Clearing the H'air

You know you're getting on in years when you have ear hair. Okay, so the smarties out there will say you always have had ear hair. When it is just as long, if not longer, than your regular "head hair", then you've got an issue. When you find yourself lightly touching your ear just to feel the bristly stubble, you've got an issue. When you think about all the disgusting old men you saw as a child with a miniature bush of ear hair, you definitely know you have ear hair.

So what do you do? If you shave those suckers off, there's a chance you may cut yourself and will look way worse with little bits of kleenex on your ears. Or take it from me, if you pluck them, it really, really hurts. I refuse to just let them just stay there. It's bad enough my eyebrows are getting long enough to comb over my forehead, I will not tolerate follicle fields on each side of my face! Can you wax them or perhaps laser them? Although, I'm not what you'd call a "metro-sexual", I do like to keep myself relatively well-groomed.

Something else I've noticed is actually the disappearance of hair in one other region of my body. (No, not there!) At the base of my legs on the front sides, there is now a complete absence of hair. What happened? Some people say it's because you wear socks and the friction of that gradually erodes the hair just above your feet. I can't support that premise because if you follow that logic, then why do I have the fluff on my chest or dare I say... hair on my derriere?

If you're still reading then you must know someone who has these traits as well or you share my predicament or you're simply curious to see what other strange things are happening to me. Believe me, there are certainly many more "old guy" afflictions I possess, but we're not going down that slippery slope today. Everyone "nose w-hair" that would be going. You'll have to come "back hair" later... "It's not getting up" and onto this blog today. I'm just in one of my "moobs", now. Hey, where did I put my "cheaters"? Damn, I forget what I was going to say next...

Keepin' it Real

Yeah, I watch Dancing with the Stars. I admit it. I've got to come clean and get that off of my chest. Funny... I still don't feel any better. For a huge sports fan, it's tough to live with an affinity for a few reality shows. Dancing with the Stars has got to be one of the dumbest shows that any network could offer. Ballroom dancing? Come on! Who watched ballroom dancing before this show came on? Alright, calm down all of you Lawrence Welk fans...

Why do I tune in and care what Carrie Ann Inaba has to say about a washed up celebrity or a bored athlete? I don't know. You could ask the same question about why I watch a bunch of kids trying to be the next American Idol. The bigger question is, "Why do we care about any of these people on these shows?" According to Wikipedia, the first reality show was, "Ozzie and Harriet" back in 1952. It would make sense that people cared about them because television was relatively new and I'm sure the show was more of a curiosity since the vast majority of viewers had never seen anybody on TV before. There wasn't anything close to a reality show until the writer's strike of 1988. Then we got, "Cops". (Insert the catchy little theme song, here.) We got to watch stupid people get pulled over and/or arrested. However, it wasn't enough. We wanted to see stupid people compete against each other. Voila! Here comes Survivor.

Again, why do we watch? Do we think that it brings us closer to the obscene amount of money that they are fighting for? Do we see ourselves singing our lungs out on stage in front of Simon (then sharing a few drinks with Paula)? Or perhaps, we fantasize about dancing the night away with Max? - I mean Cheryl! I even find myself rooting for different people or rooting against certain contestants just because they are who they are. What's with that? "Ooh, my washed up star is better than your useless retired sports guy!"

This brings me back to Dancing with the Stars. Last night, Lil Kim was eliminated. I felt a sense of satisfaction because I had rooted against her. I can get past the fact that she's a washed up rap singer, but because she's made herself look like the black Joan Rivers or the female Mickey Rourke, she really grosses me out. Actually, for those a little longer in the tooth, does Lil Kim not look like Madame, from Wayland and Madame. You know, the stars of 1982's Madame's Place??? I'm looking for Melissa Rycroft to win it all. (What do they win?) She's not only a very handsome woman, but she's not "washed up". I think her chance improved last night when a bit more of her emerged from the underside of her top...

Once gain, why I am watching these reality shows? The hockey playoffs are on almost every night. Same with the NBA. This is a great time of the year to be a sports fan, but there I am sitting on the couch with my daughters discussing which next top model should be eliminated. Have you seen the girl with the crazy-wide eyes on that show? She looks like something from Lord of the Rings. And by the way, it doesn't matter who is the "winner" of American Idol. That dude, Adam, is by far the best singer I have ever seen on that stage. The rest of them look like they belong at a high school assembly.

