Ever notice how it's the little things in life that amuse us so much? More to the point, ever notice how it's the silly little idiocies in life that amuse us more than anything else? Well, this is not as much ''the little blog that could'' as it is ''the blog that enjoys going up the down escalator in your local mall.'' Will it have anything of real importance? No, probably not. But enjoy the ride never the less!

 
"Oh, Sure It's Just A Harmless Little Bunny!"

The day has been spent babysitting 3 Shih-tzu's and a New Zealand dwarf rabbit. I think that the rabbit is out to get me. Baboo is a perfectly calm rabbit whenever he's sitting there in his pen, or hopping about on the patio deck. He seems irresistably benign and adorable as he wiggles his nose at people. Yet I'm starting to believe that beneath that cute exterior, he's evil just waiting to be unleashed.

Take recent events--and injuries I have sustained. Since our three dogs think Baboo is either a playmate or a playtoy, they tend to go ballistic whenever they realize he's out of his cage. They race around my feet as I carry Baboo to his outside pen, and if Baboo is on the deck by himself, they sit at the window and whimper since they cannot reach him. Naturally, their behaviour requires me to carry Baboo outside in my hands.

This unto itself is not problematic. Baboo suddenly deciding that it's good to claw at my chest, my hands and my wrists for no apparent reason, however, is. And it's not as if he starts frantically kicking when I first pick him up or put him down. It's not as if he starts frantically kicking when I start walking with him. No, he just starts kicking arbitrarily. I'm coming to believe that the little fuzzball in fact starts kicking when he senses my guard is down, and knows that he can take a good swipe at my skin before I can defend myself.

I'm sporting some notably long gouges in my wrist thanks to his claws, plus a few slashes across my left palm. This happens to be my writing hand, and it's the hand that always suffers damage whenever Baboo kicks. Sure, I hold him with both hands, and yet it's my needed writing hand that he attacks. I swear, the damned thing is plotting some fiendish escape in his plans for world domination! His cute little nose-wiggling routine doesn't fool me a bit! To quote Tim the magician: "He's got a mean streak in him a mile long!"

All in all, I'm starting to understand why Buffy the Vampire Slayer's character, Anya, has this intense phobia of bunnies. They are evil. They've just lulled the world into thinking otherwise, and are biding their time before they attack us all.


Today's Lesson: www.hugs.org/Hasenpfeffer_-_Rabbit.shtml

posted by Phillip at 5:03 PM

 
Bathroom Babble

Recently Mel (my fiancee) and I (myself and quite possibly me too) had a heated argument. Well, it was about as heated as a cup of 3-day old tea left out in the Antarctic blizzards, but never the less the subject matter has reduced me to babbling incessantly in front of the bathroom vanity mirror.

I suppose this is nothing very unusual at all, since babbling incessantly in front of the bathroom vanity mirror is a hobby of mine. I once had a very engaging conversation with my reflection about the perception of reality...whereupon my reflection perceived I was an idiot and left the room, which proved very inconsiderate since I was in the middle of a very good point, and had shaved only half of my chin. But I digress.

It was the topic itself of this bathroom babble that garnered great consternation within me. You see, it was all about facial hair. More to the point, stubble. I have what some might call a baby face, which is to say that when I'm totally clean-shaven I look about 6 years younger than I really am. Only half the time does it amuse me to have people think I'm almost ready to graduate high school, and then I inform them that I have in fact acquired a college Bachelor's degree. The other half of the time involves me insisting to the nice bouncers at the bar that yes, I am in fact 24...25...whatever, but again, I digress.

Having a certain amount of 5 o'clock shadow on my face tends to help me look my actual age (behaving my actual age is an altogether different rant), and I don't mind having a bit of stubble. Neither does Mel, for that matter--and that's referring to stubble on my face, not hers, for those of you who want to play semantics.

There's one significant and notable drawback, and therein lies the issue. You see, the whole "older and somewhat-kind-of-just-maybe, handsomely rugged-looking" look only works if the "shadow" follows my jawline and stays under the chin. In essence: the stubble effect only works as a beard. I am chagrined to admit this, but I really do believe that if I have any sort of vague semblance of a moustache, I wind up looking like some middle aged French pervert. Mel, sweet woman that she is in not trying to shatter my delicate ego, tells me that I don't look all that bad with the full stubble effect.

