What I don't write about

Today my weekend leisure was disrupted by clip-clopping from the street below. It seemed on odd sound for city slicker ears so I went to the balcony and took a look. I was hoping to identify it.

It was horses. And why not? We've got SUVs, Harleys, cyclists, skateboards and those compressed "sensible" vehicles that are good for the environment (don't recall what they're called) ... why not horses?

Anyway ... what do I not write about when I post my scatterbrained and irrelevant posts? Well, here's an inkling:

1) I'm thinking of selling my condo because I've realised I hate this Whyte Avenue neighbourhood which, from being a lovely place, seems to have become a magnet for assholes.

2) I may be stuck with the option of finding a new job or moving to Vancouver to keep the one I have. Oh, the things I could post on that one!

3) The most troubling ... Gonzo may be on the bubble. She is roughly 20, cats average about 18 to 23 years, she has some health issues ... and, yeah.

Who, or what, is Gonzo? A while back I started (but did not finish) that strory with The tale of the Gonzo cat - Part I. Maybe I'll do Part II soon. However, I have some concerns about how this tale concludes.

(The above all sounds more blasé than it is.)

Yesterday was a wedding day

I was at a wedding yesterday - Henry and Joanne's. It was a long day (though much longer for Joanne and Henry, I'm sure). And it was certainly fun.

Got to see a lot of people I haven't seen for a while. I also took lots of pictures and was once again remined that I really must figure out how to work my damn camera. I had some shots that would have been great if I had known what I was doing.

But a few worked - liked this one of the shoes.

Anyway ... that was yesterday. I'll probably ramble more about it later. For now, at least I got some of the pictures up.

Self-portrait: my artistic side

I was up way too late last night due to two factors: 1) I ain't working this week or next and, 2) a few days ago I picked up the complete series of Fawlty Towers so I was watching it last night and laughing my ass off (despite having seen this show maybe a gazillion times already).

In the meantime, thanks to the tool at Mr. Picassohead (and thanks to Brooke directing me there), I've made my first effort at a self-portrait.

As you can see, I've given myself an odd looking beret kind of deal for my head. I also appear to be either rather serious or a bit sleepy, if the eyes are to be believed.

Well, as mentioned. It's a first effort. One day I'll try it again.

(I wonder if there are any galleries who would want to show this. Better still, I wonder if there are any patrons of the arts willing to buy this for small million or so? Maybe if I cut off my ear I could increase the value ...)

Urban campers?

About an hour ago or so the cops were by and chased away two guys who were doing what these two are doing - grabbing some sod for a daylight snooze.

This is a shot from my balcony, by the way. You may have to click the pic in order to see it large enough to make out these two. That's a case of beer behind them, by the way. (It's hard to identify in the image.)

Anyway, it's a couple of street folk sleeping. Not sure what I think about the cops chasing them away. It's not like the sleepers have a lot of options, at least as far as I know. On the other hand, I'm not thrilled with the idea of people lying around anywhere snoozing off their hangovers.

Well, whatever. It's a shot of life as it's lived, at least by some.

I may be sloshed later today

What is wrong with me? My moaning and complaining about the heat are clearly the result of failed memory.

Surely everyone knows it is the season of the gin & tonic?

It is my favourite cocktail - and it's been a while since I've had one. And it's also the only cocktail worthy of these perdition-like meteorological conditions. Whenever I sip a G&T I always image I'm Graham Greene (the writer, not the actor - though I like them both).

So later today I'll be picking up the Bombay Sapphire and tonic. I already have the limes.

Two asides:

1) Do you think they'll ever change the name of Bombay Sapphire to Mumbai Sapphire?

2) The gin & tonic, like all great cocktails, is all about the lime.

Is it George? Or is it Bono? It's both!

Thanks to VegasDoug for pointing this out to me. This is a real toe-tapper. And it's amusing too. Ah one, ah two, ah three ...



(CDs on sale in the lobby.)

Intemperate temperatures – hot, hot, hot

It absolutely amazes me that I should complain about it being too hot but … it’s too damn hot!

Is this the price of living past the age of 20? You suddenly finding yourself whining about those things you use to love?

It’s not so much the heat that bothers me, though. Granted, it sucks you dry of the will to live – or at least the will to get off your ass and do something, anything, even moderately productive – but if you’re like me, it also plays havoc with your innards.

It’s rather like my metabolism is in a crystal meth frenzy. Or, put in Internet terms, it’s on a high, high, high speed connection.

Bizarrely, contradictorily, at the same time I seem to sleep about twice as much as normal.

The same thing happened about two weeks ago when the weather did the same thing – temperatures soaring skyward as if hitching a ride on a Saturn V rocket. The most disagreeable thing is my stomach feels as if it’s filled with razor blades.

