Watch Your Language!

Let me tell you something…I don't know where some people learned to talk, but I'm thinking they need to go back for a little extra tutoring. Have we become so lazy as a society that we can just make up words and pronunciations instead of learning and using the proper vocabulary?

I'm not talking about regional variations where accents may wreak havoc on words and phrases (I fully acknowledge that "y'all" and "yewstacud" are perfectly legitimate in Alabama). I mean regular, everyday, well-established English conversation.

Some examples:
Nuclear -- say it with me slowly…"New-klee-ur". It's not "nookie-ler" or "new-cue-ler". It's all I can do not to have a meltdown, listening to what I assume are literate senior officials and politicians use the incorrect pronunciations. They should know better.

Schedule -- the "sch" is pronounced "sk", not "sh". Anytime I hear someone say "shed-ule", I ask if they learned that word in shool, perhaps as part of a learning sheme.

Ask -- I know this one's a tough one for some, being a whopping three letters and all. The trick, here, is to say the sound of each letter individually… "a"…"s"…"k"… a-s-k. Next time I hear someone say "aks" or "ass" I'm going to stab them in the eye with a pencil. Or better yet, whack their 'ass' with an 'axe'.

Supposedly -- I can't count the number of times people say "supposably". That's not even a word! Is it a combination of 'supposedly' and 'possibly'? Supposedly you be edjumacated.

Like -- No exaggeration, I once heard the following sentence: "So, like, does Tim like, LIKE like her?". I actually felt my brain turn to pudding. If it wasn't for the fact that it was a 10 year-old girl uttering the phrase I may have gone mental and pummelled her. The world is already saturated with Valley Girls, thank you very much. Please don't add to the planet's misery.

I know there are others, but, well…you know…pudding.

I'm not asking for everyone to become Shakespeare. Lord knows there are enough people at the other end of the spectrum -- people that use big words and phrases in an effort to sound intelligent but only end up looking as smart as Leo DiCaprio in What's Eating Gilbert Grape -- I'm just saying that there are folks out there that sound as articulate as Beeker from the Muppets. And just like Beeker, they may be cute for the first 10 seconds but any longer and you just want smash their face with a brick.


PS: A gold star to anyone who can properly use "yewstacud" in a sentence...

Thou Shalt Not Kick Off Your Sunday Shoes

So I hear through the grapevine that the Pope has issued an edict to all Catholic churches, stating that electric guitars and modern music are not to be played during Masses. Instead, the churches are to put more effort/resources into reviving choirs, organ music and the traditional Gregorian chants.

Of course, my first thought was "What the hell does the Pope know about modern music?" This guy is older than dirt and probably thinks Beethoven is still on the charts. Church attendance is at an all-time low, particularly among the younger generations, and yet the Pope declares another "ban", aimed primarily at the youth. After all, He wouldn't want people getting too riled up about spirituality and having any fun while doing so.

Perhaps His Holiness was watching Footloose and got to the part where the Reverend declares that "rock & roll is the devil's work" but then he (the Pope) shut the TV off so he could rush back to his blog to issue the statement (It was on TV! It must be true!), thereby missing the part where Kevin Bacon changes everyone's mind by dancing like only a white, 80s fool can.

But then I gave it a bit more thought, and let me tell you something…This Benedict guy may be smarter than the average Pontiff. The dude is using reverse psychology.

As any parent knows, the best way to get kids to do something is to tell them that it is forbidden. So for the Church to say "thou shalt not play Personal Jesus" should, in theory, spur the kids into action. I can see it now… an underground economy of kids trading Jesus Jones CDs in the confession booths; Sunday afternoon jam sessions in the vestibule. The madness would be unstoppable!

I'm just surprised that they haven't gone all-out and banned the act of attending church altogether. Bo Peep (B. Pope?) would gain control of his flock once again.

I mean, look at the success the Church has had through banning female priests. And homosexuality. And premarital sex.

Life Lesson # 3: A closed mouth gathers no foot.

Gather 'round, chilluns. It's storytime again.

The phrase "think before you speak" is probably not new to most of you, but it certainly bears repeating.

Two instances, one more recently than the other, have served as my constant reminder that verbal diarrhea can land you in a pile of shit faster than Phil Mickelson can lose a golf tournament. Faster than Britney can drop her baby. Faster than Angelina can scoop it up and adopt it. Okay, you get the idea.

