By DARREN HANDSCHUH
It was one of those things that is so odd it's funny.
I was driving down the street a while back when a little old lady in a silver car pulled out in front of me and I had to slam on the brakes to avoid some up-close-and-personal interaction with granny.
I managed to slow down and swerve to the point where the collision was avoided. You could say I was a little annoyed at the almost accident, until I noticed it was a kindly, little old lady behind the wheel.
That changed my attitude rather quickly because who could possibly be mad at Granny. And besides, stuff happens and no one is perfect and I was sure she simply did not see me. No biggie.
I gave Granny a couple of little toots on the horn just to let her know I was there and we almost got to exchange phone numbers and insurance information.
This sweet, kindly, granny-looking little old lady, peered into her rearview mirror and proceeded to flip me the bird.
I must admit, that was probably the last thing I expected a little old lady to do. Granny is not supposed to do that. Shouldn't you be at home baking cookies for the grandchildren, or knitting something instead of making an obscene gesture? Especially when you consider it was Grandma Dynamite who was at fault in the first place.
And this was not a quick flip of the driving finger, this was a prolonged hey-butthead-behind-me-I-got-your-granny-greeting-right-here kind of gesture.
It took a couple of seconds before I fully realized what was going on. At first, I thought she was waving to say sorry for almost causing our insurance rates to go up, but most people use all five fingers to do that.
I stared for the duration of the salute and sure enough Granny was giving me the what for with a certain finger reserved for non-verbal communication of the unpleasant kind.
So I did what any other driver would do, I got in close, hit her car from behind and spun her into the on-coming lane where she was creamed by a dump truck.
I'm kidding of course. It was a cement truck.
In reality, all I could do was look on in a mild state of shock at what I was witnessing.
I pulled up beside the car to make sure it really was a granny and not a teen wearing an old people costume, but sure enough, this was a full-fledged grandma-type driver.
I tell you, seniors are getting harder and harder to raise these days.
Once the initial surprise wore off, I had to chuckle at granny for not taking any crap from one of those young whippersnappers.
Now, I have never snapped a whipper in my life, but according to Hostile Hilda in the Honda, I was just some punk kid with an attitude. A punk kid who, at the time, was in his mid 30s.
What is the protocol in that situation? I couldn't give her the finger in return. Flipping Granny the bird would be too strange and just seemed plain wrong.
Two wrongs do not make a right, no matter how good that second wrong feels.
Eventually, Granny went her way and I went mine, both with stories to tell.
Hers was of some jerk in a little red car who was harassing her with his horn.
Mine was of a member of the blue hair crowd who gave me hope that when I become a senior, I won't have to take any guff from some punk on the street.
You go granny.
Wednesday, April 27, 2011
Monday, April 18, 2011
Too many teens
By DARREN HANDSCHUH
What's one more? Or two? Or even five?
A lot of noise and stress that's what.
The ever-increasing number refers to the extra kids that invaded my home for spring break.
Two of the scalawags used to live here, moved to The Coast last fall and came back for a visit. No point in just stopping by over night, so these fine young lads stayed for a week.
A whole freaking week. I mean, oh joy and blessings, a whole week.
And because those two stayed, three other friends of my son decided they had best hang around as well, so they too were in my basement for a whole week. A whole freaking week. I mean oh joy...
In case you lost count that is at least six teenage boys staying at my humble abode for the first week of spring break, and only one of them is mine.
Thank God for work. It is nice to come to the office and shed the stress of being at home. It is also so much quieter at my work desk. Mind you a heavy metal concert would likely be quieter than my home is.
They are good boys every one of them. They are not into drugs or booze or any debauchery worth mentioning, but teenage boys are loud. When you get that many together ñ one evening I had eight of them in the basement because a couple more popped in to say hi ñ they are going to be loud. It is as simple as that.
Making all that noise must burn up a lot of energy because they eat more than the Moldavian navy.
Dinosaurs did not eat as much as this crew. I bet that's what really happened to the dinosaurs. It wasn't a meteorite or any other natural cataclysm that eradicated the humongous beasts from the earth.
Nope, it was a herd of Neanderthal teens in a feeding frenzy.
And all those dino bones the scientists keep finding were where their Neanderthal moms told them to clean their plates.
But back to the chaos that is my home. Why, you may be asking, have I opened my doors to such an invasion?
Simple: the boys are having a great time, the ones who moved away are thrilled to be back in town for a whole (freaking) week, and besides, my wife made me.
