Based on everything I've read, it is quite common for human beings to step back periodically and take stock of their "friends". Typically, this friend analysis is done to help rebuild any issues with self confidence or internal morale, sort of like the reset button on your old Nintendo (fuck you Duck Hunt, I'm starting over). The process of scrutinizing where you sit on the friend scale has become even more profound in the era of social media, where the # of friends or followers you have seems to be a key ingredient in determining whether or not you should continue to live or run the razor blade across your tongue while shaving (extreme example). Take for instance our good pal old Salad Fingers and his friends Hubert Cumberdale, Marjorie Stewart-Baxter, and Jeremy Fisher...
OK, that is fucking insane, but thought it was quite "apropos" as my mother would say.
Anyway, the concept of friend analysis "got me thinkin" about the different types of friends that one might have in their life. I'm sure some Harvard prick who will never get laid can elaborate on the following list, but this is the best that my feeble mind could muster, so screw you Bob Barker.
So here it goes, all list of all kinds of friends:
“Best” Friends - in your best impression of Lieutenant Commander Worf from the USS Enterprise-D, you cling-on to these people for dear life. They are likely the only people in the world, except maybe your mom and dad (if you are lucky) that give a damn about you. You will likely describe them at your wedding as "your rock", given all the solid advice they give you, as illustrated in this touching video clip.
Work Friends - much like school friends, these are the people you are really forced to be friends with based on being at a particular location at the same time. Typically, the only thing you have in common is your mutual hatred for your boss, or the fat secretary, or the no flip flop policy.
Family Friends - these are the "oh no" friends or the "I'm gonna fake sick" friends. You know, the people that you have typically been forced to hang out with due to some family relationship over the course of your life.
School Friends - see work friends. The only difference is that at some point in your life you believed that your "so called" friends in school were going to be your social universe from death do you part. Idiots.
Internet Friends - chat rooms, gaming guilds, etc. You will never...ever... come face to face with these people, yet you'll disclose some of your greatest inner secrets and fears. Could these be the best friends of all?
Dinner Party/Couples Friends - much like the family friends described above, there is inevitably one member of the "couple" who dreads when their partner invites over their favorite couple. Frankly, I'm usually the guy that most of my friends wives or girlfriends dread having over for anything other than a quick drink due to my bleak outlook on life and general lack of human decency. I'm also the first guy they'll want to have sex with if their husbands leave them, or so it goes in my head anyway...
Sympathy/Worship Friends - these are the people you just feel sorry for, usually because they have some sort of mental deficiency or spectrum diagnosis. Having said that, you have some sick need to continue the friendship because their worship of you makes you feel better about yourself, like Kenny and Stevie
Flashback Friends - this is the friend that helps you feel young again. Why? Cause they are at least a generation younger than you and help to reconnect you with a life that once was (vs. changing adult or baby diapers, doing the 9-5 thing, etc). I recommend stocking the cupboard with a few of these friends. Good for the dog days of January if nothing else.
The One-Up You Friend - I hate this fucking friend. This is the friend who listens to about half of everything you say, and then immediately manufactures a story that will "out-do" whatever you are describing. Next time you see your "one-up" or "braggart" friend, test them with some outrageous story and see what BS they feed you back. It is a fun game. All the while, you are thinking about rag dolling them like Chara on McCabe...
The “I Drive A Dodge Stratus” Friend - this is the guy or girl that likes to minimize everything in your life by highlighting how important their life is, like the Will Ferrell Dodge Stratus character (aka my dad)
The Former Friend That Won’t Let it Die - what do you even say to this person? You've given all the hints from the "how to dump a friend" playbook, but they just won't give-up. If you still don't understand what I'm talking about, think of that good friend that you had in high school that you occasionally bump into at the grocery store or the mall that always insists on trying to "make plans". As soon as you see this person, you want to dive into oncoming traffic and avoid the inevitable "stop and chat"...
The “Our Kids Play Together” Friends - Got kids? Then you got some of these friends. Take a deep breath, relax, and try not to kill yourself as you enter into awkward conversation after awkward conversation. All the while you are hoping that one of your kids will puke or have horrid diarrhea so you can end the play date and move on.
The “Service Provider” Friends - your insurance agent, financial advisor, mortgage broker, vagina doctor, etc. Their earnest attempt at building a professional sales relationship with you often crosses the border to friendship (like when they disclose their marital problems or recent requirement to use cialis to bang their wife).
The “Token” Race Representation Friend - this seems only to be common of groups of friends that live in predominantly white areas. Very often, the token friend is actually Asian, but this clip from South Park will do as an adequate explanation of what I'm talking about. Side note, token usually remains one of your better friends through thick and think. Invest in a token.
