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February 23, 2005
On the Buses
You know what drives me crazy ?
People who block the aisle on the bus.
Picture this.
Your bus arrives. It looks crowded because there's a bunch of people standing near the front. You get on, find a spot the size of a postage stamp to stand, grab the bar overhead, hopefully before the bus starts moving, then start thinking about, oh I don't know, your grandmother
You think about your grandmother because if you think about other women, younger prettier women, you'll get excited and the guy in front of you, the guy whose butt your crotch is pressed against will hit you because he can feel your um... er ... well, you know.
So the bus keeps moving and people keep piling on and you keep getting squished and just when you think you can't possibly make yourself any smaller you hear a loud popping noise.
Was that my my head you wonder ? Nope, it's still there.
Did my bladder explode ? Nope, my pants are dry.
Then it hits you. You can see daylight, you can breathe again, you're no longer being squished like a sardine! And you realize that the noise you heard was you being squeezed out of that tiny spot you previously occupied, back into the main part of the aisle. You've been popped out like a zit.
And you see what looks like a gorilla standing in the middle of the aisle blocking access to the seats at the back of the bus.
And wish you had a cattle prod.
Posted by OldGuy at 2:41 PM
February 18, 2005
The Big Leagues
My wife and I attended a concert by the Micheal Kaeshammer trio the other night. They're a jazz band and although we aren’t jazz fans we won the tickets on the radio so we figured, free night out, let’s go.
I expected to hear a couple of old tunes I might or might not recognize, maybe have a bit of fun, you know, nothing spectacular but a decent evening.
It didn’t turn out that way. These guys blew me away !
See, they’re professionals. Yeah, I know what you’re thinking, of course they’re professionals, they tour and sell cd’s and stuff, what did you expect ? But that’s not my point. My point is that they did things I didn’t know were possible and they transported me to other places.
At one point I’m listening and I’m thinking I’m in an old jazz club and those guys up there are boogy woogying and it’s 23 skidoo man. Then I’m watching the Aristocats and that’s the Russian cat up there on bass and he’s a big old hep cat . And just when I thought he couldn’t get any lower he went
way
down
here.
Later the piano player put some screws between the piano strings and made it sound like a drum . He strummed the strings like a guitar and even used a squeegee to make it sound like a harpsichord. And it was great !!
The drummer was good too. He used the drumsticks and his hands and feet to coax amazing sounds out of the pigskins. During one song he played the cymbals with his fingers and his touch was so light you could barely hear it. Imagine a little spider skittering across the cymbals, it might sound like that.
The point is they could do stuff only pros could do. And that same observation applies to pros in any field, be it music, sport, computers, etc. These people are simply the best at what they do.
Ever go to a professional hockey game ? When I hit it puck it goes boom, when a pro hits a puck it goes BOOM !
Ever watch somebody write code whose really good at it ? Maybe our friend Paul ? Tap, tap, tapetty-tap. Done.
I think what separates the pros from the amateurs is a combination of things. Of course there’s good old God-given talent, something most of us are born without. But it’s also being able to see or hear the final result (song, picture, computer smilie, etc.) and the steps needed to get there before you even start. Okay, they might not see the entire process but they could draw you a pretty good map if they had to. And they practice all the time, not because they have too but because they enjoy it, it’s a kick, a blast. And they’re not afraid to make mistakes. You and me, we try something a couple of times and if it doesn’t work we say to hell with it. These guys keep at it until they get it right and they learn from their mistakes.
And if somebody throws a squeegee in their piano they make music with it.
Posted by OldGuy at 7:18 PM
February 17, 2005
New Name
So why the new name ?
I was thinking the other day that I wanted a name that reflects what I do here. Okay, seems obvious, I write stuff, nothing complicated about that.
But that's only part of it. I enjoy what I'm doing, I get a kick out of it.
If I'm writing about something sad, maybe crying as I type, I still try to find the words, the rhythm, that will convey what I'm feeling. And if I'm writing about something funny, well damn, I go to town.
Either way, I'm enjoying myself, having fun in my space.
So I asked myself what name would convey that sense of fun.
Sand box ? Nah, a little too young.
Park ? Well, park's not bad, but still not quite right. Dogs poop in the park, can't have that here.
Hey wait, remember the old tv sitcoms ? The boys almost always had a tree house, and they did all kinds of neat stuff there like read comics and play monsters and talk about girls and stuff.
And what about the movie Jack starring Robin Williams, the one about a boy growing up in a man's body. Where did they go to play ?
Up in the tree house.
So there it is, when I think of boys having fun I see a tree house.
And I'm having fun so what the hell, OldGuy's Tree House it is.
Oh yeah, speaking of fun, I slapped a new coat of magic paint on the door. Now it turns green when you touch it.
