Personal Crap

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Meaford, ON, Canada
A big lover of all types of media, from Movies to Video Games, Books to Music, Television to Stage.



Okay, here's the deal: Blogger has been having problems with their counters as of late, specifically with those blogs marked as having adult content. Now, this particular blog was marked as adult content since it is written as a train of thought, including all the rotten language that flows through my head constantly :) As a result, I marked it adult for that, not for having pornographic photos all over the place. So, simply put, be aware that there is language on this blogsite, and if you are offended don't bother complaining because I wrote this so that you'd know it before reading, and it is your fault if you don't believe me and decide to possibly get offended anyway. If language of a vulgar nature might make you upset, go read something by Disney.


The State Of My World Affects My Posts

Just a quick update to any and all readers of my blogs, regardless of which ones.  Now that I put that little column on the right side there that tells everyone when I write a new post, I figure by updating this particular blog everyone has a chance to read it, so gather round.

Recently my life has been becoming increasingly stressful.  A huge delay in moving our mortgage, coupled with horrible nightmares, the approach of my 40th birthday, and my over-riding need to get the hell out of this building on a more regular basis - these have all combined to make my life a great deal more miserable for the last month or so, and the situation does not appear to be letting up any time soon.  Ultimately, this also means that my inspiration/motivation/care to write about things in general has fallen off steeply.  Other factors figure into this as well:  If I'm not playing new games or new game systems, my ability to review things falls away.  I'm dwelling too much in 'the good old days,' and therefore don't feel like talknig about games of the past either.  So, that's why 'Confessions' hasn't had much updating.  Haven't seen any movies in theatres for quite a while, and I'm sick of sitting around watching the same movies over and over again.  That's why 'Reel' hasn't had any great updates.  Tired of having the television provide the majority of the entertainment I get out of life right now.  That's why 'Telly' hasn't had much updating either.

Why do you care?  Well, maybe you don't, but assuming anyone reads this regularly, this is kind of my apology and explanation as to why I'm only really writing new things for my autobiography.  And, of course, virtually nobody is reading that, so that kind of stifles the motivation to write that as well...though my need to get all this stuff out into the world before my heart condition reaches up my throat and throttles my brain does mean that my autobiographical blog in particular at least gets some semblance of a regular feeding.  All in all, my interest in writing these blogs, especially since the only real feedback I've been getting is from those related to me (all two of you), is quite low at the moment - and until I feel better, it is likely to languish for a while.

So, to sum up, I don't feel much like writing most of the time, and nobody I don't share lineage or a bedroom with cares enough to encourage me.  Thusly, if I don't write for a while it doesn't seem like I'll be missed much, and therefore I'm not going to try to push myself to type words on these pages until i actually have interest in doing so.

How can you help me get over this stumbling block?  E-mail me, comment on my writing, communicate to me the knowledge that there are people out there in Hungary, Germany, Iran, China, Pakistan, Ukraine, South Korea, the UK, the US, Russia and Singapore that are not hitting my blog posts by accident and are actually reading my words and care that I continue to write.  I'll still post, but right now it feels again as though nobody cares if I do, and if this is only for my own edification then the posts will be lean indeed.

Anyway, take care to all of those people who actually do read what I'm writing (that'd be you Jen, and you Andi), sorry to anyone who actually reads this and I don't know who you are or that you do (not entirely my fault, if you don't tell me you are doing so), and when I get motivated enough to bother doing more, I will.  Until then, enjoy Spring (I would say enjoy Autumn for those in the southern hemisphere, but totals are suggesting to me that virtually nobody south of the equator is even hitting these pages in great numbers, so most readers are in the same season I find myself).


A Dream Waking Me After Less Than 2 Hours Of Sleep

I have written this from the point of view of Andi, my wife, being the one who reads it, so when I say things like 'you said' or 'you did,' I specifically mean her.  When I use the phrase 'our house,' it refers directly to 40 Harley.  'Our' also refers to Andi and I.  This is what I'm doing to myself while I'm asleep; and people wonder why I wake up at 39 going on 40 with a thumb wedged firmly in my mouth most mornings...dream shit like this yourself, and tell me how you'd react.

The dream was very intense.  Most dreams you have when you are asleep are double the length of the previous dream, as that's how the cycles go.  First you have 'dreamlets,' of maybe 5 seconds, then 10 seconds, then 20 seconds, then 40 seconds.  1 minute 20, 2 minutes 40, 5 minutes 20, 10 minutes 40, 21 minutes 20 and this is the one I think I had based on how long it took to fall asleep and the fact that there is time in between the dreams as well.  So the torture I am about to describe, though not seemingly torture necessarily in your eyes, probably lasted for 20+ minutes for me.  Reading this from your individual standpoints will probably make this dream seem boring and dull, but to myself it was fraught with anger, rage, and impotent blame and hatred.

