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September 29, 2005
Summer is over….
Officially that happened last weekend. Says so right on the calendar. But sometimes it takes the first few cool nights and the onset of September’s rain to really remind you of that. And so relaxing for a few minutes one can pause and reflect on the summer past, and wondering if you’ll ever see days like that again.
This morning, Mill Bay smells like licorice and maple sugar. A combination of fennel bushes and big maple leaves changing color in the fall. In a week or so it will smell like a brewery down by the water where all the big leaves collect and start to ferment. It’s actually a beautiful time of year, where the summer sunrises give way to cool mist and rain over the water.
I loved summers as kid. But who doesn’t right? That’s supposed to be a given. No school, go to the beach, stay up late and do nothing and everything all in the same day. So what happens when we grow up? Wish we were back in school, watch other people go to the beach, get up early and work too much all in the same day. Something is seriously out of balance.
For me, having my kids with me for a month brought back more summertime joy that I can remember in a long time. I was able to cut back my hours and spend more time with them this summer than in summers past. I say that to make a point. To bring to the front the question: “Why? Why did that happen?”
I know I’m not alone in this.
In my case my kids live in Winnipeg, a long way away. And so while they stayed with me, I tried to make every moment count. Every second last an hour. I loathed each night as a time thief stealing away my ability to talk with them or play with them or just sit there knowing I was right there for them. And I was. And I was happy.
There are many pictures of this summer, with many more unforgettable memories in my head. But one picture perhaps more than any other, really captured summer for me this year. My son was swinging from a rope into the Cowichan River and at his moment at the apex of his flight, he seemed suspended in time and then dropped with a squeal of delight into the water below.
Summer should be like that for everybody.
Ahhh…but there was more than that. There were trips to the west coast. Barbeques. Canoe rides to visit the seals. Late night hide and seek with flashlights and sometimes a bewildered otter. Parrots, tarantulas and miniature golf. Walks on the beach and hugs and sometimes nothing at all.
In early September I got to fly to Winnipeg for a week and get the kids into their new schools. But then I had to leave knowing that it would be two months till I see them again, and that is a very hard thing to do. I think that was when summer was really over. But maybe, just maybe some lessons were learned.
In her song ‘Big Yello Taxi,’ Joni Mitchell wrote:
….Don’t it always seem to go,
That you don’t know what you’ve got till it’s gone,
They paved paradise
And put up a parking lot.
Late last night I heard that screen door slam.
And big yellow taxi
Took away my old man…..
Well, maybe we should just say, “Follow that cab!” It’ll only get away if you let it.
It’s not just months or years that count. Its minutes and seconds. It doesn’t matter how hard you work today if you haven’t got tomorrow to enjoy it. Me, I’m not scared of the future. Hell, bring it on!! I’m just sick and tired of letting opportunities slip away. Of pretending that tomorrow is a better time to smile and enjoy life. To hell with that. Time for a little more ‘carpe diem’. Time to smell the roses, drink some wine, go for coffee, play some pool, write a book, hit the gym, watch a movie, listen to some music and if you’re very, very lucky, spend some time with good friends. There will never be a shortage of work, but you can never have enough good friends.
Now don’t get the wrong idea. It was a great summer and I loved all of it. I even rediscovered the joy of golfing or “whack FUCK” as any blind person hanging around a course would assume it is called. I have even decided that I will try to get a particular golf course to put bumper stickers on their golf carts that say: “Not Just For Chasing Squirrels, Rabbits and Ducks”.
Back near the start of this, I said that I loved summer as a kid. Well, I guess I still do. And when you look at summer through the eyes of kids, you realize that it’s not just about being out of school. It’s a state of mind. And I’ll be damned if I’m going to let the better part of a year go by before I get into that state of mind again.
Mahalo…
~ AP
Posted by Anonymous Pundit at 01:35 PM | Comments (4)
September 25, 2005
The Bar Life Today part #2....big TV's
I was shocked to realize that I may have stumbled into a marketing and public relations nightmare with my bar operation.
We’ve recently added four big TV’s to the room so we could have more fun with the upcoming hockey season and I overheard a fellow saying that he was going to tell everyone that we had more huge TV’s than any other bar in town.
“Damn!” I said to no one in particular.
