HELLOOOO NEWMAN: Laughter is your sixth sense
Friday, 31 January 2014
Helloooo Newman: The Art of Self-Expression
Helloooo Newman: The Art of Self-Expression: I'm a huge supporter of self-expression. I guess that's not an earth-shattering statement, living in Canada. It's kinda like s...
The Art of Self-Expression
I'm a huge supporter of self-expression.
I guess that's not an earth-shattering statement, living in Canada. It's kinda like saying I'm a huge supporter of eating food to survive.
We have to keep in mind, though, that self-expression is dangerous in certain parts of the world.
In Russia, if you're in a rock band and you offend the great leader, you end up in jail.
It's remarkable that a man with the physique of Putin, who controls enough nuclear weapons to melt this blue marble we live on, finds a women's rock band dangerous.
Big nuclear arsenal, tiny you-know-what.
Anywho, I'm getting too serious here. This is about Newman's visit to the vet.
We went today and the doctor offered to clip Newman's nails. Sure, I said. Better you than me.
As they brought Newman out of the clipping room (he also got two needles), there was a terrible smell.
The vet explained to me that Newman got nervous and, as she put it exactly, "expressed his anal glands".
Next time use your words, I said to Newman. I was so embarrassed.
Then I realized something. Who am I to be embarrassed?
The guys weekend at the cottage is always comprised of three things: beer, meat, and anal expression.
Just wanted to "clear the air" about that, Newman.
I guess that's not an earth-shattering statement, living in Canada. It's kinda like saying I'm a huge supporter of eating food to survive.
We have to keep in mind, though, that self-expression is dangerous in certain parts of the world.
In Russia, if you're in a rock band and you offend the great leader, you end up in jail.
It's remarkable that a man with the physique of Putin, who controls enough nuclear weapons to melt this blue marble we live on, finds a women's rock band dangerous.
Big nuclear arsenal, tiny you-know-what.
Anywho, I'm getting too serious here. This is about Newman's visit to the vet.
We went today and the doctor offered to clip Newman's nails. Sure, I said. Better you than me.
As they brought Newman out of the clipping room (he also got two needles), there was a terrible smell.
The vet explained to me that Newman got nervous and, as she put it exactly, "expressed his anal glands".
Next time use your words, I said to Newman. I was so embarrassed.
Then I realized something. Who am I to be embarrassed?
The guys weekend at the cottage is always comprised of three things: beer, meat, and anal expression.
Just wanted to "clear the air" about that, Newman.
Helloooo Newman: Weary of O'Leary
Helloooo Newman: Weary of O'Leary: Kevin O'Leary, in all his stupefying glory. I'll be leaving Canada now. http://www.upworthy.com/this-guy-needs-a-clue-a-member-of-...
Weary of O'Leary
Kevin O'Leary, in all his stupefying glory. I'll be leaving Canada now.
http://www.upworthy.com/this-guy-needs-a-clue-a-member-of-the-1-declares-it-great-that-35-billion-are-in-poverty?c=upw1
I think the pause at 24 seconds is my favourite.
http://www.upworthy.com/this-guy-needs-a-clue-a-member-of-the-1-declares-it-great-that-35-billion-are-in-poverty?c=upw1
I think the pause at 24 seconds is my favourite.
Helloooo Newman: Losing My Figure
Helloooo Newman: Losing My Figure: I've made an important step forward in my emotional and psychological development. I know, many of you may be surprised this kind of t...
Losing My Figure
I've made an important step forward in my emotional and psychological development.
I know, many of you may be surprised this kind of thing goes on at all with me.
I actually work at this everyday, but don't always realize it.
Okay, let's not exaggerate this effort on my part. It happens mostly by accident and without my awareness.
I use to soak up self help books like the warm sun in Cancun. Now I find people like Dr. Phil abhorrent and Wayne Dyer, while he seems like a truly nice guy, I find quite nauseating.
He's always smiling and positive and planning to make himself happier and his life better. And he's always wearing this really thick, hand-knit sweater that looks so comfy. I just want to slap him is all I want to do.
Get real, buddy. People that smile like that all the time are on drugs or trying to take money from you.
Anywho, I digress.
I've decided I am going to give up trying to figure other people out.
It's not really a decision, I guess. I'm just tired of doing it. Whenever people would behave in a way that puzzles me, especially when I've met them for the first time, I would spend inordinate amounts of time trying to figure out why they are that way. Fun, eh?
Now I employ a new psychological technique called, "Who Gives a Shit". It's far healthier.
In 1990 I went to Mexico with a friend and we became chummy with a couple from North Dakota. They were young, newly married and childless. The guy was a woofer. That translates into roofer, but he had a strange accent or speech impediment which made it sound like he was a professional speaker part.
One night at about 11:30 p.m., I was heading back to the bar after unloading some all-inclusive beer in the bathroom. As I approached the bar I saw my woofer friend with his shirt off. He was applying some kind of cream to his upper body.
Hmmm, a bit strange, I thought. I'm not one to remove my clothing and apply cream to myself where people eat and drink, but hey, we are on vacation and all the vacationers were high on all-inclusive drinks. And the sun, which was clearly down by this point, does dry one's skin out.
As I got closer and had a chance to examine the cream, I learned it was sunscreen.
"On your way to Australia?", I jokingly asked. "No, I get nervous on islands", he answered.
"Why are you putting sunscreen on now?", my enquiring mind wanted to know.
