BEER + PEANUTS + BASEBALL = FUN

A lot of people say they don't like baseball. They say its, "too boring, too slow, too long, or too quiet when they flip by it when watching television. I tend to disagree. Not because I'm biased (even though baseball is my favourite sport, so I guess I am), but because I believe that most people are too lazy or perhaps even too stupid to realize the greatness of the game. Baseball takes patience, knowledge of the game's history and an ability to comprehend and then understand a multitude of real-time variables - in order to appreciate and ultimately enjoy it. It doesn't just involve running and jumping/skating/or running as fast as you can with a ball/puck/or football towards a goal/net/or white line on the ground. There's an infield, a mound, a rubber, three bases, a plate, a screwball, base paths, a warning track, the most statistics, a skipper, ball girls, two dug-outs, and a foul (should be called fair) pole. Nobody wants to see a sacrifice fly or a pitcher setting up a batter with a high inside fastball - nor do they want to take the time to understand its significance to the outcome of the game. I love it when a batter steps out of the box because the pitcher is disrupting his timing, or how a runner on second can steal the catcher's signs and relay them back to the batter to gain a slight advantage. I can't wait to see the take out slide at second, the brush-back, suicide-squeeze and secondary lead. I thoroughly enjoy the tension and subsequent stare down after the retaliatory hitting of another team's batsman, and the potential of an awkward yet always entertaining clearing of the benches - especially when the bull-pens run in from right and left fields to partake in the brawl, or for some reason the coaches get involved. Baseball is the only sport that takes a total team effort to win, but where the one-on one battle can decide the game. Enjoying baseball takes a deep understanding of tradition, old-school beliefs, and a willingness to sit through a scoreless, three hour pitching duel on a hot and humid late August day - in order to fully soak in it's awesomeness (and a serious sun burn). These unique characteristics of America's pastime (even though the origins are believed to have developed from cricket in England) are what, in my mind set baseball apart from the other flash and dash North American sports. For instance, baseball is the only sport that is as equally if not more exciting to listen to on the radio as it is to watch on television - or in person for that matter. Baseball is the only sport where vaseline and cork are used to cheat. At the old ball game is the only place where a four year old kid can catch a ball hit or thrown by a player, and where a player can fall on a kid while catching a ball hit or thrown by a player. Baseball is where Ernie Harwell knew which city the fan in left field hailed from. "That one was caught by a fan from Kalamazoo." Also, I've never heard of an alcohol ban at a basketball game, or the fans throwing basketballs and pucks at the players, but I have at a baseball game. So, after all this, you may ask, "Why don't people give baseball a chance, because from what it sounds like to me, baseball is an exciting, strategic, extremely skillful game that, with every play comes the opportunity for something unique and as equally bizarre to happen, unlike any other sport?" You'll never hear of someone in hockey scoring on an attempted-drag-bunt-wild-pitch-slide-to-first-two-base-throwing-error-wave-around-third-with-a-head-first-knock-out-collision-slide-at-home plate. Will ya? However, and again unlike any other sport, you may have to wait for the good stuff. It doesn't always happen and it may not happen. Baseball does not possess the gratuitous action of the other high-flying sport. No alley-oops, one-timers, or hail marys. Instead, baseball has the reliever starting to warm up, an on-deck circle, chewing tobacco and the in-field fly rule. As a spectator or viewer, the baseball fan must earn their "action" with dedication, alertness, passion and patience. That's what separates the baseball fan from fans of other sports. It's the detailed idiosyncrasies of the game that keep us wildly entertained (many a times to other's disbelief) in between the "action." (eg. Grand Slam, diving catch, triple-play, stealing of home, etc.) It might take 12 1/3 innings or it might take 2 batters. But, eventually, every baseball fan knows that something has to happen (Unless the game's rained out or forfeited because fans from the home team were throwing mini-bats on the field and starting fights in the bleachers). Most people these days are more into the pre-game powder-puff fluff of a King James, the useless waste of time mostly-hugging usually-falling hockey fight and the moronic end zone antics of any number of the high profile receivers in the NFL. You'll never see a baseball player slamming another player in a shitty rap song, but you will see former Blue Jays Jesse Barfield and Lloyd Moseby rapping terribly and hilariously about baseball. You'll never see a baseball player arrested for gun possession or murder, but you will see a now-wealthy Latin player extorted for money in Cuba. The closest baseball has to a prima donna is Manny being Manny - and I love everything he does. Sure we have (maybe now, had) steroids, dickhead Barry Bonds and pretty boy yet still elite player A-Roid, but what do you expect? A handful of idiots compared to entire leagues of juiced up/egotistical/father of ten freaks. Not a bad ratio. The baseball season is 162 games long, from April to October, and then another month and a half of intense play-off baseball. The season starts outside in the cold and ends outside in the cold. Baseball players play twice as many games as hockey and basketball players and ten times more than football players. (Sure, a football game is a tad more violent and aggressive than baseball, but an inning can last 45 minutes and a game 5 hours!) The grueling nature of the baseball season must take its toll, however, the, 'steroid era," temporarilty tainted my love for the game. But I'm over it now. Barry, Sammy, Canseco, McGwire, Palmeiro and the Rocket are gone, (Pudge and Pettite are still here, but did steroids really help them?) and baseball is again being played how it should be. Gritty, hard-nosed, tough-pitching, most times small ball sometimes long ball, instead of muscle bound monsters smashing tiny white balls into space. I'm not sure why I love baseball so much, maybe it's because of my Dad, maybe its because not too many people like it (probably not), but I do know that if you gave me some peanuts, a cold beer (maybe 2) and a ball game, I'll thoroughly explain to you the importance of a good set up man, the lefty vs. lefty match up, what ERA stands for and how you figure out a third baseman's baseman's batting average. Play Ball!