Well, if you'll excuse me, I've got some friend pruning to do on Facebook.
If there was a law that only permitted me to hate one thing, it would be people that congregate in dog parks.If the lawmakers amended that law at some point in the future and allowed all citizens to add one more item to their hate list, I would choose air travel.
I’ll save the discussion on dog parks for a later date and jump right into air travel, since it is topical in this post-Bin Laden era that we all now live in…
The entire experience of air travel just generally upsets me.It begins the morning of the flight with horrible…just horrible diarrhea (note - I think it is caused by the anxiety of flying and dealing with the jackasses that work in the air travel business vs fears of terrorism).General anger and frustration continues as I’m herded like a castrated animal through the various stages/check points that one must pass before they are given the green light to fly.
Is it me, or is this the only service based industry in the world that gets away with following the “guilty until proven innocent” motto? Think about all of the negative interactions you have from parking the car, to checking in, to airport security, to boarding, to the stewardess constantly looking for rule breakers (please stow your bag sir). This all raises a valid question, does the Soup Nazi control the entire industry? One thing is for sure, they have certainly applied the basics of his service model, as illustrated in this clip:
Anyway, let us hold hands and travel through the stages of frustration that lead us from pre-flight bowel movement to the cathartic release of “de-boarding”… shall we…
Airport Check-In/Self Check-In – much like self check-outs at big box stores, I hate the self check-in.Most airports are now moving to self check in only, which really chaps my ass.The problem with the self check-in is that most people don’t understand what to do and inevitably end up having to deal with a human being anyway.What is supposed to be convenient is anything but.
Checked Baggage – general rule of thumb - avoid checking your baggage at all costs.This, however, is not always possible which leads to a slew of questions and further inconvenience.Is there a per bag fee, do I now need to cart all of my baggage through airport security, where the fuck is the scale, have I surpassed the weight limit per bag, etc.This process adds 15-20 minutes to the whole ordeal.
Security – this is probably the worst and most stressful part, as the TSA agents salivate over the potential of taking you down. As Ryan Bingham (George Clooney) outlined in the movie “Up in the Air”, there are a number of tips to observe at airport security to make the process as easy as possible:
Never get in a line behind infants – good point and should be applied anywhere (think grocery stores, movie theatres, theme parks, etc).Having said that, people with infants are basically given a speed pass through security.If you can manage it, borrow an infant just for the security check.
Never get in line behind the elderly – their bodies are a mine field of metal implants
No shoes – get a decent pair of Velcro shoes OR go with slip-ons.
No liquids – why do you have them in the first place?There are drinks on the plane and you can get shampoo at the hotel.
Avoid the bomb joke – just ask Alexandre Daigle, former NHL 1st round pick who made this mistake as a rookie.Not a good idea.
Boarding – what a cluster-fuck… In fairness to the air travel business, they do their best to organize people into groups to make the process of boarding a metal tube with wings somewhat orderly.This is easily thrown off by the jackasses who insist on standing in the aisle while jamming an overly large carry-on into the overhead storage.
The Announcements – why are we always treated like air travel rookies when it comes to the pre-flight announcements?Can they not just tell the 2 or 3 individuals who have never flown how to do up a seat belt and where the life vests are separately?This is sort of like having a company and forcing all of your employees to go through orientation each time you hire someone new.BTW, what the hell is a “lap child”? This segement of the experience always reminds me of Tommy Boy (David Spade - To fasten, take the little end and stick it in the big end and... you know what? If you guys don't know how to use a seatbelt, just ring your call button and Tommy will come back there and hit you on the head with a tack hammer because you're a retard.)
The Emergency Exit - with the emergency exit seat comes great responsibility or so the flight crew will have you believe. Chances are, if you have to use that exit, everyone is going to be dead anyway. Larry David can take it from here:
Food & Beverage Service or Lack Thereof – nobody expects anything gourmet to be served by their steward or stewardess.But are airlines hurting so badly that they can’t serve us anything?Thanks for the complimentary shot glass of ginger ale.I’m a satisfied customer now.
In Flight Entertainment – stop fucking around and equip all planes with the individual screens for each passenger.I love when I’m stuck on one of those flights where the screen is like 20 feet in front of me (located just over the head of some 6 foot 8 guy with a “fro”).
Other People – this is potentially the worst part about travelling, especially on long flights.Stinky, Sweaty, Fat, Hairy, Booger, Crusty, Waxy, Halitosis are words that come to mind when thinking back to others that I have been forced to sit beside on flights.Recently I was sandwiched between two guys that seemed to both have a particular affinity for snoring and crop dusting.It was almost like they were playing a game of battleship in their sleep, exchanging one bomb after another hoping to strike the other one down.The only person who lost in that exchange was me.
