Express Yourself (Correctly).

Quotation marks and the italicized font style are not (notice the usage) interchangeable.

In the strictest form of their use, quotation marks are used to denote when a character or subject of a story is speaking.

Example: Shmitty lurched his arthritic body down the stairs as he called out, "Morning Sal, you old bastard."

More colloquially, the quotation marks are used to convey irony.

Example: I was speaking with Susan this morning and she said she wouldn't be coming in because she was feeling "sick"; I'm sure it had nothing to do with the fact Barney's is having a sale.

An italicized font however, is meant to do one of two things: it can denote a title of a piece of work such as a book or a periodical or (notice the usage) it can convey emphasis - as in "can you believe that she thinks thinks that's an acceptable choice?" (implying that of all people 'she' should know better).

Anyway people, just a little lesson. Keep it straight out there. In a world where we express ourselves in 160 characters or less 25 times a day, it's never been more important to practice safe grammar and keep your words healthy and meaningful.

Give Em' a Hand!

... and maybe they'll use it in their act.

This is a perfect example of why I think humans are weird. And may I take this time to remind you that weird in no way means bad. It just means, well, in this case creative I suppose. It takes all types. I could do without some of the post effects, but daaaaaym, these two former Irish River dancers know how to waste time and make it not be a waste of time!

Check, check, check it out -

Hands - Up & Over It (Dance Version)

An Epic Entry

After crossing Facebook, YouTube, Twitter and other socially inclined pop-culture relevant sites, I have concluded that we as an online group use the word epic too frivolously. By deeming epic a night of playing video games with your best mates you are decreasing the very significance of the word.

ep • ic | 'epik |

- heroic or grand in scale or character: his epic journey around the world | a tragedy of epic proportions.

The Odyssey is epic. There are several battles from WWI and II that are pretty epic. The size and status and demise of the Titanic was epic. Downing 15 beers and playing jumprope (while I'd very much like to see the footage) is by all accounts not epic.

Let's ban together Internet, to preserve the integrity of the word so those who truly commit epic acts are still given the proper credit when deserved. Here are some suitable alternates that I feel will still impress people as they read your Facebook: amazing, incredible, fantastic, so fun, unbelievable, spectacular, the bomb, a blast, and if you wanna be retro about it - the bees knees.

Note: by inserting the f-word at any point in your status, you can also increase the oomph and seriousness behind the statement without delving into the world of fictional epicness.

Ladies Can Buy Steak If They Want

I was thinking about my steak entry feel an addendum is appropriate. Call me wishy-washy but also call me a proud workin' woman and if I wanna buy myself (and a good man) a steak, then I damn well will and 'aint nobody gonna stop me.

Ladies Don't Buy Steak

That's really all there is to it. Doesn't mean we can't eat it and enjoy it, but I feel that a good steak should be bought by a good man. Call me old fashioned… and bring me one while you're at it.

A Brilliant Idea (If I may be so bold)

I love tattoos! I don't have any, but I love them nonetheless. I think artists who can paint on skin are insanely talented and some of the coolest images I've seen have been in tattoo form. I'm still waiting on my "perfect design" to come to me so in the meantime I ruminate about all the options. Here's my latest: (disclaimer note to Mom and Dad - this is not a design I am contemplating for myself; I merely hope to influence at least one person to try this).

You're young, maybe 19, 20 years old. You're female. You're thinking about getting a tattoo. Well have I got the perfect idea for you: Pangea. On your stomach. BOOM!

How neat of an idea is that?! You get the tattoo when you're young and skinny and it looks like this:

Then, a few years later, you get pregnant and as your stomach gets bigger, you watch millions of years of tectonic activity happening before your very eyes and it looks like this:

(Side note: if you happen to be a grade school teacher this could be a very good addition to your lesson plan.)

Yep, these are the thoughts that I think.

Can Someone Please Explain?

