No one is asking anyone to forget, but we have to look to the future

I never got the whole reminiscence of the sixties that my parents (okay, my Dad, Mom didn’t seem to be the wild child the old man was, well is) had when I was young. In more recent times, I really get it now. The most obvious and consistant place I relate is on my iTunes list. There’s so much shit on there that just doesn’t get played anymore. Pure. Late 80’s R.E.M. Jane’s Addiction. The Smiths. Doughboys. Barenaked Ladies. Blur. They Might Be Giants. The Cure. Spirit of the West. And for that which still gets played, throw in some Nine Inch Nails, Rage Against the Machine and System of a Down. And all of this brings me warm, fuzzy, and very blurry reminders of University and my vast experience at the Centre of the Universe (which sadly is now closed indefinitely).

The frightening thing is that, aside from the severe alcohol induced haze, I remember those fun filled, egotistical, crazy days like they were yesterday. Almost to the point I can touch them. And then the real truth of the matter hits me solid. The last of those days ended 13 years ago. I never thought such a long time would still have such a deep connection. I can only imagine the old folks had the same thoughts of the sixties as I do of the nineties. Funnily enough, I am the age they were then when they hit me with all their sixties remeniscing.

Now, many mistakes and a few good choices later, not much has changed. It is true that the more things change, the more they remain the same. The economics are sure the same. To put it bluntly, I did not choose an easy or stable career path. As such, the day job does one thing. Keeps me and Dawn alive. Period. But even the shitty one I have right now is slowly sinking me in debt. I’d never thought a job would put someone in debt, but alas, it seems to be the economics of the 21^st century. I need a change.

As it stands, the only thing that is currently feasible is the trades. Specifically, the electrical trades. Most importantly, the skills developed will be well put back into use in my true passion, film. Yayayaya!

Except one stumbling block. A $4,800 course just to be allowed to apprentice the trade. Fuck me running, nothing but a fucking cash grab. The thing that really bites is there are government agencies that help cover costs and do give applicants a jump start to getting a career going, but alas, they only help you if you’re unemployed, underemployed, have varied medical or other ’social’ problems, etc, etc, etc. Put simply, if you’re a honest, hardworking sort like me, fuck you, take your kick in the bollocks and do it with a greater financial burden. Ugghhh.

Still, as costs and the current market demand I make changes or becoming the working poor, I have no choice. No choice but to work, take on all comers, do school, get into this apprenticeship, and go to war doing it. But there’s something to be said of my past. Though most of my activities (scholarly or otherwise) do fuck all towards a liveable income in this town, I have to hold on to that ‘never say die’ attitude I had as a drunken, high rolling University student. Nothing else will be acceptable.

Interdum vos ut volvo ferrus six.

P.S. Help my city grow.

Words no longer in my vocabulary

Nothing like the price of gas to piss me off. Coupled with owing a load of green on my taxes this year, it’s a bright neon sign that says my days doing this ‘day job’ are over. A new career path, one which can couple back to the film industry, is in it’s infancy for me (for a hint, I’m an ELECTRIC on set… so I’m going to use some of that skill in the real world). One of the irritations right now is I have to play the waiting game (as it is an apprenticeship). Ugghh.

The waiting game does allow for a great deal of ‘out of the box thinking’. I see examples of the Dilbert Principle all over the place. It’s a good reminder that I really don’t want to be involved in an organization, built on a very simple principle, that favours spinelessness and desire to be a puppet over skill and ability. I know, the Dilbert Principle goes to great lengths to describe this as existing across the whole of corporate America, but this really feels like it’s taking the piss. And if it’s not, I really think it’s safe to say that evolution really doesn’t exist, as we are truly progressing backwards over the last 3,000 years. The ancient Greeks and Romans were more civilized and intelligent than the lot of this new populace.

This, however, really is the tip of the iceberg. Those who have had any significant dialogue with me know that my thoughts around our de-evolution, in my opinion, started in 325 AD when Constantine declared Christianity the official state religion. Full of contradiction and plagiarism, nothing else. Id est, let’s spread the word of tolerance, forgiveness and understanding at the pointed end of a sword, and more currently, guns and Patriot missiles. And, very representative of this viewpoint, is the word sorry, which Oxford defines thusly:

1. Feeling distress or pity through sympathy with someone else’s misfortune.
2. Feeling or expressing regret or penitence.
3. In a poor or pitiful state.
4. Unpleasant and regrettable: a sorry business.

Needless to say, my issue with the aforementioned word relates to definition #2 the most. I don’t regret anything. True enough, there are a lot of things I’ve contemplated changing in my life, as those who know me know I’ve fucked up huge on a highly consistent basis (I am a screw-up… try to keep that in mind). And maybe, just maybe, in younger, less mature days I may have regretted some. But now, nothing. If I piss you off, I meant it. Perhaps it was not direct intent that did it, but I did intend the action that indirectly pissed you off. If it still bothers you, get over yourself. I’m not on this planet to kiss other people’s ass.