Landing – why do people clap when the pilot lands the plane successfully?Isn’t that just part of the routine?I wonder, if I put 150 people in my office and allowed them to watch me do something like dial a number on the phone, have a conversation, and then successfully hang up the phone… would they break out in applause?
De-Boarding – let the games begin.From the moment the plane lands, I get revved up like Ben Johnson on some Charlie Francis steroid concoction.I’m either sprinting to my next flight, to the taxi, or to get my ass through customs.
I have limited patience for anything in life, but limited drops to none when it comes to bad drivers.In fact, one of the primary reasons for me to move out of the city and to the sticks was to get away from traffic lights and the exploding number of Honda Civics in my city.Having said that and despite my best efforts, bad drivers continue to haunt me at every turn, especially this past week where the universe seemed hell bent on making sure I either crashed my car OR had a heart attack.I think a heart attack is easier on the wallet.
Anyway, while trying to avoid a goulash of horrid motor vehicle skills, it occurred to me that one can be more proactive on the roads by identifying poor drivers before a potential accident occurs.Essentially, make an assessment on every other vehicle on the road based on generalizations and stereotypes.
With this in mind, I started to build a list with the goal of training myself to avoid those that fall into the categories outlined below (menace(s) to society).I encourage you to do the same immediately.Think of yourself as the nerdy profiler from Criminal Minds and make a game out of it.
Dr. Spencer Reid
Although definitely incomplete, here is a copy of my “drivers to avoid" list so far to help you on your way.
Anyone who drives vehicles like:
The aforementioned Honda Civic or the Toyota Corolla – as my friend recently told me, this vehicle class is typically either driven by “loose women”, punks in high school or college, or new Canadians.Stereotypes, yes.All generally bad drivers?Also yes.
Fiat, Smart Car, or the Prius – first, these people obviously don’t care about driving in the first place based on their vehicle choice, second, their vehicles are largely incapable of going any faster than 60 km/hr
Anything rusty (Pontiac Sunfires, Chevrolet Cavaliers, Old Model Dodge/Chrysler Minivans) - Very often you’ll also find these vehicles to have one of those “foggy” tint jobs that was likely done with some “do it yourself” kit in 1992.
Anything beige – again, a generalization, but how often do you see anyone cool or competent driving a beige vehicle?Beige is typically the colour that the dealers reserve for the elderly or the budget conscious.
Any vehicle sporting a “we support the troops decal” – hey, I’m all for supporting the troops, but this decal is unfortunately an indicator that the driver is either extremely old (think WW2 war veteran old) OR a country hick.Both are described in further detail below.
The vehicle has been customized – the performance muffler, the Andre the giant sized spoiler, the racing striping package – usually some guy in his teens or early 20’s with a small cock in the drivers’ seat, or an Asian dude.
Unleashed dog roaming in vehicle – it is shocking how often this sighting is paired with a Subaru Outback.Those that drive with a dog running all over the interior of the vehicle are often distracted and painfully slow.
The Super Mom – The super mom is easily identified based on the vehicle (SUV or minivan with 7 seats) and the soccer ball decal or “baby on board” sign in the window.Despite the fact they are driving at speeds of 80-100 km/hr with their highest value items, the physical act of driving the vehicle is the last thing on their mind.What is on their mind?Well, that includes changing radio stations or the songs on their IPOD, doing their make-up while looking into the rear view mirror, passing juice and snacks back to their kids or adjusting the DVD player, updating their facebook status with something their kid just said or did so their other “Circle of Moms” friends stay current, etc.
Vanity Plates – First of all, just get the regular randomly generated license plate and fuck off already.A vanity plate more or less confirms that the driver of the vehicle is an arrogant self absorbed prick. Although, what guy wouldn't want to meet the woman with this plate...
Multiple Dents and Colours – a small scratch here and there does not mean someone is a poor driver, that is just regular wear and tear.However, when there is clear vehicle damage in more than one location, get out of the way.Also, look for random paint colours on the front and rear bumper depending on your view.
Smart Phones/Stupid People – although illegal, at least 50% of cell phone users continue to text and talk without a hands free device.Spotting someone with a phone in hand is easy.You must, however, work much harder to identify the texter/emailer.This person is typically doing the head bob, where they read/type for a few seconds and quickly look-up, then resume reading/typing.This cycle continues to repeat itself.Pass this person immediately.
The Ghost Driver – the ghost driver is that person who is either just not big enough to drive a car (physically or based on age).As the name essentially describes, this driver appears to be absent when approaching the vehicle from behind.I only avoid ghost drivers as their field of vision is obviously limited.
