Coffee's traumatic morning

Coffee just had her first visit to the vet -- at least, the first time since we became a family. The worst part was getting her there and back. She does not like the cat carrier (it's like a sports bag with mesh windows). She was breaking my heart with her crying on the way to the vet's (a five-minute ride from home), so I let her out of the carrier, but then the car ride was freaking her out. Luckily, she was not taking it out on me, she was in the back seat crying.
Inside the vet's office was okay. She didn't even feel the rabies needle. And she wasn't crazy about getting her nails clipped. I thought all women liked getting mannies.
Then, when she knew we were leaving and it was time to get back in the cat carrier, she hid behind some filing cabinets. The vet's assistant -- a lady of about 60 -- crawled on her hands and knees to get her out.
Coffee was pretty good on the way home, still crying a bit, but not minding the carrier all that much. But you should have seen her when we got inside and I opened the end of the carrier. ZIP!--Right to the litter box for a major dump!
She's now obviously back in her comfort zone, sleeping on the bed as I write this.
By the way, she's very healthy, although I'm supposed to switch her to a lower-calorie food for indoor cats, and only feed her about half the amount I do now. She weighs 4kg (which is just under nine pounds), but shouldn't get much heavier.
We don't have to go back for a year. On one hand, I hope she forgets about this time. On the other hand, I hope she remembers, and realizes it wasn't all that bad.
For my part, it appears that I'm not only a cat person, but a good Daddy, too.

Cancel the rest of the American Idol season

Just give the Archuleta kid the title.
Wonderful rendition of "Another Day in Paradise" and picked with a social conscience.
AND he was thirsty and had to pee! Imagine if he hadn't!

A significant day in our family

This beautiful young lady is the "baby" of the McIntyre family. Caitlin is the youngest grandchild/niece, and today, she turned 18 years old. She is headed to university this fall to become an elementary teacher.
As if her birthday isn't significant enough, there is added significance to March 1, 1990. That's the day my Dad ("Paw" to the grandchildren, including Little Bro Dan) quit smoking that same day. He went for a laser treatment that afternoon, about ten hours before Caitlin was born. In his words, the laser was probably bullshit. He decided that if he wanted to live long enough to see that little girl grow up, he had to quit smoking.
Cait and Paw have always had a special bond. It is eternal.
I love them both very much.

Time Travel??? WTF???

To say I'm disappointed with tonight's episode of LOST is an understatement. I mean, come ON!

I hate to see anyone fired...

...but John Paddock had to go!
Maybe now the Sens will actually make the playoffs. At this point, I'll just settle for a goal. It's been soooooooooooo long.

Some pics I took tonight.

They're self-explanatory. Okay, so I'm no Milky, but isn't one Milky enough? And don't forget, my camera's only worth about $400.

You try to help the environment...

...but sometimes ya gotta wonder if it's worth it.
I've dramatically cut down on my plastic bag consumption. I have bought three of those sturdy, reuseable bags. And whether it's a grocery store, pharmacy or department store, when I have only a few small items, I take them without a bag -- just the receipt, so I don't get nailed for shoplifting. Heck, I might even have to start buying kitchen-sized garbage bags!

But then, something happens like what happened tonight.
I went to Quizno's to get some supper. The weird-looking kid with all the hair shoved under his Quizno's hat started putting my sandwich in a bag, so I asked him not to. "Sure, Man," he says, hands me the sandwich, and puts the bag in the garbage can. I COULD HAVE DONE THAT!

Sheesh.

Pet peeves

1) Broadcasters (I'm talking to you, Bob Cole and Don Cherry) who pronounce Detroit with three syllables. It's dee-TROYT, you morons, not dee-TROY-it!

2) The same bee-atch who goes to all the same concerts I do, gets a seat in front of me, and puts on her own stand-up performance through the whole f**kin' show. Yo, b**ch, I didn't pay to watch you. So sit your ass down. Better yet, next time, buy a ticket to be on the floor!
I'll give you this: Last night at Rascal Flatts, you had the diva hand moves down pat.

Anyone care to add their own pet peeves?

I gots a cold

...and Ma Horton's cavortin' in Mexico, so I can't get some of her cyber Timmy's chicken soup and some now now there there.

Havin' a cold sucks rocks real hard.

Lotto - by popular demand

Okay, Maria, here are my numbers. Anyone else care to join?

6/49 Feb. 6
04 09 15 16 32 35

Super 7 Feb. 8
01 07 12 18 20 21 45
03 10 11 15 20 23 34
12 13 23 29 40 43 46

My TV series idea

I almost feel like a scab coming up with this idea, what with Hollywood writers being on strike and all, but American networks are apparently snapping up Canadian shows. So here goes:

I'll call it "Hell's Snow Angels". It's a gritty drama about a gang of snowmobilers terrorizing a small Northern Ontario town called North Weasel, trying to get the corner on the illegal market in coffee and doughnuts. They ride from town to town on their souped-up Ski-doos, with their Hell's Snow Angels crests embroidered across the backs of their snowmobile suits, and park their trail hogs in long lines outside coffee shops, which might be a front for illegal activity. The cops keep a close eye on them, but very rarely actually catch them doing anything unlawful.

The Angels also congregate at trailside clubhouses, where they do God knows what.

One particular cell of the Angels has a matriarch of sorts, a tough cookie (cruller?) named Ma. She rules the roost, and what she tells her "boys" to do, gets done.

I obviously have some polishing and fine tuning to do before I actually script a pilot and make arrangements to shoot it. Any ideas are welcome, and keep your eyes right here for a casting call.

I'm thinking of including a gay character whose snowmobile helmet is painted leopard print, and call him Pussy or Kitty or Tiger, or something like that. For a dash of class, I might partner him up with a European fella.

Of course, we need a comic foil, which I'm contemplating making a mouthy chick and her paramour with a goofy name like Popcorn or Radish. They'll be in charge of clubhouse security, and totally mess things up by choosing a couple of yappy little rat dawgs to guard the property from polar bears, instead of vicious Samoyeds raised on raw meat.

For the hot romantic scenes, perhaps a couple with Mediterranean roots, who ride their snow hogs all around the world, with their two kids in tow. Their oldest -- probably a boy -- will be more sophisticated than the rest, trying to rise above the life of crime and terrorism. In contrast, his younger sister will be a bit of a handful.

Reality will be added by the single mother of a very bright little guy. She's struggling with some demons, and trying to break free of the snowmobile gang lifestyle to make a good life for herself and the kid.

Hey! This is almost writing itself. We're almost ready to roll, Mr. DeMille.

LOST is found!

Great news today! If you miss a Thursday episode of "Lost" on CTV or ABC, you can catch it on Monday nights at 10:00 on A-Channel! For you bloglodytes who don't live in an A-Channel market, A-Channel Ottawa is Channel 209 on Bell Expressvu and 342 on Star Choice.
I'm extra excited, because it's a fantastic lead-in program to the 11pm newscast I produce on Monday nights. The rationale is that a strong program retains viewers for the newscast (or other program) that follows it. And we start a new ratings period next Thursday. Over the next six weeks, at least three of them are "hot", meaning people are filling out their diaries with what they're watching at any specific time. The more people who watch my newscast, the better.
Again: The Thursday episode of "Lost" is repeated on A-Channel on Monday at 10pm. This will also be handy for a second look, to pick up details you might have missed or misunderstood the first time around.

Urban Pedestrian, come back!

We miss you.
Well, I don't know about anyone else, but I do. Kinda.
The blogosphere just doesn't seem the same without you.

Seamus 'n Me

So I've moved into Milky's house to take care of it and Famous Seamus for a week.
He's a lovable mutt (Seamus, not Milky -- okay, Milky too) but what a neurotic suck (Seamus, not Milky). He danged well KNOWS that Milky and The Lovely Sue were making a getaway when they left with suitcases at about 4:30 this morning. He cried and whined for about an hour, before falling asleep on the bed next to me. Then the rest of the day until I left for work, he just moped around all depressed. He wouldn't play with me and his ball, the tennis ball that he always drops at my feet until I throw it or kick it, soaking my socks on the doggie drool.

