Hell-itosis

Let me tell you something…There's not much worse than having a conversation with someone whose breath is so bad it's as if they had a shit sandwich for lunch. Of all the pet-peeves I have, I think the one that bothers me most has to be bad breath.

It can come from anyone. Male, female, young and old. And it can range from the mildly unpleasant "just ate a spicy taco" breath to the eye-watering, paint-peeling death-breath that has you gagging and running for the door. Even my 2-year old gets mung-mouth on a regular basis and it can be so bad, particularly after his afternoon nap, that I've thought about giving him some Altoids.

I once had the unfortunate experience of working with a guy who didn't believe it was necessary to brush his teeth in the morning. "I brush my teeth before I go to bed. Since I don't eat breakfast, I don't have any food in my mouth until lunch time, so why do I need to brush my teeth before then?"

Because it smells like you licked the ass-end of a skunk, that's why.

If someone were to do a study, I wouldn't be surprised in the least if the results showed that the distance at which a person speaks to you is directly related to the grossness of their breath. Invariably, the person who feels it is necessary to speak to me at a distance of roughly 3 inches will also have breath so bad it's visible. And, of course, their story will likely be about "how high the helicopter hovered while honeymooning in Hawaii"

The thing of it is -- it can be prevented! So please do everyone a favour: Brush your teeth, chew gum and for cryin' out loud step back a bit!

Mickey Mouse Astronomy

Holy Hannah! Did you hear the news? This is big. I mean REALLY big. I'm talking "lock up the women and children, grab yer gun, head for the hills, Tom Cruise's ego" big. Are you ready for this? I hope you're sitting down because this is gonna knock your socks off.

Pluto is not a planet.

Yes, you read that right. While you go collect your socks, I'm going to go cancel my Interplanetary Cruise Lines vacation plans.

Okay, so this is sort of old news by now, but my beef is that it was news at all.

Let me tell you something…I don't think there is anyone on THIS planet who really gives a crap whether a bunch of über-nerd scientists, who have most likely never kissed a girl, consider a frozen peanut billions of miles out in the dark of space, a planet or not.

What kind of slow-ass news day was it that enabled this to be one of the top stories of the day? Sure, it was great have a break from all the 'who shot/invaded/raped whom' nonsense I'm normally subjected to, but I would have thought they could have found something a little more meaningful to report. What's next? "This just in… The CFL is no longer considered a true sports organization." ?

As a result of this astronomical shocker, text books all over the world will have to be revised to reflect the fact that there are now only 8 planets in our solar system instead of 9. Well, as anyone who's ever attended a post-secondary institution for more than a single year can attest, every text book in the world is revised annually so that incoming students cannot purchase used textbooks because the footnote on page 786 has changed slightly. So I can't imagine it'll be a big undertaking for the printers to delete the 2.5 pages of text relating to Pluto from what I assume must be the 50 astronomy text books that have ever been printed.

So the question remains: If Pluto isn't a planet, then what is it? Since everyone's faith in the nerd community has been shaken to the core, I suggest we turn to the one organization that has never led us astray and has always maintained a hard line on life's truths:

Gravity does not exist unless you look down;
You can be shot in the head repeatedly and it will only turn your face black;
A coyote can withstand an infinite number boulders, dynamite explosions and train collisions;

and Pluto is a dog.

Life Lesson # 8: Leave The Acting To Hollywood

Have you ever tried to pretend to be someone more exciting or interesting than you really are? Perhaps fabricating an exotic story line for the stranger seated next to you on the plane? Or to the hottie seated next to you at the bar?

There's definitely something fun about pretending to be someone you're not, but be careful boys and girls, because it could come back to bite you in the ass like Cujo on a t-bone.

She was new to our sleepy little town. Tall, blonde hair, big blue eyes. Quite attractive. I thought I should go up and introduce myself and perhaps ask if she'd like me to show her around. I saw her at the same time, same place every week, so I knew when I would get my opportunity. Finally, the day arrived. I was dressed in my Sunday best, idly chatting with a few friends, waiting for the right moment.

And then...there she was. Standing in her usual spot by the entrance, smiling and wishing everyone a good day. I turned to the people in my group: "Watch and learn, you losers. THIS is how you do it." I turned up my collar, à la James Dean and sashayed across the crowded room towards her. Others began to notice my exaggerated swagger (think Cheech & Chong meets George Jefferson) and I gave them a wink and two thumbs-up.

I focussed on my target. Our eyes met. She saw me coming and smiled. AT ME!!
I was golden.
I was the man.
I was da bomb.
I was almost there.

I was…on my ass, looking up at the ceiling.

Being so intent making a show of crossing the room and walking up to this woman, I had forgotten about the 2 steps that led down to the landing upon which she was standing. And, because karma is such a bitch, I had completely wiped out and landed in a crumpled heap at her feet with a sore tailbone and a severe contusion on my pride.

