So, it's been an okay weekend so far. Yesterday we picked raspberries, and Hazel ate most of them before Dad could get them into the freezer, but they're only starting to bloom, so there'll be a lot more; of course, we DID have to explain to a couple of hobos that while they were more than welcome to have some, they should make sure they were picking only the ripe ones, and also that they weren't allowed to have them ALL, and also to please stop just ripping entire bunches off of the raspberry stalks. They were actually kinda nice about it, which was cool, because it's never a good idea to have angry hobos in your alley.
Then we went swimming. For about ten minutes, before the rain chased us out of the pool, which was outdoors, so we quickly got changed and rode back home, because swimming in the rain is okay if you're a drunk teenager, or just drunk, and it'd be a bad idea if Dad was drunk around Hazel, or if Hazel was drunk, so we just went home and coloured some pictures, and no one got drunk.
After our nap, we had dinner, wherein Hazel showed Dad how to eat orange juice with a fork, and then we decided to go for a bike ride in spite of the gathering rain clouds, so we went to Beano where Josh served us a scoop of ice cream and Shanley told Hazel that her head was too big. In a nice way, though. You can't expect much from Shanley, y'see, because she listens to Cyndi Lauper.
Then we rode home, but we made sure to ride by Jeff & Maggi's place, where we waved at all the people on the porch. Then it was popcorn and bedtime.
THEN... well, we were s'posed to go to the zoo with Christina and her bundle of terror, but it was gross and cold and rainy out, so we told Christina that we didn't want anything to do with her stinky ol' baby, and we went to splash in the puddles instead.
And then Hazel fell into one of the big puddles, and she was fine, but we decided it was best to come home, so she warmed her hands up inside Dad's sweater while we walked home and now we're eating carrot-sticks and grapes and being quite lazy. So, there.
Well, you can't get what you want, but you can get me. It's Noodle with a machine gun, shooting down fighter planes, which is full of The Awesome.
Sunday, August 1, 2010
Thursday, July 29, 2010
This Is Probably NSFW & Probably A Little Creepy.
Before anyone goes and accuses me of going soft and girly and becoming the next spokesperson for Moms With Issues & The Men Who Love Them, or NAMBLA, or whatever wacky organization you ladies got cooked up, I'd like to point out that, like any man, the moment you dames start talking to me about anything, I start imagining what you look like naked.
No, really. At any given moment during the day, one of you is naked in my head. Don't worry, though, it's tasteful. There's, like, music, and, y'know, lighting, and stuff.
But I just thought y'all should know.
I know I've told y'all 'bout this one before, but, really: it's Goblin Cock. Everyone should be listening to this all the time EVER.
No, really. At any given moment during the day, one of you is naked in my head. Don't worry, though, it's tasteful. There's, like, music, and, y'know, lighting, and stuff.
But I just thought y'all should know.
I know I've told y'all 'bout this one before, but, really: it's Goblin Cock. Everyone should be listening to this all the time EVER.
Wednesday, July 28, 2010
A Quick Note, As A Parent.
Okay, so, before I dig into this wonderful salad that I made all by myself with some vegetables that I picked from the garden AGAIN ALL BY MYSELF (although I didn't grow them, because, y'know, I'm ME), I got something to say, and it ain't a Misfits song.
I know some of y'all don't have kids. I know. Shocking, but true. This is the world we have to live in. Let's move on.
I know that some of y'all whut don't got kids are aware that I DO gots a kid. I know this because y'all keep asking me questions that begin with the phrase, "So, as a parent, what's your take on...", as though being a parent is equivalent to being, say, a communist, or, I dunno, a Canucks fan, which is kinda insulting in a vague way, seeing how being a parent really doesn't change your views on much, unless it was something you were completely ignorant towards in the first place, like, say, ritualistic gential mutilation, or whatever. But, you learn to cope, because who has time to get upset when your kid's eating the finger paint or explaining why it was necessary that the poop took a nap in your bed?
Anyway. Do me favour. Before you ask me: "So, as a parent, what's your take on this? I was in Costco, and there was a lady with her child strapped to her chest who I kept running into in different aisles, and I noticed that people were staring at her as they passed, and then I realized that she was breastfeeding while she was doing her shopping! I gotta ask, is that considered acceptable (insert finger quotes here)?".
Ask yourself: what exactly is going on here?
And the only possible conclusion that you should arrive at is: a mother is feeding her child.
Before you say, "But-", let me repeat that: a MOTHER is FEEDING her CHILD.
