Colonel Curmudgeon

Wow, there is someone even more curmudgeonly than me. And I know him, but at the risk of embarrassing 'Ned Peas' (anagram) I will not name and shame him here. Not that he'd care, I suspect, as he's so proud of his curmudgeonliness he uses "Curmudgeon" as a middle name on his F***book page.

Anyway, the other day he wandered into the store and, without a hello or any other kind of greeting, pronounced, "Hell is other drivers." Then he mumbled at his boots for a moment before following up with, "What a shame it's so difficult to buy guns in Canada."

"Er, why?" I inquired. "Because I'd have killed two people already this morning," he spat, before returning to mumbling at his boots as he shuffled exit-wards. "Have a nice day, 'Ned Peas'!" I shouted after him.

"Mumble, mumble, mumble..."

Jelly

I don't know what it is about the gorgeous Sharon Van Etten's voice that unfailingly turns me to jelly, but it does. And, hands up, I've not had a crush on a "pop star" like this since the days of Debbie Harry, so I guess that's also part of the effect.

So when she tackles one of the most beautiful songs ever written by my main man, Nick Cave - with whom she's soon touring, frustratingly appearing nowhere near here - then I am always going to be in trouble. And so I was when I watched this just minutes after waking up this morning, all confused and ugly with bed-hair. It's an incredible performance.

The Things That Happen # 3

Not that anyone has noticed, I'm sure, but it was way back on June 28, 2011, that the last 'The Things That Happen' post appeared here. It concerned how our visiting friend Nik did himself extraordinary digital mischief when simply having a scratch on the way home from a lacrosse game. As you do. This one, however, reports something equally ridiculous that happened to me, today.

Over the last few days there has been a noticeable fly infestation in the downtown music store I work at. While the invasion has not reached the level of an unmanageable swarm requiring a napalm solution, enough of the little bastards have appeared to cause extreme irritation and distraction, not to mention concerned/bemused reactions from customers as ignore them to tear around the store after flies with various weapons in hand, intent on bludgeoning the winged horrors into the middle of next week.

Our boss is guessing that the source of and life's focus for this filthy squadron is "something rotting upstairs." A while back a rancid stench hung over a small section of our store, and an investigation by a pest expert revealed the likelihood of a decomposing mouse somewhere in the walls. We just had to mask the odour as best we could and grind it out until it finally dissipated. (I couldn't give a toss if I never smell Febreze again.) This time there is no such smell, so we think there must be something yukky turning to goo in the only elsewhere that exists in our building - the landlord's offices upstairs. The landlord has been on vacation for weeks, but it seems flies have moved in en masse to feast on whatever foodstuffs he presumably accidentally left discarded before getting on the plane. Or maybe a rodent or other creature has found its way in and bitten the big one, to the fly population of Nanaimo's utter delight. As I say, it's all guesswork.

Anyway, we've been swatting these chunky little mofos at every opportunity, and one such perfect chance came late in the afternoon when a fly landed on top of the till. Steve, behind the counter, and I, in front of it, saw it land at exactly the same time. Steve's eyes lit up as he stealthily reached for the nearest weapon - a CD. I stood perfectly still so as not to disturb the fly or give the game away. With blinding speed and murderous intent, Steve anticipated the fly's escape flight path with precision, smashing it to bits. I saw it literally disintegrate and felt great satisfaction at the total destruction of this fearsome enemy. It was all over in the blink of an eye. Then Steve started laughing so hard I thought within moments he might well puke.

The reason? The fly had exploded with such force that, William Wallace-like, its remains had been scattered towards the four corners of the kingdom (read: 'record shop')... and some of it had ended up in my beard. So, there I was, euphoric from victory as I brushed blobs of fly guts, fragments of fly thorax, and chunks of fly exoskeleton from my beard. As you do.

To Sleep, Perchance to Dream...

...or have a horrible nightmare!

I woke myself and Susan up at some ungodly hour before dawn today by yelling out, "Fuck off, you nosy bastards!" Moments before, while deep in some R.E.M. state, three of the Sandman's creepy friends had been staring at me through a slot in the bedroom wall. Two of them were wearing 1970s sunglasses, all three had moustaches, and one was holding a poker.

"Uh, wha...uh?" Susan spluttered as she stirred, so I explained the predicament I'd been in. "Oh," she responded. "I was busy stripping the meat off some computers."

Then, without another word, we put our heads down and again went off to visit the Land of Nod.

The Christmas Card

                                                   HAPPY CHRISTMAS EVERYBODY!