I suddenly realized, we are going to have to advertise that we mean televisions and not a bunch of tall cross dressing transvestites in tank tops and culottes who come up to a table full of hockey fans saying, “Hhhhhiiiiiiiii you vicious brutes, my name is Thylvia and I’ll be your waitreth tonight. Lithen, it’s pretty busy in here, tho if you want to be thervithed well, I’m your girl, but if you want your thervith fatht, you’ll have to go to McDonalds. Thay, did any of you know its Judy Garland’s birthday coming up?”
How do we manage to get into situations like this……how?
~ AP
Posted by Anonymous Pundit at 12:21 PM | Comments (0)
The Bar Life today....
Once in a while you hear a good one that just has to be passed along....
************************
A pastor was seated next to a Newfie on a flight from St. John's to Toronto. After the flight was underway the Flight Attendant comes along and asks if the genetlemen would like a drink.
"I'll have me a dark rum and Pepsi," says the Newfie.
The Flight Attendant then turned to the pastor and asked him for his choice.
"I'd rather be savagely raped by a dozen crazy whores than let liquor touch my lips," he replied in disgust.
The Newfie then handed his drink back to the bewildered flight attendant and said, "Me too. I didn't know I had a choice."
~ AP
Posted by Anonymous Pundit at 10:03 AM | Comments (0)
September 24, 2005
Pretty freaked out actually....
I read this a while ago and have been eating a lot of garlic lately and carrying around no less than a dozen crucifix's at all times. Read on so you too can be safe.....
The Importance Of Plasma
It's a straw-colored, clear liquid that is 90 percent water, and it is an essential ingredient for human survival. It might seem like plasma is less important than the blood cells it carries. But that would be like saying that the stream is less important than the fish that swims in it. You can't have one without the other.
*** sounds more like the butter on a Vampire’s bread to me!! ***
Besides water, plasma also contains dissolved salts and minerals like calcium, sodium, magnesium, and potassium. *** NOTICE it doesn’t carry GARLIC does it!! *** Microbe-fighting antibodies travel to the battlefields of disease by hitching a ride in the plasma.
Without plasma, the life-giving blood cells would be left floundering without transportation. Never underestimate the importance of plasma.
….that’s right. Never underestimate the importance. Now you know too.
And so you must ask yourself this one question:
“Why are so many people buying PLASMA televisions?”
Sounds to me like maybe the vampire Lestat and his cronies have taken over control of all the major consumer electronics companies and everybody around you seems to be in a headlong rush to put these vampire lures into all of our houses. They’re like invitations for god’s sake. And don’t you realize what happens when you invite a vampire into your house?
Now you understand don’t you……
But don’t go biting into your friend’s new television, because if you do, you probably won’t live forever. Probably not even 15 minutes. If the TV doesn’t kill you, your friend probably will.
~ AP
Posted by Anonymous Pundit at 12:59 PM | Comments (0)
September 16, 2005
More fun than a barrel full of what?
I overheard it today in the bar, someone trying to explain to another just how much fun something was to do. “More fun than a barrel full of monkeys,” he said as I was passing by.
I got about halfway to my office when that little voice in my head began to scream, “What the fuck!?!?!” I mean, I had heard it all my life and never stopped to think about it and yet there I was giving critical thought to the real fun quotient of that primate stuffed cask.
And so I envision myself at home, quietly enjoying a movie or better still, the company of someone whose company is worth enjoying when all of a sudden the door bell rings and I answer it. There across the threshold, is an exhausted and nervous Fed-Ex employee begging for my signature so he can leave a large, noisy screaming barrel at my doorstep. Not knowing who it is from I hesitate to sign, but that doesn’t deter the driver. He fakes my signature saying, “So let them fire me, I’m too old for this shit…” and walks away leaving said barrel on my step.