Don't get me wrong. I have a license for being a Grumpy Old Man. I'm all for modesty. I want a world where men only speak in grunts and harrumphs and women would stop showing off their ankles. I like taking my clothes off for one person, and one person only, and even then she's gotta be closing her eyes. I'm a prude.
But if you're seriously gonna tell me that you see something wrong or inappropriate about a child being fed in public, well, dude, really: that is fucked up, with big bold capital letters. FUCKED. UP. I say that not as a parent, but as a human being.
Also: don't tell me you want to 'get in on that action'. Really. In fact, don't tell anyone that.
Now I must eat salad and go watch a show about a boy and his dog. This is a track called Stealing Fat, from the soundtrack to a wonderful movie, but you should ignore the video that accompanies it and just listen to the music at a very loud volume.
I know some of y'all don't have kids. I know. Shocking, but true. This is the world we have to live in. Let's move on.
I know that some of y'all whut don't got kids are aware that I DO gots a kid. I know this because y'all keep asking me questions that begin with the phrase, "So, as a parent, what's your take on...", as though being a parent is equivalent to being, say, a communist, or, I dunno, a Canucks fan, which is kinda insulting in a vague way, seeing how being a parent really doesn't change your views on much, unless it was something you were completely ignorant towards in the first place, like, say, ritualistic gential mutilation, or whatever. But, you learn to cope, because who has time to get upset when your kid's eating the finger paint or explaining why it was necessary that the poop took a nap in your bed?
Anyway. Do me favour. Before you ask me: "So, as a parent, what's your take on this? I was in Costco, and there was a lady with her child strapped to her chest who I kept running into in different aisles, and I noticed that people were staring at her as they passed, and then I realized that she was breastfeeding while she was doing her shopping! I gotta ask, is that considered acceptable (insert finger quotes here)?".
Ask yourself: what exactly is going on here?
And the only possible conclusion that you should arrive at is: a mother is feeding her child.
Before you say, "But-", let me repeat that: a MOTHER is FEEDING her CHILD.
Don't get me wrong. I have a license for being a Grumpy Old Man. I'm all for modesty. I want a world where men only speak in grunts and harrumphs and women would stop showing off their ankles. I like taking my clothes off for one person, and one person only, and even then she's gotta be closing her eyes. I'm a prude.
But if you're seriously gonna tell me that you see something wrong or inappropriate about a child being fed in public, well, dude, really: that is fucked up, with big bold capital letters. FUCKED. UP. I say that not as a parent, but as a human being.
Also: don't tell me you want to 'get in on that action'. Really. In fact, don't tell anyone that.
Now I must eat salad and go watch a show about a boy and his dog. This is a track called Stealing Fat, from the soundtrack to a wonderful movie, but you should ignore the video that accompanies it and just listen to the music at a very loud volume.
Sunday, July 25, 2010
This Is No Reflection On My Own Life At The Moment Whatsoever. Nope. None.
So, by now you've probably all seen that the universe is working against me, because there's gonna be another Gathering of the Juggalos this year (it's the 11th, guys! Now, I forget, is that the paper, silk, or green Faygo anniversary?); this depresses me, because as much as everyone claims to hate juggalos and ICP and this entire nation of aborted brain tissue, it strikes me that it won't be long before we start seeing ironic juggalos, and then we'll have to differentiate between 'real' juggalos and 'fake' juggalos, despite the fact that both camps will probably need to be pacified with tasers over and over again until the white noise starts to fade from my brain.
Don't get me wrong; despite my grumpy conservative leanings, I tend to think that everyone's a human being who's deserving of love and respect and all those hippyish things. I do. Even though I threaten to throw things at most of the human beings I encounter. I'm happy that these people who define themselves as juggalos seem to have found a community where they can all feel comfortable, safe, or just not as alienated as they'd normally be anywhere else.
The problem is stagnancy. It's great to get together and celebrate what you have in common, but when what you have in common is simply getting fucked up and obliterating as many brain cells as possible before the morning comes, and then waking up and doing it again, all the while listening to the most mediocre music in creation made by people who only encourage more of this infantile behaviour? You're not moving forward, and that's a problem, because in essence, you're simply wasting my air, and I'd like it back, please. Evolve or die. I don't think that's too much to ask.
(Granted, this message is probably for more than just the juggalos, as the majority of people who despise them act in similar self-destructive patterns, they just don't wear silly make-up while they do it.)
