I was chatting with a good friend of mine who is an honest man and a bit of a cynic when he casually mentioned that he'd been talking to God. I was taken aback, after all he isn't even a Christian as far as I know and has said things in the past that led me to believe he didn't believe in said entity.
"I thought you didn't believe in God...?" I said.
"I didn't used to," he said. "But a few weeks ago, I was fishing on a remote lake in Northern Ontario - miles way from the nearest human being - and he introduced himself..."
"Just like that?" I said.
"Just like that." he said.
"Um... what'd he say?" I asked.
"He said, 'Hi, John... it's a remarkable day isn't it?'..."
"What did you say to that?" I enquired.
"I said, 'It is indeed...' I couldn't think of anything else to say."
"What did you talk about?"
"Sorry - it's personal" he said.
The conversation turned to more down-to-earth sorts of things but this got me thinking. John has always been a rational and intelligent man - a little reticent... a man of few words. But honest always. I thought to myself, maybe there's something to this after all?
It took considerable planning and expense but three weeks later, I was in a fourteen foot fishing boat with a nine point nine motor on exactly the same lake as John had described and miles away from anywhere. I was on tenterhooks, but nothing at all happened the first day except that I caught a few nice eating walleye and released a pair of unusually big muskie. The second day, it occurred to me that perhaps He wasn't feeling quite as chatty as he'd been with John and that I should be presumptuous enough as to start the conversation instead.
"God," I said, somewhat self-consciously. "How are You doing?".
I felt obliged to emphasize the 'You' because of who He was, but ended up sounding like Joey Tribiani from 'Friends'. Pretty lame I admit, but what would you have said...?
"Makes you feel like an idiot..." said a small, still voice, casually. "talking to nobody in particular, I mean."
"Is that you, God?" I said excitedly.
"No, Son... it's one of the walleye you just caught." He said, wearily. "Harumph... of course it's me."
I was flabbergasted and gobsmacked and doubting my sanity - all at the same time. I'd been an atheist for most of my sojourn on this planet and now I was talking to a being I was sure didn't exist. I checked over my shoulder and took a cursory look around the boat but there was nobody there... and no microphones or speakers as far as I could see.
"So you do exist?" I said cautiously.
"Evidently." He said, patiently. "I have always existed and I will always exist in perpetuity."
"That infinite in perpetuity thing has always fascinated me," I said "Is there really infinity out there?"
"Yes. At least as far as you can imagine..." He sounded bored. "I just know you're dying to ask me a whole bunch of intelligent questions..."
"Well, yes... yes, I am..." I said. And then paused because I couldn't think of any.
"If you created the world... who created you...?" He prompted.
"Ah, yes. Well, who did?"
"It's that infinity catch-all again..." He said. "Nobody or nothing did. I've always been here. There is no beginning and no end."
"But you did create the heavens and the earth?"
"Yes. Although you can't blame me for that. Even I have my off moments..."
"Hmmn... and after that you created man in Your own image?"
"Not at all. Think about it - I am everything that exists - I don't have an image."
"But it says so in the Holy Bible." I insisted.
"I didn't write that collection of fables and half-truths. As far as I'm concerned, it's a compendium of fairy stories..."
"You didn't create the earth in seven days then?"
"Nope. Actually it was a few minutes work - a mere afterthought after I created the universe. And it's only one of the many populated worlds that I made."
"So, we're not alone?"
"Alone...? You exist only in my imagination... but I must admit I have imagined other civilizations. So in that respect you are not alone."
"Here's a good question..." I said. "What about Heaven and Hell - do they exist?"
"Myths... both of them. Invented by the purveyors of judgment based religion. Make a man feel guilty and he'll do just about anything - Jewish mothers nailed that tactic down thousands of years ago..."
"But the fundamentalists claim they are already forgiven and they'll all go to heaven..."
"Forgiven?" He said, "Ask yourself by who? Not by Me certainly... and I already told you there is no judgment and no Heaven or Hell so what's the point of being forgiven?"
"So what happens when we die?"
"You cease to exist. Period. Ashes to ashes, dust to dust and all that... think of it as the ultimate recycling or compost."
"Did Jesus even exist?"
"He did indeed."
"Is he your son?"
"Don't be silly. I have no relatives. He's part of me in the sense that all mankind is part of me and the product of my imagination, but we're not otherwise related..."
"So the virgin birth...?"
"Ridiculous."
I pondered all this for a while. It took a few very long moments to sink in.
"Then, apart from the fact that You do exist," I mused. "I was right about just about everything?"
"Yes. Most professed atheists tend to think clearly because they try to rationalize everything. They are wrong, but honestly so. I'd much rather chat with a thousand atheists than one religious nut."
"But what about all those religious people worshipping you and all those prayers?"
"Nobody asked me if I wanted to be worshipped. Frankly it doesn't do a thing for me... and all of those prayers? Wasted. They fall on deaf ears, or rather, since I don't have what you might call ears, they fall into the howling ether..."
"But you did give Moses the Ten Commandments?"
"Eleven to be exact. He only bought two small tablets and his handwriting was so big he could only get the first ten on them."
"What was the other one?"
"The other commandment? Thou shalt not."
"Thou shalt not... what?"
"I'll give you an example. When you're thinking about doing something and you hear that small voice in your head telling you it might be illegal, immoral, or fattening - just don't do it. It's like the infinity thing... it's a catch-all. It sums up all of the others in one pithy phrase."
"It is pretty pithy..." I said, hiding a grin.
"Don't forget I can read your thoughts, Son," He said calmly.
"Sorry. I love a good pun."
"I know you do... which is why you haven't been reduced to a small pile of smoking ashes yet."
"Incidentally," I said. "Why would you talk to me and John and not all of those religious people who do believe in you?"
"Practicality. Every time I talk to a religious person they tell everybody and make a big fuss... look at Joan of Orleans. She takes it as a sign, puts on a suit of armor, gets on a horse and attacks the British, and then ends up on a barbecue... Atheists, on the other hand, are usually too embarrassed to admit to everyone that they were wrong and so they say nothing."
"I was meaning to ask - did you talk to George Bush like he claims?"
