Shameless Self-Promotion



You see that little grey box just to the right? There, just below the links to my email... Yeah, that's the one! Well, for those of you who have been wondering what that is, let me tell you...



That is a genuine blog belonging to someone that I have never met, nor am I ever likely to meet. In fact, odds are, I've never even heard of that particular blog before, let alone read it. Never the less, there it sits, proudly displayed for all my loyal reader (note the humorous use of the singular "reader") to see. Why, you might ask, would a seemingly random blog (for that is what I've labeled it) be displayed, nay, touted as noteworthy in the sidebar of "Musings"? Well, it's quite simple, really... I'm a BlogSnob.



Easy now... It's not as bad as it sounds. Although I would probably have come up with a better name for the idea, it is a great idea, regardless. And here's how it works...



Now that I have joined the ranks of BlogSnobs (BlogSnobbers?) world-wide, each time my blog is viewed, two things happen. First, the blog of another BlogSnob member is advertised on my page (Remember that little grey box I was talking about? Good. Just making sure I hadn't lost you). And second, my blog is advertised on the page of another member. Simple, no? In this way, people such as yourself are presented with the chance to expand your Blog horizons while tireless Bloggers such as myself get the chance to attract new readers.



So, now that you're done reading this boring Blog (there's better stuff to come, I promise), why not click on that one to your right and see what it's all about? What's that? It doesn't look interesting to you? Well, just keep refreshing this page until you see one that does! Meanwhile, I'll be here trying to think of something clever for next time... Wish me luck!

%@&#$!



I'm in a bad mood. In fact, I'd have to describe my current attitude as foul. At this very moment, my keyboard is taking quite a beating, I can assure you. I can feel the pulsing in my neck, my brow is furrowed, and my teeth are clenched. My brain is scrambling around in tight little frustrated circles...



This is me when I'm pissed off.



The worst thing about feeling this way has to be the underlying helplessness of the moment. I can analyze how I'm feeling, I can understand how I'm feeling, I can even paint a vivid little picture of how I'm feeling... But I can't stop it. I can't break out of this funk, no matter how hard I try. What's up with that, anyway?!? Am I not master of my own mind? Should I not be able to flip my mental middle finger at that which annoys me and be done with it?



Apparently not.



So, I play a little Unreal Tournament to ease the tension and take my mind off things... You'd think that spraying rocket fire around like Silly String to the chants of "Double Kill!" and "Multi Kill!" would take the edge off. But, it turns out that virtual violent bloodshed in outer space isn't an effective method of anger management. All I've done is add a less-than-healthy dose of adrenaline to the mix. Looks like my imaginary shrink was right again...



Then I try to write a blog, but everything comes out sounding bitchy (What's that? You hadn't noticed?). Four times I log into Blogger, get two sentences in, and close the window. Four more times I relaunch Explorer, only to glare at Google, becoming more and more irked by that stupid "I'm Feeling Lucky" button... Twice I get up from my computer, then sit right back down again. More teeth clenching, more brow furrowing... I'm a prisoner and my anger is my prison cell.



It's 11 o'clock at night and I should go to bed. Of course, if I do, I'll just lay there staring at the ceiling until the streetlights make taunting little faces out of the stipple. Then I'll grab a book, read three pages, realize I can't remember a single thing from the last three pages, and put it down again.



Toss, turn, re-adjust pillow...



Before long I'd be right back here at the computer, suffering my tension by its eerie glow. So, I might as well skip a few steps and just stay here until this passes, right? I better go put on some coffee... But before I do, I guess I should end the suspense. You want to know what's got me so riled up? Would you like me to tell you what's got my knickers in a knot? My computer... of course.



AAARRRGGGHHHH!!!

Oh, the agony...



I once read somewhere that women don't remember the pain of childbirth. Supposedly, this is nature's way of ensuring that they will go through the whole process again and our dominant species will continue to pillage and plunder its way across the face of this great blue marble. Nifty little trick, don't you think?



Well, just the other day, as I sat at my tiny little desk in my tiny little office, suffering the effects of the previous night's alcohol-induced escapades and wondering why I put myself through this torture, it hit me. Maybe Mother Nature doesn't reserve this "Now you remember it, now you don't" routine for our life-givers, our childbearers... Perhaps she also smiles upon this hapless imbiber of spirits, allowing me to revel in my stupidity, free of the fear of what the morning will bring. Blocked from my mind are the hours spent in head-pounding agony as my body shivers uncontrollably from what must be my insides attempting to become my outsides... Gone, too, are the memories of the waves of nausea that banish all thoughts of food, bring me to my knees, and leave me as weak as a kitten. Most of all, completely forgotten are my countless past pledges to "never drink again".



