Maybe I'm getting ahead of myself. First off, I hate my glasses. I mean, I downright despise them. So, early this month the Paternal One and I embarked on a crusade to find the "best" lasik eye centre we could, hoping they could fix my eyes. After a false start with a place that rather disappointed us, we discovered TLC. It turns out that my regular optemtrist, the good Dr. Hum, is associated with them or something, so it was a promising start.
And so, three or four weeks after we began our search, I finally had my official consultation today. It's been a long few weeks leading up to today, though. I've been rather anxious not knowing for sure whether or not I would even be a good candidate for this surgery. This uncertainty made me rather loathe to discuss it openly, but the uncertainty is indeed over.
They took a whole bunch of photographs of my eye at the pre-op. That was fine, just looking at lights and shapes and stuff for a bit. Then I got to see the doctor lady who put these numbing drops in my eye and starting poking my eye. It was at this point that I realized they lied through their teeth when they said the procedure will be painless and without any discomfort at all. The drops sting when they're first put in, then they numb up. At that point the pain's gone, but your eyes feel friggin' heavy and weird. VERY uncomfortable. After that, the good doctor lady started to launch into some speech about what they had to check or something and about stuff they don't know until a patient comes in. I expected her to then deliver me my bad news (and told her as much), but apparently I'm a perfect candidate for the procedure, save for large pupils which means I have to use the fancy machine which will decrease my chance of nightglare problems down to one or two percent.
We then went in to talk with some patient relations type person to discuss finances and the like. We solidified the deal to book me for Wednesday, February 5th. So, one week from this Wednesday, I shall be journeying back so that they might slice open my eye, then shine a loud, buzzing laser thing at it while I focus on some red light. I'll enjoy the pleasant aroma of burning hair throughout the process. Then, they sort of put the flap back and hope the natural suction of my eye holds it in place while I go home to sleep and not do anything for 24 hours. Yes, Ms. Zelda (the person we were talking with) layed out all the disturbing info for me.
But, that wasn't all. The doctor lady had to pour drops in my eyes to make my pupils freakishly huge so she could check the back of my eye for infection. So, we had to wait twenty minutes or so for the drops to take effect. I busied myself with reading about September 11 one year later or something, when all of a sudden everything went blurry. It's like my pupils had fought off everything and then blared open suddenly. I glanced outside at the snow lining the streets and was virtually blinded - snowblinded, if you will. My infection check went perfectly and I'm still cleared to go. Unfortunately, my pupils were SUPPOSED to return to normal in a couple hours. Nighttime rolled around and they were still freakishly big (I had my eyes closed for most of the ride home in the car on the highway). On the plus side, I could see better than usual in the dark (with my glasses on, of course). The downside was that all the white tiles of my house kept messing with my mind. Fortunately, they eventually started to shrink back to normal, otherwise I wouldn't be writing this right now.
So, that is the status of the fantastic eye journey thus far. I shall make use of the Ramble to keep all my friends and fans up-to-date on my condition as we proceed.
We will, we will Ramble! (pause for the standard "bass-bass-snare-rest" pattern) We will, we will Ramble! Well, more like I will Ramble. And don't think I won't! I feel like I've regressed a bit lately. Some of you may be aware of the Magic: The Gathering trading card game. I've been playing a lot of that lately. In fact, last night the good Mr. Ming and the good Mr. Jon dropped by for some magic gaming. For the first little while the three of us played some decent games with the Fraternal One, Mr. Matthew. After five games, my brother decided he'd had enough and went to watch television with two wins for himself, two wins for me, Mr. Ming with one win and Mr. Jon having won the rest. After a quick three-way, Mr. Ming walked away with his second win using his hated (OH SO HATED!!!) Armageddon deck. Then the Paternal One showed up and I can't remember if we played some four-player or not before Mr. Matthew returned for the big five-player showdown. It was a grand last game with everyone attacking all over the place (my favourite part being Mr. Ming getting royally screwed over with his Armageddon deck... TAKE THAT, YOU BITCH DECK!!) It came down to me being in a good position to win between myself and the Paternal One's Goblin deck and then blowing it with a stupid, stupid move. Thumbs up for lack of planning!
Magic is such a silly, silly game. Worst of all, my associates and I couldn't have asked for a worse time to have entered and left the gaming scene. You see, when Magic first came out, there were grand, crazy cards from awesome sets such as Beta, Arabian Nights, Unlimited, and some others I can't really remember. By the time most of my friends got into it, they only had Revised or some junk, having cleaned out most of the "unbalanced" cards that were deemed too powerful. By the time I came into it, myself, Revised was out of print and it was all about Fourth Edition, Fallen Empires, Homelands, and Ice Age. They also had Chronicles, which brought back some of the more useless out of print cards. As we progressed and these mediocre sets went out of print, Wizards of the Coast (the makers of Magic: The Gathering) brought out even shittier sets and stupid new rules. Since most of the new sets coming out were generally worthless and we were all growing up anyhow, we decided to basically just stop with the magic for a while.
