Hope to add some pictures tomorrow of the massive amount of snow that has descended upon the ol’ homestead. Haven’t started shovelling it yet; it won’t stop falling from the sky!
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Roll 2d10 if you cast a “Resurrection” spell: I can’t blame Gary Gygax for what happened during my adolescence, but I can thank him for some of the fun bits. I had so much fun playing Dungeons & Dragons as a kid, and I am convinced that fooling around with logic puzzles, tables full of statistics, and struggling with the concept of how to model human behaviour with a collection of strange shaped dice was far from the worst way my best friend, my brothers and I could have spent those forever summers when we were fifteen. Dude: tough roll, but that was one wicked character. TSN is reporting tonight that the Saskatchewan Roughriders have traded last year’s Most Outstanding Player in the CFL, quarterback Kerry Joseph, to the Toronto Argonauts. That trade is a little weird from a couple of perspectives. Who trades the reigning Most Outstanding Player? Secondly, the Boatmen just finished resolving a quarterback controversy last year, when Michael Bishop (apparently permanently) inherited the reins of the Argonaut offence from All-Time-All-World-All-Star Damon Allen, who seemed to finally succumb to the laws of the universe and began showing his age. Result? Seems to me that the Boatmen have a logjam in the pivot position again. Meanwhile, the new Tiger Cats GM Bob O’Billovich has been quietly making a number of signings and trades – receivers, receivers, defensive backs and a running back. So far, I am impressed – but a little disappointed that defensive back Dwight Anderson has been released – Spouse and I bought Ticats jerseys late last year, and Spouse couldn’t decide between Richie Williams’ number and Anderson’s 28. I made the executive decision that it was poor form to purchase the third string quarterback’s jersey, so the order went in for an Anderson. I am convinced the Cats are going to be a better team this year. Whether or not they make the playoffs, I think, has more to do with how improved Montreal is over last year. The improvement in Montreal is probably most highly dependent on Anthony Calvillo’s situation – he left the team late last year because his wife was seriously ill. The first time Spouse wore it to a game, he promptly got involved in an on-field donnybrook with some Saskatchewan Roughriders, got thrown out of the game and following a confrontation with the Head Coach Charlie Taafe, was let go. Update: Spouse points out to me that I’m an idiot – Anderson wore number 20 – Lumsden is #28. Good thing she’s around to identify my idiocy. Spouse and I made a quick – well it was supposed to be quick – trip to the mall this afternoon; her wedding band and engagement ring have been suffering mightily, we believe from the riding Spouse does, and our mission was to deliver the subject jewellery for repair. The staff at the store had a good deal of uncertainty as to how to fill out the appropriate forms, which resulted in a much longer visit to the jewellery store than we had wanted or needed (I am trying to get some work done for tomorrow, and didn’t need an extended sojourn in some crappy mall jewellery store). Complicating the transaction was the head jewellery store lady’s involvement with two folks who came into the store before our business could be completed; it seemed to me that the woman was trying to buy a watch for the fellow I assumed to be her husband. Lucky hubby was a VERY picky fellow, though, and needed to be shown approximately 678 different watches, and moreover needed the competing and contrasting features of each timepiece explained to him in minute detail. His indecision and the consequent delay of our transaction, I have to admit, was getting me a little cranky. We left grumbling a bit about the sixty bucks the repairs were likely to cost us. We resolved never to return to that jeweller after these repairs have been completed. Then we went downstairs for a food court lunch, though, and burger seemed to brighten my mood somewhat, as prophesied by Mike. We popped into Gymboree to get some fun clothes for a friend’s soon-to-be-arriving baby. The sign outside the store said, “Baby Sale $10” and Spouse told the clerk we would like to purchase a child. The clerk laughed and (probably) lied to us when we asked her how many times she had heard that joke before. A little while later, I pointed to a nearby display of submarine and octopus emblazoned underwear and inquired whether they were available in a Men’s 40. The clerk laughed again and we walked out of there quite pleased to have purchased six and a half square centimetres of fabric for sixty-five bucks plus tax. See what customer service can do for you, retailers of North America? Unrelated snippets that have me scratching my head right now: First, according