"Never met the guy. Not that I'm concerned about it. There's a heck of a lot of people out there taking my name in vain and if I zapped all of them, there wouldn't be many preachers, TV evangelists, or right-wing politicians left..."
"So you're not a vengeful God like the one in the Old Testament? You're more of a New Testament kind of God?
"Actually, I'm neither. Frankly, Scarlett, I don't give a damnation..." He chuckled. "Good movie, that.... Humanity makes the mistake of ascribing rather too much importance to itself. I'm not interested enough in their little political shenanigans and religious differences to even think about them most of the time."
"Then why would you talk to me?" I said, curiously.
"Why indeed...?" He said.
I think I heard him laughing... and that was that. I haven't heard from Him since - perhaps he found my conversation lacking and went on to find another rather more intelligent atheist to chat with. Or maybe he's off exercising his imagination on another habitable world. Or maybe I just imagined the whole thing because of all of that beer I drank waiting for him to arrive?
God only knows. That is... if he really does exist.
Showing posts with label Personal. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Personal. Show all posts
January 2, 2008
December 20, 2007
RORT Global Warming Christmas
RORT Global Warming Christmas
(A word of explanation - RORT is Rec.Outdoors.RV-Travel - a usenet group that deals with RV's and, lately, politics)
Twas the night before Christmas and all throughout RORT
Nothing was stirring, no-one had a thought.
The spammers were snoring, tucked up in their beds,
And loquacious ol' Linus was taking his meds...
Tories and Liberals had ceased their debating,
And for once, even Lon wasn't hating.
And Ferguson, Carl, and crusty Al Balmer,
Had mellowed out and were considerably calmer.
Ol' Gar had retired for the night, under his bridge
And Ginger had thawed out the food in her fridge.
Bob Giddings was off researching his genes
And Will Sill was dreaming 'bout washing machines.
Hugh, Jan, and Dusty were getting along
And Lampson was greeting the season in song.
Max was a sawing, and Hunter was too
And Janet dropped in for a natter or two...
When out on the Web there arose such a clatter,
That the Hamster logged in to see what was the matter.
A new YouTube clip had appeared, so it seemed,
The contents of which you could never have dreamed.
The scene opened up (after loading the file)
And I watched as the action unfolded in style.
When to my wonder, of all things ersatz
I saw a huge sleigh, drawn by six overfed cats
With a silver haired driver, his hand on the tiller,
I knew in a moment it had to be Miller.
Faster than light, his felines they came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name.
"Now Dozer! now, Jade! now, Pearl and big Bubba!
On, Rumble! On, Tank! Let's burn some more rubber!
To the top of the porch! to the top of the wall!
Now dash away! Dash away! Dash away all!"
As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,
When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky.
So up to a mansion with lights bright as suns,
They rose into the air like a goose with the runs.
And there on the back a-plopping himself
Was a scowling bill horne, attired as an elf
I grinned as I thought to myself, "What the heck
Some folk will do anything just for a check..."
He was dressed in green silk, and looked quite disjointed,
His hat was aluminum tin-foil and pointed.
A forty-four magnum stuck out of his clothes
And he looked awful cute in his form fitting hose.
As I looked closer, I saw two more elves
(Who were doing their best not to laugh at themselves)
One had a cane and walked a bit stiff
And I wondered if that one could have been Cliff?
The other was bigger, not exactly a waif,
And perhaps his green tights were beginning to chafe
For he couldn't stay still on the back of that sled
And he squirmed in his outfit of greenish and red
He carried beside him a contraption of sorts,
It was buzzing and whirring, made of tin, wire, and quartz.
He pushed a small knob, and it lit up like a flame
And I knew in a flash, Neon John was his name.
They spoke not a word, but went straight to their work,
As they blew up the lights being used by this jerk.
Al Gore's house was in darkness and Kevin arose,
Saying, "We can't afford carbon credits like those..."
He sprang to his sleigh, to his cats gave a whistle,
And away they all flew like the down of a thistle.
But I heard him exclaim, 'ere they faded from sight,
"Hasta la vista, Al baby... we turned out the light."
(A word of explanation - RORT is Rec.Outdoors.RV-Travel - a usenet group that deals with RV's and, lately, politics)
Twas the night before Christmas and all throughout RORT
Nothing was stirring, no-one had a thought.
The spammers were snoring, tucked up in their beds,
And loquacious ol' Linus was taking his meds...
Tories and Liberals had ceased their debating,
And for once, even Lon wasn't hating.
And Ferguson, Carl, and crusty Al Balmer,
Had mellowed out and were considerably calmer.
Ol' Gar had retired for the night, under his bridge
And Ginger had thawed out the food in her fridge.
Bob Giddings was off researching his genes
And Will Sill was dreaming 'bout washing machines.
Hugh, Jan, and Dusty were getting along
And Lampson was greeting the season in song.
Max was a sawing, and Hunter was too
And Janet dropped in for a natter or two...
When out on the Web there arose such a clatter,
That the Hamster logged in to see what was the matter.
A new YouTube clip had appeared, so it seemed,
The contents of which you could never have dreamed.
The scene opened up (after loading the file)
And I watched as the action unfolded in style.
When to my wonder, of all things ersatz
I saw a huge sleigh, drawn by six overfed cats
With a silver haired driver, his hand on the tiller,
I knew in a moment it had to be Miller.
Faster than light, his felines they came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name.
"Now Dozer! now, Jade! now, Pearl and big Bubba!
On, Rumble! On, Tank! Let's burn some more rubber!
To the top of the porch! to the top of the wall!
Now dash away! Dash away! Dash away all!"
As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,
When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky.
So up to a mansion with lights bright as suns,
They rose into the air like a goose with the runs.
And there on the back a-plopping himself
Was a scowling bill horne, attired as an elf
I grinned as I thought to myself, "What the heck
Some folk will do anything just for a check..."
He was dressed in green silk, and looked quite disjointed,
His hat was aluminum tin-foil and pointed.
A forty-four magnum stuck out of his clothes
And he looked awful cute in his form fitting hose.
As I looked closer, I saw two more elves
(Who were doing their best not to laugh at themselves)
One had a cane and walked a bit stiff
And I wondered if that one could have been Cliff?
