Evidently, a larger than usual quantity of existential angst spilled into my consciousness this morning...pondering my own worth (or worthlessness) is my way of wiping up the mess..or at least containing it to manageable area...
This morning I realized that I hadn't posted in here in a while.
I also realized, in re-reading some previous posts, that I really seem to have little of substance to say. This saddens and embarrasses me. Am I truly as shallow as I present myself in my seemingly petty, pointless prose?
There are several blogs that I read, regularly, and the ones that I enjoy the most are those that are personal, provocative and thoughtful...mine's nothing like that (unless questionable body odour and murderous canines inspire you..and why shouldn't they, really?).
Regardless of any niggling doubts I may have about my niche on the web (or in society), people do pester me to post more frequently. And, as everyone knows, I do try to cater to my fans...yes, fans, plural!...I know of at least 3 people who regularly read my ramblings! Ha!
Note: I have no idea why I am so alliterative today. Persistent PMS, possibly?
Anyway, I've decided, in light of the high demand, to post more frequently...even if it's simply a Kevin Smith-style regurgitation of my day-to-day activities (Have you checked out Smith's blog, "My Boring Ass Life"?...despite what the title implies, it's actually consistently amusing!)
Perhaps, by forcing myself to write something more often, I will unleash a previously untapped contemplative version of me.
Perhaps, I will become an inspiration to millions.
Perhaps my readers will become so obsessed and enamored with me, as a result of my generosity of spirit, that they will stalk me and send me vast quantities of cash via PayPal.
Amen.
Tuesday, October 30, 2007
Tuesday, October 09, 2007
What the hell is that god-awful smell? And why is it FOLLOWING me?!
Do you ever get up in the morning, complete your usual morning ablutions, leave the house, proceed to get in your car or hop on the subway and realize, "Holy crap! Something stinks!"
If you're on the subway, an errant odour or two isn't all that alarming or even out of the ordinary--commuters in their outer-wear packed like sardines in a giant tin can are bound to emit some foul scents. And folks in this situation seem to feel they can pass gas with impunity, since it's likely they won't be identified as the source of said malodorous vapors.
But then you get off the subway and you're walking down the street, a cool breeze wafting through your hair, the scent of coffee and car exhaust permeating your senses, and suddenly, there it is again--The Stink.
You assume the person emitting The Stink has followed you off the subway and you pick up the pace.
You arrive at work and as you're walking into the building, you run into one of your colleagues and, as you're blithely discussing your respective weekends, you smell it again. You assume your co-worker is The Source and wonder if you should say something...naw, probably best not to inform someone with whom you work that they reek.
You proceed to to your desk, boot up the ol' geekbox and commence your day (checking your gmail, sports scores and miscellaneous message boards) and, lo and behold, there it is again, like a fart in an elevator: The Stink.
You first thought, "How the hell did it follow me all the way to my desk?!!"
Your second thought, as a result of your superior powers of deduction, "Omigod. It's me. I'm The Source of The Stink!"
You're wholly chagrined and feel your cheeks flush with embarrassment. You're also entirely befuddled...how could you possibly be The Source of the Stink?!
This isn't one of those mornings when you rolled out of bed after 3 hours of sleep, grabbed a t-shirt off the floor, slipped into some sweats and flip-flops, and headed out to purchase desperately needed coffee to prevent your skull from collapsing--if your olfactory senses were functioning at all at that point, The Source of The Stink should have been fairly obvious. No, no, no! You showered and cleansed yourself thoroughly...you got dressed in clean clothes...a quick footwear-check confirms you aren't walking around with poo or any other mysterious smelly substances on your shoes...how could this be?!
Has this ever happened to you?
Naturally, I'm not speaking from personal experience...this is an entirely rhetorical post....a public service if you will....to make those who encounter an unidentifiable smell somewhere on their person feel less alone.
To protect myself, however, I will be installing rear-view mirrors on my backpack--you know, just in case a stranger thinks it's funny to rub something smelly on my back when I'm not looking. It's important to be vigilant about these things.
Heed my warning, people. The Stink is out there.
If you're on the subway, an errant odour or two isn't all that alarming or even out of the ordinary--commuters in their outer-wear packed like sardines in a giant tin can are bound to emit some foul scents. And folks in this situation seem to feel they can pass gas with impunity, since it's likely they won't be identified as the source of said malodorous vapors.
But then you get off the subway and you're walking down the street, a cool breeze wafting through your hair, the scent of coffee and car exhaust permeating your senses, and suddenly, there it is again--The Stink.
You assume the person emitting The Stink has followed you off the subway and you pick up the pace.
You arrive at work and as you're walking into the building, you run into one of your colleagues and, as you're blithely discussing your respective weekends, you smell it again. You assume your co-worker is The Source and wonder if you should say something...naw, probably best not to inform someone with whom you work that they reek.
You proceed to to your desk, boot up the ol' geekbox and commence your day (checking your gmail, sports scores and miscellaneous message boards) and, lo and behold, there it is again, like a fart in an elevator: The Stink.