"Because I burn very easily", he explained. It was true. He was as white as freshly fallen snow during a polar vortex.
"But aren't you suppose to reapply it every 8 hours?", I asked.
"Oh ya", he said. "I'll put some more on in the morning".
I spent the week, and much time after that, trying to figure this guy out. What a waste of time and energy.
I kept wondering what it was about me that made him behave and think that way.
But I know better now. The number of influencing factors that go into determining a person's behaviour at any one time probably totals about 700 trillion, over a lifetime.
I probably covered 10-20 factors, and not one of those factors had anything to do with me.
Plus, people have a right to be who they are. They've had to live their life, not me.
Another big one for me is when people I am having a conversation with don't offer very much back, especially at parties.
I remember talking with this one couple at a party and every time I asked the guy a question, he would look at his wife for an answer.
That's really unnerving. Is he mute, or has he been castrated by his wife? What is it I'm doing or not doing that is discouraging this guy from taking his vocal chords for a run.
Well, I've given all that up. Now when people do this kind of thing around me I completely accept it and start mirroring what they are doing.
So in Mexico I really should have said "cool", and started applying sunscreen to myself.
To the non-talker, I probably should have employed the McGurk Effect (from my last blog, see here: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=G-lN8vWm3m0). Bah, bah, bah, fah, fah…
It seems I'm maturing with age. Go figure!
I know, many of you may be surprised this kind of thing goes on at all with me.
I actually work at this everyday, but don't always realize it.
Okay, let's not exaggerate this effort on my part. It happens mostly by accident and without my awareness.
I use to soak up self help books like the warm sun in Cancun. Now I find people like Dr. Phil abhorrent and Wayne Dyer, while he seems like a truly nice guy, I find quite nauseating.
He's always smiling and positive and planning to make himself happier and his life better. And he's always wearing this really thick, hand-knit sweater that looks so comfy. I just want to slap him is all I want to do.
Get real, buddy. People that smile like that all the time are on drugs or trying to take money from you.
Anywho, I digress.
I've decided I am going to give up trying to figure other people out.
It's not really a decision, I guess. I'm just tired of doing it. Whenever people would behave in a way that puzzles me, especially when I've met them for the first time, I would spend inordinate amounts of time trying to figure out why they are that way. Fun, eh?
Now I employ a new psychological technique called, "Who Gives a Shit". It's far healthier.
In 1990 I went to Mexico with a friend and we became chummy with a couple from North Dakota. They were young, newly married and childless. The guy was a woofer. That translates into roofer, but he had a strange accent or speech impediment which made it sound like he was a professional speaker part.
One night at about 11:30 p.m., I was heading back to the bar after unloading some all-inclusive beer in the bathroom. As I approached the bar I saw my woofer friend with his shirt off. He was applying some kind of cream to his upper body.
Hmmm, a bit strange, I thought. I'm not one to remove my clothing and apply cream to myself where people eat and drink, but hey, we are on vacation and all the vacationers were high on all-inclusive drinks. And the sun, which was clearly down by this point, does dry one's skin out.
As I got closer and had a chance to examine the cream, I learned it was sunscreen.
"On your way to Australia?", I jokingly asked. "No, I get nervous on islands", he answered.
"Why are you putting sunscreen on now?", my enquiring mind wanted to know.
"Because I burn very easily", he explained. It was true. He was as white as freshly fallen snow during a polar vortex.
"But aren't you suppose to reapply it every 8 hours?", I asked.
"Oh ya", he said. "I'll put some more on in the morning".
I spent the week, and much time after that, trying to figure this guy out. What a waste of time and energy.
I kept wondering what it was about me that made him behave and think that way.
But I know better now. The number of influencing factors that go into determining a person's behaviour at any one time probably totals about 700 trillion, over a lifetime.
I probably covered 10-20 factors, and not one of those factors had anything to do with me.
Plus, people have a right to be who they are. They've had to live their life, not me.
Another big one for me is when people I am having a conversation with don't offer very much back, especially at parties.
I remember talking with this one couple at a party and every time I asked the guy a question, he would look at his wife for an answer.
That's really unnerving. Is he mute, or has he been castrated by his wife? What is it I'm doing or not doing that is discouraging this guy from taking his vocal chords for a run.
Well, I've given all that up. Now when people do this kind of thing around me I completely accept it and start mirroring what they are doing.
So in Mexico I really should have said "cool", and started applying sunscreen to myself.
To the non-talker, I probably should have employed the McGurk Effect (from my last blog, see here: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=G-lN8vWm3m0). Bah, bah, bah, fah, fah…
It seems I'm maturing with age. Go figure!
Wednesday, 29 January 2014
Helloooo Newman: The Amazing Mr. McGurk
Helloooo Newman: The Amazing Mr. McGurk: Who or what is a McGurk? Is it the new, 10,000 calorie McDonalds sandwich? Unfortunately, no. It is actually what's know as the McGu...
The Amazing Mr. McGurk
Who or what is a McGurk? Is it the new, 10,000 calorie McDonalds sandwich?
Unfortunately, no.
It is actually what's known as the McGurk Effect, and boy is it neat.
If you have the searing intellect I do, you may already know of this effect if you watched TVO the other night.
Oh alright, "searing" might be too strong a word. I admit my intellect is brought down a few notches because I watch Locked Up Abroad, a show about people imprisoned in foreign countries under horrible conditions.