As you would expect, I became the laughing stock of the town for a short period. For those of you who have read my other Life Lessons, you'll remember that this is not the only time I have entered municipal lore. It is, however, the first time I publicly humiliated myself.

I was 11 years old. The incident happened at church. The woman was our new Minister.

Listen kids: the moral of this one is that you might as well be who you are. People will find out eventually, anyway, so you're best to make it as painless as possible.

Under The Weather

Have you ever stopped to think about what the best job in the world would be? There are plenty of worthy occupations out there that could provide a meaningful existence or eternal happiness. To name a few: doctor, teacher, host of a travel show, porn star etc.

But let me tell you something...I've given it some thought and I think I've come up with the ultimate career. I'll describe it for you. See if you can guess it.

• Hundreds or thousands of people listen to you everday. Sometimes more than once per day. That's how important and valuable your words are.
• On any given day, you get to choose the location to give your speeches. One day, you might feel like standing beside a picturesque stream. The next day, at a nearby farm. Or maybe you just don't want to be outside and elect to stay indoors. Whatever your fancy! In fact, it is actually encouraged that you avoid your desk!
• You can also decide what you want to wear. Feel like a shirt and tie? Go ahead! Hawaiian shirt and Bermuda shorts? Hey, why not?! No need for conformity. Whatever you're most comfortable in.
• And what about performance expectations? Oh, don't worry about that! If you make a mistake, don't panic. We'll give you another chance. In fact, it doesn't matter whether you perform 100%, half-assed, or if you're completely off in the rhubarb. We'll always give you another chance!

Any guesses as to what this most fabulous job might be? I'll tell you. A weatherman (weatherperson, if you're gonna get all PC on me).

Honestly, I can't think of another job that is as cushy as this one, (no, not even government!) and actually allows you to screw up day after day and still keep your position. Today, for example, the man said "Sunny with a few clouds, and a high of 21". I'm looking out my window and I don't see any sun (no, it's not night time). And it's nowhere near 21. Come on, people. Let's at least get CLOSE to an accurate forecast.

I could probably be just as accurate if I were to stick my head outside and have a look around. "Cloudy today. A little chilly. Back to you, Steve."

It wouldn't be so bad if they prefaced their forecasts with "Here's what we think it'll be like over the next few days...", but instead, these cocky bastards stick their noses in the air and declare "Tomorrow will be..." and "It's going to be..." as if there is no possibility of them being wrong. Such arrogance!

And while we're at it, why do they insist on being called "meteorologists"? They don't study meteors.

And another thing: Why is it, when you're leaving to go somewhere, you turn to your friend/ spouse or whomever and ask "Do I need a coat?" Like THEY will know if you're going to be cold or not.

Going Ape Over Wars

Let me tell you something... I've had just about enough of all the media coverage of these wars everywhere. Afghanistan, Iraq, Isreal/Lebanon, Rwanda, and where ever else.

Don't like someone's politics? Send in the troops. Someone step on your patriotic pride? Bomb the snot out of them.

But what really upsets me is the fact that countries have taken to using primates to do their dirty work. And it's gotten to the point that you can't swing a cat without hitting a news story about some crazy fool using gorilla warfare tactics.

I've seen the Dian Fossey documentaries and as far as I can tell, gorillas are not very well suited for military operations. Sure, they have opposable thumbs and could probably fire a gun, but I'm not sure how well they'd respond to the screaming commands of the drill instructor. And I imagine the others would scatter pretty quick after the first one eats a grenade instead of chucking it.

Or maybe the wars are actually fought by big hairy men stomping, beating their chests, threatening one another with leafy branches and flinging poo at each other.

My guess is that either scenario is equally effective at solving conflicts.

What's left?

I seem to have reached a dead end. I think I've ranted on just about everything there is to rant about.

Religion -- check
Environment -- check
Stupid/Strange People -- check
Kids -- check
Neighbours -- check
Politics -- check
Corporations -- check
Celebrities -- check

Wow. Three and a half months into this blogging stuff and I'm already out of material. I could always go back and cover the same topics, but I don't want to bore you with the "been there, done that" kind of thing (although that's a sign of a true "old man" -- telling the same stories over and over again, eh?). Even the Life Lessons are getting harder and harder to remember!

I'm going to take a bit of a sabbatical and conduct some intense research for a week or so. I can tell you that this research will involve me sitting on a deck at a cottage, drinking beer and swimming in a lake. Not necessarily in that order, either.

Hopefully you won't forget about me while I ponder the intricacies, delicacies and lunacies of life. Feel free to submit your ideas and suggestions while I'm gone!

In the meantime, you might want to check out a couple of interesting and off-the-wall sites that, for reasons just beyond my grasp, continually fascinate me.

