Designer Breeds

First the cockapoo. Then the labradoodle and the goldenpoo (or goldendoodle). And now there's the puggle, shipoo, pomchi and a whole mix of mashed breed names. All formerly known as mixed breeds or even , dare I say, mutts.
But that's not the point. What I'm curious about is why we have not adopted this euphemism into other realms of life. When a interracial couple have a child, could we not just make up a brand new 'race'/name? And it could extend to intercultural children, or children with a range of ethnic backgrounds. Let's embrace this idea and imagine how quaint the world would be! Designer children with designer ethnic hertiage!
But then the question remains, who gets to make up these fun and quirky names? And what then happens if two (separate) designer-bred children then produce their own offspring?

Brave New World?

I was listening to the radio the other day and the topic of discussion was children and the workplace. This remarkably startling story was addressing the childcare "industry" in Australia and the practices taken by companies. In contrast to maternity leaves and such, companies now are offering bonuses and such for childless employees. There was a woman that was to move away for a year to work and only be allowed to see her family periodically, and never be in contact with her family during company time. All of this for the sake of more money.

But really this wasn't the startling thing to me. What creeped me out was the use of the Robby, a household robot that aids in childcare and rearing. These things are even in daycares. It would seem that parents are too tired for the 'tedious' task of caring for their children and must rely on a robot to do so. Immediately I began to think of the psychology experiment conducted years ago in which the need for tactile comfort from a 'mother' is needed:

" infant rhesus monkeys preferred surrogate mother objects providing contact comfort (frames covered with a terry cloth surface) to those providing nourishment (bare wire frames featuring a nipple and milk supply)."

And that's why the idea of a Robby concerns me. I'm not a person preaching about 'the wonders of childbirth' (how would I know?) but I do think that we should invest our own time to care for the children that are here.

if this seems all too cluttered - blame the humidity

Unwell or Unfit?

Yes, I laugh at farts. They don't even have to be my own and I seem to get amusement from the sound of them. And although this bit of information is not vital nor is it even relevant to the anecdote I am about to tell, it somehow speaks about my character and demonstrates exactly why I am sharing this info.
The last day or so I have been rather sick. Including the projectile vomiting that is so uncontrollable it is hard to catch my breath. And now as I begin to recover, I'm noticing the muscles in my stomach are aching. So the question is: are my stomach muscles achy from a bout of violent lurches and upheavals, or am I really that out of shape?

WestFest

This weekend was WestFest, "Westboro Village's Festival of Music, Art & Life". Taking advantage of the beautiful weather, I decided to go check it out on Saturday. It should be noted that I actually walked there. Not very significant for most I'm sure, but considering it's me we're talking about, well that speaks volumes. It reach the main stage at WestFest was just a little over 2 miles. But definitely worth it. As I arrived, Jason Collett was starting his performance. Because I did go later in the day, I did miss some of the other attractions, other performers, photographers, artists and a whole lot more. It was a tiring experience as I also went to the grocery store on my way home. Yup, a combination of a backpack full of groceries resting on the back in very warm weather can drain the energy. And although Kieran did behave wonderfully at the festival, walking down Scott proved to be quite a challenge with the numerous rabbits that would become statutes not 10 feet away. Way to build arm muscles.

Hopefully I will be in Ottawa next year to enjoy WestFest'08 in its entirety.

Age-induced paranoia

At what age does the mind step over the line between a touch of madness to fully cracked? Or can it always be a sign of an unglued mind? Perhaps it is simple frustration that mistakes are being made and time is limited.

At the grocery store an elderly woman exhaustively explains that the pie she has purchased is mislabelled and this is her second attempt to remedy the situation. She tells the cashier it is not a cherry pie, but rather a fruit pie. After calling the manager as per her request she continues her diatribe about the inconvenience of taking numerous buses just because of this mistaken pie incident. After the manager approaches she then takes it to another level, proclaiming that because this is the second time this has happened to her, all of the pies are mislabelled and surely the result of a person's "sick joke".

It really drains the energy when you discover that people you know do things uncharacteristic. To the point of why you even bother trying to remain in contact with this person, or how you even could want to remain in contact. Maybe it's the weather (sunny yet cool) but I don't like many people today. Present company excluded of course.

Curses

I have been anxiously awaiting the arrival of a package in the mail. Today it finally arrived and to my dismay, the envelop was torn at the side and all contents were missing. I contacted Canada Post, and they informed me that it is the responsibility of the sender to take any action. And as this was an item purchases through eBay, this problem may never be remedied to my satisfaction.