SPORTS IS LIFE AND YOUR CITY IS YOUR TEAM

Sports in many ways is a reflection of society's inequalities, biases, traditions, what have yous. Many people rely on sports as a getaway from real life and its real life problems. To me, not only does sports as an institution subtly yet effectively mirror many of society's ways (good and bad), but I believe that many sports teams in general represent a fairly accurate portrayal of the city in which they call home. Take the OHL's Windsor Spitfires for example. Despite being loaded with talent, and heavily favoured, they've had to dig down extra deep to make it as far as they have thus far. Nothing comes easy for Windsor the city and nothing comes easy for Windsor the city's OHL hockey team --- even when they're better than the competition. It is also fitting that the last few games in Windsor have been decided in hard fought over time periods while Locals 82 and 543 of the Canadian Union of Public Employees strike to no avail outside the arena. Even head coach Bob Boughner and part-owner Warren Rychel, tough hard nosed ex-scrappy NHL'ers exemplify the team/city association. These are the people who have hope for Windsor --- mediocre hockey players with mediocre talent but with plenty of heart, determination and a love for a city that barely loves them back. A recipe for almost success. Both the city and team have been punished repeatedly, and despite umpteen broken noses and a supreme lack of recognition from the rest of the country and world, there still remains an unrivaled passion for something many love but don't know exactly why. On a more obvious note, the whole new arena fiasco, from wanting to keep it downtown (like it should have been) to the Great One wanting to build it in the middle of nowheresville LaSalle --- has been typical Windsor shit. Every decision takes forever, and when it's finally made it wasn't the best choice available, and then when the project is finally done, many wish that nothing had changed in the first place. (eg. Moving from the Madhouse at McDougall as Dom Papa called it to the Factory Graveyard in Forest Glade as I call it). Even the WFCU center itself, though beautiful and new is still too small, too restrictive and too expensive. How is a laid off auto worker supposed to buy an eight dollar beer after they've already forked over twenty bucks for a ticket? Not mention that they already had to piss off their fellow union workers just to get in the parking lot. And why aren't I able to walk around the entire corridor like in every other arena in the world? It seems that the great views and unique character of the Barn were traded up for half-decent too cramped seats and poor engineering decisions. Chances are, the Spits won't win the Memorial Cup, (even though they should) because that's just the way it goes around here, but even an almost championship team is better than what's going on, and everybody can agree that the City of Roses isn't smelling much like roses these days. It smells like garbage. Go Spits Go!

