Helloooo Newman: Yesterday I slipped into my emotional speedo

Helloooo Newman: Yesterday I slipped into my emotional speedo: In the summer of 1992, shortly after I met my soon to be wife, we took a cheap trip to Cuba. I mean really cheap. $398 each all in. Yes, e...

Yesterday I slipped into my emotional speedo

In the summer of 1992, shortly after I met my soon to be wife, we took a cheap trip to Cuba.

I mean really cheap. $398 each all in. Yes, everything. Flight, food (near food, to be precise), drink, accommodation, and 3 hours of Communist Manifesto lessons.

Best trip we ever had. Even the day trip where they subjected us to a speech on the benefits of a communist lifestyle, the best feature being electricity and water for only one hour a day. Sign me up!

The last few days this week reminded me of one key feature of that trip. I forgot my bathing suit. Maybe it was that we rushed into booking and going on the trip. Maybe it was that I had one of my toenails painted. Maybe it was new found love. I'm not sure which.

Anywho, I had to buy a suit at the "resort" (a word that requires quotes when located in communist countries). This store was not to be confused with Sporting Life. They had one size and one brand of suit. I estimated the size was for an overly breast fed baby at best, and the brand was Speedo.

There was I, swimming with what looked like some thick branch bent in half in my mid section. Could have been a baby's arm. One could have been convinced that my body had been squeezed out of this piece of fabric, like play doh pushed through a mold. Not much else was left to the imagination.

Years later I heard that my visit was the first time Castro started to think maybe the communist lifestyle wasn't so cool. Some time after that his brother took over. Coincidence?

All these wonderful memories led to the birth of a new psychological term - emotional speedo.

Two days ago I slipped into my emotional speedo. I woke up feeling tight and cranky. All kinds of negative thoughts and emotions swirling around in my head like a Sharknado. Normally in this circumstance I would keep my mouth shut so as not to incur anybody's wrath. I am a strong male and I have a solid iron grip on my emotions.

Well, screw that. My emotional speedo squeezed out every negative thought I could think of and left nothing to the imagination.

I didn't censor my thoughts or emotions and I tried not to judge them either. I was Les Miz. After a day and a half of this, I felt great. What a release. What an emotional colon cleaning.

Now I'm back to my normal happy self in my two piece bathing suit. Because in the end you are as happy as you decide to be.

Helloooo Newman: Why I Like to fsck

Helloooo Newman: Why I Like to fsck: It's now my all time favourite activity. I can do it alone and fall asleep after without any guilt. I can do it sitting, or standing, I ...

Why I Like to fsck

It's now my all time favourite activity. I can do it alone and fall asleep after without any guilt. I can do it sitting, or standing, I don't give a damn. I can do it with Sam and green eggs and ham.

You read it right. I love to fsck!

Ahem. Let me explain.

You just won't understand unless you own a MAC. What? You have a PC? Please see my next blog, How to Get a Life and Enjoy It.

For MAC users, fsck is salvation. Last week my MAC wouldn't boot. All I got was the grey screen and the spinning gear - spinning and spinning until I tore my corneas off.

I was on a deadline. And I couldn't access Disk Utility because the computer wouldn't boot itself in the butt. With a little ingenuity (something all MAC users have) I discovered a very helpful trick. No, not a visit to a prostitute. I mean a procedure, or a method for fixing my problem.

fsck. NO, NOT fcuk, although if you're more comfortable wearing fcuk, go ahead.

I'm talking single user mode. Start up your MAC and press "command-s". You will see a black screen with white computer type code stuff on it.

After the last line of type, enter this: /sbin/fsck -fy. This allows you to bypass the hard drive and the computer fixes itself. Well, most of the time. This will not work if you drop the MAC from a tall building.

There you have it. I'm not sure if you've ever fscked, but it is easy, fun and disease-free. fsck saved my butt - and that's all it did to my butt, folks. Wouldn't want to do it all the time. But boy, it's good to know it's there when I need it.

Helloooo Newman: Supreme Being for a Day

Helloooo Newman: Supreme Being for a Day: I'm slowly coming to the realization that people don't worship me the way Newman does. It's tough being a supreme being at hom...

Supreme Being for a Day

I'm slowly coming to the realization that people don't worship me the way Newman does.

It's tough being a supreme being at home and then having to walk among the ordinary the rest of the time. This got me thinking. How would I behave if I really were supreme being for a day?

Unlike our current supreme being, I'd take the first few days off instead of the seventh day. This makes a lot of sense. I would have enough banked sick days since I'm both the union and management, I wrote and negotiated the contract and I can bloody well do anything I want.

I would spend these days planning the universe. If you were having your dream home built, would you be happy that the builder starting building right away, and then afterwards consulted the blueprints? I doubt it.