It started in a version of our house.  I had been asleep for a nap, and I came downstairs to the main floor to have you telling me you had done some work downstairs.  The context of the work was mentioned, but is the only thin I can't remember, so it probably wasn't important.  I went down the basement stairs to note a few things:  First, the basement had been finished.  Second, the ceiling, floor and walls were all white (maybe in prep for final paint and flooring choices, but that wasn't discussed).  Third, the boxes you'd expect to see upon coming down were gone, and the room was well lit as though by florescent tubes across the ceiling, though I don't recall looking up to confirm said tube lighting.  I remember being shocked at how much work you had done while i was asleep, and asked where the other boxes were.  You said upstairs in the bedroom, and at this point I was now standing upstairs in the bedroom, only it was now the front room of the house at Eastwood.  I saw the boxes, then was again magically downstairs talking to you in the basement again (this happened with the snap back and forth of a camera clip during a movie, like an establishing shot of the other room to confirm what had been said by you).  You then were showing me how you organized the boxes, and I noticed that in the ceiling, as though the room hadn't had the ceiling finished, there were two boxes of hamster food, one opened.  I pulled the opened one down, found a garbage bag you had available (not to be confused with another bag that wasn't garbage, and even these bags were white) and threw it out.  I then got the other box, and noticed the ceiling (finished though with rafters or beams BELOW the finished ceiling, so weird) had been discoloured in the shape of the boxes, as though they had been put up there and somehow the contact with the ceiling discoloured the paint or something.  I also had noticed that where the boxes had originally been towards the front of the house the floor had been discoloured by the sitting boxes as though the floor had been done UNDER the boxes, which had been moved later.  All told, there was about 1/3 of the boxes we have down there now and none of the furniture or electronic stuff that is there now.

Here is where the dream starts to change.  While talking to you about the hamster food and compaining about the previous owners, we heard footsteps from above us.  It wasn't Scott, as we never for even a second considered it was his steps.  I think I was naked from my nap, so I grabbed a towel to hold around myself as we went to investigate.  We approached the stairway and you called out 'Hello.'  As we climbed the stairs (you went first, how chivalrous of me) we heard a voice say 'Hi.'  It was Wayne, a driver for my mother's bus company RoadBusters.  The main floor had now become that of Eastwood, as had the entire house at this point, and we came out of the stairway at the back of the kitchen to see Wayne in the front hall coming towards us with the door open behind him.  I came up to him and said this wasn't my mother's house, and under no circumstances was he to enter without knocking, ever, ever.  As I said this, in walks my mother and Peter.  My mother began the argument she had when Lillian and I were at Eastwood after Warren left, that this was still her house so she could come and go as she pleased.  I argued that I was a tenant, I was paying rent, and as such I had certain rights which included not to be barged in upon unannounced.  She agreed and was about to argue more when I said "How about if we were having sex in the front room and you walked in, I don't think that would be fair to us to have to suffer that indignity."  I then indicated the towel I was wearing, and though the sex part hadn't occurred, I said "Case in point."  I then went upstairs to change.

Upon getting to the front bedroom, I noticed the boxes had been piled neatly away from the door and over near the window overlooking the street.  This neatness was in direct contrast to how the room looked the last time I was at Eastwood after the thieves had broken in and ransacked the place.  I removed the towel to find I was wearing shorts after all, and then proceeded to head back to the landing and the top of the flight of stairs, when I bumped literally into Peter who was being his usual asshole self.  He said something along the lines of it's a good thing I was wearing shoes because he was going to hit me on the bottom of my feet with a 2x4.  No idea where that came from, but not untypical.  I got to the bottom of the stairs yelling up at him saying at least I didn't sit on my fat ass all day long, making one phone call a day because that was the extent of my duties that I could handle like him.  This was likely referring to the period of time that I ran their shitty little bus company without their aide but with tons of their interference cocking everything up.  By this point, the anger and frustration of their intrusion into what had been a calm and peaceful afternoon was making me shake with anger.  I went into the front living room of the house to find my cousin Jerri, who I haven't seen in real life for over 20 years, in a hospital bed with I believe a cast on one or both legs, and maybe an arm or two.  She looked like a younger version of herself, even younger than the last time I had seen her (I think I might have had a crush on her when I was a kid, and I think that's where this image of her might have been from).  There was some dog, looking like one of those mops with the thick strings.  The dog was facing away, on the couch that had always been below the front windows, and the hair was grey except for what looked like a white string tied into the ass end of him and standing out starkly against the grey.  I said to Jerri that it was nice to see her after so much time, and she turned to me and agreed.  My mother was in the room, at the foot of the hospital bed, which was situated where the wall separating the living and dining room was, on the side where the fireplace was, facing the street - kind of like my bed did the second time I was at Eastwood though I was fully in the dining room.  I was beside the bed, and my mother started to bitch about the way I was yelling at Peter about how little work he did, and then demanded that she have access to the house whenever she wanted and to hell with my privacy.  I approached her and gave her a triple slap in the face, left, right, left, in quick succession, very much like we slap Munchkin or Garfield's asses when they want loving.  Not soft, but not really hard, more to get her attention.  I remember being aware that Peter had come downstairs by this point and was concerned about what type of retribution I was about to receive due to this action, but I was too upset to hold back.  She started crying, not from pain but from shock, and I did too as I shouted "You know, I used to be your son once."  She said I still was, and I yelled back "Not since HE entered the picture."

