December 2005 Archives

After Rose and I got back from BrockVegas yesterday, we stopped in Ile-Perrot to drop off the car. We ate at an Italian restaurant with delicious food that I was tasting 14 hours later. For some reason, it didn't go down all the way, so after having some water, I was able to successfully transfer some of it from my stomach to a plastic bag. (I didn't feel like driving the porcelain bus. That's only appealing if you are roaring drunk.) I generally have a rule, in two parts: a) If you are out and you puke, it's time to go home, and b) if you are at home and you puke, stay there. So what am I doing here at work? Firstly, I have been sick recently and I didn't want it to look as though I were playing hooky from the one day this week that I will be at work, even though I could just come in tomorrow. Secondly, and mainly, it was in support of Rose, who has to work the rest of this week. As I am writing this, though, I am regretting my decision. Even though I drank de-fizzed Sprite to settle my stomach and push yesterday's food down, I can't eat, my belly feels funny, I'm hungry and I think that my temperature is going up.

So I might as well weigh in on our trip to Brockapulco. When I got there I saw that my parents were noticeably smaller than usual. My father is about 5'9 1/2, where before he was 5'11". 6 feet when I was young. He sitting in his chair with a blanket covering his legs. He fell asleep watching the game, and awoke with a start when I approached. Not only did he seem shorter, but he was just small in general. It was as though I were looking at him from eight feet in the air.

I went to the other end of the house to say hello to my mom. She was lying on her side in bed watching TV. She, too, was smaller in all dimensions. In fact, I saw just how small the next day. She's in fairly good health for a 70-year-old, but since the last time I saw her (October), I think she's lost about 20 pounds. She says that her appetite disappeared.

So let's say that there's this jerk. He's always a jerk. Let's say he's a bigot, a white guy that doesn't like blacks, Jews and gays. He sometimes goes out of his way to verbally attack or antagonize them. But he says up front that he feels this way, and therefore decides that everything is fine since he has his disclaimer, as if to say, "You know what you're getting with me by being black, Jewish or gay, so if you feel bad, that's your problem." But is everything fine? Let's examine this. There may be several situations in which it is.

Something bad or very annoying just happened, and you warn everyone around you that you may be a little on edge. Fair enough. These things happen. And it's not like you're always a jerk, like a bigot. However, this doesn't excuse just any behaviour. It only gets you off the hook for being a little snippy.
1. You have good reason not to like a particular person or well-defined group of people. Like people who routinely abuse you, or screw you over. And you have no problem letting them know it. Being mean to such people should be used very sparingly, however. And I don't mean well-defined group as in GERMANS, or people from Victoriaville.
2. You are out of patience because someone is incredibly dense. This is a very, VERY, shaky reason. You had best make absolutely sure that you aren't the one that's stupid. Or that you aren't ever stupid, for that matter. You are rarely as smart as you think you are, or the other person is rarely as stupid as you think they are. This goes quadruple if the other person is in a relationship with you.

So if a person is just a jerk, and that is that, then what reason could excuse them? If a person tells you that they are going to be shitty, and implies that that is all the justification that they need, it doesn't change the fact that they are still shitty people. Are they saying that they aren't shitty because they are being "honest"? Does that trump a crappy attitude? How does this make them less guilty? How does this make them feel less guilty?

(Continued from the this entry)

As the third son of the North's ruling house, Lord Alston was not expected to become king, let alone lead armies and people to salvation. But when his eldest brother Lord Basil was killed through his own dark ambition, and his elder brother Lord Lyonel captured by the central Roycan faction, it eventually fell to Lord Alston to settle the conflict once and for all. He reluctantly donned the king's crown.

First sons of great houses are expected to learn the sword and campaigning, religion, music and politics. Lord Basil was not an apt student, however, and he put his own designs for power ahead of his responsibilities to family and people. This ultimately led to his betrayal and death by the Roycan. Lesser sons, such as Alston, are typically given more leeway to follow different paths. Alston chose to study the first the staff as a weapon, and later, the mystic arts. It was quite fortunate that he did, for the Roycan forces drew upon magics that at the time were little-known and considered new. Alston was able to counter their knowledge with his own, and after two years, finally crushed the Roycan and rescued Lord Lyonel.

Upon Lord Lyonel's return, Lord Alston turned the realm over to his brother, and spent the rest of his days travelling the world, perfecting his staff fighting and focusing his energy into the study of magic. Followers appeared in the hundreds during his lifetime, and in the thousands centuries after his death. It is said that his equipment still bears some of his essence.

Rose just told me about the most interesting statistic. Today is the 13th anniversary of her first period. She calculated this as bleeding every day for three years. 7 days/period x 12 periods/year x 13 years = 1092 days, a few days short of three years. And she can expect to bleed for another four years and seven months, assuming she stops at age 47.

God! How strange. You just bleed every day like that. I wonder how much blood that is so far, and over a lifetime. Someone get me some stats. Zura!

You ladies: If you are expected to bleed for almost eight years and you could choose for how long you could bleed at a shot, would you change it? Would you bleed at the same rate for a three months at a time? Would you bleed during your non-celibate times only? What if it's based on blood volume instead of time? Would you bleed a few extra pints in a shorter amount of time?

Me being me, I waited until today to try to rent a car for the long weekend. Actually there were too many variables for me to be able to determine what my course of action should be, but I had to take action. I have to see me family this weekend for Christmas, and I have decided to try renting. National had nothing. I can't rent from Avis, so I tried Hertz, even though the last time I did I nearly died. To rent a car from Hertz from December 23-26 costs $288, with no insurance.