That last one carried a lot of weight.
OK, I'll admit it is kind of cool to have them all at my home and I enjoy the energy they brought into our lives (my wife made me say that).
But like I said, they are good kids, or they are good at not getting caught. Either way, at the end of the day it is pretty much the same thing. As long as the police do not show up at my door, it's all good.
My oldest boy was smart and he bailed for the week. He called in a few favours from friends to stay at their house and when that ran out, it was Grandma to the rescue with a hot supper and a spare bed.
Smart kid.
But for those of us who cannot run and hide, we must face the hungry hoard of hooligans head on ñ usually with a food offering in hand.
Was it stressful having all those hyper, loud, active teenage boys ripping around my house for a whole freaking week? You better believe it.
Was it worth the expense, the loss of so many farm animals who gave their lives upon my barbecue so we might live and the lack of sleep just to provide these kids with some good memories they will talk about for years to come? You better believe it.
What's one more? Or two? Or even five?
A lot of noise and stress that's what.
The ever-increasing number refers to the extra kids that invaded my home for spring break.
Two of the scalawags used to live here, moved to The Coast last fall and came back for a visit. No point in just stopping by over night, so these fine young lads stayed for a week.
A whole freaking week. I mean, oh joy and blessings, a whole week.
And because those two stayed, three other friends of my son decided they had best hang around as well, so they too were in my basement for a whole week. A whole freaking week. I mean oh joy...
In case you lost count that is at least six teenage boys staying at my humble abode for the first week of spring break, and only one of them is mine.
Thank God for work. It is nice to come to the office and shed the stress of being at home. It is also so much quieter at my work desk. Mind you a heavy metal concert would likely be quieter than my home is.
They are good boys every one of them. They are not into drugs or booze or any debauchery worth mentioning, but teenage boys are loud. When you get that many together ñ one evening I had eight of them in the basement because a couple more popped in to say hi ñ they are going to be loud. It is as simple as that.
Making all that noise must burn up a lot of energy because they eat more than the Moldavian navy.
Dinosaurs did not eat as much as this crew. I bet that's what really happened to the dinosaurs. It wasn't a meteorite or any other natural cataclysm that eradicated the humongous beasts from the earth.
Nope, it was a herd of Neanderthal teens in a feeding frenzy.
And all those dino bones the scientists keep finding were where their Neanderthal moms told them to clean their plates.
But back to the chaos that is my home. Why, you may be asking, have I opened my doors to such an invasion?
Simple: the boys are having a great time, the ones who moved away are thrilled to be back in town for a whole (freaking) week, and besides, my wife made me.
That last one carried a lot of weight.
OK, I'll admit it is kind of cool to have them all at my home and I enjoy the energy they brought into our lives (my wife made me say that).
But like I said, they are good kids, or they are good at not getting caught. Either way, at the end of the day it is pretty much the same thing. As long as the police do not show up at my door, it's all good.
My oldest boy was smart and he bailed for the week. He called in a few favours from friends to stay at their house and when that ran out, it was Grandma to the rescue with a hot supper and a spare bed.
Smart kid.
But for those of us who cannot run and hide, we must face the hungry hoard of hooligans head on ñ usually with a food offering in hand.
Was it stressful having all those hyper, loud, active teenage boys ripping around my house for a whole freaking week? You better believe it.
Was it worth the expense, the loss of so many farm animals who gave their lives upon my barbecue so we might live and the lack of sleep just to provide these kids with some good memories they will talk about for years to come? You better believe it.
Don't be a bozo
By DARREN HANDSCHUH
The world would be a much better place if it wasn't for all the people in it.
The more I think about that statement, the more it makes sense.
There are many good people in the world, but there are also some real bozos.
Now, faithful readers of my column would expect me to throw in some sort of shot at our elected officials at this point, but I am not going to do that this time, because all you have to do is read the news and the bozos are identified on their own.
Anyway, getting back to the regular bozos among us, there are plenty to choose from so I am going to take a moment and vent my frustration at a choice few.
This first bozo knows full well who he or she is and they know full well what they have done. Bozo No. 1 is whoever drains the last drop of coffee from the office coffee maker and does not make another batch.
It really is not that complicated and I am sure even someone with an IQ slightly less than a turnip can figure out how to do it.
Here is a quick, step-by-step breakdown of making coffee: add filter, put coffee in filter, add water, close lid and push 'on' button.