Over the years, we've pulled our decks out (yes, I said DECK, you sick freak) now and again for some nostalgic gaming. A couple years back, however, Mr. Jere (who had thrown all his cards out for some reason) decided he wanted back in too, so went to procure himself some of the new cards. After spending a modest amount of money, he had brand spanking new decks with ultra-powerful cards that made all the original cards deemed too unfair for the game seem rather wimpy. Apparently, after we all had decided Magic wasn't worth spending money and effort on, Wizards of the Coast brought out their best stuff. To steal a phrase from Fight Club: "We're the middle children of history". We came out after the first surge of super-powers and left before the second surge of even more powerful super-powers. But, since none of us are probably ever going to play anyone outside the group (I myself no longer play with Mr. Jere and all his fancy new cards), we can all play with our special Olympics line of cards and revel in the all-powerful 4/4 Sengir Vampires and Serra Angels.
But enough Magic talk. I was watching something on television today, Ghostbusters 2, I think, and saw a couple commercials that made me realize the differences in male and female values. You see, there's these two shows: Joe Millionaire and the Bachelorette. Both are basically about one individual trying to get woed by a legion of people of the opposite gender. At least, I think that's the take. I haven't actually watched any of them or know any of the specific details, so I'll base this on what I know (or think I know). As far as I can tell (without having done any reasearch), The Bachelorette is about your average lady who is getting courted by a bunch of guys and she has to eliminate them one by one with roses or something to eventually wind up with the one guy she wants to be with. Aww, isn't that romantic? It's a regular relationship shmorgasboard.
Joe Millionaire? It's basically the same thing. Just some guy with a whole bunch of ladies trying to seduce him. Every week (or however the hell often the show airs) he has to eliminate one or more ladies (possibly using roses, I dunno) in the effort to find that one woman he feels he's deeply in love with and can satisfy him in all the right and wonderful womanly ways and be soul mates forever. Yes, Joe, your average guy, would be set for life (romantically speaking) at that point. But, they told all the women participants that Joe's loaded and we're not talking drunk here neither.
What does all this tell us about the differences in male and female values? Well, it would appear that men value women as objects since a whole bunch of them have gotten together in an effort to compete for the one woman. Get a group of guys together, let their competitive and sexual instincts take over and they'll start doing their damnedest to try and get the girl so that they can prove to all the other guys that they indeed do have the largest phallus. Women, on the other hand, are not shallow enough to get together and compete over just some guy like he was a piece of meat. No, no guy is worth sacrificing the noble bonds of Sisterhood over. Women just have too much class and decency to throw all their morality and humanity for a guy; any guy. They would, however, sell their souls for money. That's why they told all the women that this Joe guy was filthy rich. If they hadn't, the ladies wouldn't have bothered competing with each other over just some average, non-rich Joe guy. They'd just go find their own damn Joe and not bother trying to prove that they can do better than thier sisters.
Not guys, though. The competitive nature of men tends to force them (I'll concede I'm a man, but I consciously override my competitive instincts) to indeed throw down and slug it out with the competition so that they can prove their superiority at whatever contest it was and when all but one guy loses, they can have that sportsmanlike (note: sports-MAN-like) attitude of "the better man won". No shame in losing to the better man, better luck next time. It's all about being better and the best. With the right attitudes, we're all winners.
Well, where's the fun in that?
Women, when they do feel the need to compete, become far more agressive, ruthless, and downright dirty than the average man could ever dream of being. That's right, the word is sportsMANlike, not sportsWOMANlike. It's not so bad when a woman is competing against a man. Both generally take a casual attitude to competition with each other and one gender can often be found letting the other win (a woman not wanting to show up her man because she cares about his ego, a man letting his woman win because it's gentlemanly or some shit). Women competing with women, though... well, let's just say there's a reason they call it a cat fight. First of all, it helps if you're aware of exactly how a cat fights. Cats are all about inflicting as much damage and terror as possible on their adversaries in as little time they can. A flurry of claws, teeth, howls (yes, howls), snarls, hissing, flying fur (or hair) in the hopes that one will back down before the terrible onslaught. Yes, it's a savage, savage game and it makes me glad I was not born a woman. I was not even of woman born!
Figure that one out, MacBeth...
Hey little Ramble, what have you done? Hey little Ramble, who's your only one? Yeah, everbody likes Billy Ramble, I mean Billy Idol... except those who don't. I got a couple things on my mind today, and I feels like Ramblin'! First off, it's my computer. I hate it. Now, I'm about as tech savvy as a caveman named Ugh or Grunt or Dumbass or something equally creative (Not that there's anything wrong with the name Grunt...), and I know next to nothing about computers. In fact, there's only one real thing I know about this crazy computer world in which we live. And that's that I hate my computer.
You see, my computer's a piece of garbage. Not literally at the moment, but perhaps one day it could be. Well, probably will be. But I digress a bit. This ghetto hunk o' junk, which I happen to be typing on right now, seems to be incapable of running smoothly. Games I love that it should be able to easily support such as Starcraft and Diablo II cannot run comfortably any more. Even moderately unrecent games, such as Black and White, have an extreme degree of difficulty in running even playably. Not to mention Age of Mythology (even though I now have). Yes, the fact that I can no longer play any of these games has thoroughly, thoroughly annoyed me.