Road Head in Progress – everyone remembers when Steve Martin got road head in the movie Parenthood right?Although aired in 1989, it does seem to play every 3-4 weeks for some unknown reason.Anyway, although your instincts make you want to clap when you sniff out road head, I strongly suggest to get the F out of the way.At some point the dude driving the car is going to give his wife or girlfriend a facial and swerving will ensue.
Clearly Steve Martin getting blown in Parenthood
Old People – why is it that old people seem to always purchase the biggest 4 door car possible (ex. Chrysler 300, Lincoln town cars, etc)?Aside from the vehicle choice and hair colour, the elderly seem to struggle with the concepts of: driving the speed limit, using their signal lights, and stopping for pedestrians.Additionally, they seem to view road signs or traffic lights as mere suggestions.
The Country Hick – this is not meant to suggest that all country drivers are poor, just those that get off on stapling pictures of Osama Bin Laden on a tree in an abandoned campground and then using it for target practice.These “lads” typically drive an “always muddy” pick-up truck, Pontiac something, or a Chevrolet Camaro.The vehicle will also feature some sort of sticker with a ridiculous slogan, playboy decals, and flames.
I told ya I'd getcha Osama
You should also avoid anyone with “swivel head” action going on.This means they are basically checking everything else out, except the road.Additionally, the church bizzaresque bumper sticker collection is a good indicator of inferior intelligence, and should therefore be approached with caution.
Aside from my particular distaste for funeral sandwiches, there is something else that continues to bother me about the conventional and somewhat downtrodden nature of what is supposed to be a “celebration of life”. At what point in the ceremony at the church or the post-burial veggies and dip fest do we actually celebrate the life of a loved one? The answer is of course … never. In fact, the only example of anything cool that I’ve ever seen was the portrayal of the great Andy Kaufman’s funeral in the movie Man on the Moon… see below:
Although I plan on living for another 90 years to capture what is likely my only shot at a World Record (note – currently held by the one and only Jeanne Calment who lived to 122 Years, 164 days), I have started to draft plans for the eventual celebration of my life (aka my funeral). As it turns out, there aren’t many original ideas out there on how to creatively and comically shake up a tough day and make it fun, or at least funny. I thought about a slide show, a video screening and a roast, but they didn’t feel right. Finally it hit me… a musical depicting my life performed by family members and friends. Death becomes an interactive experience. Karaoke meets Broadway musical theatre. Crazy? Yes it is. Potentially funny? Yup.
I know absolutely nothing about writing a musical, but my parents did force me to listen to a shitload of Andrew Lloyd Webber when I was a kid on various car rides, so I think I have it directionally. Still, I decided to do some research to make sure that my instincts were correct. The following keys were revealed to me:
The musical must offer the audience a story – check – my life is multi-layered, much like that delicious nacho dip that you find at Costco...
See as many musicals as possible – this I will not do. I actually detest musicals and once fell asleep during the Phantom of the Opera.
Open with a “kick-ass” song – got that covered… it shall be an homage to by DB (dead body)… see below for more on this topic
So, now that I understand the keys to a good musical and have at least listened to the same Andrew Lloyd Webber’s greatest hits CD 164 times, I think I’m ready to compose… The big question at this point is – do I write my own songs OR go Weird Al style and just switch up the lyrics of existing popular tunes? Should I buy them lessons a la Adam Sandler/Jack Nicholson from Anger Management?
Nahhhh…since I’ll be forcing people to sing/perform from the great beyond, I think it is only fair to go with something they’ll be more familiar/comfortable with, so here it goes… the opening scene:
Scene #1 – The Conductor – a large video screen shall display me, in a video that I still need to record, performing as a conductor… this shall run for the duration of the funeral. See below for an example.
Scene #2 – The Casket Entrance – the Foreigner song “Cold as Ice” will blast through the auditorium – is there a “gayer” song? This shall be performed by my parents’ friend known as “The Snake”. I would tell you his name, but once again, my mother and her legal team have threatened lawsuit. Anyway, he is a karaoke master and will get things off on the right food. The words from the original track shall remain unchanged, for safety sake. In an ironic twist, the casket shall be wheeled into a fiery oven, where I shall be cremated.
Scene #3 – Flashback – with the casket now in place, a video montage will be shown depicting the low lights and highlights of my 123 years. Accompanying the video will be the Blue Oyster Cult song “Don't Fear the Reaper", for obvious reasons. A homeless man will play a cowbell.