Now sit back and rejoice at the fact that by taking those extra 28 seconds out of your life you have earned your way off the bozo list.
It will also dramatically decrease the bad things your co-workers are saying about you ñ well, when it comes to draining the black elixir anyway.
Bozo of the day No. 2 is the guy (or gal) who pulls out in front of you at the last moment, causing you to hit the brakes to avoid a vehicular interaction incident.
That in itself is annoying (not to mention dangerous), but then said bozo will drive 10 km/h below the speed limit.
Why would you do that? You cut me off like you are in a hurry to get somewhere, then act like you are part of a funeral precession until to get to your destination. I don't get it.
It is amazing how often this happens and even more amazing how many times it happens when there are no other cars behind me, and Mr. Go-slo can do just that to his (or her) heart's content.
The next bozo is one of the most annoying and one I am sure most people have encountered. This bozo is not going to the dogs, but he (or she) is in charge of them.
Bozo No. 3 is the meathead who does not clean up after Fido drops a little parting gift while being taken for a stroll.
There are these little devices called plastic bags that serve all sorts of useful purposes, including picking up your dog's droppings.
I do not need to be walking down a trail, or even a sidewalk and skid through a big (or even a little) pile of doggy doo-doo.
C'mon, take the extra 10 seconds out of your day and clean up after your pet.
ìWell it is kinda gross to pick that up.î Kind of gross to pick it up, not nearly as gross as stepping in it and tracking doggy ploppings all over the place. That stuff gets stuck in the treads of shoes and you have to get a stick to clean it out and...well you know how it goes. Now that's gross.
Big dog, small dog, fat, skinny, smart, dumb ñ I don't care ñ if you mutt drops a doggy land mine, it is your job to defuse the situation.
So if you know anyone in any of these categories, let them know they are a bozo ñ especially the doggy doo-doo person.
There, that takes care of my rant for this week. Now if you will excuse me I have to go, but I will be sure to watch for someone drinking coffee who pulls out in front of me while taking their dog somewhere for a walk ñ without a baggy of course.
The world would be a much better place if it wasn't for all the people in it.
The more I think about that statement, the more it makes sense.
There are many good people in the world, but there are also some real bozos.
Now, faithful readers of my column would expect me to throw in some sort of shot at our elected officials at this point, but I am not going to do that this time, because all you have to do is read the news and the bozos are identified on their own.
Anyway, getting back to the regular bozos among us, there are plenty to choose from so I am going to take a moment and vent my frustration at a choice few.
This first bozo knows full well who he or she is and they know full well what they have done. Bozo No. 1 is whoever drains the last drop of coffee from the office coffee maker and does not make another batch.
It really is not that complicated and I am sure even someone with an IQ slightly less than a turnip can figure out how to do it.
Here is a quick, step-by-step breakdown of making coffee: add filter, put coffee in filter, add water, close lid and push 'on' button.
Now sit back and rejoice at the fact that by taking those extra 28 seconds out of your life you have earned your way off the bozo list.
It will also dramatically decrease the bad things your co-workers are saying about you ñ well, when it comes to draining the black elixir anyway.
Bozo of the day No. 2 is the guy (or gal) who pulls out in front of you at the last moment, causing you to hit the brakes to avoid a vehicular interaction incident.
That in itself is annoying (not to mention dangerous), but then said bozo will drive 10 km/h below the speed limit.
Why would you do that? You cut me off like you are in a hurry to get somewhere, then act like you are part of a funeral precession until to get to your destination. I don't get it.
It is amazing how often this happens and even more amazing how many times it happens when there are no other cars behind me, and Mr. Go-slo can do just that to his (or her) heart's content.
The next bozo is one of the most annoying and one I am sure most people have encountered. This bozo is not going to the dogs, but he (or she) is in charge of them.
Bozo No. 3 is the meathead who does not clean up after Fido drops a little parting gift while being taken for a stroll.
There are these little devices called plastic bags that serve all sorts of useful purposes, including picking up your dog's droppings.
I do not need to be walking down a trail, or even a sidewalk and skid through a big (or even a little) pile of doggy doo-doo.
C'mon, take the extra 10 seconds out of your day and clean up after your pet.
ìWell it is kinda gross to pick that up.î Kind of gross to pick it up, not nearly as gross as stepping in it and tracking doggy ploppings all over the place. That stuff gets stuck in the treads of shoes and you have to get a stick to clean it out and...well you know how it goes. Now that's gross.