So, since my computer has turned on me when it comes to the mindless forms of entertainment that are video games, I turned to my older console video gaming systems. Yes, I played two games of tetris (since it was in my NES when I arrived at my console TV), then decided to switch over to finally get around to playing either Dragon Warrior or Link, which I had procurred from MicroPlay back when the good Mr. Jon was managing the establishment. But alas, my nintendo is now broken and refuses to run any game. The $2.00 I had spent on either of those games shall haunt me for all time, now. I know Link was a fairly good game, though I only bought Dragon Warrior on advisement from Mr. Aaron. But, Mr. Aaron doesn't like the Final Fantasy series, so the game might not be all that spectacular.
So, annoyed, mainly because the original Final Fantasy for NES is my most favourite of games of all time and now my NES no longer works, I searched the interweb looking for an emulator to play Final Fantasy. I did find such an emulator and I did procure Final Fantasy for it. Here's the kicker: My ghetto ass piece of shit computer can't even run that smoothly. It's just a friggin' 8-bit game, goddammit! I'm very, very disappointed with my computer right now.
In other news (literally, in fact), my old band made the newspaper today. Good ol' Eden Ants. Apparently they're releasing their first album now, or something. I dunno, they sort of got rid of me and the bassist at the time and apparenty replaced us. Which is fine, I'm not exactly into the whole techno/euro whatever the hell electronica stuff they want to call it. I'm glad they're doing well, though. There was a photo of them and everything in the Mississauga News. "Oh, it's just the Mississauga News, it's no big deal" you might be saying. Well, shut your dirty mouth! Mississauga happens to be the sixth largest city in Canada. That's right, we're bigger than Winnipeg, Quebec City, Halifax, Regina (big deal), St. John, Victoria, and every other city that's not in the top five. Oh yeah, we're something of note... we're bigger than Ottawa, too. So, that's right, Eden Ants DID make the Mississauga News. Stick that in your corncob pipe, 'cuz these guys are going straight to the top and I'm proud of them. When they get super huge and people are all going on about Adymm Ender and the Eden Ants, I'll be all "Ha, I knew Adymm before he started calling himself Ender". No, I won't tell you what his real last name is... though it sort of sounds like some kind of feminine product, now that I think about it. Hmm, no wonder he changed his name.
When it's time to Ramble I will Ramble hard! Ok, maybe Andrew W.K. is a bit too obscure to make a one-line ramble spoof out of. You'll get over it. Anyhow, there's not a whole lot I feel like rambling about right now, so I thought I'd share this sweet James Bond joke that the lovely Ms. Jess sent to I. It's rather quite humourous.
A very confident James Bond walks into a bar and takes a seat next to
a very attractive woman. He gives her a quick glance, then casually looks
at his watch for a moment.
The women notices this and asks, "Is your date running late?"
"No," he replies, "Q has just given me this state-of-the-art watch. I was
just testing it."
The intrigued woman says, "A state-of-the-art watch? What's so special
Bond explains, "It uses alpha waves to talk to me telepathically."
The lady asks, "What's it telling you now?"
"Well, it says you're not wearing any panties...."
The woman giggles and replies, "Well it must be broken because I am
Bond smirks, taps his watch and says, "Bloody thing's an hour fast."
Yeah, you like that. It's funny. You may laugh now.
I'm a rambler, I'm a gambler, I'm a long ways from home and if you don't like me, well let me alone. I'll eat when I'm hungry and I'll drink when I'm dry. And if moonshine don't kill me, I'll live 'til I die. Alright, so I'm not a long ways from home, and I ain't drinking moonshine. But I am dry, so I'm having a beer despite how early in the day it is... it's been said canadian beer's like moonshine, anyhow. I'm also not much of a gambler, but, as is quite clear, I am a rambler. Thought I don't always eat when I'm hungry... sometimes I starve for a bit. It's rather dumb, really.
So, what was the point of that obscure irish diddy I began with? To indicate that I am indeed drinking early in the day, but that's not to mean that something is amiss. No, in fact I'm drinking to celebrate. You see, I've finally finished cleaning my room (I shall now pause for the awed hush... thank you). That's right, my room is so cleaned. I have a hell of a lot more floor than I thought I did, too. I actually managed to complete a project I set out to do. Though, now that I think about it, I often do complete semi-long-term projects I set out to do... so long as they're not writing projects.
For some reason, I have never ever completed a long term writing project. The longest finished piece I have is only twelve or thirteen pages or so. It's on the site, actually. Prophecies Unfolding it is. I have damn-ass long (comparativle speaking) unfinished pieces, though. 102 pages of that vampire novel I'm probably never going to finish and 333 pages of my fantasy novel that I resolved to finish this year. New Year's resolution and all. It shall be most grand.