Hmmm

For years I've always thought that acquiring and having money is not necessary to achieving happiness. I still believe that, but I'm not that demented to wholeheartedly believe that happiness is entirely free. At the very least being happy is being alive and to be alive depends on one's ability to survive ---- which costs money. One still needs money to buy stuff necessary for survival. (eg. food, shelter, booze, shoes, cigarettes, prescription glasses if your eyesight is poor, a bike for transportation if your car is broken down, a glass of red wine here and there, you know, necessary for survival things.) Anyways, I need to make money. But how? In an economy such as ours, traditional work is on the way out. Factories and schools are closing and as the population gets older, serviceable products seem harder and harder to define. People need more these days, that's a given, and as we've already learned from the 'Net and such, they want it to be new, fast and as close to free as possible. So, what kind of service could I offer to people that is original, sought after and inexpensive, but not so inexpensive that I don't make money off of it? Hmmm. Well, I guess the best place to start is with the consumers themselves. What do people like, need or want these days? I mean, what could I trick people into thinking they like, need or want? Let's see here. Hmmm. Sex. Always the classic answer. Booze and cigarettes or any kind of stimulant/downer/over-the-counter narcotic/etc. Yes, time-honoured favourites as well. Something technological or at least something resembling something that is technological. Something shiny and soft. Something that celebrities have on the cover of supermarket smut that normal people want but could never afford or even make practical use of. Something turquoise. Because turquoise is the new pink, which was the old black, which is... hmmm. Jesus and Barack are big right now. You know, the economy being what it is and all. Bail-outs, Fall-outs and flash-floods are also popular. Something that is small and portable but big and loud enough so everyone can see and hear how cool it is. Something tasty but not too sweet. Something with a stupid name that means nothing unless you have it. Hmmm. This is going to be tougher than I thought. Something that communicates easily with and connects many people over different cultures in the shortest amount of time. Got it. I will create an alternate universe (or purchase a warm, friendly, habitable, but not yet populated planet for a reasonable price) without borders where there is one language, no law and ample amounts of cold dark beer. People are always naked (almost everyone), telling jokes and laughing. There is no work because there is no money because there is nothing to buy since jealousy, materialism, competition, consumerism and popularity do not exist. Humans are celebrities and the President of our planet is my neighbour Steve. (Actually, there is no President so Steve may as well be) People freely and without danger swim with sharks. Polar bears often come over for Sunday dinner and sex and fun have replaced death and taxes. Cats ride bicycles and babies mix drinks. There are no jobs just things we have to do before we sleep, if we choose to sleep (eg. play sports, help others, enjoy life). There are no carpets just lush grass and people often sing instead of talking. Books exist only in our minds and gas is blood. However, nobody bleeds because pain is pleasant and there is no use for gas since we don't believe in technological advancement. There is no famine only families. One large family. Nothing is worth more than human consciousness, so no precious metals or minerals exist. We survive off the land, each other and the belief that every day will be greater than the last. This great land of happiness, peace and hope shall be called Hmmm. A perfectly simple yet equally ridiculous name that means nothing except to its people. Hmmm, seems easy enough. Now I just have to get a job and make some money so I can fund this little project.

GARBAGE FUN WITH TOTAL SCUM!

It didn't take an inspirational bike ride down city streets or an intuitive cruise through the county to get me thinking today. No, today's epiphany appeared as soon as I stepped foot on my front porch. I could tell right away that it wasn't mine. It couldn't be. I would never have packed it so high or used those sort of bags and, most importantly, I would never do what whoever did this to me, to anyone else. Sounds complicated but not really. It's just the simple story of the life of the person who mind's his/her own business. Mr. or Mrs. Bothers-Nobody is bound to be targeted and bothered by those who don't. I understand that a strike usually brings out the worst in people, especially one that makes your city smell, look and taste like other non-Windsorites already think it does (eg. Steven Colbert), but in times like these it's best that we stick together. The total scum should stick with (or stick to) other total scum and the other semi-normal less scum (everyone else) can stick with the other semi-normal less scum. Let me put it in simpler terms. If you're garbage pail is overflowing with garbage (like everyone else's in the city) and you decide that you're going to start throwing your garbage in other people's pails --- you are total scum. Not the semi-normal less scum, but the total package scum. If you insist on acting like total scum, do as I say. Stick with the other total scum. Simply put your garbage in the other total scum's pails and vice versa. It will be fun. However, since you're both probably unemployed, and/or lacking the basic skills or motivation to get a job, an eduction, or a clue, there's probably a good chance that most of your wasted life is spent smoking cheap cigarettes on your dilapidated front porch, or watching The Tyra Banks show or Judge Whoeverbitch, and it may be difficult to sneak a fast one on you. But give it a try. Maybe you'll get in a dirty street fight with another total scum like yourself and get sent to jail or kicked out of Windsor. It could be fun. Maybe. We'll call the game Garbage Fun with Total Scum. The winner gets to work for free for the city picking up garbage once the strike is finally over and the loser continues living life as a total loser. I mean total scum. Trash on Windsor!