I still advocate that with the moustache stubble, I resemble the kind of guy you don't want to see peeking at you through the bushes. This does bring to light the question of what kind of guy you would want to see peeking at you through the bushes, but since there are no bushes around the house in which I live, that renders it irrelevant.

So now my shaving routine has grown even more complicated. Before I just did a total shave every 2-3 days. Now I can push the shave to every 3-4 days, but only if every 2nd day I remove the fiendish moustache stubble. This is all hampered by the fact that I forget to shave most of the time anyways. Life is harsh sometimes. Dealing with your facial hair shouldn't be.

Today's Lesson: Thoreau once said, "Simplify, simplify!" I bet Thoreau had no facial hair to contend with.


posted by Phillip at 7:00 PM

 
Always Stop To Smell The BumbleBees

Today I took a short walk through the local cemetery, and found myself thoroughly refreshed by the pleasantness of the day. Plenty of warm sunshine without it being horribly humid, accompanied by a nice cool wind that could hardly be called gusty. As I passed by a row of dandelions, I saw a large and fuzzy bumblebee collecting pollen. Intrigued, I knelt down and for the next minute watched in rapt fascination as the bumblebee extended its long tongue and slurped up what I can only assume was the dandelion's nectar.

It was one of those life-affirming moments where I forgot about any and all worries in my life. Had I not been taking my constitutional through the cemetery, I would have missed the childhood joy of just sitting and staring as something else went frenetically about its business.

In all honesty, I don't see why more people take walks through cemeteries these days. I really do believe the Victorians had a good idea hosting picnics in cemeteries. Consider the benefits: it's very well-kept, beautiful and there are green lawns everywhere; it's very quiet; and there is very little traffic to contend with, and the cars you do stray across are not moving fast at all. Of course, if you've seen one too many zombie movies, there is the understandable paranoia of having some rotting hand tear up through the ground and your $50 picnic blanket, and then steal your cake before the ants even have a chance to form a raiding party.

Sure, some of you will say: "But having a meal with dead people six feet under you? That's just rude!"

Well, consider this: if the dead guy beneath you starts complaining that you're blocking his sun, you might just have a problem. Otherwise, I don't think most of the cemetery residents are going to be protesting a lot. Though their next of kin might, so it's probably a good idea to set your picnic up in one of those grassy areas that has yet to be developed for future plots. And if there's a mausoleum (our local cemetery has two, in fact) on the grounds, you can usually find a prime, unoccupied plot of soil for relaxing.

Now there may very well be laws against picnicking in a cemetery, so it's good to check first. Or who knows? You might set a new precident and can one day say proudly that you're the reason they put up all those new signs telling patrons that it is illegal for them to have a picnic on the cemetery grounds.

There's irony in there somewhere: in a place for the dead, you can sit quietly and enjoy life.

Today's Lesson: Bumblebees have tongues. (I honestly did not know this before).


posted by Phillip at 1:25 PM

 
Midnight At The Lost & Found

Every now and again I find myself in a quiet, contemplative state. Sometimes it has something to do with the tequila I’ve drank, sometimes not. What you’re reading was neither induced nor influenced by tequila, or any of its familiars, and I think that is just as well. It’s roughly midnight in my end of the world, though the clock in my Little Bit Of Nowhere will argue otherwise (the wonders of cut-and-paste from disk to harddrive), and I am contemplating my life.

Something has gone horribly awry within it.

I can’t exactly complain all that much about my life, since perspective is everything. And, comparatively speaking, there are people in this world who are far worse off than me. My problems pale considerably when lined up with theirs. I am ever mindful of this, which I guess shows that while I’m crazy more often than not, at least I’m still sane.

And yet, much like Miss Clavelle in a Madeline book, I feel that something is not quite right. It follows me down the streets I walk like some shadowy paranoia, and seems to hover somewhere in the forgotten corners of my room. There is some aspect of my life, or maybe even the greater whole of it, that is proving troublesome, and it is marring my thoughts and experiences.

Perhaps the name I could give is this: dissatisfaction. And yet, I cannot necessarily say I am dissatisfied with my life. That is too general, too self-centred, and in all honesty too whiny a statement. What I think my current problem is, is a dissatisfaction at what I am doing with my life, or have done thus far.

Everybody needs some sort of purpose. Those who feel they have a purpose, be it a short or long-term one, thusly have goals to set and achieve. To have purpose is to move forward in your life. Hell, with a purpose you can even move backward as you fail to reach it. Even that is something; it’s a direction.

