Baked Goods
I now know why the previous owners named my dog "Muffin". He has this nasty habit of leaving hot steamy baked goods on the sidewalk and on people's driveways. Four days he's been here and he's left baked goods on the pavement four times. The other four times he's left them in the grass.
As I walked Muffin today around the neighborhood and through the park, I re-traced our baked goods delivery route. Of the four muffins Muffin left on the pavement; one was squished by a car tire (this was the one he left on someone's driveway and it had tire marks on it), two were stepped on, and one was serving as a meal for some flies. I'm imagining people stepping on them right now...hehe. It's really funny when it happens to someone else. I know I should pick them up but I seriously have a feces phobia. If he does it in our yard I'll pick them up. Outside that, tough shit for everyone else (no pun intended).
Beyond the little poops Muffin's been leaving, he's been adapting quite nicely to the family and house. He doesn't hump people's legs as much anymore. He doesn't bake his goods in the house anymore. He's marked the entire neighborhood off as his territory. And he's started eating normally again. The first few days he wouldn't eat his food or treats. I suppose all his trauma is normal for any animal. Not only does he have to move to a new neighborhood but he has to get used to a new family. The culture shock must be quite overwhelming. I hoping he'll get over the initial trauma quickly and realize he's got a wonderful home here now.
Right now he's outside in the yard playing. He's really friendly and I can tell he loves to be around humans. Often I find him just standing at the screen door staring at me with his puppy eyes and begging to come in to play. Cute little guy I tell you. Come visit when you have the chance, he's dying to meet you. I'm gonna go play with him now.
Thursday, September 26, 2002
Wednesday, September 25, 2002
Tuesday, September 24, 2002
Dog-Ma
My mom finally got me a dog. After all these years of begging and pleading. She finally gave in and got me a dog. Her co-worker/friend's son bought a dog a year ago and it turns out she was allergic to it. The dog spent most of it's time in a garage and she felt sorry for it. So she decided on giving it away to someone who could care for it better. Me being Jimmy on the spot, asked my mom whether we could adopt it and to my surprise she agreed. The dog's name is "Muffin" and it's a "HE". As much as I loathe cutesy names for dogs (especially male dogs), the dog answers to the name and I don't have the heart to give it my identities of choice such as "Dag" or "Raff". Raff the cocker spaniel. That would have had a nice ring to it. I've always wanted either a rottweiler, golden retriever, labrador, or a husky but at the same time I always said I would rescue a dog from a shelter. Muffin isn't from a shelter but I have a chance to give him a better home. He's been here 1 day and so far he's pissed on the carpet twice and shat in the basement once, and I couldn't be happier with him. I just hope he'll be happy here with me. Watch out world, Jake now has his own sidekick.
(Cue onslaught of blogments about my dog's cutesy name.)
My mom finally got me a dog. After all these years of begging and pleading. She finally gave in and got me a dog. Her co-worker/friend's son bought a dog a year ago and it turns out she was allergic to it. The dog spent most of it's time in a garage and she felt sorry for it. So she decided on giving it away to someone who could care for it better. Me being Jimmy on the spot, asked my mom whether we could adopt it and to my surprise she agreed. The dog's name is "Muffin" and it's a "HE". As much as I loathe cutesy names for dogs (especially male dogs), the dog answers to the name and I don't have the heart to give it my identities of choice such as "Dag" or "Raff". Raff the cocker spaniel. That would have had a nice ring to it. I've always wanted either a rottweiler, golden retriever, labrador, or a husky but at the same time I always said I would rescue a dog from a shelter. Muffin isn't from a shelter but I have a chance to give him a better home. He's been here 1 day and so far he's pissed on the carpet twice and shat in the basement once, and I couldn't be happier with him. I just hope he'll be happy here with me. Watch out world, Jake now has his own sidekick.
(Cue onslaught of blogments about my dog's cutesy name.)
Sunday, September 22, 2002
Invictius
William Ernest Henley
Out of the night that covers me,
Black as the Pit from pole to pole,
I thank whatever gods may be
For my unconqerable soul.