So I was staying at a hotel in downtown Toronto when I walked into the hotel restaurant and immediately spied Walter Gretzky and a handful of other folks sitting at a table. One guy had his back to me, but the flowing blonde hair told me that it was none other than the Great One, himself. I bolted from the restaurant and flew back to my room to get my autograph book, knocking down my own mother in the process.

I returned to the restaurant in what felt like 7 hours, but was probably closer to 7 seconds and without a moment's hesitation, walked right up to the table, gave a cursory glance to Mr. Gretzky and turned to the man with the hockey hair --- and it wasn't Wayne!

Now, any true Canadian hockey fan would have saved face by turning back to Walter Gretzky and asking for his autograph. After all, he's only the most famous hockey dad in the world! But not me. I looked him dead in the eye and blurted "Hey! Have you seen Wayne?"

The table erupted with laughter and I melted into the carpet. I think I may have even wet myself. Mr. Gretzky's response was "No, but if you do, tell him his father's looking for him, too!"

The second painful reminder of the faulty connection between my brain and my mouth came at my 10-year highschool reunion. I was sky-high with excitement at seeing 'the gang' and catching up with long-lost friends. Everyone was sharing stories of jobs, marriages and children. This was shaping up to be a great weekend.

I rounded a corner and there in front of me was THE hot chick from my class. She'd put on a little weight, but then again, so had everyone else. Back in school, we were from two different worlds, so I was rarely given an opportunity to speak to her. Today, however, I decided I was going to talk to her.

We said our hellos, exchanged a forced hug and then it all went to hell. And I mean ALL THE WAY to hell. Here's how the next few seconds of conversation went. See if you can tell where my train derailed.

Me: Wow you look great! Are you living here in town?
Her: Thanks! Yeah, I'm still here. But I don't mind it so much anymore.
Me: Oh that's good. And, hey! I see you're expecting! That's pretty cool, eh?
Her: Uh...Thanks. But I'm not pregnant.

Cue the sounds of everyone within a 50 foot radius gasping, the soft "thunk" of my jaw hitting the ground, the 'smack' of my wife slapping her forehead and then trying to pull her wedding ring off and then crickets chirping.

Honestly, I looked to the sky to see if there was any chance that I could attract a lightning bolt. Not a cloud in sight. I was stuck there.

I sputtered an apology (which was more difficult than you might expect, because you don't want to sound like you're apologizing for the fact that she's, how shall I say...portly).

Every single man on the planet knows the all-time, golden, cardinal, #1 rule of speaking to a woman: You NEVER, EVER suggest that she is pregnant unless you actually see a baby crowning. And even then, you're best to keep quiet. And for some reason, that day, I ignored the rule.

I am officially the President of the Putz Hall of Shame.

So I beg you...Listen to the Old Man. I tell you these things so that you will not suffer the same humiliation as I have.

Light travels faster than sound. That's why people may appear bright until they open their mouth. Therefore, it's best to keep it shut and let people think you're a fool than to open your mouth and let them know it.

This Is Not A Free Country

There are too many potholes in the roads.
The waiting list for a doctor is too long.
The lakes and rivers are too polluted.
The weatherman is never right.
This museum sucks.
My taxes are too high.

I bet you've said at least one of these phrases sometime in your life. Hey, I've said them all.

Let me tell you something…I'm getting sick and tired of hearing people complain that the government-provided services are inadequate, and then in the same breath complain that they pay too many taxes. I can't stand these whiners that want everything handed to them for free, on a silver platter.

For example, my federal government recently announced a $500 subsidy to parents with children under 16 who want to sign them up for sports programs. The whole idea is to get kids out of the house and into a healthier, more active lifestyle. Far be it for me to praise the current government, but I thought this wasn't a bad initiative (forget about the fact that the $500 is considered additional income and is therefore taxable!). Well wouldn't you know it…From out of the woodwork come the artsy-fartsy bleeding hearts, crying foul.

"What about the kids who don't play sports? What about the kids that choose to pursue music programs, theatre or other cultural experiences? Why can't we get money?"

I think I used to beat up those types of kids. Unless you're taking accordion or tuba lessons, you're not burning too many calories that way. And theatre?? What Smedley goes to theatre camp in the summer and doesn't get pummelled at school the following September?

