What do you do when you see the world going to hell? What do you do with the level on which it is going to hell is so far removed from your sphere of influence that you are powerless to affect, change or even register an impact on it?

I'm trying not to think about this war going on. Thinking about it, acknowledging it, or following it in any way depresses me on a level that disturbs me very profoundly. I'm finding that the only way to deal with it is to ignore it, hope it ends quickly, and the powers that be get distracted by the country they are conquering for a sufficiently long enough amount of time that another American election rolls around. I pray, in a way that I don't often do, or to a diety I don't fully recognize, that the people of the U.S.A. come to their collective senses and elect a new president. It's my opinion this one is not doing a good job and is endangering us all with his zeal for attack.

I'm left with praying because I'm not an American, and can't vote on it. Even saying something about it is useless. There's only one hope left for the world and its the citizens of America. The rest of us have to hope that, when they get the chance to vote, they do the right thing.

Toodles.

I saw some losers today. There is really no doubt in my mind that they were losers. Which is an odd realization to come to, when it actually hits you. At least for me it was. I'm not usually someone that makes a qualitative decision about someone based solely on a few moments. But I did today. I got one look at these guys and my mind immediately said, loser.

I was at the 7-11 in Yorkton. I needed a drink, and a brief rest, so I pulled in there. Already in the parking lot were three teenage guys, the losers in question. They were around, or inside, of a beat up old hatchback car. I don't know exactly why my mind screamed, loser, immediately. But I pulled into the lot and just sat there for a few minutes. I'd been very sleepy on the road and I wanted to get my wits about me. I kept getting the sense I was being watched. I'd look over and one of this group of three guys was invariably watching me.

Maybe it was the smoking. That's a definite strike against you, in my book. But they seemed really fake about that too. It was like they were smoking, not for the experience itself but for the illusion of cool. The same with the way they were dressed, and their carriage of being. Everything about them seemed just a little bit 'off', like they were attempting to be something they were not. The crappy car didn't help them much in the status department either. Okay, having a car is better than not having a car, but this jalopy wasn't much better than no car at all. I hope they didn't pay much money for it.

I hate being vain but I do have my moments. Today was one of them. I watched these three idiots and I couldn't help feeling relief that I wasn't one of them.

Toodles.

I have a problem. The stupid, damn wireless ethernet antenna that I had my boss purchase, so that we could have the shop, a few blocks away, on our network, doesn't have enough range to reach the other shop. I'm not amused. I bought an antenna that is way more powerful than I need, specifically so that I'd have enough range to reach the other shop. 3 km worth of range when I'm only 300 meters away. I go a hundred feet up the street and I lose 40% of my signal strength. Something is not kosher here. Blog readers, if any of you know something about wireless ethernet, PLEASE contact me at the email address provided. I am desperate for some assistance.

Thank you.

Toodles

Oh did I come up with a good one tonight!

I was in a silly mood and I was jabbering at my Mom. At one point I went to say something to her, but forgot what I was going to say. So, I blurted out, 'I can't control my liver.'

LMAO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Toodles!

I've been having the strangest dreams at night, over the past few nights. Every so often during the day I'll remember a snippet from one of them and I'll be thinking to myself, whatever in the world made me dream that!?! I will give you an example.

Last night I dreamed that they wanted to host the American Music Awards in the auditorium of Central Butte School. Everyone in the school was really excited, and was doing their best to accomodate the dignitaries, and make this happen. My dad was a mess and wanted nothing to do with it, and sat in his office in the school, behind his desk, without the chair, so he couldn't be seen if you looked in the door. He was reading a newspaper and eating peanuts.

To compound the weirdness, the people of Montreal were pissed that Central Butte was chosen over them, Montreal, to hose the American Music Awards. The travel agent I went to visit, during the dream, did not recommend continuing with my plan of going to Expos games this summer, because of this fracas.

But the concluding thought that we have to consider about this is, Why were the AMERICAN Music Awards going to be held in CANADA!?!?!?!?!

Just something for you to ponder. Toodles!

I have this fantasy. I have it every time I go up from the office to one of the bars at the open end of the arena. You step through the door at the bottom of the stairwell and you're hit by it immediately. The fetid stench of cigarette smoke. And before a game there is inevitably a couple of people standing by the exit doors smoking.

It comes to mind immediately. I see myself holding my tray with one hand while my other hand, usually the left one, reaches around behind my back. The fingers of my hand grip cold steel and I smile. Then next part comes on slow motion. My hand comes back around from behind my back, a 9 mm pistol gripped in my fingers. I point at the first one, a stupid-ass woman than is nearly always there. I pull the trigger. A loud retort echoes in the tall chamber. A smoking hole appears in her head as a shocked look appears on her face. Then my aim going to the next person, this mustached man this is equally there before a game. A hole appears in his forehead, right between the eyes. The two dead people fall slumped to the floor by the door, their disgusting habit bearing acute reminder of why they had to be killed.

I smile widely as I climb the stairs, my deed done.

Thanks my fantasy. I wish I could make it reality.

Toodles!

I have this fantasy. I have it every time I go up from the office to one of the bars at the open end of the arena. You step through the door at the bottom of the stairwell and you're hit by it immediately. The fetid stench of cigarette smoke. And before a game there is inevitably a couple of people standing by the exit doors smoking.

It comes to mind immediately. I see myself holding my tray with one hand while my other hand, usually the left one, reaches around behind my back. The fingers of my hand grip cold steel and I smile. Then next part comes on slow motion. My hand comes back around from behind my back, a 9 mm pistol gripped in my fingers. I point at the first one, a stupid-ass woman than is nearly always there. I pull the trigger. A loud retort echoes in the tall chamber. A smoking hole appears in her head as a shocked look appears on her face. Then my aim going to the next person, this mustached man this is equally there before a game. A hole appears in his forehead, right between the eyes. The two dead people fall slumped to the floor by the door, their disgusting habit bearing acute reminder of why they had to be killed.

I smile widely as I climb the stairs, my deed done.

Thanks my fantasy. I wish I could make it reality.

Toodles!