Waste not, want more

No variations on a theme.

A Considerate Person’s Guide to Riding the Bus, or Don’t be an Ass

Dear Bus riders:

Thank you for riding buses. They are not always the most convenient option, sometimes they smell or they’re slow or fellow riders make less than surreptitious noises or engage you in conversations too deep for morning commuting. You’ve made sacrifices and you want them recognized. I understand. I too have been coughed on, driven past, glared at, or almost run over. But today I plead with you, ask not what your bus ride can do for you, but what you can do for your bus ride.

Just because you’re angry you don’t have a car to drive to work when it’s completely unnecessary or to go to your friend’s house to do things other than empower the homeless or combat the AIDS epidemic (in which cases a car would be needed for the pamphlets, bullhorns and information in your brain), does not mean you have to be a bus nincompoop. Don’t take your bus ride frustrations out on your fellow riders!

In case you’re unsure whether you’re a bus nincompoop, I’ve assembled this Considerate Person’s Guide to Riding the Bus, alternatively titled “Don’t be an Ass”:

  1. Be polite to the bus driver. Heck, say “hello” “good morning” or “thank you for putting up with my ilk”.
  2. Your purse does not need a seat. Neither do your backpack, pocket dog, feet, and chia pet.
  3. Before you step on the bus put your sense of personal space in the roof-top storage bin – there’s no place for it on that bus (my apologies to the Queen Mum).
  4. Unless you’re Rosa Parks, move to the back of the bus.
  5. Don’t stand needlessly in that hallowed spot by the midway door/release hatch. You will block people getting out, block people getting to the back (see #s 4, 6,and 8), and block people’s ability to remain non-homicidal. You are not Superman. You do not need to be able to leap out at every stop in a single bound.
  6. For the aforementioned make-a-better-concrete-block-than-a-pathway sort of reason, do NOT move to the midway door/release hatch until the bus leaves your penultimate stop. If it’s not going to take you a week and a half to get to the door and you’re not about to upchuck, stay put.
  7. Evacuate your seat (not on your seat) for elderly people, people with children, people looking like they’re struggling, and people looking around desperately for a seat. Hidden disabilities are every bit as real as visible ones.
  8. In case you missed it before or thought it didn’t apply to you: move to the back of the bus! The guy outside freezing his, uh, whiskers off, has as much right to be on the bus as you do.
  9. Unless you are hard of hearing, turn your music down. If we wanted to go to a Taylor Swift concert on a bus, we would borrow some strangers, then rent a bus and a Taylor Swift impersonator.
  10. If you’re still struggling with that personal space thing (#3) — don’t! (…unless people have in the past or are now abusing your personal space – in which case, do what you will).
  • Consider Monty Python’s the Meaning of Life. When riding the bus, you live in a house like the Catholic house. Kids are in the cupboards, swinging from the rafters and piled on the furniture like folded laundry.  When you get off the bus, you can live in the Protestant house with a 10-feet-between-people-at-all-times-except-for-the-conceiving-of-children ethic.
  • Expect this (the first minute should suffice):
  • Not this:
  1. And finally, making room for others does not mean forming a single line down the aisle and shrugging your shoulders at the guy standing outside freezing his, uh, whiskers off. Plug the gaps, shuffle, MAKE SOME FREAKING ROOM.




November 17, 2011 Posted by | Bad TV References, Community, Irritated, Travel and intrigue | , , , , | 16 Comments

Conversational Regret

I always feel as though I have 32 things on my mind. Today is no different, but today I want to write about it, or express a bit about some of those things, big and small that are occupying brain matter. I am weighed down by thoughts, the desire to act and the inability to move. I’ve also been trying to catch up on my blog reading and realize I can’t do that AND be “practically perfect in every way” (who does Mary Poppins think she is anyway?).

