Monday, May 23, 2011

It's No Palm D'or Winner

As you know, Kitkat has brought into my life one of the best series ever – The Walking Dead. Season 1 was a gift for my birthday along with Russell Brand’s (who for the life of me I can’t explain my bizarre attraction to but am pretty sure it has something to do with Get Him to the Greek) NY stand-up DVD.

Not nearly as good as ‘Greek’, nor as funny as his Booky Wook, it still made me LOL and his tight low-rise trousers allowed me to grant it a solid 6.5 out of 10.

I would have to rank these in order of discussion above in terms of fantasticness. Also included in the ‘my friend doesn’t have cable’ gift pack definitely takes the bronze medal, the re-make of the ‘80s outer space mini-series V. I guess alien mini-series is a more accurate definition as it didn’t physically take place in space. In the outer sense at least, not the ‘time & space’ sense.

It wasn’t so off that I didn’t watch the entire thing, but there was something about it I couldn’t quite put my finger on.

Then I saw and advert for ‘an all new episode of CSI Miami’ and it hit me ~ every character in the show delivers their lines like David Caruso. Gems like “Ryan, is your intel good?”, “No, the doctors were wrong, he is your father” and, my personal favourite, “I will do whatever it takes to blow the bitch out of the sky” didn’t do it for me in the way they should have.

To boot, the eye candy selection is not on par with sugar mountain. The one piece up for grabs was only on screen for 45 seconds before Anna did the praying mantis thing on his ass.

Admittedly, I would like to see one or two ship full of lizards get their comeuppance, but I might have to try and find it on youtube.

Monday, May 16, 2011

The Answer Is So Simple!

On the weekend I was listening to Day 6 with Brent Bambury on CBC Radio and heard a story that made me think. Yes, that is possible.

He was interviewing a Mexican poet by the name of Javier Sicilia. It seems señor Sicilia has vowed to stop writing poetry until the drug wars in Mexico are over. His reasons are personal and profound to be sure, but I had to wonder if that same logic could be applied to other conflicts around the globe?

Perhaps an envoy dispatched to Afghanistan could wag its collective finger at the Taliban and threaten "no more mime for you!" I am sure wicked ways of the west would soon find favour with them.

And surely Kim Jong-Il would be wrapped around Obama's (not Osama's) little finger, a veritable ball of putty in our hands, if we actually followed through with our "no more Lindsay Lohan films" threat.

Who needs guns, bombs and war when we have such stash of readily available, cheaper alternatives?

Saturday, May 14, 2011

Bitter. Sweet.

As time marches towards the first anniversary of my father’s passing, I find myself thinking of him more and more. It could be the date itself but I think it is also due in large part to our much delayed spring. He loved the outdoors (even in the winter) but now that we are puttering around the yard getting mom settled for the season, I think of him with every turn of the spade and every new flower that bursts into bloom.

Last week I clipped some flowers but this week is even better because it’s the first harvest of the season I can eat! Rhubarb is back and loving all this rain. I am just home with 4.56 pounds of the oversized licorice coloured delight.

Fauntleroy and Kitkat will partake with me tomorrow when we settle in and watch our ‘I don’t know what season-th’ finale of Survivor together. Actually, since they moved the wrap-up to Sunday’s, we rarely watch the end together and often don’t even know who won. As a wise woman once said “it doesn’t matter what show your watching, it’s who you’re watching it with.”

The usual accompaniment for rhubarb is strawberries, but our pie will be ALL rhubarb with a nice touch of orange zest. What is left, and what I can harvest next week will become one of the truly finest jams known to man.

We will also get to enjoy fresh chives on our mashed potatoes!

On a less happy father related note, Cabernet and The Sergeant placed a lovely pot of tulips on his grave a few weeks ago to help him ring in the spring. The long, wet, cool weather had kept the blooms tightly shut and were just waiting for a nice day to explode.

Last Sunday, on Mother’s Day, someone pinched the lot. Pot and all! And no, they were not cleaned up by the maintenance staff or thrown in the compost pile. I checked. And all the decorations on other stones were left as is.

So, if there are any mothers out in the greater Fergus area, who got an unexpected gift from your usually unreliable, cheap, delinquent son (or daughter)….they are still all those things. Plus a grave robber!

Tuesday, May 10, 2011

Suddenly, I like hockey.

Well, we finally have ONE professional athlete on our side! After watching this video of NHL player Sean Avery, of the New York Islanders (look at me talkin' all butch) I was saddened to hear about the backlash he has endured for making this 30 second spot.

There are retired, professional athletes that support gay marriage (gay themselves or not) but not a single, active member of any professional sports organization in North America has come out in support of it.

I'm sure that Europe is different. As they ask in Legally Blonde, "is he gay or European?" Ahhhh, one more reason to move to France.

As for Todd Reynolds (gay name by-the-way - Todd) of Uptown Sports Management who tweeted it's "Very sad to read Sean Avery's misguided support of same-gender 'marriage.' Legal or not, it will always be wrong." And then went on to "To clarify. This is not hatred or bigotry towards gays. It is not intolerance in any way shape or form. I believe we are all equal."

Really? We're all equal? Really? So if I say certain people should ride in the back of the bus because of their colour. That's okay as long as I say I'm not being "intolerant." "Ms. Parks, I'm going to have to ask you to move to the back of the bus. We need this seat for a straight white person. But don't you worry, I still think we're equa.....oh wait, no I don't. Move to the back."

