Weekly Joke

Every night, Joe would go down to the liquor store, get a six pack, bring it home, and drink it while he watched TV. One night, as he finished his last beer, the doorbell rank. He stumbled to the door and found a six-foot cockroach standing there. The bug grabbed him by the collar and threw him across the room, then left.The next night, after he finished his 4th beer, the doorbell rang. He walked slowly to the door and found the same six-foot cockroach standing there. The big bug punched him in the stomach, then left.The next night, after he finished his 1st beer, the doorbell rang again. The same six-foot cockroach was standing there. This time, he was kneed in the groin and hit behind the ear as he doubled over in pain. Then the big bug left.The fourth night Joe didn't drink at all. The doorbell rang. The cockroach was standing there. The bug beat the snot out of Joe, pumped his eyes shut and left him in a heap on the living room floor.The following day, Joe went to see his doctor. He explained the events of the preceding four nights. "What can I do?" he pleaded."Not much" the doctor replied. "There's just a nasty bug going around."

Cult of the Sierra Lima - Mr. Bhig and Beaumont

Adam approached the building with hesitation. These meetings always made him a little nervous, the not knowing what to expect, and the thought of being the next one chosen for a mission always a guaranteed an onslaught of anxiety producing endorphins. A quick glance at his watch revealed he was a little early, which was just the way he wanted it. Adam was hoping no one would be here yet accept for Mr. Bhig and Beaumont, getting a feel for what the meeting would entail prior to the arrivals of the others was a great benefit to him, and he used this to his advantage more than once.
Adam walked up to the doorman. "Please come in, They are expecting you," he said. Walking through a kitchen, down some stairs and through a hallway he was ushered into the meeting room, and shown the table where Mr. Bhig and Beaumont sat.
Beaumont looks up, "Adam, have a seat. First again I see." he says.
"I try! So.. what do ya have in store for us tonight?" Adam asked, trying hard to hide the look on his face that undoubtedly looked nervous.
Mr. Bhig didn't really smile. Before he began to speak Adam already knew what he was going say.

Cult of the Sierra Lima - Brett

One thing Brett couldn't stand was not knowing what was going on. Brett was an information junkie, always needed to know everything about everything and everyone to a point of almost being interventional. He had two internet feeds into his house just incase one might fail, and one did once for 22 hours and that, he thought, justified the twin feeds for years to come. Brett just happen to be sitting in front of his dual 27" LCD monitors, taking a big bite of his PizzaPop when his MSN messenger popped up a window:

You said you wanted in? Now's your chance. Don't ask questions, get your ass over to my place we'll go the meeting together, but you better hurry. If anyone asks, you're meeting some friends for a beer.

It was his good friend Dirk. Brett couldn't contain his excitement and was out door before he was done chewing. He overheard a few cryptic phone calls between Dirk and some others in the past, something about a Cult. He had to know, nothing could stop him from getting to that meeting. Nothing.

Cult of the Sierra Lima - Kevin

Kevin woke up suddenly from an early evening nap, he would have probably slept through the night had it not been for the vibration of his blackberry still holstered to his side. The TV was still tuned to CNN, talk of more imminent hurricanes was the topic of the hour, with replays of Anderson Cooper being tossed around like a rag doll during a live transmission of a category four hurricane landfall somewhere in the southern states. Pictures of leaves being violently torn from trees, trees being torn from the ground, ground being torn from the earth. His blackberry vibrates again. On the screen is a message:

Congregating under large trees or finding the home entertainment service can only reach cold headless endorphin drenched lackeys encircling a fire. Be at the meeting place in 15 minutes.

Kevin puts on his shoes and leaves without turning off the TV.

Cult of the Sierra Lima - Tony

Tony looked at this watch, it was a remarkable time piece and a constant reminder of the success in his life as an entrepreneur, and through the sapphire face of the Rolex, the gold hands told him it was time to go. Tony left his downtown suite, pulled out a cigarette and began to walk down 1st street, making his way toward the railway underpass.

Thoughts of the meeting brought on some inescapable anxiety, but he knew what had to be done, there wasn't much time left. The leaves were almost falling from the trees and days were becoming shorter..

Cult of the Sierra Lima - Adam

It was a little colder out that night than it should have been being the summer wasn't even officially over yet, it wasn't even the end of August. Adam was not the best at remembering things, but he did remember his jacket, based on the earlier recommendation of his over cautious but always caring girlfriend. He was going for a walk, "meeting an old friend for a beer" was the line he told her.

Adam noticed that a few leaves on trees had already started to turn yellow and brown, preparing for the inevitable separation from the tree which gave them life. Much to soon for the Fall, I hope we'll have enough time, he thought to himself as he began to pick up the pace walking down 17th Ave towards his destination, a small little hole in the wall where he would meet the seven others.