  • Old great friends that I miss and new great friends that I’ve failed to make. Potential/existing great friends that I am terrible at making time for. At times I dream of a “Friends” life of codependency with roommates and neighbours making up 90% of my social circle. Breaking barriers of the spatial kind.
  • Conversations I’ve found myself in where I don’t know how to try and change people’s minds, not allow things to go on, or at least present others with arguments or thoughts it would appear they’ve never heard, such as thoughts that counselors are not just social replacements for people who are sad.
  • The line between “clinical” anxiety and feelings of being unwell, how we deal with these, how we can help with either, and how little we know and understand.
  • Feats of great accomplishment, like watching a family member finally claim her PhD, are overwhelming experiences for me. I am humbled by people’s achievements and their ability to work so doggedly at this thing called life. Meanwhile, I eat popcorn and stare at the wall.
  • Step 3 in the great homeownership push is overdue. Pictures, paint fixing, cleaning and re-arranging are very much in order. Hey Rose, let’s find the balance between staring at the wall and a full body cast.
  • Recognizing my limits and not limiting myself has proven to be a very tricky thing in life. Casting aside my past refusals to set resolutions, I suspect there will be some attainable but scary goals set for 2012.
  • Hoping to do extensive interviewing with my mom and aunt for a future writing project. The writing may not come for a while, but death, disability or moves to Mars might. There’s no time like the holiday season?! Am I pilfering my chance for rest and relaxation?
  • The conspiracy of dust gets me down some days. Other days I think, “go dust! Despite your stature and failure to garner respect, you mound and gather in remarkable ways.”
  • Finding ways to learn more about and be involved in forum theatre would be awesome. I hope to begin the search soon and in earnest. I hope to do so in some way other than my usual way, which is to find some formalized course to learn about the matter and then get carried on by life, adding it to a list of things I find interesting, like growing tomatoes and world peace.

November 12, 2011 Posted by | Bad TV References, Community, Self-reflection | , , , , , | 10 Comments

Anything I set my mind to – Part 1

I’ve always felt conflicted about that child-encouraging adage: “you can do anything you set your mind to [doing].”

At the risk of sounding like Ms. Negative, can you really?

On the one hand, I think that the support and faith that this phrase reflects is fantastic. I certainly wish someone had taken me aside and told me this when I was 5, 8, 10, 12, 16, 22 – repeatedly. [This is a rare case of me not blaming my parents. This was so far outside their cultural experience, I could not expect it. But if someone had taken it upon themselves to let me know, I would have been quite pleased.] I truly believe that being told this has empowered people around me, given them confidence and drive to pursue difficult, mysterious, and seemingly out of reach things, and find success in that pursuit. If we set a goal, pursue it doggedly, take initiative, share our passions, there is a great deal we can accomplish.

On the other hand, I think that treating “you can do anything” like dogma can get us into some disconcerting thought patterns. Some people face extraordinary barriers and some do not. Many who do have barriers overcome them fantastically. They contribute to their community and the world in ways we would have never imagined. But some don’t. Maybe I’m being too black and white about this but, isn’t there an implication that if we believe anyone can do anything they set their mind to, and they don’t achieve that goal, that their failure is somehow their fault? That if that person had just tried harder, they too could have been a star on the path of their choosing? In revering those who can, are we shaming those that can’t or don’t?

To give a concrete example, I was talking with a colleague of mine about people with disabilities who have to advocate for themselves for the accommodations they require to succeed academically. Some are able to do so and in the best case scenario, are accommodated accordingly. One can easily recognize their ability to overcome adversity. In some cases, others who were not in a position to so advocate, struggle more to do so, or give up on accommodation entirely, are not given the opportunity or are seen as having failed in some way. We may think that they don’t have the valiant spirit necessary to succeed.

Is it helpful to tell a person with severe depression that they’ll feel better if they make it their goal to do so when just getting out of bed may be a daily struggle that person faces? Can we help but wonder if another person in a similar situation was able to do it, why can’t they?

I  suppose it’s complicated. I suppose the real message is that we should set our sights high. I suppose we should similarly be able to accept when we fail, or at least forgive rather than blame ourselves. As humans, we have limitations. Where do they fit in?

October 11, 2011 Posted by | Bad TV References, Childhood Complaints, Doing it the hard way | , , , | 6 Comments

Anemones are my Shiny Happy People

Like R.E.M (the band, not the sleep stage), I too have a work for which I am most famous. And by “work”, I mean blog post, and by “famous”, I mean less completely unknown. People don’t tend to pine away in the hope of being remembered for some embarassing/non-representative/unimpressive moment in their lives. Some would rather be known for their body of work. Some would rather not be known at all. Some, of the 15 minute of fame variety I’m thinking, don’t mind a bit.

  • Drew Barrymore will always be the cutie from ET and the subsequent poster-child for everything you don’t want to happen to your child actor

Courtesy of hecklerspray.com

It’s a little silly to write about this at all given how little traffic my blog gets, but I just can’t get over this weirdness. I can’t say phenomenon because that word conjures a notion of something that actually matters. I have no illusions of grandeur. This does not matter. I know I’m a drop in the river of creatures.