Yet in my day to day actions at the ‘day job’, I hear that Gods awful word. Again. And again. And so forth. For banging into me. Getting in my way. Making my tasks far more difficult. And to the whole lot who love using that bullshit word, I have this to say. Bullshit. Just like the nature of the word, you intended the action that directly or indirectly pissed me off. Deal with it. Sure as fuck I have to. And if you do feel bad, remorseful, here’s hint to all you ‘S-word’ sayers. Be proactive. Do something to rectify the situation, instead of just saying your piece of bullshit to give you the false sense of satisfaction. And to those who cannot adapt, grow, and evolve, I just have this to say:

How very Christian of you.

Interdum vos ut volvo ferrus six.

Twisted Filler Tuesday… In Time for Mom

Not much coming through the old editor mailbag. Still, Paul (hopefully one day at http://www.paul.georb) has his good, eclectic finds.

Like wrongcards.

I found this one for mom, just in time for mother’s day:

Come on. Me? Reform? Be good? For fuck sakes, I PLAY HOCKEY AND SKI.

Happy soon to be Mother’s Day.

Interdum vos ut volvo ferrus six.

The Unwritten Code

I saw this first during the depressing tragedy which was last night’s hockey game (which I will not discuss any further). Still, it rings true:

Interdum vos ut volvo ferrus six.

P.S. Help my city grow.

New Term Friday… on Saturday

I like the idea of having themes for days. It saves the writer’s block. I just wish I had the energy to write something yesterday after Battlestar Galactica and our walk. As such, from Urban Dictionary, I give you

FUCKTARD. I like definition number six.

In an sentence:

There are far too many fucktards in the world, and they all seem to gravitate towards me. Auggghhh!

Interdum vos ut volvo ferrus six.

P.S. Help my city grow.

A line in the sand

One of the shittiest truths in hockey is this. Retaliation gets the penalty over the initial incident. The same is true in life. An eye for the eye you lose gets you in worse hot water than the initial eye (if that really makes sense, because right now I see nothing but red).

This all revolves around the chrome toaster. And furthermore, stretching back to childhood. Well, young adulthood and up. With your friends, your good, close friends, there are lines you simply do not cross. Ever. And boy, was I wrong about where I stood with the toaster. But, like DeNiro and Liotta in Goodfellas (when in regards to the shooting of Joe Pesci’s character), I have to sit and take it.

Well, the stakes are continuing to rise. And again, I must sit and take it. Take the high road, as defamatory posting can cause one to have their blog deleted. And where is that airlock?

Oh my, I can never tire of that. Thank the Gods for small mercies.

Interdum vos ut volvo ferrus six.

Just one kick in the bollocks after another

Case in point. Today. And even aside from the fact I had to work at my ‘job’.

Take into consideration:

Liverpool lost to Chelsea in the Champions League semis.

UGGGHHHH (added insult to this… shit scum Man U. got through to the final).

Montreal went down 3-1 to the Broad Street Bullies.

UGGGHHHH

And just to make third time the charm, an until now, thought to be boxed model of chrome toaster (for conspiring to divide humanity) has now re-emerged, set to continue it’s traitorous ways. Where the fuck is an airlock when I need it?

However, there is a silver lining to the monsoon cloud hanging over me. Hint number one, there will soon be much less Fe in my life.

Interdum vos ut volvo ferrus six.

P.S. Help my city grow.

P.P.S. Go to this radio station site and vote for my friend, Christine Todd.

Twisted Filler Tuesday - a fag you can drink

Many thanks to Paul (no site to list) who gets the macabre, the bizzare, and the brilliant of that good ol’ interweb. He needs a site like http://www.paul.georb.

As such, here’s a few of his best finds lately:

Cigarettea.

Far too many new devices to plug into your USB port.

Still, nothing beats this joke he sent a while back:

Shamus and Murphy fancied a pint or two but didn’t have a lot of money. Between them, they could only raise the staggering sum of one Euro.

Murphy said ‘Hang on, I have an idea.’

He went next door to the butcher’s shop and came out with one large sausage.

Shamus said ‘Are you crazy? Now we don’t have any money left at all!’

Murphy replied, ‘Don’t worry - just follow me.’

He went into the pub where he immediately ordered two pints of Guinness and two glasses of Jamieson Whisky.

Shamus said ‘Now you’ve lost it. Do you know how much trouble we will be in? We haven’t got any money!!’

Murphy replied, with a smile. ‘Don’t ! worry, I have a plan, Cheers!’