So I've got some friends who like fashion. They post links, suggest blogs, have subscriptions to the magazines, and work for the companies that design the frocks. Now I'm not a total spaz when it comes to style, but I am by no means a fashionista. Let me explain. I was doing research one afternoon and came upon this headline:

CORPORATE FARMER: THE NEW TREND FOR MEN

Looking like anything but farmers in suiting with checkered shirts at Tom Ford

What the what? Corporate Farmer? Really? I mean, sure, they're wearing gingham (a term I learned not too long ago) but other than that they look pretty GQ to me. Plus, the caption of the very photo touting "farmer" as the new look, praises these gentlemen for looking unlike a farmer. I don't know what that means. So should one look like a farmer this fall or not?

Next headline:

Must? Really? What's gonna happen to me if I don't have? Are my lace-free boots not good anymore?

And then there's the Man Repeller…

A very cute lady, who most of the time looks very cute and stylish, but who all of the time has on an average of 13 more pieces of clothing than I would ever think to put on my body at once. Take this entry for example: A Lesson in Layering

How to choose? What's too much? And where the heck do I store the 97 articles of clothing it takes to make 11 outfits? So confused.

There's so much going on in the fashion world that sometimes I think it's more complicated than finance or nuclear physics because at least those are based on numbers with concrete right and wrongs* and the ability to prove and disprove with the Scientific Process. How do you test the hypothesis that plaids and stripes are a no-go? That linen and leather are hot? That denim on denim is tacky? There ARE. NO. RULES. Ahhh!

* clearly not referencing the current US financial market on this one...

For the Love of Pete

Apple thinks they're soooo cute with their ad campaigns. Soooo clever. Soooo awesome. Well here are my thoughts:

1. Re: the image and example they're using to promote the iOS5 iMessage feature - it's a conversation that goes like this:

- "Hello from the office!"

- "I'm off the grid, sorry. I took this today:

(picture of smiling white people riding in 3rd-world-looking-vehicle)"

- "Looks like fun. Wish I was there."

No. You know what? You're not off the grid. Off the grid implies that you're off the grid and off the grid means off (as in not locatable on) the grid (the map of society and its inhabitants). Go ahead and say you're on vacation, sure. Say you're just checking in to make sure your mortgage payment went thru (cause sometimes, even at the best of times, you can't neglect the real world) but for the love of Pete, you are the farthest thing in the world from "off the grid" if you're connected to the internet on a mobile device that contains apps like Find My Friends, Check-in and helloooo, GPS (which incase we've all forgotten stands for global positioning system).

2. Re: the new iPhone 4S Siri voice recognition software demo:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=L4D4kRbEdJw&feature=player_embedded

Really people? Really? We need to read text messages while on a sweaty run? And furthermore, we need to answer them? For the love of Pete, I think you're friends and family and hell, even a coworker or two, can wait 30 minutes for you to take a breather.

And really, how precious that a blind person can go from reading a braille book to responding to a txt message about dinner plans. Actually I'm serious about that one; that's pretty cool. But on the real, great, now she can text message; what's she gonna do with the other 199 amazing new features of the phone? She can't command her birds to fly into the TNT filled crates and free the little pigs, can she? Cause I'm pretty sure that'd be cheating.

Apple we get the your products are awesome and revolutionary and even scientifically advancing, but for the love of Pete, let us breath. Why do you want us to be tethered to computers every waking and sleeping moment of our lives? Why do you want us to want our "friends" to know where we are all the time? Why do you want everything to live in a cloud? You know, moving things to a cloud doesn't help overpopulation in any way. Are you going to turn your customers into computers with the next OS X update? I can see the ad now:

We did it. The most quiet operating system ever.

Introducing OS X 10.7.2 OCELOT.

Just plug yourself in and send your thoughts to a cloud that will send your thoughts to your friend's cloud who will respond by sending their thoughts to their cloud, but because their cloud is full of music and contact's addresses you may have to wait a few minutes for them to find their thought and get back to your cloud.

Made for everyone. Loved by Librarians*.