But I find this interesting all the same. At some point, google and my blog post on the word “anemone” became very close friends. While that post was fun for me and all, it’s not really anything to write home about. It certainly represents no particular authority about anemones. However, 43% of all views of my blog (excluding the homepage) have been of that “cash” cow, the anemone! I’m not actually bitter about it. I’m more flummoxed than anything. The wonders of the internet world.

R.E.M. said goodbye yesterday, announcing their official breakup after 3 decades of goodness. I have an attachment to R.E.M. rooted in my 13-year-old discovery. Here’s to you Berry, Buck, Mills, Stipe:

September 22, 2011 Posted by | Bad TV References, Brackets, Wild Animals | , | 5 Comments

Featuring Montana

For no good reason at all, other than maybe being extremely indulgent and thinking that anyone cares, I’ve decided to do a brief highlight reel of each state I spent any amount of time in during the recent U.S. excursion.

First stop: Montana. No offence Idaho and Washington, but given that I only stopped to use the facilities, you don’t seem worthy of a post, unless it was about rating washrooms around the world a la George Castanza. If you’re actually curious about the route through Montana, this was it approximately. This is not the efficient way to get to Yellowstone when leaving Glacier National Park at 1pm, if you’re curious.

It was around the Montana border that I started to realize that those crickets that were following us throughout the trip were morphing into weedwackers and were in fact engine sounds. The sound persists. One day I’ll care to find out what it is and then not do anything about it some more.

What I saw of Montana was pretty stunning. I had been hearing this recently but was eager to see it with my own eyes. I’m partial to the mountains of southeast BC, Rockies and otherwise, so Glacier National Park did not disappoint. Unfortunately, I didn’t spend much time there. I will have to return to do the Iceberg Lake hike, and others, and spend more time talking to people. What I’m saying is that I have very little to say about Montana.

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September 7, 2011 Posted by | Bad TV References, Hiking, Minor American Roadtrip, Photography, Travel and intrigue | , | 3 Comments

200 Episodes is a Drop in the Productivity Bucket

I cannot tell a lie. The past 3 months have been … unpleasant. And it’s not over yet. [She says as tax snarls at her back, teeth gnashing and saliva swinging (tax can be a nasty beast)]. Aside from the usual difficulties of a scholarly semester, which aren’t quite as bad, at least for me, as for some of my compatriots – I do actually like it, I’ve had some additional set backs. Health, career, extracurricular, and overall mood have not been at their best. I’ve eaten way too much that came into my house the same way it went into my mouth (takeout can be the devil) and been virtually unable to exercise (not because of time). But the point is not the sob story of the last few months that will of course get better.

What I’ve learned is that I have developed very limited means of seeking solace. Being unable to exercise, and finding social interactions unpleasant when I’ve got nothing nice to say, I turn to my partner, good soup, and nostalgic television. I am not so much astonished as surprised at my own ridiculousness to say that when I was sick, when I was winding down before bed or when I was otherwise seeking comfort I turned to one of America’s favourite families.

Seriously. Why I am comforted by syndicated shows I watched as a kid is beyond me. I find present-day sitcoms annoying for all of their canned laughter and forced obviousness. The old ones have all the same failings (except Roseanne, which had no issue being atypical and awkward on a regular basis). I could probably blame it on my TV childhood, but I don’t know if that’s exactly it either.

The Point? I have watched the entire 8 seasons of The Cosby Show in 3 months. All of it! Well, everything available; there are portions of about 6 episodes that are not available online in Canada. To be fair, half of this happened while I was sick and couldn’t really do anything else but I don’t think I have ever engaged in such a horrendous use of downtime. Don’t get me wrong, there’s a lot I love about the Cosby Show, it could be elitest and ridiculous sometimes but there are many great moments and fun to be had. And how many prime-time TV shows talk in depth about young women getting their first periods, the March on Washington, or Shakespeare? But I am no less inclined to get depressed after a bout of TV then I used to be. There’s no winning.

This is the part of the post where I insert a clip but since I just wasted another 20 minutes not finding what I’m looking for and I can smell the odious breath of tax, I’ll leave it at that.

April 8, 2011 Posted by | Bad TV References, Brackets, Irritated, Law, Self-reflection | 5 Comments

Warning! Lecture Zone: Generalize at your own risk

There is one blanket statement that I can accept: “Blanket statements are the devil.”

