Profligation

Dreams.  What could they mean?  Merely products of an overactive mind?  Or do they provide a glimpse into an uncertain future?  It's difficult to say for sure, but for decades, there has loads of science investigating the unconscious state of dreaming.  The causes, the need and/or the necessity of dreaming.  That's not what this is about.

My dreams tend to air on the side of strange.  I know this much about my unconscious state.  My dreams tend to be something as stupid as white water rafting with the likes of WWE superstars, The Undertaker,  Hunter Hearst Helmsley (Triple H) and Stephanie McMahon or I've dreamt murder/mystery stories that could be blockbuster films if ever realized on the silver screen.  Most of the really good stuff, quickly disappears once I awaken and I can't remember the finite details.  (Plus, I can barely write this blog that no one reads, let alone pen the next Hollywood hit.)

This morning, I awoke about a half dozen times, from the time of 5am all the way up to the present (8:30am).  Normally when I wake up this often, my head is plagued with a number of images and stories, but not on this day.  I woke up every time, wondering..;  Is trounce a multiple of bounce?

Now before the one reader who mistakenly wandered onto this site and decided "What the hell?" and read it anyway, saw this statement and has declared me a f**king moron, keep in mind, I've already Googled the meaning of both and know that bounce doesn't restrict an item to hitting the ground twice and trounce doesn't refer to three rebounds or more.  If I continued down the path of trying to declare this to be the case would be shear idiocy. This is simply an example of how my brain works.

       

In the back of my mind, I knew there was a difference.  That the explanation wasn't as simple as bi meaning two and tri meaning three.  The English language can be a little f**ked up, but it makes more sense than this.  Again, my brain works differently than other people's.  Always has, even before I had my accident.

I had a dream once, where I was at a Agriculture show with two people of whom I was familiar with (in the dream, but in real life, I hadn't met them yet).  The reason this dream was so memorable was the three of us were speaking to a farmer about emu's.  Up to this point, I had never heard of an Emu, and when I awoke, I had to investigate whether or not this was a real thing.  It is.  Many months later, I was attending a class at SIAST and our class was sent to the local Agribition, where I hung out with classmates, Christine and Derek.  Two people who I hadn't known when I had the initial dream, but whom I was familiar with that day and... Yes!  We stopped and spoke with a farmer who raised... [dramatic pause] ... Emus.  F**king weird, right?

I could fill volumes about the strange dreams I've had and have been able to remember.  Who the hell knows about all the shit I've forgotten?  I'm willing to bet that I probably did have a few million dollar ideas in the mix.  However, I believe this blog has strayed far enough off the initial subject that I had hoped to address in this blog, this morning.  I'm like Hulk Hogan, by which I mean, I can't seem to stay on one subject and am distracted by all the shiny shit that accompanies said subject.  (If you're one of the sorry souls who read Hulk Hogan's book from way back, you'll understand that reference.  It was a painful read, to say the least.)

Bounce: (verb) (of an object, especially a ball) Move quickly up, back, or away from a surface after hitting it; rebound (once or repeatedly).

(noun) Rebound of a ball or other object.

Trounce: (verb) To defeat heavily in a contest; To rebuke or punish severely.

Emu: The emu is the second-largest living bird by height, after its ratite relative, the ostrich. It is endemic to Australia where it is the largest native bird and the only extant member of the genus Dromaius.

Profligate: recklessly extravagant or wasteful in the use of resources. (Or this edition of Brain Matter.)

I don't really have an out for this blog, so I will leave you with this.  If you've made it this far into this blog and liked it?  You're my audience and you may enjoy previous entries.  They're not all golden, but some of them are pretty good.  If you begrudgingly made it this far and haven't liked a single word, except maybe Emu (because it is a fun word to say), you have my apologies.  However, you may want to check out past entries.  They're not all golden, but some of them actually are pretty good.

In closing, everyone have a Merry Christmas! 🎅

Fat Lip

 

I'm not a fan of winter and never have been really.  Some folks look forward to the fall season, followed by winter.  My nephews, especially, as the ice skates come out and they play hockey in the back yard.  They play hockey all year 'round, but building happy memories of skating in small circles and putting that puck in the net, that is just so much more appealing.  I guess if I had something special like that to look forward to, my feelings about winter would be different.

My reason for disliking winter go way beyond my playing hockey outside.  In fact, I've never laced up a pair of skates solely for the purpose of playing any kind of winter sport, let alone hockey in my own backyard.

One of the many attributes that winter provides, besides locking up all my joints, is my lips.  My bottom lip, usually, although the top has been known to act up.  I rarely go outside, anymore, for reasons besides necessity.  For instance, you'll probably not find me standing at rink side, in my sister's backyard, cheering on my nephews.  I just don't like being outside in the cold.  However, when I do venture out into the subzero climate, my lips chap up.  I try to keep my face and mouth covered, but somehow my mouth chaps up.  When they do that, they crack.  Then, for some reason, because I can't leave well enough alone, my tongue gets in there and starts rubbing the hell out of the opened spot.  I guess Dr. Tongue feels it knows more than my brain.  Now the spot is irritated even more.

Meanwhile, my brain and the rest of my body, tongue and lip in tow, venture through my house, seeking out that single tube of cherry lip balm that I remember using either... Was it last year or the year before?

By some stroke of luck, I manage to locate the item, pop the cap and am surprised that it's still good and place it, immediately, upon thine own self.  The coolness of the medicated stick immediately brings some relief to the sore area.

The days that follow, remain up in the air.  Either the swelling will go down and I can carry on with life as I know it or the spot is going to be continually irritated by my stubborn tongue.  It's really a crapshoot after that.

Even now, my bottom lip split about a week ago.  I managed to control the irritation with chap stick, but I don't always remember to take it with me when I venture away from my house.  It's an ongoing fight. 

