Move over Shakespeare!

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Can't think
Brain numb
Inspiration won't come

Weather's bleah
All grey
Need some sun to want to play

Job's crap
What's my goal
Seems I'm stuck in a deep dark hole

Family, well
That's OK
Something at least is goin' my way

Can't think
Brain dead
Inanity trundles through my head



* I can't help but find it somewhat creepy how Will's head somehow seems to not be attached to his body, like it's been lopped off and then balanced on his collar...

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Sometimes you just gotta make a stand. Thanks Keith

From Pat Robertson:



From Rush Limbaugh



And from Keith Olbermann: 





















Thank you Thank You THANK YOU !!!

Well hell, two posts in a day

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Because I totally forgot until I checked out Alison's blog and she reminded me...

IT'S DELURKING DAY!!!!

This is the day to comment on blogs. To all you people who read but never ever comment, make yourselves known if only for this one day. Leave a comment. Be seen! Be heard! I'd love to know who you are.

C'mon I double dare you.
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Ian, this one's for you!!!

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Brought to you by LIFE:

When Flying was fun - Those were the days!
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Logistics, Logistics, Logistics

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Over the past few weeks, Mr. Jazz and I have become hooked on the series everyone is talking about, Mad Men. Or maybe it's the series everyone was talking about because though we're well into the first season, apparently this series has been around for three seasons already. We can be a bit slow on the uptake Mr. Jazz and I.

It's a great series, about advertising executives on Madison (Mad) Avenue during the early sixties. Ah the sixties, such a wholesome era it was!

OK, screeching halt here. Lets just say the series shows pretty well that people will be people whatever era they live in.

So anyway, no major spoiler here - one of the characters is cheating on his wife (oh la la!!, who knew Tiger and Clinton weren't the first?)

And while watching the show I pointed out to Mr. Jazz that hey, isn't it bizarre. The ubiquitous cell phone is nowhere to be seen!

Which in turn brought out the observation: I wonder if it wasn't easier to cheat on your spouse in those days than it is today. Logisitcally speaking of course.

Obviously, if you want to be cheatin' nothing's going to stop you. But does all the technology we have to "simplify" our lives help at all?

On the one hand, back in the dark ages you could phone home and simply say "I'm dining with a client" and you were incommunicado from then on.

On the other hand, cell phones are very useful contact the "partner in crime"

On the other hand (yes! didn't you know I have hands sprouting all over my body, a regular octopus I am), if you don't answer said cell when the spouse calls because you happen to be doing the horizontal boogie with said partner in crime, questions will be raised.

On yet another hand - well I'm not sure I have another hand.

Point is, technology was supposed to simplify our lives overall. Microwaves and GPSs seem to have done so, but  I tend to think that having a cellphone would complicate things somewhat if you're thinking of cheating on a spouse. If of course said spouse tends to call you at all hours.

But I don't have a cell phone so what do I know.

So now it's your turn. I don't often ask you to weigh in, but let me know what you think.

Seen on Facebook

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You know, in that bar to the right, the one with all the (dare I call them stupid?) ads:

- Five foods for a flat belly - it seems these foods will burn your stomach fat. If you belive this, obviously FB has been burning your brain cells

- Three foods you should never eat - Because these foods will promote stomach fat.

My question is, if you eat the five and also the three, will you still be ahead by two?

My mathematical skills are still intact - though this calculation pretty much taxed them to their limit.
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And they raised the price of stamps!

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I was incredibly thrilled to have such a great post for you!

You see, over my vacation I was in Korea (I think) and at one point wandering through a backwater market I happened upon The Bay. (The Bay for all you Americans out there is the national department store of Canadia - somewhere between JC Penney and Saks on the department store scale. Macy's perhaps? I have no clue).

I was flabbergasted I was!  I walked in and a lady said to me: Good Afternoon Ms. Jazz (in a delightful Asian accent).

- ?!?!?!  How do you know my name?
- Oh, security out back scans everyone entering with that camera and matches you against our international database and gives me your name through this speaker in my ear. If you're a thief, murderer or terrorist you won't be allowed in.
- !?!?!?!

I couldn't help but think that maybe they should let the US use that technology on planes.
And then I thought, there's a damn good blog post in this.
And then the alarm clock went off.