I think I’m lacking purpose right now. Or else I had purpose, and like a set of car keys I have somehow lost my purpose amidst the clutter of goings-on that I must contend with. A shame I can’t look between the cushions of my couch and find my purpose.

When I look back to see what it is I have accomplished in life, I cannot find all that much. At least, not in ways which are personally significant to me. Upon greater scrutiny I have come across the most damning thing of all: I don’t think I have ever really set any goals for myself to accomplish. Hence the lack of any sort of finishing, since I never made a point of saying “This is the beginning, and an end must be found, be it good or bad.”

As a result I’m stagnating in the if-only’s and come-what-may’s. I’m not moving at all, and the nothingness that it is, is proving deadly. The simpler things in life that bring me joy are losing their colours, I grow increasingly restless, and I find contentment in nothing. I am suffering the attention span of a gnat.

Hardest hit is my love of writing.

I’m staring right now at the cover of a mix CD I burned myself a few months ago; the image is one I grabbed from a fanart site on the web somewhere. I am looking at a large wolf laying on the grass. Sleeping peacefully against the wolf’s side is a young woman with long, flowing blonde hair. She is wearing a beautiful, white wedding dress and a diaphanous veil that reaches down to her feet. In her left hand is a handgun, and the lower part of her wedding dress is spattered red with blood that is definitely not hers.

I could write a story about them. In fact, I have something similar yet wholly my own that has already found its way into a tale I have been crafting. I want to write a story about them, and also finish the one I have already started. Yet it’s growing harder to find reason to carry on, let alone finish. I am losing my sense of being and/or identity, and with it all senses of joy and direction.

Some could argue that writing is my purpose, that it is both my gift and my raison d’etre. I would have no contention with that, and most of me agrees and believes that. Yet shifting my mindset from something that has been simply a hobby into something that is a profession is a task easier said than accomplished. If that unto itself was not enough, there are other doubts and scattered shades of darkness I must face in the meantime that are, in a way, totally unrelated to my writing.

To overcome them requires planning. To achieve the planning requires resolve. And to deepen the resolve requires a purpose. I think it’s about time I rediscovered the purpose I’m pretty sure I once had. Or else it’s time to discover the purpose I never thought I really needed.

I have no idea what that purpose might be, actually, but I’ll let you know once I do.


Today’s Lesson: while it is never healthy to always think of yourself right away as the cause of the problem you’re in, it is always good to keep your name in the list of potential causes. Half the time you are your own problem, and your own undoing.


posted by Phillip at 7:32 AM

 
Clash of the Cross-Dressing Titans!

I've currently stumbled across an MP3--good quality no less--of Anthony Stewart Head (Rupert Giles of Buffy the Vampire Slayer fame) singing a techno-remix of Rocky Horror Picture Show's Sweet Transvestite. This happens to not be a live recording, so you can actually hear Anthony Head instead just hordes of cheering audience members.

I'm thoroughly enjoying it, yet I cannot help but feel guitly, since I adore Tim Curry as Dr. Frank N. Furter from the movie. Tim Curry IS the sweet transvestite from transsexual Transylvania, in my books...and yet, hearing Anthony Head croon out those famous lines, I fear I might defect. Am I so fickle with my Dr. Furter's that I would shift loyalties at the merest song from either Tim Curry or Anthony Head?

Admittedly, there's only one way for me to definitively know which one I'm more a fan of: Tim Curry and Anthony Stewart Head must appear before me, and have a "sweet transsexual sing-off" where they battle line for line for sweet supremacy all night. And possibly also a bite (a free, catered lunch could be part of the prize).

Hey, one can dream, can't they?

Today's Lesson: Some guys are just wild and untamed things....
posted by Phillip at 3:32 PM

 
Deja Vuyaaaaaarg!!

I do recall some 2-3 entries ago how I mentioned (and I quote): I'd like to be able to apologize and say that in future posts I won't make myself look so idiotic...but the odds are I'd screw up that fount of idealism before the end of the week. Well, as it just so happens, it hasn't yet been a week, and there goes the fount.

My Dad & I headed off to the local Farmer's Market to nab some choice meat cuts that wouldn't cost us $20 at a grocery store. Now the first thing to bear in mind as you read this is that 90% of all Ontario drivers are insane and should never have been allowed in a car, let alone driving one. As a side note, happily my Dad is not one of said people, but he does scare me at times with his best Days of Thunder impression.

