August 6, 2002
August 5, 2002
I remember the Great Drought of Twenty Ought-Two because it was followed almost immediately by the Great Rain of Twenty Ought-Two or, as it's sometimes known, The Grieving. Having been so long clear and blue, easily earning its nickname of Big Sky, the heaven above Alberta has now turned grim and implaccable and very, very wet.
I don't wish any farmers ill, but since the drought conditions of June and most of July pretty much nixed any hope for this year's crop, I really don't see a need for all this water. Actually, farmers must feel as if they shat in the wrong person's breakfast cereal since now, having had crops wasted by lack of rain, what few stragglers remain alive find themselves now threatened by frost at night. Yes, frost. They have issued frost warnings. In early August.
If this isn't the result of global warning I suggest someone get off their ass and figure out what it is the result of because, frankly, it's fucked. And we're fucked along with it.
I don't wish any farmers ill, but since the drought conditions of June and most of July pretty much nixed any hope for this year's crop, I really don't see a need for all this water. Actually, farmers must feel as if they shat in the wrong person's breakfast cereal since now, having had crops wasted by lack of rain, what few stragglers remain alive find themselves now threatened by frost at night. Yes, frost. They have issued frost warnings. In early August.
If this isn't the result of global warning I suggest someone get off their ass and figure out what it is the result of because, frankly, it's fucked. And we're fucked along with it.
August 4, 2002
It feels like December. Really. It's another gray day. This has lasted longer than is decent. How can you go from 34 degree weather in one month (July) to single digits the next (August)? Only in Alberta. High country is not all it's cracked up to be. Living on the great central plain of North America means you're on a meteorological yo-yo. When the sun is out, it's hot as a griddle and you're the flapjack. When the sun ducks behind the clouds, the temperature plummets and you're the toe that needs amputating because it's so damn cold!
Actually, it's not so much the temperature that gets to you as the dull skies - a December ceiling with a wintry feeling. Of course, it's not nearly that bad out there. Not even close. But gazing at it from inside, looking out at a dreary street that seems to have been abandoned by humanity, it feels like December, the seasonal dung hole of every year.
Look ... someone just rode by on a bike, weeping and tearing at their hair. Okey ... maybe they didn't. But they might have! And who would have blamed them?
Actually, it's not so much the temperature that gets to you as the dull skies - a December ceiling with a wintry feeling. Of course, it's not nearly that bad out there. Not even close. But gazing at it from inside, looking out at a dreary street that seems to have been abandoned by humanity, it feels like December, the seasonal dung hole of every year.
Look ... someone just rode by on a bike, weeping and tearing at their hair. Okey ... maybe they didn't. But they might have! And who would have blamed them?
August 2, 2002
Could this day be more gloomy? Grey-brain skies lowering overhead. Endless weepy, drizzling water bulged clouds trundle by in a mass like an army of fatties and then there are the single digit temperatures (which perhaps sound more alarming than they are for those not using the Celsius measurement) … It all conspires to make the hapless worker wonder, “Why in the name of all that’s holy did I get out of bed today?”
It’s a question that admits no comforting answer.
Seeking refuge, I return home and immediately seek the cold comfort of beer and the Waterboys, Fisherman’s Blues to be precise. Meanwhile the freakin’ cat keeps running to the patio doors as if desperate to escape the confines of a warm domicile, yet as soon as the door is opened she sits back, considers the merits of outdoor activities, then flees as if from some unnameable horror.
It’s called a crappy day, cat. That’s all it is. And it, like haemorrhoids, will pass (though not before imposing a degree of discomfort to its luckless victim).
By the way, why does my word processor want to insert an “a” in haemorrhoids as if vowels, too, could be discomfiting inflammations?
I had thought I would redeem the day by picking up a DVD to help pass the evening hours but there was nothing to find that was interesting or, if interesting, not stupidly overpriced. So I’ll have to retreat to the collection. What will it be? Some contemporary flash and boom thingamabob like … I dunno. I forget the titles almost as soon as I see them. Maybe something classic, like a return to My Man Godfrey. Or, as I was thinking earlier today, perhaps something relatively recent yet, remarkably, with a story, like Passion Fish?
That’s where I’m leaning. Passion Fish. Have I mentioned I’m in love with Mary McDonnell? I am. But it’s a secret love. I haven’t told her. Thus, it’s an unrequited love. A tragedy of classic design. Ah me …
Life. Whacha gonna do?
Toodles.
It’s a question that admits no comforting answer.
Seeking refuge, I return home and immediately seek the cold comfort of beer and the Waterboys, Fisherman’s Blues to be precise. Meanwhile the freakin’ cat keeps running to the patio doors as if desperate to escape the confines of a warm domicile, yet as soon as the door is opened she sits back, considers the merits of outdoor activities, then flees as if from some unnameable horror.