The other was bigger, not exactly a waif,
And perhaps his green tights were beginning to chafe
For he couldn't stay still on the back of that sled
And he squirmed in his outfit of greenish and red
He carried beside him a contraption of sorts,
It was buzzing and whirring, made of tin, wire, and quartz.
He pushed a small knob, and it lit up like a flame
And I knew in a flash, Neon John was his name.
They spoke not a word, but went straight to their work,
As they blew up the lights being used by this jerk.
Al Gore's house was in darkness and Kevin arose,
Saying, "We can't afford carbon credits like those..."
He sprang to his sleigh, to his cats gave a whistle,
And away they all flew like the down of a thistle.
But I heard him exclaim, 'ere they faded from sight,
"Hasta la vista, Al baby... we turned out the light."
November 22, 2007
If the Shoe Fits...
If the Shoe Fits...
Ever have one of those days when nothing goes right? It took me an extra hour just to get to work this morning because of the snow and ice conditions...
And then there was the shoe thing.
I noticed, when I sat at my desk this morning, that one of my shoe laces was frayed at the end (spare me the jokes about I'm a frayed knot) and looked in my drawer for a pair of scissors. Why is it called a 'pair' by the way? I guess the thingie at the end had fallen off the lace. Anyway, I found some, clipped the frayed bit off and thought no more about it... until a short while ago, I noticed it had separated even worse and was apparently unravelling itself.
Must be those new nylon shoelaces I bought at Walmart, I thought, but I know how to deal with that. When I go camping we often have to cut nylon lines and then we simply melt the cut end with an open flame to seal it off and stop it unravelling. Works like a charm. I don't smoke but I have a butane lighter in my desk left over from lighting Christmas candles last year some time. So... I pulled this out, touched it to the end of the lace and put it away. It left a burning smell which made me wrinkle my nose a bit and it seemed to get stronger. I looked down and it was still burning - basically the whole top of my shoe and the lace was on fire.
I stifled it quickly with a bunch of serviettes I keep on my desk and the lack of oxygen put it out. The leather didn't seem to be damaged - which was a good thing because these are expensive shoes. You'd think that was the end of it, but no... when I got up, the laces gave way and the shoe nearly fell off. I surveyed the damage with a critical eye and removed the burnt pieces. This left me with maybe a third of the good lace and I laced it from the back and tied it off half-way.
Not so good. The shoe still flapped because the knot was only half way
up the shoe...
Sitting back, I thought about it for a while and wondered what people do in this situation. Then it hit me. I cut the remaining lace in two and made two knots - one at the top and one in the middle.
Tada... success. I am able to walk normally again.... I just have to ignore all the people pointing at my feet and snickering.
Tonight I'll buy a new pair and this time I think I'll keep the good, old one as a backup.
Ever have one of those days when nothing goes right? It took me an extra hour just to get to work this morning because of the snow and ice conditions...
And then there was the shoe thing.
I noticed, when I sat at my desk this morning, that one of my shoe laces was frayed at the end (spare me the jokes about I'm a frayed knot) and looked in my drawer for a pair of scissors. Why is it called a 'pair' by the way? I guess the thingie at the end had fallen off the lace. Anyway, I found some, clipped the frayed bit off and thought no more about it... until a short while ago, I noticed it had separated even worse and was apparently unravelling itself.
Must be those new nylon shoelaces I bought at Walmart, I thought, but I know how to deal with that. When I go camping we often have to cut nylon lines and then we simply melt the cut end with an open flame to seal it off and stop it unravelling. Works like a charm. I don't smoke but I have a butane lighter in my desk left over from lighting Christmas candles last year some time. So... I pulled this out, touched it to the end of the lace and put it away. It left a burning smell which made me wrinkle my nose a bit and it seemed to get stronger. I looked down and it was still burning - basically the whole top of my shoe and the lace was on fire.
I stifled it quickly with a bunch of serviettes I keep on my desk and the lack of oxygen put it out. The leather didn't seem to be damaged - which was a good thing because these are expensive shoes. You'd think that was the end of it, but no... when I got up, the laces gave way and the shoe nearly fell off. I surveyed the damage with a critical eye and removed the burnt pieces. This left me with maybe a third of the good lace and I laced it from the back and tied it off half-way.
Not so good. The shoe still flapped because the knot was only half way
up the shoe...
Sitting back, I thought about it for a while and wondered what people do in this situation. Then it hit me. I cut the remaining lace in two and made two knots - one at the top and one in the middle.
Tada... success. I am able to walk normally again.... I just have to ignore all the people pointing at my feet and snickering.
Tonight I'll buy a new pair and this time I think I'll keep the good, old one as a backup.
November 19, 2007
The Paul Potts Phenomena
The Paul Potts Phenomena
A pudgy Englishman with a slightly crooked smile and a diffident manner stood on the stage of the UK series "Britain's Got Talent". It was obvious from the attitude of the judges that they were expecting one of those laughable performances that give these 'reality' shows their audience. And when he said, "I'm going to sing opera..." there were audible titters from the audience.
Then the unexpected happened.
Out of this shy and unassuming, sad-sack of a man, there came a voice of such beauty that tears sprang to the eyes of the judges and people in the audience were crying openly. Partly, of course, it was the romance of it all... little down-trodden phone salesman Paul Pottsie makes good on TV. He sang the last part of Nessun Dorma (Let no Man Sleep) with defiance and passion - it was as if he knew it was his one chance to make it or go back to his humdrum existence.
Everyone loves an unlikely hero and it seems Paul Potts fits that mold. His resulting CD 'One Chance' is a best seller both in the UK and here in North America and you can see his face almost every day on the US and Canadian talk show circuit. And, I noticed the other day, now even on The Shopping Channel hawking his CD. You can't blame him - this is his fifteen minutes of fame and it won't last forever.
Sadly, the reason it won't last forever is that he isn't really that good. Oh, his voice is indeed pleasant and when infused with the passion and desperation he showed on Britain's Got talent, it tugs at the heart strings.
But...