Of course I will have been developing a close relationship all afternoon with one, Mr. Jose Cuervo and matching him beer for beer on the side, so naturally I think, “Hey! Free screaming barrel!” and roll the thing inside. I pry it open and I figure that’s pretty much where the fun will stop. Depending on how long the monkeys have been in the barrel they will either be very much alive, or very dead. And I’m not sure which would be worse. If they were alive, they would no doubt leave the confines of that barrel in an explosion noise and stench. When monkeys are alive they are either eating, masturbating or defecating. Sort of like teen age boys but not as annoying. But these will be covered in their own mess and leaping from place to place all over your abode. The girl who you were hoping to get to know a whole lot better will now be screaming as loud as the monkeys and you know damn well that you will be working the rest of your life just to pay off her upcoming psychotherapy and counseling. And the last thing you will ever see of her, is her fine form rounding the corner and tugging madly at one of the creatures who will have made a new home in her hair.
Now if they’re dead, it will be like a freezer full of bad meat. The restoration specialists who will come in to deal with the mess will condemn your building as well as your soul. Your girlfriend will leave in an ambulance after vomiting herself into a coma and you will become famous as you get written about in newspapers around the world with headlines like: “Man Spills Dead Monkey’s In Living room.” People like Conan O’Brian and Jay Leno will mock you mercilessly until you commit suicide, bringing a sense of relief to your family and those around you.
A barrel full of monkeys doesn’t sound like so much fun now does it?
So why? WHY do people say such stupid things without really thinking about it? I guess, maybe, its part of what makes us human. Having fun with the language and avoiding the strain of actual thought. If we were always perfectly logical and politically correct in how we spoke, we would become unbearably tedious and boring and soon we would want to kill our co-workers like they do in the post office. Speaking for myself, that would drive me crazier than a shithouse rat.
~ AP
Posted by Anonymous Pundit at 05:42 PM | Comments (0)
September 11, 2005
There’s dead biscotti on the floor…or why I hate Air Canada yet again
There are three dead biscotti on the floor of the terminal and the washroom reeks of stale urine at YVR or as may be better known, Vancouver International Airport. Ahhh yes, it takes me back to times gone by of late night forays into bus terminals for warmth and relief. Except for the biscotti thing, that’s purely Starbucks. Biscotti wouldn’t last 30 seconds on the floor of an inner city us depot.
Back in BC again….
Someone is really going to have to get on the cleaning crews here. I’m sure there may be other airports around the world that have men’s rooms that smell this bad, but I personally only know of one that’s worse. Miami. And there, the ladies rooms are even worse. Never, EVER fly through Miami without a pass to a first class lounge or latex gloves. The public areas are intolerable.
But that’s the bad news for the day. The good news is that I had my first good experience on Air Canada in a longtime. I was on a flight from Winnipeg and was fortunate enough to be on a new A-320. Brand new. Great seats and perfectly clean. And to make matters even better, I did not have to sit next to some immigrant who smelled worse than the aforementioned washroom. How good is that? Still my ‘spidey sense’ is on high. Something is not quite right.
Look, I don’t mean to hold myself on a pedestal above all and sundry, but really, there should be some sort of “smell-o-meter” where passengers have to pass the phalanx of baggage screeners. If its mechanical sensors react above a certain level, then passengers should be given the option of stepping into a handy shower stall or going back to whatever stinking hovel they call home. There is no reason why a whole lot of other people should suffer for over two hours just because somebody who’s idea of personal hygiene is to smell worse than a hockey player’s equipment bag. Is it because their feelings might be hurt? Too bad so sad get back on the boat and go for a float back to Smellyland where you came from is my felling.
So I’m sitting here in the White Spot in terminal ‘C’, sipping a beer and waiting for my short flight to Victoria and then it hits me. Every one of the flight crew spoke French, Canada’s other second language, amongst themselves and while working. Of course, that explains the new plane. Probably based in Quebec which would explain the crew. But enough of my Anglo based bitterness. It was a nice plane and I remembered to bring my own food on the flight so I’m doing fine.
*** Move to Victoria flight ***
I am sitting on a plane, on the tarmac, waiting while the incompetents that run things here unload the luggage looking for a piece that belongs to someone who didn’t get on the flight. Damn delays. Damn Air Canada. Damn everything, I just want to get home.
There are 50 seats on the aircraft and I have counted 18 young Orientals on board. Obviously student exchange types. There is one seat vacant, it is next to me. A 20’ish Caucasian fellow gets on and comes to sit next to me. Oh well, so much for the Japanese School Girl scenario playing rapidly in my head and…what the hell am I thinking? I’m just happy the fellow heading down the aisle isn’t some grotesquely overweight slob. He sits down.