And I woke up, and when I was awake enough to function - after I had had my shower and was half dressed - it dawned on me that I didn't have a blog post after all. And it pissed me off.

Because the whole "My Resolutions" post, not so much thank you. (Besides, it's the 6th, isn't it too late for a New Years post?)  I'm too old to be into resoultions. Been there, done that, couldn't be bothered to either keep them or feel guilty about it.  If I had kept all my resolutions I would weigh about -95 lbs, have read all of Proust and never said fuck again.

Hasn't happened.

I read somewhere in the past week that we should not actually make resolutions. Resolutions set us up for failure you see. Instead we should have intentions or goals. What the hell is that? Is an intention or a goal less binding than a resolution so that, after three nanoseconds of "I intend to never eat chocolate again" when you don't manage it any more than if you had "resolved not to eat any chocolate" you'll feel less guilty about it?

And I shall spare you all a rant on the stupidity of a society where everything has to be safe and easy and one should never ever be too hard on oneself because damn, one might realise that one isn't all that special, and is basically just a cog in the machine. 

Stupid-ass mollycoddling* I say!  (I'd never say stupid-ass either if I had kept my resolutions).

Stand up! Take responsibility for yourself !  If, like me, you are so lacking in moral fibre, willpower or masochism, that you're unable to keep a resolution, intentions and goals won't work either. Within four days, you'll be back to your comfy habits, intentions all shot to hell. Though maybe intentions are less guilt inducing than resolutions. Or something. If you're into guilt over drunken promises made after taking stock of your life during a New Years party, go ahead, intend and resolve to your hearts content.

Me, not so much.

Who was it that said: Eat, drink and be merry, for tomorrow you die ?  The guy had a point.

Have a good year y'all - and no, the title has nothing to do with anything, someone just now passed that nugget of information on to me.



* Let me edumacate you in these early days of 2010 (won't happen too often I'd say - usually when I don't know something I don't bother to look it up, I ask XUP because she is all knowing she is. Next best thing to god) - The origins of the word mollycolddle:  

To "mollycoddle" someone is, of course, to pamper the person in an extremely attentive and solicitous fashion. As you found, "mollycoddle" is an extreme form of "coddle," which, when it first appeared in English around 1598 meant "to boil gently" (from the Latin "calidum," hot drink). The "gentle" aspect of "coddle" led, around 1815, to its figurative use to mean "nurse," "pamper" or "treat as an invalid," the sense found in "mollycoddle."

Decoding the "molly" in "mollycoddle" brings us to the noun form of "mollycoddle," which means "a pampered weakling" or "a sissy." "Molly" is indeed a "pet form" of the name Mary, often used in slang as a disparaging term for a prostitute or criminal's companion (as in a gangster's "moll"), but also contemptuous slang for a weak or ineffectual man. So to "mollycoddle" someone, in the original sense of the term, is to treat him or her in the delicate fashion a "molly" must be "coddled." "Mollycoddle" first appeared in English as a noun around 1833 and the verb form was in use by 1870.
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The Christmas Letter I'd Like to See

Hello All!!!

Another year has passed and what a year it was!

Our move from Richville went relatively well and this apartment, if not the height of chic, at least has a roof. Of course, moving would never have been an issue if Hubby Dearest hadn't embezzled those funds. Well, the embezzlement was not so much the problem, but covering his tracks sure as hell was. What do they teach them in business school?

So now, he lives in a 12x12 cell and wears an orange jumpsuit. And lovelies, orange is SO not his colour. Makes him look quite green around the gills actually. Truly, they really must revise the colour palette in that place. He seems to be adapting well at least, he has a new friend called Bubba. Big man, seems to treat hubby well - quite taken with him Bubba is. Almost as if... naw. Anyway, it's nice to know he's doing ok.

It's also nice to know that idiot "girlfriend" of his is out in the cold, the bitch. Of course, she'll fall on her feet, they always do that sort ; there'll be another rich idiot man to pick her up and dust her off for another round.

I'd divorce his sorry ass, but I believe in standing by my man, especially when there's a secret account somewhere out in the Caribbean. In a few years we'll be living the life we were meant to live once again. Temporary setback. Yes, that's all it is.