I've heard him sing 'Nessun Dorma' a dozen times now. Each performance is blander than the last. Very little of that bravado is now apparent in his voice and it comes across as weak and wavering. His largely untrained instrument is unpolished and his lack of breath control lets him waver slightly off key in places. In addition his poor phrasing appears to result from a palpable lack of confidence that makes me agonize that he will not reach the next note. Instead of simply listening to the music, I find myself feeling slightly sorry for him. His Italian would make a native Italian commit suicide.
I grew up in a family that prized great singers. My father was a baritone with a superb voice and my sister is a retired operatic mezzo-soprano. I have probably listened to Puccini's opera Turandot a hundred times... and Nessun Dorma a thousand times, sung by the best tenors of all time... Pavarotti, Gigli, Caruso, Domingo, Schipa, Campanini, Lanza, Björling, Boccelli. If you want to hear the aria properly buy a recording from one of these accomplished tenors.
Or, buy Paul Potts' CD and keep the romance, if not the music, alive.
November 15, 2007
Offensive Driving
I drove to work this morning. I left the same time I always do but arrived around 20 minutes later than usual. The reason for that is simple... an inspired collection of dumbass drivers who don't know the one primary rule of the road...
"Don't do anything to inhibit the traffic flow."
I indentified seven different annoying driver types this morning that really make my blood boil. There may be others. It's not, as you may suppose the aggressive, pushy drivers (who knows, I may actually be one of them) but an additional assortment of mental midgets. I've labelled them 'mr.', but take it from me, I'm an equal opportunity complainer and there are 'ms.' versions of all of these as well.
Mr Passive Aggressive.
This sweetheart drives along in the fast lane on the highway at 60 miles per hour and makes everybody drive around him. It never occurs to him that he's holding up traffic, or, if it does, he's just bloody minded and enjoys the fact. His mantra is "I'm doing the speed limit so how can I be doing anything wrong?". Tell you what, buddy... if you're holding up traffic, regardless of speed, you can be ticketed here in Ontario. There isn't a permanent cure for this type of idiocy but people (not me, of course) have been known to pull in front of them and gradually slow down until they are forced to pull over or get in the slow lane where they belong.
Mr Hanging Butt
You're casually tooling along in the fast lane on a one or two lane street when the guy in front decides he wants to turn left. There's a middle turn lane for exactly that but instead of pulling into it parallel to the traffic, he turns sharply sideways and leaves his sorry butt hanging out in the middle of the driving lane holding up traffic until he finally gets a chance to cross. I've been tempted to use my bumper to nudge the back of his car out of the way before and one of these days when I can claim senility as an excuse, I'll actually do it.
There's another kind as well. This one wants to hang a left but there's already a lot of cars in the turn lane. So instead of simply pulling in behind the last car and getting out of the way, he sits half blocking the fast lane he was in and waits until enough cars have turned the corner before he finally pulls over. In the meantime, he's apparently blissfully oblivious to the honking and yelling going on behind him.
Mr I'm too Rich to Wait in Line
This particular putz burns my shorts. I labelled it 'too rich to wait in line' because the only people I've seen doing this are usually driving big Mercedes, Lexus, Cadillac, or Rolls Royce sedans. They see a line-up of cars waiting to turn left at a traffic light that doesn't have an advanced red, so it takes a while to get around the corner. These morons are too important and impatient to get on the end of the line... instead they drive to a point maybe second or third in the line-up and put on their turn signal hoping someone will let them push in. What really burns my ass is that some people actually do let them in. While they are waiting, they block an entire driving lane and make people like me froth at the mouth.
Mr Last Minute Larry
Last minute Larry's are devil-may-care adventurers seemingly willing to die for their art. They wait until absolutely the last possible minute before forcing their way over into the next lane to turn - this can be either left or right. It's like they enjoy the challenge of cutting off a few people every time and still making it into the turn lane before being struck. It doesn't seem to matter whether you 'let' them cut in... they are coming willy-nilly and they usually leave you with the choice of either braking hard or actually hitting them. My advice, if you have the time to spare getting your car fixed (retirees, independently wealthy, etc) is to just cut off the gap between you and the car in front and let them hit you instead.
Mr Hard Shoulder
This guy may be a relative of the rich guy who hates to wait in line. You've all seen it. You're waiting in a line-up of cars at a traffic light or driving slowly in a traffic jam, and suddenly someone comes bursting up the hard shoulder and either tries to time the green light and cut back in, or cuts back into a gap in the slow moving traffic. Someone I know has been known to burn rubber out of a stop-light and force a driver off into a ditch to prevent the former. Don't these people know it's illegal... and just how much time do they save anyway?
Mr Politeness
Traffic is moving smoothly along and there's a car coming out of an auto dealership or a restaurant parking lot, for example, when the car in front of you stops suddenly... just to let the guy get into the stream of traffic. In order to do this, he has made another twenty drivers brake violently and interrupted the flow of traffic. I always give the offending SOB a blast of my horn and maybe a few 'traffic' signals with one finger. They look at me like, "Well, how dare you... I was just being polite..." and wave at you. "Have a nice day..." One of these days, someone is going to very politely kick your ass.
Mr Schmucker Trucker
Finally, a common highway hazard. Two massive and ponderous semis are tooling along at a leisurely ten miles an hour over the speed limit, however the truck in the rear is doing 0.00002 miles an hour faster than the one in front and catching up. Because he's apparently in a huge hurry, he pulls out and occupies the fast lane for a half hour or more while trying to pass the other truck. In the meantime, the rest of us that could pass both of them in a milisecond are stacked up like cordwood behind the inconsiderate bum.
I should mention here that most truck drivers are good and safe drivers and it's not their fault that they have a schedule to maintain... although how much impact driving 0.00002 miles an hour slower for a few miles is going to make on their overall schedule, Deity only knows...
"Don't do anything to inhibit the traffic flow."
I indentified seven different annoying driver types this morning that really make my blood boil. There may be others. It's not, as you may suppose the aggressive, pushy drivers (who knows, I may actually be one of them) but an additional assortment of mental midgets. I've labelled them 'mr.', but take it from me, I'm an equal opportunity complainer and there are 'ms.' versions of all of these as well.
Mr Passive Aggressive.
