Wednesday, February 21, 2007

So very tired...

First of all, I edited the preceding CCC post a little bit. On reflection it seemed to pick on the asthma aspect a little too much.

The show opens a week Monday! This is crazy stressful time kids.

If you live in the vicinity and want to see some talented young folk, get your Guys and Dolls tickets soon.

Most who read this don't follow hockey even a little bit, but as a longsuffering Canucks fan, I am enjoying their current run. Looks like they'll be in the playoffs, and the first round will begin JUST AROUND THE TIME I'M OFF TO LONDON. *sigh*

I remember my parents were in England during one of the few decent playoff runs they had in the early 80s and my dad managed to see tiny bits of a couple games on random televisions there. I wonder if I had the games taped if I could avoid hearing anything at all about the results before I got home to watch them?

Monday, February 19, 2007

The Cynical Career Counselor Explains Your Future in

Gangsta Rap

Oh hello--I didn't hear you knocking there. It's okay--my appointment cancelled so I've got a few minutes. Just slide that briefcase under the chair and sit down. What'll it be--accountancy? insurance? What's that? You want to be a gangsta rap star? Are you sure?

Hmm--well, first of all you're white, but that didn't stop Eminem, so there's hope. You'll need to figure out a way to build some street cred, though. The sooner you get out of your upscale neighborhood and into a rat-infested apartment in the projects of some scary urban war zone the better. If you can't hear gunshots before you go to sleep at night, you're in the wrong zip code.

You'll also need... uhm--are you okay? No, I don't mind--just go ahead and use the inhaler.

You okay now? No, I don't know how many rappers are asthmatic
--I'm sure there's no reason asthma has to keep you from your dream--I'm pretty sure "Puff Daddy" had the same problem. Hey--maybe you could incorporate the shape of the puffer into the gang signs you flash on your first album cover. You and your homies already have a finger sign? I see--very nice "Chess Club represent" indeed. You might want to be careful where you flash that--I hear the Latin Society owns these hallways.

You'll need to change your whole look as well. No, I'm not sure that the "Perfect Attendance" medal is the sort of bling that will work for this. You'll also need to maybe bulk up a little--I'm not sure your arms have enough room for the sort of tattoos you'll need to... oh? Well, I guess if you faint at the sight of needles you can skip the tattoos. No piercings, then, I suppose... No, those henna tattoos probably won't go over well at the freestyle battles in the clubs--but still, you'll need to build up some muscle. Exercise makes you break out in heat rash? That's too bad.

Oh, and those glasses--contacts will help make you look a little more... oh, that's too bad. Yeah, they are pretty thick--you'll have to spread the rumor your eyes got damaged once when you were taken down by the "po-po". You don't? Look it up--my son's monthly visit keep me up a little on gangsta talk.

Ultimately, you'll need a rap sheet. You need to prove how badass you are. What's that? No, I didn't know you got into trouble on the bus during that honor society field trip. Hmm--no, I don't think knocking off Nathan Meyer's yamulke counts as "busting a cap".

You should arrange to get yourself arrested for something--nothing major, mind you. Maybe you could just "happen" to be smoking a joint when the traffic cop is doing the tickets at the meters downtown. Likely it would be a misdemeanor, but you'd still be able do the "can't travel out of the country easily due to your criminal record thing". Huh? Oh, right--smoking won't work for you.

Look kid--I'll level with you. The prognosis isn't good. You want to take a shot? Go buy some baggy oversized clothes, fake jewel-encrusted shades, some gold chains with car hood ornaments, at least one fake gold tooth, a couple of scary bodyguards and a public relations agent.

Oh, and pick up a good profanity rhyming dictionary. It will come in handy, I'm sure.

Friday, February 16, 2007

Poetry by Dythandra


Tasting the Oxymoron


Seems a bit strange, the new "requirement"
For all senior students:
25 hours of "Volunteer Work".

We have an assembly, Nuremberg light--
All the overinflated are there
To guide us on our way.

Even the mayor is in on the act
Seems everyone wants us to know
Just how much our "volunteering"
Will be appreciated.