I gag.
My head is reeling. This isn’t right. I think to myself, “He smells like a yak.” So much for racial profiling. He turns out to be friendly enough and is a talkative guy. Turns out he’s coming back from a trip to the Gobi Desert. Holy Shit! I think. He really DOES smell like a yak. He tells me he wanted to travel someplace he’s never been before. He describes it as very dry with lots of sand. I reply that calling it the Gobi DESERT kind of gave that away. There were camels there and lots of sand. All I could think of telling him is that if he wanted to go someplace with lots of sand that has creatures with two big bumbs on them running around in all that sand then maybe he should have gone to Cancun for spring break. It took him a minute but he finally got it. Sad is the state of our youth. Camels over coeds....what was the boy thinking?
The plane finally gets going and the flight is mercifully short. The weather is clear, I’m back on the west coast and I have the little air jet thingy turned up full blast so I can hardly smell my neighbor, I’m comin’ home.
Victoria….
There is a huge group of people waiting and holding signs with names like, Mi Wang Hung and Bro Kin To. Must be Koreans I think and head off to collect my two pieces of checked luggage.
After a few minutes my backpack comes through and I am getting ready to go. After a few more minutes the carousel stops and my other piece of baggage is not on it. But, I am not alone. Fully half, yes, 50 % of the passengers are told matter of factly that there wasn’t room on the plane, so the baggage will arrive….”sometime later.”
By sheer happenstance I am on the wrong side of the conveyor and it takes 50 minutes to provide them with my name and address so they can deliver my belongings to me. They have yet to do so.
I am not surprised of course. This is Air Canada and shitty, shoddy, rotten service is the standard rather than the exception. Canada is such a great country, it is such a shame that the fine name is disgraced by our ‘national’ airline. Air Take Your Chances or Air Mediocrity should be the name of this organization. Of course the giveaway should have been the magnificent counter with three computer terminals on it for handling complaints and luggage problems. Naturally it was understaffed. By contrast, the simple counter in front of the Westjet logo behind us is never staffed and is actually dusty (yes I checked). Go figure.
Whatever happened to decent air travel? It seems that the airlines are in such a hurry to cut costs to provide ‘affordable’ travel that all they end up providing is service that isn’t worth purchasing without abject necessity. I only fly Air Canada because other options are simply not available and I don’t have time to drive to Winnipeg every couple of months. When you only have a week, six days on the road is a mighty long time to drive.
I know it’s not Air Canada’s fault that parts of one of the world’s most beautiful airports smells like a bus terminal. I know it’s not Air Canada’s fault that some of it’s customers make your eyes water and sting your lungs with their lack of hygiene. And I know that it’s not Air Canada’s fault that Japanese School Girls who weigh, like, 97 pounds travel with bags that weigh 197 pounds. I just wish that for once, just once I could book my flight, get on in Victoria and off in Winnipeg and then return via the same route and not have a problem or complaint about the airline. I’m sure if Stan Rogers were alive today, he’d forget all about the Northwest Passage and his lyrics would go more like this:
“Ah for just one time, to take Air Canada passage,
With the guiding hand of Robert Milton, they’d be looking out for me,
Flying one fine flight o’er a land so wild and savage,
And enjoy a trip from Winnipeg to the sea…….”
And so I resign myself to suffer in the future as I have in the past. To do the “Canadian” thing and coexist in quiet misery with our national airline when other options do not exist.
*** And for those of you not familiar with Stan Roger’s song, “Northwest Passage” I hope you soon will be. It is one of the most Canadian of songs and a true classic. I do him no justice with my re-worked lyrics, but hey, he’s dead so he can’t sue me. ***
~ AP
Posted by Anonymous Pundit at 10:06 AM | Comments (0)
September 07, 2005
Filth can be ok....
I got a chuckle yesterday when I was walking through Polo Park Mall in Winnipeg. For those of you who aren’t familiar with this massive structure, it has long served as a social hub for the city, providing those most required of services to the citizenry of Winnipeg, namely warmth in the winter and indoor refuge from the mosquitoes in the summer.
It also has stores. Lots of them.