I'm sure he'll feet better as the week wears on. Milky already e-mailed to ask how Seamus is doing, and I told a little white lie, that we're getting along famously. Actually, we are, it's just that Seamus isn't his friendly old self.

Some people around me find irony in the fact that I had to hire Phil's Cat-Sitting Service (the kid who lives in the apartment above mine) to take care of Coffee while I'm taking care of Seamus.

By the way, big thanks to Milky's neighbour Yves for pitching in, and stopping by to see Seamus while I'm at work. You see, he's not used to being left alone for any more than four or five hours at a time. I'm often away for eleven hours or more.

Look what I found!

So I'm trying to clean out my extra bedroom and part with an accumulation of junk from the past 20 years or so (next project: same thing in overpacked storage locker), and look what I found. N@ wrote me this letter in 1990, when she was a wee lass working part-time at the same radio station where I was news director, and had just announced my departure for TV.

First, the front of the envelope. Note the return address and the 39-cent stamp.

Now, the artwork on the back of the envelope.

And, the pièce de résistance, the letter.

The "Ronnie m'boy" reference is to the time I memo'd young Natalie (yeah, snail mail and memos -- this was 1990, after all) for coming off a BN newscast one night by thanking the newscaster by saying "Thanks, Ronnie m'boy".

I'm not sure whether I'll keep this. It could be a collector's item some day.

Reflective Feline

"Aw Jeez, not that crazy old guy and his cat again."
Hey, it's my blog, so get used to it!
This picture of Coffee The Prettiest Cat EVER was taken in my en suite bathroom. She is sitting on the corner of the bathtub, right up against the shower stall. It, by the way, is the largest walk-in shower I have ever seen.

Facebook brings 'em back from the dead

I'm not sure if there's any connection to Kitty's recent post about ghosts, but I had a strange experience yesterday.

There was a guy I knew in college. We weren't exactly close friends, because I thought he was a bit of a horse's ass -- which is saying something for broadcasting students!

I did, however, feel badly when I heard a few years after college that he had cancer. His brother played in the NHL and he himself was a Molson rep (so much for the two-year broadcasting diploma, eh?) and Hockey Night in Canada even did a feature on his battle with cancer. I could have sworn that I heard that he had died, but then yesterday, up he pops on my Facebook page, looking for me to be his friend. I accepted, but haven't sent him any messages yet.

How do you say "Geez, I thought you were dead"?

Real estate values in Blackburn Hamlet skyrocket overnight

And why? Beside the first-ever Tim Hortons in my part of Ottawa opened today!
A co-worker tells me that one just opened in her neighbourhood, too, in downtown Ottawa, the Bank St.-Somerset St. area.

Does it get any better? I don't think so.

Ma, I know that modesty leads you to deny having any influence, but we know better. Thank you, thank you, thank you.

Any story ideas?

It's a very slow day in Ottawa (In news, we never use the Q-word -- as in not noisy -- cuz it invariably causes the poop to hit the fan) and we need some story ideas.

Any suggestions? Use your imagination. Buehler? Buehler?

Market Media Mall is cursed

I'm really starting to believe that the building where I work is cursed.

You might remember my Christmas Eve post, recounting how one of our receptionists had been killed in a car accident on her way to work that morning. A week or so before that, another woman in our building was in a car accident that broke her back and hip; a co-worker's elderly mother fell and messed up one of her two replacement hips; and another co-worker's elderly mother and brother had a fire in their townhouse, and are still in hospital recovering.

Within the past week, another co-worker's elderly mother contracted pneumonia and was put into an induced coma to give her heart and respiratory system a rest from the titanic struggle they were going through. And then on Tuesday, yet another co-worker got a call from his homeland of Estonia, reporting the death of his father.

Some of us are ready to call in an exorcist or an aboriginal shaman to purify our building.

Is this ironic?

There's an online dictionary that I check almost every day, for its Word of the Day, or for the definition of any word I need. (Okay, so I'm a word nerd. Get over it. I have.)
Anyway, the word has not been changed in the last couple of weeks. It appears to be stuck on this:

sustain
Definition: (verb) to keep in existence or continue.

I think that's irony. I'll have to look it up.

Cancun, anyone?

Okay, so I'm booked March 28-April 4 at Occidental Grand Xcaret in Cancun.
Maria or anyone else: What do you know about Cancun, what's to see, what's the hotel like, etc.?

What ho, Guv'nah! Do you heah a fog horn?

I took this off my balcony at about 11:30 this morning. It was 6C at the time. If anything, it's even foggier now.

Prettiest Cat EVER

I finally got a shot without Coffee moving the split second I pushed the shutter button. My next mission: a pose of her sitting.



Ain't she purdy?

Trying to be like my hero, Milky

I took this last week at the cottage. It's a close-up of the stairs leading up to the deck at the front of the cottage. Kinda looks like a white Christmas tree, doesn't it?

I took some other pics that I might share with you. It's especially beautiful there in the winter when it's sunny, which it wasn't when my Dad and I plowed through waist-high snow to get to the cottage, about 100 ft. from the road. Of course, the next day was beautiful and bright!

Man Laws

Thanks to my buddy Chris for this -- kinda "The Men Commandments". Corn and Maria's Hubby would probably agree with my suggestion to add to #2 with "When she dings your car".

The International Council of Manlaws, Ltd.

1. Under no circumstances may two men share an umbrella.

2. It is OK for a man to cry ONLY under the following circumstances:
(a) When a heroic dog dies to save its master.
(b) The moment Angelina Jolie starts unbuttoning her Blouse.
(c) After wrecking your boss's car.
(d) When she is using her teeth.

3. Any Man who brings a camera to a bachelor party may be legally killed and eaten by his buddies.

4. Unless he murdered someone in your family, you must bail a friend out of jail within 12 hours.

5. If you've known a guy for more than 24 hours, his sister is off limits forever unless you actually marry her.

6. Moaning about the brand of free beer in a buddy's fridge is forbidden. However complain at will if the temperature is unsuitable.

7. No man shall ever be required to buy a birthday present for another man.

8. On a road trip, the strongest bladder determines pit stops, not the weakest.

9. When stumbling upon other guys watching a sporting event, you may ask the score of the game in progress, but you may never ask who's playing.

10. You may flatulate in front of a woman only after you have brought her to climax. If you trap her head under the covers for the purpose of flatulent entertainment, she's officially your girlfriend.

11. It is permissible to drink a fruity alcohol drink only when you're sunning on a tropical beach ... And it's delivered by a topless model and only when it's free.

12. Only in situations of moral and/or physical peril are you allowed to kick another guy in the nuts.

13. Unless you're in prison, never fight naked.

14. Friends don't let friends wear Speedos. Ever. Issue closed.

15. If a man's fly is down, that's his problem, you didn't see anything.

16. Women who claim they "love to watch sports" must be treated as spies until they demonstrate knowledge of the game and the ability to drink as much as the other sports watchers.

17. A man in the company of a hot, suggestively dressed woman must remain sober enough to fight.

18. Never hesitate to reach for the last beer or the last slice of pizza, but not both, that's just greedy.

19. If you compliment a guy on his six-pack, you'd better be talking about his choice of beer.

20. Never join your girlfriend or wife in discussing a friend of yours, except if she's withholding sex pending your response.

21. Phrases that may NOT be uttered to another man while lifting weights:
A) Yeah, Baby, Push it!
B) C'mon, give me one more! Harder!
C) Another set and we can hit the showers!

22. Never talk to a man in a bathroom unless you are on equal footing (I.e., both urinating, both waiting in line, etc.). For all other situations, an almost imperceptible nod is all the conversation you need.

23. Never allow a telephone conversation with a woman to go on longer than you are able to have sex with her. Keep a stopwatch by the phone. Hang up if necessary.

24. The morning after you and a girl who was formerly "just a friend" have carnal, drunken monkey sex, the fact that you're feeling weird and guilty is no reason for you not to nail each other again before the discussion occurs about what a big mistake it was.

