Crossroads, Gentlemen Only Ladies Forbidden, Mentally checking out of work BEFORE you get a new job, and other illusions which appear to be fact.

Jeff O’Neil. Captain Scotty. Charis. Please get the fuck back on the air. I didn’t mind Neil Morrison filling in for you (for those from Toronto, the former Brother Bill), and the first couple of days of ‘The Worst of the Jeff O’Neil Show’ was bearable. No longer. I’ve now regressed. I did listen to the Team 1040 in the afternoons (Pratt and Taylor actually have a good show, so it’s not that bad). However, in the morning slot, the fare is not so appealing at times. Yup, we get Jim Rome.

My first glimpse of this ‘man’ was amusing. It was the Chris Everett remark made to the Jim quarterback of the same surname. Amusing for a moment, and that was it. But he has a radio show for himself? What the deuce? Now fair enough, I like sci-fi, and as such I would probably appear to him as ‘clown’ who dresses up to go to a Comic-con. I also like football. As in the variety that most North Americans would misname soccer. Someone so narrow minded and obviously shallow doesn’t deserve my attention. Until today. Pity about how thin this ‘worst of’ CFOX is spitting out is becoming. It’s worn out it’s welcome.

One good thing about Rome today. Big hit on Golf Guy. You know him. We all know him. He has a glove in his back pocket 24/7. He reads Golf Digest, but can’t break 100 without the repeated use of the foot wedge. Essentially, this person had no interest in golf, let alone sports until he got a hard-on for Tiger Woods, or realized it was an easy way out of the office early once per week. I always looked at golf one of two ways. You were either good, as in real good. My uncle, par example. CPGA professional. Otherwise, you’re like me and my old man. It’s an excuse to drink. We like to golf. We’re just not fakers. It doesn’t consume us.

Personally though, I’d rather ski. Golf’s lost it’s flavour for me. It was more a thing my dad and my grandparents did with me. That’s lost. But skiing kicks ass for me just as much today as it did twenty, even thirty years ago. A mate at work would rather golf because you can all year long here in Vancouver, but I’d still rather just ski 4 or 5 months a year. Especially if I live in the interior. And that possibility may become a reality, depending on how the new job prospect pans out. I want to say I have it, as I’ve never felt so sure about a job in quite some time, and it might be dangerous now that I’ve mentally just given up on caring about my current post.

I guess it could be worse though. I could live at Hastings and Main. I could be convinced that my current employer is looking out for my interests. I could actually think I’m making a decent wage. Or worst, I could think that I don’t deserve better. Sad thing is, some people I know at work do.

Pity.

Interdum vos ut volvo ferrus six.

The return of twisted filler

And onto the links (all from or inspired by Goober, aka Paul):

Regarding committees:

The secret to the World’s Greatest Card Trick.

Do not taunt Prank Monkey.

And finally, I’m a Marvel and I’m a DC, volume 4.

Interdum vos ut volvo ferrus six.

M.C.F.A.T. Episode XIX - almost one for each digit

Wow, and it’s been more than a year since the last.

Without further adieu, number XIX:

1) Should film critics be genre-specific? Why or why not?

No. Period (wait I put one of those in). First, I must ask this. Are there just ’southwestern cuisine’ critics? Or just ‘French food’ critics? Or do we usually have a critic that reviews many different varieties of food and restaurants? Though I tend to completely ignore not only critical reviews, but the existence of such criticism, it is still important to embrace a variety, the spice of life. As an example, I do know several who are huge Battlestar Galactica fans, but hate Sci-Fi. Imagine how fewer would watch the show if even the critics were genre-specific. Critics should be taken with a grain of salt, but should also inspire others to progress beyond their borders, not just be Comic Book Guy to every error, inconsistency and flaw.

2) What are some of your favorite movies and/or episodes of television shows depicting time travel?

Twenty years ago, I probably would have answered with Back to the Future. I actually got the chance to see it on Movie Central not too long back. Now, it feels too dated, too eighties (and not the good part that I like), and too commercial. It had it’s time, but no longer.

