Big Garbage Day

Today in Loyalist Township, where I work, it was Big Garbage Day. You know, where people are able to put pretty much any kind of crap they want out on the side of the road and the garbage guys will haul it away. What this means is that there is all kinds of fantastic stuff just sitting there, waiting to be pillaged. It is just as the old cliché goes – one person’s trash etc. etc.

I really had to restrain myself on a couple of occasions from pulling the car over and pawing through a pile or two. It is just so intriguing. And, not unlike a flea market or yard sale, you never know when a little effort will yield some great results. Ain’t no stuff like free stuff.

Of course I have no room in the apartment to store scrapmetal or only slightly damaged shelving. And I already have one road-couch with no space for another. But the desire is there. There is just something fascinating about other people’s stuff. Why on earth would someone throw out a perfectly good _____ (you fill in the blank). It offers insight into people. Kinda like watching what people buy at the grocery store. Or like that Simpson’s episode where Homer, Bart and Lisa go to the dump and find a box with what appears to be Homer’s head in the guise of Mr. Sparkle.
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Great stuff is to be found.

We live in a wasteful culture. Garbage archaeology makes perfect sense to me – you can learn a great deal about people by what they use and discard. Only downsides to the exercise : the smell, maggots, and potentially bears. Silly bears.

If you get right down to it, rummaging around in people’s trash is not all that different from what I do. In fact, I often get what other people just want rid of (and I think a fair bit of stuff in my archives is trash, but that is not for me to decide….yet). That little window into another person’s world is what is really attractive about my profession. Anyone who says they like archives because they like history is fibbing. If they say it is because they love electronic records I have to think they are damned liars – perhaps that is just my personal biases coming through (and of course I am making broad and sweeping statements here). It is the chance to read other people’s mail and/or diaries. That is why we do it. It is especially satisfying when you read the mail and then slap a big ol’ “RESTRICTED” stamp on the file. You are privy to the deepest darkest stuff. Oh yeah.
rgsc.

How I love the Amazing Race

As most of you know, I watch way too much tv. As some of you know I spend too much time online reading about tv (although I have cut back on it - I no longer read the forums which eat up soooo much time and are very very very very very repetitive. Repetitive. They are repetitive). Whenever I think it would be awesome to go and live in a shack in the wilderness and just read and grow a beard and stuff, the thought of what I would be missing on tv, among other things, brings me back down to reality.

So this is a Russian Nesting Doll-type post about the Amazing Race, the TWoP recap and the recapper.

After a dismal last season, this one is going off pretty well. Jerkwads, moaners and other annoying-types have slowly been eliminated, cool people have, by and large, stuck around, and things have been pretty interesting so far. Last night was a particularly wicked episode - it was two hours long and, among many other ups and downs, involved a fall while spelunking, a crazy desert car crash, and the biggest jerk on the show was beat and eliminated. Sweet, sweet Philimination.

What makes this show even more enjoyable is the ability to relive it through the exceedingly great Television Without Pity recaps [see sidebar for links]. That site is just so filled with snarky-goodness I just about can't stand it.

And the recapper for this show, also for Survivor among others, is the incomparable Miss Alli. To give you just a taste of the excellence she unleashes is this quote: "...he has apparently never seen the show and is not aware that race leads are like STDs -- they may flare up impressively from time to time, but generally, they fade and leave you with only a vaguely uncomfortable itch and your lingering resentment of the person who screwed you." Gold. Pure Gold.

Anyway, I should wrap this up since Lost is about to come on, but I thought I would give the blog a quick update since I hadn't posted in over a week. Shame on me. Damn you tv - I can almost feel it suck the hours right out of me with its warm glowing warming glow.
rgsc

Angry Laura

"Don't mess with me - I will screw you up!" 

"Those books are over due!" "Stop looking at porn on the computer!" "Not eating in the library!" "SHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"
Watch out for Miss Pallister. She is one tough librarian. She was finally able to tell the call centre to get bent and, today, starts her new job in the highschool library. I hope things go well. As I said to her the other night - dealing with jerk-ass kids can'tbe any worse than dealing with jerk-ass cellphone customers.



Heh. I will probably get my ass kicked for posting this image (seriously don't get her mad, she's tough) but it was the only one I had to test to see if "Hello" was working here at work(it isn't at home). It is.

And what else is a blog for if not posting stupid pictures, right mark?

A Post-St. Patrick Day, uh....Post

Another St. Patrick Day has come and gone and I must say it was a pretty good one. The day started a little slowly - work kinda screwed up the works, you know, so I it was well into the evening before my first drink. That came at a restaurant and while the first beer came normal, the second one was green. There is just something inherently wrong with green beer. Sure, it doesn't taste any different but it just ain't right. Nevertheless I quickly overcame my aversion and the green beer disappeared quickly enough.

After dinner it was off to the Tir Nan Og, the Irish Pub in Kingston, to meet with friends. Now, I figured it would be busy, but at 7:30 how busy could it be? Well, let me tell you, it was so busy that they had a heated tent in the street with kegs, food, and a waiting list (at least they were prepared with the tent and all, but holy crap). I was lucky number 387. They let people in as others left the bar and after 15 minutes there or so they called out the first number -- 205. Shee-it, I thought to myself. I only briefly talked to the people who were supposed to be inside on their cell phone so I really didn't get any details. So I stood there by myself waiting by myself, hoping that someone I knew came outside to see if I was there, not knowing if anyone was even still inside.

