Thumb's Opposed!!

I'm a right-handed fellow. I bat a baseball left-handed, as do I shoot a hockey puck, but everything else is right-handed. A few years ago, I had the misfortune of tearing my left bicep. Tore it clean off the bone. During my recovery, however, I never realized how much my left arm came into play to accomplish even the most menial of tasks. It was tough, I have to admit.

Fast forward to today. While I didn't re-injure my bicep, I did manage to drive a staple into my right thumb. It's not the first time I've accomplished such a feat, and while I hope it's my last time, I doubt that it will. And you're probably wonder, just how I managed to accomplish this? I shall explain this to you.

The manager of the department I'm in at work, instructed me to "fix the staplers". In his mind, the three staplers we had on the counter, were damaged. While they were ineffective, it was not because there were any irrepairable damage to them. They were simply empty. So instead of taking a brief moment to refill them, that crazy guy had me "fix" them instead.

No problems! It's nice to be needed. So I refilled the first stapler. A nifty piece which can be a little tricky, as the staples are loaded in upside-down. I can't tell you how many people tried and failed with that stapler when we first got it in the office. The second stapler, also went off without a hitch, being reloaded rather quickly.

The last stapler though... Oy! I tell ya this. This frickin' thing is sooo frickin' old, that it looks like it came over on the Mayflower. It's sooo frickin' old, that Jesus may have used it to send out his dinner invites. I've never tried refilling this decrepit old instrument, but the instructions to do so are plainly marked on the end. Futile, were the instructions, but they were there, nonetheless.

PUSH THEN PULL, the instructions said, without really specifying what should be pushed then pulled. So while my office mate was busy conversing with one of the important folks who occupy the office area, I was grunting and groaning to myself trying to open this old stapler every which way I could, until finally a loud yelp interupted their conversation.

The two of them, simultaneously swung their heads in my direction, asking in unison if I was "okay". I told them that I was, even though I wasn't really. In my haste to open the stapler, I managed to drive one of the existing staples into my thumb. I'm not even really certain how I managed to do so. And if it weren't for the wiry little bastard dug deep into my opposable digit, I'd never have know what I'd just accomplished.

Wrapped snuggly in a bandage from that point on, I've been bumping it and hurting it left and write. Apparently, the pad of one's thumb plays a major role in turning the key to start your vehicle. I did not know that until this afternoon, when I had to devise a new method to turn over my engine, now straddling the key between my forefinger and my "bird finger". (The bird finger being the one that's used in 'flipping someone the bird'.)

I've also noticed that it hurts to pull my pants up. That sucks a lot, especially concerning the fact that I've been losing weight again.

Having to alter my daily practices for a few days though, isn't that bad of a thing to have to do. I'll get by. As for what happened with that ancient stapling artifact? V__ and I filed that one away in File 13. By this time, it should be well on it's way to the dumpster. I say "Good riddance!"

Have a nice day, folks!

Contributing To The Deliquency Of A Minor

I am bewildered. Less than a month ago, I took my feline friend, Monkey, into the vet to have his "boys" removed. I felt a little guilty about the process, because I'd never want someone to take me for that procedure by tricking me with a promise of "going to Disneyland", but if I'd have told him the real reason we were leaving the house that early morning, I doubt he'd have agreed to it.
None-the-less, the procedure went off without a hitch. He came home, every bit as happy as he was before we left that morning. He did have a small look of confusion, however, when he'd whip his leg back during bath time, and the process took him less time than he did before, but he quickly got past that.

Maybe a week or so went by. He wasn't anymore calm than he was pre-op, as he continued to bite and scratch just about as often. But there was one more attack he had added to his repertoire. He began to latch onto my leg and wrestle with it. My leg was safely beneath my bedspread, so I never worried about any scratches or bites. He did seem, however, unusually aggressive. Clamping his jagged little teeth down hard, then kicking and adjusting his legs. Given my love of professional wrestling, I took some comfort in the idea that he was now embracing one of my loves, instead of his usual guerilla attacks on me. So to play along with this scenario, I'd flail and buck my leg, knocking him loose quite often. He always sit back, study his target, then pounce once again. Then, just like he had before, clench his teeth down hard, and begin kicking.
Early one morning, instead of allowing me to sleep in, which I like to do on the weekend, I was awoken by the cat, who's always an early riser, pouncing on my leg and again, kicking and flailing his legs. I tried to reason with him, hoping he'd f*ck off and tend to one of his other projects, like running in circles, looking out the front window, or maybe grabbing something to eat, but he'd have no part in any of that. So again, I'd buck my leg as he clenched and kicked. Only this time, he stopped kicking at one point. I looked down at him to see what he was doing, and that's when it hit me. I noticed his little bottom pumping up against my blanketed leg. The little f*cker was... Well. Doing just that. He was f.. Humping my leg.

