insert witty title here

I happened to see "Million Dollar Baby" on Friday night. If you haven't seen it, I'd recommend that you do - but bring a hankerchief to wipe your teary eye at the end.

I have to give Clint Eastwood a thumbs up for choosing to grow old gracefully and play a character his own age. Most of the older Hollywood actors have a difficult time accepting the fact that an on-screen romance between a seventy year-old man and some bubbly ingenue is too much of a stretch for the common person: remember Robert Redford in "The Horse Whisperer"? his gnarly old liver-spotted hands caressing Kristen Scott Thomas'...

and speaking of old. I see that Tom Selleck is sixty years old today. Happy birthday Tom, you old fart! When they finally have that Magnum PI reunion show, Tom's gonna have to get himself to those crime scenes with a cherry-red able-walker instead of the Ferrari.

Not that I should talk. With an eleven year age difference between Honey and me, I'll be seventy years old when she's fifty-nine. And while I expect that we'll still be just as passionate during sex, the question comin' out of my mouth as I smack her on the ass won't be "Who's your Daddy?", it'll be "Who's your Granddaddy?"

Master of His Domain

OTTAWA (Reuters) - A Canadian who masturbated at a window in his house won his appeal against a conviction for indecency on Thursday after Canada's top court ruled there was no evidence of intent to commit an indecent act, and a home was not a public place.

The Supreme Court of Canada noted that British Columbian, Daryl Clark, had agreed it was an indecent act to have masturbated "in an illuminated room near an uncovered window visible to neighbors." ...

...Clark was convicted of an indecent act in a public place and given a four-month sentence after a prosecution that followed complaints from his neighbor, named in court documents only as Mrs. S.

The woman said she spotted Clark while she was watching television with her two young daughters in their family room.

She alerted her husband, and the couple observed Clark from their darkened bedroom for 10 or 15 minutes -- also using binoculars and a telescope -- before summoning the police, who said the upper part of Clark's body was visible from just below the navel.

So this woman and her husband were peeping at this guy, who was floggin' his bishop in his living room (and apparently enjoying the view out his window at the same time) and were so offended at what they were spying on, that after fifteen minutes of watching him they called the cops and had him charged and convicted??

At least the story is refreshing in that the idiocy of the original conviction was eventually overturned by a judge with some common frickin' sense.

Mr. and Mrs. Umbrageous probably went on to complain about someone else because they didn't like what they heard or saw - and the concept of simply turning the dial, closing the curtain, changing the channel or not buying that magazine was beyond their self-centered "everyone is here to accomodate me" attitude.

It's the 60th anniversary of the Soviet liberation of the Nazi's largest death camp: Auschwitz-Birkenau. Conservative calculations put the total number killed there at 1.1 million (the commandant of the camp, Rudolph Hoss, said that he thought the number was closer to 3 million).

I recommend taking at look at this website: An Auschwitz Alphabet

An open letter to the Iraqi People:

You are living a moment that will be remembered for generations. A time when Islamic people had the opportunity to choose a destiny for themselves, rather than have one forced upon them.

There are those who would deny you this moment, who would place their own narrow vision before the needs of your community. These people have no compunction against murdering their neighbours if it serves their purpose, because to them fellow Muslims are just so much chaff to be brushed aside in the pursuit of their own hateful goals.

It takes courage to stand up to those people. The simple courage of encouraging your children to desire a better world for their children, of walking to the polling station, of saying "No!" to those who would try to deny you the most basic human rights the Qu'ran speaks of.

I understand that you have a very difficult task before you and that you endure many pressures to not rise to that challenge. It takes courage to confront the negative vision of your enemies with a positive vision of your own.

But I have faith that you can do this, that you can show the world what true courage is. When the time comes to make that choice, to choose between casting your vote or living in fear, remember Sûrah ar Ra'd 13.11:

"God will never change the status of any community unless they change themselves".