To me it's still Monday

I'm up way too early for my liking. The reason - I ate yogurt and it has made me ill. How can yogurt give sometime indigestion? Or am I just falling apart due to age and infrequent use (yea, I'm lazy...)?
*Vanity blather *- I decided that after a year, I should get my hair cut. And the hairdresser really was a person. Extremely patient - even though I had brushed my hair for about a hair hour prior to leaving my apartment it took her close to 10 minutes just to comb through some conditioner. You know your hair is dead, tangly, gross and dry when. Unfortunately, the hairstyle I ultimately wanted would have involved a daily ritual of blow drying and styling (damn you curly*wavy hair) so she opted for another style. It's nice, but it's just not me. I've been layered. Although it's an entirely different colour now - and natural- which is interesting.

Exam progress: I have my first exam this coming Wednesday. And because I couldn't find my textbook until today, I would rather not predict the outcome. It's National Criticism though, how hard can that be? Our (insert country's name here) shit does stink. There you go.

"Life is no way to treat an animal."

And so it goes.
Yes, this is about the passing of one of the greatest authors, Kurt Vonnegut. The piece of writing that introduced me to Vonnegut was from his collection of short stories, Welcome to the Monkeyhouse and the story was "Harrison Bergeron". The first novel I read by him was Cat's Cradle and loved every page of it. And from then on, I was hooked. And he has undoubtedly been a huge influence on popular culture.
Interestingly enough, The Dandy Warhol's album Welcome to the Monkeyhouse is (in my opinion) one of their better works. And yes, it is named after Vonnegut's book.

Hooray for sandwiches

The title is actually a combination of two things that are jumping around in my head. Obviously, as pictured above, I am fulfilling my duty as advertising whore and doing a wee bit of product placement. But "Smoked Wheat" really is worth it. I happened upon it at the grocery store the other day and that was that. It has sauce, which I like. And it's another item I can use in my newly purchased microwave. Looking back on that past year and a half, I can't believe I did without. piss. I just realized that I'm devoting far too much time discussing food and food-related topics.

"Hooray for murder!"
Hopefully this will work properly. It's my first time that's me giving dues to recessbandit. What I was saying. Enjoy the video - it's from Robot Chicken.

Robot Chicken: Carebears

mmmmmm, that's good rainbow

beep beep

Listening to the news of a particular politician that will not be seeking re-election and instead will be going back to the family business has caused me to think. Currently this high-profile politician will be returning to a very lucrative position at an automobile manufacturing type of company just as rumours are cast that this large company may be looking to buy out a very large Name Brand car company. So, what does this have to do with me? Nothing, except it has me thinking about what some businesses do differently than others to succeed. How is it that this company became so large and lucrative? A company started by one man. And this one man whom actually rented out space within my grandfather's automobile parts company - helping him establish himself in the automobile industry. Truly I am curious to know if it is a combination of dedication, business savvy, sacrifice or what that had this man exceed beyond the limitations of those that gave him a start in the beginning. And, if I name drop, could I get a job?

M'Dream

Right then. I will attempt to recite my dream as best as I can recall. Mind, some details are sketchy, possibly I wasn't paying attention at the time? Anywhore. My dream had a sort of hospital "ER" vibe about it. I think it started with this guy dying and there was speculation that within a few days they'd be able to reattach his brain (American Dad?). So my dream is centered around this one particular doctor who bears a striking similarity to Mark Greene from ER (what can I say, Revenge of the Nerds is a classic) and trying to hide this particular corpse so he can later attempt his reanimation experiment. This I'm thinking stems from my underlying fear that one day the dead will be reanimated and zombies will be the latest 'terrorist' attack. Actually, it's not a very exciting dream come to think of it. Trying to stuff the body in the staff's lunch room freezer, and dressing the body up like Mark Greene and placing him under covers in his cot. A sudden medical emergency calls all doctors away, but for some reason Greene just has one more thing to secure things so that Corpse isn't taken away. Actually, this seemed far more riveting in my head. My apologies. Let's just say it ends with me actually doing some quick thinking (obviously a dream). When asked why he doesn't have his scrubs on (after dressing Corpse in them) I brilliantly answer by stating I threw up on him and proceed to throw up again. So I guess that's my contribution to the medical community - vomiting on demand.
good times.

An old and overused joke, but funny nonetheless

As I as waiting for the picture to load I realized just how immature I am. What gave it away was not that I gain amusement from this photo, but that when my dog just released a bubble toot, I laughed.