Perhaps I shouldn't be so harsh. After all, I took piano lessons for years. I even participated in 2.5 school plays. But I also played hockey, soccer, golf, skiing, running and baseball. My point is that this particular government funding program is aimed at reducing the number of fat- and lazy-ass kids out there.

No matter what program is announced, there is always going to be someone out there saying "I didn't get mine!" Come on! Don't be such an ungrateful dickweed. You live in a great country. It provides you all kinds of amenities from electricity, running water and transportation infrastructure to international security, immigration programs and environmental protection that most of the rest of the world can't (or aren't allowed to) even dream about.

And how do you think those programs came into existence? The calculation is quite simple: The more tax you pay, the more programs your governments can provide. The less you pay, the less services and programs your governments can provide.

The pessimists among you will say "no matter how much tax I pay, the government will still screw things up". And maybe that's true. But then again, if people would smarten up and elect the right (and by "right", I mean "correct") representatives, then perhaps things would change.
So what if the system doesn't operate perfectly? Other than nature itself, nothing ever does, so quitcher bitchin. And hey...the system is sure as hell better than the current state in Iraq/Afghanistan/Russia/Enron-- pick a country.

All I'm saying is that we should be a little more thankful for what we have, from all three levels of government. I hate paying my bills and taxes as much as anyone, but the one comfort I take is that I know I'm getting some benefit out of doing so.

You can have your cake and eat it, too. But you also have to help buy the ingredients.

Who Wants to Know What?

I love this blogging stuff. I really do. As many people can tell by my so-called wardrobe, I've never been too big into the latest trends, so when I first got up the nerve to try blogging I didn't really have any expectations as to where it would lead. I thought I'd try it for a few weeks and just see what happens.

But, let me tell you something...This is fun! I love getting comments -- even the negative ones (although there's only been one, so far). I love seeing my hit counter increase everyday (even though I know that it counts return visitors as unique if there is more than a 6-hour time lapse from their last visit). It's pretty cool knowing that there are people all over the world reading what I wrote, regardless of whether or not they provide comments.

But I have to say that this new-found hobby is already starting to take its toll on me. The pressure to provide output. The stress of having to come up with original material in a timely fashion; it's coming dangerously close to being like work. And Lord knows we've all got enough of that!

So for today's post, I thought I would take a page from a blogging acquaintance of mine and open the floor for questions, comments and/or discussion. What do you want to know? What's your beef? What's on your mind?

Anything and everything. Whatever you want. A discussion free-for-all!

Fire away!

Mindless Ramblings on Intelligence

A few years ago there was a study published that claimed that, according to the average circumference of people's head, Asians were the most intelligent race, followed by whites and then blacks. (I guess there are only three races in the world?)

(Note: I hesitate to use the term "African American" because I presume he measured the heads of people outside of the United States, hence not everyone is American.)

Needless to say, the author of the study was ridiculed, discredited and considered a racist. Personally, I found it surprising that there are people out there that would fund such a project and also that there is an organization that said "Hey, that looks like a credible and worthy project! Let's publish those results!"

Let me tell you something...I don't know how big his sample size was, but I presume it was more than a handful of people from each race. I mean, I've seen some pretty big heads on white folk (Dee Snyder, Dog the Bounty Hunter) and blacks (James Earl Jones, Dennis Rodman), so he must've found some pretty massive melons over there in Asia. What did he do? Sample only Sumo wrestlers and Buddhas?

In terms of how smart a particular race is, I'm not sure there is a way to determine if one race is more intelligent than another. I'm no PhD, but I'm pretty sure that taking a tape measure to someone's noggin isn't the way to do it. And are we talking book smarts or street smarts?

I think it's safe to say that each race has its share of braniacs (Albert Einstein, Martin Luther King, Mahatma Ghandi) and embarassments (Tom Green, Mike Tyson, Pokemon), and Asians, as a whole, are not any smarter than anyone else.

On the other hand, perhaps it may provide an explanation for the invention of those damn Sudoku puzzles.

Fork You, Cutlery Inventor!

Who was it that looked upon the methods by which food was consumed and said "You know what? This bites. We need some tools!" and then took it upon him/herself to develop and distribute the three implements we all use today. Oh, and who was the Wile E. Coyote Super Genius who came up with the spork??