So many stores in fact that at all times there is a good cross section of people to be found there. Boys, girls, men, women, young and old of all mixes, sizes and shapes. Admittedly, some of the shapes were somewhat shapeless but some were down right shapely. Which leads me to the chuckle.
While paused by a kiosk and waiting for my kids, I overheard several teen aged boys talking just a wee tiny bit too loudly as they watched a very attractive lady walk by. They were doing the chant from “American Pie” that has become a modern lexicon of our language….”milf, milf, milf…”
“Yeah, right,” thinks I. Dream on boys. This ain’t the movies and there’s something about the sideways baseball caps and baggy pants with the knee level crotches that suggested to me that the lovely lady with the fine, um, packages would heed them not even a casual glance. And I was right.
But it got me to thinking. Thinking about labels and the like. Especially those with heavy sexual connotation like, ‘milf.’
For those of you not familiar with the term, it stands for, Mothers I’d Like to Fuck. Yep, there it is in all its crude glory. But I didn’t make it up I’m merely reporting. Problem is, for all its crudity, it at least gets to the honest point if that’s the point you’re trying to make.
The use of the term has spawned many an internet porn site. A quick ‘Google’ search revealed an amazing, 3,500,000 entries in just .12 seconds. I don’t recommend checking all of them as I am sure you would get viruses and infections with some of them in your computer too. But if you do you’ll understand.
But what I started thinking about was the limitations and the one sided nature of the whole thing. It seems so unfair. Surely there has to be more labels that can be used to romanticize or dehumanize the lot of us. Can ‘milf’ be the only one? It seems like too much of a catch all phrase to me. It’s just not specific enough. And so in an effort to help create distinctions in this otherwise confusing world, I suggest the following terms be accepted for general use in the English language.
SMILFs: Single Mothers work hard and seldom get the recognition they deserve and so it seems to me that if they are going to be so desired that they deserve the distinction. Besides, it allows the otherwise callous individual to suggest that though they may stoop to nameless meaningless sex, they cut it one step short of crossing that moral delineator of aiding in adultery.
SPLIFs: Single Petite Ladies may well deserve partitioning from the lusted after crowd. And why not? They grace the covers of 75% of the magazines you are forced to view every time you enter a convenience store, so give’em a label. Of course next time you hear someone talking about going out for a ‘splif’ you may have to wonder, if that means getting laid or getting stoned.
And for those who prefer a little more, no, a LOT more flesh on the bones, how about:
BLIMPs: Big Ladies I’d Like to Masculinely Penetrate. I’m not sure if ‘masculinely’ is a word or not and I’m pretty sure there’s no blimps I’d like to have sex with, but I do know it’s a big world with differing desires so I’m pretty sure that somewhere, there is some guy sitting on a street corner tapping his ‘bro’s’ on the shoulder saying, “Blimp! Blimp! Man, look at all the booty on that one. Ooooooo, I could really go for some of that hot blimp action!”
I know…it boggles the mind.
In keeping with the MILF line of thought though, I was wondering if there is such a person as an Ultimilf? An Ultimate Milf. And if so, who would qualify for the title? Pamela Anderson? Cindy Crawford? Posh Spice? I’m sure that if the question is tossed out there, which I guess it is now, that there would be many a different choice put forth.
But if anybody out there is feeling typecast or indignant about the whole thing, rest easy, because there is one group out there that just has to be more pissed off than you are. I am talking about the Philippines very own Islamic separatist movement which is better known as the: Moro Islamic Liberation Front or, you guessed it, MILF for short. I am not making this up. Check it out. I almost died laughing just thinking about the leader of the group telling someone to look them, MILF, up on the internet.
But all of this has been terribly one sided and I think we should turn at least some of our limited attention spans to considering the guys. The other side of the equation. And since it all started with the ‘mothers’ thing I think that maybe it should be ‘fathers’ that are singled out. Just to be fair of course. But since it is generally considered unladylike to want to, um, fuck, someone, I think a gentler term like ‘hump’ may be in order and far more acceptable. And so for all those hopeful fathers out there that would like to be considered desirable to the ladies, I propose that we be happy with Fathers I’d Like To Hump or FILTH for short.
So maybe its just self delusional madness, but next time I’m referred to as filth, I won’t feel so bad now.
