Category Archives: Favorite
Overabundance of bride zombies, but generally a great day! Lots of creativity out there. Some of my faves are here:
December 2010 and I pick up the phone to book one of the dinner shows I’ve always heard about as a kid. The Spirit of Aloha show was “burned” into my memory from various Wonderful World of Disney TV shows that aired on Sunday night.
Did we want to use our dinner points (2 if you’re counting) or would we like to pay the full amount? $167 later we had our booking, but didn’t know where we were seated.
We arrive at the Polynesian in near full darkness, only a couple Tiki lamps to cheer us as we waited in line. If any line needed an up-tick (like the Winnie the Pooh ride), this was one. Thankfully at one point we could see fireworks shooting over Magic Kingdom. Fun!
Our host greeted us and as we walked to our table. She was an Amazon of a woman who was all smiles and welcomes – not an ounce of insincerity . As we weaved in and out of tables (the theater is huge!) she explained that it was a set menu, drinks were included except for specialty drinks (see pic below) and that our server would be with us shortly. Narrowly missing a chair being pushed out, I asked how long she had been working at the restaurant.
“33 Years,” She answered without pause, without a hint of cynicism.
“Really? That long? Is it fun to work here?”
Her smile was as large as her arm that swept across the crowded, kinetic room, out to the view of the Seven Seas Lagoon, across to Magic Kingdom. “Absolutely!”
She then indicated our seats were waiting and lead us to a table for two, in the front row. It was a magical moment…
Here are some pics of the show – click to enbiggen! Ohoiho!
Shoppers Drug Mart, Parliament and Carlton, 7:40pm
Sharkboy: (Depositing our purchase down on the checkout counter) “Hello there!”
Clerk: (Dead eyed, zombie-like) “Good evening.”
Sharkboy: “All ready for Halloween?”
Longish pause. No more response.
Sharkboy: “I’ll take that grunt as a ‘Yes’.”
I’m working on an email for a co-worker and they’re standing over me while I was editing in Photoshop and they say “Take that out, it looks gay.”
“What?” I am aghast.
“Oh come on,” they said as if to say We’re cool! You and I can use ‘gay’ like that!
“WHAT?” I said louder.
“I guess I meant ‘stupid’.”
I got up from my desk and left them there alone in my cubicle, “What? What is it Ted?” hitting me in the back of the head as I stormed off. I got half way down to HR before calming down enough to realize I need to confront this person first before going crying to someone.
So I did.
I took them outside and said “If I ever hear you say that again in a derogatory manner, I will have you in HR’s office so fast your head will spin.”
“But my uncle is gay!”
The flood gates burst open. I went into a rant saying they just disrespected my family as well as their own. Their eyes wide, I went on to explain exactly why using ‘gay’ that way was demeaning to a large part of my life. I said I wasn’t militant, but I would ask that they refrained from using ‘gay’ in reference to ‘stupid’ things. I finished by saying I could not believe they had reduced our office to high school playground proportions. I was shaking mad by the end of it.
We talked more and we’re cool. This co-worker looked like a deer in headlights when I left them.
I find that the best comedy usually doesn’t happen on stage.
This morning while at the gym, I wound up right across from another guy, both of us fretfully trying not to have our body parts touch in the cramped aisle of the change room. We’re taking great care not to get into each other’s way and to compensate, I’m standing askew from my open locker, making the transition from nude to dressed while he’s going from dressed to nude. I yank at a shirt resulting in my underwear flying across the aisle, landing squarely on his shoes.
“Buh!” he says, in utter surprise.
“Good lord!” I sputter, “It’s like you’re Tom Jones!”
Today was my first TRIDEC appointment at the Woman’s College Hospital and boy howdy don’t you learn stuff in a day.
After registering they showed us to the cafeteria for a light breakfast, to which I thought “Isn’t food the reason I’m here?” Apparently that’s a typical over-compensative reaction to learning you’re diabetic. Hate the food! I couldn’t imagine hating food. It’s my boo-blanket. Anyhoo, the breakfast pickins was pretty low – Oatmeal (which I guess I’m going to have to learn to love), hard boiled eggs, yoghurt. A manky apple. I passed all that, grabbed a tea and scanned the room for the “fun” people.
And immediately sat in the corner.
Diabetes is a genetic predispostion that can be brought on by age or obesity or even stress. Today’s class was the obesity crowd, I think. Our combined weight in that class could have been mistaken for dark matter. At the beginning of the class we stood one by one for introductions and everyone gave their name, timeline since discovering their diabetes and a little run down about how they felt. How new age! Most were scared. Most were concerned with the quality of life they could look forward to. One woman admitted to being angry. I made a mental note to avoid her on breaks. When it came to my turn I said: “My name is Ted, I learned about being allergic to sugar about a month ago and really… uh… I’m only here for recipies.”
The slim, smartly dressed mother of three laughed. The rest looked at me as if I said I got diabetes from eating babies.