It was at this point I woke up.  As I lay in bed, noting it was only about 3:20 am (and we had gone to sleep after 1:30 right after "School Of Rock" finished broadcasting on Movietime), went over the dream a couple of times, and even formulated answers to her 'son' rebuttal, things like how he got into the business with her, not me, he was fucking her, but no love for me (really uncomfortable thought that), stuff along those lines.  Those however were formulated after I had awoken.  I also noticed that since getting the new mattress I have not woken with back pain like I used to have on just the old mattress - until this morning.  I don't know if the mattress is now as shitty as the old one alone was, or whether the dream tensed me up so much that it seized the back due to stress, but I tend to think it was the latter.  I also have a huge headache.

This is easily the worst dream I've had in months, and there were some other doozeys...and probably the worst I've had since the start of 2011.  You might not understand why it affected me so badly, and maybe I don't either.  What I do know is that instead of going back to sleep, I'm down here typing this out to you wishing you had words that could help me find my way clear of having dreams like this anymore.  In the violent department, this was tame in comparison to others I've had, but the rage and hatred was very intense here, and it is what is keeping me awake.

As for filling in the blanks, such as who Wayne is, or the reasons for my anger and rage at this person who has been dead for 5 years, I'll eventually get to it all in my Autobiography blogsite.  Knowing that someone, anyone, is interested in knowing what's going on would also help me to write about it.  Please, if you've never written a comment before, I implore you to do so now.


Global Problems: Japan And Libya

Okay, those two do make strange bedfellows, but I'm kind of wanting to write about one of the topics above and yet I also feel like I should write about the other as well.  Before I do all that though, it's time for an update as to what is actually happening to me life-wise.

Went to see the doctor again this week.  Thanks to O.D.S.P. I'm trying to do it once a month for as long as they'll foot the bill for the cab ride there, or until the car gets up and running again.  Don't see that happening in the foreseeable future, so until December this year I'm taking advantage of the transportation they are granting me.  Dr. Lin is one of the few things my ex-wife gave me that actually was worth the shit I went through with her, so at least there's that.  I personally think he gets a private enjoyment out of the fact that I talk to him plainly, without censoring myself, and once I even got him to share back with me in the same way.  Cheeky monkey!  This past visit he complained that they want him to do another spot on television.  Complaining about being televised.  I wanted to tell him it's no big deal, I mean it's only the CBC after all!  Didn't get around to saying it, but I bet he would have laughed.  He's great, and with any luck he'll be reading this blog and some of my others.  If so, welcome to the party; if not, well, chances are I'll be gone long before him, so he can read me posthumously when he gets the chance.

We're trying to get me to a psychiatrist in regards to all the shit I'm still dealing with from my mother.  My weight is up over 350 now, but we haven't pegged exactly what it's at yet; that'll be for April's visit.  He said that he wants to take blood from me for my 40th, I said fuck off, he said okay then we'll talk about turning 40, to which I then agreed.  Told you he was cool.  He looked again at the open wound in my gut, and I don't think he's too thrilled with how it looks.  Walking around with this thing for a year hasn't been any fun for me either, but at least now he's on it.  Oh, and it appears that beef is no longer a part of my diet, at least for a while.  I won't get deep into what it has been doing to me, but let's just say that I'm losing out on some of my favourite foods, and that fish and chicken are now the norms.

Now then, on to the topics of the day.