Unrelated PS: It would appear that the uploader of the video I embedded into the Imbeciles blog post has removed it. Not that it matters, all it showed was a parade of buffoons pouring milk over themselves in public places. Yeah, truly hilarious. Enjoy the above video instead, which actually is hilarious. 

One Two-One Two-One Two

12:12:12: my birthday. Happy Birthday to me. I was awoken by Reggie licking my beard and had Multigrain Cheerios for breakfast. It appears to have stopped raining. It's extremely quiet out there. Is nobody out of bed yet? This is the day after Ravi Shankar died and Rush were finally inducted into the Rock 'n' Roll Hall of Fame. About time. Donna Summer and a bunch of others were as well, but I think it was a sympathy vote as far as Donna's concerned. She'd have been nothing without Giorgio Moroder. This is also the day after North Korea launched another rocket, the Axis of Evil power setting the world on edge once more. It's quite chilly this morning. I cannot go one single day without reading the word 'Facebook' somewhere (most usually everywhere), and there it is again on the BBC website: 'Police in Global Facebook Arrests.' I didn't bother reading the story. I just hate F***book. There's another story on the site about the Pope starting to Tweet (as @pontifex). Lord, give me strength. I seem to have the makings of a cold. My nose continues to tingle, but the doc doesn't know what it is. I have to work with Neil today. Always a thrill, you know? There is not a single Happy Birthday message from England (or anywhere else) in my inbox. Bad mood already. I never forget people's birthdays. Ever. Do people not use calendars anymore, or put stuff like that in their 'devices'? Ugh...devices. I hate them. Technology news on 12-12-12: 'Phone has second e-paper screen.' What does that even mean? Ugh. I hate technology. I'll check my music blogs after I've done this; it's what I do every morning, so why change my habits because the date is weird? Susan invented a new composite word recently: 'glumpy.' That's how I feel today. Thus far, having been up 20 minutes, it seems she too has forgotten my birthday. Reggie's spreading his breakfast all over the kitchen as usual. If I hear the words 'Twitter,' 'tweet' or 'retweet' even once today, I think I might scream. Or worse. Until I get out there I have no idea what's happening locally, as the Nanaimo Daily News website seems to be updated when someone feels like it, rather than when news actually happens. Oh, the ways of island life. It is the 88th day of the NHL lockout and, like millions of hockey fans, I am both angry and not caring if I ever see a game again. The warring sides meet again today. On my birthday. Do the few followers of this blog actually read this crap? Probably not. Happy Birthday, Captain Curmudgeon.

Imbeciles

Today, I am sorry to share two examples of ludicrous human folly. Both 'stories' came my way today, leaving me shaking my head in disbelief that our species can be as imbecilic as this. But, flawed-beyond-belief creatures that we are, these are the kinds of things we dream up to amuse ourselves. Yes, I hear about stuff like this most every day, but these instances really got up my nose. 

Firstly, in abbreviated form from the BBC website:

A Florida man who died in October after eating dozens of live cockroaches in a contest to win a python died by choking, officials have said. The body of Edward Archbold, 32, tested negative for drugs and...officials ruled the death was an accident caused by "asphyxia." Archbold collapsed and died soon after the promotional contest at a pet store in Deerfield Beach, Florida. His airway became obstructed with "arthropod body parts", the Miami Herald quoted medical examiner Craig Mallak as saying.

 

Let's take a look at this, shall we? Firstly, what was a pet store - somewhere generally perceived to be concerned with the welfare of animals and living creatures - doing hosting an event involving the human consumption of living creatures? Whether viewed as nasty beasties or otherwise cockroaches are living creatures, so to this end can this incident not be deemed one where unecessary suffering and outright cruelty was inflicted upon them? I cannot personally view it any other way.

 

Secondly, wouldn't it be somewhat obvious that eating "dozens of live cockroaches," as the article states, is, well, you know, rather dangerous? And yet it was not considered obvious that this might just be the cause of death? And his body was tested for drugs as a possible cause...? Only in America! Man, I just despair, and that's about all I have to say on the matter. Except this: "Farewell Edward Archbold, 32, and thank you for your contribution to humankind. You will not be missed."

 

And then there's this:

 

  

Described as "crazy funny" by the YouTube poster, I fail to see the humour. All is see is imbeciles. And waste. A waste of milk that could help some of the millions around the world without milk live through another day. A waste of time. A waste of the water and detergent it will take to clean the imbeciles' clothing. And a waste of the oxygen keeping the idiots doing the 'milking' alive.