My "Experiment"

Really it isn't an experiment, merely an observation. But by calling it an experiment it helps for me to not appear quite as scatter-brained and forgetful. Anyway, I digress. It has been about five months that I have been driving with an invalid sticker on my license plate. Granted I do have the valid sticker in my possession, I just have yet to replace it. Now to me the astonishing thing is the difference of a town's police force. In previous years when I had difficulties with an uncooperative sticker that wouldn't stay in place, therefore making it necessary for me to keep sticker inside the car, I've always have had quite a different experience. In the past, whilst living in a different area of the province, I'd been pulled over by what is known as the York Pork. And this would occur perhaps one month (at the most) past the date of the expired sticker visible. Is it clear what I'm carrying on about? How remarkably different the patrolling strategies of towns can be. In one town, in which the authoritarian units have been nicknamed, it takes only a mere four weeks for a money producing infraction to be spotted. And yet in another town, this apparent violation has yet to incur any charges. Now with mentioning this, I really should go take care of my sticker, just in case I become superstitious and jinx myself.

Toilet Paper

It seems almost irrelevant to continue griping about the qualms of the world as there is now one less viewer connected to what will ultimately be the quiet killer of human beings. But enough of this humdrum talk - I actually have positive babble to spew.

Currently I'm at a point in which a decision must be made. Similar to Mick Jones' question, "Should I Stay or Should I Go", I must decide as to what path I must take for a satisfactory life. Fortunately I appear to have a few options - although it is rather unfortunate as I am rather indecisive - so I'd imagine that regardless of the choice I make things will work out.

Not really a person to rely on chance but willing to allow my decision to be made by others, I've decide to rely on a previous purchase to make my decision. Last year I bought a value pack of toilet paper and I've decided to let that be the deciding factor. I will stay in this town/apartment until the toilet paper runs out. And that is when I'll move on to other adventures. As it stands, it looks as though I may be staying here for the duration of the summertime, perhaps working part-time and earning my TESL certificate. And then a'travellin' I will go.

So again, I must thank the trees that were cut down and turned into pulp so that people around the world could wipe their arses. But if there's any consolation, the trees may take comfort in the knowledge that their by-product helped me make a rather significant decision.

And now I will urge anyone to plant a tree. And for those that are deluded into believing that there has been no environmental impact from our actions, I'll rephrase for you. Go plant a tree so that you may continue to wipe your fat ass.

The Dollar Store

What a great retail establishment "The Dollar Store" is. And you really can get almost anything you could possibly need there. The other day I was perusing through the aisles when I found what I believe to be the most interesting item to be available thus far. The item? A pregnancy test. *shiver* Eww. Imagine the people that would use such an item and realize that they are breeding. I shudder to think.

Dead & Buried

I'm sitting at my computer and in the background I can hear the TV and the topic that is being discussed is Anna Nicole Smith. It could be perhaps my fault for not changing the channel so that an entertainment news show is not on my TV, but I can't believe what is going on. Regardless of Anna Nicole Smith's 'celebrity', it is disturbing that this fiasco has gone on this long. It was a couple of weeks before her body was buried, which in normal circumstances, well, would never happen. It's inhumane really. Hey, let's have a couple of cameras at the funeral. How novel! And now this fighting to try to exhume the bodies and whatever nonsense is going on. I don't have any religious beliefs that may be linked to this, but I now have an understanding in the cliched 'rest in peace'.
Maybe I'm just as guilty by discussing the coldness of this debacle.

The Stapler

Busily attaching all of my papers together I experienced an enormous sense of panic. Can it be? I'm out of staples? The panic dissipated soon after I found the box of staples in the desk drawer under a stack of unpaid bills. And that's when it occurred to me. The stapler is by far the best of all office supplies.

Sureshot? Nope - eww.

Whatever that nasty bug is that is dancing around with people decided to put me on the dance-card. How lucky. And to add to the already disorientation of the illness, I went into the washroom to discover the light was broken. Electricity be damned - my previously ingested meal wanted to escape the same way it entered. And so I complied in the darkness in the bathroom. After a few more visits I was fairly certain that light was not necessary for the upheaval of undigested food sorts so I thought nothing of it when I simply had to pee. There was nothing out of the ordinary as I stumbled back into my bedroom.
Then in the light of the following morning I saw it. Vomit all over the toilet seat - with the exception of some areas in which I must have inadvertently sat in it. Sadly I did not even feel it at the time. Perhaps it had already dried?
But thank goodness I don't have the trots, right?