I'm glad I could get this out in the open. Writing it all down hasn't helped with my quest to find out WHY I'm watching. It might help to keep me calm when So You Think You Can Dance starts up. I have literally run down to my basement den while having convulsions when this program begins. I don't know what it is. It's like I'm allergic to the whole thing. I don't know what will grace our television screens in the future, but I'll guarantee you that I will not watch it if there is another pompous British judge included or if there are too many augmented ghouls participating. Actually, that gave me an idea for a new reality series. I think I'll call it, "So You Think You Can Change the Look of America's Top Idol?" It'll be up to the voting public what they want to see a washed up annoying celebrity change. I can hear Ryan Seacrest now, "America voted - I'm sorry to say you, Kathy Griffin, have to go under the knife again and this time it's to sow your mouth shut..." And then loud applause.

Let me know if anyone knows a influential network producer...

An Ode to My Smelly City

Hey Windsor. We're now in May and just passed week 3
Of the labor dispute that affects you and me.
Let's settle this thing and get back to work.
Stop calling names like, "Hey scab!" or "You jerk!"


Get back to the table and settle this thing.
Send Eddie an email. Give Sid's phone a ring.
Times are tough. Jobs are being lost.
For each to be stubborn is not worth the cost.


My street is filling up with refuse and trash.
I'd call BFI if I had enough cash.
I don't want to get used all of the smells,
But, "It Could be a Long One", the newspaper tells.



It's a "no-win" gamble. They're in the same boat.
This city's in trouble. We're barely afloat.
Workers proclaim, "We're not giving in!"
Management says, "No one will win."


I guess it's expected? We're a big union town.
The loudmouths pipe up, "We'll never back down!"
Well good for you, sisters and brothers,
But what about the poor and all of the others?


Folks love to complain that they have it so rough.
30 bucks an hour. I think that's enough.
Yet here in our borough, they think it's their rite
To get all excited and "fight the good fight".


I don't understand either side's stance.
I think it's all an elaborate dance,
But we let it happen (whatever they say).
Mark my words. We're all gonna pay.



Oh Windsor. Once again, you're in a big mess,
Instead of much more, how 'bout much less?
Yeah, I'm just kidding. That would be bad
To actually sit back and enjoy what we had...


So unite with me friends. It might get much worse.
I have a new slogan at the end of this verse.
Say it with feeling and as loud as you like,
"We don't mind our jobs, but we sure love to strike!"

Sign of the Times

I was driving home yesterday and I came across a sign that struck me as a little funny. It said, "Autistic Child in Area". I truly believe we are already over-signed. Just think of your street right now. Besides the "STOP" sign that is obviously required from time to time, what else do you have? You've probably got several "No Parkings" on your block. Perhaps a "P" with a line through it is a few feet from the intersection. Then we have the "School Zone" signs around the neighborhood. We have a few "Children at Play" around as well. My biggest pet peeve are the HUNDREDS of "Bike Route" signs in our area. We already paint the white line a few meters aways from the curb. I don't get it. What would happen if a cyclist started down a block and saw the first sign a few houses down, but then nothing? Would they go knocking on doors and ask if they could ride on? Would they stop, pick up their Schwinn and walk the rest of the way?? And it's ridiculous to put these reminders throughout a large suburban community. If you think about it; Every freekin street could be a "Bike Path"! Ugh!

Back to the sign in question. I'm not a completely uncaring sort. I believe there should be cautionary advisories in areas where there are schools... or penitentiaries, but I'm not big on reminders that there are deaf, blind, or autistic children where I'm driving. It's kind of insulting. Am I going to drive any more cautious? Probably not. I guess if I see a child going back and forth across the street for no apparent reason, I will snap my fingers and say, "Aha, there's the autistic kid!" I'm already aware, as a logical person, that if I see a child or any bipedal individual in the middle of the road (a squirrel eating a nut also comes to mind), I'm going to slow down and hopefully have a chance to come to a full stop before any chance of injury. I'm not going to be saying to myself, "Thank goodness for that sign or I would have struck this person!" Bottom line - If you're a good driver, you don't need these silly reminders.

A better way of handling bad drivers is to test them more often. We get our licences after passing a test for the first time and then that's it. "Good luck Mr. New Driver. See you in 50 years or so." It boggles the mind that we are just thrust out into the driving world without any follow-up. I would love to see signs that say, "Caution - Watch Where You're Going, Moron!" or "Slow Down or YOU Will be Killed!" Actually, I saw this sign on the internet. It would deter people with brains from driving down your street... 'cause everybody knows zombies eat brains.

So please don't think I'm making light of those less fortunate. I just don't think we need more sign pollution. In fact, I just did a quick count of all of the signs in a 10 block radius of my house. Do you know how many there were? "Course, four hundred and fifty-two, yeah, 452. And I'm an excellent driver so I don't need any more signs... Yeah, excellent driver..."

