Tuesday, June 28, 2005

A little moisture

I don't know why, but it follows me around.

The year that I worked in Saudi Arabia, it was the wettest spring they had ever had. Aaahhh, the memories come flooding back (pardon the pun). Watching the Arabs come screaming in off the desert (the way they drive, everyone SHOULD have been shrieking) in their big 'ol Chevy Impala. They see a puddle and decide that playing a bit of "splash the infidel" would break their monotony.

Being said infidel, I didn't find it too amusing. At first. Then I realized that these clowns are coming in off the desert (let's say, average speed of about 110k) and these 'little' puddles are suddenly 6 and 8 inches deep....

/tangent
Think it through. There's no need for any form of drainage system there. It rains once every 2 years. All that a drainage system would do is plug up with the trash that they throw in the streets.
/end-tangent

...and then they realize that their tires don't necessarily continue to make contact with the ground (i.e. hydroplaning) as they try and maintain control while they quickly closed on either other cars or obstacles like dumpsters.

It was a golden moment, I tell ya. Eventually, I found a great place to bait them where I could see them coming and duck around a corner and watch the outcome while staying dry.

So. Now it's 14 years later and it's the wettest June ever in Alberta.

I don't have anyone playing splash the infidel or anything but I am enjoying the water.

(this is where I wanted to go when I started all this)

You have to be concerned what with global warming and everything that our water supply is in question. Seeing this much rain just makes me think that maybe there's hope for a better day/week/summer yet as this water goes into the water table and hopefully is there for future use.

It makes everything nice and green, cleans off the grunge of daily life, and cleans off the odd car.

Ooooh, here comes another Impala. Gotta go...

Tuesday, June 14, 2005

By request....

So, this is writer's block huh? Doesn't look at all like the block on my shoulders. :
I was having this little discussion with Erni and between the two of us, we came up with the idea of "blog by request".

So. If there was ever a comment with a "you know, you should write about..." and by "write" I'm making certain liberties. Anyhow, if there was a request, I'd write about it on Fridays. Ya, Friday. That's it.

You can get to Erni's blog from here, as some have arrived here from her links, so I would assume that there is some cross-reading here.

Friday, June 10, 2005

A (semi) patriotic call

People:

STAY AWAY FROM WALMART!!!

Those bastards are killing our country.

If any of you have ever been to a small town and shopped in "THE" co-op or the Saan or THE store, you'll understand (but you might not get it).

This is what a one-store economy looks like where THE store determines what can be sold. Or not.

I've been to a town where THE store used to be the Co-op. Then everyone was excited because WalMart was coming to town. And then they killed the Co-op. and just about every other store in the area.

Sure, a can of peas is two cents cheaper. That goes a long way. BUT, if you can't find that can of peas in the trunk of your Lexus when you get it home, think about this:

Is you way of life worth preserving? Do you think that maybe paying two cents more to support a LOCAL business (rather than a faceless entity) might help the local economy rather than to help to kill it? A healthy local economy keeps a lot of people working (maybe even YOU).

If your product is available somewhere else OTHER than Walmart, think it through.

/tangent

Yes, I'm proudly Canadian and it sickens me to see WalMart in our midst. But you know what? It makes me just as sick to see THEM kill small towns in the U.S. too. Do they give back to the communities? I don't know, I'd be willing to learn. Sure, they hire a couple of old people to stand at the door and say 'howdy', but do they do anything else? Educate me. I'm listening....

/end-tangent

Anyhow, I've never been to Walmart. I don't intend to go (well, maybe it's good for stalking people? lots of big, empty aisles would make it easy to see me though). Any chance I get, I rant at people to NOT to go there. Maybe they don't understand why. No one has ever asked me why.

No witty signature for this one, people. Just smarten-the-fuck up, before it's too late.

Stalking

Let's talk about stalking for a bit.

"oh, what fun", you say.

No, not the little fishnet types that my buddy Erni may wear, but people who, unbeknownst (is that a word?) to others, stalk them.

Stalking has a long and distinguished history.

One of the earliest stalkers (you may have heard of him) was called "Jack" and he had this thing for a Giant. One thing lead to another, and the next thing you know, Old Jack is coming down that bean stalk with a trophy and a bad memory.

Not everyone of course gets caught.

Now a-days, you can now stalk a number of people at once, without even leaving your desk. There's a description for these people too.

Freakish.

NOT that there's anything wrong with that. I'm as guilty as anyone when it comes to reading someone else's BLOG and wondering if I should comment on it (and I occasionally do), but you've got to wonder what people imagine is going on in MY head when you read my BLOG.

Well, just ask me, if you really want to know. Mostly it's a wind whistle, like the wind blowing over the bald-assed prairie.

Stalking can be quite fulfilling. You can learn (and imagine) a lot about a person without their ever knowing. It's interesting. It's exciting.

BEING stalked is kind of cool too. Suddenly you're on someone else's pedestal. You're a celebrity. Sort of.

It can become freaky pretty quick though. "Is that them? Too short and hairy. Is that them?? no, that's a street light". Then you start to be paranoid about what you throw in the trash (what would they think of me if they find this gum wrapper?). Chaos. Anarchy. Road to hell.

Moral of the story: I need to be careful how much sugar I have at lunch.

Sigh.

OK, I'm off to see where Ashley Judd lives....

This page is powered by Blogger. Isn't yours?