Let me tell you something…I would be an avid supporter of a movement to abolish cutlery and go back to using just my two hands. Just think of all the problems that could be avoided if we no longer had knives, forks and spoons.

#1 -- Save the planet by reducing the amount of dishes washed. I would imagine those without dishwashers would be particularly happy as this would also be a time saver.

#2 -- Never embarass yourself again. Get rid of those awkward "what would Emily Post do?" situations. Don't you hate going to a fancy-shmancy restaurant and discovering that there is more cutlery at your place setting than you have in your entire house? Which fork do I use first? Which spoon is for what? What is the proper way to eat (spaghetti/peas/Chunky Soup)?

#3 -- Live to eat, don't eat to live. What I'm saying is: enjoy your meals. How much more fun would your meals be if you could just use your hands to gouge into the mashed potatoes and claw at the apple pie? Return to your youth, I say!

Okay, so I can only think of three benefits, but I'm sure there are more.

We already eat so many foods sans cutlery -- wings, hotdogs, hamburgers, fries, pizza -- why not go whole-hog and use our hands for everything? I'm pretty sure that the use of utensils is not the only thing that distinguishes us from common cave-people, so I'm not too concerned about society reverting back to the Neanderthal ages. Not that some of us have far to go, mind you.

"But what if it's too hot to handle?" you might whine. Listen, if it's too hot to touch, sticking a fork in it will not make it any cooler any faster. Didn't Humphrey Bogart say "just put your lips together and blow"?

We don't have to get rid of every single piece of cutlery, though. After all, it's pretty challenging to flip a steak grilling on the BBQ, or to stir boiling soup with your fingers. Safety first, you know! I'd just like to free up a little drawer and counter space.

So go ahead and get greasy to the elbows and see if eating isn't an all-around more enjoyable experience. If anyone asks, tell them the Old Man said it was okay.

And, hey...if this little revolution takes off, you'll want to be invested in the napkin industry.

Life Lesson # 2 -- Soap Should Have Warning Labels

Listen up, kids. The Old Man is about to reveal another tidbit of potentially life-saving information. Okay, perhaps it's not life-saving, but it could sure save you some horrible embarassment.

I'm hoping that it's pretty safe to assume that all of you shower. Regularly. And use soap. Those of you out there who use liquid soap, you're excused and can go back to your regularly scheduled life. I want to talk to the people, like myself, who choose not to use the frou-frou puff balls and liquid savon and instead opt to use a regular bar of soap.

Do you realize how dangerous these things can be? I'm going to share with you a couple of my experiences that could have avoided, had someone cautioned me about the dangers of old soap beforehand.

Experience #1 -- As you all know, a bar of soap does not last forever. It eventually erodes down to a slippery, toonie-sized pancake (for those unCanadians out there who don't know what a toonie is, look it up) that is virtually impossible to pick up if dropped. What I didn't realize was that those little suckers can also magically disappear, without warning. Not only that, but they can reappear most unexpectedly. There I was, in the shower (try not to visualize…) going about my business, using my 4 X 4 X 0.5 (centimetres, I'm talking here) slice of soap when all of a sudden -- -- it was gone! It was not in either hand, not on the floor of the shower, not plastered on the wall, not stuck in the drain. I even checked outside the shower to see if it was heading for the pub (it was Irish Spring, after all). Nothing. Not a trace.

There was nothing I could do except finish up with shampoo and then go about my day. So skip ahead a few hours, and I find myself experiencing a little itchy discomfort in my right armpit. Sure enough, that sliver of soap has reappeared, deep under my arm. Tricky little beggar had disguised himself with a mullet and a goatee at this point, too. I had to get the jaws of life to extract him from that jungle.

Experience #2 -- Now, you'd think I would have learned from my previous experience and ensured that I always had a substantial piece of soap with which to work. But I'm lazy and I love to procrastinate, so as the soap got smaller and smaller, I continued to say to myself: "I'm okay for one more day. I'll get a new bar tomorrow." Well, that decision came back to bite me in the ass. Literally.

When those slivers get small enough, they develop sharp edges of which Gillette would be envious. Now, I don't want to completely gross out my sensitive readers, so suffice to say that I gave myself a rather abrupt "how do you do" as I ran the razor/sliver down my unmentionable hindquarters region. It hurt almost as much as the laughter from my wife as I tried to explain that I'd hurt my butt with a piece of soap.

