Random Writing #2

We were having a dinner party. Chris showed up in a tuxedo. Tess had on a slinky black number with wide shoulder straps and ample cleavage. I felt underdressed in a wool sweater and jeans.

The thing about it was that we had to cross through a swanky restaurant to get to my upstairs apartment. I greeted them at the door of the restaurant, introduced Matthew the mairtre’d and ushered them down the pine finished aisle between the tables to the back where the tables were spaced further apart. “The best part of this apartment,” I said, “is the piano,” and motioned to my right where Billy was playing at a grand, his light, half-hearted, seemingly unconnected notes mingled with the tinks of wine glasses and silverwear on china.

I directed them through the low wall that segmented off the piano and its surrounding tables from the rest. “Watch your step,” I warned taking the step down. I turned to give my hand to Tess to steady her way in her four inch heels. Her hand met mine and seemed to send its warmth and life into me. It was then that I noticed the black and white striped baton in her other hand. An odd choice for an accessory but Tess was an extraordinary character. She stepped down but did not release my hand, continuing on across the floor with my tailing behind, in the direction of the piano though our course was to the left. Chris, ever the cheeky one, slipped into the small space between Tess and me, glancing back at me over his shoulder with a wry smile and wink, making a parade of the whole affair.

“Do you know “You’re My Thrill?” she called a little too loudly to Billy. She spoke without self-consciousness, completely oblivious to the looks. Billy stopped his playing on the wrong note and cocked and eyebrow at her before catching her meaning and starting in on the intro.

Only then did my hand fall to my side as she released it to take two quick steps toward the piano, faltering slightly on one heel. She launched into the words loud enough for the whole place to hear.

Chris stood there in his tuxedo bobbing his head slightly to the tempo and looking more thoughtful than I had ever seen him, raising a fist to his chin and propping the elbow up with his other hand across his gut. Somewhere from the corner of my eye as I stood dumbly watching Tess I noticed the look in Chris’ eyes and realized that this wasn’t going to be easy. He was in love with her, too.

Science Mystery Theatre

It has now been seven and a half months since the Large Hadron Collider went online in Geneva and we have yet to be obliterated by evil terminators from the future. Of course, the LHC has been shut down for seven of those seven and a half months. But it seems unlikely we will be swallowed by microscopic black holes next time it boots up.

Life Lesson #2

The best thing about my $30,000 CDN education is my lifetime free access to the Oxford English Dictionary Online. 

Douche on the Street #6

Chad Kroger sued his former Nickelback band-mate, drummer, Ryan Vikedal, for any royalties he received for his efforts on the bands albums. Kroger, you might recall, pens such hauntingly poetic (cheesy crap) songs as "Rock Star" about his fervent and somehow successful attempt at becoming a rock star and his whiney nostalgia about going back to high school despite now being a famous rock star. For being so incredibly whiney, self-absorbed, backstabbing, vindictive and inexplicably popular (I mean, come on ladies, he's two steps down from trailer trash trash - the kind of trash you find on the floor of trailer trash's trailer), you are a douche. While I always try to end these things with the word douche, I must stress here that of all the douchy douches who irk my ire for a few brief seconds of my day, you are the douchiest. Goodbye!

...Douche.

Stephen Hawking, Porn Star

I recently bought myself a second hand Mac computer for the purpose of learning how to use a piece of crap - I mean how to use a Mac. After all, it is the industry standard for desktop publishing according to my old boss who ought to know since it was his business. Though quite frankly I think it would be a much more profitable business if it didn't take forty minutes to save a document. But hey, what do I know about business?

While toying around with this thing, I've discovered that it has a built in speech synthesizer which will read out loud anything you write if you only ask it too. 

Have you ever seen that episode of Family Guy where Brian goes back to school and has Stephen Hawking as a professor, and during a party at his house, a cut-scene starts where he's having sex with his wife and he says in that synthesizer voice, "I've been thinking about this all day?" Yeah. Well that voice was done with a Mac computer's synthesizer but it's pretty close to the one Steve's got. So for those of us perverted enough and who like to daly in all the finer (seedier) forms of literature, open TextEdit, type in "I want to fuck you senseless" or you're favourite cheesy porno line, go to edit - speech - start speaking and have yourself a merry little laugh.

Oddly enough, Tabi, a friendly voice on the other end of a tech support line for a certain computer manufacturer, was unaware of this particular feature until I stumbled upon it. Apparently none of her coworkers new about it either. 

Semi-State of Existence or Schrodinger's Cat

"I think I'm dying," Holly said to me. 

In typical cynic's style I responded, "We're all dying."

There's a thought experiment cooked up by a guy named Schrodinger about a cat in a box with vial of poison that may or may not break depending on whether any radiation is detected. I'm not sure of the how or why of this experiment (do not try this one at home, please), but supposedly it has something to do with quantum physics. In any case, at some point the cat is supposedly both alive and dead at the same time. Not half alive and half dead, I gather but both alive and dead. 