Thank you

Self Worth

It's a subject I've been giving a lot of thought to lately: where it stems from...how it influences our relationships...if it's a blessing or a curse.

I think that the value we assign ourselves has a direct effect on both the general satisfaction we have with our lives, and on the success of our interpersonal relationships. When we possess an honest and healthy view of ourselves, that positive outlook is reflected in other aspects of our lives.

But what if our self-worth is unrealistic? If it's too high we come across as conceited and if it's too low we're considered self-effacing. Opposite ends of the same bell curve, they share the potential to skew our outlook and curdle our lives.

For myself, I've often been told that I don't give myself enough credit. That I fail to recognize the positive attributes in my character or physical appearance that are so apparent to others. Having been told this often, I'm prepared to concede that my low self-worth may be the cause behind my myopia.

And that leads me to the question of how does one change their self-worth? Is it simply a matter of making the declaration that you are more valuable and then repeating it often enough that you start to believe it? If so, how do you define where realistic self-assessment ends and wishful thinking begins?

I've encountered many people whose high self-assessment had nothing in common with the actual quality of their character - and going through life deluding myself holds no appeal, so I can't say that I agree with that as a tactic.

I honestly don't know the answer, but I do know that I have a responsibility to myself and to my loved ones to figure it out.

Is it just me, or do other people get the impression that the music video for the song Over and Over (again) is about Nelly and Tim McGraw singing about their homosexual love affair?

More evidence for why the filter on the gene pool is in dire need of a good cleaning.


Terrifying attack called hate crime

Tampa police arrest five people accused of shouting racial slurs and attacking a couple who complained about a loud party at an apartment.

Joshua MacGeorge, 23, lives in Apartment 8 - three doors down from Colclough, who lives in Apartment 11. MacGeorge is charged with burglary of an occupied dwelling and felony battery, jail records show. According to the Florida Department of Law Enforcement, this is his first arrest in Florida.

Police say he has a Nazi symbol tattooed on the left side of his neck.

Melissa Ann Smith, 25, lives in Apartment 10. She is charged with burglary, felony battery and aggravated assault with a deadly weapon. Police say she threw beer bottles at Colclough. This is Smith's first arrest in Florida, according to the FDLE.

Crystal Lynn Swain, 20, and her husband, Michael Allen Swain, 27, live in Apartment 9. Both are charged with burglary of an occupied dwelling and misdemeanor battery.

FDLE records show that Crystal Swain has been arrested several times since 2000 on charges ranging from domestic battery to aggravated assault with a deadly weapon. In 2003, she was sentenced to two years' probation after pleading guilty to fleeing from police at high speeds.

The fifth person charged, Ralph Sherman Parr, 20, lives in Tampa, according to a police report. He is charged with burglary of an occupied dwelling. FDLE records show he was arrested in Tampa on Jan. 1 and charged with domestic battery.

This weblog bills itself as "The Dullest Blog in the World"

And here I was thinking that I had that distinction...

There were just too many bizarre news items to choose from today...

Woman Gives Birth to Giant Baby

A woman in northeastern Brazil has given birth to a boy weighing 16.7 pounds. Ouch.

Man Holds Up Sex Shop, Steals Inflatable Doll

A pistol-wielding man stole female leather bondage gear and an inflatable sex doll from an erotica store in Milan Wednesday. Apparently the doll suffered a small prick in its bottom but was otherwise fine.

Wife's sex with woman starts fight, Man excluded from trio, then kicked out

A wife who had sex with another woman, but refused to let her husband join them, was arrested after assaulting and kicking him out of the house Saturday. Now that's just mean.

On the news this morning the Canadian Cancer society announced that studies show that one in three Canadians will get cancer.

One in three is scary. That's three of the nine people in my work section. That's twenty-three thousand people in the community of Chilliwack.

That's one of my kids.