My tastes have evolved, warped and demented since then. I’m sure if were to undergo heavy therapy for my normally neurotic condition, the analyst might attribute my lack of normalcy to one point. My discovery of the genius that is David Lynch. He gave us two shows that, though don’t have a specific plot device of time travel, involve a highly non-linear narrative, being Twin Peaks (in reference to the Black Lodge), and Mulholland Drive. I think there’s something to be said about the fine line between genius and madness.

3) At this exact second, how did you get where you are in life?

Through making mistakes at every turn, persistently working through them, being tough as nails, with loads of help and support from my parents, friends, and Dawn.

4) Will there be sex in heaven?

Ooh, be still my beating heart. A very slanted question. My natural perspective pulls out the sheer Christian audacity inherent within. And in that sense, begins my answer. In the Christian context of heaven, one would think that it would parallel Eden, in which it would be a place without sin. However, in an idealistic sense (which would be akin to heaven), any purpose to sex aside from biological reproduction would be sinful. And as my guess would be that biological reproduction would be redundant in heaven, such a ’sinful’ act would be verboten.

In the non-Christian sense, who knows. If classical paganism is any indication, sex would probably almost be mandatory. Just think of how much of a player Zeus was. Most of the characters from Greek mythology spawned from his seed. This should give Christians hope. The Romans fashioned the Christian God (id est the Father of the Holy Trinity) after this figure. Maybe it’s an explanation of the fundamental hypocrasy of the whole question. Or maybe the hypocrasy of something much larger indeed.

SPECIAL BONUS QUESTION: What is “that” one thing Meat Loaf wouldn’t do for love?

Take sex advice from Dr. Vagenra Vazhean.

Interdum vos ut volvo ferrus six.

For that day when we all have the time.

A little over a month ago, I made a promise to myself. I’d increase the amount of posting I’d do here as so to bring me back to the standard of one a day. I kept running through my head, trying to hold onto ideas to post over the course of my mundane workdays to try and hold onto some useful nugget in which I could ramble with, and some days I could, and some I couldn’t. I was content to give it up as a bad job, and in all truthfulness, I would rather have something with punch to it, not just a jumbled thought to fill the space. A friend, ages gone by, told me these should be for me first off, and as such, I shouldn’t let the practice or opinion of others affect my posting. As such, quantity over quality. Still, it has been unsettling.

Roll back four years. In film school, I could post easily twice to three times DAILY. Now it’s a struggle to get three out in a week. As this machine called life crunches on ahead, the amount of time I have to actually enjoy has dwindled. People may laugh each time I say this, but there is a very specific reason that Battlestar Galactica resonates with me. And it’s not having the hots for Starbuck (DAWN!) The show is really a mirror to my soul. And hats off to Ron Moore and David Eick’s creative talents (and their host of writers). They’ve really captured the essence of the human condition. We ALL live in a story that is told again and again throughout time.

Think about it. I’ve lost most of my family. Of the ones that are still around, I’m a continent away, far from home. All it would take would be for my neighbours to dress as chrome toasters to make the analogy complete.

Which brings us to last week. I had just finished taking my airbrake course, the final step from leaving my current, dead-end job employer to one with significantly more promise for the future. Still, one obstacle remained. Taking the ICBC test (yup, I had to take the course to write a knowledge test… uggghhh). Now the hurdle wasn’t being prepared for the test, but rather getting to a location in time to take it. Now throw in one of the most physically grueling weeks in terms of workload, and now that possibility is threatened. Still, I persevered, wrote and aced the test, and now stand to just the waiting game to find out when fortune will finally smile upon me.

It is, however, sufficient to say that the human condition is not without limits. The last few months have been a culmination to this point, preparing, pacing, waiting until the door finally opens. And it’s toll hit Friday. And to put it bluntly, it does not pay to be the sharp, hardworking guy in the 21^st Century. I’m a firm believer in the Dilbert Principle. Only the incompetent get ahead. They need me to DO, not to LEAD. Me LEADING would impact management bonuses. As such, not only do I get my queue for Friday, I have to play clean up for others as well. Employment fairness has gone the way of the dodo. It became too much. I finally came face to face with reality. My job is killing me.

