"You mean soccer?"

I've never quite worked out why soccer is called soccer here. Whenever I start talking about football, most people stop me and say "you mean soccer?" No, I mean football. Round ball kicked about with the feet. You've got all these leagues but the names don't reflect the actual activities going on. Whenever I talk to the son of a friend of mine about sports, I tease him about petitioning to have all the leagues renamed. I'm not quite sure if he's worked out that I'm kidding yet as he seemed genuinely concerned after I mentioned it to him the first time but I thought I'd outline my cunning plan for all to admire.

MLS - Major League Soccer? No. Football? Yes. Ball spending most of its time connecting with foot. But you can't call it MLF (Major League Football) because that's a typo away from being MILF and that would just cause confusion with people trying to understand the already overly complex viewers guide on the television. Plus, Hugh Hefner and the other lads would be tuning in and wondering where the naked ladies are. On the other hand, may be a Playboy sponsorship is what the US league really needs to (warning: imminent pun) get kick started. Import a few more Beckham's and the ladies will be happy spectators too.  So with MLF off the table, MLS will be converted to the new National Football League (NFL) sans commercial interruptions!

We can’t have two NFL’s so naturally the old American styled NFL will need to be re-marketed as the NHL (National Handball League) as it is, after all, mostly about running around with a ball in your hand or catching a ball.

Those poor hockey folks are next in line for an accuracy update and while there is a fair amount of actually hockey being played, there seems to be inordinate amounts of fighting going on. I mean, seriously, they have a box to put you in if you beat up too many people. Sounds like the Ultimate Fighting Championship to me. Get out of the box, have some fisticuffs. Oh, and here’s a stick to help you with that pesky puck which periodically gets in the way! So the hockey lads will revel under their new moniker of UFC…

...while the actual half naked fighters of the old UFC are handing out plain old fashioned beat downs with elbows, knees, knuckles, feet and blood (it can be a weapon!) we may as well pay them tribute by revamping the largest growing sport under the banner of the NBA (National Beatdown Association).

Bringing us to the current league with the largest group of shockingly tall individuals ever assembled, the National Basketball Association. Well let’s face it, when was the last time you saw an actual basket used? It’s a steel rim, a hoop if you will, thus the colloquialism ‘hoops’. National Hoopball Association it is! Congrats, lads, you’ve just been inducted into the NHA!

Which leaves us with one final sport: the sad and lonely national past time of the good ol’ US of A. Baseball. Major League Baseball…yeah, I guess we won’t need to change that one. ::yawn:: Which is fine as I’m not overly enthused about re-christening a sport that can put you to sleep. I’m more excited by the prospect of a league for full contact chess in the future.

Must dash, have to send a quick memo to ESPN about their programming updates.

The most expensive FYI ever...

Opening the mail tonight, I discovered a letter from the US Census Bureau. Short and concise, it contained exactly six sentences between the opening salutation and closing signature.

The letter can be paraphrased as follows:
1. Hi.
2. In about a week, you're going to receive a census packet.
3. It is very important you complete it and return it to us.
4. The Census results are used to determine how funds are allocated for roads, schools, health care and other important programs in different areas.
5. If you do not return it, the results will not be accurate and your community may not receive its fair share of funds.
6. Thanks.

If there are roughly 114,000,000 households in America and assuming each gets a letter, the federal government just spent $50,000,000 on postage. $50,000,000....to tell us we'll be getting another letter in a week. Fifty. Million. Dollars. For what amounts to an FYI.

There is no chance I suppose that you could have put this single sheet of paper, explaining the importance of the census, in with the packet you're sending me next week?

Points 1 and 6 would already be typed. Point 2 would become redundant and not need to be typed. So really, you just need to add points 3, 4 and 5 to next week's packet in big, bold, underlined letters. Any chance? No? Well done. If my expense reports looked like that, I'd be unemployed.

The Grinch Who Stole Facebook...

I like to think that I'm convivial creature. I enjoy socializing. I'm quite happy to network. One would think this would be naturally conducive to regular use of social networking sites. And yet, for some reason, that is not the case. At least, not anymore. "Out of the loop?", someone asked the other day. Can't even see the loop from here, mate. Not entirely sure I want to be in the loop anymore for that matter.