Now it's an alarmist statistic designed to raise awareness and pressure the gvernment for funding, much like the way stats are juggled to show that a murder happens every minute, but it does raise the question of why are we as a society complacently accepting this as some sort of inevitability?

If we can happily empty our wallets for some soggy banana farmers in Indonesia, why can't we do the same for an issue that will directly affect us - if it hasn't already? Where are the high-profile movie stars answering phones so that little Johnny Leukemia can see his tenth birthday?

For that matter, where's the government's off-the-cuff four hundred million dollar contribution to AIDS research?

I think it's all well and good that we've all banded together to assist the casualties of the tsunami, but what about the people in Sudan? They're just as hungry as they were before December 27th.

Perhaps our innately charitable nature is offset by the uncharitable way in which we choose which of our neighbours we are going to help.

There, I'm done my little rant.

On a totally unrelated topic, Nicole has a quiz that she volunteered me to take. I'm not normally a quizzy fellow, but I did post my responses in the comment section of her weblog.

Now this is cool!




Darth Tater

If you were given conclusive evidence today that there is no afterlife, that when you die you're gone for good (no reincarnation, no heaven, no 47 virgins), would you live your life any differently?

When you sit on the toilet in a public restroom and the seat is still warm from the last person in there, do you get the heebiejeebies or do you just try not to think about it?

Of course, based on the hundreds of women I've known in my life, no female ever allows any part of their rear end to actually touch a public toilet seat - which makes me wonder why women's restrooms don't just consist of a hole in the floor and a railing to brace themselves with.

And why do we call them restrooms anyway? Who the hell goes in there to rest? Have you ever known anyone to say "Geez, I'm tired and my feet hurt from walking all day...I could really use a nice comfy public toilet to relax in"?

And then there's that older euphemism: the Comfort Station. Discomfort Station would be closer to the truth....especially after eating that greasy Taco Bell burrito.

Personally, I think we need little more honesty in our lives: It's a toilet. But if you're really shy about using such bold language, then call it the Public Pooper, the Graffitti Room, or the George Michael Lounge.

LONDON (AFP) - Plans to broadcast a London musical that features a nappy-wearing Jesus who admits he is "a bit gay", have sparked a record 5,500 complaints, a television watchdog said.

The BBC nevertheless vowed to go ahead with its plan to show "Jerry Springer The Opera", based on the controversial US talk show and which is still playing to packed houses in the West End of London.

The opera contains a total of 3,168 "f"-words and 297 "c"-words. The expletive-laden songs include Pregnant By A Transsexual and Here Come The Hookers.

British media regulator Ofcom said it had received 5,500 complaints about the plan to broadcast the show, which is due to be screened on Saturday as the centrepiece of Jerry Springer Night on BBC2.

Now it seems to me that while this opera might be rather tacky, it's still an expression of free speech and it needs to be respected with the same vigour that we respect televangilism. Otherwise we run the risk of becoming self-appointed moral watchdogs, defining what's right and wrong based on our own narrow perspective.

And that's the road that led to book burning and anti-miscegentation laws.

In my opinion, growth and maturity come from being challenged, not from a life of routine comfort. Of course, not everyone wants to grow and mature...many people just want the credit for it without having to actually earn it.

So if you feel that your values are challenged by some actor dressed as Jesus in a diaper, then perhaps your focus shouldn't be on complaining about it. Perhaps your focus should be a little more inward-directed to understand why your faith is so insecure that you're threatened by the idea of Jesus singing "Here Come The Hookers"

(reprinted from the online edition of the New Yorker)

Russell Jones is a forty-four-year-old art director who lives in Park Slope, Brooklyn. In the early winter of 1996, he and his wife began to receive some unusual phone calls late at night. They would pick up the receiver and a voice would shout “Yo, Dirty!” or just “Dirteee!” and then hang up. Jones was mystified; he thought that maybe his number had been written down in a bathroom stall somewhere. A few weeks later, Jones’s young cousin, who was conversant in hip-hop, stopped by.