Big dog, small dog, fat, skinny, smart, dumb ñ I don't care ñ if you mutt drops a doggy land mine, it is your job to defuse the situation.
So if you know anyone in any of these categories, let them know they are a bozo ñ especially the doggy doo-doo person.
There, that takes care of my rant for this week. Now if you will excuse me I have to go, but I will be sure to watch for someone drinking coffee who pulls out in front of me while taking their dog somewhere for a walk ñ without a baggy of course.
Friday, March 25, 2011
Heeeelp, I'm in my 40s
The other day I was looking in the mirror and I had to ask myself, "What the hell happened to you?"
One day I was this young, vibrant, good looking stud - well, I was young anyway - and the next I was this balding guy with wrinkles and gray hair in his goatee.
The hair on my head is evacuating at an alarming rate.
The rapidly receding hairline, the pot belly and the grey hairs can mean only one thing ñ it is time to stop looking in the mirror.
It's funny how you come full circle, though. When I was a toddler, I was bald with a pot belly, but if I run around the house in just a diaper now, everyone freaks out. Go figure.
The calendar is also my enemy because it is a daily reminder that I am a full-blown, middle-aged guy, and I have the angst about how the first 40-something years of my life went to prove it.
I have talked with my wife about the fun a mid-life crisis will bring, but I am still debating exactly what action I should take to get the most out of the getting-old crisis that is materializing on the horizon.
Having an affair is completely out of the question, no matter what crisis I am going through. When I said, ìI do,î I did and that's all there is to it.
So, what other mid-life meltdowns do I have left available to me?
I could get a sports car, but with one kid entering college next year any money for a fancy car will likely be spent on educating Junior. Which is money well spent because if I don't, he could very likely be on my couch when he is 40 and starting a mid-life dilemma of his own.
So some short-term college pain is for my own long-term gain. However, it does mean I will have to scrub the sports car plan ñ forever ñ as there are two more spawn after the oldest one who will want to go on to post-secondary education, which means I will be cashing in bottles to pay for tuition for the next 10 years or so.
OK, so I will not be having an affair and the only sports car I will ever own will be from the Hot Wheels collection.
I already have a motorcycle so I can not even get one of those in an attempt to feel young. I have had motorcycles off and on since I was 13, so they have always been part of my life ñ young and old.
I have heard of several of my mid-life brethren who have gone out and bought a motorbike that was way too big and powerful for them ñ especially when you consider many had never had one before.
This led to their mid-life crisis being converted to a medical crisis due to some form of untimely dismount from their metal steed. In other words, they crashed the stupid thing because they had no idea what they were doing.
Well, at least all that road rash took their mind off getting old.
So, no affair, no sports car and I already have a bike. Hmmm, I am sensing my mid-life options are dwindling. There is always a complete nervous break down I suppose, but that sounds like a lot of work and at my age, I need my rest.
No affair, no sports car, no motorcycle option and a mental breakdown is more hassle than it's worth.
I guess I will have to sit back and see what happens.
However, if anyone has any suggestions I am all ears, but you will have to speak up because at my age, the hearing is not a good as it once was.
One day I was this young, vibrant, good looking stud - well, I was young anyway - and the next I was this balding guy with wrinkles and gray hair in his goatee.
The hair on my head is evacuating at an alarming rate.
The rapidly receding hairline, the pot belly and the grey hairs can mean only one thing ñ it is time to stop looking in the mirror.
It's funny how you come full circle, though. When I was a toddler, I was bald with a pot belly, but if I run around the house in just a diaper now, everyone freaks out. Go figure.
The calendar is also my enemy because it is a daily reminder that I am a full-blown, middle-aged guy, and I have the angst about how the first 40-something years of my life went to prove it.
I have talked with my wife about the fun a mid-life crisis will bring, but I am still debating exactly what action I should take to get the most out of the getting-old crisis that is materializing on the horizon.
Having an affair is completely out of the question, no matter what crisis I am going through. When I said, ìI do,î I did and that's all there is to it.
So, what other mid-life meltdowns do I have left available to me?
I could get a sports car, but with one kid entering college next year any money for a fancy car will likely be spent on educating Junior. Which is money well spent because if I don't, he could very likely be on my couch when he is 40 and starting a mid-life dilemma of his own.
