Just when we were getting to know you

They say only the good die young. The same is true of talented Canucks prospect Luc Bourdon, who died in a motorcycling accident today in New Brunswick.

I just can’t even equate how this has hit me yet. My condolences go out to his family, friends and teammates, past and present.

Rants in the heat

Boy oh boy, does one ever sweat in the tropics. Especially when one lives and works there. It might be time to invest in some Gatorade or the like. Creativity and energy fall flat upon leaving my ‘condition’ of employ each day. Bah.

Still, the heat does leave me more open and aware to the continually debilitating condition known as humanity. Such as this.

Vancouver baby put up for sale on Craigslist in government care.

Hearing about this earlier, I came to one of three possible conclusions about it (bear in mind I had no knowledge of the couple’s claim that the posting was a hoax NOT perpetrated by them).

First, this was a practical joke. My Gods, if this is the case, the two would be an abnormal psychologist’s dream come true, who could retire after the research was concluded. Worse though, imagine what kind of childhood the baby would have with parents who have such a unique sense of humour.

Second, someone could have made the post without the couple’s foreknowledge (as was their claim). To which two other thoughts occur. What the hell did the couple do to piss the poster off so much to go to such length for defamation and erroneous criminal charge? Also, could the poster be such a special person that they may be an abnormal psychologist’s wet dream (as in the previous conclusion)?

Third, that the fears of the norms are accurate. That these two twats actually intended to sell their child. I could never imagine who could ever do that. The thought of it revolts me. But still, one must bear in mind that only 150 years ago, in North America, buying and selling people was very much commonplace. Hell, even in other parts of the world, IT STILL HAPPENS. And what I find worse than this practice is the ‘hear no evil, see no evil’ mentality of the public, who think things are fine and this sort of thing just doesn’t happen anymore. If we can effect change, we have to start calling a spade a spade. The world is quite literally ‘Hell on Earth’.

Well it could be worse. You could find out your physiotherapist was found guilty of spreading child pornography, and only got 60 days (weekends only) for it. Thank the Gods I don’t live in the ‘Wack.

Kinda makes petrol prices and idiot management types seem kind of small in comparison. It really explains why I drive through Hastings and Main every day when I feel down. It really takes the edge off seeing people far worse off than myself. Like Definitely, Undeniably, Mediocre Brained management types.

Just check out these variations of brain malfunction [Hat tip: Scott Adams]. I constantly amuse myself with the professional applications of the following brain faults:

I am the World
Generalizing from Self
Judging Things Without Comparison to Alternatives
Following the Advice of Known Idiots (aka the chain of command)

and of course, my favourite, Failure to Recognise what’s Important.

What a wonderful world this 21^ST Century is shaping up to be.

Interdum vos ut volvo ferrus six.

P.S. Grow my city.

Photoblahg Saturndaze… Lost Pics and the Lost Lagoon

And no, this is not yet another sequel in the Blue Lagoon films. Rather, I’m talking about THIS Lost Lagoon. Yup. Stanley Park. And without further adieu…

Just for Taj:

And finally, the LOST photo. Shitbrick:

Interdum vos ut volvo ferrus six.

P.S. Help grow my city.

Know Your Enemy

1. A classic Rage Against the Machine song.

2. Something that has become more necessary as time goes on as who I can trust becomes an ever shrinking list.

3. One who falls into the following criteria:

Do they ask questions about classified subjects?

Do they seem unusually strong, smart or self-assured?

Do they say God instead of Gods?

Have you seen them before, but you know it’s not the same person?

Do you see them hanging around secured or restricted areas?

Do they seem to hear music that no one else can hear?

Do they seem unusually fearless, as if death has no meaning for them?

Do they exhibit sociopathic behavior around other humans, especially defenseless children?

Are they unusually adept, almost empathic, with machines?

Does their spine glow red when they get… excited?

Yes, ways to identify skinjobs, aka human chrome toasters. And for visual reference, they’ve given us a guide.

Makes a great gift for A Golden World editor near you. Birthday in December, so beat the rush.

Interdum vos ut volvo ferrus six.

P.S. Grow my city.

Two Words

Found at: Em Ceeyef.

1. Where is your mobile phone?
Belt pouch.

2. Where is your significant other?
Beside me.

3. Your hair?
Scruffy mess.

4. Your mother?
Far away.

5. Your father?
Youthful sixtysomething.

6. Your favorite thing?
My babe.

7. Your dream last night?
Airlock boss.

8. Your favorite drink?
Stella Artois.

9. Your dream/goal?
Acclaimed Director.

10. The room you’re in?
Too small.

11. Your hobby?
Visual arts.

12. Your fear?
No control.

13. Where you want to be in 6 years?
North Vancouver.

14. Where were you last night?
At home.

15. What you’re not?
Calm, reserved.

16. Muffins?
Not now.

17. One of your wish list items?
Chrome Toaster.

18. Where you grew up?
Eastern Canada.

19. The last thing you did?
Made lunch.

20. What are you wearing?
Just schlep.

21. Your TV?
Too small.

22. Your pets?
Tara, Shitbrick.

23. Your computer?
Macintosh G4.

24. Your life?
A war.

25. Your mood?
Bah, meh.

26. Missing someone?
Late family.

27. Your car?
Been better.

28. Something you’re not wearing?
A hat.

29. Favorite store?
3 Up

30. Your Summer?
Grouse Grind.

31. Like someone?
Unlike anyone.

32. Your favorite color?
Jet Black.

33. When is the last time you laughed?
Captain Scotty.

34. Last time you cried?
Dad left.

Interdum vos ut volvo ferrus six.