Come on in.
Posted by OldGuy at 3:03 PM | Comments (2)
February 16, 2005
Shaving Redux
I used to enjoy shaving. I'd lather up, shave my face nice and close then look in the mirror and think "You handsome devil."
Now I hate shaving. I lather up, shave my face, trim my eyebrows, ears and nosehairs then look in the mirrow and ask myself "What did I miss ?"
Posted by OldGuy at 6:21 PM | Comments (1)
February 15, 2005
Terror in the Shower
When I was a teenager we lived in a small town on Vancouver Island. The place was a bit isolated so the power frequently went out in the winter.
One night I was taking a shower and had just washed my hair. I closed my eyes to rinse it out and when I opened them again everything was dark. I thought I'd gone blind. I let out a bloodcurdling scream and my mother came running upstairs to ask what was wrong.
"Everything's dark, I've gone blind" I cried.
"No, the power went out again" she replied.
Posted by OldGuy at 3:02 PM
February 14, 2005
A Repair to Remember
My mother used to love to tell this story.
My father wasn't very handy around the house. He could do the odd repair but only if it wasn't too complicated.
One day my mother noticed a pipe leaking in the basement and mentioned it to him. My dad looked at it and decided that yes, he could handle this one. Take it apart there and there, pop in a new piece, put it back together.
He got his tools together, set up his ladder and went to work. Approximately half an hour later, job done, he climbed down off the ladder and stood back to admire his handiwork.
And started to laugh. He got laughing so hard our dog ran down to the basement to see what was wrong. Seeing my dad standing there laughing out loud got the dog barking. Maybe it thought the old man had finally gone around the bend. Well, this just set him off even more and within a few seconds my mother could hear both him and the dog from upstairs so she went to investigate.
When she got to the basement my mother asked my dad what he was laughing about but he was laughing so hard all he could do was point. She took one look then she too burst out laughing.
My dad had somehow managed to feed the pipe through the top two rungs of the ladder and fastened it back together.
Posted by OldGuy at 7:52 PM
February 10, 2005
Tell me another one
So I'm walking to the bus stop this morning and a car stops at the intersection. This guy's back window and all three passenger windows are covered in snow and the driver's side window looks like he might have swept his hand across it.
So I'm thinking if this guy gets in an accident his excuse will be ?
"Sorry officer, I never saw that car coming, musta been in my blind spot."
Posted by OldGuy at 4:24 PM
February 9, 2005
Bedtime
“Okay, bedtime, let’s go.”
“Awww, do I have to ?”
“Yes you have to, now move.”
“But my favourite show’s on, I’ll miss the ending.”
“Yeah yeah, they’re all your favourite shows when it’s bedtime. Get moving.”
“Okay, okay, you don’t have to be all grumpy and stuff.”
“Well, we go through this every night.”
“Do I have to go all the way upstairs ?”
“Well, let me think. Bedrooms are umm… uh… upstairs. YES YOU HAVE TO GO ALL THE WAY UPSTAIRS !”
“Okay, okay, boy you sure are grumpy alright. Umm ... , can I get a drink of water first ?”
“I’m getting impatient here ! Yes, okay, get a drink of water.”
“Ahhhh, that was good. Can I go pee ?”
“Why didn’t you go when you were in the bathroom getting a drink ?”
“I didn’t have to go then. I think it was the water.”
“Fine !, Go pee !!”
“Okay I’m done. "
"Good, now get your butt in gear."
”Clump, clump, clump, clump …
“I’m tired. Can I stop and rest ? "
“Rest ??? We’ve only gone up one floor. Okay, just a little rest, I’m not waiting all night.”
“Okay, I’m better now."
Clump, clump, clump, clump …
“ See, you made it. Now that wasn't so bad was it ?"
“That’s easy for you to say, you didn't have to do all the work.”
“Yeah, but you love me anyway. Piggyback me again tomorrow
daddy ?”
“You betcha sweetie.”
Posted by OldGuy at 6:13 PM
February 8, 2005
Reading; It Takes a Little Effort
I love to read, absolutely love it. I read voraciously, devouring book after book. I take a book with me almost everywhere I go in case I can snatch a few minutes reading time. I have even been known to turn around and go back home because I forgot to grab my latest book on the way out the door.
I have my favourite authors, Stephen King, Tom Clancy and Nelson Demille to name a few. I recently rediscovered John Irving. I’m not picky though. If a book looks interesting I’ll read it, regardless of who wrote it. I’m not afraid to tackle a hefty novel either, 1,000 pages or more. Again, if it looks interesting, bring it on. If I don’t like a book I won’t finish it though. A friend of mine once told me that she always finishes a book, no matter how bad it is. Not me, if I’m not enjoying a book I move on. My leisure time is too precious to waste it on something I’m not enjoying.