The Legend of Shen Nung

One day about 5000 years ago, China Emperor Shen Nung and his company were travelling to the far edges of his great empire. During his travels, Emperor Nung, being quite paranoid of becoming ill, required all water be boiled prior to drinking. While his servants boiled pots of water, some dried out leaves from nearby bushes landed in the pots causing it to be infused it into a brown liquid. Instead of throwing it away, the Emperor's curiosity got the better of him and upon tasting the brew was refreshed by it. This is the legend of how tea came to be.

One day about three weeks ago, Blog writer Alex found tea.

I was told about a place in Calgary called "Steeps" which is conveniently located on 17th Ave in downtown. Steeps is a Tea House, devoted completely to loose leaf teas from around the world. In Steeps is a stack of tea tins, with over 75 varieties of teas allowing you can open the cans and smell the aromas from each tea prior to choosing one for purchase. This is very beneficial, cause teas taste just like they smell. (One could argue that you are actually using your nose to taste being that the tongue can only detect four tastes; sweet, sour, bitter and salty) This is how my tea addiction began.

I was quite surprised to learn that all teas, yes, every single one of the teas offered around the world, all come from the same plant. The plant is the Camellia Sinensis. The location of the tea and it's fermentation processes are what give different teas unique characteristics. Black tea, the most common, is made black by fermenting the leaves to 100% oxidation. Green tea is just the same as black tea, but without fermentation oxidation, Oolong tea allows about 50% fermentation and white tea is young tea leaves picked and then processed very quickly with steam. Flavoured teas like Earl Grey (one of my favorites) is simply just black tea with Bergamot orange rind, and English Breakfast tea is just a combination of four black teas from various areas around the world. Orange Pekoe is not a tea flavour or a combination at all. Orange Pekoe is simply a grade of the leaf used in the tea, it's the largest leaf.


My first loose leaf tea purchase was a white tea called "Leopard Snow Buds". White tea is rich in antioxidants, low in caffeine and presents with a very light color. It has to be brewed at about 77 degrees C for about 2 minutes. This makes it a little finicky, dumping boiling water (95C) on a white tea leaf will result in off tasting bitter tea, but trying to infuse the tea below 77 degrees C can give watery results. I've purchased a thermometer for my teas. Green teas follow these rules as well, but black teas need boiling water to infuse.

Since the white tea purchase, I've also obtained a few green and black teas. Yamamoto Green which is Japanese green blend flavoured with orange and lemon grass, and Geisha Green which is high quality Japanese greens flavoured with strawberry and red currents. My black teas are Royal Earl Grey, flavoured with Bergamot and Jasmine and my current favorite Steinthal FTGFOP, which is from a 150 year old tea farm in the Darjeeling district of India. FTGFOP means Fine Tippy Golden Fannings Orange Pekoe, and that translates to good stuff.

I haven't been to Tim Horton's for a coffee in three weeks, not that I don't drink coffee anymore. Cathy picked me up some great coffee from the Shuswap district which I enjoy as well. I'm a little concerned that she bought me a coffee bean called "The Prince of Darkness", not because of the name but because she said it reminded her of me.. (insert evil grin here).

If you come over, ask for a cup. I'll brew you up 5000 years of history. If your planning a trip to Steeps on 17th, please take me with you, we'll call it a date, unless you're a guy then it'll just be a get together. Not that there's anything wrong with that.

Cheers
Alex.

Wine

Over the last couple of days I've had the privilege to experience wine in a whole new way by visiting the wineries and vineyards of the Okanagan Valley. This is an amazing experience. I speak in the tense of the present, being as it is still ongoing in the form of the excessive consumption. Chris, Missy, Leona and myself have visited five wineries in the last two days, sampling from each of them. We started by visiting Arrowleaf and Gray Monk yesterday, then Mt Boucherie, Quail's Gate and ended with the best, Mission Hill. Mission Hill is amazing. The owner has created something most spectacular here, creating the illusion of stepping into a Tuscan painting. We opted for the tour and were taken into the belly of the winery, a cathedral of the grape preaching the religion of wine. 800 barrels of wine are stacked two high in a cellar framed by 30 foot archways, which could only have been inspired from old European churches. At the front of cellar stood a large stone table they called "the alter" where wines are tasted, celebrated and sacrificed to the lucky few who are invited for ceremony. Exposed stone walls are wet with running water, keeping the humidity at 80% and the temperature at a constant 13 degrees. On the side of the cellar is a large metal gate, protecting the "vault", a large room with a priceless wine vessel collection on the wall, one dating back to the bronze age. Some of the most valuable wines from around the world are kept in this room, decorated by aging cobwebs and dust. Remarkable.
As I draw a sip of wine, and as it brushes the palette of my mouth I can't help but think of wine as art, art for the soul and mind. I think of the passion, the dream, the history and the inspiration which led to it's existence, and I am grateful.