*crotchety old ladies with gray-blonde buns in their hair and orthopedic shoes of a taupeish color who held a clear hatred for sound and therefore always told you and your friends to shush when your voice went above 3 inches.

Smile, Your Bones are Exposed

I don't know about you, but when I finish brushing my teeth, I like to give a big smile to the bathroom mirror and inspect my work. Usually it's just a big grin followed by a quick nod of approval - "yep, got it all; take that cavities!" then I shut off the light and crawl into bed or head out to work. This entry however, is not about the "usual" experience. This is about the other times.

The times that when I give that big smile, I see my teeth for what they really are: EXPOSED BONES. How crazy is that?! Your teeth are bones that have poked thru the skin and are meant to be there. How did the human body know which kind of bones can be on the outside and which kind need to be buried beneath muscle and fat and nerve endings? How did the human body know what food grows on planet Earth so it in turn knew the varying types of pointy and flat mouth bones to create? If the human body knew these bones were going to be exposed, how come they weren't better protected from the barrage of corrosive substances that are forced upon them without consultation?

Anyway, your teeth are bones just like mine. Think about it for a while.

Holy Moly

work gets in the way of a social life:

Regular posting to resume in late September.

Weather or Not

Is it society or science that makes us want soup when it rains?

The Peace Pipe

I overheard a gentelman in conversation today: "I don't know if we should pull out of these wars. I think we need a few good squirmishes in this world 'er else people'll go gettin' too complacent. We gotta keep some fight in them spirits". (I may have exaggerated the dialect, but that was still the gist)

Do you think the right wingers conspired to lump together weed smoking and the notion of peace to create the seemingly unstable social group known as The Hippies? It's like they sat down one day and decided that the leftist notions were so radical yet also so popular that they needed to be suppressed; so to prevent the "spread of leftism" to others, they decided to place drug use into that same category so that for the rest of time, Righties could say, "oh, don't be like that, they're just a bunch of 'druggies' so they're not thinking clearly. Their brains aren't straight. Peace isn't real, it's just a silly thing they talk about when they all get together to smoke drugs in the alley".

Does this mean you have to be pro war to not be considered a hippie? And let's face it, these days, if you're not right, you're a hippie. Personally, I'd like to see more peace and civility in this world, but I'm also content to wear a bra and not eat tofu.

Instant Sweats!

Have you ever been driving a car that's not yours when you accidentally turn on the windshield wipers?

Is there anything that causes that level of embarrassment in that quick of a time? It's an immediate loss of self-confidence and dignity. I mean, all of a sudden it's like a thousand degrees in the car, you're perspiring, you can't figure out how to turn it off, you're pushing every button and turning every knob the vehicle has; you basically forget how to drive. If there's people in the car, by now they're all up in your grill laughing and pointing and screaming and pretending that you're about to die on account of this small mistake. You find the knob and in that instant you feel as though you've struck gold; nothing better could have happened to you at that moment. Order has been restored to the world. It's going to be ok. That is… until the next time.

3am Is Not a Pretty Place

One Saturday, not too long ago, I was driving home from set at about 3 in the morning. As usual, it was an adrenaline filled day and this night in particular ended on an awesome high note. For a combination of these reasons, I was driving home in a good mood, wide awake just staring out the window at the world passing by. This is when I realized that being asleep at this hour is a good thing. The world is a much prettier place when you don't know that 3am in the city exists. Let me paint the picture for you:

It's a hot summer night. 85 degrees. Humid. Hot and humid. Queen & Bathurst area. The first overwhelming site was an oft repeated one: groups of trashed 20 somethings stumbling out of the bar and into the closest greasy food hot spot all the while singming (combo of singing and screaming) the latest chart-topping hit. Annoying, a little trashy, but not too alarming. I drive on, even wishing for a second that maybe I was leaving a bar with my friends. For the record I would be singming Gaga's Edge of Glory.