Not that I don't remember ever having a hangover, mind you. But even as I write about the terrible trials and tribulations brought on by a night of excess, I feel a certain detachment. I know I suffered these things, but I don't remember the actual suffering to be all that bad. Interesting... Perhaps there is more to this connection with bringing a child into the world...



Most certainly, hangovers and childbirth share similar origins as both begin with very pleasurable and exciting events. These events tend to make the participants lose themselves in the moment with much giggling, funny faces, and proclamations of, "I love you". Quite often, people will even achieve new levels of boldness, saying or doing things they would normally be too embarrassed to consider. And, ultimately, the end arrives with an uncontrollable and undeniable urge to sleep. It should be noted, however, that one of these events is traditionally shared between two people, while the other can involve as many people as the venue will support. Which is which would depend upon your lifestyle, I suppose...



Now, here is where the differences begin to surface. Although both will spend some time huddled over a toilet bowl, an expecting mother has the better part of nine months to prepare for her big day, while the drunk has mere hours... hours which are typically spent sleeping instead of preparing. The mom-to-be is out taking Lamaze classes, eating healthy, and arranging which hospital to use. The drunk, on the other hand, is drooling away his last few ounces of moisture in a bed that tips and spins like some evil carnival ride, without a single thought for how to deal with what awaits him. She enters childbirth with excitement and anticipation, surrounded by loved ones. He awakens to find himself already in the midst of his personal hell, with no one there to make it better.



And, when all is said and done, Mom will be pampered and loved. She will be told to rest. Gifts and flowers will be lavished upon her, as will words of congratulations. As for our other guy, well... He'll have to drag his dying body out of bed and off to work. There, he'll not only have to endure the longest hours of his life, but also all the ridicule and mocking his co-workers can throw at him. Still, just as the memory of childbirth will fade, so will the memory of his pain. And they are both likely to go through the whole thing again...



So, in the end, is there a "bigger connection" between childbirth and hangovers as this blog would seem to suggest? Have I stumbled across some greater truth that will bridge the gap between the sexes? I don't think so. As a matter of fact, if this blog proves anything, it's this: Drinking kills brain cells.

The Price of a Freebie



My thumbs are sore. Now, that wouldn't be too shocking if I was some cross-eyed, ambidextrous carpenter with masochistic tendencies (don't laugh, I'm pretty sure I saw it on Jerry Springer), but I'm not. Nor am I one of the millions of PlayStation, Nintendo, and XBox junkies who feverishly rub, slide, and grind their opposable digits across ergonomic but unforgiving gamepads day and night. No, I'm just a simple Canadian boy who, if you haven't heard by now, has a thing for coffee. And, thanks to that, my thumbs are sore.



For those of you who are Canadian, you may already see where I am going with this. You may even share my pain... For those of you who aren't from The Great White North, or those of you who, in an attempt to keep those old stereotypes alive, have been living in an igloo, let me start at the beginning and introduce you to a little place called Tim Horton's.



Just as our friends to the south in the good ol' US of A have Starbuck's (you know, that little coffee shop that you can find on every corner in every town?), we have Tim Horton's. Of course, you won't find "tall", "grande", or "venti" on the menu... I'm afraid you'll have to settled for small, medium, large, or (my favorite) extra large. Oh, and we're talking about coffee here, not espresso, latte, or even soy latte. Don't bother looking for the biscotti either... but feel free to try the Honey Crullers, they're awesome!



Okay, so it's not a trendy sidewalk cafe... It's a donut shop. But it means the same to every citizen of the True North, Strong and Free as Starbuck's means to Seattlites. It defines our country as much as the Loonie, Hockey Night in Canada, and beer. Mike Myers even paid a little tribute to this fine institution in Wayne's World... Remember Stan Mikita's, the donut shop where Garth saw his dream girl for the first time (Foxy Lady)? Well, just like Tim Horton, Stan Mikita was an NHLer from yester-year. Clever, eh? Anyway, Tim Horton's is the one place that you can count on finding a great cup of coffee no matter where you go in this massive country of ours.



