Archive for May, 2006


Ironic Things That Could Happen

Today, as I biked home from work, I passed a residential intersection just one block from my house. Coming perpendicularly from the right was a "ParaTranspo" bus, Ottawa's "Para" equivalent for its OC Transpo bus line. Knowing that the bus had a stop sign and I didn't, I continued unabated through the intersection.

Then I mentally pretended that I was just so ballsy that I sped through the intersection with a devil-may-care attitude purposely to cross it before the bus came through. This led to me imagining getting hit by the ParaTranspo bus and the accident severing my spinal cord, effectively turning me into a paraplegic who would need to ride on that very bus I was speeding past, trying to save time.

Hence the irony.


Let’s Slow Things Down a Bit

In the face of concerns that my humour here is a bit too esoteric or high brow for the masses, I give you a little gem that came my way thanks to Susan over at Unnecessary Dramatics. Thank you for enriching my life.


A Candid Letter to the Two Pygmy Marmoset Babies Who Live on My Left Index and Middle Fingers


Dear Baby Marmosets,

Look at you there, all curled up and peaceful. It has been three-and-a-half weeks now since we have come together, and I cannot tell a lie: they have been three-and-a-half of the most special weeks of my life. Were someone to ask me, "what has been your most special consecutive three-and-a-half week period during your life thus far?", I am not ashamed to say that this would come very close to the top of that category.

You came into my life during a brief trip to Peru, where, while resting my hand on a tree during a hike, you apparently mistook my fingers for small branches. The sight of your oblivious faces clinging so tenaciously to my digits warmed my embittered heart, and I smuggled you back to my native country by concealing my hand in a large mitten.

I must be honest with you, however, marmosets:

I have decided to leave you on the bonzai tree in my dentist's office.

Perhaps I had not thought this partnership through as fully as was needed, and for this, I apologize. Though my love for you both is as strong as it ever was, it appears fated by the gods that we must part by my next dentist's appointment. Continue reading ‘A Candid Letter to the Two Pygmy Marmoset Babies Who Live on My Left Index and Middle Fingers’


Mental Lapse

kitten.jpgIt's not that I've been particularly busy.

It's not that I've not experienced anything that I could weave into an interesting post.

It's not quite that we just passed a long weekend whose effects have lingered long into the week.

I guess I just want to make something really special and substantial, and I just need to sit down and do it. After all, you deserve no less than that.

For now, I've posted a picture of a kitten…

Isn't she a darling? Well, yes, let's move on.

This evening, I'm planning to go over to my parents' place and watch a soccer DVD with my dad. Back at Christmas, he received a big-ass 5 DVD set of soccer documentaries from this girl.

He's yet to touch them. What with the world cup coming up, and an impending trip to Italy in June, I'm sure there is much more impetus to watch it now than there was back when he was more focused on trying to keep his back hair from frosting in the winter chill than on Maradona's rise to glory and cocaine-laced fall from grace.



The scene of the crime.Yesterday, I'm pleased to say, I did some business in the Parliament buldings, here in our Nation's Capital. I can't say too much, for national security reasons, but I had the opportunity to organize a special reception in the Senate area.

All went smoothly, except we ran out of punch glasses, and, at one point, I was forced to roam the Centre Block's hallways and steal some styrofoam cups from a coffee machine, because the lady at the Parliamentary Restaurant wouldn't help me.

If the ease with which one is able to abscond with juice receptacles from the house of our nation's government is any indication of the success of the current administration, I'd say we're all swimming around in one big shit-heap of trouble.

That's right; you heard me.


Hear, Their, Everywhere.

In this nutball world, it takes a special person to fight the honest fight and look out for our forebears, who sweated to give us a framework with which to communicate. A simple set of rules in the hopes that we might properly convey our meaning more accurately.

Until now, I have been flying solo, fighting a lone crusade against an army of heathens who are willing to die for their right to use 'it's' instead of 'its', 'your' instead of 'you're'–and that most vile of creatures: "That belongs to Diane and I".

No longer so. As of this moment, I am sanctioned by all monotheistic (hell, even polytheistic) religions. Thanks to my fellow writer over at Man vs. Clown, who no doubt shares my plight, I was made aware of a wonderful test of both grammar and style. One can show off one's results as such:


How grammatically correct are you?

You are a GRAMMAR GOD!

Congratulations! If your mission in life is not already to preserve the English tongue, it should be. You can smell a grammatical inaccuracy from fifty yards. Your speech is revered by the underlings, though some may blaspheme and call you a snob. They're just jealous. Go out there and change the world.
Take this quiz!

Quizilla | Join | Make A Quiz | More Quizzes | Grab Code

And so the quest continues; only this time, I'm good enough to put in your mouth at communion time.



Going Down?

elevate.jpgThe elevators in my office building and I have a unique relationship. They open for me and I thank them by not tracking unpleasant odours into their encasements or spitting on their finely woven ruggery.

When I say they open for me, allow me to be clear. I do not press the call button.

Rather, they appear to merely sense my presence as I approach them, and are ready with a freshly opened door and an empty elevator car when I am within stepping distance. This is a great boon to me, as I am freed from the oppressive push/wait cycle that plagues my building's cohabitants.

While I had heretofore left the two elevators' services unsung, I can no longer avoid giving them due praise, particularly after Friday's exceptional aid.

My work day had come to an end. I packed up my satchel and, with usual weekend fervor, exited my office's suite 301 and strode casually but decidedly towards the elevators in my floor's foyer. The elevator on the right (picture above has been changed to protect the elevator's identity) presented me with a wonderfully open door devoid of any other passengers. As excited as I was to get the weekend started, I thought it would be prudent to empty my bladder first in the bathroom adjacent to the elevator door.

Taking the elevator's gesture for granted, I rejected its offering and entered the bathroom to relieve myself. The requisite amount of seconds later, I re-entered the foyer, and, not expecting a second gesture, approached the call button.

But no. With all the precision and timeliness of a Manhattan hotel's doorman, the elevator opened itself unbidden once more just as I stepped forward. Flabbergasted but honoured, I stepped into its quarters and rode the sweet shaft. I rode it to the ground.

Precisely the kind of service that will kick start a gentleman's weekend.


(The situations described above are in no way embellished, and to even think such a thing would be an affront to the elevator in question.)

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