Now then, back to 90% of all drivers going into the Farmer's Market being ill-equipped to drive. Consider the parking lot, and that estimate goes from 90% to 97%. For some inexplicable reason, the size of the parking lot is inversely proportional to the brainpower drivers use when inside it. And given how large the St. Jacob's Farmer's Market is (as a point of reference: it's bloody huge), you have a large grouping of idiots in very small, very crowded laneways.

From the woman who turns left just in front of the red, blatantly large "DO NOT TURN LEFT" sign, to the couple who seem to think that stopping their car in the middle of a major thru-way (and frigging up the already slow-moving traffic) is the best means of scanning other lanes to see if there are vacant spots (hint: why not actually drive down the lane to see if there are any vacancies, like everyone else?), this parking lot was not making me feel any better about the fate of humanity.

"But wait," you ask, "if this rant is about you making an idiot of yourself, why are you whining about all those other idiots around you?" Well the answer is simple. If I showcase the other ones first, you may not laugh so hard at my shining cloud of stupidity.

*shrug!* Hey, it's worth a shot.

Anyhoo, my Dad manages to find a spot, which at this point is like finding an oasis in the Sahara, and pulls in. This is hampered by the fact that the persons on our left and right conspired together and both parked on the yellow lines of our stall. Needless to say, I'm very happy that I am so thoroughly well-trimmed at the waist, or else I would have never been able to fit through that foot-wide opening between our car door and the rest of the car.

The shopping goes well enough. It's the return to the car that proved vexing...and painful. Very painful. You see, me being the considerate person I was, I didn't feel right throwing open my car door and scratching the paintjob on the "hey, let's line up our tires on that cute yellow line!" car next to my side. So I squeeze back into my foot-wide opening and go through the motions that everyone does: lower head, get into sitting position, yank car door closed as you slip inside.

This in theory would have worked flawlessly for me here. However...I had forgotten that instead of the usual 2-3 feet of space, I had merely 1 foot of clearance. So before I have the chance to lower my head beneath the roof canopy of the car...I slammed the door into my neck.

Yes, yes, laugh at my pain. I wish I had some snappy comeback...but that's not the end of my humiliation, so I'll just shut up right now.

You see, I whacked the right side of my neck just beneath the back of the jawbone. So in effect, I delivered a serious blow to the base of my skull, somehow miraculously missing the spinal column. This was a good thing. The intertia from this blow then sending the midsection of the left side of my neck crashing into the rooftop of the car, however, definitely falls into the "bad things" category. I would argue it may even fall into the dreaded, "bad dog no biscuit" category.

All this happens in roughly a few seconds. My head is turned into a pingpong ball, and my neck suffers to grievous indignities to either side. By the time I've figured out what's happened to me (blinding, unexpected pain does kind of take one by surprise, after all), I'm sitting in the car going to myself: "Head down, then close door! Head down, then close door!"

We escaped the parking lot without further incident, but I fear I shall forever bear the emotional scars that trip has left upon me. The pain I suffer at being so chagrined far outweighs the stinging of my neck. Why must I always suffer for being right....

Today's lesson: Head down, then close door. Or alternately, parking lots are hazardous to your health.


posted by Phillip at 6:11 PM

 
Reloaded.

Well, I managed to see The Matrix Reloaded last night, and all I can say is that critics be damned, I thoroughly enjoyed it. I spent a bit of time last night after the movie contemplating why most people didn't seem altogether thrilled with this sequel, and I think I've been able to discern the two basic reasons:

1. "It had no real plot."
2. "It was too heavy-handed with all that fate/free-will talk."

To the first criticism of there being no real plot, I would argue that people take a moment to look at what the Watchowski brothers are aiming for with the two sequels. They wrote and filmed the two all at once, and are releasing them as close as back-to-back as possible. I believe Reloaded has plot, perhaps not as deeper as the original had (how can you, when all you can do is expand on that which you created?), but certainly deeper than most people are giving it credit for.