In the fell clutch of circumstance
I have not winced nor cried aloud.
Under the bludgeonings of chance
My head is bloody, but unbowed.
Beyond this place of wrath and tears
Looms but the horror of the shade,
And yet the menace of the years
Finds, and shall find me, unafraid.
It matters not how strait the gate,
How charged with punishment the scroll,
I am the master of my fate,
I am the captain of my soul.
William Ernest Henley
Out of the night that covers me,
Black as the Pit from pole to pole,
I thank whatever gods may be
For my unconqerable soul.
In the fell clutch of circumstance
I have not winced nor cried aloud.
Under the bludgeonings of chance
My head is bloody, but unbowed.
Beyond this place of wrath and tears
Looms but the horror of the shade,
And yet the menace of the years
Finds, and shall find me, unafraid.
It matters not how strait the gate,
How charged with punishment the scroll,
I am the master of my fate,
I am the captain of my soul.
Thursday, September 19, 2002
All Families Are Psychotic
And in the end no one in my family understands me. I've lived with them for 26 years of my life. Not really a small time frame if you ask me and yet no one knows the essence of Jake. Am I some sort of enigma? Of course not. I'm as plain as a cotton white shirt on sale for $9.99 at Walmart. All I ask is for them to love me, care for me, and listen to me. To understand my hopes, my dreams, my visions. I have dreams goddamnit! But they are just oblivious to me. They go about their daily lives without the slightest concern for anyone else's needs except for themselves. Selfishness will tear us apart I tell them but they ignore me. Why don't they love me? Why don't they listen to me? Why won't they take me seriously? I mean really, how hard can it be? I said "Apple Cinnamon Cheerios" not "Cinnamon Toast". Fuck. What am I suppose to do with this shit? I can't eat this crap!
And in the end no one in my family understands me. I've lived with them for 26 years of my life. Not really a small time frame if you ask me and yet no one knows the essence of Jake. Am I some sort of enigma? Of course not. I'm as plain as a cotton white shirt on sale for $9.99 at Walmart. All I ask is for them to love me, care for me, and listen to me. To understand my hopes, my dreams, my visions. I have dreams goddamnit! But they are just oblivious to me. They go about their daily lives without the slightest concern for anyone else's needs except for themselves. Selfishness will tear us apart I tell them but they ignore me. Why don't they love me? Why don't they listen to me? Why won't they take me seriously? I mean really, how hard can it be? I said "Apple Cinnamon Cheerios" not "Cinnamon Toast". Fuck. What am I suppose to do with this shit? I can't eat this crap!
Tuesday, September 17, 2002
"It is a feeling that our emotions, while wonderful, are transpiring in a vacuum and I think it boils down to the fact that we're middle class.
You see, when you're middle class, you have to live with the fact that history will ignore you. You have to live with the fact that history can never champion your causes and that history will never feel sorry for you. It is the price that is paid for day-to-day comfort and silence. And because of this price, all happinesses are sterile; all sadnesses go unpitied.
And any small moments of intense, flaring beauty such as this morning's will be utterly forgotten, dissolved by time like a super-8 film left out in the rain, without sound, and quickly replaced by thousands of silently growing trees."
Monday, September 16, 2002
The Sundays - Here's Where the Story Ends
It's that little souvenir of a terrible year
Which makes my eyes feel sore
Oh I never should have said the books that you read
Were all I loved you for
It's that little souvenir of a terrible year
Which makes me wonder why
And it's the memories of the shed that make me turn red
Surprise, surprise, surprise
Crazy I know, places I go
Make me feel so tired
I can see how people look down
I'm on the outside
Here's where the story ends.
My sister woke me up this morning at 7am to let me know our grandfather passed away today at 5:30 am in Bethlehem, PA. I was suppose to go see him yesterday but had to work til late afternoon and couldn't make the early trip with my dad. In all honesty, I could have just taken work off last minute but I didn't really want to go. I've said it before, I don't like hospitals. They're just not very happy places to be for a happy person like myself. In fact that's how I've lived most of my life, avoiding environments/situations with stress and pain. Avoidance, avoidance, avoidance. It's what keeps my own little utopic world afloat. Douglas Coupland (DC) might have called it emotional dodge ball.