SAKURA MARKS THE SPOT

After waiting out the super-storm that never really came, I decided to go for a little mid-day bikey-poo. The weather was splendid and I had a bit of time to kill before my rendezvous later in the evening with my lady friend. But, I thought, where would I go? I had already gone on a not-so-nice cruisage earlier in the day, when it was windy as fuck, (at one point I was actually coasting down a hill and not moving) and I seemed to have lost all motivation for a destination. Without a proper plan in mind I came up with the next best alternative. Follow the cherry blossoms. So, I set out on my trusty two wheeler, not really looking for, but continuously running into the Sakura markers, letting its vibrant (for now) blossoms dictate the route. After a while I couldn't seem to find any more of the fabled Japanese tree, so I started following the trash littered streets. A casual mid-day cruise turned into a two hour trek through some of Windsor's finest neighbourhoods. As per usual this got me thinking. If it is warm out on a Saturday evening and you are cruising slowly on a blue woman's cruiser, and have a shaved head, tattoos, a beard and are wearing bright white clogs --- people will stare at you from their front porches. Especially if you're sweating and staring back. It's just a fact that involves many variables, but a fact nonetheless. This, in turn lead my to my next train of thought. Unnecessary things. As I weaved through the garbage that was my map, I came upon a boulevard. A boulevard on a nasty street. Totally unnecessary. A boulevard on a nasty street does not make that street any less nasty. If anything it accentuates the nasty, making it nastier. Unnecessary. Also, when I order a coffee at Tim Horton's and the girl urges me to, "Drive through to the next window," I always do. Not because she told me to but because I really want a fucking coffee. Not to mention that the only way for me not to drive through to the next window would be to ram my way out a sandwich packed line up of equally feigning coffee drinkers. Unnecessary. Another thing, in this non-economy we call Windsor, is it still necessary to put "For Sale" signs on the outside of houses that are for sale? Can't we just assume that pretty much every house (especially those in nasty neighbourhoods) is for sale? All that should be posted is the price. If someone is even thinking about purchasing a house in, let's say West Windsor, the selling point isn't it's prime location. The selling point is whether or not the house is livable, under thirty grand and available immediately. Sold!

MORE CRUISIN', RAMBLIN' AND THINKIN' THAT MIGHT ONLY BE RELEVANT TO ME

I was cruising with a friend a couple of days ago. We were weaving in and out of east Windsor sub-divisions not for any particular reason other than to cruise. Windows down, while flipping through the tunes and talking about nothing (which during these tough economic times is usually the best conversation subject) we came upon my friend's old grade school. Unfortunately for us, mostly him, his old stomping grounds as a kid had been reduced to a flat rock of nothing. Memories reduced to rubble, visions of past fun knocked down and hauled away like the hallways and lockers had been by the bulldozers and dump trucks. Though demolished for reasons unknown (probably to make room for new houses that no one will buy, or an empty lot with no future) this got me thinking. There are many signs that point towards one getting old, some more obvious than others, but they all seem to lean in the same general direction. Down. Besides the total extinction of one's Alma mater, I was thinking of other ways, in case you couldn't tell yourself (and some people can't) where life tells you you're getting old. Here they are in no particular order but ordered from 1 to 18 : 1) Most if not all of you friends are either a) divorced, b) have a kid, or are c) looking to buy a house. 2) And, If you are one of these pre-mentioned people, you might not hang out with too many old friends, but the one's you do are the one's who are least like you. 3) You have had over twenty jobs in your life, despite not having held a steady one in years. 4) Your favourite professional athletes are in the prime of their lives, and are much younger than you. 5) You no longer care about how you look, smell or sound to other people. 6) You can no longer do things that, as a kid you could with ease and without thought. (eg. riding a bike with no hands, somersaults, skipping rope, adapting to cold weather, eating shitty food, not worrying about the future, making new friends, and recovering from injuries. 7) Hanging out with your family is as or more fun than hanging out with friends, 8) You're no longer cool and you know it, which is much worse than just being 'un-cool.' 9) Getting out of bed is harder and harder everyday, as is walking up and down stairs, understanding and relating to popular culture, reaching for things, bending over for things, taking showers, finding steady work during a recession, and shaving. 9) You start to care about things you know you'll never really understand (eg. the economy, taxes, mortgages, investing, weather forecasts, and corpora amylaceas, huh?). 10) Old, minor- injuries you sustained as a kid re-surface as major-discomforts as an adult, even though you thought said injuries were minor and forgot they even occurred until they came back, perhaps leading you to believe that they are new injuries as a result from getting old. 11) You call someone and forget who you called until they answer the phone. 12) People you once held as a baby are now holding their own babies.13) Your old tree fort and wide-open field where you played as a kid has been a subdivision for ten years. 14) Your back hurts when its feeling good. 15) You don't pretend to like somebody, you just don't like them. 16) When you want to, 'let it loose,' you must now take into consideration the next day, 17) You hurt yourself sleeping, and 18) You no longer act spontaneously and with reckless abandonment, instead you carefully weigh your options then make a responsible decision based not on how it will affect you, but how it will affect others around you.