A Cruise for the "Ages"

My wife and I finally went on a cruise a few months back. She had been wanting me to go for years and I had resisted. My main question about the adventure was, "Who needs to get on a boat surrounded by people who are already living in a retirement home?" I've got a lot of years until I'm ready for one of those places. The last thing I need is a reminder of what's coming down the pipe in a few years. I'm more of an "all inclusive" tourist. Just sit me down on a hot beach where I can eat and drink myself silly without the worry of breaking the bank. Well, you know what? After my first experience on the high seas in the southern Caribbean, I have become a "cruise-aholic"! I can't wait to go again.

The whole experience won me over, but it took some convincing for me to endorse the trip. I couldn't get past the preconception that cruising was equal to waving the white flag and saying good-bye to my youth. I thought the vast majority of people who cruised were also members of the Larry King fan club or who believe blogging is something blumberjacks do... Let's face it. The notions I had of going on a cruise were that you had to have a lot of time, you have to have a lot of money, you have to know the rules of shuffleboard, and lastly, but most importantly, you have a twisted desire to sit at dinner with guys who look like Captain Stubbing. Who else but the "wrinklees" would satisfy those notions?

As we lined up on the docks in Miami (Gee, that's not a place known for the aged...) in front of our ship, I began to notice that not all the women waiting had orthopedic shoes on. NOT all of the gentlemen had shorts on riding up to their man-boobs. I admit, there was a couple of them that looked like the came straight from a Herman cartoon, but they were few and far between. I saw younger families with 2.2 kids and people similar to us in age. Okay, so the majority of them wore knee-length white socks showing their pasty white thighs while looking like they still lived with Mom. Who cares? they were not in any of the World Wars and that's a good start!

The food was awesome. We went on what's called a "Freestyle Cruise". What that means is that you can eat any time you want from over 15 of the different restaurants and more importantly you may dine with anyone you want. So, if you're like me, you get to avoid the "loud-mouthed Larrys from Wisconsin" who can only talk about hunting, the Packers, and their prostates. It was a real pleasure to be able to go for dinner after 8pm after a day of sightseeing, casual drinking... and a nap. (Some old-people habits are hard to shake.) There were no folks sitting around complaining about the price of gasoline or asking if the meals would affect their heart medication. I can honestly say there wasn't even anyone sipping Ensure (or their whole meal) through a straw.

I'll get back to this cruise in a future blog or two because there was so much that inspired me. Whether it was the entertainment we saw in the theater, the beautiful islands we toured, the many things to do on the ship, the drinking I did with my brother-in-law or just the really creepy guy we saw everywhere we went, I'll have much more to share about our 9 days at sea.

*By the way, this is NOT Captain Sullenberger... or is it???

Stupid People - Week 1

I had planned to dedicate one blog per week on the escapades of those adorable small-brained humans that I affectionately call, "STUPID PEOPLE". I had also thought that I'd post them on the weekends because it's such easy writing that it wouldn't take too much of my own brain power. I don't much like to think any time, but Saturdays and Sundays are reserved for idling the intellect. However, while reading the paper this morning, I encountered a moronic marvel that had to be saluted today.

I swear I have not read the "doctor's column" in years, but by some dumb luck I read it today. Some poor soul (G.R.) wrote in about his girlfriend. She was 57 years old and was urinating 20 times an hour. It didn't mention that she was making it to a flushing machine every 3 minutes, but we'll hope that was the case. He then went on to ask if it was normal for her to consume four 32 ounce bottles of wine each day. I'm not kidding... (It is a self-imposed rule that I will never lie about the victims of my STUPID PEOPLE blog.) We have at least three major issues presented about this woman. #1 - She pees... like a racehorse. #2 - She drinks... heavily. #3 - She's having a relationship with a 9 year-old.

Honestly, what adult male would have to write (and I congratulate G.R. for being able to put his little thoughts on paper or onto the keyboard) a doctor to question these habits? What would make you believe a woman going to the bathroom more times a hour than she blinks in the same amount of time is the least bit normal?? Is it possible that she works in a woman's washroom like Kramer's mom, Babs? I imagine pissing 160 times during a night shift there wouldn't be noticed as much...

Now... about the drinking problem. This fellow says his GFF (for the text kids out there) consumes the equivalent of 16 cans of wine per day. Assuming that this lush sleeps a good 10 hours a day and a "glass" is 4 ounces, my math skills tell me that while she's awake, Miss Teetotaler drinks 2 glasses of "grape juice" per hour although if she's also peeing in a toilet once every 3 minutes we would have to adjust our numbers to... are you ready? One glass of wine every 20 minutes of her waking life!!! "Is this normal?", he asks. There's another issue that he did not bring up. This woman must really stink, too. You can't tell me she makes it to the john every time and even when she does it's after running frantically with at least one goblet of wine with her spilling all over the place. And is the writer going to tell us she holds her food down all of time? She sounds like a real keeper!