Kelowna Day One - It Sucks Here

So I'm in Kelowna today, yesterday, tomorrow and the day after tomorrow. It sucks here. It's just Leo and myself here with Chris and Missy.. and no kids. When we got here, we had a sucky dinner made by Chris, with a few beer, which sucked cause beer sucks the big one. We then took a walk to the sucky beach just outside the sucky condo. Man does the condo SUCK! It sucks so bad, friggen tornado. Anyway I took my suckyass kite to the beach and flew it bad. I mean, it was real bad. The wind was sucking bigtime. I didn't have the needed 85 feet of beach for my lines so I had to stand in the sucky lake. Sucked, cause the sun was on my back and the choppy warm water was lapping up against my legs while I was flying my kite like a sucky champ. I made a bunch of people nervous with the violence of the air being torn and cut into a chop-sui of submission and domination all rolled up into one big fat sucky show of pure suckiness. Nervous people suck. I then had to go back to the condo to change cause my sucky shorts were wet.
What we did next really sucked. We went for a walk down the boardwalk to suckyass Rose's patio down the way, shared a large plate of nachos and had some sucky beer. The nachos sucked so bad, they were the suckiest nachos i've ever had, I mean they put jalapenos in the melted cheese. Who does that? Sucky people do. Then we went for more walking and stopped at a french bistro for a coffee and dessert. Usually I think french restaurants drip in 100% pure grade 1A awesomeness but this one sucked huge, it sucked like a vacuum on steroids. I had the Crème Brûlée and man, holy man, did that suck, but not as much as the cappuccino that accompanied it, we reached whole new levels of suckiness with that one.
Back at the condo, we play a game of Ticket to Ride, which kinda sucked, then went to bed.
I am now sitting on the balcony, the morning of day two, and the weather is looking like it might suck again.
I have to leave on friday. Man.. is that gonna be awesome, like Vanhalen concert awesome. I've never looked forward to something more in my life!

Couch Games

One of my all time favorite activities is getting together for socials with the great group of friends I have. Everyone has a few drinks, eats snacky type food, and the tolerance for stupidity is relaxed somewhat. I am made for the social activity. I love laughing with people, and making people laugh. I love Mark's one for one challenges, (although I'm sure this game was invented by Joylaine) and other games involving pain. I do however, truly hope that I am never considered an active participant in Mark and Chris's friggen sacking game, which should never be considered a game at all but an act of war. Horsing around aside, I love the group games we play, these are the games I like to call "couch games" .

The first couch game that comes to mind is "Things..". This is an ingenious little game which makes for a good time guaranteed. It's a very simple recipe, yet so devilishly delicious. One person reads from a card with a "thing" idea such as "Things which would make an opera more exciting", then using little papers the room writes down a "thing" that would make operas more exciting, all the papers then get placed in a hat, the reader then reads all the responses twice, followed by guesses of participants who wrote which Thing. This is one of the only games where winning doesn't matter. I have laughed myself to tears in this game, and think missy had contractions while we played once, man was that funny. You will find current themes in this game keep coming up based on tipping the laughter scale. This is the ingenious part of this game, what is funny in one situation is funnier in another. There's Gord's famous "thing", a vending machine, those of you playing know what I'm talking about. This special vending machine which performs a very special task has shown up everywhere, and it's over two years old! "Things.." good game.

The "Name Game" is a group get-to-know each other mixed in with some memory. Everyone writes a name of a famous person and places it in a hat. Then a reader reads them all out loud and it becomes a who-wrote-what game after this, but the names are never repeated. There's a few things I don't like about this game. It's hard to be creative, and the winner is the one who usually chooses the most forgettable name. It is quite sanitary though, it stays at a G rating for most of the time. Until of course Ray mixes it up a little and throws in the names "Heywood Jablowme" or "Dick Izinya" There are only a few times I laughed myself to a near stroke, that was one of them, mostly because my mom was reading them at the time, "Now.. vat de? Haary Paritesties? Now.. who is dat?" Crazy.

There's this other couch game we played once at Darren and Julie's introduced by Mark. I can't remember the name of the game but what I do remember is a whole lot of rules, and a crap load of laughter. We had to visually draw a pop culture slogan, pass it to the person beside you who would translate the picture into words, and then the next person would draw that slogan and so on.. very difficult for me cause I couldn't draw if my life depended on it. Trying drawing "Where Fresh is the Taste".. What made this game filled with aneurism inducing hilarity were Darren's renditions of the slogans. Holy crap, I actually couldn't look at his drawings at one point fearing that I would literally die from laughter. This is a definite do again.

Missy introduced another great couch game to us once called "Mafia". I've only played this game once, but from what I remember I can't wait to play again. It involves a story teller, and participants lying and acting, all without having to get yer butt out of the seat. I think I'm going to host a Mafia night where we do nothing else but play Mafia and of course drink wine and eat cheese. Who's in?