ANOTHER DAY, ANOTHER COLLAGE, ANOTHER PASSAGE OF PERSONAL THOUGHTS

As I sat outside on my little cement porch, sipping on a tad too sweet double double, I looked up at the sky and began to think about things. Things that are gone, obsolete, lost, replaced, abandoned and forgotten. Why do we replace things with other things then secretly wish that those things were still around? Like early 90's music? Or, Edwin French baggy jeans? Is advancement all about replacement? Just because something is new, doesn't necessarily mean it's better. Does it? Where are all the Ford Tempo's, Commodore 64's and drive in movie theatres? I want to get ripped off by Columbia House and eat the stale gum from a pack of baseball cards. Where did all the mid 80's plastic bound lawn furniture end up, and where the hell is Steve Guttenburg? I want to buy a pair of Ventures at By-way and my groceries at IGA. I know that a lot of stuff comes back into style when the circle completes its round trip from obscurity back to popularity, but its just not the same. An 18 year old kid wearing aviators, a pair of Nike Air Max's and a throwback hat --- is just not the same. Where are all the 600 dollar VCRs, velour collared dress shirts and the A&W restaurants with the long overhang where the cars drove up to? Where are all the little socks with the little balls hanging off of them and has there really been a good family sitcom since TGIF ruled my Fridays? I want to drive down the by-pass without stopping and watch a Saturday afternoon Tiger game on channel 50. I want to "Just do it," "Walk like an Egyptian" and use the phrase, "Not," when I don't agree with something and want to sound clever. One thing that should never have been changed are the colours and logos of professional sports teams. There has never been a case where the new 'sleek and modern' logos, stripes and colours were better than the originals. In fact, some teams have started going back to the old jerseys, perhaps in the hopes of stirring up some of the old emotion that only tradition can bring. If you ask me, I think the Toronto Blue Jays should think about donning the old threads, (and not just the powder blues on Flashback Fridays) because I'm not really into the pissed off super-hero, looking for trouble jay that represents them now. I want to buy lemonade from a lemonade stand and waste my pocket change at an arcade. But I can't find neither. Does Old Navy sell hot pink fluorescent body glove t-shirts and where the hell did Boblo disappear to? Boblo the amusement park. I want to pierce my left ear, or is it my right, whatever, I want things to be how they used to be. But they can't and that's life, but I can always sit on my little cement porch, sipping on a tad too sweet double double, stare at the sky and dream, I mean remember, can't I?

HEY, YOU GOT FACEBOOK?