So some short-term college pain is for my own long-term gain. However, it does mean I will have to scrub the sports car plan ñ forever ñ as there are two more spawn after the oldest one who will want to go on to post-secondary education, which means I will be cashing in bottles to pay for tuition for the next 10 years or so.
OK, so I will not be having an affair and the only sports car I will ever own will be from the Hot Wheels collection.
I already have a motorcycle so I can not even get one of those in an attempt to feel young. I have had motorcycles off and on since I was 13, so they have always been part of my life ñ young and old.
I have heard of several of my mid-life brethren who have gone out and bought a motorbike that was way too big and powerful for them ñ especially when you consider many had never had one before.
This led to their mid-life crisis being converted to a medical crisis due to some form of untimely dismount from their metal steed. In other words, they crashed the stupid thing because they had no idea what they were doing.
Well, at least all that road rash took their mind off getting old.
So, no affair, no sports car and I already have a bike. Hmmm, I am sensing my mid-life options are dwindling. There is always a complete nervous break down I suppose, but that sounds like a lot of work and at my age, I need my rest.
No affair, no sports car, no motorcycle option and a mental breakdown is more hassle than it's worth.
I guess I will have to sit back and see what happens.
However, if anyone has any suggestions I am all ears, but you will have to speak up because at my age, the hearing is not a good as it once was.
Friday, March 18, 2011
Who needs hair?
By DARREN HANDSCHUH
OK, what is the deal with hair.
Is it some cruel joke Father Time likes to play on people for his own personal amusement?
When you are born, odds are you had little to no hair on your head.
But it doesn't take long before your head is covered in this wonderful fluffy stuff known as hair.
During those first few years, hair can be more of a hassle than anything ñ for the parent anyway who has to try and keep Junior's hair clean after a hard day of playing in the dirt.
But as you enter the teen years, hair becomes an important part of your life. You wash it, condition it, comb it (a lot), dye it, style it, admire it...
There is just no end to the youthful enjoyment of a full head of hair.
Hair also starts to sprout on your legs and arms.
For most girls, this hair is light in both density and colour. Ladies can shave their legs and have skin as smooth as silk in a matter of minutes.
I would need a blow torch and weed-whacker to hack down the forest growing on my lower appendages. One wrong move could result in a medical emergency of the blood loss variety.
Many people keep their crown of locks well into their senior years, however, there are those fortunate few who get to experience balding at a young age. The chosen ones, I like to call them.
Yes, I am talking about yours truly. I started losing my hair when I was 20. By the time I was in my mid-20s, it was quite noticeable. In fact, my dad had more hair than I did.
I decided I might as well embrace my enhanced scalp and go bald gracefully.
No comb overs, no hair clubs and no growing it long in the back just to fool myself into thinking I still have a fountain of flowing follicles.
No, if I was going bald, - which I was ñ I was going to do it right. After much weeping and gnashing of teeth, I shaved my hair super short and decided that was probably the last hair style I would ever have.
But as the years progressed, I realized I was not actually losing hair ñ it was just relocating. I bet if I could count all the hair on my body, it would be exactly the same now as when I had a full head of hair because the hair on my head is simply sprouting up in other areas.
Why I need hair to grow out of the top of my shoulder I do not know. Not both shoulders, no, that would make way too much sense. Nope, I get to have hair growing out of my left shoulder only.
Why? I guess the answer could be why not.
Why do I need eyebrows that are bushy enough to hide a small immigrant family in? I don't, but my body thinks I do, so the older I get, the bushier the brows become.
While the shoulder locks are a mystery and the abundant eyebrows are kinda creepy, the hair growing out of my ears is utterly pointless.
I guess everyone has hair in their ears, but on most people it is not long enough to braid.
One year for Christmas, the Missus bought me a nose and ear trimmer ñ more as a practical joke than anything ñ but several years later I am putting that piece of battery operated gear through the paces on a regular basis ñ which is something she encourages actually.
I spend more time shaving my eyebrows, ears and shoulder than I do my face.
Come to think of it, Father Time is kind of a butthead.
OK, what is the deal with hair.
Is it some cruel joke Father Time likes to play on people for his own personal amusement?
When you are born, odds are you had little to no hair on your head.
But it doesn't take long before your head is covered in this wonderful fluffy stuff known as hair.
During those first few years, hair can be more of a hassle than anything ñ for the parent anyway who has to try and keep Junior's hair clean after a hard day of playing in the dirt.