I guess what I'm saying here is this: I don't think I can make fun of them any more. My ridicule would only add to their collective sense of alienation, and would seem to give them a reason to continue in acting like complete mongoloids (not that I'm dumb enough to think that the juggalo nation heeds my opinion, but you know what I mean). Maybe if I just held off and stopped treating them like assholes, a few of them might stop acting like assholes.
Besides: how many of you had to look up magnetism on wikipedia after you heard that 'Miracles' song, just to make sure you knew how they 'effing' worked? Yeah, that's what I thought.
Oh, wait, I haven't had coffee yet today.
Don't get me wrong; despite my grumpy conservative leanings, I tend to think that everyone's a human being who's deserving of love and respect and all those hippyish things. I do. Even though I threaten to throw things at most of the human beings I encounter. I'm happy that these people who define themselves as juggalos seem to have found a community where they can all feel comfortable, safe, or just not as alienated as they'd normally be anywhere else.
The problem is stagnancy. It's great to get together and celebrate what you have in common, but when what you have in common is simply getting fucked up and obliterating as many brain cells as possible before the morning comes, and then waking up and doing it again, all the while listening to the most mediocre music in creation made by people who only encourage more of this infantile behaviour? You're not moving forward, and that's a problem, because in essence, you're simply wasting my air, and I'd like it back, please. Evolve or die. I don't think that's too much to ask.
(Granted, this message is probably for more than just the juggalos, as the majority of people who despise them act in similar self-destructive patterns, they just don't wear silly make-up while they do it.)
I guess what I'm saying here is this: I don't think I can make fun of them any more. My ridicule would only add to their collective sense of alienation, and would seem to give them a reason to continue in acting like complete mongoloids (not that I'm dumb enough to think that the juggalo nation heeds my opinion, but you know what I mean). Maybe if I just held off and stopped treating them like assholes, a few of them might stop acting like assholes.
Besides: how many of you had to look up magnetism on wikipedia after you heard that 'Miracles' song, just to make sure you knew how they 'effing' worked? Yeah, that's what I thought.
Oh, wait, I haven't had coffee yet today.
Saturday, July 24, 2010
Walking With Hazel: Saturday July 24/10
Holy COW was today just jam-packed fulla stuff.
First, we played in our swimming pool in the backyard while Mom showed Dad where everything was in the garden (because Dad is forgetful about these things), and then we had to get Dad to come over because there were a couple of bumblebees floating in the water, so he had to fish them out before we could play in there again. Then we sprayed Dad with the garden hose, but we ended up falling over because the pressure from the hose was a bit to much for us.
Then Brandon came by with Cleo and Mikhail, and we all went swimming at a big pool! We played with giant foam noodles, and beach balls, and rafts, and there were slides and ropes to swing on and a big rock wall that you could climb up, but mostly we just held on tightly to Dad, because we're still new at this sort of thing, but it was still fun. Except for the part when the lifeguard came over to tell us that we couldn't just sit on the steps to the slide, and that's when Dad said to her that we were only two, we don't really comprehend what she was saying to us, and maybe if she had a problem with the two-year-old then maybe she should talk to the two-year-old's father who was sitting right next to her instead of frightening the two-year-old so much that she didn't want to swim anymore. We're pretty sure Dad was mad, but he didn't yell, which was probably a good thing.
After that, dad gave us a hug and we went back to swimming.
Then we went home, and we decided the best thing to do would be to march around the kitchen in time to some music while Dad did some laundry, and then we figures out how to use Dad's camera, and we took a picture of his foot!
Then we had a nap.
When we woke up, we decide it was best of Dad gave us a muffin; then we decided it was best if he gave us SEVEN MUFFINS! He gave us one muffin and a few slices of watermelon, so we thought it was a good compromise.
Then we went for a bike ride, and we stopped at the store and spent about half an hour looking for popcorn kernels because they were hidden way at the back, and then we continued on our bike ride, and then we came home, and decided it was best if we just kept our helmets on and headbutted each other.
Don't tell Mom about that one.
Then we had dinner, where Dad pulled off an AWESOME STIRFRY, and then we had popcorn, which is the best way to end any day.
First, we played in our swimming pool in the backyard while Mom showed Dad where everything was in the garden (because Dad is forgetful about these things), and then we had to get Dad to come over because there were a couple of bumblebees floating in the water, so he had to fish them out before we could play in there again. Then we sprayed Dad with the garden hose, but we ended up falling over because the pressure from the hose was a bit to much for us.