I snicker with the rest,
When, three speakers in,
They introduce the rep. from the Boy Scouts.
Short pants should have an expiration date.

After the agitprop, we mill about
Wandering from table to table
Seeking our respective niches.

I go outside--gymnasiums have always made me nauseous.

My hope they'd ignore me, sadly, is dashed.
Two weeks later, I'm called to the counselor.

"We need to find you a volunteer placement, dearie"

I shudder.

She pushes some brochures in front of me.
I shake my head, but she insists.

"It's required. Everyone has to do it."
There is no compromise; her eyes are like steel.

Fine, I think to myself.
They can't say they didn't have a chance to avoid this.

My volunteer placements are shortlived:

Seems the "reading to the seniors" program wasn't thrilled with me
(I didn't see any "no erotica" sign anywhere in that building)

Then there was the preschool.
I simply took a picture of each child standing beside me,
Then sent the lovely photos home.

Apparently enrollment dropped significantly the next day.

I knew my stint as a "candy striper" would be doomed from the start.
Apparently they didn't believe me
When I told them my assignment card
Spelled it with two "p's".

Finally they pulled me in the office and admitted defeat.
Still, against all hopes, the poor wretch just has to ask:
"Isn't there anything on the volunteer board you'd like to do?"

I smirked, then glanced at the array of cards.

Suddenly, my eyes lit up, and I snatched a card from the wall.
"This one." She glances at it, and starts to say something.
Then, thinking better of it, she hands it back along with a printout--
Directions to my last chance.

My thrill is short-lived, though.
Seems my new "employers" are selfish--
They won't let me take anything home.

Damned blood bank bastards.

Tuesday, February 13, 2007

happy valentine's day

The "choo-choo-choose you" valentine episode of the Simpsons was on tonight. Classic.

Some random thoughts/ideas/questions:

1. Tomorrow is the 17th valentine's day my wife and I will share. Our first was not too long after we were engaged, at a restaurant called "The Classical Pig" that used to be where the health food store (next to Starbucks) near my school is located. It was one of the only non-smoking restaurants in town at the time, and when it closed, I spent about a year trying to replicate the amazing dill cream salad dressing they had.

2. I make stupid mistakes when I'm overtired--which is always these days. Already I've screwed up by twice printing the wrong colours for the wrong days' tickets--fortunately each time it was caught before more than a few were sold. Today it was yet another, worse, situation--we have these wood window covers in the theatre (it wasn't built to be a full-time theatre, but we made it one) and we take them down and paint promo stuff about our show on them each year. This year we didn't properly mark them when we took them down and so the people who painted them didn't get them the right way up, or in the right order, so they have to be redone. I'm sooo not going to be popular with those folks tomorrow.

3. Ella--if you're reading this--how many feet of snow where you are? I've seen some crazy pictures from upstate NY the last few days.

4. This morning, far too early for such things, I had the truly lovely experience of having a small camera shoved up through my nostril and to the back of my throat. Bleah. One of the specialist's suggestions was i should get one of those microphones some teachers with voice troubles use to speak. Yeah right. Why don't i just paint "loser" on my forehead as well. Yes, I know trying to get the attention/focus of 60 teenagers (when about 14 of them have musical instruments) is tricky, but there's a certain stigma about those mics...

5. I heard someone singing the "Sometimes people make a war" yesterday in the booth. Honest.

6. I got tickets to Jesse Cook for my better half for Valentine's day. If you don't know who he is, head to google. He's touring in Florida right now, so these tickets aren't going to be used 'til May.

7. Now that damn "Sometimes people make a war" thing is stuck in my head. I need to go listen to Backstreet Boys or something.

8. I kind of want chocolate tomorrow. Here's hoping...

Monday, February 12, 2007

Bwahaha...

You ever read those instructions on imported goods, particularly electronics, which are clearly written by someone who grasps English like I grasp French?

What if there was a musical group and they were Hungarian and they wanted to crossover into English and well... This isn't a William Hung thing. These folks are serious.