Would you plan as you go along? Well, no. That there wouldn't be a plan because a plan is something you plan before implementing the plan.

So, what else would I do differently than the current Chief Executive God (CEG)? I certainly would have treated my one and only employee better.

The CEG's single employee and salesman was, of course, Jesus. As far as sales positions go, this one sucked big time. "You go and sell me, Jesus, and I'll be up here pretending I don't exist, okay?" Can you imagine being a sales man and there's no head office to report to?

I think Jesus even had a tougher time than Michael from The Office. Michael had a support staff and got laid out of the deal. He also had all kinds of different products to offer. People had a choice.

Not so with Jesus. There is no product. There is only a service. Salvation. You sign here, decrepit peasant, and this service might be delivered to you. That is, if we still like you when you die. This sale comes with a zero guarantee!

Think about the sales pitch that God insisted Jesus deliver. Be really nice and caring to the customer. Occasionally offer them a bath. Go light on the healings (they give me a headache), and there are absolutely no free pens or stationary. Then show the customer the terms of the sale - the Ten Commandments. As an aside, mention that if they violate any of the sales terms, they will forever feel the effects of a very hot fire on their skin and bones. This is convenient since peasants really are only skin and bone. Mention all this after the sale, if possible.

All this time, no customer was allowed to talk directly to the boss. Questions would not be answered, but you could pay in monthly instalments.

Incredibly, Jesus had some success. But most of his customers were poor, with none owning a BMW, but some having a late model donkey or goat.

And how was the chief salesman rewarded for this modest success? No, not with frequent walking points. He was "crossed" off the team. No set of steak knives.

Then he resurrected himself and promised to come back on the job some day. Personally, I think he quit and is working in one the many parallel dimensions scientists now say exist. I hear it's even sweeter than working at the LCBO.

So, what would I have done differently? I would have modelled things after a weekend at the cottage. Have the party first, here on earth. Then comes Hangover, which replaces the terms Heaven and Hell.

Yes, God got it backwards. God is Dog. Dog is Newman. Newman is the supreme being. Not me.

Helloooo Newman: Call Me Ishmael

Helloooo Newman: Call Me Ishmael: Its solid grey mass rolls arrogantly towards me. It stops dead before my feet, as if a decision is made. I hoist it up, much like the Pre...

Helloooo Newman: Call Me Ishmael

Helloooo Newman: Call Me Ishmael: Its solid grey mass rolls arrogantly towards me. It stops dead before my feet, as if a decision is made. I hoist it up, much like the Pre...

Call Me Ishmael

Its solid grey mass rolls arrogantly towards me. It stops dead before my feet, as if a decision is made. I hoist it up, much like the Predator creature proudly raises his prized human skull. I place it carefully on the stump.

I am going to split this log, come hell – or a visit from my relatives.

I know right away this log is going to be a toughie. It has a knot in it. Knots tie your axe up in knots. That's why we call them knots. But not too knotty for me, I believe.

I pick my line on the log to hit. Don't you take your eyes off that line. I raise the beast of an axe with surprising ease. Years of training kick in as smoothly as anti-lock brakes.

I swing the axe with awesome aplomb. Apparently, the first tree in history made of reinforced concrete.

The axe bounces back, easily to be confused with a child playing on a bouncy castle. I desperately look for some kind of sign that I actually hit the log. Smooth surface abounds. Thankfully, I'm distracted by a sound that takes me away from my failed first attempt. Newman is nearby licking his groin. I remember how wonderful country sounds are to the ears.

Swing number 2. Swing number 20. Hands are numb. Swing number 50. Swear words echo through nature. Even the blue jays are nervous. Swing number 100. The sun is beating me up. Slight damage to the log. Much damage to my ego.

I grab a water/juice mix and a towel for my soaking head. Suddenly I'm Rocky in the fight of my life. I just want to go the distance. ADRIAN!!! I LOVE YOU!!! No oscar will be awarded today.

This log is the stubborn one, not me. I will split it, maybe even into four pieces. This goal occupies every cell in my body. Nay, every electron and quark. Progress is ssssllllooowwwwwww, but still, there are a few kinks in the wood.

I am more determined than ever. Suddenly the log speaks to me. It's the black knight from Monty Python and the Holy Grail. Taunting me. "Tis but a scratch. I've had worse. Had enough, eh? Just a flesh wound. Oh, I see. Running away, eh". Actually, just getting some water/juice mix, ass wipe.

Two hundred and fifty swings and I take another break. Then I realize it. The apt metaphor that fits this situation (the last metaphor, I promise). This log is my whale. My Moby Dick. I don't want to split this log. I have to split this log.