Then Brandon came by with Cleo and Mikhail, and we all went swimming at a big pool! We played with giant foam noodles, and beach balls, and rafts, and there were slides and ropes to swing on and a big rock wall that you could climb up, but mostly we just held on tightly to Dad, because we're still new at this sort of thing, but it was still fun. Except for the part when the lifeguard came over to tell us that we couldn't just sit on the steps to the slide, and that's when Dad said to her that we were only two, we don't really comprehend what she was saying to us, and maybe if she had a problem with the two-year-old then maybe she should talk to the two-year-old's father who was sitting right next to her instead of frightening the two-year-old so much that she didn't want to swim anymore. We're pretty sure Dad was mad, but he didn't yell, which was probably a good thing.
After that, dad gave us a hug and we went back to swimming.
Then we went home, and we decided the best thing to do would be to march around the kitchen in time to some music while Dad did some laundry, and then we figures out how to use Dad's camera, and we took a picture of his foot!
Then we had a nap.
When we woke up, we decide it was best of Dad gave us a muffin; then we decided it was best if he gave us SEVEN MUFFINS! He gave us one muffin and a few slices of watermelon, so we thought it was a good compromise.
Then we went for a bike ride, and we stopped at the store and spent about half an hour looking for popcorn kernels because they were hidden way at the back, and then we continued on our bike ride, and then we came home, and decided it was best if we just kept our helmets on and headbutted each other.
Don't tell Mom about that one.
Then we had dinner, where Dad pulled off an AWESOME STIRFRY, and then we had popcorn, which is the best way to end any day.
Thursday, July 22, 2010
The One-Punch Rule Is Pretty Much On Its Way To Becoming A Reality.
Wow. Let's just pretend that the last two days didn't happen, shall we?
Suffice to say that the majority of customer's at Beano really need to be threatened with a hammer, if not at least slightly tapped on the forehead just to show that we mean business. Also: not to nag on old people, because I know a lot of old people who rock (I myself happen to be getting 'old', like it's something that you order online and wait for by the mailbox expectantly, and then one day it arrives with your Doctor Who DVD sets, a couple of books concerning letting your kids eat dirt and a t-shirt that you're pretty sure you DIDN'T order, because it's got David Hasselhoff's face on a unicorn's body and it's an ungodly shade of yellow and everything about it makes you want to throttle someone in American Apparel skinny jeans and then you realize, hey, wait, I'm acting like a grumpy old man again, but you're kinda okay with it...), but, damn: I have encountered so many seniors who seem to prefer living their lives stuck in Asshole mode, either demanding tomato soup and throwing a tantrum when I tell them I have none to give them, or pointing out that the tax centre across the street won't pay for their parking and expecting me to do something about it, or calling me names when I won't laugh uproariously at their racist joke concerning Arabs, or just generally being as obstinate and as difficult as possible.
I need to get out of customer service, I think.
Also: the Mount Royal Trophy Wives Club really needs to be destroyed. It's high time I did something on that front, whether it be making their half-caf drinks fully caffienated or switching their skim milk for whole milk or maybe just firebombing Lululemon. Who knows. A plan is formulating. Then, when we're finished with them, we can start on the Self-Made Millionaires Club, the guys who hang out for three or four hours every day, shrieking like three-year-olds on meth and leaving a mess that rivals Richard Dreyfuss' garbage mountain in Close Encounters.
Man, people just suck, don't they? It's a good thing there's a new Cloud Cult album out.
Anyway; forgettable things on the internet that make me smile:
1. I posted this a week ago, but it warrants repeated views; the only problem is that someone on Youtube's flagged it, most likely because of the GIANT PENIS that flashes on the screen for a millisecond towards the end, so now you have to sign in to see it, which is kinda sucky, but there ya go: Ferris Club, featuring our hero Cameron Frye and Ferris Bueller as his very own Tyler Durden.
2. I know they call it The Scariest Ads Ever Made, but really, it's only until they put another batch together next year, because you just know that next year or the year after will feature some pro-life bullshit featuring chopped up babies asking you not to murder them OH WAIT NO THAT'S ON A TRUCK THAT'S BEING DRIVEN UP AND DOWN 17TH AVENUE AS WE SPEAK. Because frightening and alienating people is the surest way to get your point across - oh but wait, you have to have a valid point to begin with, right? Right. Jerks.
3. Mumbai to place pyramids at accident-prone locations to help cut down on accidents by using positive energy. Okay, as silly as this sounds, wouldn't it be kind of awesome if this actually worked?
4. I am going to order this as a huge poster and put it up on my daughter's wall.
5. 12-year-old girl stands up to police: "If you take my computer again, I can't do my homework." Should I be worried about that batch of kombucha that's still in my fridge?