You can't completely blame me for this bad habit. I thought the show was called Locked Up WITH A Broad, and I was hoping to be the next contestant. I would be quitehappy, satisfied, joyful, ebullient being locked up with Jennifer Lawrence and Amy Adams in a Turkish prison and only one cot.
Yes, I also watch Border Crossing from time to time. I whole Hardiedly call myself an Einstein compared to some of the people on this show.
On yesterday's show an American women wanted to visit a park in Canada and decided to bring a fully loaded hand gun that she packed with her babies's diapers. And she wasn't at all trying to hide the gun. She declared it to Customs.
No blame here either. She bought the gun as a two-for-one special with the diapers. Mothers showing that kind of love gets my tears going.
Anywho, the McGurk Effect is quite astounding and I guarantee you will enjoy watching the youtube link below. It's only 3 minutes and 25 seconds long.
The amazing thing about this effect is that there is no earthly way to avoid it. You can watch it over and over or learn as much about the effect as you want, but you can't stop your brain from causing the effect. It is a result of being human.
Enjoy: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=G-lN8vWm3m0
Remarkable, isn't it. As I watched the clip, it occurred to me that there is one occupation that employs this effect every day.
That's right. Politicians.
They can move their mouth and lips in any manner but the same bullshit sound comes out.
Now we have a name for that!
Mr. McGurk goes to Washington, and Ottawa, and Paris, and…
Unfortunately, no.
It is actually what's known as the McGurk Effect, and boy is it neat.
If you have the searing intellect I do, you may already know of this effect if you watched TVO the other night.
Oh alright, "searing" might be too strong a word. I admit my intellect is brought down a few notches because I watch Locked Up Abroad, a show about people imprisoned in foreign countries under horrible conditions.
You can't completely blame me for this bad habit. I thought the show was called Locked Up WITH A Broad, and I was hoping to be the next contestant. I would be quite
Yes, I also watch Border Crossing from time to time. I whole Hardiedly call myself an Einstein compared to some of the people on this show.
On yesterday's show an American women wanted to visit a park in Canada and decided to bring a fully loaded hand gun that she packed with her babies's diapers. And she wasn't at all trying to hide the gun. She declared it to Customs.
No blame here either. She bought the gun as a two-for-one special with the diapers. Mothers showing that kind of love gets my tears going.
Anywho, the McGurk Effect is quite astounding and I guarantee you will enjoy watching the youtube link below. It's only 3 minutes and 25 seconds long.
The amazing thing about this effect is that there is no earthly way to avoid it. You can watch it over and over or learn as much about the effect as you want, but you can't stop your brain from causing the effect. It is a result of being human.
Enjoy: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=G-lN8vWm3m0
Remarkable, isn't it. As I watched the clip, it occurred to me that there is one occupation that employs this effect every day.
That's right. Politicians.
They can move their mouth and lips in any manner but the same bullshit sound comes out.
Now we have a name for that!
Mr. McGurk goes to Washington, and Ottawa, and Paris, and…
Monday, 27 January 2014
Helloooo Newman: Stop Making Sense
Helloooo Newman: Stop Making Sense: I think this particular article could become a regular series. It's about everyday things in the world that seem perfectly fine at fir...
Stop Making Sense
I think this particular article could become a regular series.
It's about everyday things in the world that seem perfectly fine at first. Somewhere in the back of your mind, though, you realize there is something very wrong with a particular thing, but you can't articulate it at first.
Then whamo, it hits you. This happened to me on the subway recently.
It's a sign that appears everywhere on the subway. It advertises a suicide hotline. I've looked at it a million times, partly because there is often little else to do on the subway, and I also feel like I should join other people in their vacant staring.
I know, I could play iphone games to stay busy. I just find staring at tiny moving graphics for an hour quite tiring and annoying.
Don't worry, I have no plans on using the suicide hotline. Occasionally I'll try suicide wings, but that's as far as I go.
But I've always suspected something very basic was wrong with the sign. Then I realized how astounding it is that someone was paid a lot of money to design this sign.
In very large letters, it tells you to call the suicide hotline. That's a good start. Often people in a desperate situation need access to help quickly.
The next largest things are 3 graphics - a phone icon, two hands beside each other, and another that I really couldn't identify. Not without careful study, anyway.
I figure people who need this sign probably don't have the mindset to study graphics carefully, or really care about them at all. I could be wrong.
The hands graphic is peculiar too. Maybe the hands are about to shake each other. Call for a good handshake. Or a helping hand. I guess that makes sense. Or maybe you'll get a good hand job if you respond to this sign. I'm not sure. And that's me, calm, together and having loads of time to study the sign.
Guess what the next largest thing is on the sign… Have you guessed yet?
You might say, um, oh gee, maybe an incredibly easy telephone number to remember. You might even think that telephone number should be one of the largest items on the sign. Large enough so that if you're zipping by on a train you might be able to see and memorize the number. You know, because people in a desperate state might not be in the mood to study a sign for a while.
Nope. The next largest item is a box with the logos of the companies paying for the hotline. They really pop out at you. That's really sweet of the corporate sponsors, one of which is the TTC itself.
Before you jump on the track, please note which companies are helping people around here, okay?
The smallest type on the sign (and it's small) shares with us inconvenient details, like the number to call and the fact that every platform has a free phone link to a crisis centre.
Mundane details like this are a nuisance to corporations trying to be good citizens. On the other hand, if you're trying to stay alive, well, who knows, you might want this information in your face. Just a guess.