Next site: single man getting into a taxi. Mid 40's. Dressed appropriately for his age, but very unkempt. The cab drives onward. The man, whose head I could see just seconds ago, disappears. Then, suddenly, he's back. He's holding a massive foil wrapped meal in his hands. Whoosh! Out the window flies the paper bag and foil wrapper. He disappears again. Now he's back. He's had enough. Out the window flies the rest of the grease ball. What a shit head.

I drive on. I see a group of barely drinking age boys fake hailing cabs. The cabs pull up and the boys walk in the opposite direction. I was at the red light for about 3 minutes and saw them do this 4 times. Weirdos.

A single guy crosses in front of me at the next red light. He's dressed pretty well. A little 'Kanga' for my tastes, but nice nonetheless. He's about to pass out and is using every shred of consciousness to keep himself upright and heading in a straight line. But wait! What do you think distracts his attention but...

Cut to 2 girls in full clubbing mode running across the street in 5 inch heels (and dresses) trying to avoid the streetcar tracks while chowing down on hotdogs.

A few more blocks of the same.

Now I start to notice that the homeless people on the streets are becoming almost indecipherable from the partygoers. Both are slumped on the curb, both are waiting in line at Taco Bell, both are standing in the middle of the road smoking cigs. All look tired.

Driving thru thru the club district I see a lot of bad decisions about to be made. Strike that, I see bad decisions that were made hours ago while standing in the closet preparing to head out. I see girls who surely had more clothes on in the beginning of the night; girls who should have used waterproof mascara; girls who should should buy different hair; girls who should go to computer school.

The garbage men are making their rounds now. For every 20 pieces of trash that make it onto the truck, 6 fall to the sidewalk. Along comes a breeze and bam, you're hit in the face with a coffee stained napkin and the smell of a 90 degree day's worth of discarded lunch meats.

Even the police look like the day's got the best of them. Groups of uniform clad cops are sitting on their bikes out front the "trouble locations" waiting for something to happen. At first I found their discretion alarming as they let several things go that seemed troubling to me, but again, in the course of my red light, I realized they were really just picking their battles.

Basically 3 in the morning is a sweaty mess and I was very happy to get home and into the shower to rinse off my drive.

Who Has the Upper Hand?

Ever watched Toddlers & Tiaras? Well I have and it got me to thinking…

There are men at these events. Men who are just sitting in the back row struggling to maintain a pulse. Men with handlebar mustaches in Harley Davidson shirts holding a pink hairbrush bags on one arm and a cowgirl princess costume on the other. Men big enough and burley enough to bust down the walls of the Holiday Inn where these events are held. Men.

How could these dudes not tell their female other-half, "You have a good day at the pageant sweetie. I sure hope little Emily does well, but I'm gonna go throw an ax at a wood stump for a few hours with Bud and Bill"?

Beauty pageants are just one example. Here another thing I've noticed women can get men to do (and not do):

Express a genuine opinion as to the positioning of the new kitchen drapery or other about-to-be-installed home decor. See next paragraph for why they do this.

It's sports season. There's a game on somewhere. Games are meant to be watched. They need to be watched. However, there are also chores to be done and tasks that need completion. This leads to bargaining. Whether actual game attendance or simple home viewing is at stake, those home decor opinions come out of the woodwork, lightbulbs get changed and lawns get mowed, all in record time.

And so the world turns.

Bubble Trouble

In the wide world of sports, there should not be enough time between the action for a player to pop a fresh piece of pink bubble gum, chew it down to bubble-blowing consistency, mold the piece of flavored rubber to the proper size and thickness, blow a small tester bubble to gage the viscosity, resistance and malleability of the gum, bring the piece back into the mouth to reshape and resize based on said tester bubble, then go in for the kill and blow a bubble worthy of winning a middle school lunch time spirit week contest… three or four times. Man, baseball is slow.

The Last One

Isn't it funny? That last chip, french fry, pita wedge, meatball or other delectable bite-sized treat that just sits alone in the dish on the table of a large party? It just sits there surrounded by people who every three or four seconds take a quick glance in its direction both to ensure it's still there should they be the brave soul to make the first move and to ensure that nobody else has been so rude as to be so brave as to make the first move and call the last one their own.