Guitar Zero

I was tidying up the other day, clearing up some small trinkets and such off of my dresser.  There's a big mirror and my cat, when able, likes to hop up there and stare at himself in the mirror.  He's a vain little guy, but if I looked remotely as good as him, I might find myself staring into the mirror, too.

Among the trinkets and doo-dads, I found a guitar pick.  A solo, dark red pick that I immediately placed between my forefinger and thumb and made out like I was playing a guitar.  I don't know why, as I've not played a guitar since I was a very young boy and it can be debated whether or not the sounds that were emitted from that guitar, when I was a child, would be construed as being musical or reminiscent of a car accident.  It was probably better than I recall, but not nearly as good as my fellow students.

For decades, I've reflected on that time with a great deal of regret.  Not because I never followed through on my quest to become a guitarist, but because our family didn't have a lot of money.

We weren't poor, or at least I never felt like we were poor, but knowing what I do now, opposed to then, the money that was, for lack of a better term, wasted on my silly dream, was a lot of money.  Money that might have been spent better, elsewhere.  For that, I will always feel regret, but as best as I can recall, my mother was smiling when she was following me around the showroom of the shop where I had been taking my lessons.  (*Thinking about that, is genuinely bringing tears to my eyes.  Remind me, someone, to apologize to my mom.)  We never struggled, but maybe that was the image that my parents wanted to show in front of the kids.  Parents are good that way, aren't they?

After a year of taking lessons, I lost interest and the guitar, amp and stand that my parents had purchased for me, got shoved away, into the back of a closet, where it sat for many many years, untouched.  (A few years ago, while on one of my many unemployment stretches, I had a friend check out the guitar and amp and help me sell it.  We didn't get very much, but those feelings of regret, did come rushing back and I was overwhelmed with grief.)

Why did I quit?  For years, I believed it was because "my fingers hurt" or "I wasn't good right away", the latter being an excuse I heard from a favourite rock singer, which I always took some jaded source of pride for.  That's just dumb!!  However, that morning that I found the red guitar pick on my dresser and placed it betwixt my fingers, I realized why it was that I had quit playing guitar and, of course, many waves of emotions swept over me, once more.  Regret and shame and many other emotions, because that reason was so miniscule and stupid.  My parents wasted all that money on me for something this stupid!!

The reason wasn't because I wasn't good enough, right away.  It wasn't because my fingers hurt from pressing down the guitar strings.  The reason I had quit guitar lessons as a kid was because I didn't like holding the guitar pick.  Even all these years later, holding the pick in my hand and faking strumming motions on my upper thigh, I hated it.  After a few seconds, my hand began to cramp like it had when I was a child.  This...  This was the reason for my quitting guitar.

Now, in the days since this discovery, I've thought about what if I would have stuck with it.  I know that my fingers would have toughened up.  That the strength in my fingers would increase to where I didn't have so much difficulty pressing the strings into the neck of the guitar.  Even, perhaps, I would have earned an ear for music and even wrote some original music.  Even now, I find music playing in my head that I don't recognize from any of the influences around me.  I believe an artist staked the claim, once upon a time, that everyone had original music in their minds and hearts, it was just a question of being able to convey it onto paper and into the airwaves.  Of course, I'm paraphrasing, I don't recall the actual quote, but it's along those lines.

Now I'm thinking, 20/20 hindsight in play, of course, that if I had stuck it out, that I could have traded up to another instrument.  (I always liked the drums.  My dad loved the drums, but given our financial hardships when I was a kid, drums were definitely off the list.)  However, playing a bass guitar has it's advantages, namely, not having to use a pick.  I know that some people use a pick, but not needing to use it is a huge advantage, I think.

In the weeks that have followed, I've found myself really watching and listening to the bass riffs in songs and videos.  I watch Hagar on the Late Late Show with James Corden or Metallica's Robert Trujillo as he hammers on his bass during concerts.  Would I have been as good as either of these artists?  Would I have been any good at all?  Unfortunately, time has eroded away the answers to those questions.

Today, I...  I wouldn't call myself successful, per se, but I don't think I am as poor now, as my family was then, but I certainly can't afford to buy a bass guitar, take lessons and see if I'm good enough to entertain myself.  Nah.  I'll leave that up to the young uns.  For now, I'll continue to appreciate what might have been and entertain myself via other ducts.  Like writing this blog.  Contributing to the long list of topics on my Brain Matter page.  I'm finding myself inspired more and more, daily.  It's just organizing my thoughts in a way that can be accurately conveyed onto the page.

Robert Trujillo of Metallica

 

Home Versus Away

It has been a debate for decades and, perhaps, more so since this infuriating pandemic reared it's ugly head upon the world.  The comparison of which is better?  Watching movies at the theater or at home.  Hopefully, I can plead my case here, in this forum.  I likely won't change any minds, but maybe, people will leave feeling a little different about the whole experience.

The benefits to staying home are astronomical and as a person who, in recent years, has become a little more recluse, I understand the comfort and safety to staying home and taking in a film or two.  That notwithstanding, a visit to the theater is so much better.

With every argument, there are going to be, of course, pros and cons.  Perhaps I should lay my cards on the proverbial table and list the good and bad about each movie watching option. The first argument would be price.  The last movie I went to was the latest James Bond film, "No Time To Die".  I paid for myself and my mother.  The tickets for admission were about $23 and change.  Drinks were another $12.  I had a large soda and my mom had a $4 bottle of water.  (We brought our own snacks because...  Well.  The prices.)

I will admit, there are cons to the movie theater experience. More cons than I even realized, plus whatever cockamamie excuses others may provide.  That aside, there are plenty of pros to attending the theater, too.