Oh, hey, while we're at it, those same people can use separate public pools and drinking fountains. And, just for kicks, let's move an entire race of people away from the west coast (I'm referring to the Japanese after Pearl Harbour - thought I might have to spell that one out for you Toddy)and confiscate all their possessions in the name of "tolerance."

He also tweeted: "But I believe in the sanctity of marriage between one man and one woman. This is my personal viewpoint. I Do not hate anyone."

Again. Really? You don't hate anyone? Sounds to me like your not a real big fan of us. But why split hairs, oh wait, that's right, you don't have any to split. Snap.

Thank you Sean! Todd, you can suck it and I hope at least one of your three kids plays on our team! Snap.

Sunday, May 08, 2011

And I'm Not Even a Mother!

I love spring!

Post an early mother's day brunch, I set to work in mom's yard to get it ready for spring. As you know, this spring has been wet and cold. While I enjoy a walk in the rain as much as the next person, enough is enough. But the cool weather has meant long lasting spring flowers, and about that, I shan't complain.

After my day of toil, I helped myself to some flowers from her cutting garden (actually, it is along the side of her house where the blooms wouldn't be enjoyed anyway) and I had such a mitt full I didn't even need florist tape. Voila! Enjoy.

And, when I got home, I discovered that IronMan spoiled me further.

I know I am one lucky boy because I woke up to a house full of the scent of hyacinth and lily. Off to enjoy another fine spring day. I hope you do too!

Saturday, May 07, 2011

Is it just me?

Maybe it's all the zombie shows and books I have been into lately. It could also be the Kennedy mini-series that is getting so much buzz. But quickly, at first glance, does this label from Peter Lehmann's Barossa Blonde wine, not look like the woman suffered the same fate as JFK that fateful day in Dallas? Come on. Is it just me?

Monday, May 02, 2011

Everything But Planes, Trains &.....

You know those days where, at some point, you say to yourself “I should have stayed in bed”? Monday, May 2nd was one of those days for me.

I don’t want to say the day started out on a ‘good’ note per se, as it was news that Osama Bin Laden was dead. Even with fuzzy morning head I pictured President Obama on some evening talk show making a Bette Davis-esque remark when asked about it. “My mother always told me to say good things about the dead. Osama Bin Laden is dead. Good.” Cue the applause.

I agree the world is better off without him, but isn’t dancing in the streets about it a bit like poking a sleeping, unleashed pit bull with a sharp stick? Time will tell. It did make me feel safer that I continue to cycle to work. I suppose I could be the target of a terrorist attack, but I don’t think I’m that important.

Even though it was raining today, sporting my new yellow rain slicker I hopped on Molly and headed east. I have had flat tires before, but more often than not, I can either walk home or to MEC for a repair. Today however, I found myself about halfway to work when there was a loud pop and then about 2 seconds of ‘pshhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh’.

Did I keep going or turn back? I started to walk towards the city but then started counting the markers I still had to pass. Three parking lots, the Argonaut rowing club, Ontario place, the TipTop building. There were just as many between me and home so I took refuge in one of the picnic shelters along the lake.

‘It can always be worse’ is a game I play when something attempts to throw me off kilter. I could have been hit by a car. I was once. On my bike. Actually, I was knocked down and run over by a cement truck, poked the peddle right through my calf muscle. Tore it in two even.

Or, it could be tomorrow, the day I am chairing a big meeting at work. Or maybe Toronto was overtaken by a Walking Dead type virus and this was a sign to stay away.

Flipping open my laptop I was pleased to see the “wireless signal detected” message flash across the bottom of the screen. There could be worse things than working in the great outdoors, albeit covered, for the day. Alas, you needed a pass code to gain access and I didn’t have my VPN token handy.

Walking home was not on the top of my ‘oh what fun’ list, at least not pushing Molly and her two panniers of cargo. Bravely or foolishly, I locked her to a picnic table and headed back over the Humber River bridge. I figured a short walk to the streetcar wouldn’t be too bad.

There I stood; bright yellow jacket, black tights with grey shorts over top, bike shoes and a lovely quaff. The looks I got rather surprised me, given the spitting, cursing, “I need to get laid” fellow I had encountered only a few weeks ago. I was warm and someplace dry and that was enough for me.

Once home, I put down Liza’s back seat, backed out of the garage and headed the direction from which I had just come praying none too silently that my bike would still be there. It was raining, windy and cold. Surely there would not be any sneaky bike thieves about. As it turns out, there weren’t.

In my haste, the only thing I changed was my footwear. Much to the amusement of a couple walking their dog, I had added a pair of jumbo, camouflaged rubber boots that I use for hunting. Warm, easy to get on and they were close at hand.

Showered, looking and feeling better, I settled down to work. Apres my toil, I went to gears bike shop for a tire repair. No problem. No line. $9 for labour, $6 for the tube. Sold.

It was then suggested that I also replace the rim tape. Not knowing what that was but that it cost $5, I said sure. I then purchased a small plastic tool for $3.95 that one needs to replace a tube. Inspired by Kitkat’s recent blog post and the fact that IronMan is working this weekend, I am going to figure this out so next time I can fend for myself. One needs to be able to make a hasty retreat from approaching zombies after all.

Then the other shoe fell. The tire itself also needed to be replaced and that one hurt. $88. BAM. Driving home, I continued to play the game in an effort to find the silver lining. Walking into the kitchen I say the last piece of Bumble Crumble from the Big Apple and knew I had found it.