First of all, I wanted to wait until I wrote about Japan, mainly because I want hits on this blog to actually be for me and my writing, not just because I have the title 'Japan' up top.  It's been a while, and though the crisis certainly isn't over yet, at least it isn't immediate as it was the day or two after the actual quake.  People are saying Japan deserved it, that they are sinners and are being punished, and that this heralds the truth about 2012.  I can't believe the pile of bullshit coming from these sources.  First of all, yes, this is a serious quake.  9.0 on a scale that goes up to 10 is ridiculously high, no argument.  This signifying that 2012 is real?  No.  See, people are saying that the number and severity of earthquakes has been rising steadily over the past decade, and this simply isn't true.  The number hasn't risen, the population has.  When there are more people, they need more space to live.  In order to get more space, you need to occupy areas you didn't occupy previously.  When you occupy areas you haven't been in until now, you discover things about that area you didn't know.

Think of it this way:  You live on one side of a hill, and there are birch trees on your side of that hill.  You've never seen the other side of the hill (I don't know why, you're probably a fucking shut-in, now stop asking stupid questions you damned recluse and let me get on with this).  Then, one day, you decide to venture to the other side of the hill and, lo and behold, there are birch trees there too.  To then say there are more birch tress on your hill than there used to be would be a false statement.  The other tress were there, you just didn't know about them.  Same with these quakes.  Just because you didn't know they were occurring in places nobody lived does not mean they weren't occurring when they were vacant, it is just that now that there are people living there they notice them, and therefore they are aware of their occurrence.  The question has always been whether a tree makes a noise when it falls if nobody is there to hear it, not whether the tree fell or not.  In this case, the earth has been shaking, but nobody has been living there so nobody recorded it happening.  People are there now, they notice the event, suddenly everyone says more quakes are happening.  Not true.  Oh, and they aren't causing more destruction either.

Take a town with buildings that go no higher than the second floor, do not build them to withstand quakes, and then give that town a 7.0 magnitude earthquake.  Lots of minor damage, nothing ridiculous, and minimal loss of life.  Now, on the exact same footprint of those buildings, put up some skyscrapers, again built not to specifically withstand earthquakes, and give that spot the exact same earthquake.  Buildings collapse, huge loss of life.  The more built up an area is, the more can fall down when the ground starts to move.  Simple.  So it isn't a matter of more destruction because the quakes are higher in magnitude, it is more about what is built near the epicenter of the event.  Also, of course, the quality of the construction has a huge effect as well.  Lesser standards and building materials will collapse faster and more thoroughly than better built, more solid constructions.  That's common sense.  End of story.  Oh, and those saying that Japan deserved this, or that this is some form of punishment, those people can go back to believing that the Catholic Church is wonderful, and all those choir boys really asked to be sodomized repeatedly and God wanted them victimized, it's all for the best.

As for the nuclear situation in Japan, calm heads must prevail here too.  The reactors were built with earthquakes in mind, and would probably also have survived the tsunami as well, if it weren't for the loss of power to the plant.  Ironic that a power plant has no electricity of it's own, isn't it?  Anyway, that would be the only fault of the construction and design of these plants - not being prepared for a catastrophic loss of power.  On the whole, I personally believe the whole thing to be a terrible accident, with nobody specifically culpable, at least as far as the initial problems.  As to the multiple reactor problems that they are now facing, and the evacuation zone being too small versus the radiation levels within them, that's all Japan's government's fault.  To me, it seems like they are for some reason trying to downplay the severity of what is going on, as if they fucked up somehow and are trying to cover their tracks.  Doesn't make sense to me, but that seems to be the case.  All the nuclear watchdog groups are giving a much truer (in my opinion) picture of what is going on, and Japan had better stop spouting their misinformation and get on board with what is truly going on here, or it will indeed become a bigger disaster than Chernobyl ever was.  Lying about it will only make it worse when nature takes the next steps on the path everything is moving down.

Of course, here in Ajax, nestled right beside Pickering, it doesn't help that the Pickering Nuclear Plant had an accident of their own that they were slow in announcing to the public this week.  It is being touted as a minor incident, releasing de-mineralized water into Lake Ontario to the tune of 73,000 litres.  No biggie, right?  Well, the water still had some radioactive material in it, and if there was a more serious failure (the spill is being blamed on a malfunctioning valve) we'd be fucking evacuated to Peterborough (for those not familiar with Southern Ontario, Peterborough is about an hour northeast of here, kinda hard to get to without a damned car) for who knows how long.  I've never been behind nuclear power here in Canada, and given the fact that we live on the edge of a big goddamned lake, I can't see ANY reason why we're not concentrating on disturbing a few fish and putting up a wind farm out in the water.  Naysayers can't bitch if the thing isn't very visible from shore (I personally like the look of the windmills myself), and it wouldn't be disturbing anyone in any way, except maybe for ships that might have to steer around it - oh, big nasty pain in the ass to keep the lights on in Ontario.  Wish it would happen, probably never will.

