Math and English Lesson: Summer Style

How come we say the word 'patio': "patty-o", yet we say the word 'ratio': "ray-she-o"?

Pa-she-o?
Pay-she-o?

Ratty-o?
Ray-tee-o?

Whatever.

I just wanted to tell you that my ratio of beers per patio is pretty close to 2:1.

What Bugs Me.

There are a lot of things in this world that bug me. For you regular followers, this will not come as a big surprise.

I know I haven't been all that vocal lately about life and its current events, but a recent occurrence has once again stirred me from my afternoon doze for some much needed finger wagging and eye rolling.

Bugs bug me. Just about every single kind of bug. Big ones, small ones, flying ones, walking ones, local ones, foreign ones. Any sort of creepy crawly critter that does not contribute to my well-being either financially or nutritionally. Forgetting, for a moment, that animals such as frogs, birds and bats depend on bugs for their survival, I don't think I'd be all that sad to see a slight reduction -- say 80 to 90% -- in the world's population of bugs.

That being said, let me tell you something…As much as I hate bugs (especially the bitey ones), I've come to despise PETA even more. Not to be confused with "pita", which is also a stupid and pointless invention. People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals. There's nothing wrong with their cause and I don't disagree that we should be treating our pets and future meals with a little respect before we whack its head off and turn it into McNuggets.

For years, I've witnessed their campaigns against the fur industry, the seal hunts, KFC, dog kennels and circuses. Occasionally, their tactics are ridiculous and though I can rarely stomach the video footage, I understand and appreciate their message. Thanks to them, I don't wear fur (given my follicular fortitude, it would be a bit redundant of me). I don't eat seal (I don't know where to get it). I don't eat KFC (if MacDonald's is closer). I don't eat dogs (unless they're locally raised and bark incessantly). And I don't eat anything that comes from a circus (elephants are tough on a rotisserie)

But I can't help but feel they've gone off the deep end with their latest attempt at a media grab and as a result, they've pretty much lost what little credibility they had to begin with.

The other day, Captain America Obama was giving a speech but during the address he was being pestered by a fly. Like any normal, rational person would do, he waited until the little bastard landed, smacked the shit out of it and then beamed a smile at his success. While everyone in the room erupted into cheers, the gallery started the wave and fireworks were going off outside, PETA pretty near had a stroke. Infuriated at the insensitivity and cold-blooded nature of the President, the organization immediately condemned his actions as though the Cottonelle kittens were being air-dropped over North Korea, sporting grenades as backpacks.

Hello, people! It was a fly. My rough estimation is that there are approximately 2,736 billion-jillion flies in the world (which works out to be about 10 million flies for every person in the world), so it's not like killing this one is going to put the world's ecosystem out of balance. Sure, this particular fly may have had a wife and kids back at home, but I'm sure Mama Fly will qualify for welfare and be able to support herself and her 100,000 fly babies.

And what about human rights? Does it not say somewhere that we should be free to live without harassment? That fly was obviously a nuisance and needed to be dealt with, swiftly and severely. Flies around the world have to realize that if you mess with the Prez, there will be consequences.

Come on, PETA. Are you really that desperate for attention that you have to resort to ragging on fly killers? How many bugs did you kill with your car on your way to the office this morning? At the end of the day, do you repent and ask forgiveness of the God of Insects?

Listen, it's okay to be passionate about your cause. But when you start turning into a ridiculous fanatic nobody takes you seriously and your whole organization loses all credibility. It was a fly.

Now buzz off. I'm picking up the neighbour's puppy to go for a walk to Home Depot. I need to buy a bigger rotisserie.

Parental Guidance Suggested

Ladies and gentlemen, I have uncovered yet another world-wide conspiracy. This time, the conspiracy relates to society's need to recruit single people for marriage and then engage in procreation -- again and again and sometimes again.

Let me tell you something….Take a look at your life and see if this hasn't happened to you (maybe it's happening right now!):

You and your single friends are happily going through life, doing your thing. Sooner or later, someone in the circle announces that he/she is getting married. Before you know it, somebody else makes the announcement. This continues until all but one or two of you remain single. And then one day one of your married friends (or perhaps all of them at once) says to you "So when are you going to get married? It's so much better than being single." This friend may list out several reasons of dubious validity as to why being married is better than being single. So you get to thinking "Yeah! I need to be married!" and the next thing you know you're all dressed up and walking down the aisle with a smile painted on your face because you've just joined the elite Married Folks Club.

Just when the lustre of wedded bliss starts to fade a little and you come to the realization that being married isn't as much of an amusement park ride as your friends made it out to be, one of your married friends announces that a baby is on the way. Baby arrives and, oh my, their world is beautiful, amazing and full of fun and they natter on incessantly about how fabulous it is to be parents and, speaking of which, when are you going to have a baby? And then it happens… your other friends start having babies and they all start to extol the virtues of being parents.