That's all for now. I have floors to clean and closets to organize and a garden to just look and sigh sadly at. Then it's time for work, wherein I'm sure someone will need to be yelled at.
Oh, Hot Snakes, why don't you love me any more?
Suffice to say that the majority of customer's at Beano really need to be threatened with a hammer, if not at least slightly tapped on the forehead just to show that we mean business. Also: not to nag on old people, because I know a lot of old people who rock (I myself happen to be getting 'old', like it's something that you order online and wait for by the mailbox expectantly, and then one day it arrives with your Doctor Who DVD sets, a couple of books concerning letting your kids eat dirt and a t-shirt that you're pretty sure you DIDN'T order, because it's got David Hasselhoff's face on a unicorn's body and it's an ungodly shade of yellow and everything about it makes you want to throttle someone in American Apparel skinny jeans and then you realize, hey, wait, I'm acting like a grumpy old man again, but you're kinda okay with it...), but, damn: I have encountered so many seniors who seem to prefer living their lives stuck in Asshole mode, either demanding tomato soup and throwing a tantrum when I tell them I have none to give them, or pointing out that the tax centre across the street won't pay for their parking and expecting me to do something about it, or calling me names when I won't laugh uproariously at their racist joke concerning Arabs, or just generally being as obstinate and as difficult as possible.
I need to get out of customer service, I think.
Also: the Mount Royal Trophy Wives Club really needs to be destroyed. It's high time I did something on that front, whether it be making their half-caf drinks fully caffienated or switching their skim milk for whole milk or maybe just firebombing Lululemon. Who knows. A plan is formulating. Then, when we're finished with them, we can start on the Self-Made Millionaires Club, the guys who hang out for three or four hours every day, shrieking like three-year-olds on meth and leaving a mess that rivals Richard Dreyfuss' garbage mountain in Close Encounters.
Man, people just suck, don't they? It's a good thing there's a new Cloud Cult album out.
Anyway; forgettable things on the internet that make me smile:
1. I posted this a week ago, but it warrants repeated views; the only problem is that someone on Youtube's flagged it, most likely because of the GIANT PENIS that flashes on the screen for a millisecond towards the end, so now you have to sign in to see it, which is kinda sucky, but there ya go: Ferris Club, featuring our hero Cameron Frye and Ferris Bueller as his very own Tyler Durden.
2. I know they call it The Scariest Ads Ever Made, but really, it's only until they put another batch together next year, because you just know that next year or the year after will feature some pro-life bullshit featuring chopped up babies asking you not to murder them OH WAIT NO THAT'S ON A TRUCK THAT'S BEING DRIVEN UP AND DOWN 17TH AVENUE AS WE SPEAK. Because frightening and alienating people is the surest way to get your point across - oh but wait, you have to have a valid point to begin with, right? Right. Jerks.
3. Mumbai to place pyramids at accident-prone locations to help cut down on accidents by using positive energy. Okay, as silly as this sounds, wouldn't it be kind of awesome if this actually worked?
4. I am going to order this as a huge poster and put it up on my daughter's wall.
5. 12-year-old girl stands up to police: "If you take my computer again, I can't do my homework." Should I be worried about that batch of kombucha that's still in my fridge?
That's all for now. I have floors to clean and closets to organize and a garden to just look and sigh sadly at. Then it's time for work, wherein I'm sure someone will need to be yelled at.
Oh, Hot Snakes, why don't you love me any more?
Friday, July 16, 2010
More Compelling Than A Sack Of Hammers
Things we needed to get in order to make muffins:
- flour
- baking powder
- eggs
- milk
- butter
- salt
- brown sugar
- blueberries
Things we DIDN'T need in order to make muffins, but we couldn't help but pick up anyway:
- Jack Daniels
- 'The Kraken' Black Spiced Rum (dude this bottle looks AWESOME.)
- Astro Boy: The Complete Series, which, according to Entertainment Weekly, is "more compelling than Pokemon!"
I think I would like that phrase to be my epitaph.
Time to bake. Wish us luck.
- flour
- baking powder
- eggs
- milk
- butter
- salt
- brown sugar
- blueberries
Things we DIDN'T need in order to make muffins, but we couldn't help but pick up anyway:
- Jack Daniels
- 'The Kraken' Black Spiced Rum (dude this bottle looks AWESOME.)
- Astro Boy: The Complete Series, which, according to Entertainment Weekly, is "more compelling than Pokemon!"
I think I would like that phrase to be my epitaph.
Time to bake. Wish us luck.
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