Scene #4 – The Tears – with the lengthy video review now in place, it is time to reflect on a life that was with tears (maybe). To help escalate the matter and ensure that there is not a dry eye in the house, my good friend H will sing Don’t Cry For Me (an A-Web classic from Evita). It should be known, that he is perhaps the most monotone son of a bitch that ever lived.
Scene #5 - The Bridge - as you must already know, the bridge is the section near the end of the song that takes the melody and lyric in a new direction. You must add some kind of twist that transforms the song into something more meaningful. Applied to the musical, this can only mean "Music Of The Night" as sung by Will Ferrell below. In this case, the lyrics will be completely re-written and my parents or what is left of them will play a starring role. Note - both of them shall be forced to wear the Phantom mask, despite any relevance to the origins of the song.
Scene #6 – Final Scene/Cremation – at this point, my body is freshly cooked and more or less ash. Like the caterpillar becomes a butterfly, so to do I become dust right in front of my family and friends. With this transition now in place, my sister will arise from the crowd for her greatest performance yet - a rendition of “Wake Me Up” by Wham (definitely a step up from her part in the movie Loser). Side note - after watching this video, who could have ever doubted George Michael's sexual preference... come on people!
Scene # 7 - The Exit - as the "customers" leave the funeral, all full up on funeral sandwiches, booze, and whatnot, the following youtube video will appear on the video screen and through the audio system... "Oh Danny Boy" by the Muppets
OK, so maybe my first instinct was correct… this may not be the best idea.
You know that old saying – “when life gives you lemons, make lemonade”? Well, I’ve felt that has applied to my life of late. Work has been more than difficult, my hair is falling out in clumps, and my pets heads are falling off... Fortunately, my 64 year old parents (think George Costanza's parents) made the decision to capitalize on the economic downward spiral in the US and spent some of my inheritance $ on a condo in beautiful Tarpon Springs FLA. A trip to their new condo seemed to be just what the doctor ordered for me.
Instead of being one of those helpless losers that post their vacation “pics” on Facebook hoping for “likes” and supportive “comments”, I’ll just tell you the story via a blog that now has a respectable following of 16 people...
Why would I want to try and find relaxation in the company of my parents and children in Florida you might ask? Well, I’m a twisted fuck and I knew there would be several laughs to be found in a place largely populated by the aged. Originally settled by the Greeks, Tarpon Springs now has a median age of 76 (based on observation only) and has become somewhat of a snowbird nesting ground, not that their flaccid cocks and dried up uteri could procreate anyway…but you get the picture I think.
As you probably know from reading this blog, I’m a cheap fucker much like the northern native gray haired bastards that now call the good state of Florida home. So much so that I booked my air travel via cheapoair.com (recommend it). The flight took us from Ottawa to Chicago (definitely out of the way) and then from Chi-town to Tampa Bay. But, this saved me $1,200 vs. a direct flight, so it seemed like the right move. I also arranged for a mini-van from Alamo for $450 for the 10 days vs. the $1,800 quote I received from Hector at Dollar Rental (isn’t it ironic…don’t you think). Yes, that is correct, I drove a white Dodge Town and Country.
Anyway, after 12 hours of travel that reasonably should have taken 4 hours, I saved $2,550 and I was on the ground in silver town. If calculating the savings by the hour, I think that moves me into a bracket inhabited only by top municipal government employees or at least one of Donald Trump’s testicles.
After a 30 minute drive from the Tampa airport and a quick stop for a steam pot from Joe’s Crab Shack, I arrived at the stereotype...errr I mean my parents retirement condo. I would tell you the name of the condo complex, cause it's funny, but my mother and her legal team are concerned about a potential lawsuit...go figure (you must seek Buddha, you must seek christ...you must seek therapy...).
Anyway, immediately upon arrival I was reminded of the “Del Boca Vista” episode from Seinfeld.
This was the beginning of my initiation in snowbird culture, which I shall now describe in a series of bullet points that randomly jumped out at me over my 10-day excursion. Please imagine me speaking all of these in the southerner accent that I have developed.
The Pool Rules – On morning #1 in Tarpon Springs, my kids seemed dead set on swimming in the pool (which I generally am against, as I hate public pools based on an earlier encounter with a floating log). Regardless, I decided to be a good dad and take my kids for some “fun” at the pool. Immediately upon entering the pool gates, I was confronted by a large sign that read “Pool Rules”. The pool rules essentially add up to one conclusion - “please don’t swim in the pool you stinking pricks and if you do, don’t have fun”. This was reinforced on multiple occasions from people with skin that looked like slick leather in a saddle shop. See the image of the sign below, or read a few of my favorite rules below:
Positively no loud noises or laughter in the pool
Positively no jumping or diving in the pool
Positively no dogs, Jewish, or black people in the pool. OK, that wasn’t still a rule, but it likely used to be based on the demos here.