25. It is acceptable for you to drive her car. It is not acceptable for her to drive yours.

26. Thou shalt not buy a car in the colours of brown, pink, lime green, orange or sky blue.

27. The girl who replies to the question "What do you want for Christmas?" with "If you loved me, you'd know what I want!" gets an Xbox. End of story.

28. There is no reason for guys to watch Ice Skating or Men's Gymnastics. Ever.

29. We've all heard about people having guts or balls. But do you really know the difference between them? In an effort to keep you informed, the definition of each is listed below:

"GUTS" is arriving home late after a night out with The guys, being assaulted by your wife with a broom, And having the guts to say, "are you still cleaning or are you flying somewhere?"

"BALLS" is coming home late after a night out with the guys smelling of perfume and beer, lipstick on your collar, slapping your wife on the ass and having the balls to say, "You're next!"


We hope this clears up any confusion,
The International Council of Manlaws, Ltd.

What's wrong with this picture?

Don't say "What picture?" -- it's a metaphor for "situation".

Picture this: I go out to get supper last night, and right in front of the building in which I work, a homeless panhandler wishes me happy new year. But to do it, he has to interrupt his cell phone conversation!!! WTF, people!

Yeah, yeah, I'm back

Got home shortly after midnight last night, thanks to a flight delay in Toronto and having to wait on the ground in Ottawa while another plane was moved away from our gate. Same thing happened when I came home from Dubai. Are there not enough gates at Ottawa International, or just a bunch of dunderheads assigning planes to them?
Then I was up early this morning, in order to do my weekly gig at the Royal Ottawa Hospital, where I volunteer in the café (think Tim Hortons without the drive-thru or apple fritters). So by the time I get off work in eight more hours, it will have been a long first day at work for 2008.
Coffee Cat was very happy to see her daddy last night. She ran around the apartment, jumped on and off the bed, and was even more lovable than ever.
So, what's new with me? Not much, other than Little Bro Dan and The Pretty Fiancée have decided that their wedding will be in April 2009, probably in the Bahamas. So knowing that, I'm going to book a one-week vacation somewhere in the Caribbean this April.

That's it from me for now. So, how're youse?

No Secret Santa gift yet...

Honest, Secret Santa, despite my potty mouth and potty keyboard on this and other blogs, I really HAVE been a good boy all year.
But here I am, two days after Secret Santa Day, and what have I got? Big, fat ZILCH.
Maybe you went down the wrong email chimney. Mine is the one at mcintyre_bob@hotmail.com . So lay it on me, Big Guy!

Love and hugs,
Newsguy Bob

P.S. Please hug Mrs. Secret Santa and the Secret Reindeer for me, even that arrogant "My nose glows" Secret Rudolph and Secret Bruno, the brown-nosed Secret Reindeer (for anyone who doesn't know, Bruno is the one right behind Rudolph. He has a hard time stopping).

R.I.P. Holly

It has been a week or so of bad news from a lot of people who work in our building. One suffered a broken back and hip in a car wreck; another is dealing with her mother having broken her hip; and yet another with his mother and older brother being severely hurt by smoke inhalation during a fire in their townhouse.

The big shocker came this morning. One of our receptionists was driving in to work from her home in Brockville, when a five-ton truck hit her little car, killing Holly. She was a long-time security guard in our building, who just moved in to the receptionist job a few months ago.

A sobering occurrence this Christmas Eve.

Rest in peace, Holly. We already miss you.

To anyone reading this, give your loved ones an extra hug today.

My annual Christmas card letter this year

Hey guys and gals…



My thanks to all those who have sent me emails this past year........



I must send my thanks to whoever sent me the one about rat sh*t in the

glue on envelopes because I now have to use a wet towel with every

envelope that needs sealing.



Also, I now have to scrub the top of every can I open for the same

reason.



I no longer have any savings because I gave them to a sick girl (Penny

Brown) who is about to die in the hospital for the 1,387,258th time.



I no longer have any money at all, but that will change once I receive

the $15,000 that Bill Gates/Microsoft and AOL are sending me for

participating in their special e-mail program .....



OR from the senior bank clerk in Nigeria who wants me to split $7

million with me for pretending to be a long lost relative of a customer

who died intestate.



I no longer worry about my soul because I have 363,214 angels looking

out for me, and St.Theresa's novena has granted my every wish.



I no longer use cancer-causing deodorants even though I smell like a

water buffalo on a hot day.



Thanks to you, I have learned that my prayers only get answered if I

forward e-mail to seven of my friends and make a wish within five

minutes.



Because of your concern I no longer drink Coca-Cola because it can

remove toilet stains.



I no longer can buy gas without taking someone along to watch the car to

prevent a serial killer crawling into the back seat when I'm filling up.



I no longer go to shopping malls because someone will drug me with a

perfume sample and rob me.



I no longer answer the phone because someone will ask me to dial a

number for which I will get a phone bill with calls to Jamaica, Uganda,

Singapore and Uzbekistan.



Thanks to you, I can't use anyone's toilet but mine because a big brown

African spider is lurking under the seat to cause me instant death when

it bites my bum.



And thanks to your great advice, I can't even pick up the $5.00 I found

dropped in the car park because it probably was placed there by a sex

molester waiting underneath my car to grab my leg.



Now, if you don't forward this to at least 144,000 people in the next 70

minutes, a large seagull with diarrhoea will land on your head at 5:00pm

this afternoon and the fleas from 12 mangy camels will infest your

backside, causing you to grow a hairy lump. I know this will occur,

because it actually happened to a friend of my next door neighbour's

ex-mother-in-law's second husband's cousin's beautician.



By the way....a South American scientist, after a lengthy study, has

discovered, that people with high intellegence but low IQ who have

infrequent sexual activity, always read their e-mails with their hand on

the mouse. Don't bother taking it off now, it's too late.



Have a great 2008 and keep emailing

Love and hugs as ever,
Bob

Anyone know of anyone driving from Ottawa to Iroquois Falls in the next four days?

So how dumb am I? Okay, a rhetorical question there, but bear with me.
First, I book the flight north for Boxing Day. Then I go out Christmas shopping, sucking up to Santa and Big Retail Business by going hog wild with big presents like housecoats, sweaters, goofy slippers (no moose or Homer Simpsons, but in that realm). How the H-E-Double Hockey Sticks do I pack all that crap?
So it looks like I'll find a box big enough, and put it on the bus. Thank Gawd the strike is over, and buses are running again north of North Bay.
Where's Scotty when you need him to beam something up for you?

Coffee the Scrabble-playing Cat

Okay, more Dubai photos

Welcome to my desert.
"He's got the Burj Al Arab in his hands..."

This one's for the guys. Notice how blue the water of the Arabian Gulf is?

Eating sushi at the Bamboo Lagoon in the Marriott Hotel. The first time I've ever been brave enough to eat sushi. Now I know what people mean when they say it's an acquired taste...
Have you had enough for now?

My eyeballs hurt

Oy! It's the morning after the CTVGlobemedia Christmas party. Why is my keyboard so damned loud?

I think I saw Mr. and Mrs. Milky at the party. I think he grabbed my ass -- not that I'm complaining.

On another topic: Coffee has been sneezing a lot the last couple of days. Should I be worried? I've only been a cat owner for six days. Am I becoming an obsessive dad?

Anybody seen Urban Pedestrian?

I haven't been able to get on to her blog the past couple days.

Where you at, Urb?

What's wrong with this picture?

Answer: It was taken in the desert. More accurately, it was taken at Arabian Ranches in Dubai.
Actually, there are a lot of Christmas decorations there, considering that the UAE is officially a Muslim country. The malls are all decked out -- and there are a lot of malls. Shopping is a national pastime in the UAE.
When I was shopping last Friday, I saw a Muslim guy dressed in a dishdash (the same thing I'm dressed in, in the Osama Bob Laden pic) buying an artificial Christmas tree and decorations to go with it. His very beautiful blonde significant other was also with him.