And the most dismaying thing about this is I use to love days like this. I would sit out side dressed in clothes I would normally not be seen dead in – silly hat, shorts, maybe a shirt (no shoes!) – reading and drinking beer. And more beer. And more.

Right now, the idea of drinking beer has the appeal of an enema.

Well, I’ve taken the next two weeks off. I’ve no idea what I’ll be doing with them. But one thing I will do is see a doctor and ask him or her, “What the fuck?”

Who knows? Maybe it has nothing to do with the heat. Maybe I’ve got some virus or whatever and, for unknown reasons, it’s triggered by heat. Or, possibly, a chicken caesar salad is the bastard responsible for this ignominious cause célèbre. Both times this has happened was after eating one of those, from the same place. Hmm …?

Interestingly, and appropriately, as I type this B.B. King is on the iPod doing, “The Thrill Is Gone.”

You said it, B.B. You said it.

(Yes, this isn’t the most compelling thing to blog about but it’s the thing most occupying my thoughts today, so I done blogged it.)

Subsequent Note: The temperatures I am speaking of are the 30 to 40 degree range (Celsius scale). This would be the high 90s (Fahrenheit scale). (Well, unless your in Kamloops, in B.C., where they’re looking at somewhere around 105).

Now this may seem like nothing to some of you who live in places like Nevada. But this is western Canada, for heaven’s sake! It’s just fundamentally not right. Damn you buggers and your SUVs and climate change!

(Pictures: 1: the hot day arrives, 2: Gonzo dismayed by the warmth, 3: a puzzled me looking to the sky for answers.)

The big wave

I love water. And I love waves. And I wanted to try a video here. Anyway, much as I like watching it this is not something I would ever do:



Wow ... I love watching that wave breaking! (I don't really care about the guy on the surfboard - just the wave.)

The lottery people

I understand lottery tickets. I understand the hope, however faint, that, "I just might win! What if that happened?"

But geez ... do they have to always take forever to buy them? I go to the Mac's across the street (a kind of Canadian version of 7-11) and all I want to do is quickly buy what I need and get out.

But there's a line up. Everyone's waiting for the lottery person, who has small slips of paper coming out everywhere, deciding which tickets to check, which lottos to buy, which numbers might work best.

Can't they figure some of this stuff out before they reach the cash? Like, before they even leave the house?

Whenever I'm in a store and I see a line up I always think, "Oh no. Lottery person." Something about the hope of winning seems to drain every ounce of energy out of them. They are the slowest moving people on the planet.

And this from someone who hates people who rush! But really, you can also move too far in the other direction.

Stores really need to have electric cattle prods available on location with little signs above them that read, "For use on lottery people only." You know, something to keep the lines moving.

Summer in the city – a bike ride

I got on my bike yesterday afternoon and went for a ride. I had forgotten just how far you can bike on the paths around Edmonton, through the River Valley. You just start pedaling and … well, there seems no end of it.

I lost track of the things I saw people doing: jogging, cycling, roller blading, playing soccer, flying kites, Frisbee, skateboards, walking, sleeping, tanning … and uh, yeah. There were also those two university guys I ran into as I stepped off the path to take some pictures. They appeared surprised – and no wonder. Their pants were down around their ankles. (There are some things you just prefer not to see.) Anyway …

I was taking pictures as I rode and discovered when I got home I had taken 109! Hadn’t planned to take that many but I kept seeing things I found interesting.

Most interesting, to me, is that all of this is in the middle of the city. In the River Valley, it’s hard to remember that you’re in an urban landscape.

Unfortunately, in Edmonton, the further away you are from the river the more you get into a nightmare of malls and a frenzy of cars. Albertans are crazy for their cars. You get the sense we’re the kind of people who would jump into an SUV to drive to the bathroom. And as I’ve posted elsewhere, people who drive are idiots. (Yes, that's my bike in that picture.)

I would love to see a city that literally (and I’m serious!) made it illegal to take a car into the downtown area. (Yes, I know – people would go into apoplectic frenzies at such a notion.)

But imagine a downtown with only pedestrians, cyclists, taxis and buses. (Mind you, a lot of bike riders are idiots too.)

By the way … here’s my bike ride on Flickr. (Don't worry - I didn't post 109 images - just a handful.

Let me also add:

I tried riding my bike again today and realized I may have been more enthusiastic about my bike riding on Saturday than I'd imagined. My ass felt like it had been kicked black and blue by a steel-toed shoe. Must get a new seat for my bike.

The damned thing about being happy

Happiness is a bugger. And I’ll tell you why. You’re never aware of how happy you are, or even that you’re happy, until it’s over.

The reason you don’t is obvious – you’re too busy being happy!

On the other hand, when you’re miserable, you’re aware of it every single moment as it happens. If you’re like a lot of people, you announce it to the world. You proclaim it. Hell, if it didn’t cost so much, we’d take out bloody ads so that everyone can know our lives are in the crapper.

