Feeling my Age

A drunk man on Elgin St. approached me this afternoon and asked me who I thought was going to win the Stanley Cup. When I said I didn't know, he assumed (correctly) that I "Don't give a shit who wins the Stanley Cup." He proceeded to tell me that New Jersey is going to win it. There you have it, folks. Drunk money is on New Jersey.

I went down to the Honest Lawyer this afternoon for a game of Dance Dance Revolution. Yes, I am admiting it publicly, I Play Dance Dance Revolution. At least, I used to. Today was the first time in almost a year that I got on the four-direction dancepad and busted a move. I'm used to DDR hurting me phyisically, but today it managed to harm mt very soul. I have never felt so old in my life. Back in the day I could get up there and go mad on the ups and downs, lefts and rights, and it wouldn't "be no thang" as they say in the suburbs. Today, it nearly killed me. Long story short, I'm feeling my age today. I'm not the geeky kid with the legs of steel that I used to be. Still a geek, of course, just out of shape.

Oh, and since my last entry I finished university. Figured that was worth mention.

Playoff Season

The strange thing about Canada is that anyone can be a hockey fan. Virtually everyone is. The Chinese guy that runs the nick-nack shop on Sommerset? Big Sens fan. The nhilist lookin' guy with the lip-ring and neck-tattoo? He's sure that the Habs can sweep their series.

Me, I don't have much interest in watching sports. However, I did learn last night that watching sports-fans is a riot. I live with one; James is a giant Habs fan. (Did you know that 'Habs' is short or "Habitons," the name of the team in french? I didn't before I moved here.) James' love of la belle equipe means that for the next few weeks I don't have a TV. James will be representing on our futon with the remote in a deathgrip every Habs game from now until they're eliminated. This would be considered a bad thing, if it weren't for the fact that watching James is way, way better than watching anything on TV.

Take last night. I'm in my room and James is at the other end of the house. I know the Habs are up by at least two because I've heard far more "YEAH!"s than "FUCK!"s. Sure enough when I come out at the end of the first period, it's 3-0 Habs. I go back to my room to school a co-worker in MSN Wheel of Fortune (Tanya, if you ever read this, HA! I RULE!) and when I next come out the game is in overtime and the score is 5-5.

I have never seen anyone more tense than my roommate was at that moment.

Referencing the score I ask "What happened?" and he cuts me off with a "don't worry about it." Of course, worrying about it is exactly what he's doing right now, but you can't let your team down by questioning their chances. It's like supporting the troops - questioning your team will only give comfort and support to those dirty wretched fundamentalist Hurricanes.

I consider saying more, but from the look in his eyes, speaking at this moment will get me beaten to death. I retreat to the comfort of my end of the house, only feeling safe to return when I hear the loudest "YEAH!" of the night, signaling that I will live another day.

Playoffs are only getting started! It's going to be an exciting season! This, my friends, is real reality TV.

Fences do not make good neighbours

The fact that I was focused on tying my shoe, waiting for a bus, and rocking out to Sleater-Kinney on my iPod should have given you warning that I was a busy man. My plate is obviously full, and I cannot afford any distractions. That should have been your first indication that I did not want to buy your stolen X-Box 360. No, I don't want to buy your stolen laptop either. In fact, guy on Bank street, I do not want to buy any of your stolen goods now or ever. Savvy?

Partially, it's because I don't trust you. Being a man obviously lacking in hygiene and employed at a bus-stop does not give you much credibility as an electronics salesman. I don't have much confidence in the quality of your merchandise. Plus, what kind of warranty and service plan do you offer? None? Sorry, it's after-purchase customer care that makes repeat shoppers. That's why the Staples down the street does good business, and you are selling (or in this case not selling) stolen goods in front of a gay porn store.