 

 

 

Cruise Control

Continuing the theme of stupid crap I've done in my life (and believe me I've just begun), I'd like to share with you a story of when Ingenuity took a ride with Curiosity, and Curiosity brought his best friend Stupidity. Ingenuity is a good friend of mine and he helps me out everywhere, the solver of my problems and the maker of my money. But when you invite Curiosity, you usually get the tag along, Stupidity. The problem with him is that you never know when he's around until.. well.. Stupid happens.

I was employed by a Langley based fireplace installation company at the time. I worked on a crew, we called ourselves "The Fart Duckers". It was because one of us had some serious gas issues, and utilized the upward motion of air through a fireplace vent to test out the draft with his ass. Of course he would wait until we were up on the roof screwing on the rain caps to the vents. The draft worked every time. Funk aside; it was a temporary stepping stone in my convoluted career path to where I am now, but a necessary one. This being the largest company I have worked with up to that point, I learned a few lessons about dealing with bosses and crazy ass schizophrenic kleptomaniac co-workers.. I'm hesitant to mention names cause I'd be scared my life would be stolen, then given back just to be stolen again. Seriously, I learned about how screwed up one can be and still manage to get a pay cheque, and how much methane gas a plate of onion rings can give to one over indulgent fireplace installer with a sick sense of humor.

I was on my way home after a long day of work, and it was hot outside. There's my disclaimer. It was hot, whatever. In my back seat was a clothes hanger, the standard wire clothes hanger. I would like to say the hanger was there because of all the dry cleaning I had to with my expensive clothes, but such was not the case. The hanger was there cause like a dumb ass I had an issue with always locking the keys in my car. Before you start to pass blame on my stupidity of keeping the clothes hanger IN my car, please know that it was there due to the fact that I had already used it, and not for future use. I'm not that dumb. Yea, I became an expert at breaking into my car, and at one point I had three or four hangers in the back seat of my car all stretched out and untwisted. When people would ask me about them, I would just tell them I loved smores, shut up.

So where was I, I was on my way home and it was Hot with a capital H, hot enough to turn on a nun. I get a little bored while I drive sometimes and I like to pass the time thinking of ways to make things better, or easier. As I go through life, I realize my life's goal is to make things easier for myself and for those who pay me to. I get paid to make other's life easier, but in the business world they like to call it "more efficient" cause efficient.. that's a money making word. My car at the time was a 1991 Honda Civic. A great car it once was, and if you ask Kupes from Cochrane, it still is. OK, that's a lie. He hates the car, apparently it blows more smoke than a gay locomotive, but it was once a great car. Honda Civics have a quirk however. The gas pedals take no pressure to activate. When I say no pressure I mean a well placed fart would get that thing moving. That got me thinking, why did my foot have to be what pushed it? Hello Curiosity. A smile grew on my face. I could possibly make a working cruise control system just by using the hanger in the back seat, welcome back Ingenuity. I grabbed the hanger. Knock Knock, who's there? Stupidity.

Engineering a cruise control system is not a simple task. Engineering a cruise control system while driving 80kph was a feat worthy of award, but I did it and when it was complete it worked like the hot damn. The basic design was the stretched hanger having enough rigidity to press the gas pedal, was rigged between the pedal and the steering wheel. Honda Civic steering wheels have three spoke design so I opted to use the bottom spoke of steering wheel and wrapped the hanger around it once. The excess hanger I just bent back into the dash. I could adjust my speed by simply moving the hanger through my steering wheel, and when I had to stop just pull it back enough to release all pressure off the gas pedal. I had it arched enough not to get in the way of the brake pedal. Safety first, one must be able to brake. I was so impressed with my design I was already thinking about the patent process. How would one patent this? Why hasn't anyone patented this already? How in the heck would I spend all that money?

I was nearing my destination, and disengaged the cruise control, the smile on my face like permanent ink. I drove almost the entire way home without using my right foot. I pull up to the intersection where I had to turn left and my smile quickly disappears. Stupid happens, and happens swiftly, without warning. As I started to turn left the hanger began to twist around the steering column and my steering became impaired. The pressure of the hanger quickly took away the ability to steer and I began to panic. I was turning left through traffic and couldn't stop, but I couldn't steer my car left enough to make the corner either! I decided I had to make the corner at any cost, and for a second I thought I could use the leverage from the steering wheel to break the hanger, but it just became tighter, tight enough now to trigger the horn. I was taking an unnaturally wide left with my horn blaring away. At first I thought I might be able to miss the curb, but I didn't, and it wasn't a small curb either. Anyone who has taken that left onto 88th from Glover in Fort Langley knows what I'm talking about. The curb is about eight inches of unforgiving 300 year old concrete. I smoked the curb and my car took a flying jump and came crashing down about three seconds later. I stopped. People were watching, and I can't help but wonder what must have been going through their minds while I was frantically trying to unwind the hanger from my steering wheel in a car half way propped up on a curb with horn blaring. I tried hard not to make any eye contact, but my ears were burning in embarrassment. About 23 seconds later, I got myself out of the jam and drove off the curb and went home.