What mechanism in the brain is it that allows us to be so incredibly restrained that no matter how badly we want to grab that crab cake and shovel it in our mouths so quickly that nobody will even have time to object, that we sit politely as if we couldn't possibly eat another bite and even, get this, even go so far as to turn down the item when asked by another party member if we'd like to have it? Why do we do it? Inside I am thinking, "yes I want that slice of pizza, I'm starving and my last slice tasted exactly like more. If I have to sit and watch you consume that mouth-watering mozzarella, chicken and pesto slice my stomach is going to start eating itself out of anger as it seeks revenge on my stupid brain." But what comes out is, "oh no, I'm fine, really. If you'd like it, it's all yours. Go ahead." What a freaking idiot I am. And you KNOW that the only reason the other person is asking you in the first place is so that they don't seem like a jerk for taking it cause they 'covered their bases' and asked around. I say those people are double jerks. At least the ones that just make a lizard-like strike at the plate put the situation to rest and stop all the torturous speculation.

I'd also like to pose this question: What may I ask, happens to that same mechanism around Christmas time when parents are dive-bombing each other for toys or in fall when women are clawing each other in basements over bridal gowns? Yeesh. Let's let some of our actions bleed over into other parts. There shouldn't be the need to swipe army paint under your eyes when searching for a wedding gown…. On the other hand, bringing war paint to the dinner table may just be the ticket to securing the last spring roll.

Dinner anyone?

Ahoy, Matey!

I was out on the water last weekend in what I hope was the first of many stand up paddles in Toronto, but let me back things up for a minute. When you're walking down the street on any given day, do you smile and wave at the people you pass? Cause I sure don't. I pretty much just stay the path to my destination while avoiding getting shoved into the street by some idiot bicyclist cruising down the sidewalk.

I found the opposite when I was out on the water. A small sailboat to my left with seven or eight people on board all gave a wave and a verbal salutation; several even tried to engage in a conversation. And a ferry, just about at capacity, bringing customers over to the island for a day of fun, had so many waving hands I nearly mistook it for a passenger liner departing on its maiden voyage in 1912.

What is it about being on the water that turns self-involved, stranger-fearing people into good will ambassadors? I like it. I say bring on a waterworld. It may just be humanities best chance for a positive post-apocalyptic survival.

I'm Going Apartmental

It has been almost a year and a half since my roommate and I moved into a great apartment. It has been almost a year and a half since my roommate and I decided to look for a better apartment. While there are things we do still find charming about our place, the list of cons seems to grow longer with each day.

In apartment living, your neighbors issues become your issues. If they have bugs, you have bugs. If they cook fish, you cook fish. If they play drums, you play drums. Where may I ask, do all the normal people live? I say normal because I do not believe our upstairs neighbors can be defined as such.

Let me put it to you, Internet: what would you call someone who rises in the evening to celebrate the night's arrival with a marble-based confetti party and after tiring of their celebration around midnight, finds themselves looking for a place to rest but, dissatisfied with the arrangement of their furniture, opt for a complete rearrangement of the current layout. However, too weak from their partying to actually lift the furniture, they resign to dragging it to its new home. Side-note: one thing I must give them credit for is the unique layout of their unit; it seems they have cast over it an Undetectable Extension Charm rendering the space indeterminably large. They seem to drag the furniture for ages before finessing it to its permanent-temporary location. Now, with their mini-party complete, and their furniture in an interim arrangement, they welcome the dawn with a mating session to make the wild beasts of the Serengeti think something was wrong. So yeah, what do you call these neighbors? Cause we've got 'em.

Marble-dropping, furniture-pushing, banshee-sex-having neighbors. Humans are weird.

Overreact Much?

This dude is very clearly not in shape. Are bayonets, butterfly nets and riot shields necessary? Sure, he's got something in his hand and yeah, it might be a weapon, but really, I'm thinking just catch him off balance, knock him down, cuff him, call it a day and go out to dinner - probably not for bratwurst though.