So if you quickly look at this sign, you are left with the words CRISIS HOTLINE, some neat clipart, and logos. If you want any more information, well, have a seat and start reading the fine print.
One time I received a brochure in the mail encouraging me to buy tickets for the Rogers Cup tennis. The two largest items on the brochure were awesome and well placed photos of tennis players in action, and the number to call for tickets. Hire that designer, I say.
I'm sure the person who suggested the big headline, FREE CRISIS PHONE HERE, was fired. So was the numskull who wanted the crisis hotline, which the sign tells you to contact, nice and bold and large.
The guy in charge of logos? He got a promotion.
It's about everyday things in the world that seem perfectly fine at first. Somewhere in the back of your mind, though, you realize there is something very wrong with a particular thing, but you can't articulate it at first.
Then whamo, it hits you. This happened to me on the subway recently.
It's a sign that appears everywhere on the subway. It advertises a suicide hotline. I've looked at it a million times, partly because there is often little else to do on the subway, and I also feel like I should join other people in their vacant staring.
I know, I could play iphone games to stay busy. I just find staring at tiny moving graphics for an hour quite tiring and annoying.
Don't worry, I have no plans on using the suicide hotline. Occasionally I'll try suicide wings, but that's as far as I go.
But I've always suspected something very basic was wrong with the sign. Then I realized how astounding it is that someone was paid a lot of money to design this sign.
In very large letters, it tells you to call the suicide hotline. That's a good start. Often people in a desperate situation need access to help quickly.
The next largest things are 3 graphics - a phone icon, two hands beside each other, and another that I really couldn't identify. Not without careful study, anyway.
I figure people who need this sign probably don't have the mindset to study graphics carefully, or really care about them at all. I could be wrong.
The hands graphic is peculiar too. Maybe the hands are about to shake each other. Call for a good handshake. Or a helping hand. I guess that makes sense. Or maybe you'll get a good hand job if you respond to this sign. I'm not sure. And that's me, calm, together and having loads of time to study the sign.
Guess what the next largest thing is on the sign… Have you guessed yet?
You might say, um, oh gee, maybe an incredibly easy telephone number to remember. You might even think that telephone number should be one of the largest items on the sign. Large enough so that if you're zipping by on a train you might be able to see and memorize the number. You know, because people in a desperate state might not be in the mood to study a sign for a while.
Nope. The next largest item is a box with the logos of the companies paying for the hotline. They really pop out at you. That's really sweet of the corporate sponsors, one of which is the TTC itself.
Before you jump on the track, please note which companies are helping people around here, okay?
The smallest type on the sign (and it's small) shares with us inconvenient details, like the number to call and the fact that every platform has a free phone link to a crisis centre.
Mundane details like this are a nuisance to corporations trying to be good citizens. On the other hand, if you're trying to stay alive, well, who knows, you might want this information in your face. Just a guess.
So if you quickly look at this sign, you are left with the words CRISIS HOTLINE, some neat clipart, and logos. If you want any more information, well, have a seat and start reading the fine print.
One time I received a brochure in the mail encouraging me to buy tickets for the Rogers Cup tennis. The two largest items on the brochure were awesome and well placed photos of tennis players in action, and the number to call for tickets. Hire that designer, I say.
I'm sure the person who suggested the big headline, FREE CRISIS PHONE HERE, was fired. So was the numskull who wanted the crisis hotline, which the sign tells you to contact, nice and bold and large.
The guy in charge of logos? He got a promotion.
Monday, 20 January 2014
Helloooo Newman: Young Man Winter
Helloooo Newman: Young Man Winter: This is my young man winter in all his glory. What a piece of work is Newman. How noble in training, how infinite in loyalty. Th...
Young Man Winter
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This is my young man winter in all his glory.
What a piece of work is Newman. How noble in training, how infinite in loyalty. The beauty of the world! The paragon of animals!
I can take Shakespeare and change it, can't I?
I've read a lot of self help books in my time.
But in these pictures I see everything I need to see to know how to live well.
Helloooo Newman: It's not all scientifical
Helloooo Newman: It's not all scientifical: I'm uncomfortable with the idea that science will one day explain everything. I don't really want it to. But I have no real fear a...
It's not all scientifical
I'm uncomfortable with the idea that science will one day explain everything. I don't really want it to.
But I have no real fear around this because I don't think it ever will, despite what Stephen Hawking says. I know he's smarter than me, but I think he's wrong on the idea that science will answer everything and negate the "need" for a creator.
What a profoundly arrogant statement, it seems to me. A little too God-like for my tastes. Perhaps it takes a God-wanna-be to prove once and for all that God doesn't exist.
It's interesting that professed atheists, all the rage these days, are really just as close-minded, arrogant and obnoxious as your average baptist preacher.
I say this as a person who is no big fan of organized religion. The religious "story" is so rife with contradictions, it bleeds any credibility it could possibly hope for.
My favourite contradiction is that God is omnipotent and omnipresent, yet seems to possess all the nasty characteristics of petty human behaviour: jealousy, greed, low self esteem, anger issues, cult mentality, narcissism, homophobia, misogyny…the list goes on.
But as George Carlin famously said, he looooves you.
I meander once again. I can think of a long list of phenomena science will never explain.