When I got home I pulled Ingenuity out of the car, and told Curiosity to take a hike. Stupidity who was no where to be seen apparently left on his own. I wish I knew where he went so I could tell him not to come back, but he always did. Sneaky little bugger.

Why I don’t like Bowling

Several years ago, five I think, I bowled the last ball of my life. We were at a party for Julie C and decided to go bowling, and I hate bowling with a passion that could kill elephants. It was the 10^th Frame, I was playing the all time worst game of my life. I held up what was my last ball (it was the kind where you stick your fingers in… those are unsanitary sess holes in my opinion) I turned around to the party and asked for their attention. I then spoke, and the people listened. I saith "Attention all… This ball I am holding will be the last ball I will ever bowl in my life. I hate bowling with a passion that can melt steel. I hate the freaky shoes, I hate the balls, I hate the stupid slippery chairs you have to sit in, I hate the little yellow reset button, I hate the pins standing there laughing at me as one ball after the other misses them in the gutter. I hate cream soda. I hate the fact that I have to wait for the ball with the big thumb hole. I hate the fact that everyone seems to like this game but me. I find no reason to continue this ridiculous activity. THIS BALL I AM HOLDING NOW WILL BE THE LAST BALL I WILL EVER BOWL IN MY LIFE. THIS IS MY PROMISE TO YOU AND TO THE PEOPLE BEFORE AND AFTER YOU. "

I then bowled the ball.. only it didn't go down the lane, it slipped off my thumb and went backwards in a six and half foot arch. It came about 2 inches from Ray's nuts. Realizing the burden released from me, I took a bow and departed the lane. Ray then took the ball and threw it down the lane for a strike, it was poetic. I removed my shoes and spat in them, then placed a curse on the next wearer, man pity that guy.

I have been asked by many people why it is I don't like to bowl. Well, I used to be a good bowler, averaging 7 strikes per game, yea I fricken rocked the casbah baby.. rocked it all night long. Then Something happened.

It was when I was about 19 years old. I was bowling the game of my life, nine strikes in the 9^th frame. I was on my way to a perfect game. I remember women and men but mostly women from all around gathered to watch Alex "The FireBall" bowl the game of his life. I was decked out, totally in the zone. I had the black shirt with the flames on the bottom, and had my nickname embroidered on the chest. I had the glove and wrist support custom painted with flames. I was cooler than the other side of the pillow baby… yea.. the other side of the pillow.

I'm ready to bowl my third and last ball in the tenth frame for the perfect game when someone from behind me says.. "HEY FIREBALL". I turn around. The music stops, and in some dream like sequence everyone around me disappears. The place goes dead quiet, and I am standing alone with a ball in my hand. The lights go dim and a strange fog appears around the bowling lanes. The only light seems to be a spotlight on me. "HEY… FIREBALL" I hear from behind me. I turn around and nothing is there except the set of pins I was just about to crack down for strike number thirteen. "Bowl the ball Fireball!" I turn again, and now standing by the reset button is a tall man. He is wearing a black suit, his shirt was un-tucked and he was not wearing any shoes or socks. He had on a tie, loosened and wrinkled. On his face an evil grin, his teeth yellowed by what could have only been from thousands of years of smoking, and his eyes were opaque windows to a soulless void.

"Excuse me?" I asked ears half cocked.

"I said.. BOWL THE DAMN BALL FIREBALL" he shouts. I swear I saw a fire in the back of his throat when he opened his mouth.

"I don't think I understand what's going on here.. who in the hell are you?" I asked, quickly realizing the irony of the question.

"You think you're all the shit don't you Fireball.. Don't tell me you forgot our deal"

Knowing full well what he was talking about I attempted the back spin of ignorance, "Um.. so, yea.. can't say I do."

"YOU BOWL A PERFECT GAME AND I GET YOUR SOUL…" he replies, then proceeds to pull a piece of paper out of his jacket. It's The Contract.

"OK Ok, ok ok ok.. look.. this is stupid. I wrote that as a joke back in grade 8 with some buddies at a sleepover.. this certainly isn't legal.. or whatever law.. look.. I'm sorry for the confusion, It won't happen again, where the hell did you get this.. anyway.. don't answer that.. ok so..what, what happens now?" I ask

"YOU BOWL THE PERFECT GAME AND I GET YOUR SOUL, SIMPLE AS THAT."

