Transcript from my cell phone voicemail.
Call from: 905 XXX XXXX
Time: 1:10am

“Hey. This is Leo (Could have been “Theo” or “Neo”). Uh. I know it’s late at night. *mumble* like 1am. I was just callin’ you know. Just wondering how you *mumble*.

Anyway I was just got up and *mumble*. Like lots of memories.

(Pause)

And I haven’t even met your dude yet. So call me. I know it’s late. Maybe call me tomorrow, like around noon.”

The poor guy sounded pretty desperate. I knew a Theo back in the early 90s but he’s in London Ont and could not have got my cell number from anywhere, anyone. The only Leo I know was a customer from the Eagle who I would not give my number to. The only Neo I know is stuck in a matrix.

I hope he found the boody he was calling.

The Reverend Mother doesn’t actually call Maria a C-face.

But lordy we rewound that about 20 times.

And if you imagine the youngest, Greta, as a nice glazed ham, the film becomes watchable.

Good. Freaking. Lord.

When does this guy/gal have time for …like… hygene?

I am not work-burdened right now. The company has turned it’s crazy must-get-it-done-now gaze away from me and settled upon the poor two hapless print slaves and has demanded that a couple brochures and newsletters get done before the world cracks in half or something. I’m left to my own devices and I am rewriting meta tags on this, the last slave day before Xmas.

The previous web staff thought it was ok to just reuse the exact same words for the meta description and keyword tags for all 3500 pages of our company site. That’s right, our company’s site is ranked somewhere right beside “The Last Page On The Internet”. It’s a slow process as that I have to actually read the travel drivel describing toasty Tunisian landscapes and far-off exotic souks that syrupy drip over the HTML that is our site.

Needless to say I want to get out of here.

Tonight, Sharkboy and I are dining with Da, the WriterBrother and the Punk Neice and then driving to Montreal at 5am tomorrow morning where I will sit nursing a spiked egg nog as the French relatives talk around me. Then we get into the car and drive to Brockvegas to see my Mum for lunch, grab my WriterBrother and hit the Thousand Island Casino. We’ll be back in the city on Sunday night. Thankfully I have Mon/Tues off to decompress.

I hope you get every single present you ever wished for and greedily eat everything on your plate. Happy Christmas-Xmas-Kwanza-Festivus-Haunuka-PaganSolstice-bla-bla-bla!

Update Sharkboy just sent me this list of things he and his co-workers are saying loudly to get out of the office early:

Me: Elana, thank you for a great year, you can go home now
Me: Well, looks like Marketing is leaving, maybe we can leave too.
Me: The phones have been so quiet since lunch, that’s a sign.
Me: Did you notice how empty the parking lots are? Everybody’s gone home early!
Me: Did you finish all your shopping? Would be good to go now before everybody leaves work at 5 and fill out the mall…
Me: They were saying on the radio that the traffic is heavier at 3pm today than it’s been all week, I guess a lot of people are leaving early.
Me: I can’t believe the coffee place closed early today.
Me: I have so many things to do at home before dinner tonight.
Me: I guess I’ll clean the desk, not in the mood for anything else right now…

I sent back:

Try this one:

Did you see that movie last night? A Christmas Carol? Boy that boss turned really nice, eh?

And just now I got from him:

I guess my talking to everyone and not really being at my desk got me in trouble… Anyway, long story short, I was just told that if it’s that quiet, I could go home.. hehe

I am extremely sorry I haven’t gone to Sloppy Joe’s site sooner when the URL was passed to me on a dirty Black Eagle trick card.

You should go now. While you’re still in the Xmas spirit. Sloppy Joe loves video and it shows. Watch The Story of Jesus for stellar scripting like this:

God: Mary, this is GOD!
Mary: Where are you?
God: In … the air.
Mary: Oh wow!

Enjoy!