“You know that rapper Ol’ Dirty Bastard?"

“Uh, not really.”

“His real name is Russell Jones. That’s why you get those calls.”

“No way. It can’t be.”

It was. Russell Jones, a.k.a. Ol’ Dirty Bastard, had just left the group Wu-Tang Clan and had a hit song called “Brooklyn Zoo.” He called himself Ol’ Dirty Bastard because “there ain’t no father to his style”—a distinctive combination of song and rap. Something of a folk hero, O.D.B. would occasionally return to his old Brooklyn neighborhood, East New York, and hand out money on the streets. He also got into a lot of trouble—an assault charge, a bullet in the stomach. His fans would dial information and ask for the number of Russell Jones in Brooklyn. They’d get the wrong Russell Jones, the one who describes himself as “meek” and “white.”

The conversations often unfolded this way:

“Yo, Ol’ Dirty?”

“No, this is not Ol’ Dirty, but you have reached Russell Jones.”

“Oh, are you going to see him later?”

The callers always assumed that Jones would somehow run into O.D.B., even after he said he couldn’t rap. Most refused to believe him. “Where you at? I’m gonna come over and hang out with you,” they’d say. “Trust me, you’ll be very disappointed when you see me,” Jones would reply. He thought about getting an unlisted number, but, as a freelance illustrator, he needed to be in the book. If he hung up on the callers, they just called back. Eventually, he decided to enjoy the fruits of mistaken identity. There were the drunken admirers from Denmark and the little girl who wanted to do a school report about O.D.B. and his accomplishments. The most frequent calls were from young women who expressed a desire to break into the music business.

Like a bad French movie, Jones’s life began to intersect with O.D.B.’s in other ways. He learned that O.D.B.’s mother lived on a nearby street, and that he and O.D.B. belonged to the same video store. Jones really didn’t mind the notoriety of being paired with the self-destructive rapper. After all, he was much better off than his brother Tom Jones. “His life in the seventies was a living hell.”

Jones began to notice a pattern in the calls. There would be a few weeks of calm, and then the phone would start ringing five or six times a night. When this happened, Jones would say to his wife, “I think the O.D.B. did something.” During these years, O.D.B. seemingly couldn’t finish a day without getting arrested and thrown in jail. His incarceration did not stop the fans from dialling. “Ol’ Dirty is in prison!” “Yeah, I know. It’s harsh.” Even people who should know where to find O.D.B. began to have trouble tracking him down. Vibe wanted to send a limousine to the house. And then there was a call from a tuba-voiced man:

“This is Method.” Methane? Methadone? “Yo, Rusty, how you been, we need to get together.”

“I’m Russell Jones but not who you think I am.”

A pause. “O.K., well, tell my man to call me.”

After further protestations, Jones took down the number. Later, he learned that he had been talking to the hip-hop artist Method Man.

Of late, O.D.B. had been making a comeback. Two months ago, he was recording new songs and had finished shooting a reality TV show (in which a contestant had to stay within ten feet of him for a week) when he collapsed in a recording studio and died. He had overdosed on cocaine and painkillers. When the news broke, Jones took calls from distraught fans: “He was amazing. He was original.” Eric, a self-described rapper from the West Coast, phoned twice: “When you see the family, extend my condolences.” Jones thought about going to the funeral, but decided against it.

Over the years of answering these calls, Jones often wondered how the Dirty Bastard was doing. One day, he ran into him on the street. “It was an incredible moment,” Jones recalled. “There was this guy with mini-dreads who had his shirt off. He was wearing cutoff overalls and Timberland boots without socks. He was lurching around with these huge wide steps. You could tell he was a star. You couldn’t take your eyes off him. He had charisma. And I said to myself, ‘That’s Russell Jones. That’s the O.D.B.’”

I get a kick out of this: There was this guy with mini-dreads who had his shirt off. He was wearing cutoff overalls and Timberland boots without socks. He was lurching around with these huge wide steps. You could tell he was a star.