"Well that's a crappy deal seriously.. I bowl like a perfect game and you get my soul, that's like trading shit for gold"

"HEY, I GET EM WHERE I CAN, you have to understand, this isn't an easy job, I busy 24 / 7 in the soul collection business. Besides, we have a lot of busted computers down there and could really use someone like you."

"I don't work with computers"

"OH YOU BETTER BELIEVE YOU WILL, NOW YOU WILL BOWL THAT BALL"

In a flash everything came back. Hell Dude vanished along with the fog and I was left standing with the 13^th ball in my hands, people all around me watching, hoping to be witness to The Fireball's first perfect game. I bowled the ball.. only it didn't go down the lane, it slipped off my thumb and went backwards in a six and half foot arch. It came about 2 inches from Ray's nuts. Realizing the burden released from me, I took a bow and departed the lane. Ray then took the ball and threw it down the lane for a strike, it was poetic. I removed my shoes and spat in them, then placed a curse on the next wearer, man pity that guy.

I never dared throw another strike after that day. But just to be on the safe side I thought I just better call er quits all together.

And that's why I hate bowling. Hey, you would to.

Whatever.

The Fireball

Sour Cream and Onion

I was twelve. If I was any younger I wouldn’t be smart enough, and if I was any older I wouldn’t be dumb enough. It was the perfect age to do something that in hindsight was pretty stupid, though at that age was considered nothing less than duty.
In the early 1980’s there were always two things more on the mind of a twelve year old than anything else, toys and food. Girls are still in the annoying category and school was a torrential sucker of all that was fun, but nothing was better than sneaking in that new Transformer toy into class, or hiding a pack of Black Bart ® licorice chewing gum in your desk to be used for a recess trade or to share with your friends in some game to see how black you could make your tongue. In grade six, the search for the meaning of life ended at toys and food, and all other things were non essential.
As far as I remember it, it was the perfect day. I was on my BMX bike making my way to the Consumer’s Distributing to spend some paper route money on one of my favorite things, a GI Joe action figure. After the purchase I would make my way over to the corner store and buy a bag of chips, not just any bag of chip, heck no. It had to be Old Dutch Sour Cream and Onion.
Sour cream and onion chips were, without a doubt, the best flavor of chips ever. When in school you’re asked that stupid question about what you would take on a desert island if you only had one thing? It had to be sour cream and onion chips, every single time. Fishing trips? Sour cream and onion. Sleepovers? Sour cream and onion. Birthday parties? Patio hangouts? Tree forts? Sour cream and onion. The two flavors if consumed on their own, not so good, but some Einstein put the two negatives together and out came a positive.
At that time there were two brands of chips, Hostess and Old Dutch. Both chip brands made the SC & O, but Old Dutch did something Hostess never did, they rippled the chip. Rippling the chip does two things, it helps the pursuit of world peace AND helps the chip hold more flavor, the latter being the most important of course, world peace be damned. The precious ripple held far more flavor than the standard flat chip. Simple science could prove that with friction zones, contact zones, static electric bonding and the Pythagorean theorem. Yea, A squared plus B squared equals more flavor. It was all that mattered. The more flavor, the better.
So I was on my way to the corner store, GI Joe in my hand. I remember never being able to wait to get home before opening my toy packages, and risking life and limb I would unpack my GI Joe while riding my bike, discarding the package material without stopping. I arrived at the store and parked my bike against the outside wall of the store and went inside. GI Joe and I fought our way to the chip isle in a show of sheer bravery, fighting off nothing but time really.
Scanning the rows for the SC&O in Old Dutch brand of course, my trained eyes found the familiar white bag I knew so well, the little cartoony sour cream dude and the onion guy in some kind of strange embrace. They were in this together. They were brothers in arms. I picked up the bag, but something was wrong. It felt heavy. I grabbed another bag for comparison, and it was certainly lighter. I couldn’t help but wonder what would cause a chip bag to be heavier? I knew I was on the verge of a major discovery. Could it have been a prize? A chopped off finger? A dead mouse? I decided that good or bad, I had to know what it was. Worst case scenario I’m out a quarter and curiosity gets another notch on the bedpost that is life experience. I paid for it and left the store hurriedly, almost forgetting about my new GI Joe comrade. We were in this together after all, him and I, brothers in arms.
I biked to a nearby park, set my bike up against a trash can and ignoring the bird crap, quickly sat down on the park bench. I reached into my jacket and pulled out the bag, still feeling a little heavier than normal. Grasping the sides I slowly pulled them apart until the top seal broke open and the familiar smell of good ol’ sour cream and onion wafted upwards. I looked into the foil bag and realized quickly what the source of the weight was. What I had here was a bag of chips with more flavor than chip, the chips were literally stuck in an immense amount flavor powder awesomeness! What I was looking at was the Holy Grail of the potato chip religion. A bonafide factory screw up! The bag was probably worth millions at a potato chip auction, but there was no way that it could be saved. We had a situation there that had to be dealt with swiftly, I had my orders and it was my duty. I had to eat that bag of sour cream and onion chips proudly, and in so doing mark it as a major accomplishment in my life along with the others such as taking my bike over a five foot ramp without crashing, or walking several kilometers under Calgary in the sewer system without dying. So I began to eat those chips and powder ad it was good, very good.
I was over half way when good started to turn to not bad, and then not bad to a turn to gross. I started to feel a little nauseous, and I could feel my stomach presenting me with the possibility of a full refund. I stopped eating, hoping the feeling would go away. It didn’t. I sat there on the park bench now swaying back and forth, attempting to slow what now seemed to be inevitable. I didn’t want to puke, I hated puking.
There is a window of time before one vomits, it’s that time where the cold sweat breaks out on the forehead, the dizziness starts up and the saliva starts to crank into overtime. It’s that time where you feel the worst. It’s puke imminent. I can’t remember how long I maintained puke imminence, but it couldn’t have been for long. I stood up and made my way over to the trash can which up until that time was used only as a holder for my bike, was about to be used as a container for my guts. The gates opened, I puked wildly, and with violent heaves the meaning of life and I parted ways.
When I was finished and the aftershocks had settled, I opened my eyes and through my puke induced tears peered down into the garbage can. There, in the technicolor of my funk, I saw my GI Joe. He was holding out his arms in hope to be saved, but it was too late. He was covered with chemical blast and I could not get myself to save him. I turned my head and biked away.
I learned two things that day. One, too much of a good thing is not good at all. Two, I could never be a US Marine, but being a Canadian made me feel somewhat better about the latter. I ruined something in my life that day, I could not get myself to eat sour cream and onion chips for a long time. Even to this day, 23 years later, it’s my last choice of flavor. Sometimes life presents us with these tests of indulgence, and we learn from it. It would take seven more years for my next test to show up, this one in the form of Southern Comfort, but that’s another story, if I can remember it.