But why? Why can't I walk away? This log hasn't taken my limb. I could burn it as is. I am full of questions. Is this a testament to my character, or a sign that I wasn't swaddled enough as a baby? Is this just useless anthropomorphism, the assigning of human motives to logs?

I wish I were Ishmael, but I'm Ahab, and looking mighty drab.

My whale is still out there. Hurt but unsplit. More dangerous than ever. Soon. Soon this whale will be in two, or maybe even four…

Helloooo Newman: Feel the fear, and nap anyway

Helloooo Newman: Feel the fear, and nap anyway: I've been thinking a lot about emotions. This is partly due to my having Newman as a companion. Newman is all about emotions. Well, tw...

Feel the fear, and nap anyway

I've been thinking a lot about emotions. This is partly due to my having Newman as a companion.

Newman is all about emotions. Well, two emotions, really – fear and happiness.

Actually, Newman is only about emotions. That's because he has real trouble thinking. He tries by tilting his head when he's puzzled but it doesn't seem to work. So essentially he feels but imposes no thought onto emotion. I achieved this state of emotion without thought during my 50th birthday, moments before I passed out. All I remember of the experience is that it was wet, smelled bad and required a lot of laundry duty the next day.

So fear and happiness comprise Newman's entire emotional spectrum. These also happen to be two of the most primal emotions. Primal in that they are rooted way back in our evolutionary history before Dr. Phil was around to help us.

The funny thing about Newman is that he often follows rampant emotional episodes with a nap. When I get home from a long day of shopping for kitchen accessories or wall art, all I hear as I approach the house is Newman barking at a decibel rate of about 320. He doesn't know I'm there (I sneak up to the house a la Seal Team 6) so this means he has been barking for 4 hours.

When I enter the house, all this pent up emotion suddenly gets released, similar to poking a large hole in the Hoover dam and watching Vegas drown. Newman expresses this emotion by digging his nails into my skin and licking all my epithelials off. If I was murdered at this moment there would be little evidence for CSI Miami to examine. Presumably David Caruso would still pause, take his sunglasses off, and exclaim, "he's dead, Jim". That is, if Jim Kirk were his boss.

Naturally, after all this emotional diarrhea, Newman needs a nap. So he flops his weight down on the floor, recovering until the next emotional moment, like if I have to go to the washroom. He jumps up thinking (sorry, not thinking, hoping - an emotion) we are now going to play. No, we're not. We're peeing. Down on the floor again.

Well, this emotion and napping thing works for me too. Whenever I get depressed, I immediately nap. So let's say my weight is up a bit and I can't get into that bathing suit, or maybe a glue gun will no longer hold my shoes together, or the Argos just aren't playing as well as they use to, I get really sad. I nap.

Lately, I've been feeling those primal emotions that Newman feels, more specifically, fear.

My second biggest fear in life is that I am operating below my potential. My biggest fear is that I'm operating exactly at my potential.

My future really depends on me not operating at my full potential yet. I depend on this. It gives me hope. If I've reached it, there's trouble ahead.

There are still so many things I want to achieve. Stuff I want to learn. Or get better at. Suck on every moment of life more fully. Drill down to the nitty gritty of an interesting life.

Gosh, I'm tired. Think I'll nap. Reaching my potential will have to wait for another day. So will my fear.

Helloooo Newman: The Bible According to Newman

Helloooo Newman: The Bible According to Newman: I thought since I have practice writing a blog, I now have the creds to write a new version of the Bible. Do you think the Vatican will mind...

The Bible According to Newman

I thought since I have practice writing a blog, I now have the creds to write a new version of the Bible. Do you think the Vatican will mind?

There are a lot of problems with the Bible as it reads now. Little things, like telling the truth.

There are so many chapters to the Bible. I would have one chapter and it would be called, "In the Beginning – What Really Went Down".

The first line of the original Bible reads: In the beginning, God created the heavens and the Earth.

Well, not quite. Here's what really went down…

In the beginning God tried to create the heavens and the earth. Wow, he blew it, so he tried again. He didn't see that it was good. Nonsense. He saw that it resembled a Carnival cruise ship. He tried again. Better, but not quite. He tried for 6 whole days. Then he took a day off and thought about it. Finally he was getting it right, felt how exhausting all this work was and decided we humans would need weekends off. Then, just as he was about to perfect it, the whole thing blew up in his face. We call this the Big Bang. He walked away from the whole mess and left an instruction booklet. A really confusing one. We call this the Bible.

Well, not anymore. We now call it the Bible according to Newman.

So, in the beginning, God had no practice creating universes. I really don't understand that. I would have at least jotted some diagrams down on a napkin (like they did in Spinal Tap), used a really good AutoCAD program, THEN put shovel to dirt, and afterwards bring in Mike Holmes to check it for foundation, plumbing, electrical etc.