From the letter, it appears the final straw for the boyfriend is that she's starting to drink before she goes to work... Yep, the Bladder Bomber does have a job! Now I'm wondering who the true idiot is - the boyfriend, the old woman or the HR guy who hired her. Who hires someone that leaves the interview 10 times or who wears one of those baseball hats with two red straws going into her mouth? Let's see... Where can you work when you're drunk most of the time, take breaks whenever you want and blend in perfectly with the rest of your coworkers???

What's in a name?

I went to a Junior C hockey game in Essex last night. My nephew was playing in what may have been the last match of any significance in the old arena. While we sat there enjoying the game, I wondered why some of the other people in attendance were there. Actually, in most cases, it was my ears that raised questions in my mind of what motivated some people to go to the "barn" yesterday. There was actually a young man with a mega-phone who would randomly speak out some gems to the opposing team like, "Hey, you're skinny #11!" "You've got a big head, 77!" or "Stand up, #23!" The latter was said to the shortest member of the visiting squad and I actually let out a good chuckle when it was uttered, but not the next 45 times... I'm not sure what the physical insults did to satisfy the yearnings of the mega-phone guy, but he seemed to be having a good time.

A few seats down from him were the predictable boys with the blue plastic horns. I've never quite understood the fascination of these noisy, phallic, plastic creations. They sound like a herd of very sick moose and I'm told they made your lips hurt. Fortunately, there were no young girls using these personal props. In addition to the mega-phone guy, (I have visions of some SWAT team somewhere cupping their hands around their mouth pleading with some criminal, "Come out with your hands up!" And the reply - "What'd you say???") there were many other insult-hurling fanatics in support of the '73's. You have to give them credit for the many uses of the word, "SUCK". Of course, there was the obvious, "You SUCK!" which I can only assume was meant for everyone. Occasionally, we heard, "Hey (insert name), you SUCK!" just to make the specific player feel a little more special. The refs didn't escape the fans' wrath either. "Hey robocop, you SUCK!" was a favorite of a lady a few seats over - obviously a Peter Weller fan. Although, later on in the game she came up with a new catcall when the arena was real quiet, "Hey Alliston, you're real DUMB!!!" Brilliant... Meanwhile, back to SUCKing. Essex ended up scoring 6 times and after each score we got to hear, "Gooooooal-leeeeeeeee... Gooooooal-leeeeeeeee... Gooooooal-leeeeeeeee... YOU SUCK!!!" A classic, no doubt, but even this quality insult was drowned out when from across the arena, the opposing fans cranked up their super-charged fuel-injected super-sonic air-horn and let it roar. I swear, this thing came straight off of the Queen Mary...

I think that it's great people get so passionate for their teams. I fully understand showing up and cheering when it's a family member, a good friend, a school team or even the town/city where you live. And even teams like the Cubs, Yankees and Cowboys who are national institutions have large followings. Heck, I have a friend here locally that has Dallas Cowboy pajamas. I'm a huge Detroit fan of any sport, but you'll never see me in Lions lingerie or Tiger teddies... unless I get a real special request.

I guess the only time I can't see supporting some sports teams is when they have a nickname I don't understand. Miami has an NBA team called the Heat. Why would I cheer for a level of temperature? Anaheim has a hockey team called the Ducks. What does that animal do (besides flying in a V-pattern) that is heroic? The same applies to a penguin, I guess. My favorite hockey team does not escape my ire. Besides the obvious reference to the marsh dwelling blackbird, what does it mean to be a Red Wing? Is it the place in a hospital where a lot of blood is kept? Universities almost have a cruel self-deprecating attitude towards the naming of their teams. The following entries are all used to enhance the athletic experience of colleges down south; Anteaters, Game Cocks, Banana Slugs, Blue Boys, Railsplitters, Wonderboys, and Purple Storm. I think the last one is when Prince farts... Please post more if you'd like. And how about numbers? How can you go and support the 49ers or the 76ers or even the 73's? If you're gonna have a number for your team's nickname, why not just make them the Ones? "Hey, who do you like this year?" "I love the Ones 'cause they're like... #1, dude!" "Shut up. You SUCK!"

Times Are Turf...

