Goodbye to my Face page

June 28, 2007

I don’t like Facebook, but I feel trapped there.  I don’t really check it anymore, really should cancel it.  I don’t know which would score higher on the percieved ignorance scale, never replying to people or just vanishing out of everyone’s friend list.

Funny thing, now that I think about it, with people so vigorously collecting friends, I don’t think I will be missed.

Still…I am curious to see who will contact me.  So far it’s not the people I would expect.  I have a problem keeping superficial connections with people and I don’t make many deep connections either.  Life is always stranger than I.


I am agitation.

June 25, 2007

It occurred to me you were blurred to me so you never heard of me.  Don’t take it personally, memories are not for me.  You had a chance to shine, but you were unable because you’re too stable for friction.


Good Friends (a wierd wedding tale)

June 25, 2007

Saturday was a beautiful day.  The weather was perfect – cool & cloudless.  Great day for driving.  We had to venture 200 some odd klicks to get to a friends wedding.  The wedding was at Viamede Spa and Resort in Lakefield, Ontario (north east of Peterborough).  The wedding was nice.  Ceremony was on the shore of Stoney Lake.  One thing worthy of mention for the ceremony.  While the Bride & Groom were signing the wedding license, the fathers retrieved fishing rods, stepped to the shoreline and cast their lines.  Within seconds, the bride’s father caught a fish.  Within moments of the fish, at 4 in the afternoon, the moon came out, but only for a minute or two.  I am not a semiologist, by any means, but I think those were two auspicious signs bestowed upon this couple by nature.

We didn’t know anyone else there, except for another couple.  Very nice.  I like them.  Otherwise, we were alone in a sea of strangers, some young, some old and all not in the mood to talk to strangers!  Picture time for the bride and groom.  We tuck away and have a couple of drinks.  When the Bride & Groom venture back toward the main resort building to take a few more photos, I notice a couple of idiots sitting on the balcony.  They’ve got their pants down and are hanging their asses over the railing, hoping to get into the background of the pictures.  Nice friends.

An hour or so later, it’s time for the receiving line and dinner.  The Bride and Groom have two really nice families.  Weddings are overwhelming for the families, so many people, so many things to do, so many so manies that the day vanishes without many memories other than the blur.  Thank goodness for the professional photos (with the asses in the b/g).

We were seated in the very back corner of the reception room, which was perfect – we didn’t know anyone, plus we had the best view of the lake!  Here’s where things start to get interesting.  There were the four of us (two couples) sitting in the back corner, the rest of the table was populated with six other young people, probably in their early to mid-twenties.  There was one guy from Perth Australia, who lives in Oakville now.  There were two guys who girlfriends were bridesmaids.  And the bride had a girlfriend from college, and two girlfriends from high school.  So there we are…a group of six and a group of four, neither group familiar with anyone from the other – table of ten.

I’m sitting beside Preston (real name).  I don’t remember anyone else’s name, but his is etched into my memory.  Preston was a little drunk.  First sign of trouble came in the form of wholly inappropriate comments.  “That’s the bride’s step-father.  He’s a homo.  He doesn’t like me.  Homo.”  This while the step-father was introducing the wedding party.  Then the bride’s mother stands up to say grace.  “Oh listen to this bitch, she yabbers on and on and on.  I can’t wait to hear this.”  He then proceeds to laugh hysterically throughout the entire prayer.  Awkward for the four of us.  The rest of the other group have smirks on their faces, like we did out of discomfort, but they knew this guy.

Dinner service begins.  “The soup tastes like dog’s ass.”  So enjoy your soup!  I loved mine, some cream of something, but damn it was good.  Then comes the salad, “I don’t eat this green shit.  Where’s the meat?”  When he wasn’t complaining about the food or the people, he was talking about fighting, or calling me ‘Jimmy’, “I call everyone Jimmy.”  (My name isn’t Jimmy!) 

