The Teddy Bear... doo doo dooooooo

Wowzers, another blog! It’s almost like I’ve been stuck as school downloading music from the internet for free while scraping bits of the textbooks I’m not buying from the same magical source and saving them to my zip drive and have nothing better to do than type. Ahh, embrace the freeness and cheapness, this means I can afford more tempura tonight. Mmm.

Alright, so instead of just wasting your time by babbling about nothing, I have a point to prove, really. Let’s imagine that you are sitting on the bus and you look at the lad across from you who happens to be clutching a small teddy bear. It’s not a big deal, really. I guess that you could see it as a system of support, some sign of consistency in an ever changing world. Odds are he’s a latchkey kid on his way to daycare or some other form of after school care institution, so it’s probably nice for him to hang on to something of familiarity.

You adjust against the cheap vinyl seats. It’s no Cadillac, but if you were paying attention to my initial paragraph, it is a cheap form of transportation, besides; you look like a total bum if you’re cruising to campus in a CTS. You look to the side; out of the corner of your eye you spot another one, not a CTS, but a teddy bear. This time it’s not some young lad but a middle aged business man and he happens to be clutching it close to his face and whispering sweet nothings to it. You quickly turn to face the front of the bus, ignoring the man with issues behind you.

Not a big deal, you think. It makes sense, a city bus is bound to have some crazies on it, although there is something discerning about the whole event, you can’t put your finger on it, maybe it was the way he was dressed, or looked, he didn’t have that cat-eating-hobo appearance, no. He looked like he could be your neighbor, not the creepy one that watches you change sometimes, but the one you give a spare key to, or that you borrow sugar from. That’s the problem, he seemed, well, normal.

As you collect your thoughts you look around and see a teenager sitting next to you playing with her teddy. It’s quite elaborately decorated, definitely personalized, and for some bizarre reason, she doesn’t seem ashamed that you are blatantly staring at her as she plays with the thing. In fact, you can sense an air of pride around her. It’s somehow been transformed from an item of comfort to a status symbol.

Your stop comes up and you quickly disembark. Looking around the streets you begin to notice that these small bears are everywhere. It’s like you’re in kindergarten again and it’s Show and Tell Tuesday. Some people are proud of the things, maybe they’ve decorated them, they display them in prominent locations, and just like that time you brought My Little Pony/Ninja Turtles to school, some little jerk may steal the thing. Sure your name is written on it, but it doesn’t really hold up in the Court of the Playground.

The bears have moved from the realm of strange to an annoyance. You walk into class and while deep in thought while frantically scribbling down notes coming from you less than interesting monotone professor, some little blond thing jumps up from the back of the class and proclaims that she is awesome while swinging the bear around for all to see. You sneak a glance and try to make her head explode by mind powers alone. Unfortunately you are unsuccessful.

Later that day while running around at work, you decide to do what you get paid to do and try and help a customer. You eagerly approach, enthusiastically awaiting any challenge they may pose such as which candle produces the strongest scent, or why the SX 2.0 smells like that. “Um, hi. Can I-” you begin but are cut off with a scowl from the jerk-face of a customer who looks at you as if you walked into the middle of the maternity ward while a woman you don’t know is giving birth. It’s awkward and you don’t know why they would be so objective to help. Questions fog your mind; do you smell like a Neon? Maybe you weren’t smiling right, but there it is, clutched in their firm grasp, is a bear. You look disgruntled and trudge back to the counter where you’ll complain for another hour how everyone sucks but you and you need a peanut butter cookie. Now.

It’s home time and the car in front of you seems to be driving eratically. Maybe the individual is drunk? Slightly concerned you decide it would be best to hurry ahead of them and try to get on a different street. While passing you take a quick glance into their vehicle, hoping to catch a glimpse of their particular poison when, once again, you are faced with a bear. The driver is too busy playing with the little thing to hold onto the wheel. It’s a crucial component to driving a car, but the gentleman next to you believes that he is able to transcend this necessity and progress into some sort of driving Nirvana requiring him only to be sitting in the car and feel good about himself in order to successfully and safely arrive at his destination.










GET OFF YOUR CELLPHONE!!! FOR THE LOVE OF ALL THINGS GOOD AND PURE YOU ARE NOT THAT IMPORTANT AND SOCIETY MANAGED TO SURVIVE FINE WITHOUT IT FOR SEVERAL MILLENIA. THE WORLD WILL NOT GO TO THE CRAPPER IF YOU DON’T CALL YOUR WIFE AND LET HER KNOW YOU’LL BE FIVE MINUTES LATE FOR SUPPER. AUGH!!! HANG UP!!! NOW!!!