It’s called a crappy day, cat. That’s all it is. And it, like haemorrhoids, will pass (though not before imposing a degree of discomfort to its luckless victim).
By the way, why does my word processor want to insert an “a” in haemorrhoids as if vowels, too, could be discomfiting inflammations?
I had thought I would redeem the day by picking up a DVD to help pass the evening hours but there was nothing to find that was interesting or, if interesting, not stupidly overpriced. So I’ll have to retreat to the collection. What will it be? Some contemporary flash and boom thingamabob like … I dunno. I forget the titles almost as soon as I see them. Maybe something classic, like a return to My Man Godfrey. Or, as I was thinking earlier today, perhaps something relatively recent yet, remarkably, with a story, like Passion Fish?
That’s where I’m leaning. Passion Fish. Have I mentioned I’m in love with Mary McDonnell? I am. But it’s a secret love. I haven’t told her. Thus, it’s an unrequited love. A tragedy of classic design. Ah me …
Life. Whacha gonna do?
Toodles.
Once again, a lengthy delay between jottings and precious little jotted when I do get around to it. However ... The weekend promises to be dull (as opposed to last weekend) and this may allow me to update, tweak, and generally make Piddleville less of hodge podge.
Of course, I'm said that MANY times before and accomplished sweet bugger all. But you never know ... Like they say, 117th time the charm.
Must go. Should be doing work now. Toodles!
Note: Looks like Blogger is back to proper functioning. The archive even updated properly.
Of course, I'm said that MANY times before and accomplished sweet bugger all. But you never know ... Like they say, 117th time the charm.
Must go. Should be doing work now. Toodles!
Note: Looks like Blogger is back to proper functioning. The archive even updated properly.
July 28, 2002
I slept in today till about 10:15 or 10:30 for the first time in ages. Normally I wake up between 6 and 7 in the morning. So how did I manage it this morning? Easy ... I went to bed around 4AM.
Good heavens, I feel like crap today. It's been awhile since I felt this hungover. Did I at least enjoy myself?
I let you know as soon as I remember.
Good heavens, I feel like crap today. It's been awhile since I felt this hungover. Did I at least enjoy myself?
I let you know as soon as I remember.
July 21, 2002
Although there isn't a great deal of activity here in the Burble, I have been adding bits and pieces to the Movie Room. And I'm still not sure what the story is with Blogger. Those 503 messages keep showing up yet, although slow, the posts do mysteriously appear. Wha's up? Hmm?
July 17, 2002
I just wrote a whole load of "stuff" about the Bob Hope and Bing Crosby road movies. Sadly, there are fistfuls of typos, grammar howlers and spelling mistakes. However, they won't be corrected till tomorrow because, well, I gotta eat!!! So if you plow through this material before it's fixed, try to pretend the goofs aren't there. Toodles!
July 16, 2002
July 14, 2002
A Rash of Rain
This has a poor title. For one, it lacks any meaning since there has been little rain here (except for some sporadic trickling in the night and mumbling thunder). For another, the concepts of rash and rain fit together poorly; they don’t even have the merit of lame irony. Finally, it’s a weak stab at cuteness, one that falls upon the tiresome crutch of alliteration.
Clearly, my writing abilities have crapped out. Still, on we plod …
It seems I may not have a job soon. I won’t know for a month or so but uncertainty is in the air once again. This occurs every few years or so. It is cyclical, similar to (and tied in with) economic performance. When the economy tanks often the first pronouncement from companies is, “Get rid of the writers!”
Well, perhaps it’s not that overt. But it is true in the sense that few companies see any benefit in having writers despite the fact that everyone in a company is desperate for one, every company suffers from poor communications internally and externally, and writers are paid peanuts compared to upper management personnel.
I think writers are sometimes on the outs because they aren’t usually part of the golf crowd. That’s just a guess, however.
The effect of it all, for me, is a sense of irritable dismay. I’ll be honest, it terms of personal finances my ducks are definitely not in a row. Rather, they seem to be scattered like playing cards. So …
My trip back east is cancelled. (As a contractor, I don’t get paid when I take time off – this cost is compounded by the wildly high prices of Canadian domestic flights; going home is priced beyond me.) My debt load is higher than it should be (though not as bad as some). It has to come down – more funds must be funnelled in this direction.)
End result … a hot, grim summer worrying about money. How tedious.
(Why are so many blogs just so much moan and groan. Note to self: must change this. Who wants to hear someone bitch?)
This has a poor title. For one, it lacks any meaning since there has been little rain here (except for some sporadic trickling in the night and mumbling thunder). For another, the concepts of rash and rain fit together poorly; they don’t even have the merit of lame irony. Finally, it’s a weak stab at cuteness, one that falls upon the tiresome crutch of alliteration.