Then, out of nowhere, he grabs my thigh and holds it.  I was surprised.  “Hey Jimmy, you’re not a homo.”  His hand was closer to my nuts than my knee, if you know what I mean.  I tried to make light of the situation, I cracked a joke or two, but they were feeble and tinged with anger.  My girlfriend was upset and our friends (across the table) were both upset.  (I hate doing these without names, so I am going to refer to our two friends as Ray & Linda!)  Ray was pissed, he looked as though he were about to leap the table.

Not satisfied, Preston starts rubbing the back of my head.  I can’t stand when people touch the back of my head.  I asked him to stop.  He did it again.  I kind of snapped, slapped his hand away and said something like, “Don’t do it again.”  He puts his hand back on my thigh.  Okay, so this is happening over say the first thirty minutes of the dinner.  None of the people who know Preston are doing or saying anything.  They are basically ignoring everything.  Oh sure, we were making small talk here and there, but goof ball essentially dominated the focus.  I got up to leave a couple of times, I needed to get away.  When he announced that “I piss alot.”  I finally lost it. 

My girlfriend and I went outside to have a cigarette.  I was fuming.  I wanted to smash wine bottles across this guy’s face.  There were either one of two things happening here:

1.  Preston was intentionally trying to antagonize me into some kind of conflict.

2. Preston is homosexual, but has not yet realized or come to terms with it.  No straight guy, no matter how intoxicated, grabs and holds another guy’s upper thigh for a prolonged period of time.  It does not happen.

Either way, this guy is a poor excuse for donkey’s rectum, let alone a human being.  On the way back to our table, we stopped at the head table.  My girlfriend mentioned something to the bride (her friend), I don’t know what she said.  There were some looks of consternation.  Then one of the bridesmaids laid claim, “Preston is my boyfriend.”  I told her that her boyfriend was being antagonist in a really drunken kind of way.

We get back to the table.  Preston is gone.  Passed out.  But his buddy, noticing our little stop at the head table asks me if everything is all right.  Then, he has the nerve to tell me that everyone at the table is just trying to make the best of it.  I could’ve screamed.  I reply sarcastically, “I appreciate you pointing that out to me.”  And he goes on, as though I am the one causing a disruptance.  I wanted to rip this prick’s tongue out.  “We’re all just trying to make the best of a bad situation.”  In my mind, if this guy is a friend of Preston’s he would’ve taken him out of the room much earlier.  He would’ve been trying to calm him down, or at least to leave the strangers alone.  Nope.  Dumb prick just sat there the whole time and let his buddy irritate four complete strangers, then told me that they were all trying to make the best of it.

Poetic justice – the meat plate was served moments after Preston retired to his room for the night!  Then I find out, the fool was taking pain killers (some incident with his hand) and drinking.  No wonder he was out of control, still no excuse for his dumbass friend to let him behave the way he did, especially since these were the two morons whose girlfriends were bridesmaids.

It gets better.  During the speeches, the bride’s step-father, who acted as master of ceremonies (and loved it!), was recalling anecdotes about everyone in the wedding party.  When he turned to Preston’s girlfriend, I think the comment was, “Whoa, now you’ve got some catch there!”  Then someone called out, “He’s gone for the night.”  Apparently no surprise to anyone in the room who knew him.  Then the bride’s step-father proceeds to tell a story in which numb nuts some how ended up using the ladies room at a McDonald’s one morning earlier in the week.  Hang over was his excuse.  I’d have to be pretty far out of it to end up in the ladies room!

Anyways, this only fuels my belief that option number two (as stated above) is closer to the truth.  I think that subconsciously, he thought he belonged in the women’s washroom.  I think the combination of pain killers and alcohol opened up that same part of his mind at the dinner table.  I think he wanted to touch my thigh and rub the back of my head.  He was clearly in a state beyond self-control.  I would wager large dollars that this is not an infrequent occurence.  I bet every one of his male friends have had to fight off some kind of aggressive, but strangely sexual advance from him.

As a footnote:  It turns out that Preston and his buddy who was ‘making the best of it’ were the two idiots hanging their asses over the railing.  Good friends!