Why won't he finish my vampire novel? you're probably not asking. Well, I'll tell you anyhow. The story itself kind of sucks. It was just something that fascinated me and I wanted to tell some kind of tale, ANY kind of tale about the vampire characters involved. Unfortunately, the characters aren't really that well developed as it was really my first attempt (in recent years) at a novel. The plot was also painfully slow and VERY vague. I might be able to fix it up sometime in the future, but I dunno. I've also made two attempts before this when I was very young at writing this other fantasy novel. It had a more definative plot and all, but focused too much on the dieties of the world and not enough on the heroes. Good mortal conflict is what it's all about, people! Alright, I don't really know what I'm supposed to be rambling about anymore, so I'm just gonna go. Damn, this is good beer.
Welcome to da Ramble, we've got fun and games. But no games you can play... you're not good enough! No, don't go! You can play, I'm just messing with ya. Now, the game we're gonna play tonight is called How Many Fingers Can I Chop Off in Under One Minute? You can use whatever you like to help with the chopping, but the maker of this site assumes no responsibility for lost digits in any case. The blame in such a situation lies in either the stupidity of the cutter who cut off of their own fingers, or the the stupidity and/or malice of the cutter who cuts off someone else's fingers. So, now that I'm absolved of all responsibility... GO! Cut away! Email how many you chopped off (using a pen or stick in your mouth if necessary for typing) and I'll be sure to try and figure out why you were dumb enough to play this game.
I watched a hockey game tonight, it was almost grand. I'm actually sort of connected through the kid (he's 13 or 14 I think) in two ways. First, Ms. Jo's old friend is his older sister. Second, my mother is very good friends with his mother. I've noticed a lot of these double connections and loops starting to become more noticable as time passes and everyone is getting a chance to meet everyone else. It boggles the mind.
Anyhow, it was a pretty nice game. Andrew (the kid we came to watch) is apparently the assistant captain for his team and managed to score a beautiful opening goal a little over a minute into the game. That was the grandest part of the evening. The bad guys (ie the other team) answered quickly back to tie it up 1-1. Then for the next twenty to twenty five minutes (ten minute periods) a whole lot of nothing happened. Midway through the third period, the good guys scored again, number 88 I think. Unfortunately, the bad guys answered back quickly and tied up the game. The tie lasted briefly when the bad guys got a very impressive break-away and nailed it past the goalie. At this point, the good guys' coach thought it'd be a good idea to pull the goalie to give his side a one man advantage on the ice. When the bad guys managed to score from center ice, the coach realized why pulling your goalie is often a bad idea. So the bad guys won it 4-2, but it was a sweet, fast-paced game anyhow.
Of course, there's more to a hockey game than just the game itself. You see, this being some kind of junior league (I dunno the exact term for their age bracket), there were plenty of parental and family types hanging around. And of course by hanging, I mean shouting and yelling. It seems they think that the ref should be made completely aware of their opinion of him. Naturally, no one ever shouts and yells at the ref to tell him he's doing a good job. The parental types are bad enough with their complaining and yelling. The younger siblings of the players, though; they can be annoying. Children are rather immitative, so when they mommies and daddies start bitching at the ref, the kids decide that it's right for them to do so, too. The grown-ups generally let up in their bitching, though, so that they might yell instructions to their players. The children have no such reason to stop, though. So, the two little girls screaming in my ear about the ref all through the third period made me somewhat more agitated when the good guys started to lose. I'll get over it, though... just as soon as this ringing in my ear goes away.
I ain't rambled in four damn days! And, since I've been busting my ass all day cleaning my room and updating the site with four new stories (well, not really new since they was written a few years back...) I ain't prolly gonna ramble much here. Well, maybe I am... I dunno.
Maybe I'll just share with you all the funny thing Ms. Jo sent me today via email. Well, she sent it to a lot of people, but it's damn funny. It's for anyone who's ever been sent a virus warning... which now that I mention it, I only get virus warnings from Jo... Anyhow, here it be:
If you receive an email entitled "Bedtimes", delete it IMMEDIATELY. Do not
Apparently this one is pretty nasty. It will not only erase everything on
your hard drive, but it will also delete anything on disks within 20 feet
your computer. It demagnetizes the strips on ALL of your credit cards. It
reprograms your ATM access code, screws up the tracking on your VCR and
subspace field harmonics to scratch any CD's you attempt to play. It will
program your phone auto dial to call only 900 numbers. This virus will mix
antifreeze into your fish tank. IT WILL CAUSE YOUR TOILET TO FLUSH WHILE
YOU ARE SHOWERING. It will drink ALL your beer. FOR GOD'S SAKE, ARE YOU
LISTENING?? It will leave dirty underwear on the coffee table when you are
expecting company. It will replace your shampoo with Nair and your Nair
with ROGAINE. If the "Bedtimes" message opened in a Windows 95/98
environment, it will leave the toilet seat up and leave your hair dryer
plugged in dangerously close to a full bathtub. It will not only remove
forbidden tags from your mattresses and pillows, it will also refill your
skim milk with whole milk. WARN AS MANY PEOPLE AS YOU CAN. ******* And if
you don't send this to 5000 people in 20 seconds, you'll fart so hard that
your right leg will spasm and shoot straight out in front of you, sending
sparks that will ignite the person nearest you. Send to everyone. P.S: If
you are a blonde, this is a joke.
