Curing Stupid

Fact is, I would like to write about something happy, and nice, and be all bubbly about it, but something has come over me and straight up, I'm just frustrated with the overall situation. Snapshot: I wish I actually liked getting out of bed when the forecast high is -50C in the wind, but truth be told, I don't. So sue me. This long-time-coming-post's cultural topic is:



WINTER

In southern Alberta, we are blessed with a weather phenomenon known as "Chinook". These pacific winds travel over the Rocky Mountains depositing heaps of luscious and skiable snow in the beautiful, majestic Rocky Mountains. This week, however, the Chinook had it out for us. As a Northerly weather system came down into our fair prairies, the Chinook failed to make its necessary appearance. With great power comes great responsibility and unfortunately for anyone having to endure it, which great cold comes great pain in the ass factor. This week's post will be broken down (as are most peoples' cars) into subsections that will be condensed rants and will just get a lot of my chest.

DISCLAIMER: MAY BE FAIRLY INSULTING TO SOME, WEAK HEARTED READERS MAY CHOOSE NOT TO READ THE FOLLOWING SECTION.

Starting your car

Everybody knows that when it's cold you're supposed to plug in your car...if you want it to start. Maybe it's a subconscious thing, but people who need to, never do and the ones you plan properly end up being the ones who don't get stranded when the temperatures drop. It's called common sense (topic for a different day) and it shouldn't be taken lightly. Background info: Canadian cars are designed with what they call a "block heater" which heats the antifreeze/coolant in your engine "block". When the antifreeze is heated to above outside temperatures, the starter is able to turn over the engine more easily and thus, "start" the car. In order to engage the block heater, an electrical unit, the car must be connected to an electrical source, namely an electrical outlet, usually in the wall of your house or garage. So, connect the wall outlet to your car using an extension cord or if it is easier, plug the car's electrical cord directly into the wall. This will facilitate the starting of your car and prevent you having to call in sick or late to your job and will also ensure the prolonged life of your car and it's engine. The Number One Biggest Tip for making sure your car starts when you need it to: don't be a dumb-ass moron.

Shoveling the walk

If you own/rent/lease/squat/live somewhere with a sidewalk, as a citizen of earth, shoveling your walk is something you will have to do. If YOU don’t want to do it you can pay some kid down the street, or your roommate/partner/spouse/child, or maybe a “snow angel” aka. neighbour can do it, but it’s an inevitable fact of living where it snows. Number one reason old people have heart-attacks in the winter? Shoveling snow. So why do old people try to do it? Maybe it has to do with trying to feel young, or feel active, or maybe they’re just good people and that’s what good people do…they shovel their sidewalk. Afterall, people have to WALK on the sidewalk, otherwise they might just be called side-cement, or side-road if only small non-motorized vehicles were allowed on it, or sidecrawl or siderun if you were allowed to go on it but you weren’t allowed to walk so you either had to stay motionless or be on all-fours or be running or probably at least jogging (might be pronounced yogging…soft J). If you want to buy a snowblower that’s fine too…just get it done before it turns to ice. Ice is dangerous for old ladies. But old ladies won’t walk outside when it’s blowing wind and the day’s high is -50C. So yeah, you should do it, but don’t do it if frostbite is imminent and you will otherwise not make it to work on time. Tip: create a happy medium between inconsiderate jerk and good Samaritan. Save the old ladies.

Idiot drivers

“Honey, it’s cold out today – make sure you drive like a bigger retard than you normally do!” Hey, idiot drivers: This section is for you! And if you learn anything in this paragraph take it with you for the rest of the year as well. DON’T DRIVE LIKE A TOTAL MORON AND YOU WON’T CRASH YOUR CAR! Makes sense, doesn’t it? I don’t understand why people turn stupid when snow falls on the ground. Drive a little slower if you have to, but nothing in the world pisses me off more than when my commute into work is 3 times as long as normal just because I’ve been in traffic because some chromosomal defective person decides not to merge properly and suddenly the 80km/h flow has to slow to STOPPED. I am really passionate about this topic and my dangerous road rage potential goes up a notch pretty much every rush hour I drive in. People often joke about testing bad parents before they are able to conceive children. Well, I’m not joking when I talk about testing people for bloody common sense before they are allowed out of the house. The worst part about driving is that it can reduce IQ scores of perfectly normal, smart people by (guestimation) more than 60 points, putting even the brightest of geniuses into the mentally handicapped zones…which, sorry to say, doesn’t mean they are allowed to park in handicapped, or even worse, take up two large stalls at the same time. But unfortunately for many, bad driving can’t be blamed solely on the weather; I blame stupid.