Trust Proof -- no idea what the title means, but she's a cute, cultured (read: artsy-fartsy) type whose specialty is photographs of…well…stuff.

Damebramage -- for something completely different. As rare as they are, each post is a sign that she's forgotten to take her medications. But don't worry…She works in the medical profession.

See you all in a week or so!

Life Lesson # 7: One of These Days, You're Gonna Get a Surprise

Shopping for a new car has never been one of those chores that has me bounding out of bed at the crack of dawn, eager to take on the challenges of negotiation.

So when the time came for my fiancée to replace her Model T, I was less than enthusiastic about spending my weekend going from parking lot to parking lot, looking at everything we couldn't afford.

After finishing up with only our 1st dealership of the day, I pulled out of the lot and headed for the next one. Little did I know that it would be "number 2" that would send me home, near tears. Here's how our conversation went:

Her: "So do you think we should go see the Honda dealership now?"
Me: "Sure, if you like. I think it's just down the road, on the left."
"Okay." (After driving for 30 more seconds, I make a right turn)
"What the…?? Where are you going?"
"Home."
"Why?"
"Because. I have to."
"What? Why?"
"JUST BECAUSE, OKAY? SOMETHING HAPPENED AND I HAVE TO GO HOME! NOW!!" "What happened? What's wrong?"
"Nevermind! I don't want to talk about it!"
"What?? You just went from zero-to-spazz in 3 seconds and you won't tell me what's wrong?" *sniff sniff…* "What's that smell?"

What I had just experienced was something that I, until that very moment, thought was an impossibility. A wives' tale created by adults to conjure horrible images of embarassment and ridicule in little children's minds. Not so, my friends. SO not so.

I'll spare you the graphic detail as I think most of you are intelligent enough to figure this one out on your own. I'll just skip right to the lesson for today.

Remember, boys and girls…Let your farts come naturally. Don't, under any circumstances, put undue force behind them; or you may end up with a surprise in your shorts.

Even if you're 26 years old, out with your soon-to-be-wife and have to drive back home, sitting in your own filth, staining your car seat, having to park a mile from your apartment building and waddle to the slow-as-molasses elevator (in the front lobby, of course) which takes you to the 11th floor, and waddle another quarter mile down the hall to your apartment. All while carrying your significant other because she's hysterical with laughter.

Yep. Even then.

Holiday Inn: Alcatraz

You know, like it or not, our society has rules. Sometimes we may think they're ridiculous, petty or a waste of time, but every single one of them was brought into existence with the intention of protecting the public's health and safety in some form or another.

And again, whether we like it or not, most of us elect to follow these rules. Why? Because, as ironic as it seems, living under constraints enables us to take advantage of the freedoms and comforts we've come to enjoy from living in a democratic and civilized society. If you break the rules (and get caught), the consequences are such that you must give up a portion of your freedom and suffer some degree of discomfort. And the degree varies by the seriousness of the offense. A traffic ticket. A night in the drunk tank. A week of community service. Years in prison. The death penalty.

However, there are some people who feel that the rules do not apply to them. And despite breaking one of the rules, they don't believe they should be giving up their rights, freedoms and comforts. Let me tell you something… I'm getting pretty damn sick and tired of hearing about convicted criminals who complain that their new living conditions are "sub-par".

"There's no cable TV."
"I didn't get a pillow."
"The food is yucky."
"My cell is too small."
"The guard yelled at me."
"I had to pee in front of 5 other people."

Oh, I'm so sorry, your highness! Is there anything else we taxpayers can do to make your life a little more comfortable? I mean…sure, you raped and killed a bunch of people, but we wouldn't want you to be distressed any more than necessary. I bet that nasty trial you had was such a bother. Here…Can I get you the Wall Street Journal? How about an X-Box?

Come on, folks. This is San Quentin; Not Sandals. As far as I'm concerned, you gave up your right to creature comforts the day you broke the law. You no longer get a say in how you live your life. Did your victims have a say? And I don't even want to hear a word about how inconvenient it was for you to vote in the last election! You should just be thankful that you were allowed to vote at all.

And speaking of being thankful… If you think the conditions are bad in the Kingston or Edmonton penitentiaries, perhaps you'd be interested in a transfer? I hear there's bed space in Cambodia, Turkey and the Gulags of Siberia. I, personally, would be happy to buy your one-way ticket.

These criminals may have taken away someone's life or have left a trail of emotionally and/or physically scarred victims (not to mention surrounding family, friends and communities). Yet these rule-breakers are guaranteed a roof over their head, at least three full meals a day, a bed to sleep in, access to books, television, education and other self-improvement programs and yet they have the audacity to bitch about how rough their lives are. Well boo-hoo. Hey, if you're really fed up with your suffering, I know a way we can put an end to it.

It's a sad state of affairs that our criminals are treated better than our handicapped or homeless.