They downed their drinks. Murphy said, ‘OK, I’ll stick the sausage through my zipper and you go on your knees and put it in your mouth.’

The barman noticed them, went berserk, and threw them out.

They continued this, pub after pub, getting more and more drunk, all for free.

At the tenth pub Shamus said ‘Murphy - I don’t think I can do any more of this. I’m drunk and me knees are killin’ me!’

Murphy said, ‘How do you think I feel? I lost the sausage in the third pub.’

Interdum vos ut volvo ferrus six.

P.S. Help grow my city’s population.

Photoblahg Saturndaze: Stumped back on the horse

Well, it was definitely nice to see someone more than just Dawn to post to my trivial drivel and tripe. Thank you muchly Taj. And in honour of your overjoy of tree stump photography, here’s a little more artful style of stump we tend to get in Beautiful British Columbia:

Interdum vos ut volvo ferrus six.

P.S. Help my city’s industry grow.

How the electrical setup of my car put a puppet in management

You know, I did have a good vibe going into this week after posting that lovely photo on Sunday. In retrospect though, I wonder if anyone other than Dawn looked at it. Still, to my delight sheer horror, Monday morning my car wouldn’t start. Battery. But not just that. Positive electrode was eroded to the point it crumbled when I removed it. So, close to $200 in associated costs, and my car lives once more.

But it did take a physical toll. Transit to and from “work” is not entirely friendly. The SkyTrain gets me close, but no buses run close to “work”. As such, a shitty delightful 20 minute walk is required, at six something AM to “work”, and the same walk, this time uphill, after a physically punishing day. Needless to say, I’ve barely had the energy to sit behind my G4 to check and reply to emails, let alone blather on about the bollocks that is my life.

Though the commute gives me more time to listen to my not heavily used iPod, I do miss the first hour of Jeff O’Neil. Well, okay, Charis and Scotty, as they carry O’Neil’s overweight ass. Follow the previous link, click on Audio, and pull up WE BROUGHT NHL SMACK… ALL SEASON LONG just to get a taste of what I really like about the show. It’s a shame they didn’t have the best smack of all season on it (Ombudsben will get a kick out of this):

“Welcome to Minnesota. Home of the Wild, and home to 10,000 lakes, and 10,000 prostitutes. Most of whom are female. Right Wild coach Jacques Lemaire?”

You get the idea. I know, the ‘Nucks didn’t even make the dance, but alas, my East favourites, and original hometown Habs showed some grit tonight coming back to beat the Broad Street Bullies 4-3 in OT. Canada is definitely not out yet. And the Leafs continue to golf, and will they be retarded enough to wait another year before overpaying for Burke?

CFOX though, outside of the O’Neil show, has but two bright spots. Lana’s Indie Night in Canada and Neil Morrison’s Nineties at Noon definitely bring life to an over-produced, corporate, and bland view of Rock in the new millenium. As such, the afternoons are now progressing to sports radio to save me the headache of Billy No-Talent or Nickleback. [Watch me shudder at the thought] Which brings me to my ultimate point.

Nonis is out, and Mike Gillis is in. Fuck me running, it’s all I’ve heard all week long. It’s a mixed feel for any playoff games. With the Giants also out, hockey seems to have died. Maybe that’s a benefit of being an ex-patriot of Montreal, coupled with the Habs finally having a season we expect of them. Hockey’s still on the brain. But here, it’s next season, what’s Gillis going to do, should we re-sign Naslund, who should we trade, free agents… what will Gillis do.

About Mike, I do have two things to say. First, he gave a good press conference. Unlike many in this day, he didn’t hold back. He laid it out. The ‘Nucks need serious change, and they want to build around Luongo. DUH! Shame Nonis didn’t see the first part of that. Hey, maybe he’ll get hired by Burke if he signs in Toronto, so the two can be haunted by the ghost of Harold Ballard. And he had the bollocks to point out areas, most notably scouting and development, that needs a major overhaul. Good on you.

Secondly, and this is to the vast majority of gits in the Vancouver area who act like they know something about hockey but never laced up and can barely count past four,

IT WAS JUST A PRESS CONFERENCE. We won’t know what kind of GM Gillis will be for a couple of years yet.

Yes, the Vancouver faithful are already judging the inexperienced man on just a few words. Vancouver has been through rebuilds before. If history has taught us anything, we need to wait a few years to see if this new team that will develop will be a serious contender.

For me, I just hope that Gillis isn’t a puppet (I’ve seen a lot of that at “work”, and the smell reeks from GM Place to my home of the same), a figure to allow Aquilini to be the George Steinbrenner [of old] for Western Canadian hockey.

But only time will tell.

Interdum vos ut volvo ferreus six.

P.S. Help grow the population of my city, New Delphi.