This sweetheart drives along in the fast lane on the highway at 60 miles per hour and makes everybody drive around him. It never occurs to him that he's holding up traffic, or, if it does, he's just bloody minded and enjoys the fact. His mantra is "I'm doing the speed limit so how can I be doing anything wrong?". Tell you what, buddy... if you're holding up traffic, regardless of speed, you can be ticketed here in Ontario. There isn't a permanent cure for this type of idiocy but people (not me, of course) have been known to pull in front of them and gradually slow down until they are forced to pull over or get in the slow lane where they belong.
Mr Hanging Butt
You're casually tooling along in the fast lane on a one or two lane street when the guy in front decides he wants to turn left. There's a middle turn lane for exactly that but instead of pulling into it parallel to the traffic, he turns sharply sideways and leaves his sorry butt hanging out in the middle of the driving lane holding up traffic until he finally gets a chance to cross. I've been tempted to use my bumper to nudge the back of his car out of the way before and one of these days when I can claim senility as an excuse, I'll actually do it.
There's another kind as well. This one wants to hang a left but there's already a lot of cars in the turn lane. So instead of simply pulling in behind the last car and getting out of the way, he sits half blocking the fast lane he was in and waits until enough cars have turned the corner before he finally pulls over. In the meantime, he's apparently blissfully oblivious to the honking and yelling going on behind him.
Mr I'm too Rich to Wait in Line
This particular putz burns my shorts. I labelled it 'too rich to wait in line' because the only people I've seen doing this are usually driving big Mercedes, Lexus, Cadillac, or Rolls Royce sedans. They see a line-up of cars waiting to turn left at a traffic light that doesn't have an advanced red, so it takes a while to get around the corner. These morons are too important and impatient to get on the end of the line... instead they drive to a point maybe second or third in the line-up and put on their turn signal hoping someone will let them push in. What really burns my ass is that some people actually do let them in. While they are waiting, they block an entire driving lane and make people like me froth at the mouth.
Mr Last Minute Larry
Last minute Larry's are devil-may-care adventurers seemingly willing to die for their art. They wait until absolutely the last possible minute before forcing their way over into the next lane to turn - this can be either left or right. It's like they enjoy the challenge of cutting off a few people every time and still making it into the turn lane before being struck. It doesn't seem to matter whether you 'let' them cut in... they are coming willy-nilly and they usually leave you with the choice of either braking hard or actually hitting them. My advice, if you have the time to spare getting your car fixed (retirees, independently wealthy, etc) is to just cut off the gap between you and the car in front and let them hit you instead.
Mr Hard Shoulder
This guy may be a relative of the rich guy who hates to wait in line. You've all seen it. You're waiting in a line-up of cars at a traffic light or driving slowly in a traffic jam, and suddenly someone comes bursting up the hard shoulder and either tries to time the green light and cut back in, or cuts back into a gap in the slow moving traffic. Someone I know has been known to burn rubber out of a stop-light and force a driver off into a ditch to prevent the former. Don't these people know it's illegal... and just how much time do they save anyway?
Mr Politeness
Traffic is moving smoothly along and there's a car coming out of an auto dealership or a restaurant parking lot, for example, when the car in front of you stops suddenly... just to let the guy get into the stream of traffic. In order to do this, he has made another twenty drivers brake violently and interrupted the flow of traffic. I always give the offending SOB a blast of my horn and maybe a few 'traffic' signals with one finger. They look at me like, "Well, how dare you... I was just being polite..." and wave at you. "Have a nice day..." One of these days, someone is going to very politely kick your ass.
Mr Schmucker Trucker
Finally, a common highway hazard. Two massive and ponderous semis are tooling along at a leisurely ten miles an hour over the speed limit, however the truck in the rear is doing 0.00002 miles an hour faster than the one in front and catching up. Because he's apparently in a huge hurry, he pulls out and occupies the fast lane for a half hour or more while trying to pass the other truck. In the meantime, the rest of us that could pass both of them in a milisecond are stacked up like cordwood behind the inconsiderate bum.
I should mention here that most truck drivers are good and safe drivers and it's not their fault that they have a schedule to maintain... although how much impact driving 0.00002 miles an hour slower for a few miles is going to make on their overall schedule, Deity only knows...
November 9, 2007
The Intruder
I was warming up for my pool league in the pool room yesterday evening and Chico the dog was scratching at the door because he wanted to go out. It was darkish outside but in the moonlight I saw a shadowy figure move across the neighbour's back yard and into the back corner of the fence. I knew it wasn't Leon (my neighbour) or his son, because the person was tall and lightly built. Oh, my... a burgler or a fleeing felon perhaps?
Remembering another blogger's (Neon John) scary experience the other day, I thought perhaps he might be armed, so I picked up the nearest weapon I could find... which was the butt end of a very expensive pool cue... and dashed out into the garden.
"Hey, you... " I yelled, waving my butt (no jokes please). "What the hell do you think you're doing?"
The intruder had a flashlight and turned it in my direction briefly before hopping over the fence and making his escape.
Now that he'd gone, I turned my attention to Leon's house. Everything seemed to be in order - no sign of a forced entry or anything else. Satisfied, I came back inside and wondered if I should call the police - after all it was probably just some local kid taking a short cut through the garden as they were in the habit of doing.
I did call Leon, however, and oddly enough, his 'phone didn't dial - it made a strange noise, not like a busy signal but an intermittent beeping sound. Shoot, maybe the son of a bitch had cut their phone lines before killing everybody in the house... I went out to the front of the house but there didn't seem to be anyone home. Not that anyone would respond if they were all lying dead in a pool of blood inside. My wife said not to worry about it. I mean it's not exactly a high crime neigborhood and we should just wait until they got home and phone again. I reluctantly agreed but continued to fret about it. I had this ominous feeling in the pit of my stomach and I just knew something bad had happened...
Later that evening I went to get a snack... and saw a light go on in their kitchen... for sure somebody was home. I picked up the 'phone again, and this time it rang normally. It was Leon - I explained to him that I had seen an intruder in his garden earlier on and wanted to make sure everything was okay.
"Oh, you saw him too, did you?" he said, "I was having problems with my phone line all day so I called the phone repair guy from Bell Telephone. He came a couple of hours ago and went out into the garden to trace the phone line and try and find out what was wrong with the line...