Going to the movies is more of an event, in my eyes.  You consciously decide I'm going to go see "this".  Then you get dressed, drive across town, with a destination in mind.  You pay for your ticket and find your seat.  There's an air about you as you sit and quietly chat with your companion before the lights dim.  Then when they do, an overwhelming feeling of anticipation and excitement overtakes your body and your senses are heightened for that moment.  After the film begins, it becomes an experience.  A visual that you share with a crowd of unknown faces who are also experiencing the same emotions as you are.  Then depending on the movie you've all chosen, you share it's ups and downs.  The laughs, cries and excitement.  If you can find the perfect seat within that theater, seeing that movie can almost be perfect.

I hate crowds, but I love seeing movies in the theater.  Even if I'm alone in the theater, experiencing that movie on a larger than life screen, where the characters themselves, are the size of giants, coupled with laser-perfect sound that highlights all the high notes as well as the booming bass notes.  No home video experience has ever matched my experience of seeing movies at the theater.

Years ago, my sister was married to a fella who was deep into his home stereo system, which he eventually paired up to a 60" rear projection TV, which at the time, was state-of-the-art.  Try and try as I might, I'd attempt to match my theater experience on their system, even going so far as to sit my keister in a chair just a few feet from the screen.  Overall, it was a failed attempt at encompassing myself in the audio and video realm.  It was simply muted video flashing on a large surface with distorted sound invading my ears.

Try and try as you might, unless you have several thousand dollars to invest in a proper, home theater, I doubt that seeing a movie from the comfort of you living room sofa is going to be very fulfilling.

Simply put, this is how I break it down.  Viewing movies at home is simply entertainment and there's nothing wrong with wanting to be entertained.  It's been known to release endorphins, even.  However, for many others, like myself, I want an experience.

I can recall the moment I saw the lights dim and those famous words flash on the screen "Star Wars: The Force Awakens, followed by John Williams' epic musical score to Star Wars.  I was surrounded by friends and like-minded people who were overcome with excitement and joy.  I remember thinking as the words scrolled across the screen from the bottom to the top, regaling in the fact that this is was a child-version of myself was feeling the first time I'd seen the original series onscreen.  It was truly a magical experience.  An experience I've never been able to replicate in my everyday life.

In layman's terms:  The theater is for viewing art.  Home theater is for being entertained.  I'm not saying you can't appreciate the art at home, nor is entertainment out of the question at the theater.  It's just overwhelming at the theater.

I will continue to view movies at home, as well, but I really want to get back into the swing of things and attend the theater more frequently.  Like I did before the world came to an alarming halt and we were all forced to stay home.

I've spent much time constructing this blog entry, trying to form my ideas perfectly into readable words and in that time I've made a list of pros and cons to each, the theater and the home video experiences, but didn't know where to place the list so as to not detract from the overall narrative of this piece.  So here it is.  At the end.  

PROS & CONS
(Movie Theater)

PRO: It is an event or experience.
PRO: It can be fun, exciting and memorable.
PRO: The audio and visuals are superior.
PRO: It pairs well with a nice dinner and a date.
PRO: It's an easy decision.  You choose the film, not scroll through a list of hundreds.

CON: The theater has overpriced tickets and concession.
CON: Someone always talks during the movie or blocks your view of the screen.
CON: People scroll their phones, thus distracting from the film.
CON: Parking is usually inconvenient and may even be costly.
CON: You have to be dressed.  No pajamas on the couch.
CON: No pause for bathroom breaks.

PROS & CONS
(Home Video)

PRO: No distractions from noisy theater goers.
PRO: You can set your own volume levels.
PRO: You can pause the movie when nature calls.
PRO: You can relax in your jammies under a warm comforter.
PRO: Movie starts when you want it to.
PRO: The price of a movie is substantially cheaper.

CON: Film studios lose money on ticket scales, thus boosting prices all around.
CON: Too many distractions: phone, pets, outside noise, neighbours, etc. Life in general.
CON: Screen is smaller so you can't enjoy the movie magic the way it was intended to be experienced.

The movie theater experience is The Rubik's Cube compared to a children's puzzle.  It may be more intricate and complex, but the outcome is overwhelming and memorable when all the pieces slide into place.

If you have the time and money to splurge on such a luxury as a true home theater, then that's the ultimate goal.  To envelope yourself in movie magic, obscured from the outside world.  A passport, of sorts, to escape into another universe.

Seeing on "paper" the pros and cons of each movie going experience, I can see the benefits to remaining at home, but I gotta be me.  I have to stick with the emotional link that brought me to the dance, so to speak.  I grew up in an alcoholic family.  Where many youths in my situation took to doing drugs or getting into mischief, I always had the movies.  An escape from my shitty life in two hour increments.  Perhaps that is where my allegiance lies.

See ya at the movies!

Off To The Races

 

What does that saying really mean?  "I've got to piss like a race horse!"

Most people feel a tickle, I suspect.  An inkling of an idea that they may have to visit the restroom at some point in their day, but I'm not of that school.  It's rare that the urge to relieve myself ever comes as a gentle notion, but as an outright emergency.

It never seems to fail.  I'll have some free time between tasks and I feel fine.  The moment I decide to dedicate myself to a project, that is when I feel the urgent pressure to relieve myself.  Then it's a mad scramble to make it to the washroom on time.

A few minutes ago, I passed the washroom headed for the kitchen to prepare myself a light lunch.  The minute I punctured the can with the opener, I was overwhelmed with pressure.  It was like my bladder was about to explode.  "Oh shit!" I muttered aloud, "I gotta piss like a race horse!!"  That phrase makes absolutely no sense, whatsoever.