I also disagree with your business on a moral level. Do you wonder why Bank street has a reputation as being scummy? It's not just the punk rock scenesters walking around with their ass hanging out of their pants and very openly drinking from 40s of cheap beer at two in the afternoon, it is also you, selling stolen electronics in front of the gay porn store. Also on the moral level, I am a laptop owner, and I would not take kindly to my laptop - the closest thing I may ever have to a child - being stolen and sold on Bank street. Simply stolen isn't so bad. Stolen and sold on Bank by you is quite frankly insulting. I won't support that.

Most importantly, I refuse to buy your stolen electronics because it offends me on an economic level. Lets look at some numbers. These laptops and 360's that you're selling are obviously not going for in-store prices, otherwise where is the inscentive to buy hot merchandise? Moreover, I can assume that the laptops are not current models and haven't had the best of care. Plus, you have to be selling them cheaper than pawn-shop prices, otherwise you'd just be selling them there. Now, with tech prices as fickle as they are, you're going to be lucky to get $300 bucks for a laptop, and $200 for a 360. I'm going to be generous and assume that on a given work-day, you'll move maybe $500 bucks of stolen gear. That's gross, of course, not net. While I was waiting for my bus I noticed you confering with a more intelligent looking and better dressed associate, which of course means that you're not a private businessman, you're an employee. Since illegal opperations generally work on a comission basis, you won't be working on an hourly rate, you'll be getting a percentage. Given that you're on the bottom of the totem pole, I'm going to assume you aren't getting the big money here. It would be overly generous to assume that you're going to get a 50% cut of the profits. I'm going to ballpark your estimated daily earnings at $200/day.

So that's dollars, lets look at time. When I got on the bus around noon, you were there fencing stolen electronics. When I got off at 4, you were still there. It doesn't look like you're doing brisk business, so I think it is reasonable to assume that you will put in a eight hour work day today if you want to make your potential maximum earnings of $200. This rings in your current career at $25/hour. The minimum wage rate in Ontario as of this moment is $7.75/hour, so thus far it looks like this isn't a bad idea, but wait. We're not done yet.

Fencing stolen goods in front of a gay porn store is not a very dignified career. You're like a prostitute but with other people's merchandise instead of your own. This ranks you somewhat below them, because you, personally, don't have anything to offer, just the fruits of other people's labour. Some people would say that you can't put a price on having your personal dignity removed like that, but I'm going to ballpark it at 10 bucks an hour, and that's a modest estimate. That's just for the loss of dignity, mind you. Tack that on to the minimum wage, bringing the value of the legitimate work you are not doing to $17.75 an hour. The gap is begining to close.

Your business is going to be dependent on the amount of stolen goods you have to sell, which won't let you work every day. Plus, you can't over-work your turf otherwise you get trouble from law enforcement. I'm going to maximize your number of earning days per week to three. Three days earning $200/day brings you to $600 for the week. Compared with working a full time job for minimum wage, corrected to take into account dignity, you'd be looking at earning $710.

Now of coure, working a legitimate job means that the government is going to take its due, whereas working illegitimately in front of a gay porn store doesn't show up on a T4 slip. However, the fact that you have to daily avoid the law enforcement that my tax dollars pay for puts us back on equal footing. I'm going to assume that not having to worry about the cops is relatively equalivent to paying taxes. Also, your job offers no benefits, and is likely to be a liability to your health. Sooner or later you're going to sell a laptop to the guy you stole it from, and I don't want to be you when that happens. All things considered, selling stolen electronics on the street is not an economically wise method of subsistence.

So, hot-electronics guy, this is why I am not going to buy your X-Box. If I buy it, you will never learn.

Happy Blogday!

Happy Blogday to me! One year ago today I made my first post on Ninjas? from my desktop in my place in Saskatoon. This time I'm in Ottawa, I'm on my futon, with my laptop, on an entirely different blog. Some things change, some things stay the same. Wherever the heck I am, I've been posting with relative regularity for a year today. More importantly, you've been reading this tripe on a semi-regular basis for a year. We all need something better to do with our time.