The Dictionary of Rose, 30th ed., 2011 defines blanket statement as “a jerk-bum method of communicating that involves stereotyping to the nth degree and lumping the worst of anything in with the best and the averagest anythings.”

Clear? Probably not. What I am getting at is our willingness, me included, to say things that we don’t really mean. I’m talking about things beyond light-hearted exaggeration and sarcasm (though maybe we – yes, as a people – are far too willing to be insincere and coy rather than directly saying how we feel about something or someone). Call me some sort of accuracy fascist, or hater of artistic license, but I think casual society (how’s that for a phrase?) and the language pendulum have gone too far.  It’s just too cool to slam, disavow, and point out the worst. Criticism has its place but we should also be capable of giving positive feedback, and recognizing strengths, beauty and wonder.

Aside: I have been known to be hyper-critical in my day and I will acknowledge this. I can definitely overdo it, and focus more on the negative than the positive, though I’m learning I cannot hold a candle to some.

But my point is not our willingness to criticize. My real issue is one specific symptom of this critical culture: the earlier mentioned blanket statement. To achieve the desired effect of our statement, do we really need to say or imply that all X are/do/have Y? Really? How has language arrived at this place? Has it always been this way?

Essentially, I think we’re (often) too happy to make these all or nothing statements without acknowledging exceptions. Granted, you cannot follow every sentence with “well, not everybody.” But is there any reason we can’t use words like “sometimes” or “on Tuesdays” or “I feel like”? Heaven forbid we occasionally go so far as to say, “maybe I’m wrong but…” or “ it seems, in some cases”!

I could get over it. Just words, right? Sticks and stones and all that. However, I think carelessness with language has real harms. It stifles debate (because if you’re wasting time responding to garbage, you don’t get to make a real point) and contributes to the type of hyperbolic non-conversation that has been so damaging for example in recent American political debate. On a touchy feely level, it also just hurts sometimes or at the very least it annoys me – always (oops, there I go). Observe the table:

Statement Accuracy Level harm-unfairness-annoyance
Wool is itchy Not true The wool industry suffers from your negligent statement and what about lovely merino?
Women love shoes and shopping Not true If I don’t love shoes and shopping, I’m not a “real” woman
Canada is cold in winter Mostly true, but not everywhere, all the time When you travel to Antarctica in January people might say at least it’s not Canada
Lawyers have to work long hours to succeed Not true If you can’t work 80 hours a week due to life, family obligations or a disability, you  can’t be a lawyer. Too bad!
Mr. T is a useless teacher Not true Useless is pretty strong and I learned things from Mr. T
Canadian water is pristine Potable in most places, but not everywhere It ignores that numerous small communities and First Nations are often exposed to e.coli and other issues
Middle-aged white guys are all bad Not true We’d all be missing out on the lovely middle-aged white guys out there

While my examples aren’t serious, I am. Really, horrendously, embarrassingly serious. I cannot think of a time when a generalization has done any good. Let’s get comfortable with uncertainty and subtlety. Everything has a context and maybe we should be spending a little more time giving context to what we say. Maybe people are also more likely not to misconstrue our statements if we explain what we mean more fully. Or maybe not. See how I did that?

PS: I’m very interested in being/willing to be called out on this. Please.

March 25, 2011 Posted by | Bad TV References, Brackets, Childhood Complaints, Irritated, News, Wild Animals | | 4 Comments

Juan de Fuca Hates me (and other tales of pity)

It is with somewhat heavy heart (excessive dramatization) that I write about my long-anticipated (by me) Juan de Fuca trail hike with my husband, the oft-hypothetial but this time real, Kevin.

The Juan de Fuca trail (JDF) is a 47-kilometre hiking trail that runs parallel, and sometimes on, the coastline on the south west corner of Vancouver Island. It offers old growth forests, beaches, bears – you get the idea. I’m going to summarize my heroic rise and fall on the trail day by day – lucky you.

Day 1

This barely counts as a day since it only involves a 2k hike. We drove to China Beach after work on Wednesday evening. We brought nothing of value since break-ins are frequent. It’s at times like this that I especially appreciate our ’97 civic, Forest, which lacks fancy stereo equipment or valuable parts that I would worry over. Anyway, Kev paid park fees while I set to taping my feet. That’s right, my horrid feet feature prominently in this tale of joy, crankiness, and intrigue.