What differentiates a race horse from any other horse?  Because it has an actual vocation, does this civilize the horse from it's more wilder distant cousins?  Like do those Budweiser Clydesdales have their own facilities?  Poop in a giant toilet rather than dropping road apples on... Well, the road?

Quite the contrary.  If people really are having to "piss like a race horse", then I'd imagine more people would be dropping trou, assuming the position and squirting in the streets.  That paints a helluva picture, doesn't it.  Kinda like all those picture of Chinese tourists pooping in Japanese streets and public transit.  Gross!!

It's funny..., not funny ha-ha, but funny strange, where these crazy quotes originate.  I haven't the time nor inspiration to do a deep dive on this silliness.

In the meantime, I will, undoubtedly, continue to race to the bathroom when nature calls, likely uttering those words "piss like a race horse", under my breath.  There's no changing that, I suppose.  Stupid.

Gross!!

The Reality Has Set In and It Doesn't Look Good

For two days, we lived vicariously through the thoughts of "what if"?  Can you imagine how different our lives would be?  How much better the lives of everyone we care about would be?

To clarify, the big lottery, the Lotto Max, had it's $55 million jackpot won by a single winner, located right here in Saskatoon.  As an avid and faithful customer of the lottery, I always have my fingers crossed, but am greatly skeptical when I hear a jackpot has been won.  Especially, when it happens practically in my backyard.  I'm not being cynical, but rather, I know how shitty my luck is and when a big prize, like the afore mentioned $55M, I am almost certain that the lucky bastard who won, will not be me.

However, for two days, my workmate and I have been dreaming about the what ifs.  Dreaming of what we would do and how and where and all the dreams that are associated with a vivid imagination.  All fun and games, but in the back of my mind, I'm thinking, "Seriously... What if?"

In the days leading up to this exciting news, I've been overwhelmed with feelings of deja vu.  This rarely happens to me, but when it does, something good usually follows.  I was coming home and thinking about how I would renovate my house.  I've had grand illusions of how I would change things up in my humble abode.  Of course, I'm not the only person I was thinking about.  I would take care of my family, too.  Though I'm a single fella, I'd take care of my sister's family.  I have a nice plot of land, just south of the city, that I've had my eye on for awhile.  It's a blank slate, ready for me to move in and for the right budget, build my forever home.  Then, to the east of that I could parcel out a portion for my sister and her family to build a house, too.

Then there's my mom.  She's done SO MUCH for me in my short shitty life.  She's so helpful and generous, that if nothing else, I wanted to win that money to take care of my mom for the rest of her life.  Get her a new car, something safer than what she's driving now.  She'd live rent free, as I doubt she'd want to move again.  Basically, I wanted to give my mother a life of no more stress or worry.  Nothing but clear sailing.

That was two days of bliss, but like all good things, it came to an end.  I checked my ticket and unless I have another that I'd forgotten about, I'm afraid that I have to remain satisfied with the freeplay that I'd won, in place of the fifty-five MILLION DOLLARS.

What sucks most is... I'm forced to stay employed at the place I'm at.  Nothing would have made me more happy than to walk out of that place, head held high and never looking back.

So now reality has set in.  My life is as shitty now, as it was before.  The only ray of light is my cat, Monkey.  For richer or poorer, he's right here, by my side.  I'm so lucky to have that cat.  Most days I feel so overwhelmed and disappointed in how my life turned out, but then I look at my little boy, looking up at me with those gorgeous eyes, I thank the powers that be, who brought that little tabby cat into my life.  Now if those same Powers That Be, would get their heads out of their asses, and award me with a major jackpot, I'd be perfect!!

Two F**ks?!

 

Do you think your cat really gives

two f*cks that this smells like Pumpkin Spice?!?

FRIDAY - It's a Bitch Session

  Fridays.  As frightening to me as Monday's, but for a different reason.  Everyone hates Monday for the obvious.  Weekend was too short.  Work week is too long and no fun.  However, as much as I hate getting up bright and early Monday and driving into work, the process doesn't scare me near as much as it does on Fridays.  No matter what I might encounter in the days leading up to the weekend, nothing concerns me as much as Fridays, or more specifically, Friday afternoons.

It seems like, after lunch, everyone's brains head home early for the day and people get reckless & dangerous behind the wheel of their vehicles.  Everyone is in a rush, even though they don't need to be.

In the job I have now, I'm required to drive in traffic daily, destinations set from downtown to just a few miles from the shop.  Every day, I have a front row seat to how drivers in our fair city respond to whatever day of the week it is.  Mondays seem more relaxed.  No one is in much of a hurry to get anywhere and every subsequent day, is nearly the same, peppered with a few anomalies, because nobody is perfect.  Fridays, though.  Gives a whole new meaning to Freaky Friday.

My new job has me working at a facility in the south industrial section of our city.  We make RVs which are sold all over North America.  Most notably, is the Prince of Darkness, himself, Ozzy Osbourne having purchased two or three of the RVs.  There is a promotional poster hung all over the plant of Jack (Osbourne) and Ozzy posing in front of their beloved RV.  Come Friday afternoon, at quitting time, it's a mad dash by all to vacate the facility.  A couple of weeks ago, I had made a right turn onto a street, turning into the right-hand lane before signaling to get into the left.  That's when another fellow, who also works for the company that I do, decided that he was going to circumvent the normal rules of the road and rip into the left lane, Mad Max-style, nearly side-swiping me in the process.  He was clearly in the wrong, but holy f*ck if that guy doesn't hold a grudge.  That day, he slowed right down, trying to egg me on to a fist fight and in the weeks since that incident, he's treated me like a cockroach.  (He's one of the "higher-ups" in the company, so I just shrug it off.  It's his life that seems to be the most effected by the near-miss accident.)