So, in celebration of Blogday, I encourage you to celebrate my blogging in the only appropriate way I can think of: by taking someone you love and talking their ear off about something entirely inane in the most self-important way possible. Try to utilize the words Pedantic, Quixotic, and Robust, or anything obscure and needlessly complex.

Thanks to everybody for reading and commenting so long, and for making me feel like a blogging rockstar such a I do.

Represent.

Filled with Hate

I never dreamed of being a website administrator. I fell into it by an accident of birth thanks to my more tallented brother. When he handed over control to me, he rode off into the sunset headed for greener pastures, laughing manically the whole way. I didn't understand the reason for his jubiliation at the time, but I sadly do now.

It's not the hours hunched over a computer that drive you insane. It's the humans. The stupid, stupid humans. Here's an example. One of the hotel owners that will remain nameless sent the office an email today. I will reprint it in full, because it says it all far better than I ever could.

Hi,
Could you please add a new web address to our accommodation listing.
It is: [address removed].com Please redirect and mask to our page.
Please keep the [address removed].ca as well.
Thank you.


First Problem: "Please redirect and mask to our page."
Hotel owner, I hate to break it to you, but This Means Nothing. I don't know who you've been talking to that is using technical terms, but they shouldn't be and neither should you. "Redirection" is something that you get your hosting service to do, and it is the exact opposite of having two webpages, which is what you have (moronically) done. Moreover, I cannot "mask to" something. Be honest. You don't even know what it means when you say that. You are just throwing out lingo because you feel that it makes you sound intelligent. You seem to forget that there are people in the office that you are sending this email to (like me) that actually know what is going on and who will see through your clever ruse and understand that you are just making up terms. This is just plain rude.

Second Problem: Both pages suck
Yeah, that's right, both of your websites suck. You should have worked on having one good site rather than two crappy ones and redirected (see, this is how you use the term properly) one URL to the other. If I go out of my way to put both links on this site, I am only supporting stupid behaviour. I don't like doing that.

Third Problem: Things do not work that way.
You see all the other listings that the other hotels get on my site? You see any of them with multiple webpages? You don't, do you? This should have been your first sign that maybe it wasn't a hot idea to have two. More to the point, I want to make this clear to you, you only get one link. This isn't just an arbitrary rule that I created to keep from having to endorse your stupid advertising tactics; I wish I could be that autocratic but I can't. It is a fundamental feature of the database design. See, the guy that made it designed it in such a way that you could edit your own listing from the comfort of your own home. You, of course, chose to never ever do this. You still got us to do all your changes for you. Because we went out of our way to try to help you, you have a system where you only get one website listing. Let me repeat that, you only get one. Not only do I not want to add your second (crappy) site, I couldn't if I wanted to. Of course, I have done things that I shouldn't have been able to do with that website many times in the past, usually by breaking and bastardizing the code (sorry Brice) but this segways nicely into problem four.

Fourth Problem: Fuck your hotel.
I'm not going to do it. Not only is it not worth my time for me to break the site so you can have two equally dumpy websites listed that nobody will ever visit anyway, I do not want to be involved in anything that will bring success to your establishment. More to the point, I want your hotel to burn down and fall into a hole. I have worked this job for a long time and you have been, at best, a nuisance for the entire duration. I particulairly liked the time that I was there taking the picture that adorns the listing on our page, and you started complaining about the guy that runs my site. Lets try a little logic here. Is it even remotely sane to assume that the guy that is taking pictures for the website might be associated with said website at least in some small way, perhaps even being the very person you are complaining about?