Camel Jockey Bob

This photo was obviously taken while I was on a desert safari in Dubai. It starts late in the afternoon with about an hour of dune bashing in Toyoto SUVs (I can't remember the name. It's not Range Rover, but something like that), ending up at a Bedouin type of camp set up in the desert, where you get to ride a camel for about 100 yards, then have a traditional dinner -- although one featured dish in the buffet was spaghetti bolognese.
I also got a henna tattoo of a scorpion, which the henna artist said is a good luck symbol for a man getting married. "With no tattoo, there is no marriage." She said the tattoo would last about a week, but after three days, it had faded away -- the same way my "Go Sens Go" henna tattoo did during the playoffs.

Osama Bob Laden

This is the first of my pics from Dubai. It was taken while I was on a desert safari last Wednesday night.

Scary, eh?

The debut of Coffee Cat

Isn't she beautiful? I adopted her today from the Ottawa Humane Society, she's 14 months old, and we've already bonded. When I'm at the computer, her favourite place is on top of my bed, which is right behind me, either just watching me or grabbing a catnap.

It's going to be nice to have some life around my apartment, other than me and my houseplants.

Wow! Talk about eventful times!

Okay, so I'm home safe and sound from Dubai, but my camera is being retarded, and I'm having a hell of a time downloading pictures.
I'm also suffering jetlag from the nine-hour time difference. I was exhausted last night, in bed by 10:15, and wide awake by 5:15. I know I will crash this evening, and hopefully, that will be the end of it.

Okay, eventful times since I got home, in reverse chronological order:

First, I am now the proud daddy of a 14-month-old female cat. I adopted her from the Ottawa Humane Society this afternoon. I'll post a pic when I can. She's all black, sleek body, with beautiful eyes. We have already bonded. Right now, she's still exploring her new home. GET THIS: Her name was and is COFFEE. I've already informed Ma Horton, and she seems pleased.

The big, momentous event: LITTLE BROTHER DAN GOT ENGAGED YESTERDAY!
He and Pretty Christine came to Ottawa for the weekend, to surprise his Mom on her birthday. Then yesterday, at Christine's folks' place in nearby Rockland, he proposed and gave her a ring. Thanks to today's snow storm, they're stranded here for a day, so we had lunch together, and Dan asked me to be his Best Man! No wedding plans are in place yet, but it will probably be somewhere in the Caribbean in the next year or so. As Dano told me last night, "Keep your sandals warmed up."

Proud of my Little Bro? Who? Me?

Hi from Dubai!

Sorry, no pics yet.
My arrival was delayed by 24 hours by a freakin' snowstorm on Thursday night, that made me miss my connection to Munich. So I had to stay overnight in Toronto (yuck!) at my own expense (Air Canada doesn't pay if the delay is weather-related). But I'm here safe and sound, chuckling at the irony of a snowstorm delaying my trip to a desert.
Yesterday, I took a double-decker bus tour of this fascinating city. Tomorrow, I'm going on a sunset desert safari, complete with camels and belly dancers, but not belly-dancing camels.
My hosts are the absolute best, setting up the ideal itinerary that isn't too ambitious, but hits the high points. After all, part of vay-kay is relaxation, too.
There's a swimming pool less than a five-minute walk from here. It's not used much this time of year, because the locals find the weather too cold, at 30C daytime, low 20s at night.

I'll check in again if and when I get a chance. Meanwhile, has anyone heard from Maria?

ow ow ow ow ow ow ow -- NOT!

So I'm back from the back-waxing and holy crap, I survived!
Nothin' to it. It really is just like getting a whole bunch of band-aids ripped off your skin. Of course, you feel it, but it's not that bad, and doesn't last long.

The benefit: My back is now as smooth as a baby's bum, just in time to wow the ladies on the beach in Dubai. And don't forget, there are more than just the head-to-toe-covered Muslim women. As my buddy Rick describes it, Dubai is a playground for the very rich British. It's their Florida.

Would I do the waxing thing again? Absolutely. What do I think of someone who wouldn't? Well, there's a five-letter word to describe them. It begins with a P and ends with an USSY.

I unintentionally made N@ pee her pants

First, for anyone who doesn't know: I cracked, and since sometime last week, I have been on facebook.
Next, I made the mistake of posting a goofy picture from high school on a facebook page about my high school. Already, my friend Doug and N@ have seen it and commented on it. They're both 15+ years younger than me, and neither of them went to Iroquois Falls Secondary School. So tighten your Depends, cuz here it is:

Doug said he would bet that the kid in the pic has a Dreamboat Annie T-shirt. I replied that I don't remember having the shirt, but I almost wore out the grooves on the Dreamboat Annie album, and now have it on CD, too.
N@ said "BWAAAAA----HAHAHAHAHAHAH PLEASE POST THIS ON YOUR BLOG! PLEASE PLEASE!!!! YOU MUST SHARE THE JOY!!! EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE"
The T-shirt actually says "Bob McIntyre for Student Council". It was towards the end of Grade 10, it was my first campaign, and it worked. I spent the next three years on Student Council, including one as vice-president and one as president (Ontario had Grade 13 back then). I also had posters all over the school, and my buddies all wore homemade buttons that said "Vote Bob". Hey, it was 1974 -- there was no such thing as Powerpoint presentations or promotional videos. I hand-lettered the T-shirt, the posters and the badges.
Alright, let's see YOUR embarrassing high school pictures on YOUR blogs.

I work with the greatest people

As a TV news producer, I supervise whatever crew I happen to be working with at any given time. On weekends, we are a skeleton staff. The small number of people that we have to produce four 30-minute shows would shock a lot of people in television (although the last couple of years that I worked in Timmins, the late night crew consisted of the anchor and an all-in-one producer/director/switcher/audio person/tape operator).

I call them my Weekend Dream Team, and for good reason. We do a great job, and put a super product on the air every week. We also have a lot of fun. The talk in the newsroom gets very risqué, to the point that I often think I should put an end to it. But everyone participates, and no one has complained. So I remind myself that although it kicks the crap out of "the line", it hasn't crossed it. Besides, when I started my job as weekend producer last January, I decided that if we had to work weekends, we were going to have fun.

I often gush about my Weekend Dream Team and the great job we do together. That pisses some people off, but if you knew those people, you would get a chuckle out of anything that pisses them off.

As a token of appreciation and because many of us are on days off when any little celebrations are held in the newsroom, I organized a Weekend Dream Team pizza party a couple of months ago. The company paid the tab, I rounded up a few prizes -- including a pair of Senators tickets -- and everyone said how much they enjoyed it.

And then, last night, the entire team totally surprised me after our 6pm newscast with what they called "The Bob McIntyre Appreciation Dinner" -- something they wanted to do before I go to Dubai, and leave them in the hands of another producer for two weekends. They had pizza, pop, salad and other goodies.

I was humbled and honoured. Every one of my team members told me how much they appreciate working with me, how I surpass any other producer they've worked with in every way, and how they actually look forward to working weekends. I was almost speechless -- a rarity in itself.

So let me acknowledge each of these people to my blog friends. Regardless of their actual jobs, there is no snobbery. Each one realizes the contribution each makes to our work environment, and to the on-air product that we're so proud of. I have verbally thanked each and every one of them for the wonderful gesture last night. And even though none of them know of this blog, I proudly list their names: Doug, Chris (a.k.a Jonesy), Ron, Kate, Brent, Taz, Dash, Jason (a.k.a. J-Mac) and Jeni.

We all know that we won't be together as The Weekend Dream Team forever, but I do cherish every one of these fine people, and always will cherish having worked with them.

Who's in for $17,000,000 ?

Tomorrow's Super Seven.

Here are my numbers:

06 16 22 23 26 36 42
07 11 19 23 28 44 47
01 05 09 16 21 33 35
Encore 0079389

If you want to kick in your three bucks worth, post your numbers here by 9pm tomorrow. A suggestion: I have signed my ticket in the signature spot, and just below, wrote the word "blog" to distinguish it from the other tickets that I have.

Good luck to us. Maybe I'll bring a planeload of blog friends to Dubai with me next week...

Body waxing

Maybe this is a question I should ask over on Urban Pedestrian's blog, but what is body waxing like?

