The Sacred and The Wounded Word…..

This is my blog.

There are many like it but this one is mine.

My blog is not necessarily my best friend, but it means well.

It is a tiny fraction of my life.

I must master it as I must master my life.

Which I recognize is a circular statement with no actual context or substance, but sounds deep and wisdomy. 

Without me, my blog is useless.

Also not as funny.

Without my blog I am just another guy without a blog.

I must write my blog true. Or false. Depends on the weather, i suppose.

I must ruminate more crisply than some other blogger, who is trying to out-funny me.

I must stop using made up words, like geflunka, or Dave. Or wisdomy.

I must publish mine before he or she publishes theirs.

I will. (No I won’t).

I promise. (No I don’t).

I mean it this time. (Not really).

Really. (Wrong again).

Before Eccentrica Gallumbits and Kurt Vonnegut and The Fonze, I swear this creed:

My blog and myself are defenders of the magical land of Tee-Hee-Hee.

We are the Masters of my inner monologue.

We are the Sainted Physician, attending to the Sacred and the Wounded Words of my life.

So be it, or make it so, until there is no more words to write, but peace.

So say we all.

Seacrest, Out!!

My Android screams like an electric sheep….

……everytime I get a notification.

Email. Twitter. Facebook. To a lesser degree, Google+. Much lesser, actually.

My life is a continuous symphony of cacaphonious alerts, reminders and ding-a-ling-a-lings.

Cacaphonious is not a real word. But its an accurate descriptor.

I can even rely upon the magical internet bunnies to provide me with updates on all the tremendously hilarious and frantically mundane things my friends are engaging themselves in.

Which brings me to a quandary.

OK, not so much a quandary, as a conundrum.

People have all different kinds of preferences.

Some like some things. Others like other things.

To each their own, as the French might say.

The internet is a veritable “choose-your-own-adventure” of in which to immerse yourself in.

I just don’t enjoy some things. I’m certain neither do any of you.

The unfortunate side effect of our expanding digital playground is that it has become commonplace to ridicule and retaliate in even the smallest measure.

How dare I exercise my social muscles by responding or commenting, especially if it is in defence of the less popular?

Because suck it up, that’s why. That certainly seems to be the common response.

I try to tread as carefully as possible. I ask myself some questions.

1) Do I actually need to involve myself in this chest-pounding circle jerk of a discussion? Or can I casually glance at it as I pass by on my way to do something more effective with my remaining time on earth? Like cleaning the toilet, or getting philosophical about wax.

2) Does my life stand to benefit in anyway by desperately pleading my two cents?

3) How much do I actually care?

4) And finally, how much excrement can I expect will levitate and gain momentum, moving expeditiously towards the nearest air conditioning unit, as a result of my involvement?


It seems asinine, but it’s almost as if we are better off keeping our traps shut.  Because the alternative is wading into the murky depths of Lake Inconsiderate, where sensitivity, and voicing it, is a weakness.

Of course I am all wrong here. I should probably fill out a hurt feelings report and file it under “cry baby”.

Or I could lash back out. Spew out my frustration, say my piece and flash the online hand as I log off.

I could also say nothing. I mean, only if I have nothing nice to say.

I’m not going to try and scroll the wool over your eyes. I’m not actually involved in any kind of debate.

It was the Pavlovian sing-song emitting from my mobile device that reminded me of it.

That, and the distinctive bleat of the elusive yet smarmy internet troll, twitching its nose in smug flash mob sentiment.

That shit really gets my goat. Continue reading

Up hill. Both Ways. On the back of a shovel.

Tomorrow we return.

To backpacks and checklists.

Recess. Fun and games.

Home. And work.

The Daily Grind, before our daily grind.

Double shots of espresso, mixed with double-takes and expressions.

A new year. A new plan. A new shift. A new stroll through the same old.

The long slow climb to March Break begins.

Up hill. Both ways. On the back of a shovel.

Emergency Temporal Shrift

Well, it’s that time of year again.

No. The other one. (This we offer in humility and fear. For the blessed peace of your eternal slumber. As it ever was).

Sorry. I took a few days off.

The world raises its glasses in celebration, sending off the year in a manner befitting of whatever cultures or peoples it embraces.

We all reflect and remember in our own way.

We all have plans, dreams, hopes and schemes to unfurl in the coming days and weeks.

From the day we arrive on the planet, and blinking step into the sun. There is more to see than can ever be seen. More to do than – no, hold on… Sorry, that’s the ‘Lion King’. But the point still stands.

We will be challenged. Its not easy, the future.

It tasks us. It tasks us, but we shall have it.

And tomorrow morning, as we slink from ‘neath the lamp shade of indulgence, the first bright new day of a brand new year will shine its unforgiving flashlight upon our expectations.

I know you’re out there. I can feel you now. I know that you’re afraid. You’re afraid of us. You’re afraid of change. I don’t know the future. I didn’t come here to tell you how this..… Facepalm.  – that’s “The Matrix”. Sorry.

Look at the egg on me.


When you go forward into 2014, keep this in mind: I have a proposition which was true in old times, just as it’s true today. Be excellent to each other. And… PARTY ON, DUDES!

Oops. I did it again.

Happy New Year. And shit.

The Night Before Christmas

It’s the night before Christmas, and all through my place; The pets are in hiding, afraid of the chase.

The tree is all made up, and lights are aglow; the cars all are dusted in thick, icy snow.

The children are crazy and bouncing off walls; Excited that grandfolks and cousins will call.

With Mom on her Kobo, and me on my phone, the seasonal flicks play on like a drone.

When out on the lawn there rose such a din, that as I tried to stand up, I smashed in my shin.