So here's what I'm going to do. I'm firm but fair. I will not do this update for you, but I won't light your hotel (or you) on fire either. I'll take a middle path of moderation and simply have someone from the office lie to you. We'll tell you that we tried but the site won't accommodate it. If you're intelligent, you'll say thanks for trying and for the service you provide my hotel for free and leave it at that. Of course that won't happen. At best you'll take cheap shots at us behind our backs, at worst you will complain and insult our professionalism. You are free to do this, as is your human right. However, if a server glitch removes your listing from our 3000 monthly-hit site during the peak of tourist season, I cannot be held accountable for that. Those sorts of things happen all the time.

Quote of the Day

This came from an actual letter, perhaps the best crazy letter I have ever received

"We're nipple-deep in the apocalypse."

I don't think that I can possibly add anything to that.

GQ: Iraq Edition

Poor Saddam Hussein. Former president, former dictator, fomer human rights abuser, former leader of an Axis-of-Evil nation - it seems like all of Saddam's accomplishments are in the past tense. That's a sad thing for anyone to comprehend, especially for someone as egomanical as Mr. Hussein. No wonder he's rockin' the mic so hard down at his genocide trial; he knows that he's got to cling to every last minute of fame while he can, because when this is over so is his fifteen minutes (or in this case, fifteen years) of fame are up.

Or are they?

Saddam, buddy, listen: it's not too late to start fresh. You can still be a hero. You can yet have the glamourous, movie star life that you always wanted. Turn over a new leaf. You have a bright future ahead of you.

Two words, Saddam: Men's Fashion.

I know it's not very presidential, but hear me out. Have you seen some of your recent glam shots? Pretty fly. The classic pinstripe suit, the pocket square, the salt and pepper beard (but not Salt 'n' Peppa, cuz he ain't talkin' 'bout sex, baby), and the centerpiece: the tieless open-collar shirt all combine to give off the dignified gentleman/bad-boy look that you've been living for your whole life. I don't know if it's you or the Iraqi military that is picking your wardrobe these days, but they're doing one hell of a job.

Let's get down to brass tacks here. The 60-plus men's fashion scene has been sadly neglected for a long time. They need a face. They need a leader. They need Saddam. The "Saddam Look" is going to be the new hotness for grandfathers the world over in 2006, I guarantee it. It's got style, it's got class, and it commands respect. Consider putting out a fall lineup. Saddam, you're in on the ground floor of an absolutely timeless look, it's time to cash in. It's not too late to give something back to the world.

And sorry everybody, I had to do it.

Dear Crazy People

Crazy people of Canada, a moment of your precious time.

A great many of you have discovered the fact that postage to Members of Parliament is free of charge. Though your days are no doubt packed with doing whatever it is that crazy people do, you take time out of your busy schedule to write letters to Ottawa. You hope that these letters will reach the MP to which they are addressed, but in reality they are opened, read, and subsequently thrown away by the lowliest employees on the Hill, like me. In the short time that I have been in Ottawa, I have thrown away a great many crazy letters, so I consider myself a source on the subject. That is why today I am going to render to you my expertise. Would you like to have your letters replied to with a carefully worded form letter rather than chucked into the massive pile of unanswered crazy letters, then today is your lucky day! I present to you Evan's Ten-Point Plan to Writing Less-Crazy Letters.

1. Presentation
Put away the Bic and the notepad. If you're crazy, chances are your handwriting is illegible. When I get a sheet of notepaper with messy handwriting crowding every inch of space, it generally gets thrown away right off. Nothing says "I Am A Crazy Fucker" like total lack of concern for presentation. Never write in pencil. Use a computer, use a typewriter, or at least double space. If you do these things, I may read your letter for long enough for the next points to come into play.

2. Make Sense
I know that your ramblings make sense in your own mind, but please humour me and dumb it down just slightly for my benefit. For example, it is a good idea to tell me what on God's green Earth you are writing about. Context is required. For example, "this injustice," is a slightly vague term. So is "the criminal acts of ______." Please explain which injustice, which criminal acts. In fact, steer well away from pronouns for the first paragraph altogether. If God is telling you to do something, tell me specifically what it is and why. Lacking appropriate context, I will presume you are writing about gay marriage and throw away your letter.