I’d like to excuse most of my written deficiencies on typos, but some are just because you have a stupid lapse. I spelled the word “extension” wrong a few paragraphs ago and the No. 2 suggestion was “extent ion”. When anyone would need to write about ion extents, I don’t know. Maybe the writers of MS Word can discuss it with scientists who are currently looking for a cure for stupid. I suspect they’ll eventually find one…when hell freezes over.

Word up

I’ve been on a roll lately hearing from people I used to hear from all the time. I guess it helps being on or around a computer 8 hours a day at work and then having the option to have another 4 hours in the evening. I came to realise quite early on in the history of this blog that I don’t and probably won’t ever have a really big fan base, which I suppose is fine and I guess since I’ve been not - not in Canada I’ve been pretty lazy in the whole blog posting thing. I’ve mostly concentrated on getting caught up with people I haven’t yet seen and as each week goes by I’ve gradually knocked a few off. This week’s cultural topic is:


RANTING

I can’t actually find a real definition for ranting, and that’s fine too, because I think the biggest thing there is to understand about ranting is that ranting comes form the heart, and when you’re heart’s not it in, there’s nothing to rant about.

I've been inspired a couple of times in the last little while about something to write but when I actually sit down to write something I just can't think about what it was I was inspired by. Do I have some sort of dementia? I don't think so. But I just can’t put my finger on it. I find myself sometimes mixing up simple English words with French ones, even though my native language is English. And even right now as I’m writing this, I’m kind of wondering where it might actually take me. Ranting turns into rambling and rambling just may not make sense.

I have to admit it, lately I haven’t been very good with the blog but that goes without saying. Hockey’s been on, football has taken over my Sundays and any rants I do come in the form of email or Facebook. I really like personal rants, but at the same time, there’s something gratifying about knowing that no one will read what you have to say but anyone could if they wanted to.

I never used to understand people who worked in offices all day and complained about always being on the computer blah blah blah and because of that didn’t want to work on computers on their own time at home. This is bunk. Sure, you sit at a desk all day, maybe you get up to get a coffee or hang out at the water cooler and of course you’ll have your time at lunch, but there is a HUGE difference between home computer and work computer. Like what? How about the liberty to do whatever you want whenever you want at home. Yeah, that’s a stupid thing to say, but that’s the point. Rants don’t have to make sense.

Blogging gives people like me the chance to put our ideas public. I think I have a pretty good format and if I weren’t me and I knew me or didn’t know me, I might think I might stop and take some time to read it. While I was away, I treated my blog like some sort of channel to entertain myself, maybe my friends, and I wrote as though I was writing an actual article and I created strict yet fake deadlines for myself to meet.

The thing is, you look at semi-celebrities, like Andy Rooney who has made a living ranting about stupid things. A couple of weeks ago I watched his rant which comes at the end of CBS’s 60 Minutes where he went on for 2 minutes about people carrying bags. Now, having said that, he IS really good at talking about something that doesn’t matter. Somehow, in that segment, he was able to incorporate street interviews with people who take books to work with them and somehow managed to accuse them all of reading on the job and wasting company time and money. That’s incredible.

Of course, most stand up comics talk about things that don’t really matter, observations if you will. Jerry Seinfeld pretty much dominated the observation realm in the 1990s, but it’s a comical fad that seems to be spreading. Most recently comics have put a spin on producing t-shirts or women drivers or being a man who doesn’t like working out. And they can all be funny. Of course, humour is a topic that can be discussed some other day, but the thing that I really hate hearing about from comics is them complaining about their wives or their kids or household pains. I don’t like it mostly because I can’t relate to it so for that reason it’s not funny. Seinfeld has now actually morphed into this type of show now and that’s fine too, because everyone grows up eventually, even adults.