Bad omen? I think so.

Knowing that I have sensitive skin and blister easily, and heeding warnings from many that the best way to enjoy a hike is to prevent blisters, I carefully duct-taped the more sensitive areas on my feet. I thought I did a bang up job. We hiked the two kilometres in to Mystic Beach enjoying some warm-up forest time. The duct tape burned, but it’s sticky, crazy tape, so I figured that was normal and kept on trucking. We arrived at Mystic Beach happy and excited. I slept in duct tape, thinking I would do more harm than good taking it off. You can begin to see how errors compound.

See: Happy and excited

The next morning - very mystical

Day 2
We woke up relatively early, ate, packed up and started off for Bear Beach (creative, no?) after adding some additional duct tape to my ankles. The hike was beautiful (mossy and sluggy) as well as uneventful. The tape was still giving me burning pain but no apparent blisters so I thought things were going well. Despite all this, after the seven kilometres to Bear Beach at 11:30 I announced we would be packing it in for the day and not going the additional 11k to the next campsite. There was much lounging and swinging to be enjoyed.


Duct tape removed, feet breathing

Despite all this happy good timing, my feet were starting to give me some trepidation. Blisters had formed at the edges of the duct tape, from pinching or rubbing I suppose, as well as between various strips. The heels were doing relatively well but the ankle areas had gotten fairly blistery. I decided to start again tomorrow on a different plan. In the meantime good times were had, few people were seen and the weather co-operated wonderfully.

Day 3

Kevin was responsible for packing up camp and preparing breakfast while I spent half an hour on “health care”. Thus the princess tour begins. Kev packed most all of the weight (insert sigh of the ego) while I applied polysporin, then bandages, then cushions, then medical tape. We started off quite firm in our resolve for this up and down portion of the trail to Chin Beach. Kev spotted seals, we discussed potential bear encounters and world domination. All was normal.

Inclines and green things

Approaching Chin Beach

By the time we arrived at Chin Beach a new pain had overtaken any existing blisters. My feet were absolutely ALIVE with anger. A total of 19k had put them into an absolute tizzy. I sat while Kev selected a campsite but after a break was able to set up the tent and prove myself otherwise useful. Chin was incredibly beautiful, reminding me of a cold Thailand. We watched the tide come in, the sun set, and a pod (group, clan, pack?) of porpoises do porpoisy things.

On a dark and footy note (detect a pattern, perhaps?) my feet were not looking good. The cushions I had attached would not come off so I couldn’t re-treat blisters with polysporin. I had also run out of bandages that would fit tidily over blisters without forcing me to stick them to other blisters. I should have soaked my feet in the ocean, which would have allowed me to get the cushions off and provide my feet with some salty comfort for our last night on the beach. Instead, I gave up and left those cushions on for the rest of the trip. On the up side, other areas where I’d used the medical tape preventatively held up nicely.

Day 4

I think it’s safe to say that my darkest hour occurred on day 4. We woke a little late for a 13k day along the most difficult portion of the trip but set off fairly quickly after breakfast and another health care session. The trail was beautiful, with excellent ocean views as we neared Sombrio Beach, a popular surfing and camping beach. This is also the most difficult portion of the trail however and my feet had become incredibly angry again after a mere 2k. The last couple of kilometres into Sombrio were pure torture and I could not enjoy the views of Kevin’s favourite (sick bastard) portions.

View from crazy suspension bridge

Nearing a breaking point but this was a fun little bit in hindsight

By Sombrio Beach my feet were begging for anger management. We ate lunch and contemplated whether we should leave the trail. The pain had me on the verge of tears much of the day. Stubborness won out by a small margin. What surprised me is that, maybe because of adrenaline or other distractions, the blisters alone would not have stopped me from completing the trip. The soreness of my soles, on the other hand, almost did.

But we forged ahead after lunch into a muddier but otherwise less challenging section. It was on this portion of the trail, last year, that Kev had a run in with a rather aggressive bear and her cub that sent him back to Sombrio for the night. Armed with the knowledge that she was still around we sang and yelled whatever came to mind for the 4k to our campsite at Kuitche Creek. Themes from Cheers and the Love Boat made an appearance as did Eddie Murphy, George Carlin, and Arcade Fire.