So, anyways, about my poor thumbs... Tim's runs a contest once or twice a year that they call Roll Up the Rim to Win in which, as the name would suggest, you unroll the rim at the top of their paper coffee cups to (hopefully) reveal a prize. It could be a free coffee... It could be a free donut... And if you're one of the luckier people, it could be a 37" Plasma TV or an SUV! So, here I am, already heavily addicted to the drink, and now I have this carrot dangling before my eyes! Of course, when Roll Up the Rim time hits, I'm a rolling freak... I'm slugging back cup after cup (which probably isn't all that different from my normal coffee drinking habits, but it works for the story so lets go with it), I'm rolling up the rims, and I'm... well... actually, that's about all I'm doing because I can't win a thing! It's bad enough that, for the first week or so of the contest, I am constantly digging in the garbage for the cup I threw away an hour ago because I forgot to check the rim. Then, to not even get a reward for my efforts, well, it's maddening! It says right on the cup that the odds of winning a food prize (the most abundant of the prizes) are approximately 1 in 9, but I'm still batting zero! What gives?!? Instead, I get to read those 3 little words that I have come to loath even though I obey them like Pavlov's dog: Please Play Again.



Ding! I'm back in line at Tim Horton's, ordering my extra large black coffee to go, double-cupped once again. I have to get it double-cupped because Tim's keeps their coffee at a temperature equivalent to the surface of the sun, but they don't offer those fancy cardboard jackets to protect your already battered fingers... Of course, the second cup isn't one of the contest cups because that wouldn't be fair to the guy behind me in line. Speaking of which, look who just won a Mountain Bike... No good son of a...

Investigative Journalism At Its Best



Outside of hunting down that first coffee of the day, I have very few morning rituals, that I am aware of. One, however, is to sit with said first cup of coffee and peruse the headlines on cnn.com. First, I check out the major news of the moment, conveniently located to the upper-right where all major things should be located (my apologies to all my lower-left loving readers...). I'll click on anything that looks mildly interesting, which immediately excludes pieces on the War in Iraq, American politics, and Martha Stewart. I did read about her long-awaited conviction, but that's not news, it's entertainment. Anyway, after a quick read, I'll back my browser up to the main page and scan for any other tidbits that might tickle my fancy or float my boat, depending on the day. Always, though, I visit the Technology section last, because, as everyone knows, that's where the fun stuff is.



I'm not talking about the latest worm to bring Outlook to its knees (when as the last time you really got an important, must-read email from qzxvksty@openme.com?) or frontline news from the War on Piracy (you already know my stance on that)... No, I'm talking about the really good articles... Like ones about the Segway, that self-balancing, 2-wheeled contraption that they thought would be all the rage with downtown executives, airport commuters, and mail carriers. Well, it's pretty hard to think of something that can be stumped by a flight of stairs or a curb as a "breakthrough in modern technology"... Imagine, all the convenience of a wheelchair without the need to sit down! Wow! Still, it makes for an entertaining read. Or, how about Bill Gates' latest and greatest idea? Have you heard that he's proposing we start paying for every email we send? Sure, he touts it as a way to help stop spammers by making it an unprofitable venture, but let's face it, we all know where he'd like to see the money end up... I bet it rhymes with Nicrosoft... It's a laugh, and that's often just what I need to start my day.



But, just the other day, I read an article in the Tech section with the headline, "Study: Very few bloggers on Net". I was stunned. Even being a fairly recent arrival on the blogging scene myself, I have seen more blogs by a greater variety of people than I ever would have suspected. So, naturally, I had to read on.



(You can read the article here, for as long as the link lasts)



After doing a survey, they (and I'm talking about the all-knowing, all-seeing They behind all good studies, rumors, and legends) found that only about 2 to 7 percent of adult internet users in the United States keep a blog and, of those, only about 10 percent update them daily. And of the 11 percent or so of people who actually read blogs, most prefer to read the ones of strangers over those of family or friends. Shocking. Or is it? Let's break it down, shall we?



First of all, they apparently surveyed adults instead of teens. Although my years of running wild and sneaking into bars are far behind me, I can still admit that the vast majority of new technologies are more readily embraced by the younger generation. So, obviously, the survey was narrow in scope and poorly targeted. Even so, 2 to 7 percent is still a pretty big number when you think about it. What percentage of American adults do you think keep a diary? Publish articles? Write books? I doubt it's as high.



