The Trump Comedown

The recent intensified possibility that Donald J. Trump will not be elected president is like that feeling the moment you realize your cocaine high is headed downhill…that is, if you are rooting for him which I am.

I don’t know if he was going to make America great again but I had full confidence he was going to entertain me at least every other day for the next 4 years. There is no way Hillary is going to get off Air Force One and start grabbing the crotches of international politicians.

Ever since the public learned of his ‘grab’em by the pussy’ tactic the media and other political pundits have stated his chances of winning are next to none. His only prayer is that Hillary gets a heart attack within the next few weeks or video is leaked of her in a threesome with Bill and Monica Lewinsky.

There may be consequences for Trump’s entertainment value if elected but that’s the case for all forms of entertainment. Next to fixed expenses in our lives, entertainment is what bleeds our wallets and time dry. Entertainment is paid for with money, credit, hangovers and regret. Worst case scenario Trump was going to continue giving people what they wanted only in a less accepted method like paying for sex.

Donald Trump running for president and almost winning was the high amongst highs for a presidential election. Now if things are going the way they say they are the world is going to be fed the entertainment value equivalent of tap water and saltine crackers for the next 4 years or possibly 8. I realize that the job of a president of a country is not entertainment but my thoughts are just catering to my selfish entertainment desires. Donald Trump was the high fructose corn syrup beverage that spiked your insulin and threatened diabetes but you just couldn’t help yourself. You tell people and yourself that you don’t want it but when no one is around you devour it and silently and lustfully scream, GIVE ME MORE!

Childhood Dinner Stories

The deal was that my mother would buy the groceries and prepare dinner in exchange for free rent. Since she was never home during dinner time she would take 15 minutes in the morning to have the meat ready for cooking.

Uncle Bill would get home around 5 PM from his truck driving job, head straight to the shower and then to the kitchen. Every week was a rotation of mostly breaded pork chops, spaghetti and meat sauce, and hamburger steak. There’s probably a reason why I adore breaded meats to this day. My mother has refused to make breaded pork chops ever since. I remember the angst on her face when she was swinging the meat tenderizing hammer.

His dinner table was his lap while he sat on his torn up leather recliner. Mine was one of those school desks where the chair was connected to the table. Then again, maybe it was a telephone table because the chair faced to the side.

Sometimes I couldn’t finish my dinner. He made me sit there until I finished it. I just sat there until he released me. After school cookies were to be blamed for ‘spoiling my dinner.’

A couple days of the week after dinner he would go for coffee with his other divorced and never married male friends. I’d peek outside through the front window to watch him drive off and then it would be party time. Bring on the cookies.



The Milky Way


Like most Canadians I was told to be a milkoholic or else my teeth, skin and hair would fall out. I was also the smallest kid in elementary school and milk was supposed to make me grow big and strong. Didn’t happen. Milk: disappointing the vertically challenged since 1906. I wonder if all that antibiotic laden cow secretion did more bad than good.

Back in my day, people bought milk stored in cartons or plastic jugs and “homo milk” was fuel for jokes in the schoolyard. It seems to be that they want you to call it “3.25%” now like its cousins, 2% and 1%. I’ve never drank milk that came from a glass bottle so I thought it would be cool(just slightly) to try it out. I thought it might bring back memories that I never had of playing vinyl records, watching The Ed Sullivan Show and wondering who in the neighbourhood might be having an affair with the milk man.

After high school I stopped drinking milk because no one was buying it for me. A few years went by and I got back on the moo train. Diarrhea coincidentally ensued and as with every case of diarrhea, one becomes a detective. Was it the sandwich, muffin, banana, eggs, 4 Krispie Kreme doughnuts?

After 30 days I connected the regular occurrence of explosive diarrhea with the cereal I was eating 30 minutes prior. Wait, milk !

I never thought milk was the culprit since I drank milk all my life without issues. But it happens and it’s common with people from East Asian descent. I think it had something to do with not being able to afford cows back in the old country. I haven’t had a glass of milk since but the couple of lattes I’ve had in the last year seem to be intestinal approved.

I’ll let you know what happens.


Darkness Drowning the Light

On the radio the other day this guy was talking about how up until mid-life his life has always been great. Life was so splendid that he just thought that was how life was supposed to be without much effort. He said something like, “when you’ve been lucky your whole life you don’t think your luck will ever run out.”

When the only ride you’ve ever been on in life is a joyous one it’s difficult to picture your life going off the tracks and crashing. Depressed and pessimistic people are looked at as diseased aliens.

On the other end there’s people who have lived the first half of their life witnessing mostly negative experiences and outcomes. When that is your life you can’t picture anything outside of science and mathematics equalling a positive result. Failure becomes a reoccurring self-fulfilling prophecy.

Something somewhat extraordinary has been happening in my life lately. Many have been in my situation and many of them have ended up on the losing end but during the rise they had no doubts they were on the road that would end in success. I on the other hand just cannot imagine myself succeeding in such a high fashion even though I believe it’s very possible and it has been done by ordinary people. I keep telling myself that it just can’t happen to me.

It’s good to be rational and realistic but my lack of optimism that most other people would be infected by in the same situation is a by-product of a lifetime of less than average environments and people. The absence of mania reminds me that I’m probably missing the manic part to qualify for bi-polar disorder.

Even if it all does go to shit, I’ve already learned the lesson that good things are possible. You just need to walk towards that direction and have some faith.


Pre-marriage Counselling

Tell people that you are 36 years old and not married and they might have something to say to that. From my experience with volunteering with old people the old ladies will urge you to hurry up and get married while the old guys will have something more interesting to say.