As I’m writing this I’m contemplating not publishing it at all, because there’s no real reason for anyone to actually read it…that’s how much continuity it has in it. But that’s the point of ranting about ranting. Ranting doesn’t actually need make sense and if it DID make sense then it wouldn’t be ranting, it would be a well-planned writing. But that’s a rant for a different day…

Could have talked about it

Well, over the past few weeks, a few major things have happened that greatly influence the way I conduct my day to day life. First off, I got back to Canada, which put an end to my international wandering. Second, I searched for and shortly after got a job. Third, I reinstalled non-free television in the place where I live. This week's cultural topic is:

NORMALCY

Now, things are seemingly pretty normal in my life these days. But what is normal? I'm not really sure. Could be mobility; could be stationary. I could probably go on for a while about how great it is to be re-situated, get back to the things I grew up with, how glad I am to be back in Calgary with all of my friends and parents and how I love to drive my gas-guzzling sport utility vehicle with optional four wheel drive...just in case.

I could talk about routine and or earning money, or dressing nice for work every day, or how much I've already learned in just a short period of time, or how great my new workmates seem to be after hanging out with them for a week, or how my job is going to take me off-site soon and which I won't necessarily be hanging out with them all day in a few weeks, or how even though I thought I did really really poorly, I scored "Proficient" in most of the tests I took after I was hired even though normal people would have had to take them before they were even considered.

I could talk about my plans for the weekend or maybe how nice the weather has been, even though it really hasn't been that nice and even though I love snow, how I'm glad it's not dumping snow because it already gets dark early enough in the evening and we don't need anymore winter darkness, or how I hate the fact that we had to put the clocks back one week later this year which didn't give me an extra hour or sleep on the halloween-night-out night that I would have been, under normal circumstances/in any other year past, the most beneficial extra hour of sleep one could possibly ask for, but you can't change the past and you can't really blame anyone for that - except the Bush administration, who were the ones who changed it.

Or, I could just cut to the case and bring it all back around. This post has really only one point to make, and by point I mean rhetorical question to ask anyone who locks their laptops in one spot and never moves it feel stupid, which isn't to say that you can't have a normal/regular spot to put it on, like a desk or a table or something and if you don't, you might as well just get a desktop, but seriously:

What the hell good is a laptop if you never put it on your lap?

Idiots.

Missing Out

“…His nails a' clicking on the floor…” – The Remy Song

I’ve finally decided, after just over two weeks being back, that it’s nice to be home. For the past couple of weeks I was hesitant to admit it, but it’s occurred to me that being a nomad, causes you to miss out on many simple pleasures and some very important events. This post’s cultural topic is:

LOSING A PET
I was often asked in my travels what I missed most about home. The answer was simple: my dogs. This is why, when I got back to London only to find out that my mom’s little dog, Remy, was very sick with adrenal and lung cancer, it was an easy choice to come home earlier than planned. I made it back with just days left in his life. I’ve been trying for the past week to think about how I can properly word this post and though this is my first actual attempt at actually writing something down, I’ve come to realise that it’s just not going to be possible.

Two weeks ago, Canadian Thanksgiving Day, we drove down to a previously unvisited veterinary clinic in the south of the city with our smallest little boy in the family (just over 10 years old and just less than 20 lbs). Everyone in the car was crying and for one of the first times ever, Remy was calm as the car slowed down and pulled into the parking lot. His breathing was laboured, as it had been in the preceding weeks, and though he hadn’t eaten anything all day, he happily got out of the car and peed on some pillars and a small tree. That morning he wouldn’t even eat fresh meat, but in his last minutes, despite his sickness, he did not hesitate to munch on a Milkbone, his favorite treat. Even until his last breath, he saw us with an everlasting and reciprocated love.

Studies show that dogs have a really good understanding of their surroundings and some suggest that dogs have an equivalent comprehension level of a 5-7 year old child. But being animals, dogs also rely heavily on instinct and because of this, seem to be able to foresee certain events. Because dogs cannot talk, however, it is impossible to know for sure what they think about, how they feel, or whether they are in pain due to illness.

For most people, losing a pet is as tragic as losing a human member of the family. I’ve now lost three pets, but I think Remy was the one that hit me the hardest and think it’s because I have the best memories with him.