No Shit Sherlock

Do people really need to read these headlines in newspapers to know they are facts? If so, we have some pretty huge problems… actually, it explains these problems perfectly and seriously worries me further.

and…

and…

and…

and...

And these people get the same voice as everyone else. Good lord.

Humans are Alive

Today was a sunny, warm, bright, beautiful spring day. Families were out and about for brunch; groups of young people were gathered in the park wearing their newest Urban Outfitters threads and playing their ironic sports; and I was running errands with what seemed to be an extra spring in my step. No pun intended. Walking back from the florist I noticed the bouquet of deep purple, brilliant pink and crisp white flowers I was carrying standing tall in their arrangement. I could simultaneously feel myself also standing a little taller and walking a little peppier and resting a little easier. There was a definite glint of a smile on my sun warmed face.

As dumb or obvious as this may seem, Spring is really a season where it is clear that humans are alive and no less reliant on the sun for life as any small plant or more wild animal out there. People come alive in the Spring. Desperate to shed their winter coats - to expose their skin to the warming sun, absorbing the vitamin D and calling themselves rejuvenated.

Sun for food. Food for thought.

So This is How We Operate Now?

Today, somebody I work with who shall remain nameless, took their computer into the BATHROOM with them because they were due to hop onto a Skype VIDEO conference call and were worried that they'd miss the connection. Seriously?! Seriously?! He'd rather be sitting on the pot and on time for a call than a minute late? And the poor folks on the other end of that call; what are they gonna think when their colleague is there before them sitting not in a chair with a bookshelf behind them, but rather on a toilet with a backdrop of 1 inch by 1 inch blue toned tiles? I think they too would rather he called in a minute or so late.

Come on people, nothing at work is that important that you can't use the bathroom before hand. Aaaand, on top of the awkwardness, think of the icky factor and all the germs that are on the computer now. Ew. Remind me not help him edit any docs.

Video conferencing from the toilet - humans are weird.

I Shave My Knees

Don't you think that sounds like a weird thing to do?! This afternoon I was telling a co-worker about a cut I have on the inside of my nose. This cut is ever so small in size but is quite the opposite in the pain it's causing. I'm constantly aware of its presence and am therefore testing it every 5 minutes to see if it has healed in the time since I did just that. My co-worker then asked (jokingly I hope…perhaps I should follow up on that) if I cut it shaving. "NOOOOO" I fired back at him; "how weird to shave the inside of your nose," I exclaimed with a quizzical look upon my face. He told me that most men shave the corners of their nose as they shave their faces. How crazy is it to take a straight razor and try to shave this inside of a (very sensitive) round hole. The potential for slice-and-dice is far to great for me to attempt such a chore. Surely in the post moon-landing world we supposedly live in, there's a tool out there specifically to catch the corner nose hairs. What did the Butabi* brothers use? Their option, while inducing a rather odd dance, seemed to work well and run a minimal risk of cuttage.

Anyway, as weird as it is that men try to shave the inside of their noses, we women shave our knees. That's weird too I guess.

* If you can tell me who the Butabi brothers are, we are kindred spirits.

How Much for the Hair Pin Ma'am?

Really?! (I'm pretty sure 'really' could be the opening to every single post I make, but anyways…)

So I don't care where you live or what you're into or what you deem fashionable, but half of a stuffed mouse/gerbil/guinea pig/hamster attached to a hair pin is not fashion - it's freaky. Please stop making these whoever you are.

Ease Up With the Subtlety

Here is a quick screen shot of the current Top 10 Downloaded songs on iTunes:

Really?! On the Floor, S&M, Fuckin' Perfect, Blow, … come on ladies, let's not give away the farm in our song titles. Leave a little something to the imagination. Honestly.

I Have a Clog

What's a clog, you ask? Why that would be a co-blog. Yes, my good friend Sam Bones and I have teamed up to bring another blog to the interweb.