Hey, I never said these stories would be fit for the Queen. I only said they'd be informative.

So, for the safety of all your 2000 parts, I urge you to replace your soap in a timely fashion. Either that, or you'll have to start buying the frou-frou puffs.

Life Lesson #1 -- Digging for Gold in the Car

Gather 'round, boys and girls. It's story time.

As an old man, I feel it is my duty to go beyond the ranting and raving and attempt to impart some wisdom on the youth of today. So today's post will be the first of hopefully many "Life Lessons".

These won't be just any lessons, mind you. Any shmuck can tell you to eat your vegetables, look both ways and don't forget to flush. Me? I'm going to tell you some of the lessons that I've learned in my 3-plus decades of life here on earth. Lessons I learned the hard way because I did not have anyone to tell me about them.

Why the change of heart? Why, all of a sudden, step away from the rants in order to pass along valuable information? Because that's me. I'm such a giver. And the proverbial monkeys might fly out of my butt.

On with today's lesson.

As you'll see, I'm going to start my story with "When", rather than "If" because I know everyone does this. Don't try to deny it. I've seen you on the highway...

"WHEN" you pick your nose while driving, please take my advice and use the proper technique. I don't care so much whether you're a lefty or a righty, a pointer-picker or a thumb-stuffer, you need to be cognizant of where your elbow is. Particularly if you're a lefty.

Resting your arm on the door or window sill is not the way to go. It only takes one camouflaged pothole for you to jam your spelunker through your sinus cavity and into your brain. The one time you let your guard down will be the one time you're in your newly-pressed suit, with a white Ralph Lauren dress shirt of course, and the floody blood gates will open and there won't be a damned kleenex, napkin or dirty sport sock within 15 miles.

Believe me. It's pretty hard to explain the hemmorage all over yourself once you get to your meeting.

So please...Pick smart. Lift your elbow.

Sticking It To Transit Riders

Let me tell you something…I'm starting to wonder if public transit riders are either (A) afflicted with a multiple personality disorder; (B) aliens; or (C) both (à la Tom Cruise).

I thought I could get away from the lunatics on the highway by relaxing in a rickety, sweltering, 180 passenger sardine can of a bus, but much to my amazement, that is the certainly not the case. What is the matter with you people??

Many public transit users are so…how shall I say it…unique, that I think they deserve special recognition for their daily displays of dumb. So I've developed an identification system that will allow "normal" people to quickly identify the societal wackos and take appropriate action. I've created stickers: "Bus Bitch" for the girls; and "Bus Bastard" for the boys.

(I thought I could upload pictures of said stickers, but apparently there are some issues with photo uploads. If you'd like to see them or put them to use, send me an email and I'll pass them along.)

How does one earn such a fabulous accolade? Transit riders must exhibit one or more of the following behaviours.

Runners -- these folks are actually entertaining to watch from a safe distance, however it's not so fun when they plow through you like Oprah at a buffet. Believe me, folks, once the bus has pulled into traffic, it's not going to stop for you no matter how much you yell, bang on the side or claim that your tie is stuck in the door. I'll admit...I laughed a little at the woman who wiped out so bad chasing her bus that she lost a shoe, her business suit was destroyed and her lunch rolled for almost a full block. Chances are, the next bus will be arriving in about 3 minutes. Why don't you come here and get your sticker while you wait?

Cutters -- Didn't we all learn back in Kindergarten to line up single file for stuff? Apparently many people think that to get on a bus they have to storm the door like a SWAT team. I saw a guy actually shove an elderly woman (and I'm talking Jurassic, here) out of the way so that he could board first. To the driver's credit, he made the guy get off the bus and wait until everyone else had boarded! If you're going to act like a child, then you'll be treated like one. Here's your sticker.

Door Jams -- these paranoid freaks are so terrified of missing their stop, even though they know they have a 90 minute ride ahead of them, that they refuse to move away from the doors. As my stop approaches, I'll try to stand so uncomfortably close to them that I can count the hairs in their ears, and then do my utmost to bump them or knock the cell phone off their face. It's the best way to attach my sticker.