If you’ve spent more than 20 min in a car with me then you know that it’s physically impossible for me just to “sit there” and not do anything. Our last rental car was equipped with OnStar and I SO DESPERATELY wanted to press that little blue button.

OnStar: This is OnStar, how can I be of service?
Me: Hi OnStar! Do you like what I’m wearing?

OnStar: OnStar, how may I help you?
Me: I think I’m being followed. Oh no, sorry it was a bird.

OnStar: Hello OnStar. How may I help you?
Me: (throaty, breathy) What are you wearing?

Or my favorite: Get OnStar to flash your lights (their parking lot locater service) and dance in front of the car like some bad 80s video.

“Did you find your car, Mr Robot?”
“Damn it! Keep flashing! …Dancing at the feet of the moon!!”

Remember how I absolutely loved Joe Schmoe? You might remember I loved it because it took all the incredibly ridiculous things found in reality tv shows and threw them at an unsuspecting “schmoe” to see if he could withstand the barrage.

I have a new favorite show.

I have only seen one episode and it will probably never play in Canada. Its called Space Cadets and it is brilliant. If you have Bittorrent I suggest you get it right now. I’ll wait.

The first episode took 100 applicants and widdled them down to 12 (with three producer-hired actor plants amongst their midst to move the prank along) and then announced that they were to be taken to STAR City (The Russian Space Tourist boot camp) and 4 would be chosen to be the first British space tourists to be televised on TV.

They didn’t know that the whole thing was fake. And filmed in an abandoned military base in Ipswitch.

Apparently since the show was televised, there has been immense backlash from the British public saying the show was cruel and went too far. I would think that the people doing the biggest complaining probably never sat through a season of (American) Survior and then devoured Joe Schmoe in comparison. After seeing the fist episode I would say that the show’s producers might have omitted the spirit of satire and didn’t put instances of utter absurdity to hint that the show was fake to weed out the “smart” ones. Example: in JS, one of the elimination games was “Don’t take your hand off the hooker!” where contestants had to keep their hands on one body part of an admitted prostitute (actor) for hours. Any contestant who would have stopped for a moment and really thought about that challenge would have suspected the airing of such a racy contest.

In the first episode, the 100 applicants got a battery of mental tests to see if they were “suggestable”, meaning they would believe in something if the majority of the group agreed upon whatever was suggested, even if it meant gravity in space proved them wrong. While Space Cadets so far doesn’t seem like anything more than a practical joke (I am not going to spoil it by reading reviews or news claims stating contestants might sue), I hope they do throw in the odd satiracle jab at reality shows. Apparently there is a bit where they honour a fake Russian Astrodog while onboard the spacecraft. Looking forward to that one…

So far, I say khorosho, Comrade!

Steve Buzcek’s Onyx Ball was, as usual, a bearful place to be for hirsuit and the affectionate who love them. While there was your slightly less than average twink population, the crowd was still diverse and the music wasn’t offensive (MLT contest was still better). A good mix of leather and denim, shirtless and thankfully clothed. The staff at the Opera House genuinely seemed to be happy to be serving you, not like the Government where the droids you hand your money over to don’t thank you for your tip or crack their perfect faces with a smile.

It was your usual decor of balloons and dollar store streamers. The drag show rumoured to start at 1am never happened by the time we left closer to 2am. Will I get a discount on the next ball?

In all, I’d give it a 3 out of 5. Not super, not bad, just familiar. It was satisfying but not a “Ball” in any sense of the word.

After a long weekend of reverie, I am warmed to see pigeons eating the corn from puke left on the sidewalks from parties the night before.

Bless these winged sanitation volunteers!

I get a MSN moments ago with an interesting link:

Rogers Kills Bittorrent

Silently in the last month or so, Rogers has been capping and data throttling High Speed Ultra users (yes the ones who’ve paid for unlimited data transfer) who seem to be using Bittorrent.

It’s ok. You Ultra subscribers said that this was ok in your End User Agreements.

Hello, Sympatico?