Two hundred and eighty-eight. Dollars.

They tripled the rate. That's Christmas spirit. Feeling as though I had no choice, I booked the car. Seamus overheard my plight, and bless him, knows someone working at Entreprise that could give me a better rate. I got a car from December 23 to the 27 for $89.

Damn right! But there's a catch. I have to travel to Île-Perrot to get the car, which is a forty-minute commuter train ride. But I get to take the train, which is ALWAYS good, unless some damn toddler just has to run around and make noise or some such shit. But can you believe this GOUGING? Fucking sick.

A Feast For Crows by George R. R. Martin came out on my birthday this year. I am rereading the series now, starting with the first book, A Game of Thrones. I have to say that it was excellent the first time, and kicks the shit out of that Jordan crap, but the second time around it's much MUCH richer, which you can't always say for books. These books are part of a proposed seven-part fantasy series called A Song of Ice and Fire. It is supposedly based on 15th-century War of the Roses England. Unlike many other fantasy series, this one is long on intrigue and gritty, unforgiving reality, but relatively short on the fantastic.

In this series, and in Olde England, I guess, the major houses had crests, often with an animal doing something, and a saying. The Starks of Winterfell, for example, had a grey direwolf on a field of white. Their words are "Winter is Coming". Individuals from the houses also had their own sigils. If I were the High Seat of some noble House, I wonder what our symbols would be. Maybe the animal would be a giant scorpion, tail upraised. The words would be something along the lines of "By Might or by Spite". My personal sigil might include a black sword, shadows and something else.

In the games Diablo II and Dungeon Siege II, you pick up money, weapons, armor and magically-imbued amulets and rings as you defeat enemies. Some of the most interesting items are set items. Set items are presumably relics from of a great hero of an age long past. When worn, the wearer is granted extra abilities. For example, Tal Rasha's Wrappings. If I was such a legendary warrior whose gear bestows extra abilities, it would likely be a fighting mage type of set. I think I'll use my actual name for this one. They would call the set Alston's Assembly. I'll come up with the parts and what they do in detail in another post.

What would your house avatar be? What's your saying? What's your set name? What is in this set? I'd like to hear what your responses might be.

An empty bag of cookies perfectly preserved + one cubicle/work space + coworkers with sweet tooths (sweet teeth?) = funny.

At age six, I was surprisingly aware of certain things. In Ontario, Remembrance Day used to be a holiday. It was one of the three saddest days of the year (the other two being the Jerry Lewis Telethon). I felt that it was my civic duty to pay homage to all those that fell during the Great Wars. All day, literally, ALL DAY, I would watch black and white footage of aggression, sacrifice, valour, selfishness and always twisted, grisly death. Every so often a tear would escape my eyes. I felt as though it were my responsibility, because if I didn't remember them that way, somehow, I would be a damned soul doomed to suffer in unspeakable ways. Maybe I would share the fate of the poor people on TV. Remembrance Day was always a rainy, cloudy, colourless day. I don't remember any colours from those days, honestly.

But 25 years ago today was different. Worse, somehow. While with Remembrance Day, I was alone watching TV, feeling morose, doing my annual duty (which I didn't really mind, since it was only once a year), the day that John Lennon died, I went to school. I remember hearing the news some time between six and seven A.M. John Lennon was shot dead by a crazed fan. I knew that John Lennon made music, and that the adults all knew who he was, and loved him. He was their...something-or-other. Someone really, really important and well-liked. When I got to school, the colours seemed to flee. It wasn't just a grey day, but a distinctly black day. The teachers all seemed to look as though they had lost their best friend; later I would realize that they had probably lost a good part of their youth, and that they then realized that they were quite mortal. They walked around stunned. They didn't seem to know what to do anymore. My teacher seemed to have trouble doing her job. At the end of the day when other kids parents picked up their children, they were stone-faced and silent. Every single one of them.

When I got home, the news breaks had exactly one story. John Lennon was dead. When the news came on, there was exactly one story. John Lennon was dead. There was nothing else to talk about. But the blackness! I guess I was much more sensitive then, and things would manifest themselves in colour, or lack thereof. Maybe this is how mediums can sense spirits. There was definitely a spirit of sorts that day. The last times I felt that darkness apart from Remembrance Day was a few months later when Anwar Sadat, Pope John Paul II and Ronald Reagan were shot (same calendar year). I wonder whatever happened to that sensitivity.

Tagged by PK. Read about the game there. A needs to get the point
A needs to close his achievement gap (Not looking good so far)
A needs some opposition for seat
A needs to look at the bigger picture
A needs to be traded
A needs to do more than just to find some difference between his concept of rationality and the concept employed by Dretske or Nozick
A needs no introduction
A needs to resign or be forced out of office (Come the fuck on!)
A needs a good biography, but this isn't it
A needs the answer
A needs a no-pressure situation
A needs institutional
racism to remain unchallenged and intact in order for him to remain relevant (This is funny.)
A needs a foot soldier to help him put forth a bond offering aimed at providing Guilford County with a long-term crack addiction treatment center
A needs some work to do today at the office (Like that will happen)
A needs to use his passion as strength and not allow it to become his weakness
A needs to rein in his emotions
A needs an heir (Like a pulmonary embolism.)

All right, that was fun. Next?