The loop used to consist of written letters. With the advent of the internet, it became letters and photos emailed back and forth in lightning quick fashion. Gradually it morphed into online profiles with images posted in batches and short comments left here and there for all to see. I was content with all of those things. The loop now consists of my having to let you know my every movement six times a day in short one line bursts with mobile uploads of pictures where I am at the this very moment. In exchange, you haven't got to say anything - you can just give me a digital thumbs up. "Friend likes this!".

It is entirely possibly that lengthy conversations might have taken place online but that was back in the dark ages of social networking, before you had to spend time pretending to farm, clean a fish tank, pass drinks and form alliances in hopes of surviving the ongoing mafia war.

Instant messaging and mobile texting have vanquished the art of letter writing. And now, online applications have killed the art of coherent conversation reducing communication to the equivalent of a cyber grunt in the general direction of people you know (or don't know for that matter).

As if that weren't bad enough. You want me to spend time pretending to farm, clean a fish tank, pass drinks and form alliances in hopes of surviving the ongoing mafia war. And I'd rather not. I have 300 requests to spend time pretending to farm, clean a fish tank, pass drinks and form alliances in hopes of surviving the ongoing mafia war but I've ignored them all. What the online application hasn't killed though is your determination and persistence. For every request to spend time pretending to farm, clean a fish tank, pass drinks and form alliances in hopes of surviving the ongoing mafia war that I ignore, another pops up to take its place. Kudos to you!

In a desperate attempt to salvage some humanity, I went to your profile to see what you were up to and what your interests were or where you'd been. But alas, I couldn't find any helpful information as it was lost beneath a haze of farms, fish tanks, gifts and quizzes about which sitcom character you're most like. So I gave up. And I left Facebook. And I was content for a while.

But then I realized I was beginning to miss vital information. My incoming emails seems on the light side. Someone asked me why I wasn't at such and such. Hang on, did you send an invitation? Do you have my current address? Was there an email I missed somewhere? I distinctly do not remember a voice mail of any kind. "No, no," they said, "there was a message. On facebook."

So, after a six month or more sabbatical, I've come back to the new loop such as it is, albeit grudgingly. I will log in to facebook on a regular basis. I will catch up and be 'in the loop'. What I won't do is spend time pretending to farm, clean a fish tank, pass drinks and form alliances in hopes of surviving the ongoing mafia war. Life has enough drama without my waging fictitious wars with people I actually like. If I want fish, I'll set up shop with an aquarium in the living room. And if I'm going to have drinks given to me, I must insist that they come from a three dimensional person standing in roughly the same vicinity as me so that there is an actual possibility that I might be allowed to indulge in them.

I still won't farm though. In any capacity. Ever.

The Eight "I'd Really Rather You Didn'ts"

Originally posted 19.May.2007

Some people are just plain funny and possess a superior sense of wit and irony than the rest of us. Thankfully, these people are occasionally ferreted out and forced to write books.

In 2005, Bobby Henderson, wrote an open letter of protest to Oregon State University against their decision to allow Intelligent Design to be included in the science curriculum as an alternative to evolution. In his letter, complete with illustrations, he declared his belief in an alternate religion he had founded himself for the purpose of the letter, and demanded that his 'Pastafarian' theory of creation also be allowed to be taught in the classroom.

Thus the Church of the Flying Spaghetti Monster was born and the Eight I'd Really Rather You Didn'ts. There were originally ten, just like our good ol' arbahamic religions, but two of the stone tablets were accidentally dropped and their contents never revealed. Here then for your reading pleasure, the 8 commandments you really ought to know about as described in the Gospel of the Flying Spaghetti Monster which Henderson was forced to turn into a book!
The Eight "I'd Really Rather You Didn'ts"