Food & Fresh Water

June 21, 2007

If you ever wonder why we (humans) are engaged in constant warfare, just watch how chimpanzees establish and defend their feeding grounds.  It’s marvelous, for chimps (our closest relative), but not so for us.  Aren’t we supposed to be more intelligent than a jungle creature?  Oops…we are jungle creatures, the smartest of the them all (according to us!).  We’re intelligent enough to envision ideals, but not wise enough to achieve them. 

 Just by virtue of our numbers, we’ve thrown the natural balance of nature out of whack.  The feeding chain is very top heavy & soon the foundation will crack, crumble and collapse.  Nationalism will overtake self-determination in the struggle for survival in the tough times which are bound to come.  We will give up our liberty for some fresh water and real food.  If a Nation cannot provide, it will be swallowed by one which can. 

We need to make some hard decisions regarding our collective future.  We need to re-establish the natural balance of the planet.  This will have to include moderating population growth, harnessing natural sources of energy & a more equitable distribution of wealth.

It will never happen.  The planet will do it for us.  The strong are more likely to survive & there is none stronger (here) than Earth, so odds are in the planet’s favour.


One’drin

June 21, 2007

If curiosity kills the cat, but the cat has nine lives, then what does this tell us about being curious?


God Made My Heart & Then Traded It

June 19, 2007

The concept of Original Sin has worn thin on me.  I don’t believe it exists.  We are not born with fault.  We are born in a pure state of animalism & wonder.  Our Original State of Being begins to change the moment we leave the womb.  We learn the wrongs of our parents, of our friends’ parents and of our community.  Original Sin is something the Catholic church created to ensure a constant supply of penitents. 

In terms of economics, the Church has manufactured the single most unique product ever made – salvation.  The Church has generated a false demand (value) for salvation by limiting its supply to only the most worthy, where the criteria for ‘worthy’ is determined exclusively by the product’s manufacturer.

Then the Church devised the greatest marketing ploy ever – Hell, eternal damnation.  They even created a mascot – Satan.  He’s like the Jolly Green Giant, Stay Puff Marshmellow Man or Chef Boyardee, except for hell.  He is the internationally recognizable symbol (devise) designed to force you to the cash register with a cartload of pricey, but valuable, salvation.

Let’s face it.  There is no definitive evidence to support the existence of a Hell, Purgatory, or Heaven.  So, if salvation is a ‘one way ticket’ to Heaven and the subsequent avoidance of the other two, less savoury, destinations, which don’t actually exist (as we understand today!), then…what are we doing? 

We’re participating in the most enticing speculative commodities market.  This market has many centres, but none more popular than the City of Jerusalem where the Big Three Westerns deal their stock & trade.  I guess you could call it the meta-market.

We pay to play for what we pray is the winning team.  It is a competitive game, so you better believe you’re better than all the other teams.  If you don’t have faith, you will most certainly lose.

We dream of holding up the championship cup (The Holy Grail!) and screaming into the camera to an audience of billions, “I’m going to HEAVEN!”, as though it were the greatest theme park ever.  Then the camera pans over to the loser’s bench, where the players are hunched over, head in hands on knees, their shmaghs, turbans, yarmulkahs, or whatever helmet the opponents have chosen, pulled down to hide the shame on their sweat drenched faces.  I’ve paid my dues, time after time.  The music blares.  I’ve done my sentence, but committed no crime.  Oh and we’d cry and hug each other, offering over emotional congratulations and praise.

It’s all bullshit.  If someone loses in this game, then no one wins.  This is sooth.


My Monday Morning March into Madness & Mayhem, maybe!

June 18, 2007

The con science is an appliance of loose morals and an appreciation for quarrels.  I think I live in Lividity ten miles beneath Crusty and a thousand miles from Lucidity.  It’s so damned hot.  I beg for the sweet grief of temporary relief, but for me there’s no reprieve, or so I believe.  Is there hope?  Gaze around in wide eyed wonder.  Nope.  Nothing but scorched earth.  I think I live in a cave where the mood is sombre and grave, save for the clown who likes bringing everyone down with his painted frown.  I hate that clown.  He stole my show.  I think I live in a place where a smile on a face can lighten the mood of even the most miserable brood and change the world for a day, or so I say.  That’s where I’d like to be today.