Here is a partial list:
• The bra net: Some readers may not know what this is. When women wash their bras, they feel a need to put it in a net, similar to a fish trawling net, but much smaller. I don't think we'll ever understand why. They don't look or taste like lobsters. I think it has something to do with those little clips, the very clips men eagerly try to work just before sex. It is these clips that ALWAYS get hooked on the net and take hours to detach. The few times I've forgotten to net the bras, they have never hooked on anything, appear completely fine, have saved me laundry loads of time, and are just as comfortable to wear.
• The mattress sheet: This is the sheet that goes directly over the mattress. You're suppose to fold these things, so I'm told. Why? And how? Is far as I can tell, if I put the sheet in a blender and removed it, the result would match folding it according to current methodology. To fold correctly, please contact packaging company, or Stephen Hawking.
• Finding the car hood latch: I've spent many hours trying to find the latch for the front hood on our Nissan Versa. Usually in the winter, during a polar vortex, the new term for cold air. Nissan, it seems, tries to differentiate itself by doing the opposite of Honda and putting simple things in just the perfectly wrong place. They had thousands of test dummies try to find the latch and as soon as all of them failed in the task, they released the car to the world. We now have a Honda.
This is an interactive post. Perhaps you can think of things science, and the great Stephen Hawking, will never explain.
But I have no real fear around this because I don't think it ever will, despite what Stephen Hawking says. I know he's smarter than me, but I think he's wrong on the idea that science will answer everything and negate the "need" for a creator.
What a profoundly arrogant statement, it seems to me. A little too God-like for my tastes. Perhaps it takes a God-wanna-be to prove once and for all that God doesn't exist.
It's interesting that professed atheists, all the rage these days, are really just as close-minded, arrogant and obnoxious as your average baptist preacher.
I say this as a person who is no big fan of organized religion. The religious "story" is so rife with contradictions, it bleeds any credibility it could possibly hope for.
My favourite contradiction is that God is omnipotent and omnipresent, yet seems to possess all the nasty characteristics of petty human behaviour: jealousy, greed, low self esteem, anger issues, cult mentality, narcissism, homophobia, misogyny…the list goes on.
But as George Carlin famously said, he looooves you.
I meander once again. I can think of a long list of phenomena science will never explain.
Here is a partial list:
• The bra net: Some readers may not know what this is. When women wash their bras, they feel a need to put it in a net, similar to a fish trawling net, but much smaller. I don't think we'll ever understand why. They don't look or taste like lobsters. I think it has something to do with those little clips, the very clips men eagerly try to work just before sex. It is these clips that ALWAYS get hooked on the net and take hours to detach. The few times I've forgotten to net the bras, they have never hooked on anything, appear completely fine, have saved me laundry loads of time, and are just as comfortable to wear.
• The mattress sheet: This is the sheet that goes directly over the mattress. You're suppose to fold these things, so I'm told. Why? And how? Is far as I can tell, if I put the sheet in a blender and removed it, the result would match folding it according to current methodology. To fold correctly, please contact packaging company, or Stephen Hawking.
• Finding the car hood latch: I've spent many hours trying to find the latch for the front hood on our Nissan Versa. Usually in the winter, during a polar vortex, the new term for cold air. Nissan, it seems, tries to differentiate itself by doing the opposite of Honda and putting simple things in just the perfectly wrong place. They had thousands of test dummies try to find the latch and as soon as all of them failed in the task, they released the car to the world. We now have a Honda.
This is an interactive post. Perhaps you can think of things science, and the great Stephen Hawking, will never explain.
Friday, 17 January 2014
Helloooo Newman: In the Mood
Helloooo Newman: In the Mood: The thing I love about Newman is that he doesn't get cranky about the things that normally enrage humans. Take sleeping, for instance....
In the Mood
What I love about Newman is that he doesn't get cranky about the things that normally enrage humans.
Take sleeping, for instance. Some nights when I wake up and can't fall back asleep, I go to Newman, who is sleeping quietly on our bed somewhere among the blanket folds, and I gently pet him. It's a really nice bonding moment because he's very calm and peaceful and loves the gentle stroking motion.
I admit it's hard to find him sometimes because he's the same colour as our comforter. But when I do, he has no problem with the fact that I just woke him up from a deep sleep and probably a fun dream about carrying a dead squirrel in his mouth.
If Newman were at all human, I would expect him to say, "Hey buddy, I'm sleepin' here. I almost had the damn squirrel in my mouth, do you get it? Go pet the doll in your closet".
What do you think would happen if I tried this on my wife? I'd probably get the alarm clock implanted into the side of my face and a time stamp on my cheek of 2:38 a.m.
I would react the same way, of course. Probably even worse because I often take a while to fall asleep. My wife, on average, takes about 3 seconds to achieve a state of "slumberness".
If a passenger plane crashed outside our window, or a global thermonuclear war had just started, you could up that time to, maybe, 10-12 seconds. Meanwhile, I'm still pleading with the sleep Gods to pay me a visit.
Then there's food. Newman eats his food in about 3.2 seconds, but if I get a chance to take it away from him, he just patiently waits for me to return it. No growling, no mean looks or harsh words.
If I'm in the middle of my dinner and someone takes it away from me, they immediately graduate to the top of my death list honour roll, no degree required.
Another game I like to play with Newman is bending down and pretending I want to eat some of his food. Newman just stares at me like I'm crazy and, again, waits patiently until I've had my fill. What I really want to do as I get close to his food is puke, but he doesn't know that.
One thing I can't stand is sharing food. "Oh, that looks good, can I try a bit"? Sure, but I'm gonna mash it up so it can flow down the feeding tube you'll need if you don't back away.