1. I'd really rather you didn't act like a sanctimonious holier-than-thou ass when describing my noodly goodness. If some people don't believe in me, that's okay. Really, I'm not that vain. Besides, this isn't about them so don't change the subject.
2. I'd really rather you didn't use my existence as a means to oppress, subjugate, punish, eviscerate, and/or, you know, be mean to others. I don't require sacrifices, and purity is for drinking water, not people.
3. I'd really rather you didn't judge people for the way they look, or how they dress, or the way they talk, or, well, just play nice, Okay? Oh, and get this in your thick heads: woman = person. man = person. Samey = Samey. One is not better than the other, unless we're talking about fashion and I'm sorry, but I gave that to women and some guys who know the difference between teal and fuchsia.
4. I'd really rather you didn't indulge in conduct that offends yourself, or your willing, consenting partner of legal age AND mental maturity. As for anyone who might object, I think the expression is go f*** yourself, unless they find that offensive in which case they can turn off the TV for once and go for a walk for a change.
5. I'd really rather you didn't challenge the bigoted, misogynistic, hateful ideas of others on an empty stomach. Eat, then go after the b*******.
6. I'd really rather you didn't build multi million-dollar churches/temples/mosques/shrines to my noodly goodness when the money could be better spent (take your pick):
   1. Ending poverty
   2. Curing diseases
   3. Living in peace, loving with passion, and lowering the cost of cable
      I might be a complex-carbohydrate omniscient being, but I enjoy the simple things in life. I ought to know. I AM the creator.
7. I'd really rather you didn't go around telling people I talk to you. You're not that interesting. Get over yourself. And I told you to love your fellow man, can't you take a hint?
8. I'd really rather you didn't do unto others as you would have them do unto you if you are into, um, stuff that uses a lot of leather/lubricant/Las Vegas. If the other person is into it, however (pursuant to #4), then have at it, take pictures, and for the love of Mike, wear a CONDOM! honestly, it's a piece of rubber. If I didn't want it to feel good when you did it I would have added spikes, or something.

Insert Punchline Here

Originally posted 15.March.2007

Alright, you got me- I'll be the first to admit my sense of humour is slightly, well, off. But you've got to give me credit for some great witty remarks over the years. Those of you who know me seem to appreciate it but I'm feeling a little under-appreciated on the humour front by strangers whom I cater to.

For example, when being rung up by an elderly man at Home Depot a year or so back, he eyed me suspiciously as I purchased of 3 XL back belts and a massive amount of black electrical tape, I was certain he thought I using my company credit card unethically for accoutrements of some illicit sex act that I was prepping for. Having thought this, when he rung me up I winked at him and said "Don't worry, it's only illegal in three states!" Not a whisper of amusement from him.

Today, I was at a hamburger joint picking up a late lunch for myself and a co-worker. We ill-advisedly ordered our burgers with no mustard, no tomatoes and what have you, which apparently threw the cook staff in complete chaos and disorientation so our fast food took about twelve minutes to arrive. Twelve minutes is an eternity at a drive through I assure you, and it doesn't even qualify as medium paced food… it barely ranks as mall walker speed in my book. So, it's finally delivered and the bloke says "Sorry it took so long." To which I replied, "No worries. Did the cow put up a struggle?" Silence. Just a complete blank look staring back at me. Come on! That was a good one!

But my piece de resistance, my crowning glory of witty remarks, also went un-appreciated and for this I weep.

A few years ago, I was at the gynecologist's office having one of those annoying annual check ups. The doctor was this tiny frail old woman who was about 102… or 68 or something. After the check up she says to me and I quote "You have a very healthy vagina." And in lightening fast time I said, "Well thanks, I make sure it eats right and get plenty of exercise!" My best line ever, perhaps, and it was completely lost on this little old woman with her "that's nice, dear" demeanor who will never repeat it to a friend whilst hooting with laughter or tell it to a colleague so that my razor sharp retort becomes legend in the medical world. Nope, she probably won't even remember me …and I'm standing in gynecologist's office so there aren't exactly an abundance of friends nearby to testify to my stunning wit that day.

It's a crying shame, I tell you.