Secondly, it's not surprising at all that only 10 percent of active bloggers update their sites on a daily basis. Unless you are the kind of person who feels the need to tell the world about every sandwich you make, every show you watch, every phone call you take, it's pretty difficult to come up with things to write about everyday. Don't get me wrong... Those kind of blogs definitely have their place. I even read a few for fun, from time to time. They are like little snapshots of everyday life. But, for the rest of us, it's more about finding something to write about, and sometimes there just isn't anything worth the time at the keyboard.



As for people liking to read strangers' blogs... Duh! No kidding! It's because the lives or points of view of people we don't know are interesting and intriguing (well, I think mine are, anyway...). Family and friends are wonderful and irreplaceable, but we see them and speak to them all the time. To turn around and then read all their thoughts would be redundant at best and totally boring at worst. It's the very same reason we'd rather watch an episode of The Real World instead of home movies...



So, all in all, I'm not sure what the point of the whole article was... The statistics were empty, the expectations were unstated, and the conclusion was misleading. Come to think of it, the only interesting thing about the article is the fact that the article exists at all! Cool, in a weird sort of way, when you think about it...



Wait. Did I just write a blog about the lack of blogging going on? Oh crap... I hope this doesn't cause the universe to fold over on itself... Somebody call CNN...

I Can't Say I'm Lovin' It...



And so, the end of an era draws to a close... Forget about the troubles in the Middle East, never mind that John Kerry won 9 out of 10 states on Super Tuesday, and let someone else worry about the evidence of water on Mars... Instead, turn your sights to the real News of the Day, what will surely be The Headline Heard 'Round The World: "McDonald's To Phase Out Super Size".



I awoke in the early hours of the morning to the usual traffic reports and weather forecasts that urge me from my peaceful slumber everyday, only to find myself sitting bolt upright in my bed as I heard the terrible news. McDonald's will no longer be offering the Super Size option with their Combo Meals. My first reaction was one of utter amazement. "This can't possibly be true!", I thought to myself (which, by the way, is a fairly coherent thought for me to have before my first coffee of the day). Perhaps I hadn't heard the whole story and they were talking about the latest headline from The National Enquirer... Or, maybe, in my caffeine-deprived state, I had experienced the equivalent of an auditory hallucination.



As I showered, incredibly overpriced shampoo dripping into and stinging my eyes (no sacrifice too great in the defense of the hairline), I paused... "Would they really kill the Super Size?" I wondered. "Nah... That's crazy!" Then, putting the worry out of my mind, I proceeded into the all important rinse and repeat. You know, just once I'd like to defy that little Cosmetic Commandment... But I'm afraid that the Almighty Creator of Good Hair would smite the remaining locks from head, leaving me to seek whatever solace I can find in fast cars, gaudy jewelry, and cheesy pick-up lines.



From that point on, my morning ablutions went as usual... Ablutions. Fancy word, eh? It's real... Look it up. I had to... Anyway, with a quick sniff, I determined which pile of wrinkled laundry was the clean one and got dressed. Then with a quick shave (why doesn't Male Pattern Baldness ever strike there?) and a smearing of deodorant, I was on to the brushing of the teeth... At which point I paused once again, this time to admire how the lathered toothpaste made me look like a well-groom rabid psychopath. Perhaps I should mention that to my imaginary shrink...



All was well until about 6 minutes into my ride to work. Once again, morning radio did it's little Traffic and Weather Square Dance, then moved on to the 10 second blurbs that are the only kind of news the freshly-awakened human mind is able to comprehend. And there it was again. This time it was presented by some goofy DJ that probably should have gone to bed early instead of staying up late to write his "jokes", but the message was the same... McDonald's is getting rid of their Super Size. Well, there was no denying the reality of it then. For years, that smiling clown with the funky red hair has been giving us the most amazing deals on what must be narcotically-enhanced fries (how else to explain their obsessively addictive goodness?), but the free ride is over. Sure, the size of the pop (soda, if you're one of our southern neighbors) is going to shrink, too, but I don't think I'm going to miss those last 10 or 12 swallows of warm Coke, diluted to the color of herbal tea as much as I'll miss those salty little sticks of heaven.



Well, at least they aren't getting rid of the fries completely, but I think our society is in for a shake-up. Fights over The Last Fry will become more intense, the time-honored ritual of "stealing" a handful of fries from a friend, no questions asked, will come to an end and, more importantly, we're going to have to get used to hearing the words, "Would you like even more fries with that?"