But as you enter the teen years, hair becomes an important part of your life. You wash it, condition it, comb it (a lot), dye it, style it, admire it...
There is just no end to the youthful enjoyment of a full head of hair.
Hair also starts to sprout on your legs and arms.
For most girls, this hair is light in both density and colour. Ladies can shave their legs and have skin as smooth as silk in a matter of minutes.
I would need a blow torch and weed-whacker to hack down the forest growing on my lower appendages. One wrong move could result in a medical emergency of the blood loss variety.
Many people keep their crown of locks well into their senior years, however, there are those fortunate few who get to experience balding at a young age. The chosen ones, I like to call them.
Yes, I am talking about yours truly. I started losing my hair when I was 20. By the time I was in my mid-20s, it was quite noticeable. In fact, my dad had more hair than I did.
I decided I might as well embrace my enhanced scalp and go bald gracefully.
No comb overs, no hair clubs and no growing it long in the back just to fool myself into thinking I still have a fountain of flowing follicles.
No, if I was going bald, - which I was ñ I was going to do it right. After much weeping and gnashing of teeth, I shaved my hair super short and decided that was probably the last hair style I would ever have.
But as the years progressed, I realized I was not actually losing hair ñ it was just relocating. I bet if I could count all the hair on my body, it would be exactly the same now as when I had a full head of hair because the hair on my head is simply sprouting up in other areas.
Why I need hair to grow out of the top of my shoulder I do not know. Not both shoulders, no, that would make way too much sense. Nope, I get to have hair growing out of my left shoulder only.
Why? I guess the answer could be why not.
Why do I need eyebrows that are bushy enough to hide a small immigrant family in? I don't, but my body thinks I do, so the older I get, the bushier the brows become.
While the shoulder locks are a mystery and the abundant eyebrows are kinda creepy, the hair growing out of my ears is utterly pointless.
I guess everyone has hair in their ears, but on most people it is not long enough to braid.
One year for Christmas, the Missus bought me a nose and ear trimmer ñ more as a practical joke than anything ñ but several years later I am putting that piece of battery operated gear through the paces on a regular basis ñ which is something she encourages actually.
I spend more time shaving my eyebrows, ears and shoulder than I do my face.
Come to think of it, Father Time is kind of a butthead.
football is boring
OK, I'll admit it.
I am saying it right here in black and white: I don't get what all the Super Bowl hoopla is about.
It is just a football game, sure it's a championship game, but still it is one single game.
I am even going to take things a little further and admit I am not a big football fan, not even Canadian football (but you probably already guessed that.)
There, I am out of the football closet as it were. I have watched football of course, and I find it just slightly more exciting than soccer.
I know, I just alienated both forms of football fans, but what can I tell ya, I just find both games a little on the slow side. And by a little, I mean a lot.
And why do they call football, football? I can understand why Europeans call their game of choice football, because you kick the ball with your foot ñ not too big of a stretch there.
But in the North American game, they spend most of the time carrying the ball. Maybe they should have called that soccer instead of stealing the name of another sport which can cause confusion among die-hard football fans (I'll let you decide what brand of football I am talking about because at this point, I am not too sure myself.)
I am glad basketball was invented by a Canadian.
Based on their creativity when it comes to naming sporting activities, had the Yanks invented basketball, they probably would have called it hockey.
But a good ol' Canuck decided the point of the game was to put a ball through a basket, and seeing as how football had already been taken ñ twice ñ he went with basketball.
Basketball is an exciting game, with lots of action, passing, shooting and super stars creating more drama than than those boneheads on Jersey Shore. It's kind of like a soap opera with a jock strap.
I will admit, there are a few exciting moments in football, but you have to sit through a lot of agnonizingly boring plays before there is that brief flurry of action.
Then it is back to huddles, some guy with the ball running a few feet before being tackled, then another huddle, then another short run, then another huddle...and so on and so forth.
Yawn.
Instead of spending a few precious hours of my life watching the game, I just tune in to a sports show at the end of the day and catch the highlights. Perfect. I can see everything worth seeing in about three minutes.
Which brings us back to the Super Bowl.
So much hype goes into one single game, you would think the second coming will happen at half time.
Advertisers spend millions of dollars for a singe commercial. Why? Because there will be millions of people worldwide watching the game. This year 111 million plunked down in front of a TV to watch the championship game of 'carrytheballî (what the game should have been called.)
