hockey greeting...
(First off, congrats to Brent for being the top player on the "Playmakers" list, and also congrats to Dave for being #15 on the list. You men are the talented bookends to a bunch of lesser players in between. Congratulations guys.)
(Second thing, turn your clocks back an hour this weekend. This Saturday is the "Fall Back" daylight savings time thing-ee that always causes confusion as people try to figure out how to reset the digital clock on the stove, microwave, bedside table, car radio, etc. etc. ad. nauseum. The nice thing is that if you forget to re-set your clock you will actually be *early* for the game. The bad thing is it means that gremlins have an additional hour of mischievous playtime to create chaos as they loosen the bolts on the wheelchairs of the elderly and scare the crap out of William Shatner while he's flying. Me? -- I'm happy with the extra sleep.)
(Third thing: how about those Leafs? Whodathunk?)
My fellow Dragons:
Halloween candy is evil.
There, I said it.
Halloween candy is the equivalent of a time machine'd Julie Newmar coming from the past and purring at you, "Come here, little boy. I'm from the time period when you were only three years old. It's a total paradox that I'm even here talking to you. And let me tell you that a time paradox is even better than a trip to Las Vegas because what didn't happen in the past can't occur in the present and certainly doesn't count in the future. So help me out of this Catwoman costume and I'll let you tickle my pussycat."
Halloween candy is just friggin' like that!! I didn't pay for it -- therefore it doesn't count. I didn't ask for it -- therefore it doesn't count. And it's just lying around the house looking so delicious and tempting -- so it most certainly does not count!!!
Friggin' Halloween candy -- love you, want you, but don't want to go near you.
So, heck, I don't know about you but I wouldn't mind burning off all of those Kit Kats, Aero bars and teeny-tiny bags of chips this weekend.
Sunday!! 8:15 pm. Down at the MC (or it might be "across at the MC, but most certainly not "up at the MC") we're playing the Sharks. Unlike our class act of Brent and Dave, who are bookending the playmakers' list, they have Thomas Reynolds (Ryan's younger but slightly taller third cousin twice removed) who stands atop the knuckleheads' list. Shame on Thomas and shame on the Sharks for the 42 minutes in penalties that they racked up in one game. May I suggest that we show our displeasure at their conduct by thoroughly trouncing them in our game this Sunday? And afterwards we can share some tea and crumpets and then play some polo.
Sunday 8:15 MC 2.
And stay away from those candies and that time machine'd Julie Newmar. Both are wonderful but seductively and deliciously evil.
Saturday, November 5, 2011
Thursday, November 3, 2011
Wait
No-no-no.
I looked down and thought that 207.5 (and the way I thought it was "two-oh-seven-and-a-half") was completely unacceptable. And when there was a hint of 208 I just felt like walking away in disgust and denying it ever happened.
199. One-ninety-nine. That's a worthy number. And I understand the whole mumbo-jumbo of pricing and how $399.99 just feels infinitely less that four hundred dollars. I completely get the whole consumer mentality/rationalization when it comes to Wayne Gretzky's hall of fame hockey sweater.
Nevertheless. 199. That's a number to look down on with pride.
But Halloween candy, so small and innocent and invitingly tiny, is always beckoning. So much smaller than normal chocolate and chips. And next thing y'know you've scarfed down 20 of the damn things. People without children don't have the same temptation.
Having said that, being Canadian helps. Thanksgiving is behind us. I pity people who have children and then Thanksgiving and then Christmas: snacks, turkey and then more turkey.
199. That'd be a nice number.
I looked down and thought that 207.5 (and the way I thought it was "two-oh-seven-and-a-half") was completely unacceptable. And when there was a hint of 208 I just felt like walking away in disgust and denying it ever happened.
199. One-ninety-nine. That's a worthy number. And I understand the whole mumbo-jumbo of pricing and how $399.99 just feels infinitely less that four hundred dollars. I completely get the whole consumer mentality/rationalization when it comes to Wayne Gretzky's hall of fame hockey sweater.
Nevertheless. 199. That's a number to look down on with pride.
But Halloween candy, so small and innocent and invitingly tiny, is always beckoning. So much smaller than normal chocolate and chips. And next thing y'know you've scarfed down 20 of the damn things. People without children don't have the same temptation.
Having said that, being Canadian helps. Thanksgiving is behind us. I pity people who have children and then Thanksgiving and then Christmas: snacks, turkey and then more turkey.
199. That'd be a nice number.
Tuesday, November 1, 2011
Gibberish, not Jibberish
After placing second with her downfall being the oh-so cruel but simple sounding word 'gibberish' -- this after the success of 'homonym' and 'onomatopoeia' -- April would not stop practicing and correcting and screaming.
Three days later and much to her mother's annoyance, her daughter simply refused to stop spelling.
"April, honey, you've got to stop this. It's not cute anymore. Honestly, it wasn't that cute to begin with. But now it's just annoying."
"Ay-en-en-oh-why-eye-en-gee."
"Sweetheart, you have to stop. It's not healthy. I'm sorry you lost. I'm sorry it was with such an awful word."
"Ay-doubleyou-eff-you-elle," replied her daughter.