I'm quite a hairy guy, especially considering that I'm not of Mediterranean descent. I don't mind hair anywhere else on my body, but I'm kind of self-conscious about my back hair. I have more hair on my back than a lot of guys have on their chests. In fact, one time I had allergy tests, with pin pricks on my back onto which were dropped little doses of possible allergens. The test didn't work, because of my back hair, so I had to get them done again on my arms.

Anyway, with my trip to Dubai coming up in nine days, I have made an appointment to have my back waxed for the first time ever. Just the back, nothing else, no bikini or Brazilian for me, thank you.

The woman who's going to do it told me to take two extra-strength Tylenols before I go, because it hurts. She says she'll do a small patch first, then I can decide whether to proceed. She actually asked me if I've ever seen The 40-Year-Old Virgin, and said it really hurts that much, like a huge band-aid being pulled off.

I'm not really worried. I've survived kidney stones, which I understand is the most painful experience next to childbirth -- which, fortunately, I'll never have to go through.

So fill me in with horror stories and any wisdom you can impart about body waxing.

Why do I get the feeling I just opened the door to an avalanche of smart-assed comments?

I work in a cool place

I'm sitting at the Assignment Desk in the A-Channel Ottawa News Centre. I just stood beside my chair for two minutes, to mark the 11 o'clock hour, while watching our live coverage of the national Remembrance Day service. Remembrance Day certainly seems more poignant to this Baby Boomer, witnessing and reporting on young men (and one woman) coming home in coffins, from what is arguably someone else's war.

What is really cool, however, is that our building is just a couple hundred yards east of Parliament Hill. If the Chateau Laurier wasn't in the way, we could see the Parliament Buildings from here. From the right vantage point in our parking lot, you can see the Peace Tower clock peeking over top the Chateau. Anyway, when the Air Force flypast portion of the ceremony took place, it was like Surround Sound in here, as the jets flew over our building. Cool on one hand, and on the other hand, another poignant reminder of the significance of Remembrance Day.

When I was in elementary and high school, November 11 was a school holiday. A few years after I graduated from high school, the holiday was removed, and kids began going to school on November 11 (if it is a weekday, of course), although some classes would attend the local ceremony. As I recall, it was the Royal Canadian Legion who promoted the idea of it not being a school holiday, because Remembrance Day should be a day to remember the freedom and democracy that our forces fought for, so that kids could go to school.

Lest we forget.

LEST WE FORGET

I will be pausing at 11:00 tomorrow morning, to say a silent "thank you" to any Canadian who has ever served in our military, for the one thing we take for granted everyday: Life as a free person.

Another rant about manners

Because of the time of day that I work, it usually falls on my shoulders to answer the phone in our newsroom. Let me tell you, a radio or TV newsroom attracts calls from all kinds of stupid, ignorant, ill-mannered people. It usually increases exponentially when the moon is full (a story for another time), or when a hockey game is on.

Tonight, we are airing the Washington-Ottawa NHL game. I just got a call from someone who wanted to talk to an engineer. I told him there's none here tonight, and he would have to call back tomorrow. So then he asked me if I noticed that the A-Channel logo (we call it a "bug") is always on the screen. I said yes. He said it gets in the way of watching the hockey game. I replied that I hadn't noticed that, and besides, it takes up such a small part of the screen. So then this jerk says "Well, how do I go about questioning someone's competence and ability?" My reply: "Well, if you're going to get insulting, forget it." Him: "Yeah, I am going to get insulting." Me: "Then forget it," and I hung up.

I've always exercised that approach. If someone is going to be polite and civil, I'll participate in a civil conversation. If they want to get abusive, I warn them that if they continue, I'll hang up. If the abuse continues, I hang up.

Again, what happened to common decency and respect???

Okay, who's in?

THIRTY-FIVE-MILLION DOLLARS in tomorrow's Lotto 6/49.
Maria, Kitty and I have been pooling tickets the last couple of draws. Anyone else who's interested, put down your three bucks for a quick pick plus Encore, Extra, or whatever it's called where you live.

Here's my contribution:

03 16 21 26 34 42

Encore 1913108

Good luck to us!

I'm worried about Doe-reen

You remember her. She's the dear deer who was frolicking in the field behind my place back in July, and I took this photo of her.

Okay, so the name just occurred to me today, but here's why: A couple of hours ago, a deer was hit and killed by an OCTranspo bus, not far from here. Word is that the driver was the only human on the bus, and the deer went through the passenger's side of the windshield, dying soon thereafter inside the bus.

Was it Doe-reen? I'll never know.

Why do I suddenly have a craving to fire up my barbecue and grill some venison?

HAPPY HALLOWEEN

...from Newsguy BOO!

Thanks, Ma. Yer da bestest

I just KNOW that you had something to do with making Blackburn Hamlet, where I live, a better place.
Construction is starting on the Hamlet's first Tim Hortons. Word is that it will be open in four weeks, which I believe, after seeing how fast several of them went up along the Highway 11 corridor a few years ago.

So thanks, Ma. Now do you think you can do something about getting us a beer store, or at least an LCBO that sells cold beer?

Mark's making me do this

My buddy Mark, who lurks here but has never commented, has shamed me into reporting that finally, after six months living in my new dee-luxe apartment, Canada Freakin' Post is delivering my mail here! Mark says it's only fair for a cranky old fart to report such things.

Anyway, all my bitching and moaning was for naught. The only reason the mail is finally being delivered here is because there is finally one layer of asphalt on the parking lot.

My MP's office wasn't a lot of help, either. After registering a complaint there, I got the phone call from Mr. Pisshead Bullshit, the Canada Post regional supervisor or whatever the hell his title is. I was not satisfied with his answers and let him know. Then, not hearing back from the MP's office as promised, I called again last week. The girl I originally dealt with wasn't there, so I had to talk to a guy who said he could look into a follow-up on the problem. But then HE was making excuses, and tried to tell me that Canada Post isn't really government. I reminded him that it's a Crown Corporation under contract to the federal government to fulfill every Canadian's right of mail delivery. He said he would try to go over Mr. Bullshit's head, but I could tell he had no intention of doing anything. Just wait and see if I ever vote for his boss, Conservative MP Royal Galipeau.

All that aside, I'm happy to finally be getting mail service. Time to move on to something else to bitch about, as a cranky old fart.

Desiderata

Go placidly amid the noise and haste,
and remember what peace there may be in silence.
As far as possible without surrender
be on good terms with all persons.
Speak your truth quietly and clearly;
and listen to others,
even the dull and the ignorant;
they too have their story.

Avoid loud and aggressive persons,
they are vexations to the spirit.
If you compare yourself with others,
you may become vain and bitter;
for always there will be greater and lesser persons than yourself.
Enjoy your achievements as well as your plans.


Keep interested in your own career, however humble;
it is a real possession in the changing fortunes of time.
Exercise caution in your business affairs;
for the world is full of trickery.
But let this not blind you to what virtue there is;
many persons strive for high ideals;
and everywhere life is full of heroism.


Be yourself.
Especially, do not feign affection.
Neither be cynical about love;
for in the face of all aridity and disenchantment
it is as perennial as the grass.


Take kindly the counsel of the years,
gracefully surrendering the things of youth.
Nurture strength of spirit to shield you in sudden misfortune.
But do not distress yourself with dark imaginings.
Many fears are born of fatigue and loneliness.
Beyond a wholesome discipline,
be gentle with yourself.


You are a child of the universe,
no less than the trees and the stars;
you have a right to be here.
And whether or not it is clear to you,
no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should.


Therefore be at peace with God,
whatever you conceive Him to be,
and whatever your labors and aspirations,
in the noisy confusion of life keep peace with your soul.


With all its sham, drudgery, and broken dreams,
it is still a beautiful world.
Be cheerful.
Strive to be happy.


Max Ehrmann, Desiderata, Copyright 1952.

Why is common courtesy surprising?

I was raised to respect everyone, regardless of sex, race, creed and anything else that makes people individuals. Sure, we learned a lot of jokes that you would consider racial and/or discriminatory, but we also learned that there's a time and a place, and no real malice should be intended.

We were also taught manners: please, thank you, may I be excused from the table?, and so on.