You first thought, "How the hell did it follow me all the way to my desk?!!"
Your second thought, as a result of your superior powers of deduction, "Omigod. It's me. I'm The Source of The Stink!"
You're wholly chagrined and feel your cheeks flush with embarrassment. You're also entirely befuddled...how could you possibly be The Source of the Stink?!
This isn't one of those mornings when you rolled out of bed after 3 hours of sleep, grabbed a t-shirt off the floor, slipped into some sweats and flip-flops, and headed out to purchase desperately needed coffee to prevent your skull from collapsing--if your olfactory senses were functioning at all at that point, The Source of The Stink should have been fairly obvious. No, no, no! You showered and cleansed yourself thoroughly...you got dressed in clean clothes...a quick footwear-check confirms you aren't walking around with poo or any other mysterious smelly substances on your shoes...how could this be?!
Has this ever happened to you?
Naturally, I'm not speaking from personal experience...this is an entirely rhetorical post....a public service if you will....to make those who encounter an unidentifiable smell somewhere on their person feel less alone.
To protect myself, however, I will be installing rear-view mirrors on my backpack--you know, just in case a stranger thinks it's funny to rub something smelly on my back when I'm not looking. It's important to be vigilant about these things.
Heed my warning, people. The Stink is out there.
Tuesday, October 02, 2007
Are all babies Japanese?
Last week I was in search of a baby gift for my friends who are expecting their first child in a few weeks. I went into one of those chi-chi baby stores, that I normally avoid (the same way I purposefully cross the street when I see the aggressive, flute-playing panhandlers in my neighbourhood--Back off, Zamfir! I gave at the office!).
I don't have babies. I don't particularly like babies or kids. A store like this, suffice it to say, is more than a bit overwhelming for me. As I stood in the middle of the store amid the strollers and bibs and dainty, baby-sized, steel-toed boots, I sensed a panic attack looming.
I approached the sales clerk, whose girth indicated she might go into labour at any second, and requested her assistance in finding a gift appropriate for a brand new baby.
She replied, "Oh, we have so much great stuff. These 2 companies, from Vancouver, make all of their clothes out of 100% organic cotton..."
So far, so good...Canadian company, organic cotton...I like those specs...
"Here we have some onesies, hats, and of course we have the kimonos...they're great for breast-feeding. And these pajamas all have different, cute pictures and phrases on them...."
She continued to babble on about their amazing products, but I had stopped listening. Tumbling through my mind, like a pair of running shoes in the dryer, was the phrase "Of course we have the kimonos."
Huh? HUH?! Great for breast-feeding? What?! Wait--is the baby going to be breast-feeding another baby? Because that's the only reason I can fathom that a baby would require a kimono....
I was perplexed and had to interject, "Excuse me. Wait. This may be a stupid question, but, why in the world would a BABY need a KIMONO?"
"Oh, that's not a stupid question at all. Babies get really hot. The kimono is really handy, especially when breast-feeding. If you'd ever held a baby, you'd know that."
Um, yeah, OK, lady.
I've held plenty of babies (usually against my will) and never once did I think, "You know what this sweaty bundle of poo needs? A kimono. That would make everything better."
Needless to say, I didn't purchase a baby-sized kimono. I hope that doesn't make me a bad friend.
I don't have babies. I don't particularly like babies or kids. A store like this, suffice it to say, is more than a bit overwhelming for me. As I stood in the middle of the store amid the strollers and bibs and dainty, baby-sized, steel-toed boots, I sensed a panic attack looming.
I approached the sales clerk, whose girth indicated she might go into labour at any second, and requested her assistance in finding a gift appropriate for a brand new baby.
She replied, "Oh, we have so much great stuff. These 2 companies, from Vancouver, make all of their clothes out of 100% organic cotton..."
So far, so good...Canadian company, organic cotton...I like those specs...
"Here we have some onesies, hats, and of course we have the kimonos...they're great for breast-feeding. And these pajamas all have different, cute pictures and phrases on them...."
She continued to babble on about their amazing products, but I had stopped listening. Tumbling through my mind, like a pair of running shoes in the dryer, was the phrase "Of course we have the kimonos."
Huh? HUH?! Great for breast-feeding? What?! Wait--is the baby going to be breast-feeding another baby? Because that's the only reason I can fathom that a baby would require a kimono....
I was perplexed and had to interject, "Excuse me. Wait. This may be a stupid question, but, why in the world would a BABY need a KIMONO?"
"Oh, that's not a stupid question at all. Babies get really hot. The kimono is really handy, especially when breast-feeding. If you'd ever held a baby, you'd know that."
Um, yeah, OK, lady.
I've held plenty of babies (usually against my will) and never once did I think, "You know what this sweaty bundle of poo needs? A kimono. That would make everything better."
Needless to say, I didn't purchase a baby-sized kimono. I hope that doesn't make me a bad friend.
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