Murphy's Law

Originally posted 14.August.2006

You've heard of Murphy's Law? We like to refer to it as Sod's Law in England, I'm not quite sure if that was an attempt to manoeuvre around a blatantly Irish name on our behalf or just a need to spice things up with our rather dry sense of English humour (if you're not sure about what this means you should probably look up where the term 'sod' comes from...), either way whomever's law it is was in full effect today. The law, by the way, for anyone who may not be familiar with it, is that whatever can go wrong, will go wrong.

I think I started this with the intention of listing each individual work related atrocity by line item to emphasize the sheer range of horrific events. I find now that I'm just far too tired to go into all the gory details. Instead, I'll simply say today was awful. Were I to write a poem now, it would probably be called "Untitled (A List of Events That Cause Me to Hate Everything)." I could even write a(n) haiku, although I'm damn sure that would centre around the repeated use of the word 'hate' as well. Meaningful yet compact.

So rather than continue my rant I shall depart so as to put on a new album, Eric Clapton's "No Reason to Cry" coming up (although I begin to question the validity of his assertion) and in exchange I leave you with this to chew on.

Sod's Laws and its Corallaries

(or The Twelve Laws of Inaccurate Perception)

• SOD'S LAW, ALSO KNOWN AS MURPHY'S LAW. If anything can go wrong, it will.
  
  
• O'TOOLE'S COMMENTARY ON MURPHY'S LAW. Murphy was an optimist.
  
  
• THE FIRST COROLLARY TO SOD'S LAW. Anything that is to go wrong will do so at the worst possible moment.
  
  
• THE UNSPEAKABLE LAW. As soon as you mention something, if it's good, it goes away; if it's bad, it happens.
  
  
• NON-RECIPROCAL LAWS OF EXPECTATIONS. Negative expectations yield negative results. Positive expectations yield negative results.
  
  
• HOWE'S LAW. Every man has a scheme which will not work.
  
  
• ZYMURGY'S FIRST LAW OF EVOLVING SYSTEM DYNAMICS. Once you open a can of worms, the only way to re-can them is to use a larger can.
  
  
• SKINNER'S CONSTANT. The quantity which must be multiplied by, divided by, added to or subtracted from the answer you get to give the answer you should have got.
  
  
• LAW OF SELECTIVE GRAVITY. An object will fall so as to do the most damage.
  
  
• JENNING'S COROLLARY. The chance of the bread falling with the buttered side down is directly proportional to the cost of the carpet.
  
  
• BARTH'S DISTINCTION. There are two types of people: those who divide people into two types and those who do not.
  
  
• NINETY-NINETY RULE OF PROJECT SCHEDULES. The first 90% of the job takes 90% of the time, the last 10% takes the other 90%.
  
  
• FARBER'S RULE. Necessity is the mother of strange bedfellows.

Practical Advice

Originally posted 6.March.2006

Having witnessed a number of situations abundant with unforgivable stupidity over the past few weeks, I feel obliged to point people in the right direction. If not for their own good then simply for the sake of my own sanity. Therefore, herewith I offer some practical advice:

1) If you have to wear a t-shirt proclaiming yourself a "rebel", you aren't one. Really.

2) When you take your small child to a shop and they spend innumerable minutes tugging at your clothing and very loudly saying over and over again "MummyMummyMummyyyyMuMummyMUMMYMUMMYMummy!" 
ANSWER THEM! Jesus Jumped-Up Christ, answer them. How do you not know what the next step is? Say something, anything. Odds are 50/50 it will result in quiet for the entire shop!

3) What is the point of buying an extravagant pair of rims for a car that is, let's face it, being held together by the paint, hmm? If you own a car that is, in all reality, totaling only three digits worth of cash then perhaps it would be best to save your money and put it towards a new car that isn't falling apart and doesn't spew forth exhaust fumes that cause birds to fall out of trees unconscious as you drive past. I'm not an expert, but you really don't want the ASPCA breathing down your neck for mass bird homicides, do you? And face it, shiny rims don't make your on-it's-last-legs car go any faster so it would be rather embarrassing to be on the losing end of a high speed chase that involves a 15 year old Animal Police van, no? Save your money, please. 