So why is it that when you display those good manners and do things like holding a door for someone, you are greeted with surprise, albeit pleasant surprise?

Case in point from today: I had an appointment for a tuberculosis test, in connection with some volunteer work I'm planning to do at a hospital. There was an accident on the Queensway, so I called from my cellphone, and left voicemail saying that I might be a bit late, and apologizing for it. When I did arrive about ten minutes late, the nurse who gave me the test immediately thanked me, expressing delight that someone would be so thoughtful. I hope it didn't show how surprised I was, that she would be so surprised.


Another time, when I was still living in Timmins, I met Little Bro Dan, his mom and sister at the mall ("The Square" as it's known locally -- official name, Timmins Square) after work one Friday night. The guy at New York Fries thought that both Dan and Chantal were my kids, and told me how mannerly they were, always saying please and thank you, and how rare it is in kids. Rather than the entire explanation that they weren't my kids, I just thanked him for saying so, and passed along the word to their mom, who was even prouder of them than I was.

Common courtesy and the Golden Rule: do unto others as you would have them do unto you. I guess it is a rare commodity. Sad.

Anybody into symbolism?

What does it mean when you're walking down the street at almost 2:30 in the afternoon, on your way to work, and you see a rat walking along the same sidewalk?

The colourful season is over

Yesterday: 26C and sunny. Today: Relentless rain and 11C. But for once, I did not waste the beautiful weather yesterday, and actually got off my ass and went for a walk with my camera.
Unfortunately, the autumn colours around Ottawa have passed their peak. But I did get this rather interesting photo that illustrates that. I guess there's no denying that winter is indeed on its way. This is Canada, after all. And being a native Northern Ontarian, I know how to cope with it. It beats the Hell on Earth happening in Southern California right now.
Have a good rest of the week.

Peoples is weird

Okay, singing a song slightly under your breath is one thing, but a woman I encountered in Dollarama today was trying to outdo Lionel Richie on "Say You, Say Me" which was playing throughout the store. Honestly, I heard her from one aisle over, this fairly sane-looking woman pushing a stroller. First thing I thought was what would Simon Cowell say? and the next was that subjecting her poor baby to that awful squawk is child abuse.


And yes, I sometimes shop at Dollarama, when quality is not an issue. All I was looking for was a cheap picture frame for this great pic of me, Little Bro Dan and Pretty Christine, that was taken at the 25th anniversary party for my sis and bro-in-law. Christine is the one on the left.

I take back what I said about Drew Carey

They're into Showcase Showdown #2 as I write this, and he's not bad at all. As usual, he laughs a bit too much and too heartily at his own jokes, but I think he'll do alright on The Price Is Right. Actually kind of refreshing from old Bob Barker.

I do wish, however, that he would lose the horn-rimmed glasses. Sure, it's part of his schtick, but he's beyond that now.

This is kinda disturbing... but I love it!

http://youtube.com/watch?v=zzkOW8tOZX4

A fellow weekend news producer at Citytv in Toronto sent me this link. The whole subject arose out of our Barrie station doing a story on hunting safety today, and our London story asking for the story, saying there are a lot of Elmer Fudds in that area, too. That led to me sharing my knowledge of the Elmer Fudd language tool available on Google.

Click on ‘Language Tools’ on the Google home page, then scroll down to the language list. There’s also “Bork, bork, bork!” and Klingon. Don’t ask how I discovered all of that.

I hope your weekend is vewwy, vewwy quiet. Heh-heh-heh-heh. Elmer Fudd RAWKS!

A Pox on Canada Post

...and may the fleas of a thousand camels infest your letter carrier's skivvies.

I have lived in this new building for almost six months now, and still, no mail delivery. I was so p.o.'d about it last week, I went to my MP's office. This morning, shortly before nine o'clock, I was awakened by a phone call from Canada Post (hey, I work until 11:30 tonight and have to be back in at 9:30 tomorrow morning, so I was still sleeping, okay?). This -- ahem -- gentleman tells me that he was at the building this morning, and still won't approve mail delivery, because the parking lot isn't paved yet. He goes on and on, telling me how under new legislation, if the letter carrier gets hurt, he could be sued, blah blah blah. I remind him that I have been living here for almost six months, and know of no one who has been hurt on the property, and how his answer is unacceptable. He replies that until the parking lot is paved or someone above him orders him to start delivery, it won't happen.

Good gawd, one of my neighbours on the ground floor uses a walker, and my next-door neighbour walks with a cane because of bad knees, and we all get into and out of the building fine. Mr. Canada Post A-hole says it's dangerous for a letter carrier to carry trays of mail into the building. TRAYS OF MAIL?!? There are twenty apartments in the entire building!

What's worse is that we don't simply have to go to the Shoppers Drug Mart about a kilometre away to get our mail. Because of the postal code we're in, we have to go to the Orleans post office, which is about five kilometres away.

I do agree with Mr. A-hole that it's about time the parking lot was paved. The tenants have been bitching to the landlord about that. In fact, I have left a message for the building manager this morning, after talking to Mr. A-hole. Regardless, I refuse to accept claims that it is unsafe for a poor little letter carrier.

The Canada Post attitude is stereotype government/crown corporation arrogance. Competition -- as impractical a concept as that is -- would certainly pull a few heads out of Canada Post arses.

In the meantime, I have now vented, and feel better for it. BUT I'M STILL NOT GETTING MY F**KING MAIL DELIVERED!

Seven things about me

My gawd, my life has been rather unremarkable. I come to this conclusion after being tagged by Kitty for this "Seven things about me" thingy, and trying to come up with a list. I've never shot a man just to watch him die; I've never climbed Mount Everest; and my name is not on the Stanley Cup. I'm slightly bashful about the list that I've come up with, but here goes:

1. I was on Reach for the Top in high school -- in Grade 11 and again in Grade 13. I was captain that last year, and we made it all the way to the national final representing Northern Ontario, before losing 340-315 to Manitoba. We were closing the gap during the final snapper questions, but ran out of time.

2. While in Grade 9, I was in our high school's production of Bye Bye Birdie. I had the most minor of the starring roles. I was Randolph McAfee, the 12-year-old brother of Kim McAfee of Sweetapple, Wisconsin, who was chosen to get one last kiss from Conrad Birdie, before he was inducted into the army. I could still sing then, because my voice hadn't completely changed.

3. The summer I was in college (1984), I had a total of eight jobs. The only full-time one was as maintenance man/painter/grass cutter at the sewage treatment plant in my home town of Iroquois Falls. Hey, it paid $6.04 an hour and all I could eat! (Ba-doom-boom!)

4.I hate canned peas. It's because when I was about three, I gagged on them and puked all over the supper table. My parents never made me eat them after that. I do, however, love fresh, uncooked peas right out of the pod.

5. I don't own any teddy bears at the moment. But when I was news director at CKGB/CFTI Radio in Timmins in the late 1980's, I spearheaded the project to put two teddy bears in every OPP cruiser between Timmins and Hearst, Chapleau and Matheson, and the radio station paid for them. Coincidentally, the first two kids to receive the bears were kids of friends of mine, when they were in a fairly serious car accident.

6. When I was 20, I sold real estate in Timmins and Iroquois Falls for about five months. Long story short, there was a definite credibility problem involved in a 20-year-old trying to sell homes to people in their 30s and 40s. From there, I went on to become a management trainer at two S.S. Kresge stores: first in Sudbury for about eight weeks, then Toronto for another six. After that, I got my first media job.

7. I am named after my maternal Uncle Bob and my paternal great-great-Uncle Tom. My full name is Robert Thomas McIntyre.

That's it. Try not to be too underwhelmed.

iPod advice, please

Okay, fellow Bloglodytes, time to help Newsguy out here.

I'm planning to buy a good MP3 player before going to Dubai, cuz I'm gonna be spending a lot of time in the air and in layovers in Munich, Frankfurt and Toronto. (iPod has become the generic name, like Kleenex, Xerox, Coke and aspirin, hasn't it?)
I've bought cheap ones in the past -- three times, I think -- in the 25-to-60-dollar range, and have finally learned that you only get what you pay for. So the advice of anyone who owns a good one is needed and appreciated, please.