I have nought else much to say about Japan, so I'm turning to the other big news story to wrap up my post here, and that would be Libya.  Finally, the UN got off it's collective asses last night and voted to institute a no-fly zone over the country.  Congratu-fucking-lations folks, you wait until the slaughter of protesters gets to the point that the rebellion against tyranny and murder is almost completely wiped out by a superior military force before attempting to ride in and save the day.  And at the end of it, you'll expect some kind of credit for doing the right thing almost too late for there to be a rebellion to support.  I don't want to hear that a decision like this is not to be taken lightly - when an oppressive dictator turns to killing his own people, you should be stepping up IMMEDIATELY to bring an end to it, not waiting around for weeks to see how they fare.  I almost consider that a war crime, letting people die like that before taking action.  And such piddly action too.  Get in there and bring the bastard to his knees.  Oh, wait, does Libya have oil?  Yeah, it does, so what are you waiting for?  The excuse is there, go get it...I mean him!  What do you need, an invitation?



Very simple title, isn't it?  News.  The question I pose, however, is what exactly does it mean?  Let me expound in the next few paragraphs, because this is really starting to piss me off.

I was coming online just now, and as I looked over my homepage I saw that Emma Watson, best known as Hermione from the "Harry Potter" movies, has decided in all the wisdom of her twenty years on this planet to drop out of college for the moment, I assume to pursue other avenues of interest.  It made me really fucking angry.  Why am I so frustrated?  Is it because she has piles of cash from her movies and I feel she shouldn't be entitled to drop out simply due to a whim when people who have worked hard to get into a school are constantly denied?  No.  Is it because I find it laughable that a twenty-year-old girl has the audacity to determine that she doesn't need schooling anymore without earning her degree, and that her dropping out equivocates her with the likes of Sarah Palin?  No.  You want to know why I'm so fucking angry?  Do you really want to be privy to the thing about this particular news item that makes me want to bash the author of the piece through a wall?


I don't give a shit whether some girl chooses to go to school or not!  Why is it considered a NEWS item?  It isn't news, people go to school, they drop out, hundreds of others have done it this year, we didn't get news articles about all their decisions!  Why the fuck does the media think any normal, educated being on this earth would have any interest in what this British bird is doing with her life outside of a movie theatre?

See, this is what is wrong with the media today, and when I say media I'm pretty much leaving out Reuters and the Associated Press, is that celebrities and useless information about them have become what some are calling 'Breaking News' and a 'Top Story.'  Admittedly, these two agencies also publish these fluff pieces, but I believe that more actual journalism comes down the pipe from these two organizations than any others.  The thing is, though, the media is a major source of the problems the world is dealing with - and when I say world, I most definitely mean the United States.

Lindsay Lohan may or may not have stolen a necklace.  Big fucking whoop.  Paris Hilton has a sex tape that was 'leaked' to the public.  Who gives a shit, as long as it isn't my dick plunging that nasty airhead's most famous body part on film for all to see.  The point is, it isn't fucking news!  Charlie Sheen had a meltdown, and it's all I see across multiple websites, newspapers, magazines and television shows...but it isn't fucking news!  There is a civil war going on in Libya (I don't care who calls it what, when the people are fighting their government in the streets of their country and both sides are using weapons bigger than a stick, it's a fucking civil war), that's news.  The strife is causing oil prices to shoot through the roof, that's news.  The average person in North America is going to be paying more for gas, food, and virtually anything that is shipped to a store near them, and that's news.  Gang violence, peace talks, revolution...these things are news.  Whether some porn star decides to stay at a druggie's house or not after his kids are taken away from him, that isn't news, that's a loser self-destructing in public, and if he chooses to vent his crazy on television shows other than the one he's been fired from, the average person should look away - because the alternative is to tell the media that this is the shit we crave, and that's fucking insane on it's own!

Yes, I wrote a blog item about the great and mighty Sheen myself, but I never called it news, I never shot a spot for it to air during prime time programming to get viewers to come and look at this idiot fall apart.  Wy not?  Not just because I don't have a channel or station to do it on, but because IT ISN'T FUCKING NEWS!

I now return you to your regular programming...