Disgusted at the idea that he would find my appendage such a sexual turn-on, I quickly bucked him off my leg, calling him a "homo" in the process. He sat back, looking at me with such offense and disdain, and harbouring a massive chub. He attempted to resume humping my leg, but I had no part of that. "F*ck you!" I said to the little fella. "Homie don't play that shit!"

For days and days afterward, he continued to try to "wrestle" with my leg, and everytime, I'd shove him off, accusing him of being a homosexual. A label that he's still not happy with me calling him.
Finally, the other morning, tired with continuing to shove him off me at every pass, I came up with a brilliant idea. I would get him a surrogate. A sexual-device that he could "wrestle" with, and hopefully, would help him forget all about my enticing left leg. So last night I put the plan into effect.
I'd stepped out, making a run to Wal-Mart to pick up a few sale items I'd circled in the latest flyer. After filling my cart, I darted over to the toy section, with hopes of finding a cute fuzzy little feline that might turn my cat on. Alas, my efforts were not met. Up and down all the aisles in that toy section and I failed to find what I was looking for. But before I'd abandon all hope, I found a suitable facsimile. A cute little white bear on one of the endcaps. And it was on sale. Just $5. Five bucks to end my nightmare of my cat splooging all over my bedspread. Granted the little guy's fixed, but I'm not familiar with veterinarian medicine. I remember doctors on television saying that a man who receives a vasectomy, still runs the risk of impregnating his wife in the early stages after his procedure. I didn't know if there was a chance of my bed-spread being impregnated with my cat's demon seed, and I didn't want to chance it. That's a mess that I just did not want to address.
So five dollars was (and is) a small price to pay to avoid such an awkward situation. "And besides..." I thought to myself, reading the tag on the bear, "All proceeds go to fight breast cancer." The proverbial "two birds, one stone". I like my bed spread the way it is and I'm also a fan of boobies. Win/win!

However, as I looked down at the bear in my hands, a wave of guilt overcame me. It's those blasted Toy Story movies. I don't know if those movies are based in some kind of reality. That the toys all come to life when outside the peripheral view of humanoids like ourselves. Did I really want to subject this cutesy little teddy bear to a barrage of violent sexual predation at the hands... er, paws of my pet cat, Monkey? So I did hum and haw at the premise for several minutes while standing before the shelves of charity bears, but in the end, I purchased the bear. Toys coming to life, after all, is proposterous.

So I brought my purchases home, and no sooner did I retrieve the bear from the bag, than was my cat interested in it. I placed it on the floor and looked on. I didn't want to watch, but like a brilliant car accident at a light, sometimes it's too difficult to look away. Besides. I remember my sister's dog T_____ humping his Cat In The Hat when he was a young pup. That was ALWAYS funny shit, and though on a much smaller scale, her dog being a St. Bernard, I thought the premise of my cat f*cking a teddy bear would be hilarious.
He wrestled with it a little. Pouncing and attacking it from different angles, but soon the little white bear failed to pique his interest and he abandoned it. I even... YES, I took some initiative to buck the the bear around similar to how I did with my leg on those early mornings. This got his attention some, but he'd lose interest just as quick.

In the end, I woke up to him "attacking" my leg, to which I quickly threw him off my bed, citing his homosexuality and questioning myself why he'd choose my dark bed spread over his new little white bear... Then it donned on me. He doesn't like blondes!!!

A Fly On The Wall

I can recall an interview that Richard Dreyfuss gave regarding his experience with the filming of Jaws. That after they were able to shoot the footage that didn't require the audience to see the animatronic shark, that there was a lot of standing around until the radios would suddenly sound off, "The shark is working! I repeat, the shark is working!" Then the actors and crew would all scramble into place for the scenes to be shot.

Then it was another interview that I'd seen, where the actor (or actress) mentioned that movie-making is 90% waiting and 10% working.
The reason I mention these quotes is, I got to be on-set Tuesday evening, to watch some of the filming of that movie I'd mentioned Monday evening in this very blog. Let me tell you this, folks.., it was pretty spectacular.
It wasn't a scene that had any gun-battles or car chases, that shit's overdone. Instead, it was a bar scene. But to be a fly on the wall and watching the process in motion, for me anyway, was (pardon my language) pretty f*ckin' cool. I was even invited to sit in the background as a seat-filler or an extra. I'm not certain what my exact purpose was, but I feel privileged and honoured to be asked to do it, all the same. I can hardly wait to watch the finished product and boast, "There's my shoulder! There! Right there! THAT is MY shoulder..!"