Chuckle if you wish at some of my questions, but at Newsguy School I learned that the only stupid question is the one you don't ask. So here goes: If you buy an actual Apple iPod, you can still download music from a PC, right? Can I download some of the music I already have on my computer and/or from my extensive CD collection (the remastered Nelson Eddy and Jeannette McDonald collection is amazing!)?

A friend at work whom I plan to also consult says not to waste money on iPod, cuz you pay for the name, and some of the other models/generic brands are as good if not better. True?

Please, help out a Cyberpal here, will ya?

And if you live in Ontario and haven't voted yet, get off your arse before 9pm/8 Central time. I voted last week at an advance poll, cuz I'm working tonight as part of A-Channel's election coverage. If you don't vote, you can't bitch about the provincial government.

Big Brother (Orwell-style) is watching me!

First, Happy Thanksgiving. No, I did not have turkey dinner. Let's not go there, shall we?

I'm not sure if it's a product of now working for a much bigger company (CTVglobemedia), but all of a sudden late last week, the stupid net-nanny, WebSense, quit letting me post comments on blogs from any computer at work. Milky, are you having the same problem? Heck, it won't let me on to t's blog at all. Frustrating, especially when I have an especially clever comment, and can't use it! It's like bein' all spruced-up and splashing on the Aqua Velva, but no date except the inflatable lady who lives in my closet.

Well, we had a surprise party on Saturday night for my sister and brother-in-law's 25th wedding anniversary. My nieces, 17 and 20, did a great job of setting it all up and keeping it a total secret until their folks arrived. We had it at second cousin André's house. His super-organizer wife, Jen, gets a lot of credit for opening her home to us, and guiding Caitlin and Michelle along the path to party success.

Here's a couple pics I took. I'm waiting to get some from the girls. One of Michelle's friends was official photographer for the evening. The joke is that she's Asian, so you know the shots will all be good. I haven't seen any yet, but hear from sources that they are, indeed, well done.
Tomorrow is the actual date of Dale and Den's anniversary. They're leaving for Italy for ten days tomorrow night. (By the way, Dale is my sister; Den is short for Denis, my bro-in-law).
The party was wonderful. A super bonus for me is that Little Bro Dan and Pretty Christine dropped in for an hour or so. When I get the photo of the three of us, I'll share it. Man, I love those kids.

And, okay, here's why I didn't have turkey dinner: Dale was supposed to cook one yesterday, but was too tired from the party to cook, so we ordered pizza and wings instead. To be honest, I was a bit peeved, because if I had known sooner, I had been invited to Christine's parent's house for turkey, but declined, because I had already been invited to Dale's. However, Dale did not know of the other invitation. I'll survive -- I'm a tough old goat.

You Might Be A Part Of The Taliban If...

...You refine heroin for a living, but you have a moral objection to beer.

...You own a $300 machine gun and $5,000 rocket launcher, but you can't afford shoes.

...You have more wives than teeth.

...You think vests come in two styles: bullet-proof and suicide.

...You consider television dangerous, but routinely carry ammunition in your robe.

...You've ever been asked, "Does this burka make my ass look fat?"

...You were amazed to discover that cell phones have uses other than setting off roadside bombs.


Thanks to my buddy Chris for this. The answer to the burka question is "No, why don't you go to Giant Taliban and buy some bit of bum pads?"

Your next CANADIAN IDOL!

Okay, so one of the guys who delivered by new bed from Sleep Country Canada on Tuesday told me he tried out for Canadian Idol, but didn't make it past the producers, into the audition room with Sass, Zack, Jake and Farley. The producers told him he was too shy. He also thinks he chose the wrong song, because a lot of people sing Stand By Me (the movie of the same name, incidentally, is one of my all-time favourites).
He also told me he isn't in a band, but sings Karaoke a lot. Uh-oh! Should that set off alarm bells? You be the judge. Pepe also participated in a contest run by Tourism Ontario, singing its newest jingle. You can check it out and vote for him online: http://memelabs.com/ontariotourism/index.php?play=605&page=61&mode=recent
He says he'll try out for Idol again next year. I told him I would watch, because I now have a reason to, and haven't watched Canadian Idol, because I can't stand Ben Mulroney.
By the way, if you check out the link, you can vote for my new friend, too, and help him in the tourism jingle contest. He says a lot of people are voting for others, by using a lot of bogus email addresses.

Oh, one more thing: By the time you read this, it will likely be time to say "White rabbit". :)

Drum roll, please... NUMBER TWO-HUNDRED!

Thanks for joining me and being part of this momentous occasion in my teeny-tiny little corner of Cyberspace -- and thanks for the suggestions about what to post. I will use some of those suggestions, and ignore the rest of them, such as the photo of me wearing nothing but my Crocs.

THE PLATFORM SHOE INCIDENT
It was March, 1976. I had turned 18 about a month earlier, and was working at the Cinequois Theatre, the movie theatre in my hometown of Iroquois Falls. The Cinequois was owned by my best friend's Mom, and I was affectionately referred to as The Assistant Manager.
The previous summer, I had visited another friend who was working in Toronto for the summer, and bought the most bitchin' pair of platform shoes -- zippered boots, really -- with a two-inch sole and three-inch heel. They gave me extremely painful shin splints, but sure were cool, especially when I was also wearing elephant pants and puffy-sleeved shirts.
On this fateful night, I wore the boots to work at the theatre. During the nightly screening, it had rained outside, then the temperature dropped below freezing, leaving a nice coat of ice on the sidewalk. As I was leaving work, I slipped on the ice, fell forward, and braced my fall with my hands. The next day, my left wrist was extremely sore. So I went to see the doctor, and ended up in a cast from my fingertips to my elbow for a month, with my hand at a double-90-degree angle in the cast. I had broken a little bone in my wrist not much bigger than a fish bone.
I never wore those stupid shoes again.

Finally, to use one more suggestion from my Cyberfriends, here's a photo of moi on my second birthday -- February 8, 1960. Colour photography wasn't very common, good or affordable back then, but no, my father did not chisel this photo out of a stone tablet.

So that's it: Post #200. Kinda underwhelming, eh? For 201, I'll tell you about the kid who delivered my mattress today, and could be the next Canadian Idol.

What should I do for Post #200?

Yes, my next post will be number 200. So I'm looking for ideas on how it should reflect that milestone.

I like revelling in life's little accomplishments or achievements or acquisitions that to others might seem trivial. But hell, why not?

For instance, I'm awaiting delivery sometime in the next couple hours of a brand new bed, my first queen-sized bed (No, Kitty, it doesn't mean that at all). And in case you didn't notice, last week I was celebrating having booked my trip to Dubai. By the way, did I mention how jazzed I am about it?

So let's hear from you: What can I do to mark post number 200 on my blog?

I'm gonna be on the Interweb Thingy

I am featured in today's edition of "Inside A-Channel" on AChannel.ca/ottawa.
I'm producing tonight's 6:00 pm show, and our anchor, Sandra Blaikie, interviews me about what's coming up. It should be online by four o'clock.

Before you say anything, I'm having a bad hair day, hence the pouffy thing at the front (it's time for a haircut), and the red Senators T-Shirt is because our station observes Wear Red Friday every week, in honour of Canadian military personnel. Also, you'll see that the computer I'm working at has two monitors. The right-hand side one has the photo of me and my sibs.

Okay, watch away and comment away: I'm ready for it.

I'm the big bad wolf

I participated in something today that is, frankly, disturbing.

For a series called "Stranger Danger" which will run during fall ratings coming up next month, we at A-Channel in Ottawa asked parents to let us know if they wanted their children tested, to see if they knew how to respond to being approached by a stranger. The idea came from the disappearance of Cédrika Provencher in Québec last month.

Today, we tested two girls. I played the part of the stranger. I was equipped with a hidden camera and microphone. One of our ENG camera operators was using a camera hidden in the back of a van, while the reporter putting the series together used a mini-cam in the van, getting the mothers' reaction while each scenario unfolded.