This is what I love about Newman. He's always in the mood.
Take sleeping, for instance. Some nights when I wake up and can't fall back asleep, I go to Newman, who is sleeping quietly on our bed somewhere among the blanket folds, and I gently pet him. It's a really nice bonding moment because he's very calm and peaceful and loves the gentle stroking motion.
I admit it's hard to find him sometimes because he's the same colour as our comforter. But when I do, he has no problem with the fact that I just woke him up from a deep sleep and probably a fun dream about carrying a dead squirrel in his mouth.
If Newman were at all human, I would expect him to say, "Hey buddy, I'm sleepin' here. I almost had the damn squirrel in my mouth, do you get it? Go pet the doll in your closet".
What do you think would happen if I tried this on my wife? I'd probably get the alarm clock implanted into the side of my face and a time stamp on my cheek of 2:38 a.m.
I would react the same way, of course. Probably even worse because I often take a while to fall asleep. My wife, on average, takes about 3 seconds to achieve a state of "slumberness".
If a passenger plane crashed outside our window, or a global thermonuclear war had just started, you could up that time to, maybe, 10-12 seconds. Meanwhile, I'm still pleading with the sleep Gods to pay me a visit.
Then there's food. Newman eats his food in about 3.2 seconds, but if I get a chance to take it away from him, he just patiently waits for me to return it. No growling, no mean looks or harsh words.
If I'm in the middle of my dinner and someone takes it away from me, they immediately graduate to the top of my death list honour roll, no degree required.
Another game I like to play with Newman is bending down and pretending I want to eat some of his food. Newman just stares at me like I'm crazy and, again, waits patiently until I've had my fill. What I really want to do as I get close to his food is puke, but he doesn't know that.
One thing I can't stand is sharing food. "Oh, that looks good, can I try a bit"? Sure, but I'm gonna mash it up so it can flow down the feeding tube you'll need if you don't back away.
This is what I love about Newman. He's always in the mood.
Wednesday, 15 January 2014
Helloooo Newman: Sorry, Wrong Planet
Helloooo Newman: Sorry, Wrong Planet: Did you hear about the plane that landed at the wrong airport? Sounds like a joke, doesn't it? Nope. A few days ago a passenger plan...
Sorry, Wrong Planet
Did you hear about the plane that landed at the wrong airport?
Sounds like a joke, doesn't it? Nope.
A few days ago a passenger plane landed at the wrong airport. The runway at this airport was less than half the proper length. Consequently, the plane almost ran off the short runway into a valley.
Fun, eh?
You would think GPS 101 is every pilot's speciality. Or maybe the pilots were relying too much on the GPS technology.
Either way, they got it wrong. And that got me thinking.
Thinking about aliens. I've always wondered that if aliens really do exist, why do they come to earth?
The closest planet to us (outside of our solar system) is trillions upon trillions upon trillions of kilometres away. It takes incredibly advanced technology, huge amounts of time and very patient aliens to travel anywhere of import in this universe.
If there's one truth about our universe, it's that the size is larger than you can really imagine.
For example, you probably think our solar system ends at Pluto. Not even close. That is only a fraction of its size. You would have to travel many more billions upon billions of kilometres to get to the Oort cloud, the true end. It would take us 37,000 years using current technology to reach the end.
In short, it's no easy task to go visiting other planets. You probably want a good reason to go, like you have going to Acton.
And they pick Earth to visit? The earth with Rob Ford, Kim Jong Un and the Ice Capades? The planet that spent $400 million dollars in 2013 on Duck Dynasty merchandise?
Then it all made sense to me. These visiting aliens have landed at the wrong airport, so to speak. Taking a page from those "wayward" pilot's manual, they accidentally landed on earth when they meant to visit a much more distinguished and intelligent planet.
It must be. There's no earthly reason aliens would visit earth.
This is why UFOs travel so fast. Suffering from embarrassment, the aliens quickly realize their mistake and high tail it out of here.
I wonder if these aliens get in trouble for making such a dreadful error. Are they put on paid leave, like the pilots have been? Can you really call it paid leave when you're 5 light years away from home?
I wonder if the aliens bring passengers. Maybe to repopulate the planet. Imagine travelling trillions of kilometres eating space ship food and timing your washroom visits with the food cart, only to arrive at the astral-equivalent of Middelfart, Denmark (yes, a real place).
With such advanced technology, how could a mistake like this be made? It probably comes down to alien nature. This means the captain was banging the stewardess…sorry…flight attendant. In spaceflight terms, his needle was in the wrong compass.
The cockpit conversation might have gone something like this: "I expressly told you, Beeplob, to make a left at Uranus, but no, you go right down the anus, through the colon to the bowel called Earth. Bulbous heads will roll".
On the other hand, I can kind of understand the alien's tough position. The airport that the pilots landed at was 7 miles from the proper airport. Not that far, really.
Imagine trying to pick the correct planet from many that are millions or billions of miles apart. Mistakes have gotta happen often.
But no one ever concedes that aliens might get it wrong.
Isn't it nice to know even advanced civilizations make mistakes?
Sounds like a joke, doesn't it? Nope.
A few days ago a passenger plane landed at the wrong airport. The runway at this airport was less than half the proper length. Consequently, the plane almost ran off the short runway into a valley.
Fun, eh?
You would think GPS 101 is every pilot's speciality. Or maybe the pilots were relying too much on the GPS technology.
