A place for a cynical person to write his cynical petty little thoughts and musings.
Sunday, March 16, 2008
Tuesday, March 11, 2008
It’s a lot like in those old silent movies, you open the door and in falls a pile of snow filling the room. However, in Toronto a couple of corpses and at least one frozen purse dog usually accompanies it.
I spent Saturday night ignoring many adults who came knocking on my door to shovel the walk. I don’t pay adults to shovel my walk. I pay kids to shovel my walk who then get mugged by the adults I ignored. I truly believe in the circle of life.
Sunday morning I went out to shovel what had fallen overnight, only to find that someone had stolen my snow shovel. Who would steal a snow shovel? Hell, who has made it all the way through to March without needing one until now? I imagine it’s like bike seats. Yours gets stolen, and you steal someone else’s to replace yours. Which begs the question how did that first seat get lost anyway?
I felt like the neighborhood ass. You know that guy; everyone else shovels the walk, or tends their garden. The neighborhood ass lets the grass grow until it’s just under the window ledges. That’s when the kids on the street start telling one another that you should never step on old man Jenkins yard. “I’ve heard he keeps a row of bullets on the inside of every window and a gun on him for when kids follow a stray baseball onto his yard. I know ‘cause my mom works in the bank he goes to.”
I put up the following sign:
The reason was twofold. First to let everyone know the great injustice that was done to me, and second to explain why I hadn’t shoveled.
Next it was off to the hardware store to get a new shovel. I thought I would splurge and get a really good shovel. I never liked the old one really. It was straight and plastic. You had to turn it upside down to scrape that last few millimeters of snow off the ground. My new shovel would have a rubber handle, metal end, be ergonomic be equipped with GPS and a coffee holder.
I was politely laughed at when I asked where the shovels were. They were sold out. There must have been a rash of shovel thefts that was the only reason I could figure that all the stores were sold out, because again, who wouldn’t have a need for a shovel until March?
I walked home cursing the city and humanity in general. I saw many lovely shovels sitting on people’s front porches or on sidewalks in front of stores. I was tempted to take each one, but realizing how hard it is to run with a shovel if someone caught me in the act, I decided against it. I came to terms with the fact that I would now have to go door to door and ask to borrow a shovel. How humiliating. I anticipated all the accusations I would get, “Why did you leave it on the front porch, rather than locking it up?” or “Don’t you think you should have shoveled it yesterday, and only need to sweep the little bit off today?” or “Aren’t you the guy that dresses with all his window blinds open?” It was too much to take.
I turned the corner to my house and low and behold my walk was shoveled. Some neighbor saw my sign and was kind enough to shovel for me. Immediately I took down the sign and replaced it with this one.
Okay humanity, you win this one…
Monday, March 3, 2008
Thanks for visiting. As you may notice by the dates of posts it’s been a while since anything has been done on this blog. Hell, back in June of 2007 was the last posting. So what happened you ask? There are plenty of rumours as to what happened to me in the past nine months:
- I got tricked into joining the army and along with a rag tag group of losers ended up winning the Iraq War and the heart of my female drill sergeant, Ms. Firebrand.
- I was locked in the basement of a candy manufacturer during their shut down, and growing too large to fit through the door had to remain there and wrote an Anne Frankesque diary about the ordeal, “Always remember this Jason, there are no walls, no bolts, no locks that anyone can put on your mind, and always carry some Lik-m-aid Fun Dip, for even the utensile is edible.”
- I traveled forward in time nine months to unlock the secrets that the future holds. That being a Spice Girls reunion and how the writer’s strike ends. Then just being lazy didn’t do anything with this information.
- Catalogued and named every hair follicle on my body, then after getting too close mourned the entire time after a back waxing. How I’ll miss Roger.
- Grew my fingernails really long and opened a salon for people with itchy scalps.
I’d like to take a moment to address all these rumours. The short answer is to the question of what the hell happened is “all of the above”, but not in the order listed. But more importantly I became a father back in October. It’s a pretty crazy, life changing thing, but a hell of a lot of fun…