The last kilometre was ugly. Crawling may well have been faster. When we reached the campsite I was so sore it took all my energy not to cry. I felt like a huge turd. Kev found a site, brought me to it then set up the tent as quickly as he could while I sobbed taking off my boots. It was not a proud moment. I crawled into the tent and cried some more, first for the pain, then at my own lameness (a never-ending cycle, that one). I may even have been in shock, I was shaking with cold and felt a little confused. Eventually, I calmed down and was able to set up our bedding and walk to the outhouse. We ate dinner by the water and I began to feel somewhat human, though deeply embarassed. Needless to say, the camera didn’t make it out much.

Day 5

We slept well, though wondering if bears were trying to get at our cached food. It turns out a small rodent made it in instead, chewing through our sleeping bag cover and getting at a bag of nuts and some bagels. This really cracked me up though Kev was less impressed, since a couple of his preferred food items were targeted.

My health care regime on this last morning included a dose of painkillers, in the hopes that it would stave off the foot pain for the remaining 14K to Botanical Beach. By this point, I’d given up on the skin and left most of what was on there as it was, with some minor modifications.

We packed up the tent in the rain (yay, heavy). Lucky for Kevin, who had basically taken on the role of sherpa and was packing nearly everything by this point. Early in the day we spotted a bear on the beach below us (or rather Kev did) – a definite highlight. We were grateful that the only bear we saw was afar though it refused to pose for proper body pictures.

It acted a little confused when I alerted it of our presence.

The rain died off early and we enjoyed both scenic forest and ocean views. The ache began at about the 5k mark and while manageable for about another 5k, the last 4 to Botanical Beach were pretty ugly. I was feeling defeated and the pain was compounding my disappointment. At some point in the previous 12 or so hours I had realized that my hopes of doing the West Coast Trail next year were likely unrealistic. My body hatred and self-pity had settled in, despite a keen awareness that I am very privileged to have what I do. We eventually finished, but with little fanfare. Our camera battery had died (my fault) and so we didn’t get either  a triumphant or cranky photo of our finish. We were still 2.5K from the shuttle bus in Port Renfrew and at the pace I was walking we wouldn’t make it. My first ever attempts to thumb a ride were jilted though Kevin eventually flagged down a guy who was very nice to drive us the few minutes we needed. Our driver’s son engaged me in conversation and lightened my spirits some. We then waited for the bus and chatted with a couple of women about to start the trail. They offered beer.

In my state of emotional decrepitude insult was added to injury on that shuttle bus ride back to China Beach. The winding road and bouncing bus took its toll. Within ten minutes I was asking the two women for a bag. My situation was precarious. The bag that they had had a knot in it. The bag made it open onto  my lap about 10 seconds before I needed to use it. Already in a state of extreme self-pity I threw up on a bus with 12 strangers. I then gripped the bag with all my might and hoped to make it to the parking lot without incident, which I managed.

We arrived to an unlocked car and a note that said Forest had been broken into. Thankfully nothing was missing or broken. Since we’d been gone 4 nights, an incident was almost guaranteed. I was pleased that we didn’t have to drive home with a broken window or something worse. We made it home after one more upchuck, my ego relatively bruised, and a bitter-sweet sense of our hike. I was finally able to take off all bandaging in the shower and see that one set of blisters had reached infection-like status.

I do not regret having gone and am certainly glad I did, but remain disturbed that I couldn’t help out more and even more so, that trips past two days may be beyond my reach. Accepting my body has never been a strength of mine. It’s slowly taking on new meaning. Now I’ve been given a limit. I’m not sure about the next painful step: acceptance.

After a day of healing and some cleaning

August 25, 2010 Posted by | Bad TV References, Brackets, Hiking, Irritated, Wild Animals | , | 11 Comments

Sometimes I let the moment take me too far

Dancing is sometimes a dangerous activity. It’s easy to hurt yourself, embarass yourself, fling a shoe, or temporarily lose use of a limb, especially when you’re the only one on the floor. Hypothetically, a person could be made fun of for scaring someone classy by intensely fake DJing during that portion of Madonna’s Like a Prayer – you know the part, right near the end (wee-wee, we-wee-we-wee-wee-wee, wee-wee we-wee).

A short tribute to dancing:

July 16, 2010 Posted by | Bad TV References, Hypotheticals | | 4 Comments

San Juan Island

Laid back island life, whale watching and aged tourists converge on San Juan Island. Two twenty somethings hop in the mystery machine to see what ghosts they can discover. I am so old.

June 27, 2010 Posted by | Bad TV References, Consumption | 3 Comments