And it got me thinking. Dead is pretty easy to define. It's not alive. Inanimate. Unmoving. Lacking the gumption to rouse oneself to the laziest act of thinking. Dead. Now alive on the other hand... That's a whole different kettle of kittens. From the moment we are born we are on a collision course with death. Even if there is no such thing as destiny, we are bound to die. You could say we were dead in the beginning. Sure the scientist tell us there are a few criteria for something to be considered alive. Must consume, must respire, must defecate, must reproduce and must have DNA. But even the scientist are pretty vague on the whole thing. After all, life from outer space may be completely different. They figure you pretty much know it when you see it even if you don't know what it is. So then, if life is so hard to define, how is it that we can define dead as not alive - or more exactly as something that was once alive but no longer is? That's sort of like defining a word by using the word. 

At some point though, we must indeed be alive and dead. At one moment we are alive and the next we are dead. States being what they are, they require some kind of transitionary period. Here's where that quantum physics kicks in. Electrons circling the nucleus are in a set orbit around said nucleus. If at any point energy is thrust into the atom, the electrons kick it into overdrive and make a wider orbit. According to my astronomy professor, there is no in between state. It goes from one level to another. But this isn't really true. For however incredibly brief a period, the electron is somewhere in between it's two set distances from the nucleus. So while the cat is in a heightened state of dying, it is still alive. But then it's not. Like ice melting, at some point it's not quite water and not quite ice, but something in between. Is life then perchance that in between twixt death and something else? Are we alive at all? Or just in a more active state of death? Or despite Holly's insistence, are we quite fully alive at all times until death hunts us down and lays us flat with a single final shot?

Questions, questions, questions....

From the Files

Mmm. The smell of fresh hot bread. I think it's just about ready. I think I'll take it out of the oven now. 

The bread rack, on the other hand has a different plan. It thinks I am easy prey. It has lain in ambush, waiting to strike. It pounces! But I am not so easy a target. I catch it in midair. We wrestle. It tries to crush me with its burning hot mass and flailing limbs. I try to fend it off, straining to keep from getting gouged by its not very razor-like corners. Finally the moment is right. With a last effort, it tries a wild blow but I dodge, sending it face first to the tile. It is defeated. And I am victorious. (I love italics).

The moral, you ask? Never turn your back on a bread rack. 

Douche on the Street #5

You move stealthily through the night, deftly weaving a path through the shadows and back alleys, invisible to the naked eye. A man on a mission, you keep out of sight until your dirty deeds are done. Only once it is done and the evidence is disposed of - city works was never meant to cover up your heinous crimes - may you brag to your friends. Oh, yes, you are a master of ninjas. Too bad you're not very clever. 

No, not very clever at all. Because you insist on defacing public property and making me pay to have your lame jabs at a respectable segment of society cleaned up, you are a douche. 

Bringing Sexy Back

I regret to inform you, Mr. Timberlake, that Sexy never went anywhere. Ok, well it took a sabbatical sometime in the mid eighties during which Time hired a few temps like Denim, Spandex and Big Hair to pick up the slack but obviously there is no replacement for an experienced employee. Sexy took some time off but it never went anywhere. Hence, you can't bring it back. Even if it did go somewhere, I highly doubt you and your Brillo hair or stubble top or whatever you're sporting these days could bring it back. 

What you're most likely confusing Sexy with, as many people do, is Skanky, Sexy's fugly little child. And it never really went anywhere either. 

Douche on the Street #4

This one is not from personal experience but rather comes courtesy of Tabitha who works at a call centre for a large company. 

She answers the phone with her usual spiel and the man on the other end says, "Put a man on the phone for me. There's a good girl," in a most condescending manner. 

Look, sir. Tabi has had as much training as every man in that building and is just as qualified to solve your problem as anyone else. You - a man - called in because you couldn't solve the problem on your own. Because this is the new millennium and you still live in some mysogenistic time warp, you are a douche. 

Tabi solved his problem. 

Stephen Hawking on Acid

Within the atom, electrons circle the nucleus. Within the nucleus and the electrons, even smaller things may circle the centre - bosons and positrons and whatnot. 

Within the universe, galaxies circle and spin around one another. Within the galaxies, planets and stars circle and spin. 

Galaxies are made up of stars and planets. Stars and planets are made up of atoms. Atoms are made up of electrons and things we know nothing about. So what if the universe is not the end all be all of existence? What if universes spiral and spin around in something even larger? What if even that greater thing is just a tiny piece of something even larger? What if the universe is an atom?

Life Lesson #1

No one wants to pet a wet dog. But everyone wants to touch a wet pussy.

For More Information

To His Royal Highness, The King of Leons,

Regarding your concern that your "sex is on fire," this could be due to a number of factors. While there are still some tests to run, based on the symptoms you describe, it seems likely that you may have contracted a venereal disease. Please discontinue any sexual activities and seek immediate medical attention at your nearest facility before your gonads shrivel up and drop off. Please find enclosed a few brochures. Thank you for your interest in this topic. 

Sincerely, Dr. Joe Plumber

Brochure 1

Brochure 2

Brochure 3