So very very sad, let slightly hilarious:

Saturday, February 03, 2007

The Cynical Career Counselor Explains Your Future as a

Dog Walker

Hi kid--no, you can't bring the pooch in here--it's not one of those helper dogs, is it? No? Then out it stays. Those dogs are amazing. I saw one on TV once that could start a car and clean the windshield before... uhm, what are you wanting to know about? Dog walker? That might be a good after school thing, but as a career? You researched it on the internet, huh? 50 grand a year? Hmm--you'll need the right set of circumstances, but I guess it might be possible.

You'll need to get connected to the right neighborhood. Judging from your school info on my computer here, you don't live in the most upwardly mobile part of town, so you need to find other ways to make friends in that community.

Your best bet will be the most pretentious businesses you can find--probably the trendy coffee place in the "shopping promenade"--the truly pretentious don't shop in mere "malls" any more--that also has the upscale pet salon. You'll soon come to recognize the regulars who drop their dogs off for a weekly massage, shampoo and manicure, and while they're drinking their double decaf soy chai lattes you'll chat about the difficulty of finding the right person to take their beloved shitzu for its daily constitutional.

You'll feign surprise when the first one wishes out loud that someone like you could do it, and soon that will lead to your mentioning that you don't start at the coffee shop until the afternoon. Before long, you've got three or four clients paying you more to shlep their puppies around than a typical daycare provider gets for watching a dozen human children.

Once you're established, you'll take advantage of the brownie points you earned by staying late to do those little "extras" at the coffee shop--you can figure that one out for yourself--and they'll be only too happy to let you put a little stand on the counter with business cards for your dog-walking service, at least until the manager figures out you aren't coming back to provide any more "favors" and chucks your display in the garbage.

Your business grows--you have the right combination of perky, wholesome and respectful to quickly win over the rich dog owners who lavish you with tips and over the top christmas and birthday gifts, attempting to outdo each other--and soon you're hiring some of your old school friends to help you out. You have your business logo printed on a bunch of those orange safety vests, and you're taking night courses on canine psychology to prevent any more accidents like the tragic decapitation of a pekingese in the jaws of a boxer with anger-management issues.

Fortunately for you, the Pekingese was owned by a woman who was out of the country and whose stock broker husband was only too glad to help make up an excuse for the untimely demise of the creature he referred to only as that "squash-faced spoiled baby surrogate".

Still, it was a close call--if word of such a tragedy got out, you could lose your goldmine in an instant.

You'll start dividing the dogs by breed and temperament, and assigning them to your employees who specialize in working with each group. The business keeps expanding, and soon you're able to lease a small office in the same "promenade" where you used to serve espresso.

The tragic end will be totally unexpected. First, there is a freak March snowstorm that blankets the city. Dog owners still insist on the daily walk; your reliability is key to your success. Unfortunately, your two assistants scheduled to work that day take one look at the window and both phone in sick. You struggle to your office, and wait patiently as one four-wheel drive Lexus or BMW SUV after another drops off the shivering dogs.

The last dog is dropped off by someone you don't recognize--it's the lawyer for a very wealthy spinster who died a week earlier. He explains that he will still need your services for a while longer; there is some question about where the dog will be living now that its loving owner has passed on, bequeathing her entire estate to the dog, much to the chagrin of her outraged relatives.

After the lawyer leaves, you head out in the snow. Your normal route is treacherous, and you aren't paying much attention to anything other than keeping the larger-than-usual pack together and out of the path of oncoming traffic.

Eventually, you wind up at a deserted park, and pause for a moment to answer a call on your cell. It's from someone who claims to be the caretaker of the newly-wealthy pomeranian who is at that moment humping your leg, and when you tell him your location, you're surprised to see a black SUV round the corner and speed toward you.

The gunman can't take any chances--he shoots all of the dogs, and you as the only witness. Eventually, the investigation team will use the cell phone call and tire impressions to lead them to one of the angry nephews who couldn't bear to let a spoiled pooch cheat him of his inheritance.

His conviction won't do you any good, though. Still, when your employees take over the business, they'll add your gravesite to their regular waking route. If you treated them well, maybe they'll even scoop up the little remembrances the dogs leave by your headstone.