But when you’re happy, you don’t give a monkey’s rump whether anyone knows. You don’t even know yourself. You’re just busy being happy.

And maybe that’s the thing about being happy – it takes us out of ourselves. Whereas its opposite, unhappiness, pulls us in. There is that Robert Frost quote:

"Happiness makes up in height for what it lacks in length."

Perhaps that has more to do with perception than anything else. Happiness seems short because we’re out of ourselves and blissfully unaware. On the other hand, unhappy we’re completely within ourselves and aware of every … single … solitary … miserable … moment.

Yes, I can see where it would seem long.

Actually, I suppose happy people are aware they are happy. It's probably more accurate to say they don't think about their state of happiness as much as unhappy people think about their state of unhappiness.

Who wants to waste time thinking about how happy they are when they can simply be happy?

No bike, therefore - Gonzo!

In the absence of an image of my bike, which I have managed to get functioning again, we get an image of Gonzo. This is her sepia look.

Sadly, I've been remiss in the brushing department so she looks a bit rough around the edges ... but you know? She doesn't seem to mind. Cats are like that.

As for my bike ... I am not a cyclist. But as someone who does not drive I like it for its transportation abilities. I feel like a dork on it with my silly helmet (why do bike helmets looks so stupid?) and because it's bright yellow colour makes me feel as if I'm riding around with a Fourth of July fireworks display coming out of my ass ... but it's functional and transports me at a greater speed than walking does.

Mind you, I cycle like my grandma. I come close to soiling myself as those big wheeled SUV's roar by or those Harley Davidsons bellow past sounding like Saturn V rockets as they're ridden by their rough boy dentists and lawyers.

But enough about bikes. What's the point with no image of my little yellow number? Instead, we have Gonzo and a post that was prompted by the urge to post something because I was getting sick of looking at that silly cake image in the previous post.

Oh dear. I fear I've wasted everyone's time. Including my own. (Gonzo will not be pleased.)

One year ago today - a blog begins

It was one year ago today. It was a Saturday evening, about 7:00 (Mountain Daylight Time). It was called Something new (about something old). And it was the first post on Crazy Ass Planet.

Yes, it's this blog's 1-year Blogiversary.

Yes, I've several blogs and this is not the oldest (The Burble is). And yes, this one was a spur of the moment creation. That led to my one regret, it's title. In retrospect, another might have been better. I think some of the more popular search terms helps explain why:

- ass planet
- crazy ass
⁃ ass
⁃ crazy ass shit
⁃ swedish ass
⁃ crazyassplanet
⁃ sleeping ass
⁃ very big wet ass

On the other hand, the name, and some of the posts, have made for some very entertaining (and puzzling) search terms:

⁃ go shit in your hat
⁃ i am afraid to give a stool sample
⁃ what am i supposed to do in life?
⁃ but sir, that's crazy
⁃ ethel merman
⁃ wonk speak
⁃ why does cat pee stink
⁃ where to put a stool sample?
⁃ 'shit in your hat and pull it over your ears'
⁃ shit from the ass of the women
⁃ salami boy
⁃ safeway boobs

Without intending to, the this blog has somehow articulated a deep human wonder and anxiety concerning feces and bottoms. (I'm completely puzzled by the Ethel Merman search though.)

My favourite is 'shit from the ass of the women.' It sounds like an old Greek play. Was that something written by Aristophanes? And what's with 'shit in your hat and pull it over your ears?' Is everyone on the Internet on drugs?

Whatever ... I kind of liked that first post for the quotation in it. It still seems a wonderfully appropriate one for ... well, the world.

A passing notion

Although they’re often lonely
I like those days alone.
The arguments continue
But I win them all.

The heat, the underpants, The Matador

The heat wave we're experiencing is supposedly leaving town sometime tomorrow. Let's hope that's the case, because it ain't been pretty.

This post is all about having something else to greet the eye when a person arrives here, something other than yesterday's image of a young man pulling down his underpants. I don't know who that fellow was, I found him on some other site that touted the thrills of the gay lifestyle. But he wasn't me - he had rather too many pounds o him to be me. Had it been me you would have seen more protuding ribs and underpants that sagged a great deal more.

But enough of that ... The Matador!

I love this movie. And although I usually keep movie/DVD talk to my other blog, I thought I'd take this opportunity to advise all of you to see The Matador. And I thought I would cut and paste this comment I left on DVD Town:

I’ve watched this movie two nights in row now because I love it, largely because the characters are so fascinating and engaging and the humour, often very dry, is so bang on the mark.

Most reviews I’ve seen have focused on the James Bond business and the implied humour by comparison with that kind of film, and that is certainly there. However …

To some degree, this film strikes me as a kind of hymn to relationships, particularly marriage. While I know that is the sentimental aspect of the film, it doesn’t seem to me to go too over the line with it, which is partly what allows it to work.