A common old lady and young woman perspective is that there is no good reason for a man to be living if there is no woman in his life. What they are really saying is, “you need one of us.”

“Are you married,” he asks.


“Lucky,” he says. I replied by saying that marriage can’t be all bad. He had nothing to say. I’m still wondering what kind of memories came back during that 3 second silence.

When I was promoting the volunteer services at a festival recently, for whatever reason this old guy asked me if I was married. When I told him I wasn’t he went on to give me a 5 minute lesson that coupled as a way for him to vent.

“Before you get married do everything you want to do in life.”

The weird thing is that some of these old ladies are either divorced, had their husband’s cheat on them and/or beat them.

A woman telling a man that he needs to marry a woman is like Apple telling people that they need to get an iPhone. A man taking another man’s advice about marriage is like reading the consumer reviews.



Fighting for Vinyl Records

I just arrived home from a yard sale that had vinyl records. If you’ve been reading my posts from the last couple months you’re probably sick of my vinyl record adventures.


I got there 5 minutes after the start of the advertised start time but some morbidly obese guy decided to skip breakfast so that he could beat me there for first dibs. Luckily the owners were slow to bring out the records. To make things worse we appeared to have similar tastes in music.

He snagged Michael Jackson’s, Bad and Pink Floyd’s, The Wall. He had some others that I wanted to steal from him but I’m mostly pissed off about those two. I should be happy that I found the ones that I did but I don’t care, I want it all. I used to have Michael Jackson’s, Thriller but I gave it to a girl. Advice for young men…don’t give women anything, you’ll regret it. If she’s not happy with the handmade greeting card you made her then she can get lost.

The fat guy pretty much got everything he wanted because I let him go through most of the piles first. I saw, “The Wall” album first but I knew he wanted it so I didn’t fight him for it. There was even a Rolling Stones album that I offered to him first which he gladly accepted. The only one that he might have wanted from my findings was the Billy Joel album. “Oh, Billy Joel. Nice,” he said. That’s right, you vinyl record hog, I got one that you didn’t. I happened to snag that one from a small pile that I got to first. The truth is I felt kind of sorry for him that he was morbidly obese so I didn’t race him through the piles of records. He had a gut that needed a bra.

Again, there was another Linda Ronstadt record for sale. Now I kind of regret not picking it up just for shits and giggles.

The owner wanted $5 per title. I’m not paying $5 a title at a yard sale. Half the records I buy at yard sales don’t play so well. I don’t like pulling out the Chinese bargaining monster that is embedded in my DNA but he will come out if the opposition refuses to surrender.

“4 for $15?”

“Ummm…pick another one and you can have 5 for $20.”

“I barely want this 4th one..haha.” (C’mon, give in)

I found a few more that I liked enough. “7 for $25?”

We had a deal. At close to $3.50 a title I’m satisfied. One day I’m going to have too many vinyl records and I’m going to sell them at my yard sale for $5 a piece.

Mid-September Adventures


Since the ad on Craigslist said that there would be vinyl records for sale at this swap meet I decided to go. My first 10 seconds of being there I spotted this mirror. For the last 8 months I’ve been mostly inactively looking for a mirror just like this. It’s from this journey that I learned the definition of ‘ornate.’ I nearly pissed my pants when the guy told me he was selling it for $7. Now I have a mirror that is worthy of holding my image like a mirror from the Roman Empire owned by men who held high titles of nobility.

Luckily the mirror cushioned the disappointment that the vinyl records were going to bring. There were about 15 records and 4 of them were Rod Stewart albums and out of those 4, 3 of them were the same album. The downside of Craigslist is that there is no accountability for shitty advertising. I want to talk to your manager!


Go away Coyote! Please go away Coyote? C’mon, just go.



At a near by dog park where there are apparently coyotes there’s also blackberries. It’s not the first time I’ve picked n’ eat blackberries here and every time there’s no one else but me doing it. It didn’t make sense to me that I would be the only one taking advantage of free berries. Primitive tribal wiring kicked in and it made me wonder if I was doing something wrong. Are they poisonous? Is it illegal? Is it frowned upon because of some unwritten rule? Do birds shit on them?


Maybe people are scared of the thorns?


Maybe the terrain is too treacherous?


Don’t worry about her, she’s apparently a descendant of wolves.


Coincidence has led me to accumulate a total of 3 Linda Ronstadt records in a short period of time. Every yard sale or used record store I’ve visited has had one and I pick them up because they are cheap. I’m not even a fan of her music which might not even be an accurate statement since it doesn’t appear she writes any of it.

However, I’ve decided that track 6 from her Greatest Hits album, Long Long Time is the song that I will commit imaginary suicide to. I have no idea what the lyrics are even about, probably about some dude who crapped all over her heart and didn’t have the decency to even light a match.

It just has such a sad sad sound. Unfortunately, by the time they find my dead body the song would have ended because my record player doesn’t have a repeat function. I’ll just be some guy who killed himself instead of the guy who killed himself to Linda Ronstadt’s, Long Long Time. If someone tells you there’s no good use for the repeat function, you’ll know what to tell them next time.


The dog and I took a walk to the location of the 2 week expired yard sale that had this picture of African kids.

Hi. You had a picture of African kids for sale at your yard sale. Do you still have it?


And that was that. Someone else is oohing and aahing guests at their home, telling great fictitious tales of adventure and humanitarianism while my wall that could have been remains lifeless.


My new goal in life is to adopt a picture of starving African children.