It all sounds pretty good to you. Just look how happy they seem! They have such great stories about their new bundles of joy that you fail to notice the luggage of sleeplessness under their eyes and the deepening creases around the corners of their mouth. And you so badly want to contribute to the conversation that forever revolves around Elmo, where to pick up rash cream and the best ways to get puke out of suede.

So you have a baby. But soon after having your baby, these friends start introducing second children into the mix. Inevitably, they get to asking you when you'll be having a second child. This typically begins when the first child is roughly 18 months old -- this is an important milestone in the conspiracy. And many people cave once again and have a second child.
It is at this point that the conspiracy starts to fray and recruiting more members becomes tricky.

"But, OMC," you might say, "this doesn't sound like a conspiracy. It sounds more like the conventional, societal way of life."

Yes, boys and girls. That's exactly what the conspiracy wants you to believe. It all boils down to one simple adage: Misery loves company.

The single folk have been drawn into marriage by other married folk, believing the stories of how great married life is. Once married, these people see how good they had it when they were single, but since they can't go back to singlehood (not easily, anyways), they opt for recruiting the remaining single people into the Married Folks Club so that everyone is once again on the same playing field.

Same thing happens when the first babies start arriving. People with kids rave to those with no kids about how great it is being parents and they keep this up until those people have their first child. If I'm going to be constantly fatigued and smelling vaguely of poo, then I want someone to comiserate with. Levelling the playing field.

Right around the year-and-a-half to two-year mark after having your first child, your friends start having second children. You look at these precious little helpless infants, just lying there quietly. Cute, cuddly, soft and warm. And then you look at your little hellion who is running around, banging his head on the wall because you gave him strawberry jam on his toast instead of raspberry jam and you think "remember when he was just a baby and we didn't have to deal with this? Maybe we should have another baby." BLAM! You've just been rooked by the conspiracy again. And the playing field has been levelled once more. But here's where the conspiracy becomes a little more transparent.

Once that second child arrives, THAT'S when you realize that you forgot to consider the sleepless nights, the screaming fits of colic, the puke, the diarrhea etc. in your decision to expand your family, and the grip of the conspiracy weakens. So when those friends come and ask if there will be a third child (and you'll notice that there are considerably LESS of these friends), many are wise enough to say "No way, Jack. I'm not going through that again."

Of course there are families out there with more than 2 children, but this is because those parents have minds like a sieve or they believe the theory that it gets easier after the 2nd child. Run for the hills if anyone tries to sell you that line. There's no way in hell it can be easier with more children. No. Way.

Now don't misunderstand me. I'm not saying that everyone who is married regrets their decision, or that everyone with children is miserable and envious of those without. Take me, for example... I'm married and have 2 children. I love my wife and I love being married. Both my kids are great and I wouldn't trade them for anything. I have a pretty good life.

You should try it.

Life Lesson # 15: Tiny Bubbles

So I discovered during my shower last night that even if you have a full-fledged lather built up in the crack of your ass, your fart will not smell like Irish Spring.

Boy am I ever sorry that gamble didn't pay off.

Stalling for time.

Why do people bring reading material into the washroom?

Let me tell you something...You're going in there to do a single, specific task. You should be focused on completing that task, not working on a crossword or catching up on market statistics. How can you read if you're squinting and straining anyway??

For those people that say they'll be in there a while, I'd like to know this: why are you in the washroom if the party hasn't started yet? When the gopher is poking his head out of the hole, THAT'S when you make for the stall. Going any earlier is simply a waste of time. It's like a pregnant woman heading to the birthing unit when she reaches the 8-month mark just in case she goes into labour. Pointless. Of course she's going to need some reading material.

And you better not be lingering once the deed is done because that's just gross. Go in. Git'r done. Do the paperwork. Get out.

Just A Guy.

I'm lonely. I just realized that I may be the only guy in the entire universe to hold a certain unique honour.

Let me tell you something… though it may be hard to fathom, I, Old Man Crowder, appear to be the one and only person in the entire galaxy that does not care about Barack Obama. I just don't get what the big deal is.

He's coming to Ottawa for 6 hours tomorrow but his presence is effectively closing down the entire city for the whole day. Road closures, detours, air space closure, airport restrictions, transit changes, removal of curb-side garbage cans and mail boxes, covering over visible graffiti and homeless people. TV and radio have been blathering on about the arrival for nearly 2 weeks! All for just a guy.