It came about one day as I expressed my nostalgia for the college paper. For whatever reason I was feeling a void of sorts for no longer being asked to submit things 'MLA style by Friday at 4:00pm'. I told her of my fondness for prompts, for brainstorming, for rough drafts, for peer editing, for cover pages and for grades.

Sam said she'd be happy to help me fill this void by creating weekly assignments with detailed prompts and then reviewing them upon submission with a militant (read: professorial) eye.

There's only been a few assignments thus far, but if you feel so inclined you may checkout

Today's Mission Is for more details. It's also listed along side this blog as a 'Blog I Like'. Obviously.

An Inventor of Sorts

My Mum hates bluetooth devices; she thinks they're hard to hear with and annoying to wear. My Mum got a ticket the other day for using her cell phone while driving. She hates this even more than bluetooth devices. Necessity being the mother of all inventions, Mum now has a fully functioning, completely legal, handsfree device with which to call home and let my Dad know that she stopped for the biscuits he requested. See images below:

Just one small strip of Velcro and an operational speakerphone button and she's good to drive and chat till her 8 year old battery dies. Don't worry Mum, we won't steal your upgrades anymore. ;) You're iPhone isn't far off now.

Things I Googled at Work (For Work) Today

- icy car crash

- military pepper spray

- whoopie pie

- spewing lava

- sinister devil

- mannequin in bra

- extreme skiing

- exploded porta potty

- comedic ice hockey

- Justin Bieber haircut

- spaceship repair

- family farming

- big cozy comforter

- retired stripper

- old lady dancing

- big hoe

- human sized Jello mold

- lots of pigs

- Shania Twain

- Leatherhead football

(My friend said he gave someone a whoopie pie and I thought it was something dirty. That being said, I was still prepared to see what it was so I Google imaged it and it turns out that it's the delectible looking treat seen above).

Before I Die

I will spend 3 weeks on any one of these boats in any one of these locations. I will.

Why?

Why do I have a drawer full of t-shirts that I never wear? Because I have attached some sort of sentimental memory to each of them, that's why. 4/5 of them I got for free after a race or something so why do I care enough to warrant storing them for years...

Does anybody else do this? How can I stop?

The Stranger

I like to read. I like to read novels. I like to read novels written in the first-person narrative.

The Stranger is one of my all time favorites. I used to think of myself as a borderline existentialist but soon realized that buffet-existentialists are really just apathetic lazy people, and that my friends, I am not. Anyway, pick whatever cover you want, but read this book.

When I Find My Guts

... my hair will look like this.

How to Stay Warm

We all have to get places in our daily lives. Some of us opt to travel by bicycle. In winter, this can get pretty chilly. One local citizen has found a temporary solution:

I Wonder...

Are elementary school kids of today taught the same things I was taught?

Do young kids today learn how necessary it is to cut apart the plastic thingy that hold six packs of soda so that the birds don't get caught in it when they inevitably go digging through the garbage?

Are kids today taught about the hole in the ozone layer? Or is this problem so small relative to the rest of today's problems that they needn't even worry about it?

Is it even worth it to school todays youth in the Drug Abuse Resistance Education program or do they teach themselves through trial and error before the class would have even been offered to them in elementary school?

Are California students still required to do a report and make a model of the Mission of their choice? Or is that seen as teaching religion in school?

Does S.S.R (sustained silent reading) (from real books) still happen right after lunch so as to calm everyone down for the rest of the afternoon? Do kids even need to be calmed down from their game of Angry Birds?

How much have the standards of what's acceptable changed?

Can summer school (which was totally voluntary and amazingly awesome) still offer that camping class where on the last day the whole group goes on a trip with the teacher and sleep in one giant tent? Or does that raise too many sexual harassment red flags?

Can schools still have a 'free food bin' at lunch where students put food they don't want so that those who can't afford or forgot to bring their own lunch can choose from? Or is the threat of a peanut allergy outbreak too strong?

What's the punishment for breaking playground rules at recess? I'm going to assume that 'sitting on the yellow line' has lost its intimidation factor.