Walgreens - Perhaps it is just a generational issue, but older people tend to struggle with pronouncing what seems, at least to me, to be the simplest of words. For instance, on this trip my parents introduced Walgreens to me as “Wal-grens”, which I immediately indicated must be a mistake, as I was sure it was pronounced “wal-greens”. Sure enough, when we arrived to retrieve the anti-diarrhea medication known as Imodium, it was confirmed to be “wal-greens”. Shocking.
Early Bird Special – I can’t tell you how many times over the course of my life that my parents have looked down upon those that dive towards an early bird special like a trout to a piece of peaches and cream corn. But, I guess all roles must be reversed at some point… I think the transition to the early bird meal time is what Malcolm Gladwell referred to as "The Tipping Point". Sure enough on day #3, out they go for a quick meal at 4:30pm with their friends from unit 1725 so they can get an all-inclusive meal for $25 per couple vs. the $30 that it would cost at a more civilized time – way to go. I hope that Imodium from Wal-grens will do the trick later on tonight kids…
Update – despite the early bird savings, alcohol seems to have pushed the bill over the $100 mark for the two of them this evening… they seem upset.
The Scenic Route – like I’ve said before, my kids are now age 3 and 6. When I tell them we are going to the beach, I don’t need to take the scenic route and get a history lesson on how a few Greeks dropped a bowl of jizz over this place in 1875. But, it happened anyway. The scenic route is just a part of being old and wanting to suck back every bit of life you can before you die. It is also apparently an opportunity to read every sign along they way that they see…yes dad, that is a Pizza Hut…
Early Walks – If you get up early enough, you will be fortunate enough to witness the elderly going for walks and stretching to the sky like Jesse Jackson on acid delivering a sermon. It is weird and reminds me of the emperor from the Neverending Story. I’m not sure why.
The Condominium Corp and their “serious” reprimands – everyone here seems to live in fear of the dreaded condo corp. For instance, I’ll tell you the story of unit 1445, who were recently caught with a hibachi on their lanai. You see, you are not allowed to cook in the condo complex with an open flame. But that didn’t stop the rebels in 1445. They cooked the shit out of anything they could get their hands on with that hibachi (just ask the black headed seagull). Until that fateful day they were caught by Gray Bush, a widowed ex teacher from Wisconsin. Gray Bush brought the matter before the condominium corp board who brought down some serious judgment on the rebels in 1445. How serious you might ask? Well, they have been warned to never cook with an open flame again…
The Outfits – serious consideration must be given to the outfit that one will wear a particular point in the day, once you reach snowbird status. To illustrate this, I have divided up the day into three fairly standard and specific segments:
The Morning – if you want to see matching k-ways, a visor, wristbands, and sparkly running shoes, go for a walk in Florida before 8am.
The Beach/Poolside – bring back the straw hats from point number 5, and add in some orange wrinkly skin (skinny or fat), some blue blockers, Jesus sandals and white socks, and some shorts purchased in 1964 from K-Mart. Also, don’t be afraid of bringing out your swimsuit from just after WW2.
The Dinner Hour – hike up your pants, cause you ain’t gonna fit into what you wore to your high school reunion. Word to the wise, if you are going to hike up your pants below your ribs, don’t tuck in your shirt AND add 2 inches to the length – just sayin’.
Goin’ Shellin’ – something happens around the age of 60, where your interest in sea shells transitions into an obsession. Curiosity is replaced by insanity. Quick everyone, set your alarm to 5:30am so you can get yourself a conch shell and shut that fat fucker Piggy up.
The Birds – there must be something written in the general human genetic code that generates a certain curiosity in birds once you reach the middle age. Personally, I hate birds. I would take great pleasure in seeing them all fall out of the sky and crash to a horrible death into the pavement. On the other hand, my parents have a deep bird passion and have invested in a book entitled the “Birds of Florida”, so they can be more specific with their bird loving. My dad gets an insta-boner whenever this book is mentioned OR whenever an Egret lands near our rented Dodge Mini-Van. Being the man of truth that I am, I decided to investigate this further and host a few off the cuff interviews with locals on the topic, which just yielded more of the same jacko-bird-festivu that began with my parents. The result, it is true…old people are fascinated with birds and things like the colour of their heads (ex. The black-headed seagull and the white headed pelican). As a local man explained to me, "the great thing about Florida birds is that they love both ham and bologna, so they are easy to shop for". Leave sliced deli meats on your porch at 7am every morning, and they’ll come back routinely. Oh, what we do for friends…
Jerkin to Egrets
The Blossoms – the next would be the blossoms of course… oh the pretty blossoms are in full force at this time of the year. I am a blossom/flower re-tard, but based on what I’m hearing around meal-time, the googonzalias and bingalias are truly dominating the FLA landscape right now…
The Sun Sucks… Fuck The Sun – I find it strangely amusing that these dinosaurs move “down south” for warmth and sunshine, and then stay out of the sun. Just tell a snowbird that you are going to the beach and they’re faces will quickly flash with fear and desperation as they recall their last sunburn (20 or so years ago). Their solution, countless card games and several glasses of Tang in the comfort of their air conditioned condo.