We adopted Joey when he was already 9 years old and he had a hard life, but he was epileptic and just one year after we got him his disease got the best of him. He, too, was very loyal and craved attention. Golden retrievers are known for having great demeanors and Joey was no exception. The second was my step-mom’s Yorkshire terrier, Bijou, who at less than 4 lbs had the attitude of a big dog, but the non-threatening bite of a little one. She only liked a handful of people in the world (myself, luckily, being one of them) and I’ll always remember the way she would do a cartoon-like shuffle on the terrifying hardwood floors as she mustered the courage to scurry from room-to-room.

But Remy was my little guy. I knew him right from the start and was there from the first time he learned to shake-a-paw to the time he became the supreme ruler of his house. Remy’s personality was one that is unrivaled by any other dog I have met. He was like a little boy who just walked around on four feet, was covered in mountain-goat hair and liked to sniff dog’s butts when they came around to the house. I can’t do him justice in explaining how great of a little friend he could be when you were sick, tired or just lazing around. He was always there (except for when he was eating Kleenex from the garbage) and he though he was mostly obedient, he, just like a real boy, could be stubborn when he wanted to be. My mom always joked that she wouldn’t be surprised if he just one day just got up and started talking. And that’s because Remy wasn’t just a dog, he was real member of the family.

In the past two weeks it’s been a much different welcome party at my mom’s house. The people still say hello, but no little thing comes crashing to the door only to roll onto his back and make you pat his little pink belly. It’s strange to think that only a month ago we didn’t know anything was wrong and now two weeks after he’s been gone, so many things have changed. One thing, though, will never change: the love and great memories we will always have and hold because of the silly little dog-boy who has been one of the most important things in our lives for the past ten and half years.

Thanks to everyone who has supported us, especially my mom, over the past weeks. Thank you also for all the notes, cards, and emails. But more than all, thanks to everyone who has helped us give Remy a great doggy-life.

See you later, little-guy.

Who says you can’t go home?

For the past 5 months, I’ve been woken up by the sweet sounds of Lynyrd Skynyrd, and though it’s a really good song, it got a little repetitive. I’m lucky, though, that Sweet Home Alabama was the tireless longevity that it does, otherwise as the clock struck whatever time I set it to go off, I could find myself wanting to beat myself in the face with my tent poles. This week’s cultural topic is:

COMING HOME

When you take a long trip you come home for a only a few reasons. Maybe it’s been a year and your ticket is up. Maybe you’re broke and your credit cards are maxed out. Maybe you just didn’t bring enough warm clothing with you and because you’re too lazy you’d rather go home than buy new ones. Or maybe you’re just tired. But no matter the reason for returning home, one thing always stays the same. Relief.


I’ve taken a number of long trips (that number is 3), of course none as long as my latest of 5 months, but whenever I’ve gotten home it seems like I’ve grown up or experienced something so special. This time I was gone for nearly a year, which in the grand scheme of my life is a pretty significant chunk of time. The thing you have to realise coming home is that though you may have changed, things you were used to before you left probably aren’t that much different than they were. Most people have the same jobs, the same problems, the same girl/boyfriends, same cars, etc. But what you have to understand is that they probably won’t be as excited about your trip as you are. Sure, they’ll be happy you’re back, especially your good friends, but don’t be offended if they don’t want to hear every gritty detail of your last year.

I say this now, but it seems as though another chapter in my life is coming to an end. I’m not a kid anymore. I’ve met people in the past trips who have been on the road for years and years in search of something they probably won’t ever find. That’s because they don’t know what they’re even looking for. I had no idea what I was looking for either, and that’s what makes the “soul-searching” more interesting. It think I’ve decided where my heart is, and I guess what that means is that from here on in, I just have to make sure potential employers understand it the way I do.

In 2006, Bon Jovi ft. Sugarland released a single talking about running away from home, but ultimately finding what you were looking for right where you left it. It bothers me so much when I hear about people being ashamed of where they are from and it bugs me even more when foreigners disrespect a person based on where they’re from. I proudly call Canada my home and after being away I’ve been able to reinforce my appreciation for having grown up in such a nice country. Now, I’m not an idealist or an activist on the matter, but it would be great if we could all just get along and welcome each other home…wherever that may be.