Leaving the south industrial area is a breeze, every other day, but Friday.  At the conclusion of my first week of work, it took me 45 minutes just to leave the area, due to an extraordinary build up of traffic.  It was enough to nearly make me quit the job, I was so frustrated.  Every Friday afternoon, since that day, traffic is notoriously bad and when freedom is finally accomplished, the craziness doesn't end.

Let me breakdown yesterday, October 1st, 2021, for you.  After making a stop at Wal-Mart for milk and bread, I was lucky enough to leave Stonebridge (which is adjacent to the south industrial park), my adventure homeward was only beginning.  There was a near miss as I merged onto the freeway.  Likely someone with their nose buried in their phone, rather than focusing on the road.  Next was entering the clover-leaf, as nobody seems to know how to yield to oncoming traffic.  That's where a young lady had been rear-ended by another unattentive driver.  I foiled that debacle, steering around the scattered panels and marker lamps.  Around the loop and heading north, I managed to escape a driver whom I can only assume was Mario Andretti.  Although it was not a Formula One Ferrari blowing by me, it was a sporty Dodge Charger going like a bat outta Hell. (Maybe it was Meatloaf?)

I finally round the off-ramp that leads toward my house and this is where it's always f*cked up, regardless of what day of the week it is.  I don't know who designed that flow of traffic, but they should have had their head smacked.  It is completely R-worded.  Then, as if that overflow of traffic wasn't bad enough, there's a van stalled at the next set of lights, but the dummy behind the wheel didn't bother to put on her 4-way lights to alert other drivers that she was inoperable. Hoards of drivers were stuck behind her, myself included, all of us unbeknownst that she wasn't going anywhere.  Drivers are already being dicks and not allowing people to go around her, so many of us were stuck.  I was two cars behind her stranded van and I was there for nearly 15 minutes or roughly three songs on he radio.  They weren't even good songs, which made the experience even worse.

I love my truck.  I love driving my truck.  What I don't love is driving my truck in this minefield of ridiculous drivers.  As much as I think small towns suck, I doubt they ever need to deal with this much bullshit.

I don't have a point to this blog.  Not today.  There's no humour.  No thought-provoking discoveries.  Just a bitch-session.  In fact, I think that's what I'll title this blog, today.

Ozzy Osbourne posing with his Pleasure-Way RV.

Jack & Kelly Osbourne posing
with Ozzy's Pleasure-Way RV.

Horse In A Three-Piece Suit

 Last fall, my mom got her first "smart" phone.  She'd had a flip phone for years, struggling along as she does, but got pretty good at maneuvering her way around it's operation and use. Last fall, she finally replaced the aged technology, opting for Apple's iPhone.  Probably a terrible decision, as she hasn't the foggiest idea how to work it, often coming to me for help.  I hate Apple and can't figure out how it's technology makes any sense.  I have a strong and healthy dislike for Apple products, which is too lengthy and involved to discuss in this forum.  Suffice it to say, words in the English language can't describe how much disdain I possess for the Apple company.

So when my mother comes rushing to me, half in tears and in a deep-seated panic, most of the time I tell my mom to Google it.  I've remarked for years how one can find just about anything on Google.  Like the Land of Oz, Google is an amazing and wonderous place.

My friend D__ was telling me about his son, D_____, who is constantly bombarding him with questions about this and queries about that.  D_____ is a young man, entering the scary world of adulthood, so naturally he has a million-and-one questions.  His father, my friend, D__, told him to Google whatever he wants to know.  When told about this conversation, I responded with "Oh hell yeah.  You can literally find anything on Google.  Case and point:  A horse wearing a three piece suit.

Horse in a 3-piece suit.

Need I say more?

Man sits atop a horse
in a 3-piece suit.

Terrorism

 

The dictionary defines "terrorism" as: The unlawful use of violence and intimidation, especially against civilians, in the pursuit of political gains.  Google's explanation of the term goes a little deeper, saying: Terrorism is the use of fear and acts of violence to intimidate societies, governments or against an ideology. Many different types of social or political organizations may use terrorism in an attempt to achieve their goals. Google then goes on to explain; People who do the terrorism are called terrorists.  That part could have gone unsaid as the first thing that came to mind was 'DUH!'.

Now I could go on in this piece to point out instances of terrorism that proved itself pointless and alike, but everyone knows much of the big events and don't need my fat ass reminding them of that.  Plus, when I really sat back and thought about it, I had to admit that I didn't actually know that much about what terrorism was and is.

This all began this morning.  I've been watching a lot of video game play through's as of late on the YouTube.  A lot of war and shit like that, usually from the perspective of American servicemen.  I thought why aren't other world Armed Forces represented in the video game world.  They could make campaigns from an Australian perspective.  Or British or Israeli or...  Then I thought ISIS?  Without glamorizing the latter, video game makers could just make them all goofy and stereotypical. Design them to be stupid as f*ck.  Then again, in the social climate that our society lives in, some asshole would claim to be offended, to which I say: Unless you're a terrorist, yourself, who gives a shit?! I laid in bed, 6:30am, thinking about this stupid shit.

How would I define terrorism, based on the limited knowledge that I possess?  Essentially, it's a group of people who frown on another group's happiness and joy, who feel it necessary to shit on those freedoms by blowing shit up and inflicting fear.... Or terror.  In the simplest of terms, they're a bunch of assholes.  And poorly dressed ones at that. That last part is purely my own belief.  I'm not very stylish, myself, and shouldn't cast stones on poor choices of apparel.

The dictionary defines the word "contentment" as: A state of happiness or satisfaction.  Based on personal observation only, looking at the state of many Middle Eastern countries who are bombarded with Acts of Terrorism on a nearly daily basis, don't appear to be very happy places, but I imagine the peace loving citizens make due in the environments in which they live.  Plus, the shitty state of their country may be due to the terrorist factions continually blowing shit up.  I don't know.  It's pretty f*cked up.