Sure everyone's got an opinion and I'm one of those people. A lot of these people with opinions (myself included again) have opinions on facebook and its unrivaled contribution to the creation and maintenance of this whole cyber-community-collectiveness-too much openness-we-call-the-internet. Sure, I know that with every expression of an opinion comes the great chance of contradiction --- and again, I am no different than the norm, as I will show shortly. I once got sucked into the myspace vortex, (strictly for professional reasons) but could never bring myself to get the facebook. (although, I did have it for one week before hurriedly cancelling my account, eg. contradiction #1) For starters, I was shocked by how quickly people I knew, knew what I was going to do before I knew I was going to do it. I love my friends and family, but we gotsta draw the line of privacy somewhere. Preferably where I know what's going on in my head and you don't. Also, I don't need my parents to see pictures of me smoking a cigarette and drinking a beer at the same time. And, no offence to those people I don't know anymore from high school and my old jobs, but I don't know you anymore for a reason. A few reasons. Mainly, because we, 1) moved far away from each other because of school, work or reasons unknown, 2) lost touch before high school even ended because we were never really that close to begin with so a 'fake friendship' on-line should come off as weird and forced, or 3) because you are a much older/younger person than I and we have little or nothing in common with each other, but you were aware of my presence briefly at the factory and you just happened to remember my name or just happened to stumble upon a tagged pic of me at a party in one of your 'friends' picture archives. Now, I know what you're going to say. "Facebook is great because I can instantly connect with my friends and share photographs with my family that would otherwise be impossible." I remember the days (I believe they were called the 90's) when photographs of loved ones or parties or trips out west were shared through photo albums and picture frames --- in person. Facebook is the world's number one adversary of the family gathering. We've replaced Christmas with connections. Telephone calls and birthday wishes with unemotional typing and robot-like responses. (unless you put an emoticon before or after the greeting, because then your feelings become real). The race is to respond and the fastest runner wins more time at the computer. This, coming from the person who avoids (not because he doesn't love his family) many of these pre-mentioned activities, eg. contradiction #2. But, you may ask, Sir, how do we avoid something that is everywhere, always and so much a part of people's lives? Simple. Don't ever let people take pictures of you. Don't buy a computer or laptop or go anywhere where there are computers or laptops. Never take night courses at a community college to enhance your typing and/or 'surfing' skills and most importantly, don't make any new friends outside of normal, healthy interactions with real, living breathing people in everyday life circumstances. If we follow these easy steps we will reclaim our lives, our society, our privacy, our freedom, our creativity, and our ability to make our own decisions and to function like people. It's as easy as writing a hand written letter to a friend, or stopping in unexpectedly for a quick visit. This all coming from a person who types fairly fast, has two computers and started a blog so people will read it and look at his silly pictures, eg. contradiction #3.

HOT SQUASH TIPS FROM A SQUASH LEGEND

1) Always stretch for a minimum of twenty minutes. Even if you are all stretched out and ready to play --- stretch anyways. Doing this in front of your fellow opponent will intimidate them, leading them to believe that you are very serious about squash, not to mention well prepared, in turn giving you a competitive mental edge before you've even played one point.

2) Squash is all about alertness and quick decision making. When playing, try to imagine the game three or four, even five plays into the future. This will allow you to set up your opponent with nonreturnable, well-thought through strategical moves. There is no logical defense for the future except time-machines and we all know you can't drive a DeLaurien into a squash court, let alone the building itself (Not to mention that finding plutonium these days is next to impossible - unless you're Jeff, because apparently he doesn't think its that hard to find).

3) Do not be afraid to smash your racquet against the wall during play. The walls are there for a reason and avoiding them while running full speed and swinging wildly at a tiny rubber ball is not one of them. There's a reason why most squash clubs have a wall dedicated to mangled/warped/snapped/pieces of racquets and that the most expensive squash racquet is only ten dollars more than that of the cheapest. Also, its a lot funner to do anything without regret.

4) Hustle, hustle hustle! Even though to become a world-class squashist like Jeff takes weeks of dedication, practice and a gym membership, one can exemplify dominance with simple hard work. Lack of athletic ability, shot-making skills and an overall sound game-plan can be overshadowed by guts, determination and a willingness to dive head-first into walls.

5) After all this, if you are still losing handily to your opponent, do not fret, simply lie and say that you were letting them win so they wouldn't get frustrated and quit playing. This frazzles your opponent who was lead to believe that they were winning because they were better than you. Chances are you'll come back to win the next two sets handily and wrap up the match in a matter of minutes.

THOUGHTS POP UP LIKE OLD ACQUAINTANCES

As I was strolling aimlessly around west Windsor, with the sole intention of getting a half-decent cardio work-out (or waste time outside in the sun, whatever it may be) on my girlfriend's baby- blue five star woman's cruiser, a few things came to mind: 1) it is easier on most occasions to ride your bicycle in a north --> south direction, as opposed to east --> west, unless you're going uphill into a slight breeze --- then it doesn't matter. 2) Older gentleman love to look at, comment on and imagine themselves riding a beach cruiser. I'm sure it's a nostalgic thing and the same response/feeling could be conjured up if I were jitterbugging down the street in a cashmere sweater, whistling an old Charlie Parker tune while complaining about beatniks. The beach cruiser to an older gentleman in a hat is like a cute baby to a desperate single chick. 3) Love is not the strongest feeling, frustration is. 4) If you're city's workers go on strike and you still put out your garbage --- no one will pick it up. 5) If you dream about someone you haven't seen in a long time, it's hard to tell if you have actually seen that person in real life or if you have just dreamed about them while sleeping. This might be because your dream image of them is so distorted and fuzzy, as is your recollection of what that person might look like now after so many years between viewings, that to decipher between the two is as impossible and equally awkward as age-old idol chit-chat. "So, what are you up to these days?" What I'm really saying is, if you have a pretty good memory and a thick beard, you always recognize people but never have to talk to them, and 6) The strongest relationship one can have with their neighbours is one which doesn't exist --- unless they're your friends, then it's fun.