Thanks to the wonders of the Interweb, I do not even have to watch the Super Bowl to see the commercials ñ which is typically the best part of game anyway. I can just go to Youtube and viola, there they are, free of all the pointless stuff ñ like the game itself.
I am sure right about now there are some die-hard football fans frothing at the mouth for such sacrilege and to them I say if you want to watch a real sporting event, catch a hockey game.
Fast, hard hitting and exciting with a play off that is not decided in a single game.
That way if your team has an off day, there is always game two to even the score.
Now if you'll excuse me I have to Youtube those commercials again.
Oh, and, can anyone tell me who won the game?
I am saying it right here in black and white: I don't get what all the Super Bowl hoopla is about.
It is just a football game, sure it's a championship game, but still it is one single game.
I am even going to take things a little further and admit I am not a big football fan, not even Canadian football (but you probably already guessed that.)
There, I am out of the football closet as it were. I have watched football of course, and I find it just slightly more exciting than soccer.
I know, I just alienated both forms of football fans, but what can I tell ya, I just find both games a little on the slow side. And by a little, I mean a lot.
And why do they call football, football? I can understand why Europeans call their game of choice football, because you kick the ball with your foot ñ not too big of a stretch there.
But in the North American game, they spend most of the time carrying the ball. Maybe they should have called that soccer instead of stealing the name of another sport which can cause confusion among die-hard football fans (I'll let you decide what brand of football I am talking about because at this point, I am not too sure myself.)
I am glad basketball was invented by a Canadian.
Based on their creativity when it comes to naming sporting activities, had the Yanks invented basketball, they probably would have called it hockey.
But a good ol' Canuck decided the point of the game was to put a ball through a basket, and seeing as how football had already been taken ñ twice ñ he went with basketball.
Basketball is an exciting game, with lots of action, passing, shooting and super stars creating more drama than than those boneheads on Jersey Shore. It's kind of like a soap opera with a jock strap.
I will admit, there are a few exciting moments in football, but you have to sit through a lot of agnonizingly boring plays before there is that brief flurry of action.
Then it is back to huddles, some guy with the ball running a few feet before being tackled, then another huddle, then another short run, then another huddle...and so on and so forth.
Yawn.
Instead of spending a few precious hours of my life watching the game, I just tune in to a sports show at the end of the day and catch the highlights. Perfect. I can see everything worth seeing in about three minutes.
Which brings us back to the Super Bowl.
So much hype goes into one single game, you would think the second coming will happen at half time.
Advertisers spend millions of dollars for a singe commercial. Why? Because there will be millions of people worldwide watching the game. This year 111 million plunked down in front of a TV to watch the championship game of 'carrytheballî (what the game should have been called.)
Thanks to the wonders of the Interweb, I do not even have to watch the Super Bowl to see the commercials ñ which is typically the best part of game anyway. I can just go to Youtube and viola, there they are, free of all the pointless stuff ñ like the game itself.
I am sure right about now there are some die-hard football fans frothing at the mouth for such sacrilege and to them I say if you want to watch a real sporting event, catch a hockey game.
Fast, hard hitting and exciting with a play off that is not decided in a single game.
That way if your team has an off day, there is always game two to even the score.
Now if you'll excuse me I have to Youtube those commercials again.
Oh, and, can anyone tell me who won the game?
Wednesday, March 16, 2011
Weird is an understatement
By DARREN HANDSCHUH
Ladies and gentlemen, it is a strange world out there.
Need proof? Read the news. Even the best Hollywood writers could not come up with some of this stuff.
Real life ranges from the weird to the strange to the really weird.
The following lands in the really weird category.
It would seem a man in the United States awoke from an evening snooze to find his dog had eaten some of his toes.
Really, that's what the story said.
The man had diabetes and could not feel his feet and after taking a nap he noticed something was amiss, or more accurately - missing.
The family hound took it upon himself to apply his own version of medical care. Officials said if the toes were gangrenous or dying, the mutt thought he was doing his master a favour.
The dog will not face any repercussions for his actions as it was determined he was not doing it "in any form of meanness."
What's even weirder - as if it was not strange enough already - the man and his wife were quite happy with the pooch performing the in-house amputation.
The story did not say what kind of a dog it was, but I really hope it was not a chihuahua. How long would it take a dog that small to perform the impromptu surgery?
I don't know, and I don't want to know. Like I said, true and really weird.