Hello St. Louis! Actually, I don't know if anyone in St. Louis is reading this. My guess would be not since I don't really know anyone in St. Louis and as far as I can tell my audience for The Ramble only reaches people I know at this point. Of course if I don't know someone, I can't very well verify whether or not they've actually The Ramble, so it's quite possible that there is someone in St. Louis who's read this. Trippy...
Right, so tonight I'm thinking I'm going to answer the question oh so many of us wish we had to seriously consider: "What would I do if I had a million dollars?" Or a billion or a zillion or a... uh...googolplex (thank you, PointlessSites.com) dollars. Ok, maybe not a googolplex. I'm not even talking Bill Gates rich either. What would I do if I was really damn rich? What would I buy? Well, anyone who really knows me ought to have figured out my first move by now.
If I had a million dollars... I'd buy a sandwich. We're not talking peanut butter and jelly here, neither! We're talking sliced, smoked turkey breast with tomatoes, lettuce, havarti, salt, pepper, mayo, mushrooms (haven't decided if they're the magical variety or not), cuccumber, pickles all on a boringass white bread foot long bun...wait, I'm rich! Better make that two feet. Yeah, I'd be able to afford to eat more. That sandwich would be so sweet! I wish I was eating it right now. But what else would I do if I had a billion dollars?
If I had a billion dollars... I'd retire. That's right, I'd give up this rat race of the workforce... well, I would if I had a steady job. But yeah, I'd retire and write full time. Come to think of it... that's sort of what I'm doing right now with trying to get my novel finished and not working and all. And now that I think of it, I could probably get that funky sandwich at Mr. Sub or Subway or something. Holy flack, I'm living as sweet as millionaires and billionaires! Damn it feels good to be a gangsta! (sorry, just watched Office Space recently and that slipped out...) But, there must be more things I could do if I was ghetto spanking rich!
If I had a zillion dollars... I'd buy a sports franchise/team/whatever from a few of the major sports leagues and orchestrate a plan/campaign/whatever to get qualified female athletes on my team for the express purpose of beating the snot out of the male opponents. So, I guess I should go with football and hockey then. I know, I'll get a franchise for the NHL and CFL here in M-Town. I'll call the CFL team the Mississauga Roughriders (no one has the Roughriders yet, right?) and I'll call the NHL team the... uh... Mississauga Bust Yo' Skulls! So named for they would indeed be trying to bust everyone's skulls. I'm sure the Bust Yo' Skulls would be decades away from the Stanley Cup, but I think the Roughriders would have a shot at the Grey Cup. Go Bust Yo' Skulls, Go! Alright, so a zillion dollars would be pretty sweet but I think it's time to ask myself what I'd do if I had enough money to make Bill Gates weep with shame.
If I had a googolplex dollars... I'd buy a sandwich. Hey, what can I say, my imagination sort of ran out and I'm really friggin' hungry right now. But since we're talking a googolplex here and not a million... we'd better make that sandwich three feet long. Well, I'd like to ramble on more, but Mr. Aaron is asking me about medieval military stuffs now and what I did for my novel so I'd best be off to help him.
"Another Ramble so soon?" you ask. You know you were asking. Well, obviously it's another ramble so soon! It almost makes me want to do a parody on some Kenny Rogers song and call it The Rambler. "On a cold winter's evening/ On a train to... uh... somewhere.../ I met up with a Rambler/ We were both too tired to speak..." Wait, that doesn't make any sense. Ok, forget the whole lame idea. Or base it off of that Wanderer song. "They call me the Rambler/ Yeah, I'm the Rambler!/ I Ramble on and on and on and on..." and so forth. Alright, another bad idea; I'll stop now.
So, seeing as how this is the second paragraph and all I guess it's about time for me to choose a proper topic to ramble about tonight. I have a few topics in mind, actually. At first I was thinking about ranting about that Sorry! game and how ghetto it is. But then I thought "nah". Then I thought I'd tell everyone about that celestial discovery I made with this meteor the size of Australia hurtling on an intercept course with Earth... but who wants to hear about that anyways? So, what to ramble about then? Well, at the risk of sounding sexist, I'm gonna yell about women's sports for a bit.
So, here's the deal: We got regular professional sports leagues like the NHL, NBA, CFL/NFL and so forth. Then we got their womens' counterparts, often with the W in front. Now, as far as I'm concerned (and probably the whole of society, I'm assuming) this division is good. Women really do need their own sports. Does this mean women should be barred from the male leagues? In my opinion, no. Let's face it, those professional leagues are there to pay the big money for the best of the best to compete and if a woman proves that she can compete on the same level as a professional hockey or football or whatever player then she damn well should be welcomed with open arms. Sounds fair, right? Of course it does. But, what of the jealous, downtrodden, semi-sexist sissy ranks of men who think the double standard of women playing in the men's league is fine but men playing in the womens' league is not fine? A double standard, right?