Are kids allowed to bring home their handwritten report card to their parents or are they now e-mailed to the parents in a password protected PDF document?

Do they even attempt to say the Pledge of Allegiance anymore or is that just ripe for the picking by parents looking to get teachers fired?

Do kids still run in groups from their homes to the wall of their elementary school 3 days before school starts to see who their teacher is and who their classmates are going to be? Or is this a highly politicized process wherein the most involved parents shape the outcome...wait, I think it was still like that in my day.

Does the standard fire drill still involve walking single file in line with your teacher to your classroom's designated spot on the field and then waiting for directions from the fire department? Or is it a 'get your cell phones kids and call your parents' situation now?

Do the same games and activities still excite the young minds of today?

Does Cinderella still dress in yellow? Doe she go upstairs to kiss a fellow? Does she continue to make the same mistake and kiss that snake? How many doctors does it take today?

Do groups of little kids still sit and create the most awesome elaborate fantasy world for the game of hide and go seek take they're going to play later? Or do they sit and create that same game in App form and e-vite their friends to join later.

Does teatherball still have the biggest line at lunch or does the sole outlet on the bathroom wall?

Is there still that one kid who can never seem to keep his shoes on while playing kickball? Does he still clearly wear his dad's socks as well?

Do little girls still sit and make grass necklaces out of the flower weeds growing in the field?

I Don't Like it When...

... customers walk against the grain of the Ikea marketplace flow. With strollers... and carts... on busy Saturday afternoons. The Swedes put arrows on the ground for a reason; let's show some order people.

I've Discovered a Transporter Machine

It's 3pm. I'm sitting at my desk in an somewhat rundown office building. The walls are each a different color- lime green, matt white and hazy purple. Each have their fair share of dings, scratches and scuffs - all of which I'm sure come with an even less interesting story. I'm facing the copy room and the edit bay. I hear the sound of a fax coming thru the machine, somebody cursing the stapler because it ran out 3 packets short of the complete job, and a loop of a cheering family as the editor tries to properly insert the 'ding ding ding' sound effect. It's not at all annoying. I turn my attention to window. Maybe the outdoors will have something better to offer. Cold, gray, wet, white, gray, barren. It's winter. In Toronto. With nothing to capture my attention outside I find myself scrolling through my Internet bookmarks. I skim the usual suspects: Passive Aggressive Notes, Perez, Deadspin, NYTimes, Margaret & Helen... yawn. I just can't seem to take a vested interest in what the day has to offer. It's a strange feeling. I'm not depressed, no more sleepy that normal; it's just "one of those days" I suppose. iTunes will help me.

It's summer. I'm on PCH just out front the Cottage restaurant. I'm in Laguna Beach and I'm driving my car to my favorite beach. The windows are down and I can feel the sun dancing on my skin as I drive in and out of the tree's shadows. There's traffic, as usual for summertime in Laguna, but today it doesn't bother me cause there's nothing I have to do but lay on a beach. I can smell the Banana Boat sunscreen I applied at home. I reach for my water bottle and watch as the sun causes water reflections on my dashboard. There's a parking spot! I snag it, grab my towel and stash my keys on the roof. Walking down the stairs the sand between my toes and the concrete feels like a friendly greeting urging me to continue on my journey. The salt air and the sound of the waves crashing are like a hug from your favorite friend. The sand is warm and inviting and as I walk to my usual spot I see the familiar faces and hear the familiar sounds of Shaw's Cove. With my towel in place to stake my claim on a little plot of land I run down to the waters edge and submerge myself in the blue waters. Colder than I was expecting. Not too cold though. Caught some great waves. Got pounded on a few though too. Back to the towel. I can feel my heart beating against the sand. I feel the salt sticking to my skin as the water evaporates. I slowly fall asleep to the sounds of the sand crunching beneath my ear as I wriggle to find the right position.

Dismal winter to beautiful paradise in three minutes 42 seconds. Thank you Tom Petty's Greatest Hits.