The children are well, as always, at least I think they are.

Adolescent Boy has finally made friends. I'm so happy for him. True, they tend to be a bit rowdy (but they're teenagers, what can you expect) and love doing target practice from car windows, but I consider it building a skill set he never would have built up otherwise. Shooting a moving target while moving yourself seems like it would be really really difficult. I'm proud of my boy for stepping up. I do wonder though, why he has all those small cellophane bags of flour in his room. Maybe he's thinking of starting cooking school! It would be nice to have a cook in the family. People obviously cook much less than they used to if flour is sold in such small bags now. I wonder what the inside of a supermarket looks like...

Teenage Daughter has started a part-time job. She works evenings. A wonderful little go getter Teenage Daughter is. Personally, I think she must be rather cold in those stilettos and minis, especially in the snow, but you know how teenagers are. There's no talking to them. And she seems so popular! A few times, I came home from shopping (times are tough, so I have to keep my spirits up you know!) in the afternoon and she had friends over. Boyfriends. Never the same one though, she goes through men like I don't know what. Such a popular girl. She takes after me in that. I was such a popular teenager, though my mother wouldn't let me have boyfriends in my room. But times change, don't they?

Other Son... well, um.. I'm not sure I have one. There's a bedroom, there's a closed door and there's strange noises coming, I suppose from his computer. He's "gaming" apparently, whatever that means.

The other day, I had a visit from some nice men in suit regarding Other Son, they said they were from some place called Pentagon or something - sounds like that must be a really nice store catering to teenagers, but I don't quite remember, I was leaving to go shopping.... Maybe that was important? If it was, they'll no doubt be back. They mentioned something about hacking. Hacking what? Does Other Son have a hacking cough? Seems I would have heard him, but with the door closed all the time, well, I don't want to intrude...

And so, friends and family, another year comes to an end. It was a trifle trying at times, but this too will pass.

Wishing you a wonderful Holiday Season,

The Smiths

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

And on that note, I bid you all adieu, most probably until the new year. May your holidays be merry and bright and empty of angst and expectations.

Happy Belated Festivus!

Um....

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I know I'm showing my ignorance here but who's Brittany Murphy?
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Bah, Humbug! (Redux)

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I'm doing it too - with slight edits. Seems everyone is recycling Christmas posts. It's the perfect time for regifting after all - especially those posts that were written before the advent of readers in this blog:

Rudolph, the red-nosed reindeer
had a very shiny nose.
And if you ever saw him,
you would even say it glows.

All of the other reindeer
used to laugh and call him names.
They never let poor Rudolph
join in any reindeer games.

Then one foggy Christmas Eve
Santa came to say:
"Rudolph with your nose so bright,
won't you guide my sleigh tonight?"

Then all the reindeer loved him
as they shouted out with glee,
Rudolph the red-nosed reindeer,
you'll go down in history!

Now, I ask you, is this crap or what?

They hated him because of his difference, because of his red nose. Because he was a serious drinker, and a nasty drunk perhaps? Unless he had roseacea - they really should be more specific...

Point is Rudy was an outcast. And one night, because of  the fog, he's shown favour by the fat man in red and suddenly all the other reindeer love him? I think not.

Au contraire. It would annoy the hell out of the others that he of all reindeer has been picked as the leader. The outcast as boss? Um, don't think so. Or at any rate they wouldn't be shouting out for glee. Grumbling and bitching? Definitely


And a red nose does nothing in the fog. If it were yellow, it could help, but red? Not so much, so what's up with that?.

You might point out that I'm anthropomorphizing these animals, but hey, I didn't start it - have you ever seen a reindeer shout out with glee? I rest my case.

Thus I feel safe in assuming they act like humans all the time - which is rather fucked up in and of itself, but that's a whole different ballgame (or reindeer game as the case may be).
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Guaranteed Feel Good Moment

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Early morning. You're getting ready for work.

You're sitting on the bed, staring into space - as you are wont to do  It's just so damn early isn't it.

You snap out of it, sigh, and bend down to put on your socks.

The button of your pants pops off. The only reason it doesn't fly across the room is that you're bent over

Guaranteed to make you feel good about yourself on a gloomy Tuesday morning.
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'Tis The Season

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Oh yes. Indeed it is. It's snowing on Montreal.