Because if there's one look that stars are going for, it's the coked out rastafarian look. As a matter of fact, didn't I see Britney wearing the same outfit at the music awards?

A bumper sticker for the girl who has everything...





Courtesy of Prankplace dot Com

Perhaps it’s a symptom of my incipient curmudgeonhood, but I'm ready to ascribe two modern inventions to Lucifer: the motion-activated paper towel dispenser and the touchless faucet.

Of the two, the touchless faucet is the most irritating.

I approach the touchless faucet with a certain level of skepticism as I invariably end up looking like a mime on crack as I make my futile hand-washing motions underneath a bone-dry faucet that refuses to disgorge even one measly drop of water for my embarrassed efforts.

Then to add insult to injury, I'm forced to flail my hands at the wall-mounted motion-activated paper towel dispenser like some drunken magician trying to conjure up his dignity.

I can understand the logic behind these contraptions, but the fact is that I’d rather risk a germ or two than have to submit to looking like I suffer from the delirium tremens as I frantically wave my hands in front of my face.

Being from Canada, I get some good-natured teasing about what folks here refer to as my "accent". To the Southern ear, Canadians apparently say oot and aboot instead of out and about. So in deference to everyone, the following post is in Southern:

Tuhday Honey aynd ah raynted tew a them viddy-ohs ait Blockbuster an' speynt mowst uv t'day snugglin' an' watchin' movies. Ah'm flahn back t'Canada own Munday so this here's th'layst day fer us tew spen' alown t'gether since shay's wurkin' t'morra.

We watched th' beginnin' uv Troy (starrin' thayt gah Brayd Pitt) buht haid to cut it short so's we culd taik evey'one t'suppuh ait a lowcul seafood raystohrahnt. Ah haid th' frahd catfish, sum hushpuppies an' a bayked p'tater.

Ah'm not lookin' forrd t'flahn back t'Canada an' leavun Honey an' her chald heah cuz ah know ah'm gon miss'm morn'a horntoad misses muud.

Buht, ah'm trahn not t'thank ABOUT it.

(with thanks to Ichthophilia dot Com for the link)

This story bothers me on so many levels...

Suitcase stolen with girl inside

A Russian couple that tried to avoid buying a train ticket for their daughter by putting her in a suitcase were caught out when the case was stolen. The parents of the young girl from Vitebsk admitted they had not been paying attention to the case when they stopped off for a “few drinks” after arriving at a Moscow train station, reported Pravda. Police later found the girl, aged three, wandering the streets lost. The crooks had taken her out of the case and left her behind - but kept the case.

Is there anything more annoying that having a head cold? (I mean, outside of losing your entire family to a tsunami or having one of these swim up your pee-hole?)

My sinus cavities have been clogged with mucus for five days now and I'm getting a little tired of it.

Not that it's stopping me, but it's extremely difficult to orally pleasure someone when you can't breath through your nose.

Woman Wants to Cleanse Colons in Her Home

LOGAN, Utah - A woman is fighting the City Council in Providence to issue her a permit to run a colon-cleansing service out of her home.

Colon hydrotherapy is a licensed procedure in other states, but in Utah is considered only a homeopathic method. Colette Yates says she has invested two years and roughly $40,000 on her home business, which focuses on removing waste from the large intestine by injecting water into the colon, where it loosens and softens waste. The water is injected through the rectum...

...Yates said commissioners are wary because they're not familiar with the procedure, though she provided them with detailed videos and literature...

..."I feel it's a modality not unlike massage therapy or dermatology procedures that are already going on in this area," Yates told commissioners. "It's world-renowned, and people are doing it everywhere ... but it's relatively new to Cache Valley."...

..."I've helped people who've gone to doctors that said, 'We can't do anything else for you,'" Yates said. "They walk in to me so bent over and so sick that they can't function, and I'm able to help them with that."...

