Just wondering on this the first day of Hanukkah:
If Halal and Kosher meat are blessed food, meaning they’ve had contact with whatever religion considers their All Mighty, then say it goes off, do the purveyors of said meat have to give it a special burial? Or atone for it’s sin of becoming vile? Or sell it at a discount?
Just wondering…
I was going to put something smart-assed up for WAD, but when I saw this light display the other day I thought better of it.
Last night the cat woke me up at 4:30am and trying to get back to sleep I came up with a whole comedy routine in my dazed state. The brunt of the routine was this statement: “When was the last time big pharmaceutical companies ever cured anything? Restless leg syndrome? Fuck off. They’re cultivating cash cows. Worse than the Matrix.”
Think, remember and act.
I’ve “deleted” my Facebook account.
I was never really on this trend, in fact, I was resistant towards it because of the amount of personal information is shunted between individuals (this coming from a guy who’s had a personal vanity blog since 2004). I was never comfortable with the amount of “work” it felt like just to maintain your profile. And on top of that, I don’t want to go to a hugely public website to find out that a family member, albeit a distant cousin or someone I knew when I was regrettably young and without sense, is in mourning for losing a pet or is celebrating the removal of their 11th toe. There’s something cold in that. Honestly, I could get more fulfilling online interaction from a Party Bingo chat room. I originally started into the site out of curiosity and then used it as a big old RSS feed for this blog, which, by the way, didn’t increase my page visits.
The thing that made me snap was my last “friend” confirmation. I got a message from the guy I use to verbally berate and call “fag” in high school. I see this guy around the village every so often and try really hard not to make eye contact. My behaviour back then was cowardly and stupid and the weight of embarrassment is too much to bear. So instead of accepting his “friend request” in what might have been a hand reaching out as a symbol of forgiveness I hit “delete”. Apparently I’m still a coward and a homophobe.
That’s why I hate Farcebook. Some things should stay unmentioned and in your past.
Meanwhile, Farcebook’s Beacon proves difficult to say “hey stop it” to. (via Mathew Ingram)
Cute with Chris has a big ‘ol thread where he’s open the forever and ongoing debate of what a Bear is, particularly what is an Asian Bear and can they be hairless? The best part is that most of his viewers/subscribers are teenage girls. It’s an interesting read.
I’ve finished BioShock last week and have been patiently waiting for my next paycheque to purchase a new game for myself on the Xbox. Last night, I was cruising on the free demo section of Xbox Live Arcade and got to playing UNO.
Yeah. UNO. The Crazy Eight style card game.
I dunno why I fixated on it. In the demo mode, you play against three computer players (while the unlocked version has live players) and it had no discernible strategy. All I had to do was press A button a thousand times to win or lose. Mostly lose. I guess I was playing for a long time, I don’t recall. The game is so lame yet it sucked me in and made me play for about an hour.
Today I get an email at work from SharkBoy:
I got Orange Box for you. I couldn’t stand it watching you play UNO… on Xbox 360 Live… UNO… I had to get you something else.. I just had to
Every day is like Xmas with him!
Hey look, honey! I’m playing these games on a crappy 32″ TV! It’s not a flat screen! How lame is that?
Back when I was growing up in Brockville (a dickless, backwater, podunk town on the edge of the St Lawrence River half way between Toronto and Montreal) I use to tune my crappy radio into CHEZ106 to record songs on my tape cassettes (yes, it was in the late 70s) from great artists like Rough Trade, The Cars and The Buggles. One particular song I wanted really bad was “Don’t You Want Me Baby?” from Human League. So desperate was I that I would fall asleep in my bed with my finger still on the record button, waiting for the song. I’d wake up in the morning with “RADIO SHACK” indented into my cheek, backwards.
I gave up at one point and went to the local Sams The Record Man on the main drag. The guy behind the counter wasn’t all that helpful because the Human League wasn’t heavy metal and was fairly popular. He went to his large index book (pre-computers, kids!) and found only one Human League album: Mirror Man, a extended play record a couple releases back from the hit I was looking for. What the hell, I ordered it.
It came in a few weeks later . When I entered the store, the guy behind the counter made damn sure I knew that he was disgusted in my musical choice, based solely on the fact that one of the male band members was wearing high heeled boots on the cover. While the song has warm connotations today of my budding love for Nu-Romance new wave, I’ll never forget the clerk commenting on my liking “those British fags”.
That was pretty much my weekend, but not in that order.
Friday, we celebrated the birthday of Photog #1 (although with Photog #2’s purchase of his Canon D40, I think I may need to switch these numbers around) with copious amounts of Chinese food and Wii. It’s amazing to see someone who has barely ever played video games try to master minigames on Super Mario Party. Lots of waving and screaming. I was reminded of the time we put a Walkman on my 82 year old grandfather back in the early 80s. He started to hoot and sing along completely unaware he was making a ruckus.
Saturday was the funeral for John, one of the owners of The Point campground. I’m tired of going to funerals. Three in one year should be a maximum limit. Any more than that you should be eligible for a emotional tax write off from the government. At one point during the ceremony my mind wandered and started to wonder about the position they place you in when you get stuffed. I want to be in an action pose, vertical, probably playing a video game. Just like an animal, perched on a log. Then the casket rolled into the chapel and the fun thoughts stopped. I really didnt want to go to the gravesite but it seemed everyone else did (there was a procession of 30 some cars, which, to my surprise, was making traffic stop on BOTH sides of the road). The reception was good. I was texting Normlr that his favorite camper, Mr Jiggles was cruising my husband. How tacky (for both of us!).
I tried my first ever live, online game on Saturday night. I went online with Beautiful Katamari and promptly got my ass pwned by some kid from Japan. Nice. After the game he kept on making his Avatar bow before me. I was vaguely creeped out and managed to make a heart icon appear over my head. It was a bizarre international moment that I will have a hard time forgetting.
Sunday was busy. We got some of my stuff out of storage and unpacked it into the kitchen while SharkBoy wrapped our gifts to the family. We’re 95% done our Xmas shopping! Ha! Meanwhile I was so happy to see some of my kitchen utensils after nearly two years in storage (My lime press! My salad spinner! My 1950s Science Fair melamine tray!) that I wept tears of joy as I unpacked and cleaned all my (our!) Good Grips. The harsh reality is that we now own 4 can openers, a million wooden spoons and only one good potato masher. Then I dragged my old duvet over to the laundromat and stuffed it into the industrial sized dryer. When the water hit it, the cover turned a delightful light brown. Huh? Ew? Came out clean anyway.
Good morning chicklettes! Enjoying the weather in balmy TdotOh?
I’m sitting in my dentist’s office waiting for my hygienist (teef klenir) to get in.
I dreamt last night that everyone had super powers. SharkBoy could walk on walls but only ones that were 90deg from the surface he was currently on. I could make things catch fire, but I couldn’t make fireballs or fly, just burn things. In one part of the dream I was in a HomeSense store trying to set fire to the water in a cheap garden fountain while SharkBoy was walking around the sides of shelving units testing his power. Then some guy who looked a lot like some 80s star I don’t recall came out of the back room in a fashion leather jacket and insisted we leave.
Wha?
Gizmodo has a story about discovering your spouse is cheating on you by the Miis she’s creating!
People I can say that I can’t wait for the day I’m able to make a good clear image of my Miis. Mine, SharkBoy’s, and the Photog’s Miis look exactly like us.