The Lifespan of a Fly

We Meet Again… Netflix
October 21, 2011, 1:17 PM
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So we finally got ourselves Netflix. Actually, we didn’t. My mom gave me her account and password and insisted that we try it out and see how we like it. After years of deciding which torrents to download, and planning their download time around your regular life. iI’s sort of neat to be able to browse through hundreds of titles, most of which were movies you wanted to see but not badly enough to pay for them of their own accord.

Which has led us to a new dilemma. The Wii remote blinks schizophrenically at us while we’re trying to make a decision. It blinks like that because we’re always out of batteries and are left instead to scrounge them from other remote controls, alarm clocks, smoke detectors and other valuable life-saving necessities. We could go buy more, but it’s probably not going to happen any time soon.

So now it’s October, and October is the month where I watch a year’s worth of horror movies and serial killer flicks in tandem.

So I watch one serial killer movie! One! Now it keeps recommending “Ed’s Top Ten” filled with brutal violence. Which is cool, cause I like brutal violence in movies and all, but it’s my parents’ account! And I don’t live with them!

I can just see it now, Ma and Pa, sitting at home about to watch some sort of culturally shocking, or heartwarming movie. Ma moves in for the cuddle and Pa’s big arm rests on her shoulder as she nestles into him.

AND THEN BLAM! In their face is flashed movies where dudes pop out girls’ eyes, or some mad German (why are they always German?) scientist is sticking three people together to make a fecal-fuelled centipede. Which, by the way, probably wouldn’t work with the whole e-coli thing.

So now poor old Ma and Pa must face the cruel reality of their daughter’s interests. No, no. It wasn’t anything to do with the way you raised me! I swear! No, no. It wasn’t because you sent me to overnight summer camp and I got lice! I… I…. I just like it.

A system had to be created. A system that was unbreakable, and convinced my parents that my emotional hard wiring was A-OK. It’s devious, it’s clever and it’s all mine. My secret to defeating Netflix is simple:

All Dogs Go To Heaven.

Clears up those genius suggestions in no time.


The Problem with Toothpaste
January 11, 2011, 8:46 AM
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Yesterday, my brother-in-law and his girlfriend left after a ten-day stint at my house. I love my brother-in-law as if he were my brother and not someone else’s and the few times a year that I get to see him always make me so happy. See he lives about 12 hours away in a much more tolerable climate, which he constantly reminds us of with remarks like “At home, the grass is still green”. Anyhow, this isn’t a post about the weather, although with the meter dump of snow we’ve gotten, I’m sure you could find a few posts about that kicking around.

Now it’s not that I don’t like sharing, and it’s not as if I’m a huge germophobe or anything like that. Hell, if I drop something, and no one’s looking, I’ll eat it if it isn’t full of dog hair or whatever. But while the BIL was staying with us, I was thrust into a subject of consideration against my free will.

What happened was this: they’d been using my toothpaste.

Well doesn’t that just make me sound like a psycho? But see I’ve got a touching issue. I don’t like being touched often or regularly by non-Mikes. It just gives me willies. So when I discovered my toothpaste had been violated, my mind went into hyperdrive.

Sure, it’s not actual touching, but it is indirect mouth-touching. I approached J with this issue because she’s always been either supportive or my neurosis, or she doesn’t laugh too hard at me.

“J!” I moaned, “It’s indirect mouth touching. Oh God! It’s so icky.” Instead of the unwavering support I was expecting, she shot me a skeptical look and informed me that I am icky and am blowing this out of proportion.

So we took a poll of opinions in our respective offices. The results put the toothpaste problem into perspective. About a third of respondents sided with J on the “No Big Deal”, about a third sided with me on the “Super Icky”, and another third felt that “It could possibly be icky, but it’s not that icky”.

But you know what? Screw all of you, I bought my own tube and have placed it in a location akin to Mordor. Judge me not, ye of the toothpaste sharing.

Whatever you call our generation, we’re still figuring ourselves out
June 22, 2010, 8:34 AM
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Since when do men do dishes?

A lot of different names have been connected to our generation, “Generation Y”, “Generation Next” and other unoriginal abbreviations. But whatever you call us, it’s apparent that our values are in contradiction with those held by our parents and grandparents before us.

A friend of mine is a young lady in a successful position which promises many worldly goods and other tangible items, but at a cost. She is working long days, her home life is secondary and she has been suffering a sense of disillusion with the values of the older generation before her.

Money. Now that’s something that we’ve been taught since young children as being a very, very important item. I think Rosanne Barr said it best: “Money doesn’t make you happy, but it sure does help”. I work in an office where a lot of the people make a lot of money, money that I only dream of what I would do with it. My dreams are pretty simple really: buy a house, pay off my student loans… and maybe buy a vehicle that doesn’t announce its own arrival with incessant squeaking. So yeah, those are things I would like to own, but do I need them? Probably. Am I happy without them? Yeah, absolutely. Because I have community. That’s not something you hear much of from media advertising or teachers, guidance counsellors and co-workers. They don’t tell you how important it is the have that lifeline. How important that web of support, of family and friends is to your overall wellbeing.

It seems like my generation is breaking the mold. They go through years of University, stressing about marks and tests, only to be thrown into a well-paying job that really does not boast that elusive light at the end of the tunnel. They work for a very short time in said job and come to realize that there is so much more in life they are missing. Things like a warm summer day spent on your back porch with a beer and a book. Or a girl’s night with ice cream cake and lousy horror movies (by the way Janet, I’m sooo looking forward to this).

Those are the things that remind me of how great being alive is. Not my car, or my new bed (which has nearly cured my back pain) but the things you really can’t buy. One of the things that make me glad to be alive is sitting here and writing this blog. I feel like I’m leaving something for my community of human beings. Aww, now we’re a community.

Do what you love, regardless of the pay. Pursue personal fullfillment. The stuff is nice, but at the end of it all, look around at all your pretty stuff and tell me it was worth it all. It’s just stuff.