In other words, while the comedy is key to keeping us engaged in the film, I think there is also a somewhat serious theme running through it, and it’s very well articulated. And that theme would be the quality of relationships and, as unhip as it may sound, the fact that the somewhat mundane, day-to-day, garden variety relationship that Danny and Bean have, and which Julian is discovering with Danny and Bean, has its merits.

I don’t want to overemphasize this aspect, but I have found that most reviews of the film have focused on the film’s humour relative to spy/action films (and Brosnan in particular), the film's satire in this respect, which is valid. But they’ve ignored some of the other key thematic elements. As a comment on spy/action films, the movie is fun but quickly forgettable. However, it’s other themes, particularly the one of relationships, and its detailing of character, make it a much more substantive film, one worth seeing more than once.

And if I haven’t mentioned it already, I really loved this film!

How to recognize a hot summer night

I always know it is a hot summer night by the degree to which my drawers stick to my bum.

This is a hot summer night. My drawers are stuck to my bum like a refridgerator magnet. I could, if I so wished, attach my grocery list there - maybe to the left cheek for easy access when passing through the Safeway.

As convenient as this may be, I have to be honest and say I wish it were a bit cooler. I really don't like things stuck to my bum, however convenient that might be.

But that's just me. You may feel differently.

Questions for a sunny summer Sunday afternoon

It’s sunny. It’s warm. It’s summer and it’s Sunday. And it’s a long weekend so I am untroubled by thoughts of work tomorrow.

I am sitting on my balcony taking advantage of my wireless connection. Below me, an industrious fellow is mowing the lawn. I live in a condo so collectively we pay some poor chump to do this for us because we’re all lazy bastards.

Although I may be the only one on his balcony, blogging and drinking beer.

While you may think I am untroubled on this fine day, that’s not the case. I’m bothered by minutia. For instance:

- Why does Aaron Neville sing like someone is licking his testicles?

- Why are bicycle helmets designed to make the wearer look like a poor representation of spermatozoa?

- Why am I troubling you with these concerns on such a lovely day?

- Where do cityfolk go on weekends such as this? (This place feels deserted.)

- Shall I get off my ass, grab my bike, and go for a ride?

So many questions. I hope I have sufficient beer to cogitate upon these properly.

Captain Canada stops for a smoke

Well, who do you think I run into downtown today? Captain Canada! (Looks like he's a smoker - bad example for the kids!)

Actually, there were a number of guys dressed like this today. It is Canada Day, after all.

I was most struck by how people were dressed today. I think the vast majority of people, at least in this part of the country, just didn't give a shit how they looked. It was a holiday. It's summer. It's pretty warm. I saw more straw hats, baseball caps and white, white legs than ... well, I dunno what. But there were a lot!

You get that when you live in a northern country.

Anyway, I spent the afternoon downtown shopping and taking pictures of people I don't know. I Flickr'd it and called it Canada Day 2006 - Edmonton.

What can you say about Canada?

I suppose there are many things you could say about Canada but if I could only pick one word to characterize it that word would be big. Pretty too.

It is one freakin’ big hunk of land. Try making your way across it – from Newfoundland, through the other Maritime provinces (be sure to stop in Prince Edward Island – great beaches), into Quebec, then Ontario … aren’t we done yet?

No. There’s Manitoba. Saskatchewan. Alberta. That’s where you hit the bump in the road known as the Rockies and find yourself in British Columbia.

Let’s say you do all that. You’ve still only gone right to left. You haven’t done up and down yet. Not only is there “the North” (Yukon, NWT and Nunavut), each province has a north and south – and it’s pretty significant. Just try walking from Fort MacLeod, Alberta to Fort McMurray, Alberta.

In terms of size, it appears Canada is 9,976,140 km2. And this wiki says, “Canada is the second largest country by area in the world (after Russia) and the largest in North America.”

So. Big place. Don't get lost!

(And all of the above is a roundabout way of saying that even those people who think they've seen Canada, haven't seen Canada. No matter how long they've lived here.)

Tags: Canada, Canada Day

Happy Canada Day!

From one patriot to another … belch!

What is it about national holidays that promotes drunkenness, rude behaviour and horrific fashion? I suspect the season. It’s hot outside.

Today is Canada Day. This means a long weekend. This means I’ll have Monday off, so this year I’ll be lollygagging on the same day Americans are as they celebrate their independence, which falls on the 4th of July (ours is on the 1st).

For all the hoo-hah we spout about these days, it seems to me they are primarily about three things:

- Not working
- Beer
- Loud noises

What’s a holiday without those?

(I hope to post something more coherent tomorrow. So feel free to ignore this post. I really just wanted something here so each time I came here I didn’t have to look at the wretched image in the previous post. Who the hell was that guy anyway?)