to an article in the Walrus, some cities in the Netherlands are removing traffic control signs, lane markers and other commonplace road safety measures because, apparently, the lack of appropriate signage and safety measures has been found to actually promote safer driving conduct. Evidently, people – when confronted with an obviously dangerous and frightening driving environment totally bereft of safety makers and control signage – have a tendency to behave rationally and make generally safer operating choices that are more likely to enhance their own chances of survival, with the result that traffic-related fatalities have plummeted in such areas. Second, according to an article in Sports Illustrated, the 32 most proficient marksmen in the United States military are held back from combat. In other words, these soldiers are just proficient enough at firing their weapons to be prevented from firing at things that soldiers generally try to hit. Third, although there is an appalling shortage of family physicians in many areas of this country – a country in which we enjoy universal health care – there are apparently enough doctors in the United States (a country in which a large percentage of the population can’t afford health care coverage at all) that some of them are apparently busy studying whether robot dogs can relieve the boredom and loneliness of geriatric patients as well as real dogs. Are we so in danger of running low on real dogs that we need to spend valuable medical resources on developing robot substitutes? I was in Toronto today attending a work-related educational conference. When the lunch break came, I decided I needed to pop outside for a bit of fresh air to clear my head. The conference was taking place in the area of City Hall, so I wandered down to Nathan Phillips and watched the skaters gliding around the ice for a bit while I enjoyed a “World’s Best” Hot Dog – you can find them right next to the “Best in Toronto” Hot Dogs, logical inconsistencies notwithstanding. Before returning to the lecture hall, I popped into the public bathroom. As I turned the corner heading into the washroom – always a bit of a scary moment, if only for hygiene-related reasons, when the public lavatory in question is located in a busy urban area – I overheard the following conversation: Homeless Guy With Head Wound That Was Obviously Bleeding Profusely Not So Long Ago: “…see, but I’m not. I’m not suicidal. I’m homicidal.” Concerned Looking Homeless Guy: “Yeah, the cops told me to get down and I didn’t get down, and then they beat the shit out of me.” H.G.W.H.W.T.W.O.B.P.N.S.A: “Fuckin’ ay.” It occurred to me that maybe I ought to wait and use the bathroom at the conference facility. I happened to check the stats for the site earlier today, ’cause I’m like that. One area of my little WordPress dashboard stats screen caught my attention, the area showing what terms people were searching on when they landed here at HiR:tb. Here’s a screen cap:
Announcing today, the First Annual HiR:tb Saskatchewan Roughriders Poetry Contest. Entries may assume any lyrical or poetic form; your creativity should know no bounds in this matter. Send us your haikus, your limericks, your sonnets and couplets; gather together your spondees, trochees and whatever pentameter you can scrape together, be it iambic or otherwise, and bend all of these elements to your noble purpose: the celebration of anything related to the Saskatchewan Roughriders. Difficulty: No rhyming the word “Regina”. I’m trying to keep this place relatively clean-like. I will arbitrarily set a deadline for entries – let’s say entries must be received no later than March 10th, 2008 – and I’ll pick a winner in whatever capricious manner I can dream up. There might even be some kind of a lame prize, if I feel sufficiently moved by your Roughrider Rhapsodies. Email your entries here. Come on gang, let’s not disappoint the troubled soul searching for a “Saskatchewan Roughriders Poem”. Quickly, as I have much work to accomplish this evening and little motivation with which to do it: On the way home from work tonight, I saw a sign that announced, “CHILD BOUNCER PARTY“. I immediately had visions of an enormous man with multiple piercings and several threatening tattoos evicting eight year-olds – unruly after a surfeit of grape juice – from the local tavern. Alternatively, I thought, perhaps the sign foretold of a gathering of aspiring juvenile door staff, kind of like Junior Achievement for the hospitality industry. I rejected as too violent a third possibility, one that involved my imagined revelers dribbling six-year olds around the room with cocktails in hand. Whatever the sign really means, I can’t imagine it’s nearly as much fun. I received notification from WordPress today that a new user had registered with this blog: “Free Porn.” So that should be good news for y’all. |
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