Merry Christmas

Okey-dokey. You know I always wanted to say that, I mean I do say that, but not to a large-scale audience, and since passing the 2000 viewer mark, I’m feeling pretty awesome. Almost a whole other level of awesomeness… ooooh, maybe I hit nine. That would be pretty sweet.

Try using the ‘okey-dokey’ in everyday speech. It’s fairly all consuming and self-explanatory. For those of you who are too cool for school, and perhaps the term, ‘okey-dokey’, Keanu Reeves used it in the Matrix. No kidding, it’s the part where he’s about to jump off a building and trying to look all cool and calm and then out of nowhere comes… that’s right, the big OD.

So I haven’t blogged in a while, if I was in grade two with the neon clothing and ponytail on the side of my head, perhaps the pinkie painted on my right hand as some kind of membership into an elusive club based around prancing around pretending to be ponies or planning what to do when we’re old enough to babysit, I would make a big deal that I haven’t written anything in a year. Or at least since last year. Oh, you know what I’m talking about, the last day of classes before Christmas break you’d run around telling your friends that you’d see them next year like it was some kind of bizarre saying implying that you would go a minimum of three hundred and fifty six days without seeing them when in actuality it would be about two weeks… Maybe that was just me. Meh.

So instead of being all up to date and talking about the new year, I’m going to pretend that it’s December 23rd and I’m still upset over the political correctness of the whole situation. Now, step into my super Civic-shaped time machine with the flux capacitor….

Woooo….ooooo……okey-dokie….ooooh

Hey, exams are over. I still don’t know my marks, but then again, I haven’t checked them since last Christmas. Maybe they posted them. I’ll check later. This round wasn’t nearly as much fun as last term, as I’m sure that I made reference to some kind of osprey soap opera… yeah, that sounds about right, instead I was faced with a barrage of multiple choice exams. Eww. Where am I supposed to creatively express myself? You can only spell so many words using the letters A to E, and the patterns you can make are quite limited within the five square grid that you are allotted. But, thankfully, I did not exclaim anything I may regret at the top of my lungs while prancing about from desk top to desk top while trying to make a tutu from answer sheets. All in all it was a good term.

So I’m not upset about that, whatsoever really. Maybe it’s the fact that I’m what I consider to be fatally ill, (I’m too sick to work), or the fact that I’m on a lot of Tylenol, or maybe it’s a combination of the two. I think I made tea… or at least boiled water, I’m going to check on that, hold on…mmm, I did make tea. It is good. BUT I AM UPSET, or the somewhat unconscious-wishing-I-was-playing-video-games-instead equivalent, about the holidays.

Allow me to paint you a picture…

Little Sammy is outside playing in the snow, (s)he’s quite happy about the whole thing, as it’s not twenty below or anything stupid like that, but a balmy –5C and Sammy happens to be wearing a toque, scarf, and a muff (oh, my New Year’s resolution is to bring this back, it’s so happening). Anyway, snow people are built and it’s time for cocoa. The Sammy’s parents fill their child with sugary goodness and decide to go around the neighbor hood singing Holiday Carols. Later on they come to a nice warm fire and gather around to decorate the Holiday tree. Mrs. Sammy’s Mom finishes the wrapping of the Holiday gifts, and Mr. Sammy’s Dad puts out the Holiday cookies and milk for Santa next to little Sammy’s Holiday list. It’s a beautiful Holiday Eve as they all settle down to sleep, dreaming of the Holiday to come.

AUGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!

CHRISTMAS!!!! For the love of everything good and pure, you sound stupid when you use the word HOLIDAY, not smart or politically correct, but DUMB.

If I went to some Lion’s Club or place where old type people congregate, like the Road King, I wouldn’t go around complaining that Veteran’s day shouldn’t be called that because I’m not a Veteran and wasn’t around during their wars and I can’t very well celebrate it and make it something important to me unless it revolves around me. Think of Mother’s day, but instead of Mother’s day it became ‘I’m lacking a Y chromosome day and am capable of reproduction or in some way found myself a kid to raise as my own’ day, because, if you think about it, what about all the single Dads who do twice as much? Or maybe women incapable of having their own biological children? What about caretakers who aren’t officially the parents but simply have custody of the children? Isn’t this unfair to them?

Christmas means a lot more than just gifts and some lethargic man in a red suit to a lot of people. If I came to someone named Joe and told him or her that I didn’t like their name, I found it odd, and refused to call them that, I would be looked at like an idiot. It’s their name, they are likely to be proud of it or at least all right with their idea of it and don’t need someone (who it hardly matters to in the first place) telling them to change it.

So I’d like to wish you all a MERRY CHRISTMAS and a HAPPY NEW YEAR, despite the political correctness jail sentence I have brought upon myself.