Xorton's Rant

I generally steer clear of writing posts about political situations, but I think the upcoming election in Canada warrants some sort of remark. I've been paying a lot of attention to the Conservative party's campaign this time around and I've come to the conclusion that the honourable (tongue firmly planted in cheek) Prime Minister, Stephen Harper clearly believes he is running a campaign in the late 19th or early 20th century. With remarks about "old stock Canadians", "Barbaric Cultural Practices" and the like, it's hard to escape from the conclusion that he inhabits a bubble universe where time froze in and about the turn of the last century. Some people have accused him of being a fascist. I don't think he's a fascist... he's very clearly (and to use his own words) an "old stock" anglophile imperialist. Someone really ought to mention that he isn't running against Wilfrid Laurier and that he's missed the last Imp...

I realize it's a little early for a Christmas post, but lately I've noticed that the Christmas idiots have started getting nostalgic and have started putting out decorations and humming Christmas tunes mindlessly. So, why not get a head start of some Christmas ranting!? Over the years, and in particular this past year, I have noticed an increasing amount of people becoming brutally stressed out due to Christmas related obligations and even continuing to exhibit signs of post-traumatic holiday syndrome (PTHS) long after the holidays are over. Holiday Fact: Would it surprise you to know that over 98% of people* feel as though they are obligated to be actively involved with festivities during the holiday season? The unfortunate fact of the matter is that many of us feel as though we have  no choice other than to participate in gift giving, pot-lucks, family get-togethers and various other holiday activities, even when it has pushed us to the point of a nervous breakdown or m...

At Iona's age, it's pretty easy for me to be sarcastic to her... mostly because I can say things with impunity and secondly (and most importantly) there are no repercussions. In a couple of more years I'll probably be guaranteed a slap across the chops for any of my cheekier comments (Iona doesn't put up with crap... at least when she understands what is being said). In the meantime, here are some highlights I've enjoyed telling her: On where she came from :  We got you from the baby shop. I went in and asked for the smartest, cutest, happiest baby they had. Unfortunately they were all out of those, so we got you instead. You can also purchase cheap babies from the grocery store. You know that aisle with all the packages with babies on them? You just buy one of them, take it home and add water. Then you get a baby, just like the picture on the package. Most of them are pretty ugly though... and defective. Quick lesson here: you can't buy quality merch...

Being the parent of a one year old (plus several months), I often find myself saying things that I never imagined I would be saying. In fact, many of these words I never even imagined would be organized into a single sentence in the first place. Why is there snot all over your shoes? Please take the cat's tail of of your mouth.  Why are you mashing bananas into your hair?  The chair is not for wiping your nose on.  My shirt is not for wiping your nose on.  The cat is not for wiping your nose on.  Please remove your finger from my nose.  Why are there potatoes in your ears?  Please stop smearing poo on your forehead!  Do your 'Happy Wiggle Dance' for Daddy! Thank-you for offering, but Daddy really doesn't want to eat a handful of pre-chewed corn.  Why are you using your nappy to store crackers? Stop! You must not Hop on Pop!* Don't kill Daddy, you may require his services later on.   And while I imagine I would say the ...

Being as Iona was starting a trial run at daycare this past week, I finally had a few hours in which to construct and shoot the sets for our Buskar the Bear tale. "I finally crushed that stupid truck you've been protecting." Iona interjected. "Yes dear, I know, the Hummer. It doesn't matter anyway, we finished the picture shoot." "It doesn't matter anymore? Damn." "You know, little girls of your age shouldn't use words like that." I scolded. "&*$@ you. Don't make me hit you again." Iona threatened shaking her little fist. "Now, now. You'll enjoy this one dear." "I'd better!" Iona scowled. And with that, let's begin our story: Buskar the Bear was terribly drunk. Terribly, terribly drunk. But that of course was his usual state. He always went about saying: "If you're not drinking, you're probably thinking... which in my experience just gets you into...

My girlfriend and I recently endured an interesting exercise by deciding to take our daughter with us on a quick trip to Alberta. The Calgary skyline as viewed from our hotel room in the morning. during sunrise (I had to check the internet to see that the sun had risen.) For those contemplating traveling with an eleventh month old my suggestion is... don't. Iona's default mood, much like myself is set to "mildly put out". She's generally not a fan of travel to begin with, so confining her to a three foot space in a metal cylinder, then spending four days in a car and small unfamiliar bedrooms pretty much guaranteed that her mood escalated from "mildly put out" to "severely displeased" and frequently "royally pissed". I don't think she smiled the entire time. I don't think I did much either. The Rockies as viewed from the highway on our way to Banff. A group of Mustangs frolicked with a moose and some mountain goat...

Last week I said that we would be telling you the story about Roger Rhino collecting a rather drunk Buskar Bear from the pub. However due to unforeseen set construction problems (someone keeps tearing them down)... "Ahem! Well, maybe if they weren't so poorly constructed, flimsy and inviting." Iona interjected. Quite. Anyway, I will instead be telling you a short story about How Reggie the Cat lost his Hat, and then got it back again. "Why is it called 'Tragic Tails'?" asked Iona "Isn't a tail the thing on the back end of most of my animal friends that I like to grab?" "Well, in this case it also happens to mean a story too." I said. "Now they're tragic stories because if it hasn't become clear to you yet, they all end rather horribly for at least one of the characters involved." "And that makes it funny!" clapped Iona. "To most people, yes." And with that, here is How Reggie...