Either way, they got it wrong. And that got me thinking.
Thinking about aliens. I've always wondered that if aliens really do exist, why do they come to earth?
The closest planet to us (outside of our solar system) is trillions upon trillions upon trillions of kilometres away. It takes incredibly advanced technology, huge amounts of time and very patient aliens to travel anywhere of import in this universe.
If there's one truth about our universe, it's that the size is larger than you can really imagine.
For example, you probably think our solar system ends at Pluto. Not even close. That is only a fraction of its size. You would have to travel many more billions upon billions of kilometres to get to the Oort cloud, the true end. It would take us 37,000 years using current technology to reach the end.
In short, it's no easy task to go visiting other planets. You probably want a good reason to go, like you have going to Acton.
And they pick Earth to visit? The earth with Rob Ford, Kim Jong Un and the Ice Capades? The planet that spent $400 million dollars in 2013 on Duck Dynasty merchandise?
Then it all made sense to me. These visiting aliens have landed at the wrong airport, so to speak. Taking a page from those "wayward" pilot's manual, they accidentally landed on earth when they meant to visit a much more distinguished and intelligent planet.
It must be. There's no earthly reason aliens would visit earth.
This is why UFOs travel so fast. Suffering from embarrassment, the aliens quickly realize their mistake and high tail it out of here.
I wonder if these aliens get in trouble for making such a dreadful error. Are they put on paid leave, like the pilots have been? Can you really call it paid leave when you're 5 light years away from home?
I wonder if the aliens bring passengers. Maybe to repopulate the planet. Imagine travelling trillions of kilometres eating space ship food and timing your washroom visits with the food cart, only to arrive at the astral-equivalent of Middelfart, Denmark (yes, a real place).
With such advanced technology, how could a mistake like this be made? It probably comes down to alien nature. This means the captain was banging the stewardess…sorry…flight attendant. In spaceflight terms, his needle was in the wrong compass.
The cockpit conversation might have gone something like this: "I expressly told you, Beeplob, to make a left at Uranus, but no, you go right down the anus, through the colon to the bowel called Earth. Bulbous heads will roll".
On the other hand, I can kind of understand the alien's tough position. The airport that the pilots landed at was 7 miles from the proper airport. Not that far, really.
Imagine trying to pick the correct planet from many that are millions or billions of miles apart. Mistakes have gotta happen often.
But no one ever concedes that aliens might get it wrong.
Isn't it nice to know even advanced civilizations make mistakes?
Sunday, 12 January 2014
Helloooo Newman: No, I've never been in a war zone…
Helloooo Newman: No, I've never been in a war zone…: …but I do have a brain and some imagination. All that, along with a smidgen of historical knowledge, tells me the Toronto ice storm really...
No, I've never been in a war zone…
…but I do have a brain and some imagination.
All that, along with a smidgen of historical knowledge, tells me the Toronto ice storm really didn't resemble a war zone at all, as many media outlets portrayed it.
In the Town Crier headline the words "war zone" are part of a direct quote from one of the many war-torn residents of Leaside.
The guy who chose these ominous words went on to say, "I came out to get some food and coffee…and literally could not drive out of our neighbourhood…so I…set out on foot".
Presumably, this man is now what we call (in war talk) a foot soldier. Skilfully using his feet to get to the fresh bread store, antibiotic-free probiotic meat store and the bank, where he keeps his military pay.
My God, man, did you make it safely to the Starbucks? Were they able to heat the soy milk in your latte so as to make biscotti-dipping more pleasant?
I trust, hard-done-by resident, you avoided all the mass graves, unexploded shells and death squads roaming the tree-lined streets that is so common after a big storm.
Granted, many of these lovely tress lost branches - big ones. One detail that popped out for me when I watched a documentary on the German invasion of Russia was how many nice trees were lost amidst the 20 million dead people and razed buildings.
No people left to replant trees. Shame.
I'm sure the first thing the Iraqi's were miffed about when George "Mission Accomplished" Bush sent actual exploding missiles flying was losing cable t.v. and Internet. So, naturally, we Torontonians know what that's like. I think the average person can easily mistake a falling branch for a 2,000 pound shell that eviscerates your Starbucks and everyone in it. Sorry, the biscotti was over-cooked today.
I'd be comfortable with words like "eerie", "gloomy", "bizarre", "spooky", and "annoying" to describe the storm of the century.
Anything about war never really occurred to me. But these days everything is a war - obesity, drugs, racism, sexism…and now the weather has declared war on Leaside.
The good thing about real wars is that the army is already there to clean up, even though they are cleaning up dead bodies and flattened cities.
In Toronto we have to debate whether we want the army to come in and then we have to ask Mr. Harper nicely. And the Canadian army, as we all know, is far more skilled at picking up branches than any tree company or, let's say, you and me are.
I'm glad I don't have to suffer through the war ravages of having to pick up branches and put them in a neat pile.
When, oh when, will we negotiate peace with the weather?
All that, along with a smidgen of historical knowledge, tells me the Toronto ice storm really didn't resemble a war zone at all, as many media outlets portrayed it.
In the Town Crier headline the words "war zone" are part of a direct quote from one of the many war-torn residents of Leaside.
The guy who chose these ominous words went on to say, "I came out to get some food and coffee…and literally could not drive out of our neighbourhood…so I…set out on foot".