AS

I'm in the mood

to go home and sleep in my own bed.  ;-)
I'm writing this entry from science world in vancouver, it's busy here, so busy in fact there was no parking to be found, so i parked in staff parking.. I hope the van is still there when i get back... If i get back and not stomped to death by a million 11 year old kids vieing for position to the snot gallery called grossology. There's this woman here who scared the ever loving shit outta me when from 10 feet away screamed at the top of her everloving lungs directly at me... I jumped clear out of my skin... People thought i was a exhibit from the human anatomy show... Turns out she has touretts,  i think.  Anyway then it became funny and she pulled the same tourette-a-tete on sonya, caught her off guard to say the least.  She too became an exhibit.. Only in grossology cause she crapped right there.... On the floor..
Hope the van is still there.
ShaZZ*ppa

A Limerick

replace a bird with a plane
and a rope for a chain
then put them together
bind them with leather
people will call you insane

7,7,07 .. anyone need some luck?

Today is the seventh day of the seventh year in '07. I read on the news a whole boat load of weddings happening today.. for good luck. I think, if you need good luck to make a marriage work, it's not gonna. I predict a way higher than average divorce rate for those married today.

Pink Cowboys?

Lots of cowboys wearing pink here in Calgary. I know it's for hooter cancer support, but can you imagine all the real cowboys? "Tough Enough to wear pink" is the slogan. If you're a part time executive cowboy, and you think you're tough enough to wear pink then more power to ya'll.. but if your a grit eating, tabacco chewin, cattle ropin, bull back ridin, womanizin, red neckin, REAL COWBOY..... you probably don't wanna wear pink.

Goodbye Guitar Hero.... HELLO ROCK BAND

If you been to my place, you've probably seen or played guitar hero on the xbox. Guitar Hero is an extremely addicting "guitar simulation" where the player uses a special guitar shaped controller called an "xplorer", and follows a series of colored notes travelling down a neck of a guitar on the screen. The notes are in sync with the notes of the music being played, and if hit correctly, you'll be jamming with a band on a stage. Points are given for accuracy.
I have accumulated over 7,000,000 points in my band career, and I've barely reached the "hard" level. I'm embarrassed to say how many hours this has taken, but there are many out there on the "expert" level who have invested three times the amount of time I have. I take solace in that. Yea, I enjoy it, but I'm not obsessed.
As I play, I can't help but think how fun it would be to play the drum track. Well, it's coming. There's a new product soon to be released called "Rock Band". Not only do you get the guitar, but you get a bass guitar, a four pad drumkit with a kicker, and a microphone for Karaoke.. WHAT? no kidding.. a mic. But quite possible the BEST THING going.. is one song. The one song that will make this the best game ever. Included in this package.. is Blue Oyster Cult "The Reaper"!! Not included however, is a cowbell, but you can be damn sure I'll be getting one.
This my friends is gonna be the ultimate party game! I know I'm gonna cringe at the price, but I don't think I'll be able to say no to this. Rock Band with Cowbell... coming to alex's basement near you. ;-)

MMMmmmmm Subway.... again.