Recently I read an excellent book wherein, amongst other things, one of the characters teaches another how to read. Note that I said how to read not to read. What he means is that reading requires a certain amount of mental effort beyond just understanding the words. While a good writer may tell a wonderful story, fleshing out his characters and vividly portraying times and places the reader is expected to do his part, adding details here and there, maybe helping to set the scene once in a while. It’s a bit of work but when it all comes together and you imagine the story unfolding and see and hear the characters it’s worth it. And don’t be afraid too read a passage two or three times, you might just discover a hidden gem; after all, a good book should be savoured like a fine wine, not rushed through like a cheap bottle of hooch. Remember, the author poured his heart and soul into his creation, the least you can do is make a little effort in return.
I love to reread my favourite books.. It’s like getting together with old friends. We’ll have coffee together and soon I’m hearing their voices and chuckling over their peculiarities again. Or maybe they’re not real friendly folk, maybe they’re downright scary, and soon I’m watching them do the awful things they do and enjoying every minute of it. Take Dracula for instance. I’ve read that book so many times I can practically recite it word for word. And I know exactly what the Count looks like, in my mind’s eye I have him pegged right down to his shoes. Same goes for George Stark from Stephen King’s The Dark Half. I can see that southern gentleman and hear his cracker accent right now. And when that “High-Toned Son of A Bitch” is prowling the streets in his black Toronado, pearl-handled straight razor in his pocket you better believe it scares the hell out of me.
So like I said, I love to read. And I don’t mind working at it a little.
Posted by OldGuy at 3:46 AM | Comments (2)
February 4, 2005
Those Crazy Anglicans
When I was dating my wife she invited me to her home town to meet her family one weekend.
While we were there she asked me to go to church with her on Sunday and I agreed.
She was a bit nervous because she's Anglican and I'm Catholic and she thought I wouldn't know what to do. I told her that I'd gone to church all my life so I knew how it worked and that I would follow her lead so everything would be fine.
Everything was fine until about halfway through the service I happened to be looking away and when I turned back saw my wife leaning forward, partway under the pew. What I didn't know was that she had dropped her bulletin and was trying to pick it up. Well, weird practice I thought to myself but hey, they're Anglicans, maybe they look for God under there, so I started to crawl under the pew to join her. She looked up, saw me, uttered a cry and asked what the heck I was doing, to which I responded "Uh, following your lead, so this isn't part of the service ?"
Posted by OldGuy at 3:41 PM
February 3, 2005
Solitude
Solitude is healing if you listen to beautiful music, watch a sunrise or read an inspiring passage.
Solitude is cancerous if you listen to dogs fighting, watch a child being raped or read Mein Kampf.
Posted by OldGuy at 3:26 PM
February 2, 2005
OldGuy and Little Blonde Kid story
This one isn't new but I put it here for 2 reasons:
- I thought I might as well have it where I'm writing these days
- the one I'm mulling over flows from it (kind of a sequel)
Posted by OldGuy at 11:38 PM
The Old Guy and the Little Blonde Kid
Once upon a time there was a place called the Land of No Kids. There were no kids living in the Land of No Kids, just grown ups. One of the grown ups was an old guy who lived all by himself.
Although the old guy liked to think his life was quiet and peaceful and ordered it was actually dull and boring and lonely. Every day he got up, went to work, came home, had dinner, something not too spicy because he didn't like spice, watched a bit of television, something not too exciting because he didn’t like to get excited, and went to bed.
On weekends the old guy would go for walks by himself because he didn't have any friends. Nobody in the Land of No Kids had any friends. They all kept to themselves, sometimes saying hello to each other, but mostly not. They all wore grey or brown suits, something not to colourful because they didn't like too much colour.
Sometimes the old guy would listen to music, quiet dull music, the sort you hear in elevators because people in the Land of No Kids didn't like loud music.
One day when the old guy was at home the postman came to his door with a large package. The old guy said he wasn't expecting a package but the postman was late for dinner and insisted the old guy take it, so he did.
The old guy started to open the package when something small jumped out of it, scaring him half to death.
The old guy screamed “Eek !” The thing screamed “Eek !”
"Is this Australia ?" it asked.
"No, this is the Land of No Kids. Who are you and why are you trying to get to Australia ?” asked the old guy.
"I'm the little blonde kid. I’m from the Land of Kids and I'm trying to get to Australia because I’ve heard they have kangaroos there. Also a wizard who grants wishes. I was going to wish for a never-ending bowl of ice cream. Who are you ?”
“I’m the old guy, and you’re not even close to Australia. You musn’t have put enough stamps on yourself.”