A few of my ex-girlfriends once told me that I was emotionless. Which isn't completely accurate because most of my friends will tell you I'm a very happy-go-lucky type of guy. I understand happiness. I joke. I kid. I laugh. However, I think they meant I lacked the more concerned emotions. Emotions like anger and melancholy. I always wondered why I came off as such. Now I know. I'm the reigning champion of emotional dodge ball.
I've known about my grandfather's illnesses for well over a year. He's been in and out of the hospital for awhile now and I knew that his life was fading. So I distanced myself from his emphysema, his bronchitis, his pneumonia. I removed myself from the pain while he endured and fought it. I put it out of my head while my family worried. Sometimes my own selfishness disappoints me.
He was a chain smoker his entire life. What else did people expect? It finally caught up with him. My dad is also a chain smoker and I've asked him to cutback on smoking several times. He hasn't listened to my concerns. I started distancing myself from him awhile ago. I wonder if my grandfather's death will put things in perspective for him.
Upon hearing the news this morning I just stayed in bed. I really didn't know how to feel. I wanted to cry. I really did. I just couldn't. I would have gone back to bed but hearing my sisters sobbing in the hallway made me feel guilty at the very thought. So I woke up and blogged. I'm putting my thoughts in writing. Trying to make sense of them. In a way, I'm wearing my heart on my sleeve (or in more modern terms, publishing it on the internet). Regardless of how contrived it may be to some people, it's just me dealing with something new.
Here are my current thoughts. I'm relieved that my grandfather's suffering has ended. I'm confused as to why I am so calm. I'm curious as to how I can start deconstructing my utopia and reconstructing one that's a little more affectionate/compassionate. And lastly, I'm tired of running away from things.
It's that little souvenir of a terrible year
Which makes my eyes feel sore
Oh I never should have said the books that you read
Were all I loved you for
It's that little souvenir of a terrible year
Which makes me wonder why
And it's the memories of the shed that make me turn red
Surprise, surprise, surprise
Crazy I know, places I go
Make me feel so tired
I can see how people look down
I'm on the outside
Here's where the story ends.
My sister woke me up this morning at 7am to let me know our grandfather passed away today at 5:30 am in Bethlehem, PA. I was suppose to go see him yesterday but had to work til late afternoon and couldn't make the early trip with my dad. In all honesty, I could have just taken work off last minute but I didn't really want to go. I've said it before, I don't like hospitals. They're just not very happy places to be for a happy person like myself. In fact that's how I've lived most of my life, avoiding environments/situations with stress and pain. Avoidance, avoidance, avoidance. It's what keeps my own little utopic world afloat. Douglas Coupland (DC) might have called it emotional dodge ball.
A few of my ex-girlfriends once told me that I was emotionless. Which isn't completely accurate because most of my friends will tell you I'm a very happy-go-lucky type of guy. I understand happiness. I joke. I kid. I laugh. However, I think they meant I lacked the more concerned emotions. Emotions like anger and melancholy. I always wondered why I came off as such. Now I know. I'm the reigning champion of emotional dodge ball.
I've known about my grandfather's illnesses for well over a year. He's been in and out of the hospital for awhile now and I knew that his life was fading. So I distanced myself from his emphysema, his bronchitis, his pneumonia. I removed myself from the pain while he endured and fought it. I put it out of my head while my family worried. Sometimes my own selfishness disappoints me.
He was a chain smoker his entire life. What else did people expect? It finally caught up with him. My dad is also a chain smoker and I've asked him to cutback on smoking several times. He hasn't listened to my concerns. I started distancing myself from him awhile ago. I wonder if my grandfather's death will put things in perspective for him.