Card carrying members of the anti-sun cult
The Teeth and/or Dentures – I’m 90% confident that Polident is the most recognizable brand in the great state of Florida. Why? Well, at least 2/3’s of the 70 plus crowd that I’ve met have the best teeth I’ve ever seen, which either means that they were ahead of the curve on flossing OR they have had their teeth replaced by a non-rotten version. Part of me believes that this is just the right move no matter what your age. Fuck this brushing BS, I’m goin’ dentures.
The Best Conversations…Are Had With Yourself – have you ever noticed how people who have lived alone for a prolonged period of time tend to speak aloud to themselves for no apparent reason? This is particularly pronounced with the elderly, who unfortunately are often left to live alone. The best example of this so far in my life came in the pool two days ago when an ancient creature named Tom asked my son what grade he was in. Here is the transcript of the conversation that I observed:
Tom – geez, you’re a handsome young fella ain’t ya. What grade are you in?
My Son (slightly stunned) – uhh senior kindergarten
Tom – senior kindergarten – wow – that’s fantastic. Whoooeeee. That is great.
My Son – no response or acknowledgment
Tom (now speaking to himself) – senior kindergarten, golly that is special, senior kindergarten, spectacular, senior kindergarten, uh huh, senior kindergarten…now what did I tell you Daniel, stop playing with those rats. Sons of bitches.
Me – Uh, son, lets get out of the pool now…
Good To The Last Drop…Or Leg – the last night of the vacation has arrived and we decided to go to good old Rusty Belly’s on the waterfront. Although they have a decent setup, the amount of gray and loose skin makes you feel as though you have entered into the common room for Wednesday night Bingo at a retirement home. Anyway, Rusty Belly’s is known for their seafood – namely the crab. As I sat back and watched table after table dig in, I couldn’t help but notice one thing – old people in Florida never leave anything on their plate or in their glass. They literally clean it off with their tongues. They suck every last piece of meat out of the crab legs like a Gatineau hooker, chug back coleslaw like Nigerian marathoner with a glass of water, etc (you get the point).
Well, the end is here and back to Canada I go. Just like Kramer in the unbelievably poor quality video below, I believe that my metamorphosis from a 30 something Canadian to a true snowbird has now taken place. I say this only because I literally just urinated in my boxers for no particular reason. Despite what my new found friends have told me about wearing adult diapers, incontinence ain’t so bad.
Oh the job interview, such a rich and meaty topic to deal with. Over my career, I've had the opportunity to interview well over a thousand potential candidates, so I guess you could say I'm somewhat of an expert on this topic. As the priest typically whispers to the alter boy in the back corner of the rectory, let us dig in...
Aside from the obvious, the job interview provides the interviewee with a few unique opportunities, like:
sweating profusely in the company of a complete stranger (note - you are not likely to get the job if you are visibly sweating)
excreting more pre-interview diarrhea than you ever thought possible (note - if you shit your pants during an interview, you are also not likely to get the job)
to barf out every possible cliche personality trait in under 30 minutes, like
I'm a people person - wow, good for you.
I'm goal oriented - wait for it... here comes the big red X right across your resume
I'm a team player - what does that even mean?
I'm a hard worker - Shocking answer from someone trying to get a job.
On the flip side, the interviewer gets a rare opportunity to control the destiny/fate of the interviewee. Some serious power is in their hands. Nobody should take this responsibility lightly, but some do (like the asshole who interviewed me from Xerox once and try to get me to pitch him on the $5 Seiko watch he was wearing). Having said that, the interviewer should take the opportunity to creatively fuck with people... with a purpose of course. For example, here are some questions you might consider asking if you find yourself on the right side of the desk in the future:
If you were married and a rich man who looked a lot like Robert Redford offered you $1M for one night with your wife, would you accept the offer OR turn it down?
If the answer is accept, they have revealed that money is a motivator and they will sacrifice their integrity for $. Depending on the position, this is either a positive or negative.
One night... one million dollars...
Do you ever wish you were a character on Lost? If so, which one?