Looking upon these words, it becomes pretty f*cking clear that the events that unfolded on January 6th, 2021 in Washington, DC and the attacks on the State Senate, appear to be, by all definition, an Act of Terror, but I could be mistaken on account that the government refused to punish the instigator of that terrorist act.

Goes without saying.  This kind of bullshit needs to end.  Not just the terrorism expressed by pajama wearing assholes who blow shit up in hopes of nailing 40 virgins in the afterlife (& let's be honest, that bullshit isn't happening), but the homegrown terrorists, too.  Redneck assholes holed-up in shanties and log cabins throughout Montana and all those other scarcely populated areas.  Or those gangland idiots who runs the streets of our major metropolis' with a gat in their hand or an AK.  Just a distasteful lot, all of them.

I don't have a means to an end.  No magic ideology that everyone can get behind in a sense of global unity.  That will never happen except in the science fiction movies and that's all FICTION.

The dictionary defines "science fiction" as: Science fiction (sometimes shortened to sci-fi or SF) is a genre of speculative fiction that typically deals with imaginative and futuristic concepts such as advanced science and technology, space exploration, time travel, parallel universes, and extraterrestrial life.  Perhaps in a parallel universe, but I doubt I'll ever see some sort of World Peace in my lifetime.  I could add the definition of "World Peace", but I think that's just a pipe dream.

Broken

 

I am a broken man.  Broken in so many ways, physically and otherwise.  I've endured torn muscles and broken bones, the worst of which, came in 2014, when I broke three vertebrae in my back.  My T3, T4 and T5 all receiving compression fractures after a platform that I was standing on, dropped.  Up to that point, that was the worst pain I'd ever endured.  Mere walking, after that point, was painful and laboured.  I was forced to take soft slow and methodical steps as any harsh impact on the ground or floor would result in a xylophone effect, of sharp dagger-like pain, shooting up my spine to the base of my skull and down my legs.  It's not something I'd wish on anyone.  Eventually, through physiotherapy and exercise, I was able to walk... normal-ish and without most of the pain.  It's still something that I deal with on a day-by-day basis.  I was told that the injured vertebrae would never heal completely and any plans that I might have had for adventure, would have to be avoided for the rest of my life.  So no skydiving or bungee jumping for me and to be truthful, I'm quite fine with that.

Up to that point, that was the most severe pain and, might I say, injury, as years later I would take a nasty spill in a parking lot, which knocked my fat ass out, in the process.

On a cool March evening in 2018, I'd just returned back at the warehouse where I was a courier.  The man-door by the overhead was busted and we would have to walk to the next bay to enter via that door.  In the cool darkness, I was unable to see the ground clearly, which resulted in my taking a nasty fall, thus knocking myself out in the process.  I was unconscious for nearly twenty minutes.  I know because I was happy about returning early that night.  I had arrived at the warehouse a little past 7:30pm, my usual time was mostly closer to 10pm.  When I came to, I was shivering and cold.  I reached for my phone that was in my hand, but now laying on the ice.  I was shocked to see that the clock was reading nearly 8pm.  I don't remember a lot after that.  I recall texting my boss to give him shit about being so cheap and not buying any sidewalk salt, then nothing.  I don't remember going home, nor do I recall coming back to work the next day or most of my 1000-plus kilometer delivery route the next day.  In fact, I don't remember anything up until I found myself sitting in a lab waiting to give a blood test for an unrelated thing.  That's when fear overwhelmed me and I sought out medical attention.

Over the course of my life, I've probably had a grand total of (at least) 10-12 concussions, but by definition alone, I suspect that I many have had quite a few more.  The worst prior to this event, occurred following a snowmobile accident, where I slammed my head so hard that the helmet I was wearing, split in two pieces.  I never received any medical attention at that time, my family telling me to go lay down (before anyone says anything, I know now that this was a really bad idea).  The result of that injury was just a slurry of massive headaches and migraines.  The brain injury in 2018, was much much (MUCH) worse and the lasting effects are quite intrusive and bothersome.

At the time of the slip and fall, I was experiencing a loss of vision, loss of balance, both short-term and long-term memory loss, slurred speech, an inability to remember or form complex words, and a lack of attention.  Years earlier, I'd been diagnosed with ADD.  Back in high school it was called something else, daydreaming or as my dad called it back then, "stupid".  I've always had a problem with focusing on things, which includes a learning disability.  I can learn quickly how to do things when I see it done physically or visually, but I'm unable to read anything, comprehend it and put it to use.  This is probably why I was almost in tears when I met wrestling legend, Mick Foley.  His books were and remain, the only books I've been able to read and comprehend as I was reading them.  For those of you who take this ability for granted, will never know that magic of this feeling.

Keeping my attention has always been a challenge, but since that fateful day, my attention span has been greatly challenged.  Just yesterday, I was picking up some butter for my mother and had to call her three times to ask the same question.  That's the long-term result that frustrates me most about this injury.

Through physiotherapy, I was able to restore most of my mobility in that, I no longer have balance issues, although I remain somewhat clumsy to a degree.  The headaches aren't quite as extreme as they were in the weeks following the fall.  At that time, I was forced to wear sunglasses almost constantly, when I was outside of my house.  The glaring sun and indoor lights would create a vise-like grip on my frontal lobe that would almost bring me to tears.

My speech would return, also, although I've noticed a severe stutter that rears it's ugly head from time-to-time, which is added frustration, which in-turn causes more stuttering.  Then when I'm not stuttering, but attempting to engage in conversation, I find myself struggling to remember or form certain words.  Not even complex words or as my friend, Danny calls them, "$10 words", but simple vocabulary is almost non-existent. 