4) Let's say you submit a resume to a number of companies. One might assume, as I did, that you are in fact interested in working for these companies. At the very least, one would deduce that you are interested in having an interview so you can find out more about the company. This being said, when a company manager rings to offer you the opportunity to interview you should probably have already thought up a response to the request. Even if it is a polite rejection of said offer. Umming and ahhing over whether or not you're willing to make an appointment, is not endearing you to your interviewer. Agreeing to meet as though you're doing them a favour? Also not increasing your odds of finding employment. And honestly now, you gave us your resume, we're not randomly phoning you out of the blue. In fact having annoyed your interviewer immensely over the telephone and subsequently agreeing to meet early tomorrow morning, it's quite possible (having now seen your communication skills and professionalism in action) that we've decided not to interview you at all anymore. That being said, we'll be happy to advise you of said decision... once you've arrived. Happy trails, genius.

For Unlawful Carnal Knowledge...at Home Depot

Originally posted 22.February.2006

I had to stop at Home Depot on my way home this evening for some work related D.I.Y supplies. Quick in and out job, nothing major as I was eager to get home because I'm starved. 

Standing at the checkout with my gear, another queue opens up so I hop over to the next cashier who happens to be a little 86 year old man who has a look of perpetual suspicion on his face. He scans my choice items: 3 extra large heavy duty back belts (for my warehouse crew), 1 can of WD-40 (for getting stuck things loose) and a substantial amount of black electrical tape (for some hard wiring needed at an upcoming trade show). 

Judging by the scandalized look on his face, one can only assume that he concluded I was purchasing accoutrements for illicit sex acts I was about to engage in with three burly men...on a company credit card no less.  Not a bad way to spend one's evening, but not what I had in mind, at least not tonight.

I couldn't help myself. As I picked up my bag to go, I winked at the poor old man with his face in a permanent mask of disdain and said cheerfully "No worries, it's only illegal in three states!" I hope he didn't have heart failure as I made my way merrily across the parking lot.

Accidental Pets

Originally posted on 15.February.2006

I am, apparently, the proud new owner of a lizard. I say 'apparently' because I did not make a conscious decision to own one. It's not like I turfed up at the local pet shop and said "what 'ave you got for lizards? That one there, the little brown one, I'll take 'im."   Nor was I the recipient of one of those insanely poorly planned pets-for-gifts ideas that the gift giver often believes to be the most splendid item one human could possibly present to another despite the questionable logistics and appropriateness of said animal.

"Happy Birthday! Look what I got you!" proclaims the gift giver.

"It's a cow" the gift receiver says, rather bewildered.

"I know!" exclaims the insane gift giver, grinning ear to ear. "Her name's Betsy. Isn't she fantastic? And you're always saying how cute they are when you see one."

"I live in a third floor one bedroom apartment," points out the cow receiver.

So no, I was not given a lizard by a mad family member, friend or associate. I simply acquired him through no fault of my own. He (the lizard) has, upon discovering my place conveniently located on the ground floor with direct access to patio and grass, community pool and close to shops and beaches, taken a liking to it and seems loathe to leave despite my best efforts to evict him.

I thought he'd finally left after a couple weeks holiday with us so you can imagine my surprise when sitting reading on my couch Sunday afternoon I spied him nimbly hopping from television to stereo speaker. Did you know lizards can jump? They can. Needless to say I tossed aside my book only to have him elude me between the TV and bookcase. Just when I finally had him cornered, he scampered under the couch [*exasperated sigh*]. My couch is large and cumbersome, not at all the sort of furniture one can simultaneously lift on one's own whilst trying to reach underneath with the other hand for a small evasive lizard. So I gave up, reluctantly deciding he can stay as it wasn't worth the aggravation of chasing him around.  This I decided after forty futile minutes.

Live and let live. At least that was my thought until Monday night when I fell asleep on the couch, only to be woken in the wee hours by a small brown lizard loping up my torso. 

 "OUT!" (Points at door). 

Now he's got to go. I'm designating Saturday to relocating my little lizard friend to the great outdoors. Enjoy it while you can, mon ami, moving day is coming.