I liken the crafting the Matrix's story to the original Star Wars trilogy. Yes, there are places where this analogy will break down, but humour me. The first Star Wars movie was meant pretty much as a stand-alone, though a greater story following it had already developed in George Lucas' head. Now look at The Empire Strikes Back for a moment, and tell me how much plot it has. Not plot twists, but plot. Admit it: there's not a whole hell of a lot of it. "Empire chases rebels, Luke trains to be a Jedi." That's the story. Most of Empire is about the heroes being chased by the villains. How is that so different from Reloaded?

Don't get me wrong, I'm not deriding Empire at all; it remains my favourite of the original trilogy. Yet the overall story is not really advanced by Empire's presence--not until you take the finale, Return of the Jedi into account. All the new characters, all the loose threads that were seemingly left unravelled in Empire get tied back together. The chasing only makes sense when you see the final part of the story. Jedi is the end of Empire; it is the conclusion, where the story is completed. Ask any Star Wars fan, and they look at one movie in the trilogy only by putting it into context with the other two.

I'd argue that the same perspective should be used with the Matrix trilogy. Reloaded and Revolutions are in all likelihood a single, 4-5 hour long movie that was cut in half. Of course it's not going to seem perfectly neat and tidy; that's because what's started in Reloaded has not yet been finished. The answers that were deliberately set up with the second movie are with any luck going to be answered in the third. Reloaded is at its heart a chase movie, and primarily because it's raising the stakes by broadening the world of the Matrix.

I'm willing to bet money that if there was only Agent Smith as the primary antagonist for Reloaded, people would get bored. "Ho-hum, nothing new from the first one. Give us something new!" they would say. Well, they have been given just that (and now they're complaining about that, if I might be acerbic for a moment). Look at what the Matrix has to contend with now: rogue sentient programs (the Merovingian, the Twins); a rogue agent program (Agents Smith); rogue humans (Neo & co); obedient-to-a-fault Agents; and the core programs that keep the Matrix intact (the Keymaker, the Architect). Everybody's fighting with everyone else for control. It's natural that there's going to be a lot of fights and chases going on.

All I ask for is patience. Is there a deeper plot to Reloaded? I'll answer that when I see Revolutions, and have a better context for understanding the story. If it really is sorry and shallow, I'll be the first to publichly mourn so. In the meantime, ask yourselves: well, if you didn't like what you saw, then just what were you expecting to see? And in details? Specific details? Sometimes the viewer is the one who lets the movie down, not the movie that lets the movie down.

Now then, onto the second criticism: "It was too heavy-handed with all that fate/free-will talk." I'll state my opinion first by saying I thought Reloaded did an excellent job of looking at the paradox between having a free will, or being governed by fate. It all comes down to a matter of who controls your choice to do...well, anything. I will admit there were times where the characters seemed to just reiterate what had been eloquently spoken of earlier in the movie, but overall the Watchowski's tried to give people an overview of the conflict between having a free will, and having fate choose for you (even if you are unawares).

In a watered-down religious context, the question comes down to: if a God or Divine Being/Force is "totally omniscient", and that is to say this God knows what will happen (not what might happen, but what will definitively happen), then do we have our own free will? People like saying they have free will; they like being able to choose what they do and make of their own lives. Yet many of these same people are also the ones who, if they believe in a God, tend to also believe that God knows the future. If God knows what you're going to do, if what you choose has already been foreseen (and in effect, decided), then where's that freedom to choose? Has it not just been nullified?

Translate this question in a Matrix world, and you get: if the computer sentience behind the Matrix (God, in this sense) has already pre-programmed you (Neo) to jump through a series of hoops to accomplish a pre-planned result, are you (Neo) still doing whatever you want to do because you have that freedom to choose, or because it has been subconsciously decided for you already, and you just go through the motions, thinking you personally chose to do that?

Of all the people I've talked with thought this about Reloaded, they seem to fall into two camps. Either they don't believe in any sort of God or Divine Being/Force (which tends to render the free will/fate debate irrelevant, since any sort of "fate" has been removed from it), or alternately they do believe in a God...and have spent very little time thinking about whatever faith or religion revolves around their concept of that God. It's a sad thing to say, but the ones who fall into the latter camp irritate me a whole lot more than any in the former.

Faith is proactive, not reactive. It's meant to be felt, thought through and experienced before you simply leap into an argument and make an ass of yourself. I often find that the ones who are the first to jump into any sort of religious fray (verbal or otherwise) tend to be the ones who have spent near 0 hours sitting down and examining just what it is they believe in, good points and bad. As such, they are so subconsciously insecure about their faith that they fear they may be proven wrong, and so have to misguidedly jump down the throats of anyone who may even remotely disagree with whatever they were raised to believe. And so ends your daily sermonette.