It's 11:30am, my stomach reminds me I didn't have any breakfast. I stand up and ask a coworker what he wants to do for lunch, "Subway?" is the inflected reply. I grimace, memories come back to me of the last time I was at this subway.
"Ya whatever." I respond.
"Let's got then"
10 minutes later we are standing in the Subway line and I immediately notice the absence of the sandwich terrorist. Perhaps she got a new job, or was fired.. or accidentally blew herself up. I didn't know, didn't really care to tell you the truth. I was hungry.
Pete notices a sign on the Subway, advertising a new sandwich called the "Lobster" sandwich. "100% pure lobster meat" it states. Sounds good.. real good. Pete and I being fans of the seafood sub opt for the lobster sub today.
Pete orders first. "I'll have a one of those lobster subs on 12" wheat"
I order second. "I'll have the same please.. whatever he's having"
So far so good. Our subs are coming together nicely. Something has to wrong, it always does here. I look over at Pete's sub. It's almost done, fully loaded with a little sprinkling of salt and in the paper, cut and wrapped. No spills, Bob's your freakin uncle. Lickity Split. the perfect sub. Mine is ready for veggies. After seeing the perfect execution of Pete's sub I know my odds are good.. or bad.. depends on which school you come from for probability studies. I ask for everything but no green pepper. It's not like I don't like green pepper, I just don't think it should be in a sandwich like a potato. The veggies arrive right on schedule and everything is looking perfect.
"Sauces? Salt? Pepper?" I am asked with a smile
"A little mustard, some salt and pepper" I reply with raised eyebrow.
I'm suspicious. A perfect sandwich? not here.. no way.
"For here or to go?"
"To go please.."
I am handed a perfectly rolled sandwich, handed to me in a bag with three napkins. I didn't even need to ask for an extra napkin. (I tend to spill a lot.. so what.. i said. SO WHAT?)
I have a grin on my face. I'm looking for the hidden camera. I'm sure I'm on a new TV reality shock show. This never happens. They may as well handed the sub over on a silver fricken platter. Something was wrong, and here's what happened. As best as I remember it.
We shuffle over to the cashier. Pete is first to pay.
Subway guy: "What did you order"?
Pete: "Foot long Lobster Subway"
Subway guy: "That will be 16.90"
Pete: "Oh sorry, I'm just paying for the one sandwich"
Subway guy: "Yes, one foot long lobster, 16.90"
Pete: (stunned silence)
Alex: (grin turns into laughter)
Subway guy: "Price for foot long lobster is 16.90"
Pete: "For a FRICKEN SANDWICH???"
Subway guy: "Yes, price over there see?" (points to a small price in far corner of menu opposite to line)
Pete: "do ya THINK you SHOULD HAVE ADVERTISED THE PRICE WHERE PEOPLE ORDER?"
Subway guy: "Prrrice 16.90"
Pete: "$^#& *#*$&#* Q*&#&@*( shit &$#*& !@#!& #&*@)! ~!(!@"

Now I'm laughing pretty good at this point, just cause I was expecting something to wrong. After pete's display of displeasure, they knocked 25% off our subs.. to top things off, they didn't even taste all that great, well not seventeen dollars great. Dumbasses. You know what you can get in downtown Calgary for lunch for seventeen bucks? Well, how about three sunny lunches, or one all you can eat Indian Buffet, or one all you can eat Russian buffet, I mean the list goes on. Idiots.

Apollo 20 alien spaceship debunked

Long story short, I was able to debunk the lastest apollo 20 video on my own by simply comparing the opening shot of the hatch to some stock photos of other apollo hatches. I most likely found the exact hatch the hoaxer used for the video, and that can be found here. Everything about these two hatches are the same INCLUDING the fact that the hatch is in the open configuration!! If it was closed (which it would be in moon orbit) the hinges would be clearly visible in it's closed configuration. (Look at this picture here for closed hatch configuration)
The video footage of the interior of the command module, the scene where we see the hybrid american / russian flag and the apollo 20 mission logo could have easily have been filmed inside a training command module. Where would one find one? Well, there's one available to the PUBLIC in Alabama at the US Space and Rocket Center. Check out these guys enjoying a sit in the trainer. The trainer is lying on it's back, and as a result the straps in the video which look to be "in zero g" are actually just hanging straight down. The video is being shot pointing up. It would be trivial to bring a video camera and faked logos on this publically accessible command module, shoot the vid and bob.. is indeed your uncle.
Alex.