I was tested a number of years ago, kind of a aptitude test of sorts.  They tested my mathematical, mechanical, literary and vocalization skills.  I failed to do well on the reading, as per my ADD, but scored well on the (basic) math and mechanical tests, but the vocalization, which I was told referred to my conversational skills.  That my verbiage skills were in the top twenty-one percentile for my age group.  When pressed, they further explained it as me being "smarter" than seventy-nine percent of those in my age grouping.  If I were to take that test today, I doubt that I'd perform quite as well.

Physiotherapy managed to restore most of my abilities prior to my concussion and for that I'm eternally grateful, but something that hasn't been restored, is my memory.  Both short-term and long-term is going to be effected for the remainder of my life, I'm told.  I find this aspect of my recovery to be the most worrisome.  Everyday is a struggle to remember simple chores and responsibilities.  Remembering how to travel to destinations where I've been a thousand times before, is a struggle some days.  I feel shame and stupid when I fight to remember.  Then other times, when I remember something, I feel like I've won the lottery.  Even the most insignificant memory, to me, is an incredible feeling.

I was pushing snow off my driveway the other day, when I was reminded of the time, as a little kid, my mom bought me and my sister snow shovels.

I grew up on a farm.  We didn't have anything like a snow blower or a blade on the front of a truck or tractor.  Instead, my dad used a scoop shovel, that he'd normally used for shoveling grain in the storage bins* that lined the hill on our property.  My dad would clear the snow out of the yard and the lane that connected the yard to the highway.  For some reason, that day, my sister and I, convinced my mom to buy us a snow shovel each, to go help our dad.  I remember the look on my dads face as we proudly marched out to the yard to help shovel snow, and the look of disappointment when we gave up on that endeavour, because it wasn't as fun as he'd made it look.  That memory flooded my brain the other morning, bringing a smile to my frozen face. (*It took me quite a few minutes to remember the word "bins", in the construct of that sentence.)

My biggest frustration, more so than the ability to access memories, is convincing others, some friends, but mostly family members that I can't remember what they're talking about.  Just the other night, my mother was telling me something that (apparently) I was a part of, but when I revealed that I had no recollection of the incident, I was met with conflict and accusations of untruthfulness.  I was accused of lying because I couldn't remember any facts about a family dinner we'd all attended many years prior.  I hate that.  I f**king hate that.

When I broke my back, I was unable to do this or that, as such injuries often restrict those with the injury.  My sister refused to believe that my injury was as severe as it was, stating that "if your back was broken, you'd be paralyzed".  She's obviously misinformed.  My sister is also one of those who accuse me of deceit whenever I'm unable to recall certain facts or elements of a story.

I've been injury free, brain-wise, in the years since that fateful night when I knocked myself unconscious in a parking lot.  I have a little PTSD from it, nervously venturing outside in the winter, for fear of falling again and possibly further injuring my brain.  I've taken a few nasty falls during this time frame, but my head has not been effected.  My struggles to remember continue and I celebrate them when memories return.  I've been known to say the words, "Praise The Positive" which was a silly thing some friends used to say when making drink toasts, but rings truthful these days.  As bad as things get in my life, I choose to praise the positives whenever they appear.  It's like discovering life all over again.

The Most Overrated Band in History

 

I was perusing my Twitter the other day (@ToontownJuggalo, for anyone interested) and came across a tweet from WWE commentator, Corey Graves who mentioned that the Canadian band RUSH, sucked.  I can't remember his exact wording, but the message essentially translated to them sucking.  I concurred, adding another band, which I'll mention later on.

Fast-forward to this morning.  The phone rang at an alarmingly early time, which isn't that late for normal functioning adults, but being that I'm not working until springtime, 8am is too early for this guy.  The radio was playing the Electric Light Orchestra, ELO for short, song "Don't Bring Me Down".  I f*cking detest this song.  It's SO f*cking annoying, I can't believe it was ever popular.  Sadly, it's only saving grace is a part of why it's so annoying.  The chorus chimes "Don't bring me dooown, Groos!  Don't bring me doooown, Groos!"  I don't know what a "groos" is, but thankfully, it sounds like "UCE!", which is a Samoan word for "brother" or "bro" (I've seen definitions referring to either meaning).  As a long standing wrestling fan, I can appreciate the term, as it's often repeated by WWE's resident Samoan members, The Uso's and their cousin, the "Head of the Table", as he's known as of late, Roman Reigns.  The ELO song, however, remains as one of my most hated songs, but it's not the worst song.  That honour goes to the 1980's questionable hit, "Come On Eileen" by the one-hit wonders, Dexy's Midnight Runners. No matter where I am, what obstacles may be lying between me and that radio dial, when the first couple of notes float into the air, I will stop at nothing to switch the station or shut the radio off.  It is the WORST!!  

Growing up, I remember hearing music that I never cared for.  Most of Queen's library would have been included in that category, but later in life, I learned to like it and even love it.  The song "Radio Ga Ga" was one that I remember listening to on the way to school and absolutely detesting it, yet when it comes on the radio these days, I crank up the volume and belt out the lyrics at the top of my lungs.  It's a song hated by most die hard Queen fans or so I've heard, but I absolutely love it.  That Dexy's Midnight Runners song has never, nor will it ever appeal to me.

Earlier, I mentioned that I concurred with Corey Graves' assessment that the Canadian rock trio, RUSH sucked and I stand by that statement.  I've never liked the band, but I can tolerate that garbage.  Mostly because I've been able to change the lyrics in my head, to make the drivel more enjoyable.  There's one song of theirs that comes on the radio, from time-to-time, that I call "My New Brown Pants".  I don't know the name of the RUSH song, but singing "My new brown pants" as loud as I can, makes me laugh.  If I'm unable to change the station, this is a pleasant consolation prize.