3. No Ranting
This may come as a shock to you, but I am not obligated to read your entire letter. If you rant for five pages I am not going to read it. You will get the first and last page read, then thrown away. If your life is so terrible that you have to write so much about it, chances are your problems go above and beyond the powers of a Member of Parliament. Consider therapy, faking your own death, or actual death.

4. Do Not Quote Scripture
Say that I'm reading your letter and you're ranting about what I can only presume to be gay marriage. I'm about to throw away your letter when I reach paragraph three and there is an Old Testament quote written in bold text. Woah! Hold on a minute! Do you mean to say that the Bible says something that you are taking entirely out of context? That changes everything. Thank the good Lord that you put that in bold or else I might have missed this crutial bit of evidence that totally make your argument hold water. I'll go put this on my MP's desk right away. Okay, sarcasm aside, let me state this once and for all Biblical quotes do not an argument make. For every Biblical reference you make for a cause, there is another one against it. Plus, if God was really on your side would you have to be writing crazy letters, or even be crazy in the first place?

5. The Law is Not on Your Side
If you really did have a legitimate legal case, your lawyer would be writing to our lawyer. You (crazy person) would not be writing to me (guy who makes the coffee). Do not threaten us with legal action - we will generally call your bluff. Even more important: do not fake legal documentation. Just because you write it in what you think is a relative equalivent to legal jargon does not make it threatening. Let me remind you Parliament Hill is staffed primairly by lawyers with an actual understanding of the law, unlike your fake understanding of the law.

6. Do Not Ask For Money
We are not going to give you money. Seriously. None. I don't care if your house burnt down and you got fired and God wants you to do something but you need money to do it, we will not cut you a cheque. No offence, but that's just not how we roll. If you choose to disregard this advice, then at the very least ask for a logical sum of money. Asking for a couple thousand makes you hard done by and unrealistic about the role of your elected representatives. I will feel slight sadness when I throw your letter away. Asking for Fifty Billion dollars makes you a nutbar. I will throw your letter away with glee. A good rule of thumb to follow: If the amount you are asking for can be represented by a double-digit percentage of Canada's total budget, you are likely crazy.

7. You Are Not Smarter Than Us
If you really were as brilliant as you think you are, you would have better things to do with your time than write crazy letters. I know that your ideas sound good to you, but they are not. The Government of Canada employs a staggering number of very intelligent people that guide our policy. You, crazy person, are not likely to have an incredible idea that your govenment has never thought of. More importantly, individual Members of Parliament, especially opposition members, do not have the power to direct our economic policy, our military policy, our foreign policy, and the foreign policies of other nations. Do everybody a favour and educate yourself as to how the government works. It will save you time spent writing crazy letters and me time spent throwing them away.

8. No Anti-Semitism
I am quite frankly shocked that I need to explain this to you, but the Jews are not out to get you. Big business, maybe. Aliens, maybe. North Korea, maybe. Mr. Goldman, no. I cannot stress this enough, if you blame the Jews, I throw your letter away. I will not read the rest of it, I will not file it for future reference, I will not even finish the sentence. I will throw your crazy letter away and get on to something worth my time, which is generally laughing with my co-workers about the crazy person that just wrote blaming the Jews for their problems.

9. No Pictures of Yourself
No. Just..... no.

10. Get A Photocopier
When writing your crazy letter, make it standard, photocopy the hell out of it, and send it to every Member of Parliament and every Senator. Seriously. If you do so then everyone can read it, everyone can throw it out, and it becomes the responsibility of no one. If it actually has something to do with a government ministry, then the Minister responsible for it will get the letter, and I won't have to even consider forwarding it to ruin someone else's day. Do the leg-work for us, and save everybody some time.

Take this guide to heart, crazy people, when you next desire to write a letter to your elected representatives. If you follow these instructions you will write letters that are less crazy, or better yet, not write at all.