You all know my feelings about  the proverbial white stuff. I've never made a secret of it - not a big fan of winter. 

Unfortunately, unlike most of  her green batrachian kind the Jazzer can't just dig under the mud and hibernate for a few months. It's that whole damn earning a living thing... Not a big fan of earning a living either. It's highly overrated.

And so.

It's snowing on Montreal. Coming down like there's no tomorrow. Or today. Depending on the media and how given they are to blowing stuff out of proportion we're expecting anything from 10 to 35 cm of snow (you Americans can convert it yourselves, there are tons of handy metric converters on the internet, gotta love the internet for sparing us the bother of calculating it in our poor overworked heads). Is it just me or is there a HUGE margin for error here? It's like weather prediction in the 21st century is still a crystal ball thing.

Most likely, we'll end up with something like 5 cm.

Aside: OK, I did it. I'm anal that way. I couldn't just leave it. So we're expecting anywhere from 4 to 14 (give or takes) inches.

And so.

People will be acting as if they've never seen snow before today. As if this were a first. As if they and their ancestors and the ancestors before their ancestors all the way up to the first moron off  the boat who thought it would be a wonderful idea to settle here didn't get masses of snow every winter.  Hell people it's not like you don't KNOW what winter is all about. Get over it!

Except me.  Cause I don't bitch about the heat so I can bitch about winter. So there. Them's my rools.

And so.

Schools were closed already this morning before the snow even started. In case. I remember when schools would be closed only if the storm had already hit overnight. Yeah, I know. I know. I'm becoming my "back-when-we-were-kids" parents. You know, the you-young'uns-have-it-so-much-easier school of thought. In my defense, several people at work said the same thing when they got in. Either we're all getting old or everyone is a wuss today. Even in the latter case, we are all getting old regardless.

Sometimes I wonder, since it's getting so much easier for each subsequent generation, how mankind has actually managed to survive thus far. The mind boggles.

And so.

Traffic will be hell tonight; lots of people with no winter tires yet - because remember, we never get snow here in December, and everyone will be all traumatized that yeah, it's actually happened, we've gotten snow.

On a day like this, there's something to be said for public transport.

And so

Tonight and tomorrow it'll be news. Headliner on radio and TV. Front page in the papers. Because lordamighty we actually got snow in Montreal. SNOW!!!  Who'da thunk it? Goddamn! It might actually displace Tiger and his ever more numerous female companions who keep oozing out of the woodwork.

People are morons.
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Check this out...

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How cool is this?

Jerome Murat
envoyé par Double-U-Double-U. - Regardez plus de vidéos comiques.
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Today's What the F**k Moment

Cause I guess I shouldn't say fuck in a title, right?

Moving on (I'm digressing before even getting started; can you actually do that?)

Today's WTF moment is brought to you by Tiger Woods (damn but nicknames like Tiger annoy me - course if my name was Eldrick, I might go by some stupid nickname too - again with the digression!)

Ok, so the guy, was cheating on his wife it seems - oh lord almighty! The! Horror!!!!

Um... so what? Tiger is the first person to cheat on his/her spouse, perhaps?

Headlines like this: Tiger Woods scandal - Woods in intense marriage counseling are just waaaaay too much information - and none of anyone's business.

Why is this news on all the "serious" media from the CBC to the Washington Post rather than on Entertainment Tonight? This isn't news, this is something between him and his wife.

What's the fascination? Fer chrissake, the guy's famous for playing a sport where the point is whacking a tiny ball for miles and wearing ugly pants (unless they're over the ugly pants thing?) to great monetary advantage.

Why is this news? and more to the point, why does anyone care how he lives his private life? The operative word here being PRIVATE.

I know some will argue that actually he's a public figure, thus so is his life. That's bullshit. I don't care how public you are, you're still entitled to a private life, no matter who you're with in your car.

Why do people rejoice so much in the "downfall" of public figures - remember Clinton and all those other politicians? And have you ever noticed that it's almost always about sex? Why do people get so damn het up about sex?