Presumably, this man is now what we call (in war talk) a foot soldier. Skilfully using his feet to get to the fresh bread store, antibiotic-free probiotic meat store and the bank, where he keeps his military pay.
My God, man, did you make it safely to the Starbucks? Were they able to heat the soy milk in your latte so as to make biscotti-dipping more pleasant?
I trust, hard-done-by resident, you avoided all the mass graves, unexploded shells and death squads roaming the tree-lined streets that is so common after a big storm.
Granted, many of these lovely tress lost branches - big ones. One detail that popped out for me when I watched a documentary on the German invasion of Russia was how many nice trees were lost amidst the 20 million dead people and razed buildings.
No people left to replant trees. Shame.
I'm sure the first thing the Iraqi's were miffed about when George "Mission Accomplished" Bush sent actual exploding missiles flying was losing cable t.v. and Internet. So, naturally, we Torontonians know what that's like. I think the average person can easily mistake a falling branch for a 2,000 pound shell that eviscerates your Starbucks and everyone in it. Sorry, the biscotti was over-cooked today.
I'd be comfortable with words like "eerie", "gloomy", "bizarre", "spooky", and "annoying" to describe the storm of the century.
Anything about war never really occurred to me. But these days everything is a war - obesity, drugs, racism, sexism…and now the weather has declared war on Leaside.
The good thing about real wars is that the army is already there to clean up, even though they are cleaning up dead bodies and flattened cities.
In Toronto we have to debate whether we want the army to come in and then we have to ask Mr. Harper nicely. And the Canadian army, as we all know, is far more skilled at picking up branches than any tree company or, let's say, you and me are.
I'm glad I don't have to suffer through the war ravages of having to pick up branches and put them in a neat pile.
When, oh when, will we negotiate peace with the weather?
Friday, 3 January 2014
Helloooo Newman: Frozen Yoga
Helloooo Newman: Frozen Yoga: Does everyone on the planet do yoga now? Everyone but me? Seems like it. Even Newman who, obviously, has mastered the downward dog. Let...
Frozen Yoga
Does everyone on the planet do yoga now? Everyone but me?
Seems like it. Even Newman who, obviously, has mastered the downward dog. Let's make that the downward puppy, since he still chews nails, kleenex, anything he can find, really.
I suppose on a day like today, at minus 20 and a wind chill that brings it down to a testicle-crunching minus 300, hot yoga would be a good choice. There must be many people in North America clamouring for hot yoga right now.
Well, I don't want to do hot yoga. Why? Precisely because everyone is doing it. If a particular activity attracts everyone, it necessarily repels me.
So I need an alternative.
Consider this, as well. What of summer? And global warming? Things are getting hotter, aren't they? Will hot yoga still be in demand 100 years from now?
I propose frozen yoga. I've already tried it and it works.
And it's hip, because no one does it…yet.
I don't quite have the proper facilities worked out yet, so I held my first class in a meat freezer at Canada Packers.
It's based on a very simple equation – calories in, calories out. This way you are exactly the same person at the end of the class as you were when you started. Because you don't need to change. You are perfect in the eyes of the Lord.
My personal favourite of the poses is the downward facing hog. You slope down to the floor and awaiting you is a pound of cooked bacon to be consumed. Easy to arrange because you're in a meat freezer.
But not always easy to accomplish. Many students could not finish the bacon. Okay, it was their first time.
Another great one is the extended side ribs angle pose. I have to rework this one because it caused a few injuries. Several careless students slipped on some errant bbq sauce.
I think the most difficult pose was the chicken legs up the wall. The wall became very slippery with grease and difficult to climb. Knew I should have trimmed some of the chicken skin off.
Afterwards I took the class out for frozen yogurt. I'm not sure why. I think because one class member yelled out, "I love frozen yoga", but I heard "frozen yogurt".
Seems like it. Even Newman who, obviously, has mastered the downward dog. Let's make that the downward puppy, since he still chews nails, kleenex, anything he can find, really.
I suppose on a day like today, at minus 20 and a wind chill that brings it down to a testicle-crunching minus 300, hot yoga would be a good choice. There must be many people in North America clamouring for hot yoga right now.
Well, I don't want to do hot yoga. Why? Precisely because everyone is doing it. If a particular activity attracts everyone, it necessarily repels me.
So I need an alternative.
Consider this, as well. What of summer? And global warming? Things are getting hotter, aren't they? Will hot yoga still be in demand 100 years from now?
I propose frozen yoga. I've already tried it and it works.
And it's hip, because no one does it…yet.
I don't quite have the proper facilities worked out yet, so I held my first class in a meat freezer at Canada Packers.
It's based on a very simple equation – calories in, calories out. This way you are exactly the same person at the end of the class as you were when you started. Because you don't need to change. You are perfect in the eyes of the Lord.
My personal favourite of the poses is the downward facing hog. You slope down to the floor and awaiting you is a pound of cooked bacon to be consumed. Easy to arrange because you're in a meat freezer.
But not always easy to accomplish. Many students could not finish the bacon. Okay, it was their first time.
Another great one is the extended side ribs angle pose. I have to rework this one because it caused a few injuries. Several careless students slipped on some errant bbq sauce.
I think the most difficult pose was the chicken legs up the wall. The wall became very slippery with grease and difficult to climb. Knew I should have trimmed some of the chicken skin off.
Afterwards I took the class out for frozen yogurt. I'm not sure why. I think because one class member yelled out, "I love frozen yoga", but I heard "frozen yogurt".
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