Editoralizing

"If you want to editoralize go into your room, close the door, and do it."
         James D. Maunder, Roommate

I'll do just that. Prepare to rue this day.

I've never been one to paddle my own canoe, but when I lay claim to knowing my shit on a subject, I know my shit. There isn't a great many subjects that I will say this about, but one of them is oranges. You heard correctly, Oranges.

The navel orange is proof that there is a loving God subtly directing the evolution of the species on this planet. Why else would there be something so delicious literally hanging from the trees, waiting on pins and needles for someone to come along and enjoy it? The very existence of the navel orange is a favour from a divine power, end of story. I got to know this little miracle intimately during my three year tour of duty in the front-lines of a produce department. The produce department is a lot like Viet Nam. You go there and it changes you, you don't want to talk about it afterwards, it leaves you with scars both emotional and physical, and sometimes you shoot your best friend in the back. Mike, can I get a witness to this?

That's neither here nor there. The point is that I spent more time in the company of fruit by the age of eighteen than most people will in their entire lives. This is not something that is particulairly braggable. However, you learn things in this time, and one of them being what constitutes a good navel orange. I've handled and eaten a lot of them, both good and bad, and my discussion on the subject of all things orange (in both colour and name) is to be respected as sage wisdom.

Are you ruing yet, James? If not, this is where you can start.

So, when I need a late-night snack and grab a fresh orange out of the fridge, I am not simply eating, I am about to, as James Brown would put it, "Get Up And Do My Thang." When I sink teeth into that orange and suddenly realize that this very orange I am eating is in fact extremely delicious, I am not saying that as a layman from the street. This is years of experience talking. I expect a little deference to my judgement. At the very least, shut your God damn mouth and respect my authority on the subject because I am about to take you to school. Next time, pay attention. You might learn something.

You can stop ruing now, I'm done emasculating you.

Marky Mark

First impressions can be startlingly accurate. The first time I met my landlord Mark, I comment to James that it's not that he is a bad landlord, he's just not very good at it. It's the same way that a child taking their first steps isn't bad at walking, they just haven't got the hang of it yet. Mark is like an eternal toddler, always tumbling along in a way that makes one think that his whole life is about to fall ass backward onto the ground. Somehow, this never happens, yet he never seems to get moving any better.

Case in point, he is renovating our basement, for about the third time since I've moved in. Nobody has lived in it yet, but it is constantly in a state of repair. What he's been doing down there, I just don't know. Obviously not finishing the job. To his credit, apparently the whole place flooded once, but that only serves to prove my theory on him.

Moreover, today we got our bathroom cabinet. When we first moved in, he said that our bathroom needed a cabinet or a shelf. First he said that if we got one, he'd repay us for it. James volunteered to field that one, because he spends more time at Ikea than I do. A few months pass and we haven't picked up a shelf. Then one day, Mark shows up with a cabinet. A six foot tall cabinet that he feels may solve our bathroom storage issues.

I'm sure you all watched Sesame Street during your formative years and had the concepts of "big" and "small" drilled into your head by a muppet, but in case you haven't, Elmo makes a compelling argument outlining the differences between the smallest of the small (a shelf) and ridiculously gargantuan (the cabinet that Mark gave us.) Safe to say, it didn't stay in the bathroom. It's now holding board games in the dining room. Seeing that his plan had failed, Mark today rendered us with another cabinet, this time one that hangs on the wall. I did the measurements, and the cabinet that is awaiting instalation now is exactly as large as a cabinet can be for the space it has to occupy in the bathroom. This is not a good thing. Considering that our bathroom is tiny and unforgiving, and we're dealing with Mark, tollerance for error is something that I cannot be too interested in having. I somehow feel that this whole thing will also end badly. It will end badly when he installs it next weekend, even though he is in the building right now.

Not bad at his job, just not that good at it.