Thankfully, Ian popped his Guinness-hat-wearing head round the entrance and he came and waited with my, although it meant that he wouldn't be able to get in until my number was called. While they didn't call any numbers for quite a while, Ian and I had a good time talking to other folks stranded in the Tent O' Despair and he never missed an opportunity to harass the waitress with the megaphone who was announcing the numbers trying to talk his way in early. At about 9 we got in - about 50 numbers earlier than we should have -- they let a bunch of us go in out of turn much to our great delight.

Let me tell you, the wait was well worth it. It wasn't crazy-busy inside, but it was hopping. Lots o' good people; lots o' Guinness; lots o' great foot-stomping, make-you want to jig music. The band they had, The Crofters were absolutely fan-damn-tastic. They went on at noon and were going to close the place - a 14 hour set (with breaks). And they never stopped given'er the whole night. They have to be the hardest working band I have ever seen.

Since I needed to be at work today I left a little after midnight and stumbled home. Good times had by all, me thinks.
rgsc

Should have listened to Kenny Rogers

Friday night Laura and I were invited to dinner and poker at the home of one of Laura's work friends. I have played a tiny bit of poker online (never for money), and spent the majority my highschool friday nights listening to the death metal show on the local campus radio station making stupid requests and playing 5 card stud for pennies that went back into the communal can at the end of the night, but this was the first time I had ever played for real money (a whole $5 buy in).

Thankfully, there were other novices/complete beginners at the table, along with some seasoned players. I played conservatively at first, waiting for decent hands before making any big plays and in a little while I was collecting a respectable pile o' chips in front of me. Then came my undoing.

I flopped a pair of 8s, nothing special at all, but had four spades - if one more came on 4th street or the river (check out the lingo, pretty impressive, eh?) I would almost certainly win. So I started betting, and raising, until it was down to me and one of the pros. I had about half of my chips in the pot when the last card was dealt - decidedly not a spade. I should have listened to , Kenny, cut my losses and went on playing. My adversary, who was the chip leader, bet enough to make me go all in. While my brain said, "get out you fool!" my mouth said, "I'll see you." Stupid mouth. Needless to say, my 8s didn't cut it and my game was pretty much done - after bailing her out two or three times, Laura gave me a few chips out of her meager pot to keep me in the game - but by that time I pretty much just felt like Bunny and wanted the hell out of there. We'll get 'em next time. At least I hope I keep that experience, and those wise words of wisdom from The Gambler, when I am faced with such a situation.

As a postscript - the next night we were singing karaoke at my dad's place and I sang what was undoubtedly the most rousing version of that song ever sung...my loss fresh in mind made it all the more poignant.
rgsc

"I'm not dead"

"I'm not dead" 

"What?"
"Nothing. There's your ninepence."
"I'm not dead."
"'Ere, he says he's not dead."
"Yes he is."
"I'm not."
"He isn't."
"Well he will be soon..."

Ok, so what spurred on the little recitation of Monty Python was what I spent my day doing. As most of you know (or for those who happen to stumble onto this site somehow, who don't - hi Bridget) I work at a convent - an honest to goodness nunnery. Now, at this convent there are a number of sick nuns, a few of whom are getting sicker now that some sort of nasty flu virus is currently stomping through the infirmary.

In order to prepare for the inevitable, my boss, Sister G, suggested that we get a head start and start preparing. Preparing what, you ask - obituaries. So I spent the entire day writing the obituary of a woman a) that I don't know and, more importantly, that b), is not dead.

I think you will agree that this is rather strange way to spend a day. Even though this is to be used by the Archbishop and others after she does die (which might be tonight or in another ten years, it is not certain that she is going to keel over this minute, although chances are it will be sooner rather than later) I had a hard time writing in the past tense. She is after all still alive. But it does seem a bit silly to write the thing and then go back and edit it after she passes away.

I can't imagine how people can actually make a career out of writing obits for newspapers. It just feels rather morbid. I suppose it is natural that we want to be celebrated when we die, with much gnashing of teeth and beating of breast, and just a few teeny lies making us sound like heroes, but I imagine having someone who knew the person, ie who is not me do it might not be such a bad idea. Having a stranger write is seems a bit off. And more than a bit morbid for the writer who is not used to dealing with mortality.

Makes you think about the fragility of life or something. Or perhaps just Monty Python.
rgsc

Porkchop plots his next move

Subject: Porkchop (aka Snugglepus.)
Activites: Sleeping, Eating, Being a jerk, Sleeping, Snuggling.
Strengths: Biggest pudge north of the Mason-Dixon, devestating good looks.
Weaknesses: Treats, Ribbons, Rabbit-fur mice, eye-goop and boogers
Last known address: Basket on top of dresser.
Warning: Be aware of big eyes and weird meows - attacks follow.


Thanks to Selsine for the pic.

The first post : an equation

Well, although I have nothing of note to say, I now have a blog. The whole purpose even signing up was to comment on the extraordinarily stupid picture of me that Selsine posted on his blog.
Here is a lesson to take away from this:

red wine + digital camera + a willingness to post stupid photos = "Kingston is for Lovers"

Ugh. when will I learn not to mug for the camera or, if I am going to make stupid faces, make sure that I get a hold of the camera and delete all the incriminating photos before they make it online.

At least I still had my shirt on.

Watch out Mark - i too now have a blog.
rgsc.