Another odd little ditty is closer to home. As I am sure you have already heard, a Tim Horton's was used as an overflow for an emergency room in a B.C. hospital.
The comments have been flying fast and furious over this one.
"I will have a large double-double with a honey glazed and could you set my broken arm please? Thank you."
Only in Canada could a Timmies double as an emergency ward triage.
A lady in the United States filed a lawsuit against a railroad company after she was struck by a train. The woman was walking down the tracks when the train hit her.
The woman was not listening to an iPod or any other such device that would prevent her from hearing the massive locomotive barreling down the tracks behind her, and in the lawsuit, blamed the rail company for not posting enough signs stating the tracks were used by trains.
She also filing a lawsuit against her parents for bearing a child that is dumber than a twig.
I have my doubts she will emerge victorious against the railway company, but the lawsuit against her parents sounds like a lock.
What jury could possibly argue when all the proof they need is being documented in the earlier lawsuit.
In the northern wilds of Alaska a woman was attacked by a moose (she was not seriously injured.) Nothing strange about that, you say. I say guess again.
You see, Morty Moose was relaxing in a snowbank near a town when the lady decided to pet the humungous beast.
OK, let's review: the moose is a wild animal, a large wild animal and that makes it a dangerous wild animal.
I wonder if she is related to the train lady?
This next one is weird in a cool way. In the U.S, a 25-year-old scumbag broke into a home and attempted to assault the 71-year-old woman who lived there.
But this super senior was having none of that. Granny grabbed a frying pan and laid a whoopin' on the bad guy to the point where he needed medical care.
His police mugshot has him wearing a cervical collar from injuries inflicted on him by the feisty senior.
I say good job Granny, that's my kind of senior citizen.
Ladies and gentlemen, it is a strange world out there.
Need proof? Read the news. Even the best Hollywood writers could not come up with some of this stuff.
Real life ranges from the weird to the strange to the really weird.
The following lands in the really weird category.
It would seem a man in the United States awoke from an evening snooze to find his dog had eaten some of his toes.
Really, that's what the story said.
The man had diabetes and could not feel his feet and after taking a nap he noticed something was amiss, or more accurately - missing.
The family hound took it upon himself to apply his own version of medical care. Officials said if the toes were gangrenous or dying, the mutt thought he was doing his master a favour.
The dog will not face any repercussions for his actions as it was determined he was not doing it "in any form of meanness."
What's even weirder - as if it was not strange enough already - the man and his wife were quite happy with the pooch performing the in-house amputation.
The story did not say what kind of a dog it was, but I really hope it was not a chihuahua. How long would it take a dog that small to perform the impromptu surgery?
I don't know, and I don't want to know. Like I said, true and really weird.
Another odd little ditty is closer to home. As I am sure you have already heard, a Tim Horton's was used as an overflow for an emergency room in a B.C. hospital.
The comments have been flying fast and furious over this one.
"I will have a large double-double with a honey glazed and could you set my broken arm please? Thank you."
Only in Canada could a Timmies double as an emergency ward triage.
A lady in the United States filed a lawsuit against a railroad company after she was struck by a train. The woman was walking down the tracks when the train hit her.
The woman was not listening to an iPod or any other such device that would prevent her from hearing the massive locomotive barreling down the tracks behind her, and in the lawsuit, blamed the rail company for not posting enough signs stating the tracks were used by trains.
She also filing a lawsuit against her parents for bearing a child that is dumber than a twig.
I have my doubts she will emerge victorious against the railway company, but the lawsuit against her parents sounds like a lock.
What jury could possibly argue when all the proof they need is being documented in the earlier lawsuit.
In the northern wilds of Alaska a woman was attacked by a moose (she was not seriously injured.) Nothing strange about that, you say. I say guess again.
You see, Morty Moose was relaxing in a snowbank near a town when the lady decided to pet the humungous beast.
OK, let's review: the moose is a wild animal, a large wild animal and that makes it a dangerous wild animal.
I wonder if she is related to the train lady?
This next one is weird in a cool way. In the U.S, a 25-year-old scumbag broke into a home and attempted to assault the 71-year-old woman who lived there.
But this super senior was having none of that. Granny grabbed a frying pan and laid a whoopin' on the bad guy to the point where he needed medical care.
His police mugshot has him wearing a cervical collar from injuries inflicted on him by the feisty senior.
I say good job Granny, that's my kind of senior citizen.
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