~AP
Posted by Anonymous Pundit at 08:16 PM | Comments (0)
September 02, 2005
My Friend has Stupid Neighbors……
Once in a while you do a favor for a friend and due to things beyond your control, like stupid neighbors, it doesn’t go quite the way you expect.
I was house sitting last night at my friend’s house, looking after his dog and just hanging out trying to do a little web surfing. So what could go wrong? Well, what follows is the text of my house status email to him this morning. It should be self explanatory. Names have been changed to protect the innocent. (me) And his dog is really big.
**********************************************************************
Your nieghbors are retarded…..make sure you go to Costco
(email to Dave: September 2, 2005)
Hey Dude
I know you always go to Costco when you’re south of the 49’th and I think this is no time to make an exception. Look for one of those nice Kevlar body suits and a riot helmet with a face plate. Those things can be very handy to have on if your retarded nieghbors decide to get those slingshots.
A bunch of reactionary morons is what they are. And man they seem have a hate on for you now.
I only drank two of your beer so you don’t have to pick any more up on your way home. Funny thing though, after the ‘incident’ with the guys down the road I thought I would need a few more, but such was not the case.
The wireless setup didn’t work. I couldn’t figure it out until I went and looked at all the routers things and saw what was obviously the problem. TOO MANY WIRES. Really, how can you have a wireless network when it is so polluted with wires everywhere. Man…and I thought you knew all about that stuff. So after some serious work with pliers and cutters I am happy to let you know that I have improved your wireless netowork by making it truly wireless. Hey, it’s ok. No need to thank me. Not with money anyway. But get some nail polish remover or acetone while you’re picking up the body armor. It will help with the glue.
My friend, sometimes things don’t work out quite as planned. Having nothing else to do with the ‘wires’ that were part of the wireless network I gently wound them around the limbs and body of the cat. Well, it was gentle at first, but you know how hard it can be to hang onto a voilently thrashing cat, so they got a little tighter until the cat was calm. I used glue to hold the wires in place, leaving your cat looking like a little blue robo-space cat. All that ‘cat’ 5 wire looks real cute but the glue got kinda out of control and so right now your robo cat is literally stuck under a bed somewhere and from what I can tell, the acetone will be best to disolve all that adhesive. But don’t worry, I’m sure it will all work out ok.
Did you know that you live on a rural road where there are more dogs than pick up trucks? That may not have been important before last night but it may be critical in the future. I mean, there I was taking your dog for a walk. A long walk. A real long walk. Jesus, I was ready to start squeezing him like a bagpipe before he finally decided to take a dump. And man, that thing altered the landscape I’ll tell you. It went rolling down the hill into a nieghbor’s yard and set off a truck alarm. I know, I know…big dogs mean big business. But still that was….oh, enough of this scatological screed. But really, that’s where it began. After the hollow thud of that turd hitting the truck and the unexpected alarm sounding, every damn dog decided that ‘WE’ were the enemy. And you know how a dog can be when it get’s an idea in it’s head. “Bark bark bark bark bark bark bark bark bark bark bark bark yelp!” Well, rocks help. But that’s when it got too weird. With it sounding like all hell was breaking loose and all the hounds of the Baskerville’s decending on me in the middle of a cold dark road in rurual North Cowichan, as if that wasn’t bad enough, one of the nieghbors catches sight of Fido with his shadow looming large in the cone of light from “the” streetlight, and cries out, “Fido? Is that Fido? Dave, what are you doing out at this time of night?”
Naturally all I could think of was to tell the truth and so I yelled back, “Shutting your fucking dog up!!” as I hurled another rock at the thing and must have caught it in the head because it went yelping off into the darkness, banging into numerous trees and bushes. I think it also hit a car but I can’t be sure. And that fence, man, you’d think a dog would know better than to run at full speed in the darkness when there are wire fences everywhere. I’ll bet it doesn’t make THAT mistake again.
But back to your moron nieghbors. For some reaon he took offense to the truth which surprises me because it was HIS dog that was barking, not yours, so anyway he yells out, “What the fuck did you do that for Dave?” Of course there are moments that pop up when you realize with absolute clarity that looking like somebody else and having other people actually believe you are that person can be truly liberating. The sudden dawning of the knowledge that you can do pretty much whatever the hell you want and never get into trouble is really cool. And without having to go through all the hassle of becoming Prime Minitster either.