So I'm sitting down reading the Windsor Star this morning and I come across this article entitled, "The Grass is Always Greener with Fake Turf." It is about how the City of Windsor, in their infinite wisdom, has "planted" fake grass along our major north-south coridor. I drove by this emerald strip yesterday and thought, "Wow, for a place with its outside workers on strike, we sure have been cutting and watering this boulevard - a lot."

Those who were born, have worked, or still live in Windsor know that local politicians have made it their desire to make the Americans' drive, northbound from the expressway to the downtown area, the most beautiful sight they have ever seen! In the last 10 years, we have repaved this 750 meter peice of road 3 times. We have removed railroad overpasses. We have put huge boulders on either side. (What is our facination with boulders?) We have planted cute little trees between the lanes of traffic. We have created a great big mural with an oversized arrow pointing downtown. (It helps with the Americans' sense of direction, I guess...) We have grown many pretty girlie-looking flowers. And yes, of course, put in some grass. Now, the City seems to be intent on setting up the world's skinniest mini-golf course... "We won't have a weed problem, then." They said. Bully for them!!!

Don't get me wrong. I like beauty just as much as the next guy, but this is like trying to replace an ugly woman with Joan Rivers. There's just no point to it. To the east of this small patch of road is the Zalev Scrap Yard. They generate a very large amount of pollution with whatever they are doing in there. I'm thinking it must have something to do with rust because the color of the crap they send out into our air is orange. As I drove by yesterday, I laughed to myself because the fresh cement that they put in to compliment the turf was of a pinkish hue. They used to use the regular recipe stuff. Obviously, them smart fellers down at City Hall did this to negate the Zalev fall-out. Although, what about the rest of us? The concrete is now better prepared to be re-colored, but us Windsorites will begin to look like the Umpa Lumpas in a few years. My advice is to just leave it alone. The Americans don't even see the traffic lights let alone some overdone landscaping as they speed down to Caesars. Just plant some more damn grass and let the weeds come as they may.

It's a sad day indeed when another fake replacement is looked upon as a success. I love grass. In fact, I've got a whole bunch of it at my house, but please don't replace my grass. I urge the City Fathers to come over and enjoy my grass. I used to do turf (and tea), but I'm all-natural now. Sure, it's a little "weed-infested", but that's really only when my nephew-in-law comes over...

The First Day of Blogging

Talk about pressure... Here I am about to begin a historic entry in the anals of blog history. Wait a sec... I guess that was it. I was just worrying abut the first entry, but "Talk about pressure..." was it. Remember where you were when you read this entry. (Assuming you got this far.) That's pretty lame. Geez, I'm already criticizing my very first blog. I'm glad the drama of the first words is over, though. Now I can just get on with it. What it is, I have no idea... You're probably going to run into this a lot coming to this blog. I'm confused and I'm writing this crap.

Anyhow, let's talk about Mothers since the Day is coming in a few weeks. Actually, I have so much material on my Mum that I wish every weekend was "Mother's Day". She called earlier today. Of course, I was still sleeping, so I checked the phone for the message. I get the usual, "Mark, can you call me please." And that's it...... (I put six dots to accentuate my dumbfoundedness (sic)) Who knows if I have to simply call her back to say hi, how are you? or move a chairmat from underneath her 500lb computer desk, or take her to get some milk. You have to understand that even though I'm well into my forties, have my own house, and can drive a car; I cannot pick out bags of milk according to my mother. Even though she coaches me with, "You will check the date won't you, Mark?", it's not enough. I wonder if she truly believes we sit at the table with chisels breaking off the chunks of milk that are obviously in our bags because we don't know how to choose a staple of life that few humans go for more than a few weeks without buying over and over again!!!

Yeah, I suppose that might be the reason she called, but it's much more likely that Mum is activating the "where the hell are you? I didn't hear from anyone over the weekend" flashing beacon. There are 3 of us "kids" who are on this planet with ties to Mum. My brother happily lives in England. He calls Mum every weekend at the same time. He's kinda what you would call a habitual person. Many confuse it with just being boring, but I don't (as long as this is a public blog...). My sister, who lives just a few minutes away, and I are the complete opposite. The only habit we possess is the regular discussions we have on how weird our family is. We call Mum when we have interesting things to discuss with her... Translation: When we remember.

So anyhow, it's been 7 or 8 days since I last spoke to Mum, so I better return the call. It's either that or face the usual frantic calls that will surely follow. It may sound like a CD collection sale on TV, but some of the mega-hits have been; "You Don't Know What it's Like to be Old", "I Raised You All", "I'm Having Chest Pains", "Haven't I Been a Good Mother", "I'll Pay Your Gas to Come Out Here", and my personal favorite, "What Have I Done?" a.k.a. The Sniffle-Sniffle Song. All available where ever good milk is sold..