I swear it's true

I found my first years at school intimidating and fascinating. I would walk around the school yard watching and listening to kids playing, chatting and fighting. I'd always be on the outside just observing and not usually participating. I think I learned as much outside in the yard as I did in the classroom.

I can't remember what year it was, but I know it was either kindergarten or grade one. I was home and it was the weekend. We got a big dumping of snow the previous night and I was excited to get outside and play in it. My mother was getting my sister and I all bundled up in our winter gear and when my sister was ready she went outside. She ran back and forth excitedly in front of the door taunting me because she was dressed first. As I got my scarf tied and my sister ran by for what seemed to be the hundredth time, I figured I would try out something I learned in school.

It didn't feel like much more than a second later when I was laying in my bed holding my sore jaw and thinking that FUCK OFF was apparently the wrong thing to say to my sister.

That event did leave a lasting impression on me because I've never really said that since.

Just a plain crash

I was watching the start of the TV show Medium and the lead character was having a dream about a plane crash and I had to laugh.
I've been there a hundred times, maybe a thousand times in every variation. I've been in crashing planes as a passenger and as a pilot. I've been on the ground watching them crash more times than I want to remember. I've seen them shot down and I've shot them down. I've had these dreams as long as I can remember and like almost all my dreams they're very detailed.

There may be some psychological reason for these particular dreams, but I don't know what that'd be because I've had them through every phase of my life from when I was a carefree teenager, through troubled relationships, happy relationships, lousy jobs and great jobs.

I had one particularly interesting dream where I was in the second level of a house looking out the window. I saw this passenger plane in the distance and it was in trouble. The plane was heading towards me lurching and smoking. Just short of the house the plane went down hitting a pond. The water from the pond began coming towards the house in a huge wave and as it began washing towards the house, I realized I had the passenger list in my hand and I started reading the names. When I got to the crew, I read the pilots name and it was me.

It's Christmas time. Wash your damn hands!

With all the communicable diseases or ailments going around these days, you figure people would learn.

Hitting the malls more this time of year, you end up in the public washrooms and get to witness the insanity of guys and their disgusting habits. My unofficial poll says that 90 percent of guys do not wash their hands after using the bathroom. I asked someone once about this and he said that "he knew where his hands had been". Yeah so do I. On your dick, on every door handle including the bathroom door, on your sandwich, in the hand of all the people you met while shopping.. hey how you doing, (hand shake). Do I smell piss? Jeez.

From the looks of the bathrooms, a lot of guys try to get in and out of there without touching anything. The toilet lid, the toilet paper, the sink, the towel dispenser, they avoid them all. I guess touching the latch on the stall quickly will prevent anything from getting on your hands.

The fakers are even more baffling. They'll actually turn the water on, maybe stick one finger under it and dry up. I've even seen someone come from the urinal and go straight to the paper towels and then leave. I've heard them grunting in the stall, coming out, fixing their hair and leaving.

Don't make me sick. Please start washing, even if only for the Christmas season.


"If heaven is for clean people, it's vacant."
Matthew Good

In order to improve, you must be willing to be seen as stupid and foolish…

A friend has been having trouble with relationships and instead of just dealing with it, learning from it and moving on, he gives up, blames society or whatever and retreats from the world.

I just don't understand people who give up on themselves. Life is too short.
This was inspired by him.


Maybe I’ll disappear

nobody move and you won’t get hurt
are we being robbed or are we just afraid to live
does anybody remember how this all got started?
do we want to know or do we just want out of it?

stop right there and put your hands in the air
are we being arrested or are we just giving up
are we being held up or just caving in
you can’t do anything wrong if you don’t do anything

we complain about our jobs
we bitch about your wife
how would it feel if you wanted it
how would it feel if she wanted it

is it safe there in that cubicle
waiting for the gears and springs to send you home
you can’t get if you won’t ask for it
you can’t have it if you won’t take it

me, I just don’t give a damn
am I saying it or really meaning it
push enough and you might just find that out
push enough and just maybe we both might know

or maybe I’ll just slide down to the basement
hey I’ll put on that new reality show
I think I heard that there’s new software
maybe, maybe I’ll disappear

Reality sucks

I saw a fellow I worked with almost ten years ago the other day. He was wandering around the streets of downtown Guelph, dragging on a cigarette and heading into a bar. He once told me that he figured out he spent nearly $20,000 a year on cigerettes and booze. When we'd break for lunch at foundry we both worked at, he'd buy his food from the truck which often consisted of these sugar coated buns and cans of coke to wash them down. He told me he'd often skip supper so he could drink longer.

My father was almost always a happy person. He worked long hard hours doing very physical work almost always outside. Whenever you were looking for him, all you had to do was listen. He was known for always whistling a tune as he worked. As hard as he worked, he also loved his holidays and hobbies. He had his pilots license and owned his own plane. The two of us would fly to different places like Ottawa or Kitchener for Air shows or just around the country for fun. He'd always play jokes on me, once pretending he fell asleep in the back of the plane when I had the stick (I was only seven years old). He'd drive anywhere and everywhere. Florida about 100 times, Nashville, Vegas, California, anywhere. He once drove to Florida for 23 hours and the people he went with had to fly back due to a family emergency. Like me I guess he didn't like the idea of being alone, so after sitting on a lawn chair for a couple hours he got in his car and drove back.

My father was only back a couple months from driving to California and back, when we got together and he told me he was going to the Dominican. He just met my Maria for the first time and he made plans with us to do some stuff together when he got back. He also loved going out to dinner. He'd find new interesting places to eat and he wanted to take us to a new one he'd found.