Well, you're damn right it's a double standard. But, I believe it's a necessary double standard. (Here's where I start sounding really sexist.) The fact of the matter is, most athletic men surpass women in raw strength (which tends to be a required trait for most popular sports). With guys being naturally more physical on average, it would be completely unfair to open the doors and allow men into the women leagues because very soon they'd be overrun with second string glory seekers from the mens' leagues looking to prove themselves on the field/rink/court/whatever and just play. That leaves all the women who love their sport on the bench and that just plain ain't right.
There's also the matter of what self-respecting guy would even want to compete against women. Not that there's anything wrong with that, but can any guy honestly be proud that he dominated a womens' league? Such a guy would be subjected to such harassment and ridicule from other guys that he'd never show his ass in public again... probably his face, too. There's also the risk of actually getting your ass beat by a woman. It's not something a big, strapping buck would like to have to deal with. However, I believe there would be no shame in a woman entering the mens' league and handing their asses to them at whatever sport they play. If she's good, she's good. If she's one of the best, she damn well should be competing with the rest of hte best. So, leave the women to their own leagues and don't even think about intruding, guys, 'cuz that's just plain rude. And let whatever women with skillz play in the big time if they can hold their own, otherwise you're depriving all the players of the best competition possible and the fans of generally superior gameplay.
Now, I haven't done much research on this, but I believe that this tends to already be the popular opinion on the matter for most sports. Fact is most women aren't as cut out for all positions in football, but as Miss Canada proved they're as capable of kicking field goals as any guy. Hell, I'm actually looking forward to the day we see some professional defensive lineswoman. Hockey has allowed at least one female goalie, though since I don't follow sports that much, this news is about a decade old and they could have made more advances since then. But physically speaking, a woman should be able to skate and stickhandle as well as any superstar. We'll probably not see too many women enforcers, but if we do that'd be funky. Basketball... Women don't tend to get as tall, but there are tall women so there's not really any good reason women should not be playing basketball. Since it's not even (supposed to be) a contact sport, we should really be seeing a lot more qualified women in this field.
As I said, most sports are slowly dragging their proverbial knuckles forward and I guess that's good enough. Hell, for all I know there just might not be that many women truly qualified to compete. Sound harsh, I know, but it could be the case. I don't believe, however, that this is the case with golf. Golf pisses me off more than any other sport. Some big wig, snob-ass course won't even let women on the course. What the hell is that? If there was any sport where women could compete on as level a field as possible, it's golf. But, a lot of high-up decision makers in the golf world believe that golf is a "gentleman's game" and not for women. That's a load of horse shit and golf just plain pisses me off.
Happy New... uh... day? Sure, we'll go with that. I'll start tonight's ramble with an official apology to Mr. Ming. Apparently my good buddy thought he was depicted in a negative light in the last ramble and believes he was presented as one who does not fit in anywhere. I would like to state, just for the record, that Mr. Ming does indeed fit in a lot of places, that's why he was welcomed openly into so many different cliques. As much as I'd like to continue in this vein, I babbled endlessly (figuratively speaking, of course) about this in the last ramble so I'll leave it there for now.
"What's tonight's ramble about?" you might be asking yourself. Well, asking yourself was your first mistake because the mere fact that you have to ask means you don't know and if you don't know then why the hell ask yourself in the first place? Yeah, that's right smartass... I went there... wherever there is. Okay, it's about time I set a topic before I drift off into incoherency so I think tonight I'll ramble about January, arguably the worst month of the year. I say arguably, but there's not really anyone here to argue with me, so this should be nice and one-sided (yay me!)
"Why is it the worst month?" you might be asking the computer screen (Good, you're showing progress in your ability to learn.) Well, I shall enlighten thee (because I'm a nice guy like that). First off, it's damn cold. Now, being a Canadian guy, I'm not normally inclined to complain about the cold (indeed, I was rather comfortable in last night's blizzard). But, not everyone in Canada is a guy... in fact, we're a minority at about 48% I think (been a while since I checked the annual census for an update on that figure). So while us guys couldn't give two rats' asses about how cold it is, there's a whole bunch of ladies who find this weather rather unpleasant.
"Well, who gives a shite about that?" you may be asking the person next to you who is doing something else and has no idea what you're talking about. To begin with, the ladies do. Now you're thinking "Well obviously, but how does that relate to me?" (If you're a guy. If you're a lady, I have no idea what the hell you're thinking so I won't even bother hazarding a guess.) I'll tell you how this relates to us, guys, if you haven't figured out yet. Women tend to enjoy letting us know how they feel, yet only when they're not feeling as good as they'd like. So, when it's bitterly, bitingly cold in January we get a whole month long of womanly complaining of just how friggin' cold it is.
Now, a simple complaint of a woman about the weather is not so bad in theory. Most ladies are aware that the weather is not our fault (though some aren't and those crazies should be avoided). However, what annoys me is the constant questions such as "Aren't you cold?", "Where's your coat?", "You're not going out like that are you?", and my personal favourite: "Why aren't you wearing any pants?" Because it's only -15 C, woman!! I'll put my damn pants on when it turns into an innie, goddammit! Until then, you and Mr. Policeman can take your indecent exposure ticket and blow it out your thermostat (whatever the fred that means).