Social Handicaps -- I don't know what is rattling around inside the heads of these mental midgets, but I can tell you I bet it smells like poo. There are a variety of different forms of this affliction, but it all boils down to the same thing: I want them off my bus. Here are a few examples:

• Priority Seating -- unless you're pregnant, elderly, disabled or have small children, these seats may as well not exist to you. Pick up a sticker on your way to the back of the bus.
• Seat hogs -- the seats are made for two people. I don't have leprosy. I don't smell that bad. And I'm (probably) not going to make a pass at you. Put your bag on your lap and move the hell over.
• Cell phones -- for the luvva Christ turn it off! Trust me -- you're not that important. The rest of the bus does not need to know that, like, Misty said that, like, she thought Crystal heard about, like, Tanya asking Nick if he LIKE liked her, but Nick wasn't sure if, like, he was gay or not.
• Hold the bodily functions -- there's not much worse than being crammed in a 90-degree aluminum Twinkie with 100 other people when the ever-familiar waft of a bum-burp disperses throughout the area, turning a simple, unpleasant ride into a modern day Auschwitz. Believe it or not, on one such occasion, someone from the back actually yelled out "Aaww, who FARTED??". We all looked around to see if the skunk would blush and then we were going to drag him behind the bus. You can probably guess where I would have put my sticker.

Not all bus riders are etiquette retards. I have seen some heroic acts of kindness and generosity. However those instances are all too often overshadowed by the morons who believe that public transit is their own personal shuttle service.

All I'm saying is that when you leave your house in the morning, don't forget your brief case, your lunch and maybe an umbrella, but most importantly, your brain.

Remember -- if some stranger slaps you on the back, chances are it's not because they want to be your pal.

Sandwich-Board People Know Best.

Today's post was initially going to be another list of things wrong with the world. I had verbal lashings all ready for Angelina Jolie and her spawn's website; Albanian diplomats beating their children in public; and brainless wonders running amok after a hockey game, but I got part-way through and realized that I really didn't feel like ranting. After all, according to the crazy man on the corner with the sandwich board sign and breath that could stop a train, the world is supposed to end today, so what would be the point?

If you subscribe to the Doomsday Theory, then today is potentially your lucky day. The 6th day of the 6th month of 2006 -- or, 6/6/6. A bit of a stretch, don't you think? Give it a rest. Nobody writes the date like that.

Let me tell you something...I'm sure if Satan wanted to begin the Apocalypse he wouldn't do it on a Tuesday for cryin' out loud. Nothing big ever happens on a Tuesday**. I'll be sure to check back with these prophets tomorrow morning for an explanation as to why the world didn't end today. I'll probably get the same excuses as when the world didn't end at midnight, January 1st, 2000.

"Well, the Dark Lord was on his way, but one of the Four horses blew a shoe and they had to turn back."

I'm getting sick and tired of these Chicken Littles claiming that the sky is falling. How many times can they predict Armageddon and be proven wrong before their pea-brains actually grasp that they're only making complete asses of themselves? (Come to think of it, doomsday prophets aren't much different than weather forecasters!) Are they trying to incite mass panic? Because THAT obviously works. I don't know about you, but I haven't been to a good old fashioned Repent Riot in ages. Plus, 40 years ago they had a whole month in which to destroy the world (6/66), yet it appears the earth still turns.

If the apocalypse is imminent, then why doesn't it just happen? What's the hold up? Get it overwith, already! At least I wouldn't have to listen to the incessant caterwauling of Sandwich-Board Man -- my oh-so-credible news source.

Somebody go get some Nikes for those Four horses.


(**It has come to my attention that the infamous "September 11, 2001" occurred on a Tuesday. I mean no disrespect by my flippant remarks)

A Lighter Shade of Green.

I hate bugs. Did Noah really have to take two of EVERY animal? Surely the world would still be as it is today if there were no such thing as mosquitoes, right? I also hate thistles; specifically the infamous lawn cactus. You know…the kind that camouflage themselves so well that you don't even see them until you've stepped, rolled or sat on it. Again…Would we really miss those damn things?

However as much as I despise natural annoyances such as these, I also have a special spot (in my colon) for chemical pesticides and herbicides. In my younger days, I was all for spraying like crazy to get rid of weeds and bugs, but that was before I learned about all of the environment and health concerns related to these chemicals.