We got handouts. And Government of Canada handouts. And a handout about the state of Splenda in Canada. We even got a handout with little pictures of our own hands, comparing relative food sizes. Did you know a fist is pretty much representative of a chicken breast? Two hands is pretty much how much salad we should be taking in? Dolly Parton would be a salad bar. Ba-bump-cha!
In all, it was very informative. I was seriously glad to be dumped with so much information about how to eat “properly”.
Before lunch the nurse brought out her blood sugar testing computer – a little Tamagotchi sized puck that actually sucked the blood up from the pinprick (which didn’t hurt by the way). Those of us who weren’t monitoring our blood were offered 5 different kinds of monitors for free (Different sizes! Different screen readouts! So many options!) with 10 strips thrown in just so you’d get hooked to their product at a $1/strip. Big Pharma in my back pocket again. I chose the machine that didn’t require you to punch in the test strips lot numbers when you used it (for Covering Legally the Ass of Some Suit, I’m sure – CLASS for short). The lot numbers are coded right on the strip! Oh science! Anyway I asked the nurse if the monitor came in green and she cocked her head to one side and said, “Fussy?”
“I like contrasting colours,” I offered. Red blood, green monitor. Always the designer.
“One in every class,” She muttered.
I’m calling my monitor “Vampyra”. Sounds cool, no?
October 12th, 1992. 11:00am
Skywalker Ranch, Obi Wan Boardroom, Business Development Meeting.
Assembled is a divided group of Lucas underlings. On one side sit “The Suits”, the men and women who have built the LucasArts empire up into the earth thundering juggernaught that it is today. On the other, “The Granolas”, the dwindling, long haired hangers-on from George’s film school days. Creative types that still believe they can change the world through film. At the head of the table, is George, notepad awash with scribbles and doodles. He’s distracted. The Suits have the floor…
Suit #1: We are years away from developing Episodes One through Three so we’ve called this meeting to see if we can revamp the franchise through aggressive product creation and marketing.
Granola Lady #1: (under her breath) Shiva save me…
Suit #1: That’s right. We’re going to create more Star Wars merchandise.
Groans from the Granolas. George is oblivious.
Granola Man #4: Wasn’t the underwear, bedsheets and wallpaper enough?
Suit #2: We can do better. I know if we can synergize this group, we can create a greater library of product to increase our profits.
Granola Lady #1: (not so under her breath) Vishnu and Shiva…
Suit #1: Your sad devotion to that ancient religion has not helped us conjure up more revenue. Okay lets get started. The floor is open. Any ideas?
Granola Man #5: I tried to get my kids to help me with the gardening and got nowhere. How about Lawn fertilizer?
Suit #1: Good idea. Write that down!
Granola Lady #5: How about a Christmas special?
George: (finally looking up over his doodle pad. Quietly) You’re fired. (Granola Lady #5 leaves)
Suit #1: We can see the paradigms for this meeting a bit clearer now. Anyone else?
Granola Man #2: Kids today are listening to this “rap music“… maybe we can hook up with that?
Suit #2: I will call Warner Brothers. It’ll be in Casey Casem’s lap by noon Friday.
Suit #1: Excellent, team! More?
Granola Man #3: (giggling nearly uncontrollably) Brownies, man!
Suit #4: Can I try one of those? (Granola Man #3 passes his baggie of dark brownies)
Suit #1: I see R2’s head as a preformed brownie mold already! More?
From the back, Unidentified: Guitar picks!
Suit #1: Yes! (pause) Come on people! (longer pause)
Granola Lady #1: Soap.
Suit #1: Soap?
Granola Lady #1: Soap. Glycerine soap. You mentioned you had a couple thousand boxes of Chewbacca/R2/C3P0 figurines that were made too small to be sold as freestanding toys, right?
Suit #1: (interested) yeah…?
Granola Lady #1: We dip Chewie in a bar of soap and kids will wash themselves down with it. At least they’re using a product that won’t harm their skin and might make these sweaty fanboys wash a bit more frequently.
Suit #1: A bar of soap…? How do kids relate to that? What’s the hook?
Granola Lady #1: Glycerine soap is clear. They can see Chewie inside–
Suit #4: Can we add sparkles? To make it more…Spacey?
Granola Lady#1: Whatever.
Suit #1: Brilliant! Run with that puppy!
Later, after a couple months of vigorous sales, lawsuits would start to flow in from concerned parents as kids were cutting their skin open from dragging Chewbacca’s laser crossbow across their backside.
Yes. Yes I do rub Chewie against my butt daily.
Sharkboy: I solved the mystery of the Blood in the Bathroom Sink.
Dead Robot: Oh?
SB: Yes. It was you. You emptied a can of diet Pepsi into the sink and it dried there. I can prove it by the emptied crushed can in the garbage by the toilet. You have the memory span of that guy from Memento.
DR: When I move in, am I going to get this every time I do something around the house?
SB: Not my problem you’re moving in with Scooby Doo.
DR: Scooby Doo never solved the crimes. He stumbled upon the solution, never solved them. It was always Velma or Daphnie. Come to think of it, Fred rarely ever did either.
SB: He was the mask puller.
DR (in Fred’s voice): “Holy shit! It was Mr Chestshitter all along!”