He said while he was out there he was attacked by a thug with a baseball bat and he had to jump over the fence to get away."
October 10, 2007
Frank Correnti Cigars
Frank Correnti Cigars - David E. Malone - Oct 10, 2007
Any cigar smokers out there?
I don't smoke and my wife quit about 10 years ago... but she still likes to puff on a good Cuban cigar on special occasions. I suspect she enjoys standing around outside after a good meal with some of our cigar smoking friends - I know she doesn't inhale the smoke, just enjoys the taste.
Prices of good Cuban cigars are ridiculous - I recently spent a small fortune replenishing her humidor stock with Montecristos, Romeo & Julietas, and Bolivars. So I was suprised and pleased to get a note from one of our cigar afficianado friends recommending these people...
http://http://www.correnticigars.com/
It seems they make great cigars from imported Cuban leaf and their prices are less than half of what I'm paying for similar Cuban imported cigars. They claim they make a robusto that tastes the same as a Montecristo and it's a half or a third of the price.
So Saturday, we decided to take a trip downtown and visit Frank Correnti Cigars. I'm not fond of downtown traffic and this particular Saturday, the traffic was stacked up at Spadina and the Lakeshore and we slipped into Front street and then down Portland to get to King and Portland. There was no parking, so I found a residential back street and parked there. When we got to the intersection, there was no sign of 'Frank Correnti Cigars' at all. But there was a dark alley-way beside the first building and we decided to try it... about 40 feet down the alley, the ceiling was covered with a white tarp on a scaffold like an outdoor restaurant space but with nothing inside it. Very odd. We found out later that it was a 'smoking space' they use when hosting large parties.
At the very end of the alley, there was a small sign and a door. I thought, "This must be it, but it doesn't look like much...". Inside, it was gloomy with a few offices on each side of the corridor. There didn't seem to be a retail space so we just kept walking until we came into a well lit space with work benches and the smell of cigars. Two women were making cigars - one rolling the filler and another wrapping the finished cigars. Interesting to watch... the woman doing the final wrappers is a genius. They were making Churchills at the time. There was a humidified warehouse at the back where they say they age the leaves for at least 5 years, and a storage humidor room where they keep the finished cigars.
I said something intelligent like,
"Um... is this where we can buy cigars?"
and the woman making the wrappers said,
"Of course... what can I get you?"
She explained what was available and the different types of finishing leaf, Caro and Maduro. Ortelia was quite taken with the robustos which are quite short but have a ring size of 50 - very stout and a substantial cigar. The woman making the fillers was Spanish, so Ortelia had a conversation with her and asked her advice. Basically she said the cigars were all first quality and you can't go wrong with any of them. She smoked them herself at home.
While we were still discussing what to get, a guy wandered in and said,
"Hi, Rita... can you get me a robusto...?"
He looked familiar and after he turned around, I recognized a former senior manager from my office. He recognized me at the same time and I introduced my wife to him. Apparently he is retired and had sold his big house in the suburbs to move to a condo on the Lakeshore. It was his habit to stroll down to the cigar factory every weekend, buy a big cigar or two and then go home and smoke it on his balcony overlooking the lake. He recommended the Caro wrappers as being mild and easy to draw. I bought a half dozen for Ortelia to try - made as Rita mentioned 'last Wednesday'...
Ortelia loves them. She says they smell great, and taste wonderful. But all was not perfect in paradise - the robusto is rather too big for her little hands and now that she's gotten into smoking the Bolivars, she would prefer a cigar with a bit more 'bite' to it. So they are making us up some half-coronas for her with the Maduro wrapper which should be perfect. It's kinda nice that you can 'customize' your cigars. They'll even make you up custom personalized 'rings' and boxes/tins if you want to give them as a gift to somebody.
They looked so good that I (almost) thought about trying one myself.
Any cigar smokers out there?
I don't smoke and my wife quit about 10 years ago... but she still likes to puff on a good Cuban cigar on special occasions. I suspect she enjoys standing around outside after a good meal with some of our cigar smoking friends - I know she doesn't inhale the smoke, just enjoys the taste.
Prices of good Cuban cigars are ridiculous - I recently spent a small fortune replenishing her humidor stock with Montecristos, Romeo & Julietas, and Bolivars. So I was suprised and pleased to get a note from one of our cigar afficianado friends recommending these people...
http://http://www.correnticigars.com/
It seems they make great cigars from imported Cuban leaf and their prices are less than half of what I'm paying for similar Cuban imported cigars. They claim they make a robusto that tastes the same as a Montecristo and it's a half or a third of the price.
So Saturday, we decided to take a trip downtown and visit Frank Correnti Cigars. I'm not fond of downtown traffic and this particular Saturday, the traffic was stacked up at Spadina and the Lakeshore and we slipped into Front street and then down Portland to get to King and Portland. There was no parking, so I found a residential back street and parked there. When we got to the intersection, there was no sign of 'Frank Correnti Cigars' at all. But there was a dark alley-way beside the first building and we decided to try it... about 40 feet down the alley, the ceiling was covered with a white tarp on a scaffold like an outdoor restaurant space but with nothing inside it. Very odd. We found out later that it was a 'smoking space' they use when hosting large parties.
At the very end of the alley, there was a small sign and a door. I thought, "This must be it, but it doesn't look like much...". Inside, it was gloomy with a few offices on each side of the corridor. There didn't seem to be a retail space so we just kept walking until we came into a well lit space with work benches and the smell of cigars. Two women were making cigars - one rolling the filler and another wrapping the finished cigars. Interesting to watch... the woman doing the final wrappers is a genius. They were making Churchills at the time. There was a humidified warehouse at the back where they say they age the leaves for at least 5 years, and a storage humidor room where they keep the finished cigars.
I said something intelligent like,
"Um... is this where we can buy cigars?"
and the woman making the wrappers said,
"Of course... what can I get you?"
She explained what was available and the different types of finishing leaf, Caro and Maduro. Ortelia was quite taken with the robustos which are quite short but have a ring size of 50 - very stout and a substantial cigar. The woman making the fillers was Spanish, so Ortelia had a conversation with her and asked her advice. Basically she said the cigars were all first quality and you can't go wrong with any of them. She smoked them herself at home.