A doctor may argue my conclusion on a physical basis, but the will to live has been stretched too thin. Battle after battle with no hope of improvement has a very unnerving psychological consequence. The passion, the desire, the want fades completely away. I was becoming an empty shell, fighting a losing battle. And if there was no hope for change, it would be all over. Thankfully, it is not the case. But you couldn’t convince me of that on Friday.

“Because it’s not enough to just live. You have to have something to live for. Let it be Earth.” - Commander William Adama, Miniseries.

And there’s the rub. I haven’t been to a film in the cinema, well, since… I can’t even remember when. Shocking from the film student who saw three weekly, plus something on disc every night. What happened to that passion? I sacrificed what was core to my character just to avoid the cost. Mind you, it doesn’t help that 90% of the lot is shit, and the other 10% Dawn and I can’t agree on. Time and money, two resources in great scarcity, have been tearing me apart. Well no more.

Soon it will be that day when I once again have the time.

Interdum vos ut volvo ferrus six.

Yet more grumblings about how a crown corporation requires the educated to dole out money to take a course to prove one can read…

I admit it. I haven’t been active here lately. Even my filler seems forced. Though it shouldn’t be an excuse, my professional life has evoked the warrior within, and it has consumed my soul. A frakked up current work situation coupled with jumping through hoops for a new day job, along with slowly researching how to make an artistic passion a viable economic resource has in essence tapped me out. All that feels to be left right now is the hardened exterior. Not that this is a change for what most see in me, but for those who don’t know, there’s still a hint of humanity left in me.

It just hasn’t come up for air.

In a good while.

Case in point, the nearly complete misuse of this weekend. Only nearly in the absolute sense that I can’t talk ICBC out of the completely fucked notion that I have to take a 20 hour, 2 day, $200 course to ensure I’ve read about 30 pages of the commercial vehicle manual, regarding air brakes. Frak me gently with a chainsaw. Let’s just put it this way. There was a physical mock set up of a air brake system at the front of the class fully set up, and before the instructor arrived, I had already figured out 90% of the operational functions. Bah. We should rename ICBC to ‘Insurance Crooks of British Columbia’.

Still, the teacher does have some merit. He does break down the systems simply and accurately, so all can follow. And he did afford us one wake up call today, as also found in this CBC story:

Kamloops Oct 27, 1989: a runaway truck carrying steel beams takes a wrong turn off the highway and ends up on a steep grade with no brakes.

The truck hit 12 cars. The driver burned to death. Four other people were also killed. One was 4-year-old Corey James who was with a neighbour.

Corey’s father is Don James. Don feels the accident could have been prevented. He says the truck was unsafe, the driver —Travis Penner— was inexperienced. This was only his second trip through the mountains of British Columbia. His brakes were in such poor condition, they were practically useless. The brakes on the tractor part were improperly adjusted.

What was more shocking was that our instructor was privy to a first hand account by the first officers to arrive on the scene. They found the driver still alive, with the truck on fire. The driver was begging the officer to shoot him before he burned to death. The officer couldn’t do it, and witnessed the horrific death. It makes me wonder where the humane choice truly lies.

With that as an impetus, I can see why ICBC wants to push proper training. However, I do still digress. First, I really don’t think a weekend course can circumvent carelessness. Second, with all the motor vehicle accidents and increasingly rising insurance premiums therein due to carelessness in commuter vehicles as well as commercial, why is the air brake course the only one mandatory for licensing in this province?

Interdum vos ut volvo ferrus six.

Almost one week, and no real content

Just some twisted filler from Paul:

Celebrating the inner geek:

I’d like to re-write this for dragons (though I’m sure Dawn would use it for ammo when we fight :P)

9 Reasons Not To Date A T-Rex.

Real content to resume shortly.

Interdum vos ut volvo ferrus six.

Gaius Baltar is a frakking liar!

Not that this statement represents anything that we would consider news. Still, I found the Baltar Cylon Detector, to which this result was given:

SCAR

You are SCAR.

You’re not just a Cylon, you’re a Cylon spaceship! And you’re also their very best fighter, with more human kills than any other raider in the Cylon armada. You’re a crafty (and rather mean) devil, and every fighter pilot in the human fleet has it in for you. No worries, though: floating around space waiting for hapless vipers to fall into your trap means you get to skip all those annoying Cylon staff meetings.