The boys walking dogs were hooting and nuts, as I hobbled to get them and to kick their butts.

Im sure it was funny, me limping and red. But I swear, one more outburst would be the last thread.

They’re all silly. Obnoxious. Frustrating and sweet. And upon each occasion. They drive me to weep.

But soon it will pass us, and a new year will start. And they’ll all be older, and it breaks my heart.

So wherever you are, this evening,
my best. Cherish your loved ones, despite the unrest.

For as the night draws, ever closer to nigh, remember these good times, and remember the why.

Its Christmas, for Pete’s sake. Its Number #1!!

So hurry up, dammit!! Hurry up and have fun!!


Die Hard: Best Christmas Movie Ever!!

Merry Christmas.

In the thick of it….

So last night the power went out as a result of the ice storm blowing through our area.

This morning, power was restored. A large branch broke off the tree in the back yard and crunched the neighbors fence.

The world is ice, and we are all popsicles.

It brings to mind the fact that things invariably change.

Whether we want them too, or not, the tides of time and reality shift and flow over us and upon us that we can’t help but be swept forward and adapt.

The natural world is our best example. Wind blows. Rain falls. Ice forms. Snow melts.

All the world is new.

And try as we might, be it John, Peter, or Malcolm, furrowing our brows dramatically upwards towards the camera of life, we can only shrug, chuckle and accept the inevitable.

We are in the thick of it. And there is no better place to be.

Ice Ice, Baby….

There’s a storm coming.

And I mean that in most sincere, literal and figurative way.

Also, I can see it. It’s right outside the window.

Fortunately, I have the appropriate kind of footwear.

Its kind of important – appropriate footwear.

Having the right kind can determine the quality of the experience you have while going from Tab A to Slot B.

Footwear can also say a lot about a persons outlook as well. Each one is unique. You might prefer flip flops. I enjoy the snug, manly fit of a well-tailored boot.

You see, we humans are a fascinating, frustrating, magnificent and idiotic lot.

Lumbering, wibbly-wobbly bags of meat and drama that pout, party and poop, swayed by the whims of pop cultural significance, desires of the flesh and most importantly, by the slings and arrows of outrageous misfortune.

We are tragic. And so much bigger on the inside.

We are all variations on a theme.  Yet we cool the jets of discontent towards each other.

Our spiteful words breeds frostbite into our hearts. We build bridges with anger and insensitivity that keep us apart, and set them alight with fires of indifference.

We freeze each other out. We rain on each others parades.

We really need to chill out.

How about we put aside the pretext of me versus you.

And acknowledge that it’s just US.

Arm in arm. Back to back. Together against the Universe.

We dont have to agree on everything. But we can accept each other, unconditionally.

Yes. It’s frustrating. It’s hard work. But I have an idea.

If I try on your flip flops, then you can try on my boots.

And then, if we can manage that, maybe we can go for a walk.

Not far. Maybe a mile or two.


In the wind. Or the rain. Or the ice. Or the snow.

Because if we are together, it doesn’t matter the weather.

Yes. I realize I said previously I don’t like the cold. It’s called an analogy.

Jeez. Have some perspective.

See what I did there?

Time is a many-feathered bitch….

Whirlwind couple of days.

Snow fell like dandruff from the chafing scalp of a less fortunate man.

There were filet mignon whispers with cabernet sauvignon dreams. And whip cream.

Aggregated sinuses and busy-bodied mall walkers.

A mere eight days dangle before our noses like hopeful morsels of holiday baking. Its December, and Christmas beckons.

Perhaps I’ve been time travelling. Maybe this was always the way it happened.

I digress. But not all it once. Slowly, like melting cheese.

The words are escaping me at the moment. To be fair, the cool-ranch adventures of Axel Foley are quite distracting.

Maybe tomorrow, there will come softer, more enticing rains.

Besides, the cornflakes are screaming again. And this time, its personal.

Trudging through a winter Hinterland

The snow is flying again.

I don’t like snow. Or winter.  Or cold.

Like at all.

I’d for sure say I’m more of a warm climate type guy. Or at least moderately temperate.

I don’t mind rain. I actually enjoy thunderstorms.

I’ve been to a purely tropical locale. A bit too humid and dry for me to stay in.

I think about a place, where the wind is pleasant but warm. The sun beats down without scorching. Green grass. Cool water. Perfect.

You see, I got really bad frostbite on my fingers as a kid. The memory of that agony has never left me, and even now, my fingers go first, despite toasty gloves.

So as the wind frostily whips about our legs, pinches our noses and forms crusty white extensions to our various hairy parts, try to envision a warm beach with a soft wind blowing, gently caressing your sun-kissed skin. Your toes sliding comfortable through the grass into the sand. The perfect getaway.

For fucks sake. I just described a holodeck program.

Words, Words, Words….

I got a present today from my wife.

I wasnt quite prepared for how it made me feel.

Everyday or so, I try to jot down a few witty phrases or discombobulated strings of words to highlight where my brain has been.

Apparently, my wife thinks I’m funny.

I appreciate her (check earlier blogpost re: this) for her appreciation of my humour.

I’m not that funny, IMO. Moderately giggle-worth, perhaps. Occasionally haw haw-ish.

But the gift was a collection of my words,  peppered with hilarious quotes by my children, accented here and there in coloured text.

It is pretty fantastic.

There is also a frame.

Which means she wants to see it up on the wall for others to see, snicker at, chuckle upon and enjoy.

As I said – I wasnt prepared.

The gift was wonderful.

My wife, however, is irreplaceable.

Lotto 649 can suck it.