While we were still discussing what to get, a guy wandered in and said,
"Hi, Rita... can you get me a robusto...?"
He looked familiar and after he turned around, I recognized a former senior manager from my office. He recognized me at the same time and I introduced my wife to him. Apparently he is retired and had sold his big house in the suburbs to move to a condo on the Lakeshore. It was his habit to stroll down to the cigar factory every weekend, buy a big cigar or two and then go home and smoke it on his balcony overlooking the lake. He recommended the Caro wrappers as being mild and easy to draw. I bought a half dozen for Ortelia to try - made as Rita mentioned 'last Wednesday'...
Ortelia loves them. She says they smell great, and taste wonderful. But all was not perfect in paradise - the robusto is rather too big for her little hands and now that she's gotten into smoking the Bolivars, she would prefer a cigar with a bit more 'bite' to it. So they are making us up some half-coronas for her with the Maduro wrapper which should be perfect. It's kinda nice that you can 'customize' your cigars. They'll even make you up custom personalized 'rings' and boxes/tins if you want to give them as a gift to somebody.
They looked so good that I (almost) thought about trying one myself.
September 7, 2007
Tribute to Luciano Pavarotti
A tenor voice for the ages - Sept 7, 2007
My grandfather was born in Athlone, Northern Ireland and his best friend growing up was a scrawny kid by the name of John McCormack who grew up to become a world famous tenor. My father therefore grew up in a house where music and particularly opera was part of his daily life. Because of McCormack, he wanted badly to be an operatic tenor but around eleven years old when his voice changed he was chagrined to find that nature had instead endowed him with a nevertheless rich and musical baritone instrument.
He sang in various stagings of comic operas, Gilbert and Sullivan for example, and amateur productions of some of the classic Italian operas but making a living and the advent of WWII prevented him from taking up singing as a career. Instead, he regaled us with his recordings of basses, such as Paul Robeson, baritones like Tito Gobi, and a huge collection of recordings by tenors.... McCormack, Caruso, Gigli, Secombe, Schipa, Lanza, and Campanini among others. He always loved Beniamino Gigli's voice and said he was the most musical of all the great Italian tenors.
One day we were listening to classical music on the radio - I think Dad was doing the crossword puzzle and my sister and I were sprawled on the rug playing chess - when the announcer mentioned something about a new Italian tenor. He then played a new recording of Luciano Pavarotti singing 'Che gelida manina' from La Boheme.
My father sprang from his seat and turned up the sound, standing in front of the radio as if bracing himself against a powerful wind emanating from the speaker, his legs slightly spread, leaning forward, and his arms spread to capture the sound.
When it ended and he turned around, his eyes were shining and tears were running down his face.
"That's it..." he said simply. "That's it."
And he walked out into the garden... we could see his shoulders shaking as he stood there for what seemed like an eternity.
I had never seen my father cry before (and only once since) so this made a great impact on me. Our turntable thereafter became the platform for every recording ever made by Pavarotti and my Dad played the best arias over and over again. Gigli was relegated to a role as a sometimes actor on that stage and the Caruso recordings were left in the cupboard.
Dad loved Pavarotti's voice so much, he even forgave him for "Yes, Giorgio"... something I was never able to do
Pavarotti's voice is imprinted on my soul. I'm not a religious person, but it's my belief that the most beautiful song ever recorded is Luciano Pavarotti singing the Gounod version of 'Ave Maria'...
Requiescat in Pace, Luciano.
My grandfather was born in Athlone, Northern Ireland and his best friend growing up was a scrawny kid by the name of John McCormack who grew up to become a world famous tenor. My father therefore grew up in a house where music and particularly opera was part of his daily life. Because of McCormack, he wanted badly to be an operatic tenor but around eleven years old when his voice changed he was chagrined to find that nature had instead endowed him with a nevertheless rich and musical baritone instrument.
He sang in various stagings of comic operas, Gilbert and Sullivan for example, and amateur productions of some of the classic Italian operas but making a living and the advent of WWII prevented him from taking up singing as a career. Instead, he regaled us with his recordings of basses, such as Paul Robeson, baritones like Tito Gobi, and a huge collection of recordings by tenors.... McCormack, Caruso, Gigli, Secombe, Schipa, Lanza, and Campanini among others. He always loved Beniamino Gigli's voice and said he was the most musical of all the great Italian tenors.
One day we were listening to classical music on the radio - I think Dad was doing the crossword puzzle and my sister and I were sprawled on the rug playing chess - when the announcer mentioned something about a new Italian tenor. He then played a new recording of Luciano Pavarotti singing 'Che gelida manina' from La Boheme.
My father sprang from his seat and turned up the sound, standing in front of the radio as if bracing himself against a powerful wind emanating from the speaker, his legs slightly spread, leaning forward, and his arms spread to capture the sound.
When it ended and he turned around, his eyes were shining and tears were running down his face.
"That's it..." he said simply. "That's it."
And he walked out into the garden... we could see his shoulders shaking as he stood there for what seemed like an eternity.
I had never seen my father cry before (and only once since) so this made a great impact on me. Our turntable thereafter became the platform for every recording ever made by Pavarotti and my Dad played the best arias over and over again. Gigli was relegated to a role as a sometimes actor on that stage and the Caruso recordings were left in the cupboard.
Dad loved Pavarotti's voice so much, he even forgave him for "Yes, Giorgio"... something I was never able to do
Pavarotti's voice is imprinted on my soul. I'm not a religious person, but it's my belief that the most beautiful song ever recorded is Luciano Pavarotti singing the Gounod version of 'Ave Maria'...
Requiescat in Pace, Luciano.
November 13, 2006
Gnu Finish
Gnu Finish
I have a serious bone to pick with Bob Giddings... he recommended the product on RORT and claimed it would clean and polish my trailer at the same time.