Probably the biggest surprise for me, though, was what took place on one of the breaks.
The main actor, John Diehl, was chillin' at the back of the bar, where the scene was taking place. He turned and started chatting with an on-set photographer, casually looking at some of the pictures the guy had taken. Then during a pause in the conversation, he looked over in my direction and recognized me. Without hesitation, he called out, "HEY JEFF! HOW'S IT GOIN'?" His voice was booming and it overtook the ambient chatter that was consuming the small pub.
"Good," was the only response I could muster up, "How 'bout you?" That's where the exchange came to an end. I'm not disappointed though. Here's this big time star, who didn't need to remember anything about me, but took the time to say hello all the same. That's just really cool in my books.

I've met a good share of celebrities in my distinguished life. Most have been pretty cool, like John. Some haven't been so cool, and their image to me will be forever tarnished. But for the people who were cool, they will always hold a special place in my memories. Albeit, it would've been pretty nice to have an autographed 8x10 of Mr. John Diehl, that I could hang on my wall, or post in my albums with my other collective, but that's just a trinket really. I have my memories and they'll always be as clear as day in my mind's eye.

I'm sure they're getting sick and tired of my praise and gratefulness, but I'd like to take one more opportunity to thank V__ and C___ Z______, for allowing me into this world, even for just a moment or two. But a special thanks to C___, for including me in Tuesday night's shoot. That was nice. And now my right shoulder will be forever captured on celluloid.

Have a great day, everyone!

Brush With Greatness

The day began as any other Monday morning would. The alarm went off and I was in no mood to move. The consideration to play hooky from work did cross my mind, I'll admit, but alas, I had no telephone. I'd forgotten my cell at work on Friday and had been without all weekend long, so phoning in was never an option.

Thankfully, I drug my ass into work, and I'm glad I did, because the kind woman with whom I share the front office with, sprung a pleasant surprise on me.

Her daughter is a film producer and her company is currently shooting a movie in Toontown. It is some kind of sci-fi flick. I'm not clear on the premise of the story, but it's still a pretty big deal.

So V__, the afore mentioned woman I work with, asked if I'd like to come with her to visit the set. They [the film company] was shooting nearby. I hummed and hawed at the idea, feeling almost unworthy. I'd always fantasized about being a film maker, and I'd actually attended some university on the subject when I was younger. Unfortunately, the school was in Regina, and I lost my funding to attend school, and that dream was soon dashed. Another reason to hate the Queen City, I suppose.

Alas, I decided I would go with her. This opportunity may never bear it weary head again, so I jumped at the chance. Besides which, there was a chance I could meet the star of the movie. Mr. John Diehl (pictured above).
I knew who he was right from the get go, having starred in Miami Vice as Det. Larry Zito. He was also Asst. Chief Ben Gilroy on The Shield, opposite Michael Chiklis. He's been in countless movies and other roles, including A Time To Kill, Stargate, and Stripes with Bill Murray. In fact, the more that I learned about him after looking him up on IMDB.com, the more I admired the actor. He's what one might call, "a working actor". A true artist. Expanding his horizons with every roles he assumes.
So knowing that going into this "chance" meeting, I'll admit I was a little nervous, but when the time came, he was pretty cool.

When the time came, we arrived at the location and was greeted by C___, V__'s daughter, and one of the producer's of the film. We got our visitor passes and was immediately jetted to the set. There were people setting up the lighting and other technicalities, but just around the corner, were a bunch of folks collected on a big leather sofa running over lines. The fellow in the corner, I did a double-take with. "Holy..." I thought to myself, "That's him! Okay, be cool."
Mr. Diehl (pronounced Deal), got up and came over and said hello to V__, whom he'd met the day before, then he turned to me, and shook my hand. "I'm Jeff." I said. "Hi Jeff, I'm John."

The whole deal was pretty cool. He took a moment to chat, asking what I did, and even commented on how I was dressed for summer when it was so cool outside. There were some other people gathered 'round too and soon everyone was engaged in small talk.
Not long after, John excused himself, as he had to get prepped for the scene they were going to shoot. Then that was it. C___ took us on a brief tour of the location, the C.L.S. (Canadian Light Source) here in Saskatoon, Sk.

Shortly thereafter, I was back at work, commenting on one of my co-workers that I got to meet John Diehl and shake his hand. He didn't care, but I was so stoked about the process that I egged him some, beakin' off "Oh yeah. You're jealous! I can tell."

"No I'm not. I don't care." he said, sourly.
"Yeah you are." I said.

Chances are he doesn't care, but the reason I was so persistant was, a few weeks ago he got to meet Dan Aykroyd and everyday, he's telling me how his friends all hate 'im because he got to meet Dan Aykroyd, even lumping me in there with them. Frankly, I don't give no shits about him meeting the chubby Ghostbuster. Don't get me wrong, I like Aykroyd, I just don't give a shit about this guy meeting him. Long story short, that is.

So now I can chalk up one more REAL celebrity that I've gotten to meet. Albeit, most of the others are pro wrestlers, but that's cool.

They're all just people, like you and me.