Random Acts of Procrastination

I PROCRASTINATE AT THE BEST OF TIMES.

The best of times, of course, being roughly April-October, when humans can actually survive and thrive up here in the frozen Prairie tundra we call Western Canada.

When you factor in the painful, pitiful plethora of never-ending cold and -40C windchills from December to March or so, I go into virtual hibernation, which is where I'm at right now with blogging. But I digress.

Here's my current checklist, as incomplete as it is, of procrastination. In fact, I'm even procrastinating about posting this post. So if you don't actually see this on my blog, you'll know why.

But then, of course, you wouldn't know I had been procrastinating. Oh, never mind.

The lovely Anna had sent me a recipe some time ago for African style braised chicken in peanut sauce, to be cooked in a crock pot, but I have been negligent.

Now that I have two days off, I'm going to try it, dammit! And I even have a crock pot! But I need to go out and buy more ingredients. I've even written them down on a shopping list!

The unfortunate thing is I don't think the chicken parts above will actually thaw out until next Thursday, so I might get hungry. Might as well order in pizza...

I'll let you know how it turned out, if I remember or don't procrastinate further...

My toaster has more crumbs on it and in it than granny's applie pie. I'm sure I'll put this task off yet another few months. But hey, at least I'm thinking about it!

I think I need to take out my recycling. On the other hand, having all that crap on top of my trap door to the underworld prevents all those zombies, rats and other things from entering my apartment.

I think I'll think on that a bit more...

This is my son's bedroom. OK, I laundered his sheets and all, so that's my doing. The rest is his incredible mess. If I'm the master of procrastination, he's the overlord. He's in deep doo-doo when I see him next...
My guitar, which is a girl, is gently weeping as I don't play her. I really should. She just sits there, looking pretty. She wants me to hold her and play her and strum on her strings. I think I need lessons again...
Well, what else is new...my front closet is a disaster. My rollerblades are way out of style and I need new ones. I just can't wait until I can wear my sandals again. What's a guy to do?


I have to renew my passport, which expired in July, much the same as me. I could get called on to travel outside Canada from my work at any time. This is one of my main priorities. Maybe next month.
As you can see, I keep all my bills and financial statements in perfect order. As someone said to me today, I'm a piler, not a filer. When I get around to it, I guess...
I can't believe this, but some arse actually stole the shovel I had leaning against my apartment wall outside. So the goofs at this apartment complex shovel only up as far as you see, then leave the rest for me.

I have to buy a shovel now. And this snow and cold won't go away until March sometime. Sigh. On this one, I can't procrastinate. What's the world coming to?

I HAVE RETURNED...

BUT ONLY IN A MANNER OF SPEAKING.

See that handsome lad above? That's my nephew, Joshua.

See the short snowman he's with? That's me, after returning from Outer Space and the Orion Nebula.

In my last dispatch, I explained that earth's gravity and some sad circumstances had weighed my Orionesque form down to nothing more than about eight inches tall. I could barely move, much less function.

I was summoned by my planet's leaders to return for de-gravitization, a process that usually takes one earth year. But my treatments were cut short, so to speak.

My boss back here on Earth sent a text message saying he needed me here to cover an event that features rocks with handles on them, ice (of course...what else in February?) and brooms in a sport that rhymes with hurling and begins with the letter "c."

I immediately launched my spaceship back to this planet, only to return to -48C temperatures with the windchill. My body, especially in its highly gravitized state, could not handle the transition.

The result is what you see above.

But I promised a postcard or two of my travels, so here they are.

This is me using the hypertronic defibulator to blast through an oncoming meteor, thereby saving the Earth while you were all asleep.

My mother spaceship, flying into a sun.



Me in my little rover spaceship

OK, that's it. I was going to do a Valentine's Day post, but I have no time and I'm quickly melting, so I must hurry.

I'm on the road to Brandon Thursday morning for a weekend of the thing that rhymes with hurling but starts with the letter "c."

Be well. And Happy Valentine's Day.

GRAVITY

EARTH'S GRAVITY TENDS TO HAVE A CUMULATIVE EFFECT ON US ALIENS.

AT THE MOMENT, GRAVITY IS WEIGHING ME DOWN.

SO I NEED TO BLAST OFF BACK TO THE ORION NEBULA FOR A WHILE TO GET A TUNEUP. IT'S COVERED BY THE INTERPLANETARY WARRANTY.

I haven't been getting to many blogs lately, even as some of you have been visiting me. And I apologize. It's just the way it is when gravity's forces do their thing.


I'll send a postcard.

And a smile.

To each and every one of you who come here.

Mitt's a Moron

AND NOW, FRESH OFF THE PRESSES OF MY BULLSHIT METER, THIS JUST IN:

I could look this up in Wikipedia or something, but I won't. I assume Mitt is short for Mittenwald or something. Or Mittskrieg, which rhymes with blitzkrieg.

Or maybe it's some form of the word myopic. Or moronic.

Actually, I now HAVE looked it up. Mitt is short for Milton. Mitt was named after a Chicago Bears' quarterback.

It's important to note here that Mitt was the head guy for the 2002 Salt Lake Olympics, which were plagued by scandal involving payoffs and neat stuff like that. I was actually there and covered those Games.

Never met Mitt though.

We digress.


Woe is the U.S. Republican and religious right as far as the U.S. presidential race goes.


Mitt Romney finally gave up the ghost on Thursday. Not because he's a larger-than-life Donny Osmond lookalike with his coiffed hair and billions of dollars or because America didn't actually support him, mind you.


But only because he didn't want to help the Democrats win and therefore result in the U.S. losing the Republicans' fabricated war on terror.


Here's a few grafs from one story I found. And keep in mind, whenever a politician uses the word "frankly" not once, but twice, in the same paragraph, he's totally bullshitting.


"Romney said he had taken the decision because continuing his battle with McCain would weaken his party, increasing the chances of a Democrat victory which would mean a "surrender to terror."


In what was the most passionate speech of Romney's campaign, he said he was making the sacrifice for the common good.


"If I fight on all the way to convention, I forestall the launch of a national campaign and, frankly, I would be making it easier for Senator Clinton or Obama to win," he said. "Frankly, in this time of war, I simply cannot let my campaign be a part of aiding a surrender to terror."


The Super Tuesday primaries had left him with 270 delegates to Mr McCain's 680. The multi-millionaire had said he needed a minimum of 400 to stay in the race.


Romney told a conservative conference in Washington: "Conservative principles are needed now more than ever. Soon, the face of liberalism in America will have a new name. Whether it is Barack or Hillary, the result will be the same."


(Eds note: Bullshit meter goes off the scale)

"The opponents of American culture will push the throttle."

---

This is a guy who's a Mormon, who wants to ban gay marriages, who talks about Europe's economic problems as being "the inevitable product of weakened faith in the Creator, failed families, disrespect for the sanctity of human life and eroded morality."


And now he's done.

So all the Far Right has left is Huckabee, who had been in third place before Mitt magically disappeared. All I can say is, John McCain, I like you. You're the only Republican candidate, but you're going to lose anyway.

This is poetic justice. Isn't it? Mitt the twit takes the hit. What a sacrifice. What a farce.