A Weird One Today: Form of Water!

 Good Morning! 

It is deceptively cold inside today, a marvel of modern technology. 

You think, " I'm not made of ice cream, I can wear my woolen suit to work!"

They find you after lunch, a puddle in your penny loafers. 

I used to have it figured out. loose jeans, heavy shirt - protected from the sun and a breeze would work like air conditioning. 

Well friends, not in Toronto - there's no breeze so all that extra cloth is nothing but sponge.

While sponge is rarely pleasant to wear, some times it's a necessity. 

It's awkward to get your hands dirty in linin. It's silly to get sloppy in silk. 

So I have a new plan. 

Double sized shoes - with actual sponge inside!

As you are on this side of my brain, I don't have to tell you, "No, they're not orthotics."

After lunch, I pay a guy $20 to enter my office, throw the sponges in the fridge for a couple minutes and then squeeze me out back into my penny loafers. 

I need to re-think the financials on this one... once they left me in the fridge, and ever since my assets have been frozen. 

 Good Morning,

The World Cup is about to begin again, here in my home town. 

The locals a battening down the hatches like RAGBRAI is rolling thru.

Meanwhile, math is happening at the house of Q lives. 

"Son, fractions is just division on ice." I say.

"Whaaat?" he screams in his ear piercing morning mode. "You mean they're frozen?"

"Yep. Frozen in time, Just like this song." I proceed to sing a blues ballad I made up in fifth grade about knowing fractions. 

He's not impressed. He is now singing Jingle Bells with meows. 

Well, a 1/3 of the household is amused. With numbers like that, I can run for office! 

More likely I'ma make a run to the grocery store. 

If you follow sport, I hope your team wins. 

Later!

Again?

 Hello, 

Back in the ancient days, when the towers were standing, I was deep in the process of trying to get ahead in life when I didn't know my ass from a tea kettle. 

Truth be told, I still carry the scars from toilet paper bursting into flame as i tried to wipe the boiling vessel. 

During those times, my patron looked me over his glasses and said, "Q, if you burn down my theatre, I will hate you forever." 

This was my patron. This was my friend. There was next to zero chance that such a situation would occur. and yet he said the words that I needed to hear at the time: "Hey Guy, this thing we do is dangerous and there are major consequences if you fuck it up." 

I'm a dad now, and he's a little boiling tea kettle of energy. His mother and I try to follow my patrons advice. We point out the consequences of actions, and we give him guidelines on how to proceed safely into the world - often spinning. Seven years and zero broken bones later.. it seem to be working. However, the kid really wants a skateboard, so we shall see. 

And it's time for work. Projects for today include maintenance on fire emergency systems. Fun stuff. 

Until next time, my Friends.

So,

What do you think? Should I continue to write here, where no one is looking? I must admit that's it's tempting to become more public with my words, but Zita is my Jimminey Cricket and pulls me from the brink of putting things onto the Internet that i will regret later.

But seriously, if you are out there, what do you want to hear?

A short one today.

I finished my half pint of Mill Street Organic and stumbled into the street. Before me was a butt, only half used! I’m not proud. Soon I had it lit with a loonie in my pocket to spare! It was warm that day, a good one to be wearing shorts and a sleeveless shirts. Once I finished my butt, I found myself in the library. I cracked open a book, but stopped caring in the middle of the first chapter. I crossed the street as the light was turning yellow. It was beginning to freezing rain. I hurried back to my home, half a block away from the library.

And… it fizzles out. That’s okay. That’s the theme of this particular story.

Is this post going to be black like coffee or white like my eyes?

Hi all, I’m starting my days these days with a light workout, followed by a quick shower and a splash at the keyboard.

Why?

To help me get off coffee, and to feel better about the amount of screen time i’ve been giving myself.

That’s right, friends and doggies, I’m working my way up to kissing caffeine goodbye.

Stop laughing.

I’m serious.

Stop laughing, i’m serious you guys.

Ok, maybe a coffee cold turkey isn’t in the cards, but i spent over $1500 in coffee shops last year. That’s almost $30 a week on coffee and coffee styled snacks!

Updates as they occur.

Out like a Lamb... or in this case, a goat.

Today I changed how I address the world, and i like it a lot better.

The World, p.o.box my perception, 00444 USA

Why is it in the USA do you ask?

United states zip codes are easier, though less specific.

With that, the news!

Ventured out to River Dale farms yesterday to see the kids.

No, not Archie and Jughead. Goats. Baby goats. Bigger than I imagined they would be, and not playful for a dreary afternoon. That’s okay. Zita got her goat fix. Zita loves goats. I don’t know why, but she does.

We also saw the Easter bunnies! Two rabbits in a warren with nests full of (hopefully) unfertilized chicken eggs above them. I took a picture of it and sent it to my niblings. I don’t think any of them noticed the eggs.

Last night, I found myself watching an improv-based version of Clue. I was there to hopefully see how a theatre company deals with audience engagement… THEY DONT! Still and enjoyable show. In this episode colonel Mustard did it. With an everything in the bedroom.

… as vague as that last sentence was, it perfectly sums up this show.

The real reason my finger hurts

It’s not in my kitchen, and the bottle of Soy Sauce is trying to convince me that within its murky depths, there are unknown secrets.

I continue to give it the side eye, knowing that if i fall for this one again… my wife may divorce me. “What are you doing out of the refrigerator?” I ask it.

The sepia toned madness counts the point that it just made a human speak to an inanimate object.

I shake my head. I am not going to drink it. I am not going to be found lying on the floor with a distended belly. I am not-

The brown bottle manages to lewdly wink at me. I punch it halfway across the kitchen.

I am solemnly cleaning the brown splatter off the walls when my wife arrives from circus class.

“Ah,” she says, “I see you’ve been hitting the sauce again.”