“So what do I do now ?” asked the little blonde kid.
“Buy more stamps of course” replied the old guy.
“I can’t do that. I used all the money I had. Guess I’m stuck here” replied the little blonde kid.
“Okay, you can stay the night but tomorrow I’m buying more stamps and sending you to Australia” replied the old guy.
When the old guy woke up the next morning he heard something he had never heard before. The little blonde kid was singing a song, and it made him feel good, in fact it made him feel happy, although he didn’t know it was happiness he was feeling, it was just a warm feeling in his heart, sort of like how he felt when he put on his old slippers when he came home from work at night.
The old guy went into the kitchen and there was the little blonde kid having breakfast and singing a song to herself.
“So today you’re off to Australia” said the old guy to the little blonde kid. “After breakfast I’ll wrap you up, and take you to the post office. It shouldn’t cost more than a couple of dollars to send you.”
After breakfast the old guy wrapped the little blonde kid up and took her to the post office to mail her to Australia.
When he got there though the postmaster told him all deliveries to Australia had been suspended.
“Why ?’ asked the old guy.
“Because they’re having a terrible snowstorm there and they’ve never had one before so they’re having an awful time cleaning up the mess. Could be weeks before they’re done. Until then nothing gets in our out.”
So the old guy unwrapped the little blonde kid, told her the bad news, and promised her he’d send her to Australia as soon as postal service resumed.
That evening when the old guy asked the little blonde kid what she wanted for dinner she replied “Tacos, I absolutely love tacos”.
“But I can’t make tacos” replied the old guy, “I don’t know how. “I usually have potatoes for dinner.”
“With what ?” asked the little blonde kid.
“Just potatoes” replied the old guy.
“Boring ! How about if we go to the store and buy taco fixings and I’ll show you how to make them” said the little blonde kid.
Okay, but only this once” replied the old guy
So off they went to the store where they bought taco fixings and some Rocky Road ice cream because the little blonde kid loved Rocky Road ice cream.
The old guy was amazed at how much he enjoyed dinner. He had never tasted anything so good.
That night when she went to bed the little blonde kid asked the old guy to say her prayers with her. The old guy felt a little awkward at first because he had only ever said prayers by himself but when the little blonde kid asked God to keep the old guy safe, he got that warm feeling in his heart again.
The following morning when the old guy was getting ready for work the little blonde kid walked into his room. Seeing him in his grey suit she remarked that he really should wear something more colourful. The old guy replied that he didn’t have anything more colourful, all his suits were grey.
“Boring” said the little blonde kid. “How about after work we go get you some nice colourful clothes so you don’t look so old. Maybe pick up a bottle of Grecian Formula too.”
“Yeah, sure,” said the old guy not really meaning to go.
But that night the little blonde kid insisted they go shopping together. The old guy bought a white silk suit, two new shirts, a pink one and a blue one, and three new ties. He also got a new pair of shoes, fancy ones with buckles on them. Then they stopped at another store for some Grecian Formula for his hair. When they got home the old guy dyed his hair and tried on his new suit and shoes. He couldn’t believe how young and handsome he looked !
Over the next few days the old guy and the little blonde kid did all sorts of stuff together. They sang songs. They went to the park. They played dress up. They watched movies, fun movies, the kind with clowns and animals and happy endings. They rode bikes. And every night before she went to bed the little blonde kid asked God to keep the old guy safe.
One day, when they were watching the news together, which the little blonde kid found boring but which she did anyway because it seemed to make the old guy happy, the announcer said that all the snow was cleared up in Australia and postal service had resumed.
The old guy felt a lump in his throat as he said to the little blonde kid “Well, I guess you’ll be leaving tomorrow then.”
“Yep, I guess I will” said the little blonde kid also feeling very sad.
That night when the little blonde kid asked God to keep the old guy safe a tear rolled down her cheek.
The next morning the old guy wrapped the little blonde kid up and drove to the post office once again. When he got there he asked the postmaster how much it would cost to mail the little blonde kid to Australia. To his surprise the postmaster replied “I’m sorry, you can’t send that little blonde kid to Australia.”
“Why not” asked the old guy.
“New law in Australia” said the postmaster. “They have too many blonde kids already, country’s overrun with them, they’re not taking any more. Now if she had red hair, or brown maybe, but blonde, no I’m afraid not. Sorry.”
The old guy unwrapped the little blonde kid, told her the good news, they hugged each other and went home and lived happily ever after.
Posted by OldGuy at 9:03 PM
Story Idea
I had an idea for a little story today and am very excited.
I'm going to mull it over for a few days and if I'm still as excited then as I am now I'll go for it.
Posted by OldGuy at 2:56 PM