Throngs of people braving wind, snow and cold for hours, wearing specially made t-shirts, waving American flags, eating specially prepared Obama Beaver Tails -- all in an effort to catch a fleeting glimpse of the new president. He's just a guy.

Hey, if the American people want to fall at his feet and burst into screaming hysterics reminiscent of the Beatles' arrival, then so be it. He's their leader. But I really have a hard time understanding the rationale behind idiots from around the world going positively apeshit about how incredible he is and how fantastic he'll be for the world; like he's Jesus in a motorcade. WHY?? They're not even American! And he's just a guy.

He's been in office for, what, a month? Certainly not enough time to determine how influential his policies are, how adept he is at his position or whether he really lives up to all the hype that has been generated so far. Sure, it's going to be tough to be as comedically bad as the previous president, but don't you think people should give it some time before pronouncing him as the greatest American since David Beckham or Wayne Gretzky? He's just the new guy.

And he's getting on my nerves. His arrival inconveniences me. His face inundates my TV. His name is all over my radio. He's invading my life, I can't get away from him and I don't like it.

Come on, people. Yes, he is the President of the United States, but he's just as human as anyone else.

And he is just a guy.

Tearing a Strip(per) Off

In this world there are a lot of things that people argue and fight about. Politics, religion, money, the utility of Paris Hilton. But there is one topic that I've come to discover that is particularly divisive: Strippers.

You can call it what you want -- the ballet, the peelers, exotic dancers, a gentleman's club -- but it all comes down to the same thing: girls taking their clothes off. And let me tell you something… there's nothing wrong with it.

Now, I'm a far cry from being the Norm Peterson of strip clubs -- where everybody knows my name -- but I've been to my share so I figure that makes me just enough of an expert to tell you how it is.

First off, I can tell you that most guys will agree that once you've seen one set of boobs, you want to see them all. No four are alike. You girls should consider yourselves privileged to have such fascinating parts. I know I would. Look at it this way… Guys want so badly to see as many naked women as they can that they're willing to pay a $10 cover, $9 for a beer and fork over the rest of the rent money to see them. Is that not flattering?

And just because a guy is no longer a bachelor, doesn't mean his quest for the breast is over. It just means he's guaranteed a peek at the perkies on a more frequent (and much less expensive) basis. Being married means you've vowed not to love (or sleep with) any other. There's nothing in the vows that says he can't look at other women, regardless of their state of undress.

Secondly, not all strip clubs are the same. There are establishments that are more upscale than others. And I know that sounds like saying "I read 'Gang Bang Goth Girls' for the articles". But it's true. Both statements.

The high-class places are easily recognizable by the conspicuous lack of Harleys in the parking lot. Yes, there are dancers on a stage and naked girls wandering the floor, but they all have their original teeth. And there are no bullet holes in the wall. Of course, on the flip side, there are houses of ill-repute that resemble the club from the movie From Dusk Till Dawn. The girls tend to be...how shall I put it?... old and scary.

But to make a broad-brush statement, classifying all strip clubs as filthy smut houses is simply untrue. And it's unfair to the clean smut houses. In fact, it tends to be the seedier joints that provide the most educational experiences.

Mini Life Lesson # 1: if you hear "Dude Looks Like a Lady" start to play, you'd best be heading home. Don't invite "her" over to your table unless you're looking for a rather innovative stir stick for your drink.

Mini Life Lesson # 2: when the Romanian girl who just arrived in the country that afternoon with virtually zero English says to you "Want come with?", don't assume she means "would you like to walk with me?" A little clarification will avoid an extremely awkward moment.

Another misconception is that the girls are just air-headed bimbos and/or prostitutes and/or druggies. Some aren't. For some girls, this is a serious business; a stepping stone to get them to Hollywood or Lord of the Dance. Take Nikki Reed, for example. She was "just" a poor stripper at The Bayou, trying to find her place in the world until she was discovered by Victor Newman. It wasn't long before she became one of the most powerful and respected business women in all of Genoa City. She wasn't stupid. Just young and restless.

And it takes courage to get up on that stage in front of all those strangers and take your clothes off. From what I remember, it takes at least 5 beers and 3 whiskey shots for a girl to peel down to your Spiderman boxers. Um...I mean…down to her G-string.

Listen…Yes, there are some disgusting places with skanky 'hos masquerading as exotic dancers. But many are simply places where guys can go to watch the game on the big screen and the stripping is secondary and barely noticed. (I was going to say 'hardly' noticed, but thought 'barely' was the lesser of the two unintentional puns). Sports, beer and naked women all in the same room -- that's called Man Heaven. Lookie lookie, no touchie touchie. It's just harmless entertainment.

Don't knock the naked knockers until you've danced 3 songs in their stilettos.