P.S. Build my city’s industry.

Twisted Filler Tuesday — Cats That Look Like Hitler

Frak me, do I hate going back to the grind after a long weekend. Ugghh. But until I can improve the slave driving situation, thus is life I suppose.

A strange thing it is, working a job you hate because it putting food on the table is the only function it serves. Motivation decreases, and extroversion tends to become introversion. Bah. I’ve been slowly engaging in the process of updating various bits of the blahg (links, pages and the like). Then the truth sinks in. I barely talk to anyone left on my blahgroll. I know that’s got to change. I’m rambling. So I’m surfing the blahgosphere to see what is out there and what has changed.

Then I found this, surfing to My Two Cents from Taj’s blahg. Cats That Look Like Hitler. Frak me running.

This one is my favourite, though.

Interdum vos ut volvo ferrus six.

P.S. Help improve the transportation of my city.

Yet more Photoblahg filler

And just to give some context, this is something I shot a month back when my cousin Warren was in town.

Enjoy.

Interdum vos ut volvo ferrus six.

P.S. Grow my city.

My Gods, you gotta love Urban Dictionary

Okay, so I’ll admit it first. I have a tad of writer’s block. Meh. I’ll deal with it. And I’m really trying to get back into the habit of posting daily. Still, with the Canucks not making the playoffs, the Habs ousted from same, Canada losing to Russia in the World Championships, Liverpool out and Shit Scum in the Champions League, a two week wait for the next episode of Battlestar Galactica, nothing happening politically in Canada, the nauseating state of US politics, there’s really not much to say the last few days.

So leave it to Taj to post about a guy who is selling his slag of a wife on eBay. It’s not a word that comes up in conversation at home too much. Still, as the term doesn’t strike me as a posh, Oxford type of word, I figured I should check it on Urban Dictionary. Sure enough, slag showed up. And the first definition (which fits Taj’s discussion to a ‘T’):

1. An individual who cares not for relationships beyond the realm of the sexual, these people sleep with many partners not caring about anything save for the moment of climax.

What a great resource Urban Dictionary is. And seeing as my vocabulary is becoming more Colonial, I figured, frak it, let’s see if Toaster is in there. It is. Definition number five hits the intention, being a derogatory term for a Cylon. However, this definition also caught my eye:

Another term for a vagina, due to the fact the slits are alike.

Does this mean that all Cylons are twats? Or that all those we consider to be twats should be airlocked?

Interdum vos ut volvo ferrus six.

P.S. Grow my city’s industry.

Baby, if you ever wondered. Wondered whatever became of me…

But I’m NOT at WKRP in Cincinnati. Still, being a driver, I am privy to a great deal of airtime for radio in the Vancouver area. My poison of choice? CFOX. Not that this is a surprise to my three readers. But for those of you who Googled your way here, here’s why I listen to CFOX. At first, it was the music. It’s the only station in the area (which is surprising considering our vicinity to Seattle) that plays alternative rock, specifically from the early 90’s. But alas, even alternative rock stations change. Alternative became mainstream. Now, instead of a kicking Rymes With Orange or Pure song, we get Jack Johnson or Billy [No-]Talent. Ugghh. And if Jeff’s reading this, I did email my gripes to dinner@cfox.com (which now has become nancy@cfox.com).

Still, CFOX has it’s redeeming features. The Jeff O’Neil Morning Show. Indie Night in Canada. And Neil Morrison kicks major ass at noon with the 90’s at Noon. I can get my Pure/Rymes/Doughboys/Stabbing Westward/and soforth fix. Each week I can definitely remember some little odd song I really liked from my university days.

But therein lies the problem. After 1:00 PM, CFOX goes flat. I can only take so much of the crap that passes for alt rock, and I get my fill listening to O’Neil who has little music creative control. As such, the radio tends to find itself to Team 1040 for Pratt and Taylor. Until the playoffs started, there were some quite deep discussions about a wide variety of western Canadian sports topics. Now that the Canucks and Giants are both out of the playoffs, the discussions reverse evolved. Fire Nonis. And when they did, and replaced him with rookie GM Mike Gillis, complain that we need Nonis back. Uggghh.

Here’s a list of things that are really now equivocable to beating a dead horse (as it relates to talk sports radio in Vancouver):

Brian Burke being the next Leafs GM.
The Leafs hiring Nonis as an incentive for Burke to come to be the GM when his contract expires in Anaheim.
Should Nonis consider other offers than Toronto?
Is Toronto the right situation for Burke?
Burke will go to Toronto because he can get a job for his wife (an on-air personality) at the Toronto CBC.

I could go on, but you get the point. This is Vancouver for fuck sakes. Why the fuck are we obsessed with Toronto? Are Canuck fans obsessed with the past? Do they NOT care about the BC Lions and the Vancouver Whitecaps? Or is it that Don Taylor is a total sellout? Even O’Neil still talks to Kevin ‘Boom Boom’ Bieksa in the offseason. I remember that Sportsnet (that Taylor also appears) ran a campaign for Taylor’s Sportsnet Pacific program that had a tagline of “Eastern highlights if I have time.” Now it seems Taylor is much more interested in the east than the west.

Maybe the Team 1040 needs this kind of format change.

Interdum vos ut volvo ferrus six.

P.S. Grow my city!

More Gratuitous Filler… Nurse Log

Yet another sight I love here in Beautiful British Columbia. The nurse log. And always brilliant when it’s so developed with several trees growing from it:

And oh boy, do I like how Firefox deals with Javascript on WordPress well over Safari.

And don’t forget, help grow my city.

Interdum vos ut volvo ferrus six.