RE-INVASION OF THE 80'S (and early 90's) OR ONE HELL OF A SATELLITE CHANNEL

THERE'S AN OLYMPIC ATHLETE IN ALL OF US

If poll dancing is going to be an Olympic event, then so should: DJing, giving massages, selling drugs, taking drugs, bar tending, pie/cow tongue/hot dog eating contests, security guarding, lighting a flame with a fart, riding an elevator/and or escalator, cow tipping, picking your nose/and or biting your nails, riding the bus, using velcro, hailing a cab, eating Chinese food with chopsticks, looking directly at an eclipse, ball room dancing (it was, or is, or might be?), playing Hungry Hungry Hippo, tying your shoe, unknoting tough knots, mashing potatoes with a knife, helping your friend move, using the buddy system on a field trip, not waiting half an hour before swimming after eating, buying booze for teenagers, eating rice with no hands, running quickly from your car to the house because its raining pretty hard, cutting the grass on a riding lawnmower, going to a killer house party, missing recycling/and or garbage day, watching a good movie on your favourite couch, finding twenty bucks on the sidewalk, opening a can of brown beans with a knife because your can opener broke, breaking in a new hat in the shower and sweating awkwardly and profusely in anxious social situations.

I TOLD HIM SO...

Last night was a blustery, rainy, cold, just plain old shitty night, and Coppertoes was out for its entirety. Before he scooted through my legs out the front door I told him that I have no problem with him going outside, it's just that he'll have to deal with whatever happens by himself. Coppertoes is my pet cat and I consider him a pretty good friend. Sometimes I worry about him though.

A SHORT IRRELEVANT STORY ABOUT...

Well, since so many responded to my invitation of happiness, hope, and intrigue, I'll tell you the story of a man and his bike. This man I know rode his bike from east to west, a trip totaling no more than 15 kilometres and no less than 11. Not only was this man wearing white plastic clogs and a canary yellow cardigan, but this was his first bike ride of the year --- o ya, and the cardigan had holes in its pockets and the bike's tires were fairly flat. This man was also bald and wearing shorts. On top of all this, it was an above normal shitty windy Windsor day. And a tad cold too. "Goddammit," said the man, as he courageously bit the head wind and persevered into the bone chillin' failin' grey sun. An hour later, with a wet forehead, cold neck and pumping blood, the man arrived at his desired destination. Well this was yesterday, and today, this same man made his second cycle journey of this young cycling season. This west to east trip totalled no more than 12 kilometres and no less than 9.3. (Actually it was exactly 9.3 kilometres because this man had earlier calculated the distance for an unspecified reason.) Well wouldn't you know it, but that bastard wind was back again. This time, however, it had hilariously changed directions and was now once again burning the man's patience and lower thighs. But again this determined man on his bike would not be deterred by the weather and its comedic blows. Arriving at his desired destination on this, his second cycling journey of this young cycling season, and after covering precisely 9.3 km of wind-stricken asphalt, the man cursed the sky above and then sat down for an undisclosed amount of time. After this time, the man got up, somewhat looking forward to a pleasant return trip home. Head filled with tail wind tales, the man stopped, and looked up at his newly acquired nemesis. "Goddammit," said the man as he licked his lips and batted his eyes. It was raining fairly hard. This man and his bike cannot catch a break --- in the weather.

I DARE YOU, QUA TRIPLE DARE YOU (aka what I will do on this blog)

I dare someone to visit this blog type blob like blog... It could be fun... It could be not fun, but I guarantee you it will be something. The first person to visit, respond, what-have-you-will-receive-a-not-so-guaranteed-prize. AKA Maybe I'll write nonsense inspired stories about nothing that only mean something to me but other people for some reason want to read them. Yes, that.

Welcoming Me to Nobody or You

Listening to soft music while the grainy drains of coffee fall even softer in the background. Nice day out. Might enjoy it, might miss it... haven't decided yet. After all, it is KPW's world. Right?