So I've started to slowly change what goes into my body. Don't worry, though…I still make fun of vegetarians, vegans and other über-hippy, trend-of-the-week eaters -- hey, if humans were supposed to eat only leaves and berries, we wouldn't have been given incisors. I'm always up for a big steak, french fries, meat-lovers pizza, cheesecake and donuts. For breakfast.

I've started buying organic fruits and vegetables and other grocery items where ever I can. Sure, I'm paying through the nose for some of the stuff, but the fact that I've cut back on my intake of a smorgasbord of chemicals helps to ease the pain (although "I feel good" doesn't pay the bills unless you're James Brown).

One of the new organic items that I've taken to purchasing is breakfast cereal. First came the organic granola. It's good stuff. Then I went to organic raisin bran. It has bigger and more raisins than Post! And then, unfortunately, I went too far. In my effort to be a responsible consumer, I crossed the line. I bought organic muesli. I had never had muesli, and the picture on the box made it look intriguing, so I thought "what the hell" and made the purchase.

Let me tell you something…Never have I seen such a collection of leaves, twigs, seeds and detritus! When you add milk, it congeals into a wet mass that looks suspiciously like a suet ball. I'm tempted to wrap it in cheesecloth and hang it outside for the birds!

I mean, really! Who was the genius that went along the forest floor with a dredging net and boxed up whatever was captured? I'm surprised I haven't found any furry critters in the mix -- although I'm only half-way through the box, so the heavier objects may have settled to the bottom. What a great prize that would be, eh? Some people get games and toys at the bottom of the box. Some people get pedometers. I get a squirrel.

So while I do support the 'environmental movement', I don't think I'm quite ready to go whole-hog and trade in my manufactured Honeycombs for the sake of eating glorified birdseed.

Kermit said it best: "It ain't easy being green". Especially if you have to eat like him.

Quit Blowin' Smoke.

This just in…Smoking found to be bad for your health! Hey, who knew??

It's hard to believe that there are still people out there who can deny that smoking is bad for you and everyone around you. These people also likely believe that Elvis is alive, the DaVinci Code is biographical and that socks and sandals are acceptable.

Let me tell you something…Despite the obvious economic benefits for the government, smoking is one of those things that I wish would have died with the Marlboro Man and leg warmers. Yet there are still people out there, smoking like chimneys, who claim that a cigarette makes them look cool, or enhances their "look". Premature aging, wrinkles, sallow skin, smelly hair and clothes, horrible breath, yellowed fingers, rotten teeth and an electronic voicebox over a tracheotomy hole. Oh yeah, baby! How hot is that?? Have a gander at this cowboy and tell me that smoking made him a sexy byatch.

(Note: This links to a large PDF file. You slowpokes on dial-up may want to go out for dinner while it downloads)

Thanks to a new law, Ontario is finally completely smoke-free. Not only Ontario, but what has typically been referred to as "Canada's ashtray" has also legislated everyone to butt-out in public places. That's right; Quebec has gone smokeless, too! Yes, the only thing being smoked in Montreal will be their deli meat sandwiches. Okay, so this may not be front-page news to most people, but it's big news where I come from.

I heard an interview with a small-town mayor about the smoking ban and once again found myself yelling at the radio and trying to stay in my own lane. The mayor, a smoker, himself, was quite forthcoming in his admission that smoking is a terrible habit, fraught with chemicals, toxins and impending health problems. However he followed up those statements with "I don’t really believe that second-hand smoke is a major health concern." (Cue the yelling and erratic driving).

I didn't get to hear much more of the interview because of my lunatic-like ravings, but presumably this wingnut believes that tobacco smoke is only toxic when inhaled directly from the source. Once it's in the smoker's lungs, 95% of the nasties are removed, leaving a relatively harmless cloud of air to be exhaled and then enjoyed by those around them. Hey, maybe we could get these people to suck on exhaust pipes to prevent vehicle pollution! Global warming solved! Feel free to nominate me for a Nobel Prize.

Listen…It's the GIGO principle: Garbage In - Garbage Out. I bet he thinks his farts don't stink, either. Anyone out there care to debate this one with me? Either topic: Second-hand smoke or stinky farts, I don't care.

My challenge to you is to name one positive aspect related to smoking -- other than keeping away bugs and self-righteous, non-smoker, soap-box preachers such as myself.