Clearly, my writing abilities have crapped out. Still, on we plod …
It seems I may not have a job soon. I won’t know for a month or so but uncertainty is in the air once again. This occurs every few years or so. It is cyclical, similar to (and tied in with) economic performance. When the economy tanks often the first pronouncement from companies is, “Get rid of the writers!”
Well, perhaps it’s not that overt. But it is true in the sense that few companies see any benefit in having writers despite the fact that everyone in a company is desperate for one, every company suffers from poor communications internally and externally, and writers are paid peanuts compared to upper management personnel.
I think writers are sometimes on the outs because they aren’t usually part of the golf crowd. That’s just a guess, however.
The effect of it all, for me, is a sense of irritable dismay. I’ll be honest, it terms of personal finances my ducks are definitely not in a row. Rather, they seem to be scattered like playing cards. So …
My trip back east is cancelled. (As a contractor, I don’t get paid when I take time off – this cost is compounded by the wildly high prices of Canadian domestic flights; going home is priced beyond me.) My debt load is higher than it should be (though not as bad as some). It has to come down – more funds must be funnelled in this direction.)
End result … a hot, grim summer worrying about money. How tedious.
(Why are so many blogs just so much moan and groan. Note to self: must change this. Who wants to hear someone bitch?)
July 7, 2002
I never knew who John Pilger was until I started reading blogs that ranted about what an idiot he was. Similarly, the little I knew about Noam Chomsky was restricted to ... well, whatever field of science or sociology he's in. (Or is it linguistics? ... can't remember.) The point is, these guys have far greater currency for their political views now due to the people who want them to shuttup and go away. It seems a bit self-defeating.
Anyway ... while both may have the odd point, from the little I've seen they're extremely tedious and have political positions that essentially amount to: we hate the United States and think it's evil. Not the most astute politcos, these boys. I mean, do they really think they'll sway American public opinion by crapping all over the U.S.?
As usual, it all boils down to a small group of noisy left leaning navel gazers ranting at an similarly small group of noisy right leaning navel gazers and putting the rest of us to sleep. There are far too many people out there who went to university in the 70's and never left. God help us.
Anyway ... while both may have the odd point, from the little I've seen they're extremely tedious and have political positions that essentially amount to: we hate the United States and think it's evil. Not the most astute politcos, these boys. I mean, do they really think they'll sway American public opinion by crapping all over the U.S.?
As usual, it all boils down to a small group of noisy left leaning navel gazers ranting at an similarly small group of noisy right leaning navel gazers and putting the rest of us to sleep. There are far too many people out there who went to university in the 70's and never left. God help us.
July 5, 2002
Biometeorology and the Brain ... it's a small start. But who knows what it will turn into? Perhaps when I'm through I'll know more about why I get wonky. (That's the scientific term for the symptoms ... wonky.)
July 1, 2002
Son of a gun ... it's Canada Day!
While others engage in family outings as they enjoy the national holiday, I have gone DVD crazy. No less than 6 new reviews in the Piddleville's Movie Room this weekend. While not the most insightful or informed, they do have the quality of ... well, I'm not sure what. But who else is giving you reviews of The Quiet Man and Gosford Park?
Not sure what that means.
Adam Sandlar Update:
An unconfirmed report asserts Sandlar is taking diction lessons so he can learn to speak without mumbling. Insiders go on to say his agent is furious believing his career will tank if audiences can make out what he is saying.
While others engage in family outings as they enjoy the national holiday, I have gone DVD crazy. No less than 6 new reviews in the Piddleville's Movie Room this weekend. While not the most insightful or informed, they do have the quality of ... well, I'm not sure what. But who else is giving you reviews of The Quiet Man and Gosford Park?
Not sure what that means.
Adam Sandlar Update:
An unconfirmed report asserts Sandlar is taking diction lessons so he can learn to speak without mumbling. Insiders go on to say his agent is furious believing his career will tank if audiences can make out what he is saying.
June 30, 2002
Leading thespian Adam Sandlar, having established himself as Hollywood’s leading male actor following his moving update Mr.Deeds (revisiting the 1936 Frank Capra classic Mr. Deeds Goes to Town) has his sights set on even greater dramatic challenges. Or so unsubstantiated rumours would have us believe.
Sandlar’s next project is tentatively titled “Hammy,” a modern look at the Shakespearean standard, Hamlet. Our drunken sources tell us Sandlar will play a confused lifeguard, son of a leading head-of-state and heir to billions, whose father dies under mysterious circumstances. The Sandlar character will become despondent which leads to zany antics and shenanigans. His mother (reportedly to be played by Sir Anthony Hopkins) remarries and Sandlar shows his displeasure by trying to have sex with her. The film will conclude with Sandlar engaged in a fart challenge to the death with Kevin Smith (playing himself).