Of course there's more to January than just having to deal with the complaints of the cold and the various infringes on law and decency. There's also the phenomenon of the "Post Holiday Blues" or some such somethingorother. You see, December is generally spent psyching yourself up for the Holidays (unless you don't for whatever reason... which I don't care to go into right now). So, you're sitting there waiting for Christmas or Chanuka or Kwanzaa or whatever to come so you can score some sweet merchandise, spend time with loved ones (which may or may not be family), and then party your ass off at the end of the month with a New Year's Eve bash. Yes, December was quite an exciting month and what a wonderful time was had by all.
But then! (dramatic pause) It all ends and you realize, much to your horror, that your one/two/three week(s) of holidays is over and now you must return to the skulldudgery of work or school. Ain't that a bitch? Sure, you could look forward to the next holiday, whenever the hell that comes. There's St. Valentine's day next month, we could try looking forward to that! Oh wait, if you're single it'll just remind you that you're all alone and lonely with no one who loves. That should make things less depressing. Or if you are fortunate enough to have someone in your life to love you get the joy of forgetting all about it until the last second and getting her something dorky and pathetic (if you're a guy). It's worse if you're a lady, I suppose, since you get your hoped up looking forward to that sweet romantic dinner and whatever the hell else you know your man knows you like. But what's this? The big dumb ass (dumbass if you will) forgot about the whole damn thing and got you a whoopee cushion and the two remaining cans of beer from the six pack he was drinking. Aww... Cupid must hate you. And he does. He told me himself.
And yet, there's still one more reason why January, according to experts on the subject, sucks ass. It's rather scientific and psychological. You see, it's all related to sunlight and your brain. The more sun the average, normal, healthy person gets, the less depressed that person is likely to get. Sunlight and fresh air does wonders for curing depression. Unfortunately, it's January so the days are damn short, the skies are perpetually overcast, and the only time most of us go outside for any reason is to go to work (yay!) or shovel the driveway (yayer!...) Oh yeah, that's bound to keep us in good spirits. Januaray licks donkey balls and there ain't a damn bit of nuthin' I can do about it.
Happy New Year! At least I suppose I could call it happy. In my opinion, a year doesn't really have feelings anyways, so how can we call it happy? It just doesn't make sense, does it? Don't feel you need to answer that. Odds are I can't hear you. So, here I am with yet a second installment of The Ramble, that whacky semi-stream-of-consciousness type thing I do to illustrate that I'm not really all that good at organizing my thoughts when I don't put any effort into such organization. So what to ramble about... hmm...
I ran into the Student Body Prime Minister of my old highschool today. Well, technically I didn't run into her, she was sort of serving the table in the restaurant I was at. I was actually surprised she even remembered my name after all that effort I put into trying to be forgotten. High school such a crazy ghetto place. All the different cliques and groups and so forths. Take this woman I ran into, for example. An old associate of mine often cited her as being the center of all teenage social activity of our time. He often wished he could throw a party that everyone would know about and want to come to and if he could get her on his side, it would be possible. Naturally, such a party never happened. At least if it did, I wasn't invited. And if I wasn't invited that was rightfully so, because let's face it: I was not one of the true high school "cool kids". Well, we hated being called kids back then, so let's say "cool people". Or the "in crowd". Damned if I know what they called themselves and I didn't really have a label for them at the time, though Mr. Jon's dubbing of the "Cliquish Bastards" sounded appropriate. Though I think he was referring to a different clique. A well, either way. The bottom line is some people, such as Mr. Ming, failed to fit into any particular clique and often "went between the tribes" (to steal a line from SLC Punk).
Most of us, such as Mr. Aaron, Mr. Jon, myself, and several others comprised a clique of our own. We were a rather ragtag band of misfits, not really fitting in anywhere else and all looking as if we belonged to existing prominent cliques. Mr. Jon would have been at home among the "brainy" types (I hesitate to call them nerds at this point since I have no wish to insult Mr. Jon here... despite the fact that he tends to go out of his way to insult the rest of us.) Mr. Aaron ran with a mostly rocker crowd until we formed our odd association. I myself was frequently mistaken for a goth. Apparently just because one's wardrobe is completely black and one decides to grow his hair long he must be frequently mistaken for a goth. Well, I ain't no goth! Anyhow, there were others in our group who I won't name here but added much diversity in style and personality to the association. And such was our clique, an apparent assembly of disillusioned individuals who found much fault with the proper cliques they may have been meant to associate with. All the rockers tended to be dickheads, bringing us Mr. Aaron (since he didn't care for hanging around dickheads). All the nerds were... well, nerds which made Mr. Jon seek more pleasant company. As for me... goths are just plain fucked up and I was never a goth anyhow.