In the first scenario, I was looking for Zoey, my lost dog, as ten-year-old Chelsea came walking down the street, on her way to school. I asked her if she had seen Zoey, and gave her a poster with Zoey's picture on it. Chelsea immediately started talking to me, calling for Zoey herself, telling me her name and where she lived. When I asked if she would come in my car to look for Zoey if I dropped her off at school, I could feel the wall go up between us. She kept walking towards school, and said if she saw my puppy, she would phone me.

In the second case, five-year-old Stephanie was brought to a park by her mom, who works part-time in a building on the edge of the park. After playing for a few minutes, Stephanie's mom told her she had to get something at the office, and she should sit on the bench and have some candies and water. After Mom walked away, I walked over to Stephanie, called her by name, and said I worked with her mom and she would like me to take her to her. With no hesitation, Stephanie started packing up her things and came with me. She wouldn't talk or hold my hand, but responded to all my questions with head gestures. When we reached the parking lot and the camera van, Mom opened the door and stepped out.

Each mom was shocked and upset, but kept repeating how glad she is to have participated in the exercise. It gives them a starting-off point to reinforce or expand on their warnings about stranger dangers.

Chelsea passed when it came to not getting into the car, although I could have easily dragged the little thing into the vehicle. Stephanie, as it turns out, did not talk to me, taking her mom's warnings literally.

Phase 2 happens in a couple weeks, when the kids will be tested again in different circumstances, and approached by a woman.

From my standpoint, it was an eye-opening, disturbing experience. It was too easy to engage the girls and get them to go along with what I was suggesting. I felt creepy but didn't realize how much the first case (Chelsea) rattled me until I tried to start the car. My hand was shaking so badly, I had to steady it with the other hand to put the key in the car's ignition.

I sincerely hope that when the series airs, it prompts families right across our viewing area to discuss stranger danger with their kids, in enough detail.

DUBAI, HERE I COME!

I am so jazzed. I just booked my flights to and from Dubai. I leave Nov. 22 and return Dec. 2. Und I land in Churmany on ze vay zere und ze vay beck -- Munich und Frankfurt, respectively.
Not bad for a guy who never left the continent until less than two years ago, huh? In fact, except for a couple quick trips to Michigan (as in a couple hours) and a hockey tournament or two in New Yawk State, I had never left Canada. And by "leaving the continent", I mean once to Cuba and once to the Dominican Republic.
Have I mentioned that I am so jazzed?
Work is being very co-operative, too. Of course, I can't go until after fall ratings, the final day of which is the day before I leave, but Boss Peter said book the trip, and we'll make it work.
Have I mentioned that I am so jazzed?
I intend to fill my one-gigabyte memory stick on my new camera. If you think Kitty posted a lot of his vacation pictures, all I can say is "Hah!"
Have I mentioned that I am so jazzed?
Okay, bloglodytes, start envying in three... two... one... NOW!

Household Hints from Bob

Today's episode: Cleaning those nasty Crocs -- the fun rubber shoes that anyone who is anyone is wearing. After all, they come in a veritable kaleidoscope of bright, fun colours.

Glad you could join us on this sunny September day. We hope you had a great weekend.

Y'know, it doesn't take much for a really excellent idea to cross over to the fourth dimension known as [fast, dramatic violin riff in reverb] The Urrrrrbbbbbaaaaannnnn Mythhhhhhhhh.

Today's tip comes from that dimension... and is pulled back to Reality. I know you've heard that Ethel's mother's best friend's niece's twins' kindergarten teacher sent a note home, demanding that the twins' dirty Crocs be cleaned, before she would allow them back into the story circle. Teacher's suggestion: Put the dirty little buggers in the dishwasher -- oh my goodness, I mean the Crocs, not the twins! Heavens to Mercy!

"Pishtosh!" you exclaim. "The dishwasher??? Tsk, tsk. The dishwasher is meant exclusively for dishes, and seeing as you wouldn't eat out of the Crocs, they don't qualify. How trailer park!"

Well, someone has their nose much too high in the air, now, don't they, hmmmm?

That's where the crack research staff at Household Hints from Bob comes in, as usual, to put the theory-slash-myth to the test and -- pardon the vulgar sound of this -- de-bunk it.

So we put our favourite pair of red and black Ottawa Senators Crocs in the dishwasher with the usual stuff that goes in there, and set the dishwasher to run in the wee small hours. After all, we must all do our part to conserve energy and protect this great planet of ours, so that we can continue offering Household Hints from Bob for generations to come.

Drum roll, please, as morning arrives and we open the dishwasher... [brrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr (drum roll effect -- you can come up with better?), [BING!(cymbal crash)] ...and my stars, it worked! They're so brand-new shiny clean, we would eat out of them before the twins put them on their grubby little feet and smear toe jam in them again.

There you have it, another urban myth dragged back into the third dimension, joining the Household Hints from Bob Household Hints Hall of Fame!

Join us next time, for the episode we like to call "Get rid of that deep-seated belly button lint, without going to the garage to get the extra heavy duty shopvac".

Thanks for joining us. Have a great day, and may you get your next goose long before Christmas Day! Buh-byeeeeeee.

Clean out your lint traps!

There's no joke here. It's a word of caution that I hope you'll help spread around.
My second cousin and his wife, who live in a house across the road from our cottage, have lost their beautiful home to a fire, caused by a blocked lint trap on their clothes dryer. Luckily, they woke up at 1:00 a.m. (I'm not sure, but probably from a smoke detector) and got out of the burning house with the proverbial clothes on their backs.
At first, it was thought that the house was just gutted, and could be restored. But on the phone tonight, my Dad told me that once they could inspect it, they learned that it has to be torn down and totally replaced.
I've heard of this before, and hope you keep your lint trap cleaned out. It doesn't stop at the screen that traps most of the lint from each load, either. Get in behind it with your vacuum cleaner on a regular basis. It's surprising how much lint gets past the screen. It builds up and eventually catches fire.
One time that I heard of such a thing was at a fire that I covered in Timmins as a videographer. Damage was very minor that time, because it was one o'clock in the afternoon in an urban residential area -- not one o'clock in the morning, in a rural area some ten kilometres from the nearest fire hall. Anyway, the lady in that house neglected her lint trap, and it caught fire, killing her cat. The fire chief told me that when cats sense fire, they hide -- under a bed, in this instance. And because a cat's lungs are so small, it takes very little smoke inhalation to kill it.

So please, check that lint trap regularly, and go deeper than getting the lint out between loads.

My weekend at Lac du Cerf

The weather was beautiful, and the company was great -- even if some of the young people were drinking beer and smoking dope before breakfast. Oh well, they are family, and not my responsibility. Every family has a little bit of white trash, doesn't it?

Here's a pic of Zoey, my dogniece who I sometimes babysit, and who ate the poopy diaper and licked the peepot. Hey, maybe the white trash got her stoned, and she had the munchies! Isn't she pretty?

Speaking of pretty, check out these two beauties. Claire and Caitlin are five months old, the daughters of my second cousin Charlie, and his wife, Trish. They also have an almost-three-year-old son, Carter, who's quite the little cutie, too.
I learned from Claire Bear and Caity Cait that I'm too old to be a Daddy, but I'm going to be an awesome surrogate Grandpa to Little Bro Dan's eventual kids. Yep, old Uncle Bob has the touch. I rocked Claire to sleep twice, and Caitlin once. Of course, I do have that effect on women of all ages.
We had a lot of laughs and ate a lot of great food this past weekend. I only wish this stupid sinus infection for which I'm now on antibiotics hadn't made me feel like crap. I had three beers all weekend -- between Friday night and Monday afternoon!

Has anyone seen my damned camera cable?

I'm jonesin' here to start posting pics from my weekend, but I can't find the stupid cable. It can't have gone too far -- this is only a two-bedroom apartment, and I usually keep all that junk on or in my desk.

ARRRRRRGGGGGGHHHHHH!

Catholics, please pray to St. Anthony for me. It used to work for my best buddy's Mom, when she had misplaced something.

Any other suggestions for finding it?