Also mentioned earlier, I commented that I concurred with Graves' comment and added another group.  This has been met with much pushback for many years, although, not so much in recent memory.  It's no secret for those who know me.  I hate The Beatles.

I've always laid the claim that The Beatles are (probably) the MOST overrated band in history.  Many, and I do mean many, people have disagreed with me on this subject, one fellow, a former co-worker, even threatened to fight me if I didn't take back the claim.  I didn't and he didn't follow through with his threat.  The only song that the mop-headed quartet ever did that I do, in fact, enjoy and maybe even love, is "I Wanna Hold Your Hand".  As for the rest of the catalogue...  Well, that's complicated.  While I find the band highly overrated, they did manage to write some great songs, which have been (more) expertly covered by other bands.  Motley Crue's version of "Helter Skelter" is a great song!  Aerosmith's rendition of "Come Together" is practically flawless.  As well as many other bands and solo artists, too many to list here, have covered many Beatle tunes and done so with greatness.  The Beatles, however..., not so much.

A year or two ago, I will admit this.  I was watching The Late Late Show with James Cordon who caught up with Sir Paul McCartney in Liverpool and they did this huge Carpool Karaoke segment, touring around Liverpool, reliving some fond memories, finishing with an impromptu concert in a local drinking tavern.  First revealed to a dozen or so, local residents which soon swarmed to several hundred or more, packing into the tiny bar and listening from outside.  I found the whole thing to be overwhelmingly sweet.  Mostly because they hold McCartney in such high regard and had an opportunity to see this living legend perform live in their neighbourhood pub.  It was pretty cool, but I came away from that experience with a tear in my eye and retaining the belief that The Beatles are the most overrated band in history.

I'm not claiming to be an expert on what is best or superior in music, past or present.  I know what I like and I don't mind announcing what I don't like.  I love the Insane Clown Posse.  Most people don't.  Mostly because the name alone, scares them away.  However, when people tell me that I'm wrong for liking them for whatever reason, I don't get upset.  I don't honestly care.  "They suck!!" people say, trying to get a reaction, to which I always reply "It's a matter of opinion" and really, that's all it is.  Maybe The Beatles aren't as terrible as I think.  Maybe RUSH is a great band.  I doubt it, but maybe.  One thing is for sure.  Dexy's Midnight Runners' "Come On Eileen" is the absolute WORST.  That and country music.  I feel sorry for anyone who listens to that horse shit!!

It's No Secret

 

It's not a secret that I hide from anyone.  It's just a matter of fact.  A part of the lifestyle I choose to live, these days.  Years ago, before it was formally legalized, I would partake in the consumption of marijuana on a extremely part time basis.  If a friend had some, we'd share a joint.  Later on, I found a supplier and decided to do my own experimentation.

I suffer from seasonal depression.  It's something I've battled for more years than I can count.  Not something that my family or closest peers were ever aware of.  I'm not an idiot, doing my due diligence before moving forward and learning that cannabis can reduce or even eliminate depression.  So that first winter, I smoked whenever I was feeling down and it perked me right up.  Sadly, the more I learned about cannabis, the more I realized that my "supplier" knew nothing.  When I made my last purchase from him, I asked if it was a Sativa or an Indica strain and he blankly looked at me and told me he didn't know what either of those words meant. 

Sativa is the strain that perks you up and Indica is the strain that mellows you the f**k out.  Easiest way to remember is what I learned from the comedian, Doug Benson, who quoted "Indica is like 'in-da-couch'."

In the end, I'm not sure what it was that I received from the "supplier", but rest assured, the depression was suppressed.  So imagine my joy when marijuana was legalized in Canada.  The ease of walking into a legitimate business and conducting myself in an open manner.  Plus, now dealing with people who not only know the good and bad effects of the merchandise they're selling.  Nowadays, I'm able to customize the effects that I hope to achieve upon consumption.  Back in the old days, it was like spinning the tumbler on a six-shooter in a game of Russian Roulette.  Spark up and hope for the best.  One night, as I recall, I was quite gleeful, as I cooked up about 2lbs of bacon and consumed it all.  Another time, I got horribly sick, almost like I'd had an allergic reaction.  I couldn't function for about a week. 

These days, I choose to go the route of vaping the cannabis.  It's easier and more compact.  I don't have to empty the chamber and clean my unit every time I wish to smoke dried product as I do with my one device, but simply screw the vape cartridge into the battery I purchased and I'm off to the races.

Gone are the munchies, although I do keep a supply of snacks on hand that require little, if any, effort to prepare, so there's no danger of burning down my house.  No more anxiety or depression.  All that is left is relaxation, happy times and a flurry of ideas and expressions.  The stuff that makes me laugh like an idiot, I often will share to Facebook and Twitter.  Share my idiocy with the world, hoping that no one will steal any of it.

Sadly, there is also a downside...  It's nothing dangerous, mind you, but simply inconvenient.  Prime example is last night.  I was inspired to write a genius blog.  I had the introduction written in my head.  I had many musings and references to make and even a title, which is usually the most difficult factor to come up with, aside from subject matter.  I'd consumed just enough cannabis to know, however, that I was unable to write anything last night, for fear it'd come out like gibberish.  Even now, I question how legitimate this blog sounds, and I'm 100% clean and sober and the moment.

I'm not afraid to admit to smoking dope.  It's not illegal.  Hell, cannabis, despite all the idiot warning labels that the government imposes onto packaging, marijuana is not dangerous to your health.  Cannabis is a necessary tool that I use to escape my demons and depression.  That is all.  Well....  It IS fun, too.  I won't lie about that.