Tuesday, October 13, 2009

An Old Friend

I just wanted to post a link to a website made by an old friend. Sure, he hates sports, but don't hold that against him. Just enjoy his wacky website.


Monday, October 5, 2009

It does a body good.

There are a few things you should know about me.

1. I have unusually strong bones, like the opposite of the avian bone disease. This is partly due to genetics, and partly due to the fact that I inject Cholecalciferol (Vitamin D3) daily. This causes my eyes to yellow, and my eyelashes to fall out. I suppose I could find a better place to inject, but I prefer to avoid looking strange, like an avid needle user.

2. I don't drink milk because I'm the most sane person I know. I've been to a farm. I've seen cows. I can assure you that what absolutely did not enter my mind was that I wanted to be breast fed by the cows I saw. It didn't appear motherly. And it's udders were ugly, chapped and dirty. I have consumed cow milk in my life, but when I think about what it actually is and from where it came, I can't do it again.

So there's a trade off, between the natural benefits of drinking cow milk, and the less natural benefits of injecting Cholecalciferol (Vitamin D3) daily. For example, drinking cow milk affects me psychologically for a few minutes. I mean, it tastes good, and I can tell my body likes it, but I simply dislike thinking about it. On the other hand, Cholecalciferol (Vitamin D3) has physical side affects. These include, but are not limited to headache, weakness, drowsiness, dry mouth, nausea, vomiting, constipation, muscle and/or bone pain, metallic taste in my mouth, weight loss, itchy skin, changes in heart rate, loss of interest in sex, confusion, unusual thoughts or behavior, feeling unusually hot, severe pain in your upper stomach spreading to my back, or fainting.

So I choose the injections, because who wants to get the willies when they eat something? I wonder if my abnormal aversion to cow milk is a direct result of my use of the Cholecalciferol (Vitamin D3).

A younger me, posing next to a sign depicting a cow doing the right thing.

Friday, October 2, 2009

This Tastes Immoral

Another coach told me a story that I thought was great. Her and her family were having a conversation. This family includes her and her husband and two sons, all WASP Canadians. One of her sons brought his girlfriend who happens to have a Lebanese Muslim heritage. Anyway, they were discussing what they would do if they were stranded somewhere and they had to eat a human. One of the sons said that he heard that human tastes just like pork. Well this girlfriend piped up and asked "Well what would I eat then?"

Absolutely perfect.

Chainsaws are for trees.

I had a strange dream last night.

What I think happened (it's often difficult to piece together the logic in many of my dreams) is that there was some sort of zombie apocalypse, but some twisted person thought it would be lucrative to make a game show out of it. I and eleven others had to get through an underground series of tunnels and rooms. Interestingly some tunnels and rooms were bare rock, and others were completely finished, as though they were inside some classy old house. Other contestants would be placed strategically in certain areas to hide and frighten and kill the rest of us. So we had zombies to deal with, as well as sick individuals that would kill for money. We were unarmed and were trying to quickly make our way through the labyrinth to get to a room with a door that was sturdy, and could be locked. We entered a wide open hall, lit by weak gymnasium lights. As I walked past a pillar, someone popped in behind me and fired up a chainsaw and started to saw into me where my neck meets my shoulder. It didn't hurt, but it could definitely feel the force downward on me. I dropped, and jolted out of the way. He was grimy, and was dressed in filthy overalls with matted black hair. He was a new contestant. He came at me again, and lunged with the chainsaw, but I grabbed his arms. He shifted in such a way that he was able to nick away at both of my forearms. Again, there was no pain, just blood. I shifted my weight and he fell down. I grabbed the chainsaw, and while he was on the ground holding his arms up for protection, I sawed his arms off just below the elbow. Another player bandaged him up while I kept on, looking for a decent room. It was our understanding that the dominant player would get the safe room for the night. We found it shortly after, and it was decided that I would get the room. I was the dominant player at the time, likely because I was the only one with a chainsaw and obviously wasn't afraid to use it. We all entered the room together. It was a dank, but clean room that resembled a 70's motel room. There was wood paneling on all the walls, a hide-a-bed with white sheets and a tan colored, itchy looking blanket and maroon shag carpet. The doors were painted white, apparently many times, as they were very glossy, and I could see imperfections and drips painted over many times. I told everyone to leave the room and when they did, I checked every closet, kitchenette cupboard, and door, to make sure there wasn't anyone else hiding in that room, and that all the doors were locked and secure. Then I sat down on the bed and put down the chainsaw, exhausted.

Then I woke up.

I can't wait for hockey season to really get going.