Battlestar Galactica Wiki

I still don’t buy it. I’m NOT A FRAKKING TOASTER!

Interdum vos ut volvo ferrus six.

The return of Twisted Filler and other observations in the dawn of great change…

One thing came up in the twisted filler.

From Paul. Big shock there. Good ol’ Pastehead keeps finding these rarities. As such…

The Nietzsche Family Circus.

Feel free to email any humourous oddities to me at neolithicfilms@gmail.com.

I’m going to need a lot of them these days as our dear Vancouver Canucks are flirting with cellar dwelling this season in the Western Conference. Out are Naslund and Morrison. In come Steve Bernier, Ryan Johnson, Darcy Hordichuk, and Kyle Wellwood. And in all honesty, I do think the Canucks need to go to the drawing board, and definitely start from scratch. If the ‘Nucks do make a consistent commitment to the draft and developing young talent, they can be a force to reckon with in several years time. In the meantime, it makes for very boring hockey. However, there is a wild card. Is Luongo, our star goalie, willing to put up with a carbon copy of the dogma fed to him in Florida, a team that sucks so much balls? Though the direction is in the future, towards the youth, maybe getting a good name player to stand tall with the Sedin twins might give ol’ Bobby Lu enough motivation to stick around until the Canucks rise as a potent force once again.

I’ve been mulling it over, and there is one player I do have in mind. Not a free agent though, so it would have to be a trade…

So how about…

Kevin Bieksa to Philadelphia for Daniel Briere?

Briere’s probably not available, and the Flyers might not jump at this idea, but I do love the way Briere plays. Even if he beat the beloved Habs in the spring playoff dance (fucker).

Though in all sincerity, this isn’t the worst deal I’ve seen in the last 24 hours. Telus and Bell will start charging for incoming text messages starting in August. Revamping costs, or making a quick buck on the spam text message market that’s becoming as obnoxious as it has on the email front.

Thank fuck I’m with Rogers.

Interdum vos ut volvo ferrus six.

Cats can be lesbians…

And it’s been Dawn and my procrastination to get Adina’s spaying done (and it’s been paid for already) that this inevitable fact has come to light. Ipso facto, little Adina, aka Shitbrick, has been running around the apartment all week in heat. Her meows more resemble growls and passionate moans. When you pat her, she flat out presents itself. No Shitbrick, Daddy ain’t gonna pleasure you (or masturbate you with a Q-Tip).

Enter Tara. I can never understand why animals like to sniff others butts (or my armpits or feet after work for that matter), but it seems when little shitbrick is in heat, Tara has some maternal instinct or further attraction Shitbrick’s privates. But, though the naked eye would indicate just a sniff, the near orgasmic kitten bliss with near eyeballs rolling up into the back of the head indicate something more dire…

Our cats are lesbians.

This must be a sign. All creatures, great and small, do recognize the pleasure element in getting a piece of the cookie. Tara, being a mother herself (she was rescued at 4 months with a litter of her own, abandoned) knows the pleasure of the touch, and knows just how to turn Shitbrick on. And boy oh boy, she does such a good job.

On a functional perspective, the whole sexual dance has one end… the propagation of a species. Reproduction. And maybe this is a key point in Ben Stein’s documentary supporting intelligent design over evolution. It couldn’t have been by accident that reproduction is fun. It had to be programmed in there. Or at least that would be Ben Stein’s argument, as I’ve come to one conclusion as to why he supports the notion of fiction over science. He finally had that religious, earth shattering orgasm, to which like Shitbrick, was found muttering:

OH GOD! YES!

Interdum vos ut volvo ferrus six.

More images from Canada Day

Just a couple for today… Gods how I do like the feel of Black and White…

Dawn likes the colour shot I took of this better, though I do find the desaturated imaging shows better detail not only on the fruit but as well highlights the spider web.

Meh.

I should shoot Dawn more in black and white. She normally hates photos of herself, but somehow liked the shots I took of her the other day. Strange.

Maybe a few more pictures tomorrow.

Interdum vos ut volvo ferrus six.