Anyhoo, "Free Will vs. Fate/Destiny/Predestination" is a trickier subject than many give it credit for. Believe me, I spent 3-4 years trying to wrap my brain around it. Only now do I have what I think might (not is, but might) be a working answer to that with regards to my own faith. And even then there are other aspects I haven't answered, will never be able to answer, and in all odds be shown to have been wrong sooner or later. It's not necessary to go into all that here, as that's a whole other long and tricky rant, but the point is that I've taken the time to look at it hard. All I can say is that I have a working idea, and it's one I've considered for a while, and it's one I'm willing to change if someone comes along with a better version of it.

So there you have it: my long-winded, much-too-philosophical, overly-analytical, just-how-much-bloody-time-do-you-have-on-your-hands-anyways argument supporting The Matrix Reloaded. Feel free to disagree. Just ask yourself if you're disagreeing with me because you have the freedom to disagree, or if it was predestined/fated that you are to disagree with me.

Something to think about, at any rate.


Today's Lesson: lofty, personal expectations of a movie should never be allowed into the theatre. It takes all the fun out of watching the movie.


posted by Phillip at 8:34 AM

 
Once More, With Screaming

After reading about the TV show Law & Order celebrating it's landmark 300th episode, I tried to recall its catchy opening theme. Somehow the synapses in my brain either misfired or took a wrong turn somewhere along the cerebellum, because instead of Law & Order's theme music, I wound up with the opening theme music to Doogie Howser, M.D. instead.

It's still stuck in my head. Doogie won't release me from his villainous musical clutches.

I don't know what I did to deserve this, but I repent! I vigorously repent of it!

Today's Lesson: God must indeed have an uncanny sense of humour, if he's using television theme music to make me atone for my latest offences against Him. Can't knock Him for it, but I can't exactly say I'm thrilled to be at Doogie's mercy. The pain!
posted by Phillip at 8:05 AM

 
No Need To Call David Boreanez After All

In retrospect, perhaps it's not the best thing when planning to surprise everyone at a convention with the unexpected appearance of your fiancee, to go and announce your fiancee's impending arrival at an online public place. Like say, oh, A Little Bit of Nowhere. Yes indeed, hindsight is 20/20, and my hindside's looking a little sore thanks to me kicking it repeatedly for being so blatantly an idiot. I've forgotten just how many notable friends and family read this.

I'd like to be able to apologize and say that in future posts I won't make myself look so idiotic...but the odds are I'd screw up that fount of idealism before the end of the week.

Yet Anime North 2003 was fantastic. When you either have seen or own whatever's being shown in the viewing rooms, it frees up a lot of time to just wander around the Dealer's Room (I said "No" to a $100 Lain artbook...but the artbook wouldn't take that for an answer), spend time with Melissa, hang out with friends and visit the swimming pool repeatedly. Aside from that pesky little bout of "The chlorine burns! It burns!", all was quite well. Just how much chlorine they felt was necessary in the water boggles me, since I could feel the skin cells being ripped apart with each stroke I made.

I suppose I really didn't need that layer of epidermis anyways.

That aside, things are returning back to their usual state of "whaaaa?" I've returned to my room, my Shih-tzu puppy, my laptop and its wonky screen, and an Email Inbox filled with roughly 150 spams. At least those were the spams that were able to get in before my Inbox got too loaded and didn't allow anything else to be stored. Did I mention how much I hate spam?

Today's Lesson: Chlorine burns! It burns!

posted by Phillip at 6:43 PM

 
Hello, I Must Be Going...

John Lennon once said, "Life is what happens when you're making other plans."

This past week I made plans, and like a little kid who's irresistably attracted to scattering a stack of neat, organized papers, life came along and hit me with all the subtlety of a cement truck being driven by a cow. The last few days have proven more eventful than I was expected, more work than I'd have preferred, but when all has been said and done...I triumphed over life.

I don't know if this means I get some 1st-Place trophy or a membership to the "Jam of the Month" club, but I'd like to think all my efforts to thwart life's thwarting of my plans deserves some accolades.