Upon hearing the news this morning I just stayed in bed. I really didn't know how to feel. I wanted to cry. I really did. I just couldn't. I would have gone back to bed but hearing my sisters sobbing in the hallway made me feel guilty at the very thought. So I woke up and blogged. I'm putting my thoughts in writing. Trying to make sense of them. In a way, I'm wearing my heart on my sleeve (or in more modern terms, publishing it on the internet). Regardless of how contrived it may be to some people, it's just me dealing with something new.
Here are my current thoughts. I'm relieved that my grandfather's suffering has ended. I'm confused as to why I am so calm. I'm curious as to how I can start deconstructing my utopia and reconstructing one that's a little more affectionate/compassionate. And lastly, I'm tired of running away from things.
Sunday, September 15, 2002
Tuesday, September 03, 2002
Strange Days
9:55am
I'm in my grandfather's hospital bedroom watching him wheez and cough. He's in a foul mood because my grandmother didn't come visit him the day before (she had a migraine the entire day). He coughs up what looks to be phlegm but not the off-white/yellow kind. It's grayish-black and soot-like. A live "say NO to smoking" commercial right before my eyes. I walk out into the hall not a little disgusted.
10:35am
Back in the room, I take a quick survey. He now has more flowers than the day before. A variety of carnations, daisies, and roses. The room looks a little less like, well, a hospital room. I wish I could paint the walls yellow or blue. I catch him staring at something in front of him on the wall. I notice it's a clock. In front of each bed is a clock (the room has 2 beds). I find this a little unthoughtful because my grandfather is dying and it's almost like he's watching the remainder of his life tick by. Just as I was pondering this the room's phone rang. I picked it up expecting a family member calling to check up on my grandfather. What I got instead was a telemarketer asking if we were interested in their satellite tv services. A little bit inappropriate, all things considered. Where do these people get their numbers from?
11:00am
On highway 81 headed back to Toronto. Me and my dad are having a heartfelt father to son conversation. Ok, I'm lying. If anyone knows me and my dad. We don't talk unless it's absolutely necessary. My dad is extremely introverted and doesn't talk much with the rest of my family. Actually, my entire family doesn't talk to each other unless it's necessary. Yes we're dysfunctional, aren't most families? Which reminds me, I really have to get around to reading Douglas Coupland's "All Families are Psychotic".
7:10pm
The ride was 8 hours long and I think he said 3 things to me the entire time. "Are you hungry? We can stop and get McDonalds if you are", "We should get gas", and my favourite, "Take the next exit, I've got to pee." I drove the entire time by myself virtually in silence. My dad tends to get lost easily so I dared not risk letting him drive us to Newfoundland. On our way down to Allentown, PA my dad nearly drove us to New York City. Which is about 2 hrs east of where we were suppose to be. I wasn't in the mood for a tour of the east coast this time.
Besides the numerous carcasses of roadkill I saw (each and every one of them reminding me of Tom Green humping a dead moose), the only other interesting thing I saw was a car driving without one of it's tires. It was literally driving on one rim without the rubber. I was doing 120 km/hr and he must have been doing around 90. I passed him as quick as I could knowing full well that he might crash that car any minute. I looked over as I passed him and noticed a middle-aged man. He looked completely oblivious to the loud grinding of the metal rim on asphalt. I decided I would be oblivious to it as well and I smiled at him. I wonder how far he got on that one bad wheel.
11:37pm
We arrived home safely and after a nice meal and a shower I lounged the remainder of the night. I also found out my cousin will be moving into my house for a month or two while he finds a new apartment in Toronto. He started moving some of his stuff into our spare bedroom this weekend but won't be staying here til next week. As I perused through his box of VHS tapes in hopes of finding a movie I haven't seen, I come across a few unmarked tapes. Finding unmarked tapes is like finding gold. People rarely mark pornography. No one wants to admit to owning a tape that's marked "Lord of the Cock Rings" or "Missionary Impossible". I put in the first one. Turns out it's just a few music videos. Fools gold. I put in the second one and hit the jackpot. Porn!! About 5 minutes into the movie my VCR shuts off. I press play. No dice. I press forward, rewind, and eject. Nothing works. Looks like I've got a jammed tape. I consider asking my dad to get his toolbox but I think better of it. I fiddled around with it for another 10 minutes before I finally gave up. I pull the plug on the VCR and hope it will miraculously work tomorrow morning. It figures that the day I find free porn the VCR breaks. Life is so unkind. I think that's a sign for me to call it a day. I suppose I should go cry myself to sleep now. Goodnight.