I naively went out and bought some "Gnu-Finish" as you recommended, Bob. The ubiquitous and loquacious Bob Giddings uses it, I said to myself, it must be the best. Couldn't find it at the usual hardware stores, or even Canadian Tire, but eventually I lucked out and located a small bottle at the local vets office. That's right... the veterinarian... our dependable doggy doctor. He'd apparently had it in stock for about twenty-three years but since it didn't have a 'beast by' date we took it anyway. Man, that stuff is hard to find and that's no bull.
We also bought a small fold-up ladder so we could reach the roof. And some acrylic 'corking' in case anything needed to be corked.
When we arrived at the storage depot in Campbellford, the black marks on the RV didn't look particularly ominous, so we decided to omit the streak remover stage and just go with the cleaner/polish as you recommended. I dampened a cloth with water, added some polish, and rubbed it in carefully following the directions (which were in the African Khoikhoi dialect incidentally - good thing I speak a bit of Bantu. Oddly enough, from what I could make out, it said something about not getting any on the horns. I suspect it was a typo or a translation error on my part.)
It did a fair job of removing the streaks but it was remarkably hard going, balancing as I was on that tiny ladder, so we popped the slide out and sat in the RV for a time while it dried. I even had a beer or two... when we came out again, to our astonishment, all the areas where we had applied the Gnu-Finish were covered with coarse hair and the bottom edges had even longer hair - kinda like a long straggly beard!
I didn't mind the two horns that were starting to grow out of the front of the trailer (once I got used to them), but the back end was a mess. The storage lot manager made us shovel it up and bag it before he'd even let us put it in his garbage cans - I don't blame him, the smell was enough to make an ant elope or a cow hide. That long, shaggy tail may come in useful but we're not sure what for yet - maybe I can hang a back-up camera or some snazzy Christmas decorations on it.
My wife, Ortelia was furious - carried on like a wilde beest in fact - but proved she was up to the challenge and produced a little, pink 'lady razor' from her purse which restored it back to normal... except for a little stubble around the windows and other hard to shave places. If we'd have known about the side effects, I'd have bought along my Phillips electric razor - we'd have been done in half the time and likely gotten a closer shave. The stubble is annoying so this summer we're thinking about doing a 'Brazilian' on it. Women will know what that means... ouch.
All in all, I wouldn't recommend the product to anyone else.
First of all, it smells awfully rank - like a herd of unwashed cattle - and the side effects are not exactly benign. Whenever I hook the trailer up now, there's a whinnying sound, and when we pull it with the truck... I can hear hoof-beats. I know this is impossible but I swear to dog I saw a lion and two hyenas chasing us as we ungulated down the 401 at eight over... it behooves me to think twice about using this stuff in the future. I'll probably gnever buy agnother bottle once this is finished.
I realize you probably meant well... but thanks for gnothing, Bob!
(All in all, it's been a tough weekend. Since we couldn't be bothered to order the plastic gutter extensions from Camping World we took clothes-pins, as someone suggested, and put them at the corner of the gutters. What a disaster... the trailer is just too damn heavy and it keeps falling off the line.)
August 6, 2003
The Monkey Principal
The Monkey Principal - Aug 6, 2003
People who are new to USENET newsgroups often barge right on in without lurking for a while first - and are often quite astonished when they are lambasted by the 'regulars' for some real or imagined transgression and then they leave again in a huff. Let me try to explain what is happening when someone new joins a newsgroup and gets attacked.
Social scientists put eight monkeys in a room. In the middle of the room is a ladder, leading to a bunch of bananas hanging from a hook on the ceiling. Each time a monkey tries to climb the ladder, all the monkeys are sprayed with ice water, which makes them miserable. Soon enough, whenever a monkey attempts to climb the ladder, all of the other monkeys, not wanting to be sprayed, set upon him and beat him up. Soon, none of the eight monkeys ever attempts to climb the ladder.
One of the original monkeys is then removed, and a new monkey is put in the room. Seeing the bananas and the ladder, he wonders why none of the other monkeys are doing the obvious, but, undaunted, he immediately begins to climb the ladder. All the other monkeys fall upon him and beat him silly.
He has no idea why. However, he no longer attempts to climb the ladder. A second original monkey is removed and replaced. The newcomer again attempts to climb the ladder, but all the other monkeys hammer the crap out of him.This includes the previous new monkey, who, grateful that he's not on the receiving end this time, participates in the beating because all the other monkeys are doing it. However, he has no idea why he's attacking the new monkey.
One by one, all the original monkeys are replaced. Eight new monkeys are now in the room. None of them have ever been sprayed by ice water. None of them attempt to climb the ladder.
All of them will enthusiastically beat up any new monkey who tries, without having any idea why.
Unfortunately newbies on USENET are this weeks new monkey...
People who are new to USENET newsgroups often barge right on in without lurking for a while first - and are often quite astonished when they are lambasted by the 'regulars' for some real or imagined transgression and then they leave again in a huff. Let me try to explain what is happening when someone new joins a newsgroup and gets attacked.
Social scientists put eight monkeys in a room. In the middle of the room is a ladder, leading to a bunch of bananas hanging from a hook on the ceiling. Each time a monkey tries to climb the ladder, all the monkeys are sprayed with ice water, which makes them miserable. Soon enough, whenever a monkey attempts to climb the ladder, all of the other monkeys, not wanting to be sprayed, set upon him and beat him up. Soon, none of the eight monkeys ever attempts to climb the ladder.
One of the original monkeys is then removed, and a new monkey is put in the room. Seeing the bananas and the ladder, he wonders why none of the other monkeys are doing the obvious, but, undaunted, he immediately begins to climb the ladder. All the other monkeys fall upon him and beat him silly.
He has no idea why. However, he no longer attempts to climb the ladder. A second original monkey is removed and replaced. The newcomer again attempts to climb the ladder, but all the other monkeys hammer the crap out of him.This includes the previous new monkey, who, grateful that he's not on the receiving end this time, participates in the beating because all the other monkeys are doing it. However, he has no idea why he's attacking the new monkey.
One by one, all the original monkeys are replaced. Eight new monkeys are now in the room. None of them have ever been sprayed by ice water. None of them attempt to climb the ladder.
All of them will enthusiastically beat up any new monkey who tries, without having any idea why.
Unfortunately newbies on USENET are this weeks new monkey...
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