What kept the group together? Mr. Aaron claimed it was music, but that's bull kaka... Mr. Jon never really appreciated our music. It could have been our nerdly past times such as Magic: The Gathering and Dungeons and Dragons. I suppose that would be the most accurate guess. Was our clique popular? Hell no. But popularity was something none of us gave two shits about. Well, I think one guy did, but the group concensus was one of indifference to outright resentment of the notion of popularity. The thing is, though, most groups tended to despise at least one other group. Factions formed and went into cold wars with one another. Of course, this is suburban Mississauga here, so the weapons of choice were rumours and name calling. There was the occassional drive-by shouting which I am proud to have been a party to now and then.
All in all, we were the middle of the road, in my view. The most popular clique, I suppose, would be the one that managed to get their representative onto the student council, or even running it. Our clique never bothered sending a representative because we never saw the point... or it never occurred to us. Apathy was the name of the game for us! But, sad as it is, there is always the groups that one looks down on. I say one but I mean almost everybody. I remember a rather small association of individuals, mostly guys with one of the homeliest girls I ever saw, who could only be classified as nerds. They were very heavy into the nerdly arts, including my cliques own nerdish vices of magic and dnd as well as the stereotypical videogame/computer thing (we're talking vidiots and "I'm cool 'cuz I hack" here, not the healthy interest in videogames that many of us share). I almost pity them in retrospect... if Scary Ugly Chinese Guy hadn't stolen some stuff from a couple of our associates (Mr. Ming being one of the victims). That earned them eternal emnity. Oh how their leader, some fat guy named Dan, begged Mr. Jon and I one day in computer class to join us in our Dungeons and Dragons games. But no. No, I was having none of that. This guy was a prime suspect in an unspeakable act of theft and leader of the most degenerate group of nerds our school had to offer. The ridicule he suffered still echoes to this day.
All this talk of days gone by is starting to get me reminiscing of peoples I have not seen in quite some time. I often wonder how Mr. Gane is doing. Sure, almost everyone found him very creepy (not one woman hasn't to my knowledge) but he was a good guy and a great roadie (ah, the highschool rock band days). And Mr. Luke... He opted out of the Dungeons and Dragons circuit after deciding that drugs and partying were more fun. I'm still undecided on that one. Mr. Moustafa, my old domino opponent. I wonder how he's doing now. I suppose that's it for the list of people I haven't seen since high school that I'd like to see again. Please keep in mind that these are ONLY people I have not seen since highschool. There's many people I have seen since high school that I'd like to see again, too, but I'm just not listing them here since this is a high school thing (that should spare some feelings).
Well, it's getting late and I've succeeded in not making this ramble very funny at all. I suppose I'll try and work some more humour into these as I go along.
The inaugural installment of The Ramble. Dunno what to ramble about though, since I already complained about New Years in the News section. I guess I could talk about writer's block, or The Black Dog, as it has been called. I think it has anyways. Maybe The Black Dog is just something else completely and I'm a moron at interpretting metaphors. Maybe I should pick some kind of issue to talk about. That could work. Let's talk about abortion. Anyone who doesn't know what abortion is is probably far too young or ignorant to be here in the first place. If you think you'll be offended by this ramble... Tough!
To begin with, I'll just say that I'm pro-choice. That's right, the fact of the matter is that people (particularly women, I guess) should really decide whether or not they're capable of raising a friggin' kid to begin with. "All life is precious!"... my ass it is. Do people have any idea just how much most of us despise our lives? Now, I've had a pretty easy life as far as these kind of things go, but I'm still one pissed off and bitter individual. Now, what if I didn't have two parents who loved (despite their failings), who were incapable of providing me with all the stuff I needed to grow up such as sufficient food, shelter, clothes, and most of all....LOVE! If I didn't have all that kind of stuff, I'd probably have turned out hating my life far more than I already do. So, a life of misery, self-loathing, pain, suffering and all around badness is precious? Bullshit.
That's my personal take on it. Let's look at it objectively, though. For one thing, which I've already touched on, not everyone is cut out to be a parent when expecting a baby. They could be too young, not ready because of their career(s), or just plain hate children. Whatever the cause, not everyone should be a parent and if they're mature and intelligent enough to realize that then the only logical move is abortion. It's really only fair to the child.
The ultimate question a would-be mother should ask herself is "Can I give this child a good life?" I know this implies that it's the mother's sole responsibility, but the fact is she's the one carrying the child. The father, ideally, should be involved. The prospective mother should have some idea as to whether or not the father will be of any help to her or the child emotionally as well as financially and make her decision based on that. If the Daddy wants an abortion, but the Mommy says no and wants to raise her kid, that's her business and her choice. If Mommy wants the abortion and Daddy says "no" and wants her to have the kid... well, that's too friggin' bad, Dad. The woman's the one who has to carry the kid for those nine months (more or less) so it's ultimately her choice. Not the daddy's (I'm sorry to say), not the church's, not any other religious zealots', not pro-life dickheads who should be minding their own business.
Let's face it, people, the world is overcrowded with plenty of mouths to feed and plenty of unloved children already. Do we really need to bring more suffering to this world? Only have a child if you can love it and ensure that he or she will have a good life. Give him or her your best and all your love, otherwise stay the fuck out of the gene pool.