Commissioners questioned Yates on how she would safely monitor the water pressure in clients (observing pressure gauges with automatic shut-off) and how she would dispose of waste (a closed plumbing system flushes it into the sewer).

I can't resist...

(to the tune of Rawhide!)

Rollin' Rollin' Rollin'
Keep that colon blowin'
Keep them turdies flowin'
Inside!

Squirt it in, Blow 'em out.
Blow 'em out, move 'em on.
Move 'em on, Flush 'em down.
Inside!

Don't try to understand 'em.
Just squirt 'n blow 'n and grab 'em.
Soon we'll be feelin' mighty fine.
My rectum's palpalatin',
my colon's washed and waitin',
cuz I'm flushin' out my innards from inside!

Squirt it in, Blow 'em out.
Blow 'em out, move 'em on.
Move 'em on, Flush 'em down.
Inside!

To start the new year off right, I offer Christopher's Guide to Your 2005 Horoscope

Aries: You'll start the new year off with an optimistic outlook but by the time you're arrested for tax fraud in May, things won't seem so rosy. Romance is highlighted for the summer months as you become quite close to your new cellmate. However October's stars predict a sudden downturn in your health when he trades you to the Aryan Brotherhood for three cartons of menthol Kools.

Taurus: Your experiment in auto-erotic asphixiation go astray as you throttle yourself into unconsiousness and end up being discovered by a troop of girl guides. National humiliation follows.

Gemini: The sign of the Twins manifests itself as you succumb to the early stages of multiple personality disorder. After being arrested for punching yourself in the nose, you spend June and July in a padded cell, looking forward to jello every Thursday. But by September you're on the mend, except no one wants to hire you and you owe thousands of dollars in medical bills. It's a shame all those extra people in your head can't get jobs but whaddya gonna do?

Cancer: All of those years of carrying that nagging suspicion that you were a victim of a conspiracy bear fruit as you discover that they really are out to get you.

Leo: 2005 brings big changes for Leo as you are finally approved for that sex change operation. Once under the knife however, the surgeon goofs and accidently removes your bladder thereby requiring you to carry your pee around in a little baggie for the rest of your life. Oops.

Virgo: Travel is highlighted when you are mistaken for someone important and kidnapped. Your assailants realize their mistake when no one responds to their ransom demands. They leave you blindfolded and gagged in Montana, where you're discovered by a local group of rabid survivalists. Far from being rescued, you're forced to act as their prey as they hunt you through the woods for sport. Better brush up on those people skills.

Libra: Sorry about your prostate.

Scorpio: January brings no changes to your love life but February's winter chill really amplifies your lonliness. Springtime brings love to everyone but you and the hot summer months of June, July and August find you sitting alone in your apartment in your underwear. By October you'll have hung yourself from your shower curtain rod, but you won't be discovered until Christmas Eve when a crackhead breaks into your apartment and steals the ring off your bony finger.

Sagittarius: Guess who's coming to dinner? Faster than you can spell botulism, those New Year's Eve clams you just "had to have" are filling your lower gastrointestinal tract with enough bacteria to kill a rhino. February through to December will be a drug-induced haze shrouded in hospital gauze as all of your internal organs are removed.

Capricorn: Your confidence receives a much-needed boost when you get those breast implants in January. Unfortunately the cold snap in February freezes them solid and you end up back as an A-cup by March. Unable to afford a new pair, your attempt to try a "do-it-yourself" home surgery with two ziploc bags and some salt water goes horribly awry. You might want to hang on to the receipts for all those bikinis you purchased.

Aquarius: Adventure is in the air when you win an all-expenses paid trip to Alaska, only to be raped by a grizzly bear.

Pisces: After contracting flesh-eating disease in February, you find a new lease on life as the world's only legless stand-up comic. Fame and accolades follow, but by September you lose it all to a cheap floozie named Myrtle and spend the Christmas holidays working as an embittered doorstop at Sears.