Other upcoming Sandlar projects include:
“Gone With My Wind” in which Sandlar plays “a classy southern gentleman” with flatulence issues. The film concludes with Sandlar setting the city of Atlanta on fire with an enormous fart.
Also in the works is “Close Encounters with My Behind” in which Sandlar plays an alien character with an overlarge bottom. The film concludes with Sandlar setting North America on fire with an enormous fart.
Finally, “Titanic – My Big Bum” is in the works for late 2004. In this film, Sandlar plays a character with a fat butt who takes a cross-Atlantic cruise on a really big boat. The film concludes with Sandlar sinking the ship after setting it on fire with an enormous fart.
Clearly, there are more than a few Oscars in Adam’s future.
Sandlar’s next project is tentatively titled “Hammy,” a modern look at the Shakespearean standard, Hamlet. Our drunken sources tell us Sandlar will play a confused lifeguard, son of a leading head-of-state and heir to billions, whose father dies under mysterious circumstances. The Sandlar character will become despondent which leads to zany antics and shenanigans. His mother (reportedly to be played by Sir Anthony Hopkins) remarries and Sandlar shows his displeasure by trying to have sex with her. The film will conclude with Sandlar engaged in a fart challenge to the death with Kevin Smith (playing himself).
Other upcoming Sandlar projects include:
“Gone With My Wind” in which Sandlar plays “a classy southern gentleman” with flatulence issues. The film concludes with Sandlar setting the city of Atlanta on fire with an enormous fart.
Also in the works is “Close Encounters with My Behind” in which Sandlar plays an alien character with an overlarge bottom. The film concludes with Sandlar setting North America on fire with an enormous fart.
Finally, “Titanic – My Big Bum” is in the works for late 2004. In this film, Sandlar plays a character with a fat butt who takes a cross-Atlantic cruise on a really big boat. The film concludes with Sandlar sinking the ship after setting it on fire with an enormous fart.
Clearly, there are more than a few Oscars in Adam’s future.
June 28, 2002
Oh my. I just did a search on Google. Apparently the Piddleville site is comes up with some frequency and, more alarming, this Burble page. Problem? Visitors ... and the place is a mess! Hopefully by the end of this long weekend we'll have it somewhat less dishevelled. Yes, I did say long weekend. In Canada, this will be a long weekend. We'll be celebrating something but we'll be buggered if we know what. Maybe it's a celebration that the G8 waste of time and money show is over.
Still hot. Very hot.
"How hot is it?"
It's so hot, I can't think of a single punchline to do it justice. Now THAT's damn hot.
Meanwhile, in a world of wonders, Pamie returns. Can such things be? Apparently so. And now ...
Time for the nightly snooze. As with last night, it will be a heated challenge ...
"How hot is it?"
It's so hot, I can't think of a single punchline to do it justice. Now THAT's damn hot.
Meanwhile, in a world of wonders, Pamie returns. Can such things be? Apparently so. And now ...
Time for the nightly snooze. As with last night, it will be a heated challenge ...
June 27, 2002
Wow. Where'd I go?
Well, I dunno but for this brief moment I'm back. Hot today. VERY hot. At least for this part of the world. 34.1 Celcius. Whatever that is in old time temperatures. How hot? Listen ... in the winter, the windows here stay closed to keep from freezing my ass off and to keep the furnace from running non-stop. Today, I had to keep the windows closed to keep the heat out.
You cannot win! Not in this life!
Anyway ... now I'm off to see if sleep is possible. No air conditioning here, baby.
Well, I dunno but for this brief moment I'm back. Hot today. VERY hot. At least for this part of the world. 34.1 Celcius. Whatever that is in old time temperatures. How hot? Listen ... in the winter, the windows here stay closed to keep from freezing my ass off and to keep the furnace from running non-stop. Today, I had to keep the windows closed to keep the heat out.
You cannot win! Not in this life!
Anyway ... now I'm off to see if sleep is possible. No air conditioning here, baby.
June 16, 2002
Major lacuna. Over a week without an entry. How did we survive? Now we're back and what do we discover? Big jpeg files! Sorry ... No way around that. Well, yes there is but I couldn't be bothered. But don't you think the story of Lechie is worth it?
June 8, 2002
June 4, 2002
It seems that whenever I have big ideas for changes to Piddleville, new sections and what not, they don't get much further than some file space on my computer before some other nonsense takes over my life and robs me of time, the thing the Web seems to feed on. So although I made the initial stabs at two new items, Another Day Without Brains and A Salute to Personal Living, both languish somewhere on my hard drive in a half-baked state.
I've also seen a number of movies recently that I haven't been able to scribble about yet and add to the Movie Room.
Hopefully, soon. Hopefully, soon.
I've also seen a number of movies recently that I haven't been able to scribble about yet and add to the Movie Room.
Hopefully, soon. Hopefully, soon.
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