(At age 11 April was still slightly too young to realize that "eff-you-elle" was dangerously close to "FU all" but her mother let it slide rather than give her child even more pronunciation ammunition.)
"But it wasn't your fault. You did so very well with the other words. And they were much harder words. But that word is tricky and it isn't spelled correctly at all. Your spelling of the word was much, much better. So let's just stop this nonsense and..."
"It's all your fault, Mommy! You and Daddy helped me study and you said I'd be great and I'd win and I was smart and you were wrong! You lied to me! You said I'd make you proud and that I'd show everyone, and you lied, you lied, you lied!"
"April, how were we to know they'd use a word like that? We couldn't know. Honey, that word..."
"Don't you say it! Don't you ever say it! I never want to hear that word again. It's a dumb word, a silly word. And it should be with a 'jay', and I checked and it can begin with a 'jay' and it's not fair!"
"I know, honey. But you know the rules and they use one dictionary and..."
"You lied to me and I hate that word and I'm smart and I hate you! I'm smarter than you and Daddy and everyone and I hateyou, hateyou, hateyou."
And all her mother could think was that she would give anything to go back in time and have April as a tiny baby when it was all coos and sounds and baby talk. Back when the world was all joyous gibberish and the spelling of a word wouldn't be the cause of a tantrum.
And she found herself smiling at the word 'tantrum' even as its personification exploded in front of her and she suddenly realized that it was contagious as she found herself silently spelling in her mind: 'Tee-ay-en-tee-are-you-em.' They had thought of the name Emily for their daughter but had gone with April instead and 'Are you Emme?" spells rum and although she didn't drink liquor very often, her daughter was certainly taking her to the point were a drink wasn't a horrible idea.
But at that point she made the mistake of smiling quietly to herself while her daughter's petulant fury continued and her quiet joy at that quiet memory was noticed by the angered child.
"You're laughing at me! You're smiling! You didn't help, you lied, you promised, and now you're just laughing at me!"
"April. Stop. I'm not smiling at you. I'm not laughing at you. That's ridiculous. I was remembering a time when you were born and we were thinking of calling you 'Emily' and I remember you when you were so very tiny and..."
"I am NOT ridiculous! Ridiculous: are-eye-dee-eye-see-you-elle-oh-you-ess! That's how you spell it! You probably don't even know how to spell it! I hate you!!"
And the spelling spree continued.
Three days later and much to her mother's annoyance, her daughter simply refused to stop spelling.
"April, honey, you've got to stop this. It's not cute anymore. Honestly, it wasn't that cute to begin with. But now it's just annoying."
"Ay-en-en-oh-why-eye-en-gee."
"Sweetheart, you have to stop. It's not healthy. I'm sorry you lost. I'm sorry it was with such an awful word."
"Ay-doubleyou-eff-you-elle," replied her daughter.
(At age 11 April was still slightly too young to realize that "eff-you-elle" was dangerously close to "FU all" but her mother let it slide rather than give her child even more pronunciation ammunition.)
"But it wasn't your fault. You did so very well with the other words. And they were much harder words. But that word is tricky and it isn't spelled correctly at all. Your spelling of the word was much, much better. So let's just stop this nonsense and..."
"It's all your fault, Mommy! You and Daddy helped me study and you said I'd be great and I'd win and I was smart and you were wrong! You lied to me! You said I'd make you proud and that I'd show everyone, and you lied, you lied, you lied!"
"April, how were we to know they'd use a word like that? We couldn't know. Honey, that word..."
"Don't you say it! Don't you ever say it! I never want to hear that word again. It's a dumb word, a silly word. And it should be with a 'jay', and I checked and it can begin with a 'jay' and it's not fair!"
"I know, honey. But you know the rules and they use one dictionary and..."
"You lied to me and I hate that word and I'm smart and I hate you! I'm smarter than you and Daddy and everyone and I hateyou, hateyou, hateyou."
And all her mother could think was that she would give anything to go back in time and have April as a tiny baby when it was all coos and sounds and baby talk. Back when the world was all joyous gibberish and the spelling of a word wouldn't be the cause of a tantrum.
And she found herself smiling at the word 'tantrum' even as its personification exploded in front of her and she suddenly realized that it was contagious as she found herself silently spelling in her mind: 'Tee-ay-en-tee-are-you-em.' They had thought of the name Emily for their daughter but had gone with April instead and 'Are you Emme?" spells rum and although she didn't drink liquor very often, her daughter was certainly taking her to the point were a drink wasn't a horrible idea.
But at that point she made the mistake of smiling quietly to herself while her daughter's petulant fury continued and her quiet joy at that quiet memory was noticed by the angered child.
"You're laughing at me! You're smiling! You didn't help, you lied, you promised, and now you're just laughing at me!"
"April. Stop. I'm not smiling at you. I'm not laughing at you. That's ridiculous. I was remembering a time when you were born and we were thinking of calling you 'Emily' and I remember you when you were so very tiny and..."
"I am NOT ridiculous! Ridiculous: are-eye-dee-eye-see-you-elle-oh-you-ess! That's how you spell it! You probably don't even know how to spell it! I hate you!!"
And the spelling spree continued.
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