Now with all the revampings of my plans, it means I will more than likely be pulling a vanishing act for the next few days. The gloriousness that is the Anime North 2003 convention in Toronto awaits me this coming weekend, and I intend to spend as much of it where it matters: with my fiancee. So if this little bit of nowhere seems oddly vacant, don't feel a need to notify the national guard or even David Boreanez. I'll just be elsewhere.

(Though if this little bit of nowhere winds up being abandoned for more than a week after this post, you may in fact want to notify David Boreanez.)

Today's Lesson: http://www.animenorth.com/


posted by Phillip at 6:34 PM

 
The Hills Are Alive With The Sound of Baboo

It's not even noon yet, and already the day has consisted primarily of the following:

"Baboo, stop eating the suitcase."

"Baboo, stop eating the blankets."

"Baboo, I told you to stop eating the suitcase."

"Baboo, stop eating my slippers."

"Baboo, stop eating the accordian folder."

"Baboo, stop eating the wicker garbage basket."

"Not the computer cables, Baboo! Don't eat the computer cables!"

"OW!! Baboo, that was my foot! Don't eat my foot!"

"I swear to God, Baboo, if you try eating that suitcase one more time, you're becoming my next pair of slippers!"


Today's Lesson: Rabbits, like billygoats, will eat anything. Even their owners.


posted by Phillip at 8:45 AM

 
Did I Mention I'm Not Wearing...Pants?

I have just discovered that Friday, May 2nd, was unofficially No Pants Day.

And I missed it. This disturbs me greatly.

Somehow, things went horribly awry, and I spent my entire day girding my loins and legs with pants. While I'm not one to really care a lot for holidays like Valentine's Day, Halloween, I-Sat-Next-To-You-On-The-Bus Day, and so forth, this would be one I'd show my support for.

Not to mention that No Pants Day was celebrated again on May 7th, and I was unawares of that too.

To make up for this, sometime next week I shall celebrate a belated No Pants Day of my own.

Many of you reading this can feel free to scream in terror and make horrified comments like, "My eyes! My bleeding eyes!" Though odds are my fiancee will be delighted of my no-pants status, and quite probably help remove them...and keep them off.

I suppose it's just as well I hadn't celebrated No Pants Day on May 2nd. I somehow doubt I would have made it past the theatre lobby for a matinee of X-Men 2. Though there might be the odd chance of claiming my giraffe boxers were in fact, a pair of ultra-ventilation shorts.

Today's Lesson: www.nopantsday.com/


posted by Phillip at 6:15 PM

 
Soilent Kibble

I enjoy spoiling the 3 Shih-tzu puppies in the house rotten when no one is looking. Since I tend to be the one who disciplines them the most (superceded only by my Dad), I like to balance it out by pampering them for no reason when the opportunity arises. Often the means involve something called "People Crackers", which are doggy treats made to resemble people. I suppose someone found it amusing and a tad bit ironic to have dogs devouring small, edible effigies of people in the professions that tend to be their natural enemies: dog catchers, doctors, postal workers, and so forth.

Currently the box of People Crackers that's opened is filled with broken people. I've purchased half a dozen boxes in the past, and this is the first one where I've seen so many of the treats broken into small pieces. I feel as if I'm that lucky guy who won the magical "miscellany crumbs" box. The only real advantage is that I can divide the treats out into much smaller portions, and the dogs remain oblivious, since they're just happy to be eating.

I do, however find it rather macabre to now be serving to my puppies the tasty, edible body parts of their natural enemies. A lower torso here, a head there, a chest now and again. It's unnerving, since I now refer to this box of treats as "Torso Crackers." I half expect to make slurping noise like Hannibal Lector within the next few days. Which will probably scare the puppies, but they still won't leave without having eaten their assortment of liver-tasting limbs.

Even puppies have to have priorities.

Today's Lesson: People Crackers are not, in fact, made from people.


posted by Phillip at 4:47 PM

 
Based on a true story

Last night a telemarketer from AT&T wireless decided that we were a good family to start harassing. After 2 already thwarted attempts within an hour to contact my Dad, I happened to pick up the phone. The following conversation is more or less word-for-word:

Telemarketer: "Hello, is Mr. Smith there?"

Me: "Um...let me check. [insert me just standing around, my hand over the receiver for a few seconds] Nope, doesn't look like he's here right now."

Telemarketer: "All right, I'll try again later. By the way, is this Mrs. Smith?"