The answer to this question reveals if a) they are a nerd, and b) how big of a nerd they are. For example, if they say Jack you know they are a nerd with leadership qualities. If they said Hurley on the other hand, well... end the interview
Wow...
If you were a hot dog, would you eat yourself?
This will tell you nothing, other than whether or not they like hot dogs. I love hot dogs and would never hire anyone who didn't eat them.
If I could guarantee no jail time and gave you a loaded gun, who would you kill?
Correct answer is NOBODY. Anything else proves morale corruption.
Tell me about the first time you masturbated to a photo of a co-worker?
If nothing else, a descriptive answer will make the interview more interesting...
What is your position on gay marriage?
Tells you whether or not they have an open mind or reveals ignorance
Are you ok with being struck by a leather whip at the office?
Are they willing to work under slave conditions... Hopefully.
In 50 words or less, please describe your last alien encounter? Also, please say "tin foil" three times in your response.
Can they tap into creativity, but limit the output...
Would you have travelled in the phone booth with Bill & Ted on their Excellent Adventure? If so, who would have been your favourite historical figure?
The answer to this should be yes and Socrates
How much experience do you have living or working in cult communes?
Are they potentially crazy?
Would you mind at all if I carried on the rest of the interview in the character of Ben Matlock?
Do they respect diversity or at least people with multiple personality disorder?
So there you go. The next time you are interviewing someone, be creative and really probe to the core of who they are. Feel free to use any of the questions above, I'm here to help. Finally, a touching tribute as we head into Saturday night...
Stop the press mothafuckas... cause "the news" is dead. When and why did we allow the profession of journalism to be cheapened to a level equal to or less than what used to only be contained in the pages of the National Enquirer? Now I realize that everyone has a job to do, and ultimately the media is simply trying to sell something (namely getting enough eyeballs on their "shit" to justify the $ they are demanding for their advertising properties), but why must we all focus on glorifying the humane?
I'm not sure what is worse - the articles themselves or the fact that our society seems to get off on all that is wrong with the human race (think Jerry Springer). One thing is for sure..."Slum dog journalism" is on the rise - pick up your tablet, turn on the tv, or go old school and get a newspaper and you'll see.
To prove this point, lets take a scan of the top 100 headlines of the day from my favorite news conglomerate. I'll add commentary, just to diffuse what is otherwise generally fucking weird and/or disturbing:
Couple seeking threesome snared in hooker sweep - now that doesn't seem fair... Having said that, note to self... remove all posts from various porn sites (adult friend finder) advertising my desire for an immediate threesome with a hooker...
Fired sex change teacher won't be silenced - I'll bet... what with the breasts of a woman and the cock of an giraffe, you would need a zoologist or an experienced veterinarian to silence that "thing".
Baby squirrel pepper sprayed by cop - I guess patrolling the streets for nasty red squirrels must be one level below traffic cop duty. Anyway, congratulations to officer jackass - a true community hero.
RCMP mum on using stun gun on boy aged 11 - what, no comment? Really, I thought you would have a fairly in depth explanation as to why you felt the need to use a stun gun on an 11 year old... Not that any of us would actually need an explanation, it seems totally justified and understandable after-all.
Neighbor charged after senior given meth-cookie - you can be charged for that? Shit...I knew that was a bad idea... This is exactly what I imagine the "neighbor" with the meth-cookies to look like:
Baby stabbed to death, mom charged - so let me just get this straight, you carried a fetus inside your uterus for up to 9 months... you then passed said fetus through the walls/drapes known as your vagina, you developed horrid irreversible stretch marks on your belly, and allowed your once perky breasts to look more like cucumbers than oranges... AND THEN YOU STABBED YOUR BABY? Fuck you. You deserve what you get.
Man accused of using wrestling moves on toddler - my heart goes out to Randy Macho Man Savage on this day... the years of steroid abuse and psychological trauma from losing the Intercontinental Championship to Ricky "The Dragon" Steamboat in '87 finally caught up to him and he was forced to try and pull his patented "diving elbow drop" with a 4 year old... Don't stop believing Randy... a comeback is clearly in the works.
Woman charged after allegedly biting child - this story is simply a good reminder to never hire someone to babysit your children that insists on carrying his or her own barbeque sauce in their purse or "man bag".... step away from the child honey...
So, there you have it. Our world is fucked and we seem to love it. A word of advice though, stop consuming the garbage that the media serves up to you and focus your time and energy on something that matters (like being charitable to those in your city vs. participating in a fundraiser for earthquake victims in a country across an ocean so you look cool). It will be too late soon enough. Either way, the sun will come out... tomorrow....