Just a thought in passing, and moving away from Woods for a bit, I can't help but think many politicians have much worse stuff going on than sex scandals, things involving corruption and bribes and such. Things that should concern us as citizens, but nope, it's the guy who dips his wick in the wrong vat of wax who makes the front page. Maybe if people weren't so busy sniffing out sex "scandals" they'd sniff out the important stuff.

The Five Words - Finally

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Quite a while ago - could it have been this summer? - Geewits did a post consisting of her thoughts on five different words and offered to give five words to whoever wanted them.

I did - hey, easy post eh?

She gave me the words; being me, I promptly ignored them. I'm good at ignoring stuff, it's my talent.

But I've finally gotten to it, so here we go...

Napping

There's nothing better than a good nap. On a Saturday afternoon. On the couch. After a nice cup of tea. In front of the fire. Oh yeah.

Or in bed in the summertime with cool sheets and nekkid butt. Or on a hammock.. or or or....

And it's ever so easy to just slip away that way - get comfy and you're off.

So why don't I just do more of it? I often feel like having a nap (at work, surprise surprise) but even on weekends, I rarely give in. Some sort of guilt thing I suppose. I am very good at sitting around doing nothing (another talent! just ask Mr. Jazz), but somehow, napping  just seems too self indulgent. I'm not getting anything done (yes, this is a paradox for someone who can stare into space for 30 minutes at at time), but it seems I should at least be trying to vacuum or read or watch trash TV.

Image from the Firstpeople website

Boats

I'd love to sail. I would. I adore water - especially the ocean. But for some reason I rarely clamber into (onto?) anything bigger than a canoe (where I tend to go around in circles) or a pedal boat - and we all know how that turned out. Which might explain why I'm never invited on anyone's boat. That or the fact that I don't know anyone with a boat bigger than a pedal boat... Unless of course they're all hiding their yachts from me. Yacht. What a perfectly bizarre word that is. And why don't they spell it Yat?

Italy

I've never been. But it's on the list - as are so many other places. The world is so huge, life is so short. I'm sure I'll die before I see it all - or even most of it. I'm thankful to have travelled as much as I have, to have seen Ecuador and Nepal and Vietnam among other places. But I haven't even set foot in Africa, I've never seen Italy or Spain or Portugal. That's sort of sad.

Fact is, nowadays I tend to prefer traveling to see friends I rarely get to see. Maybe it's age creeping up on me (though most days I feel as if rather than creeping, it's roaring towards me like an 18 wheeler on the highway) but keeping in contact takes precedence over seeing new places. At this point anyway. I'm sure I'll see Italy eventually - and it won't be on a 15 cities, 10 days tour - but before then I'll no doubt see friends in Belgium, France, Australia and the US several times.

This had nothing to do with Italy right? Damn.

Dancing

Remember Elaine on Seinfeld?  'Nuff said.

Ok, I'm nowhere near that bad, I do dance to the beat rather than to the beat of my own drummer, but I've never felt comfortable dancing. Perhaps because I'm an introvert, dancing makes me feel uncomfortable. Wrong. Outside myself.  Just somehow off. It just makes me uncomfortable dammit!

I've felt like taking dance classes pretty often over the years though. Perhaps because having the steps means you know what to do, how and when to do it. And not only do you not make a total fool of yourself, you impress the hell out of everyone else. Impressing the hell out of everyone would be good.

Eggs

I love them. I love the shape of them, I love the colours of them, I love their fragility and their strength. I love their variety.

I also love to eat them. Unfortunately, they don't return that particular lovin'.

For some reason, over the past few years I've developed difficulty digesting eggs. Not eggs used in cooking things like crepes or cake. Eggs as eggs. In some forms more than others. Omelets do not agree with me. At all. Nor do scrambled eggs. Fried eggs go over much easier (rereading this I just realized there's a pun there! I'm clever I am, or would be if I realized I was making a pun...), as do hard boiled. Egg salad sandwiches. Mmmmm.  Poached seems to work-ish. But none of them leave my stomach feeling deliriously happy and content for more than half an hour. I react worse to some forms of cooked eggs. Is it the IBS? Maybe. Is this too much information? No doubt.

But as my love cannot be denied, I sometimes eat them anyway. That half hour of delirious happiness is worth the subsequent feelings of "why do you hate me so!!". Sometimes.

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