Instead, we have an IKEA universe. Here are all the parts, mankind, you go ahead and make something decent out of it.

Coming next in the Bible According to Newman…the real sins.

Helloooo Newman: The Universe in your Backyard

Helloooo Newman: The Universe in your Backyard: I'm kind of a physics buff. I'd like to think I can speak for more than a few minutes on classical physics, the study of the huge un...

The Universe in your Backyard

I'm kind of a physics buff. I'd like to think I can speak for more than a few minutes on classical physics, the study of the huge universe, and quantum physics, the study of the microscopic universe. I was never good at studying anything in between the huge and the microscopic like, for instance, high school tests. Suffice it to say my GPA approached the size of a neutrino.

What I've noticed recently is the remarkable similarity between certain features of the universe and our good old home on earth. It's uncanny, really.

Consider the description of a common black hole. This is a collapsed star that is so dense with crushed matter that its gravitational pull is billions of times stronger than here on earth. It sucks things into it – even light – never to be seen again. And it grows bigger as it absorbs more and more matter. 

This, to me, sounds an awful lot like a trip to a Florida buffet. I would say a good 40% of the Florida population are black holes disguised as people when they visit a buffet. Maybe other states, too?

Similar to a black hole is a neutron star. In fact, the neutron star is a star that failed the audition to become a full fledged black hole. If you were to measure out one teaspoon of “neutron star”, that teaspoon would have a mass of roughly one billion tons – around two times the weight of all the cars in the United States! 

This is not the only example of this phenomenon. I had a breakfast at Denny's that fit this description. To experience this phenomenon, please also visit the International House of Pancakes (iHop), and the much larger Interstellar/Intergallactic House of Pancakes.

Some scientists think sun spots actually influence human behaviour. For example, an active sun spot period is associated with the rise of Beatlemania. This explains why the original title of one of their most famous songs was "Here Comes the Sun Spot".

They have found stellar clouds with ethol alcohol. This is identical to the alcohol found in beer. We could certainly use an Interstellar beer store here in good old Ontariariario. I'd prefer beer at the corner store but at least it's competition for the intelligently named "Beer Store". Doesn't get much smarter than naming beer stores here in Ontario.

Now we are learning that the universe is hugely influenced by something we can't even see - dark matter. This strange matter that we can't see influences how the universe develops. And it's repulsive, as in it pushes things apart. 

Well, this fits the description of at least two of my girlfriends. One girlfriend told me she was physically abused by her father and she appreciated it because it made her a better person. I quickly updated my passport, secretly moved to the Maldives for a time, and told her I would never disclose the location of her spaceship.

Everyone has heard of worm holes. Maybe some have even had some in their body. These are shortcuts in spacetime that connect one area in space with another far away. This is the HOV lane for the universe. You cannot go through them unless there are two or more people travelling at the same time. 

Finally, there is the neutrino, which I mentioned above. The neutrino is a form of matter so small that trillions travel through your hand every second and never collide with any other matter. Hmmm, something so, so tiny that no one can see it? I once had a mirror on my bedroom ceiling that said, "objects are larger than they appear". But otherwise, can't think of any similarities here!

Helloooo Newman: Mr Allen, I presume?

Helloooo Newman: Mr Allen, I presume?: My neck is killing me. I think the vertebrae are bruised, or they are stacked up on top of each other and all the lubricating sinewy stuff...

Mr Allen, I presume?

My neck is killing me. I think the vertebrae are bruised, or they are stacked up on top of each other and all the lubricating sinewy stuff is worn away.

It's all Woody Allen's fault. I was watching the preview for his next movie on the boob tube. It's called Blue Jasmine. Everything was going fine. Okay, another Woody Allen movie, his 437th I think. I probably won't see it, but that's okay.

Then it just caught my earlobe and worked its way into my brain very slowly - "Andrew Dice Clay". My head turned a la Regan in The Exorcist. Obviously I had inhaled too many WD40 fumes at the cottage. Maybe some chainsaw oil made its way into my cheerios.

Nope. Andrew Dice Clay is in Woody Allen's movie. Go ahead, read that line again. It's true. Well, tear me another universe. I'm leaving.

Andrew Dice Clay is to comedy as Donald Trump is to bosses.

What happened at the auditions? Did Andy Clay wear a life-like Anthony Hopkins halloween mask? Did he bring a bottle of chianti to complete the guise?

Two weeks ago I just got over the fact that Mr. Allen married his adopted daughter. Two months ago I stopped puking at the idea. Now this.

I guess I can give Andy a chance. But my body gave the shingles a chance once and it wasn't pleasant.

I don't know. I'd say Mr. Allen is really rolling the Dice this time.

Excuse my insensitivity, but I hope Carrot Top passes away before Mr. Allen's next script.