And once again, the fragile security about my masculinity has been undermined. Now I've been mistaken for sounding gay before. Hell, I can deliberately sound gay ("Fabulooouuus!") for a larf. But despite all that, I'd like to think that I don't sound like a woman. I'm pretty sure my voice is deep enough of a baritone or bass that it is recognizeably different from the average woman's voice.

I was sorely tempted at this point in time in the conversation to retort, "Do I fucking sound like a woman, dumbass?" or maybe even "Would you like me to be, big boy?", but the shock was still registering so all I could manage was a very acerbic, deadpan "No" before hanging up the phone.

Today's Lesson: Every time I start rebuilding my faith that humanity is actually growing a brain, something like this comes along...


posted by Phillip at 8:42 AM

 
Shhhhhhhhh...

Last week was a busy week, and the weekend proved no less hectic. Today has been the first day where I can sit back and breathe easy, knowing I have no more looming worries or pressing deadlines. It's also letting me realise how much I appreciate silence. This isn't as much quiet, like a library would be, as it is the overall sense of serenity. When everything in life around you just seems to slow down to a point where noise becomes silence, it's surprisingly relaxing. One could almost liken it to a Zen moment, but I think that's almost trivializing a remark, since most people have only a vague concept of what Zen is.

The world's always in motion, yes, but the Norht American societies as a whole have been spinning faster and faster with each passing year. Motorists are far exceeding the speed limit, and getting annoyed at someone who's actually obeying the speed laws. There's always a cacophany of noise on street corners with pedestrians, vendors, street performs, cars, and large billboard ads. Even in most houses, there's someone watching television or listening to music or playing video games at almost any given moment.

There's always noise.

I'm beginning to think that silence is fast becoming akin to an endangered species. At least it's running the risk of becoming one in my current situation. Sadly I can't change it yet, not without proper means and finances, but once the opportunity arises, I do hope to have at least a few hours a day where everything around me is as silent as possible. Not an awkward silence, or a strained, obligatory silence akin to library atmospheres, but a serene quiet where everything is still and peaceful.

I think if more people took the time in their lives to have moments like these, we'd all be less tense and less prone to snapping at each other. It's a bit of a pipe dream--a chasing after a chimera, if you will--but it's a thought.

In other news, I apparently bear a resemblance to Frankie Muniz (Malcom in the Middle, Agent Cody Banks). Or else maybe his older brother. Or maybe one of his stand-ins. Something along those lines, I suppose. This may be as close a brush as I get with stardom; I wonder if I should be more overjoyed and egotistical about it?

Naaaaaaaah.


posted by Phillip at 9:42 AM

 
Sticks & Stones (Especially Stones)

It's been a fairly relaxing day that has seen me finally start to overcome a rather virulent resurrection of a cold and strep throat that began attacking me a few days ago. Now, however, it's ended on a painful and typically stupid note. The short of it is this: kicking rocks half rooted in the ground is counter-productive.

The longer version tries to defend me, but still fails in not making me look like an idiot. I'm usually the one to take the 3 family dogs (Shady, Dublin & Belfast; Sinatra is now with my sister/his owner) out at night for their last pee break of the evening. It's roughly ten o'clock and the skies are pretty dark by now. The rear half of the yard is where the puppies play, since that part actually has grass. Well this half is also shaded by about 2-3 trees and countless other shadows from the fences and the neighbouring park, so overall it's rather dimly lit.

Dublin in particular enjoys it when I kick a small tennis ball around, and she chases after it. She never actually pounces on it once the ball stops rolling or she catches up to it; with Dublin it seems to be more a "thrill of the chase" thing. I was idly kicking the tennis ball, Dublin racing after it, and then I made my way across the yard to kick it to the other side.

Well, needless to say that in a dimly-lit backyard, a rock half-embedded in the ground bears a peculiar if not uncanny resemblance to
a tennis ball. This certainly explains why, when I kicked it, the "ball" did not move and my big toe shrieked in pain. Seeing as how the rock had already proven itself the more dominant species in the yard, I dared not try to infringe on its territorial claim again, which is why the rock has not yet been hurled over the fence into a wooded area of the neighbouring park.

It's still sitting there in the backyard. I just know it's gloating.

Upon rereading this entry, all I can say is that this still makes me look like an idiot. A cute, lovable idiot, but an idiot nevertheless.

Today's Lesson: Rocks hurt.


posted by Phillip at 7:18 PM