My father, my brother and I also got together just before that and celebrated our birthdays. My father and I have birthdays just days apart in February. It was the first time we all got together in a few years. My brother and I weren't talking for a while because of a tiff we had a couple years back. I was told later that my father mentioned how he thought things were "finally coming together".

I knew something was up because I got a phonecall that the police went to my old address looking for me. They knocked on my door a short time later and told me my father wasn't coming back from the Dominican.

When I saw the always drunk fellow I worked with I just couldn't avoid asking myself why. I didn't wish he would have been the one to go instead of my father but I couldn't understand how someone who obviously abused himself could still be around when my father who didn't smoke or drink, was always happy and took care of himself wasn't.

I wrote the below a while back and when I dug it out of an old jacket pocket and it conjured up this story for me. My fathers name was Carlo. The last few lines are just a little play on words illustrating my frustration (say it out loud). My stepmothers name is Kay.

Reality

The man on the street
He lives out of the bottle
I don’t mean him no ill
But I just can’t fathom

Memories can take me back
And the dreams are so real
But I always get that slap in the face
Reality

Living on honey buns and whiskey
And living
But he can’t ever get to know my girl
My family

I hear the whistling in the yard
I smell the fresh cut lumber
See a small plane overhead
Slap in the face

If you see Kay, say I said hi
If you see Kay
If you see Kay
If you see Kay, say hello

Aqua Maria continued... yes there's more

As you may have noticed, my memories of grade two are pretty good. I remember some things from Kindergarden, almost nothing from grade one and I remember a few things from grade three. Grade two I remember almost everything. I remember things I said in class, my teachers name, my classmates names, and even some of the class discussions. I can't explain this, it's just the way it is.

I daydreamed in class a lot. I remember getting asked a math question, standing up, and proceeding to discuss my summer vacation to Italy. I remember an amused look on the face of Miss Curtis before I was asked to answer the math question.
This was much different than my grade three class. Grade three was violent to the point of bloodshed, threatening, those Nuns were scary, and I believe truly affected my self esteem and learning abilities, but I won't get into that right now.

This was my grade two story.
Anyway, it was valentines day and we all exchanged valentines cards. I remember bringing a few cards in and we had time in class to fill them out and hand them to the teacher for distribution. Like all the other kids, I had cards for my closer friends in the class and I filled them all out. I had one card left and I knew who this one was for. I nervously filled it out and handed it along with the others to the teacher. My panic set in when I realized I didn't write who the card was to on the envelope.

Miss Curtis opened the card and paused, then looked at me and gave me one of those "that's so cute" faces before calling the recipient of the card. As I buried my head in my desk, Maria walked over to pick up the card that read...

Happy Valentines Day Maria

I love you

Paul

I changed schools after that year and I never saw Maria again.

Aqua Maria

I'm so excited.

I just found the cartoon I used to watch when I was a kid was released as a DVD set. For years I remembered this cartoon, or barely remembered it, would be more correct. What I remembered was the end credit song. I remembered more than just that song. I did remember that it was an underwater adventure and that my favorite character was a mute sex goddess named Marina, but I really remembered that song.

I was in grade two and my teachers name was Miss Curtis. We had a really large class that year. I can't remember how many students were in the class but I do remember that among the numbers there were five Pauls, a Carlos and... Maria. I remember going to school every day and looking across the room at Maria, trying to get her attention, trying to talk to her. I don't know how obvious it was or even what reactions I got from her, if any at all.

We had a school bizarre / bake sale that year and I remember getting money from my parents for a piece of cake. I loved cake. I was seven years old. What kid that age doesn't like cake? I walked to school that morning. It was one of those five mile walks to school we tell our kids about. The change jingling in my pocket. My cake change.

After some time in class that day, which is a total blur, I hit the hall and the bake sale. I made a beeline for my cake but something got in my way. Ahead of me was Maria. She was eyeing something she liked but she apparantly didn't bring enough change or spent it on something else. As she walked away and I eyed my cake, I glanced at what she was looking at.

Back in class everyone was sitting down with their goods and I walked in, trotted over to Marias' desk and placed a pair of earings in her hand. I sat down at my desk, cakeless, and very happy with myself.

That weekend I got up for my saturday morning cartoons like I did every weekend and I watched Stingray. The end credits rolled and the song started playing. Maria... Maria.... I pined for my schoolmate Maria and couldn't wait to see her again on Monday.

Article: Zero tolerance' for ash-spreader

A man arrested for running onto the field during the Philadelphia Eagles' game against the Green Bay Packers on Sunday told police he was spreading his late mother's ashes.

Christopher Noteboom, of Tempe, Arizona, ran onto the field holding a plastic bag, leaving a cloud of fine powder behind.

As he reached the 30-yard line, he dropped to his knees, made the sign of the cross and laid down on his stomach. Security personnel reached him moments later and he offered no resistance as he was escorted from the field.

The 44-year-old Noteboom, a native of Doylestown, Pennsylvania, said his mother died of emphysema in January 2005, shortly before the Eagles' Super Bowl appearance.

"She never cared for any other team except the Eagles," Noteboom told WPVI-TV after he was released from custody.

Noteboom, a bar owner in Arizona, was charged with defiant trespass. He has a hearing on Dec. 27.

"It's bizarre, but we have a zero tolerance for people who run on the field," police inspector William Colarulo said. "We especially have a zero tolerance for people who run onto the field and dump an unknown substance in a stadium full of people."