So I yelled back, “I fucking felt like it asshole!! Your dog was making too much noise and if you don’t fix that yappy god damned mutt I’ll hit it with two rocks next time!! So shut up and go back beating your ugly wife!!”
Well, I guess he was sensitive about his wife’s appearance because the next thing I knew he started going all mental ape shit and stuff and was screaming about getting out his slingshot for the next time you walk your dog. Jesus Christ man…it’s not my fault if she’s ugly. So I was already loosening my grip on Fido’s leash in case we had to make a run for it when I heard an engine start. So I whipped a couple more rocks into the darkness in the direction of the noise and took off out of there. We got home in no time and turned off all the lights and waited it out. It’s scary to realize you have nieghbors who still use torches at night man. But your house commands the high ground and they were easy targets climbing the driveway. Eventually it all settled down, but not without a whole lot of threats and curses.
So as I was saying, check out the body armor, get some acetone and I would recommend securing the roof and rolling up the windows before you arrive at home in the convertible. Maybe send the little lady over to do the ‘talking’ that will no doubt be required to fix things up between you and those annoying nieghbors. You know they won’t really believe the ‘friend who looks just like me’ story, so I recommend admitting to drunkeness and experimental drugs. At least that they can respect here in the valley.
Oh yeah, I didn’t have time to test the wireless network afterwards so I’ll leave it up to you to let me know how much better it is.
Other than those little things all is well and the house is standing. Well, at least it was before I made a pre-dawn run for freedom. So I hope you’re having a good time and I’ll see you later.
~ AP
Posted by Anonymous Pundit at 07:50 PM | Comments (0)
Socioalgebraic proofing.....
Every once in a while, along comes a bit of information that either answers all your questions or raises more than you ever thought possible. You be the judge.
My take....simple. A life without problems would be unbearably boring now wouldn't it?
~ AP
Posted by Anonymous Pundit at 06:50 PM | Comments (0)
September 01, 2005
You Otter Be in Pictures…..
In previous posts I have several times mentioned the sea otters that live around me and occasionally take otter ‘dumps’ on my steps. Not that big a deal until you accidentally step in some with bare feet or go rushing out the door to work and suddenly find yourself gliding along the steps to a sudden assault on your olfactory senses. Face it, otters eat fish and seafood that stinks before it even gets processed in that special way that only an otter can. So it ain’t that pretty when it happens.
Last night a small group of otters, four to six of them I think, decided that the outside of my place was otter party central. Up and down the steps they were running and horsing around. I likened them to a bunch of teenagers keeping things lively around a Seven Eleven late at night when they know damn well they should be in bed. Judging by the racket they were even using my overturned canoe as a sort of slide or jungle gym.
But I didn’t mind too much. Raccoons would deserve a good shooting, but somehow, I just can’t get angry at the otters who share my domain. Why is that? They’re just too much fun.
Yesterday morning
I was lucky enough to look out and see a mother and her two young ones lounging about on one of my landings. She was just hanging around, occasionally scratching her neck while the kids were rolling around and play fighting. Exactly what kids should do on a nice summer day I figure.
I was even lucky enough to get a short movie clip of them by sneaking up on my balcony without making any noise.
I once had a herd or flock or stampede of them rumble down my steps one night. It woke me up and sounded like the whole place was coming down. When I looked out my window I saw them coming back down the steps and I counted thirteen of the beasts, so I waited until they were all there and I flashed on the lights and threw open the door shouting “BOO!” or some such moronic thing. Everything stopped as they turned and looked at me for about a second before exploding into a roiling ball of otters, off the edge of the deck and splashing away into the sea since the tide was up high. It was one of the funniest things I’ve ever seen. Like a scene from a Monty Python movie, “Run away!! Run away! Get out of my way! Run, run, move. Eeeek!” And as you can see, otters aren’t little things either. They’re actually about three feet long when fully grown so one would want to avoid being in the middle of such a mass.
So no, I can’t be angry with the noisy otters, not even at 3:30 in the morning. Not when I get to see them the way I do. The way every National Geographic special or wildlife film tries to show them but can never do them justice. I love my otters.
~ AP
Posted by Anonymous Pundit at 10:44 PM | Comments (0)