the shell he's become I worshipped him like no other. From there I scan to the ones my brothers brought back from trips, when they didn't have to bring me anything at all. In each face I see the faces of the people who looked out for me and made sure I was taken care of before themselves, and that's why I have no complaints about my life from where I sit. That is why they have not been sold, that is why I will always keep them so I can see them from where I sit.
From where I sit I can see pictures of family, I see their genuine happiness to be with a group of people they actually want to spend time with, and I am happy for them. I see them with their new families or old families, old bonds tightened, and new ones formed. From where I sit I can see two dogs, dogs unlike any others. These dogs have brought immence joy to their homes, their loyalty unquestioned, their ability to entertain and amuse. Their ability to sense sadness without being in the same room, causing them to run and remove it with the touch of a paw or jumping in a lap. From where I sit I need more pictures, cause surrounded by close family is not a bad place to sit at all.
From where I sit I can spin my computer chair around, and around, and around, and around, and around, and around, and around until I'm quite dizzy, luckily from where I sit I can see pepto bismol, that should take away the nausea. C'mon ya didn't think this whole thing was gonna be serious did ya.
From where I sit there is a lot of clutter, I guess I should clean, but work makes me so lazy that usually I like to stay where I sit. From where I sit I see my teacup, containing the remnants of my only addiction, it's a relaxation without the high, and good till the last drop. From where I sit I can see snow, rain, trees, Bobby, Jane, Lucas.....sorry I guess I see Romper Room where I sit.
Tuesday, December 15, 2009
Open Letters to my favorite tv shows
Television viewing is different today then when I was a kid, shows have gotten smarter, rely on cliffhanger endings a lot, and the tv schedules are all over the place. Some shows I enjoy start in September, other shows I enjoy start in January, some start in March. With the advent of being able to watch tv on the internetz, it means I have new shows pretty much all year long, and no commercials, cause unless it's the Superbowl, who wants to watch commercials. Recently some shows that I enjoy have come to end for their respective seasons, or are on hiatus, and their final shows have forced me to write the writers of each show a letter, to let them know my thoughts, annnnnnnd away we go.
Dear Sons of Anarchy,
Thank your a great season, all your wacky actions and infighting kept me hooked through every episode. The mark of a truly great show is one that can make Peg Bundy look hot even though she's gotta be like what, sixty years old. I think we can all be glad that FX is not a hd channel. You had many great moments this season, and I just wanna thank you for waiting until the last few minutes to kick me in the stomach with that ending, now I have to wait to September to see what happens, thanks, thanks alot.
Dear Dexter,
Another good season this year, and let me just say thanks, for waiting until I recovered from the end of Sons of Anarchy to kick me in the nads with that ending. I won't spoil it for fans who haven't seen it, but really, what did I do to deserve getting kicked in the grapefruits like that. Also, what happened to Micheal C. Hall, I saw him in the post season interview and he looks like the character Tom Hanks played in Philadelphia,after the Aids. Thank you also for making sure I can never enjoy Third Rock from the Sun again because now not only have I seen John Lithgow naked( even bleach didn't help take out that image) now I will picture him controlling that whole family through fear and intimidation.
Dear Glee,
Why do I even watch your show, is it the catchy musical numbers, is it that the lead girl is pretty cute, or is that lost part of me who wanted to be on broadway, but never got past playing Santa in a grade 8 play. I had the audience on their feet the whole time, of course prior to the play I put thumbtacks on their chairs so that might have been the reason. Your fall finale actually ended on somewhat of a happy note, as happy as a guy who kisses somebody who is not his wife- who admittedly faked a pregnancy but you should have known that anyway-could be.
Dear Breaking Bad,
Ok so you actually ended a few months ago, but I didn't have a blog then, so your getting this letter now. I will never think of Bryan Cranston as the dad from Malcolm in the Middle again, and that's a good thing cause I hated that show anyway. Before there was the Sons of Anarchy, or Dexter, you were right there to punch me in the stomach with your ending, and leave me waiting until March to see what comes next. So I will sit and wait, wondering how Walter will get his family back, will he be found out, and how do you clean up the wreckage of two planes colliding from your backyard. Until March Breaking Bad.
I blame 24 for all of this, if they hadn't of done a sad ending to their first season it wouldn't have been cool, or edgy to do it. Of course I'd never say this to Jack Baur, case he would no doubt kill me 5 times before I hit the ground, oh yeah his last season ended with him in a coma, but I've seen commercials for the new season, and he looks fine so all is well(yay stem cells). With House's season still going, and 24 coming in January, and then Lost in Febuary I'm sure there will be more open letters in the future, cause none of those shows like to end with me smiling. And it's the last season for Lost so you know they are gonna aim for a body part to kick me in, perhaps the shin, no one's gotten me there yet.
Dear Sons of Anarchy,
Thank your a great season, all your wacky actions and infighting kept me hooked through every episode. The mark of a truly great show is one that can make Peg Bundy look hot even though she's gotta be like what, sixty years old. I think we can all be glad that FX is not a hd channel. You had many great moments this season, and I just wanna thank you for waiting until the last few minutes to kick me in the stomach with that ending, now I have to wait to September to see what happens, thanks, thanks alot.
Dear Dexter,
Another good season this year, and let me just say thanks, for waiting until I recovered from the end of Sons of Anarchy to kick me in the nads with that ending. I won't spoil it for fans who haven't seen it, but really, what did I do to deserve getting kicked in the grapefruits like that. Also, what happened to Micheal C. Hall, I saw him in the post season interview and he looks like the character Tom Hanks played in Philadelphia,after the Aids. Thank you also for making sure I can never enjoy Third Rock from the Sun again because now not only have I seen John Lithgow naked( even bleach didn't help take out that image) now I will picture him controlling that whole family through fear and intimidation.
Dear Glee,
Why do I even watch your show, is it the catchy musical numbers, is it that the lead girl is pretty cute, or is that lost part of me who wanted to be on broadway, but never got past playing Santa in a grade 8 play. I had the audience on their feet the whole time, of course prior to the play I put thumbtacks on their chairs so that might have been the reason. Your fall finale actually ended on somewhat of a happy note, as happy as a guy who kisses somebody who is not his wife- who admittedly faked a pregnancy but you should have known that anyway-could be.
Dear Breaking Bad,
Ok so you actually ended a few months ago, but I didn't have a blog then, so your getting this letter now. I will never think of Bryan Cranston as the dad from Malcolm in the Middle again, and that's a good thing cause I hated that show anyway. Before there was the Sons of Anarchy, or Dexter, you were right there to punch me in the stomach with your ending, and leave me waiting until March to see what comes next. So I will sit and wait, wondering how Walter will get his family back, will he be found out, and how do you clean up the wreckage of two planes colliding from your backyard. Until March Breaking Bad.
I blame 24 for all of this, if they hadn't of done a sad ending to their first season it wouldn't have been cool, or edgy to do it. Of course I'd never say this to Jack Baur, case he would no doubt kill me 5 times before I hit the ground, oh yeah his last season ended with him in a coma, but I've seen commercials for the new season, and he looks fine so all is well(yay stem cells). With House's season still going, and 24 coming in January, and then Lost in Febuary I'm sure there will be more open letters in the future, cause none of those shows like to end with me smiling. And it's the last season for Lost so you know they are gonna aim for a body part to kick me in, perhaps the shin, no one's gotten me there yet.
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