9:55am
I'm in my grandfather's hospital bedroom watching him wheez and cough. He's in a foul mood because my grandmother didn't come visit him the day before (she had a migraine the entire day). He coughs up what looks to be phlegm but not the off-white/yellow kind. It's grayish-black and soot-like. A live "say NO to smoking" commercial right before my eyes. I walk out into the hall not a little disgusted.
10:35am
Back in the room, I take a quick survey. He now has more flowers than the day before. A variety of carnations, daisies, and roses. The room looks a little less like, well, a hospital room. I wish I could paint the walls yellow or blue. I catch him staring at something in front of him on the wall. I notice it's a clock. In front of each bed is a clock (the room has 2 beds). I find this a little unthoughtful because my grandfather is dying and it's almost like he's watching the remainder of his life tick by. Just as I was pondering this the room's phone rang. I picked it up expecting a family member calling to check up on my grandfather. What I got instead was a telemarketer asking if we were interested in their satellite tv services. A little bit inappropriate, all things considered. Where do these people get their numbers from?
11:00am
On highway 81 headed back to Toronto. Me and my dad are having a heartfelt father to son conversation. Ok, I'm lying. If anyone knows me and my dad. We don't talk unless it's absolutely necessary. My dad is extremely introverted and doesn't talk much with the rest of my family. Actually, my entire family doesn't talk to each other unless it's necessary. Yes we're dysfunctional, aren't most families? Which reminds me, I really have to get around to reading Douglas Coupland's "All Families are Psychotic".
7:10pm
The ride was 8 hours long and I think he said 3 things to me the entire time. "Are you hungry? We can stop and get McDonalds if you are", "We should get gas", and my favourite, "Take the next exit, I've got to pee." I drove the entire time by myself virtually in silence. My dad tends to get lost easily so I dared not risk letting him drive us to Newfoundland. On our way down to Allentown, PA my dad nearly drove us to New York City. Which is about 2 hrs east of where we were suppose to be. I wasn't in the mood for a tour of the east coast this time.
Besides the numerous carcasses of roadkill I saw (each and every one of them reminding me of Tom Green humping a dead moose), the only other interesting thing I saw was a car driving without one of it's tires. It was literally driving on one rim without the rubber. I was doing 120 km/hr and he must have been doing around 90. I passed him as quick as I could knowing full well that he might crash that car any minute. I looked over as I passed him and noticed a middle-aged man. He looked completely oblivious to the loud grinding of the metal rim on asphalt. I decided I would be oblivious to it as well and I smiled at him. I wonder how far he got on that one bad wheel.
11:37pm
We arrived home safely and after a nice meal and a shower I lounged the remainder of the night. I also found out my cousin will be moving into my house for a month or two while he finds a new apartment in Toronto. He started moving some of his stuff into our spare bedroom this weekend but won't be staying here til next week. As I perused through his box of VHS tapes in hopes of finding a movie I haven't seen, I come across a few unmarked tapes. Finding unmarked tapes is like finding gold. People rarely mark pornography. No one wants to admit to owning a tape that's marked "Lord of the Cock Rings" or "Missionary Impossible". I put in the first one. Turns out it's just a few music videos. Fools gold. I put in the second one and hit the jackpot. Porn!! About 5 minutes into the movie my VCR shuts off. I press play. No dice. I press forward, rewind, and eject. Nothing works. Looks like I've got a jammed tape. I consider asking my dad to get his toolbox but I think better of it. I fiddled around with it for another 10 minutes before I finally gave up. I pull the plug on the VCR and hope it will miraculously work tomorrow morning. It figures that the day I find free porn the VCR breaks. Life is so unkind. I think that's a sign for me to call it a day. I suppose I should go cry myself to sleep now. Goodnight.
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