Tuesday, December 19, 2006


So I was moving all weekend, which of course also meant I was drinking all weekend. Then I come into work today to discover what I already knew - a study has been done showing that people who drink at a party are less likely to get hurt when they fall down than people who are sober. I knew that as soon as my feet went out from under me and a microwave crushed my head between itself and the ground. If I had been sober, that could have HURT!

Not only that, but I feel 30 percent dumber after this weekend, thanks mostly to my somewhat heroic intake of beer. Now another study (these always come out near New Years) suggests that if I take a couple of weeks off (from drinking, not work), then my brain cells will regenerate and I will gain back the smarts! Good to know.

I have always maintained the theory that beer makes you smarter - try to poke holes in this theory: We as humans use only ten percent of our brains. That means when we kill brain cells with beer, 90 percent of those cells we're killing we don't use anyway, and only ten percent of them are useful. 90-10 = 80. That means that every time we drink, we're removing unwanted brain by 80 percent at a time. So every time we drink, our brain becomes 80 percent more efficient, thus making us smarter.

Hello neighbours

Just moved into a new house. My neighbours have always suspected I was some sort of a sexual deviant, now they seem to believe I'm a hardened criminal. I don't know how I'd rather be known. Before now, I used to come home, sit out on my porch, have a beer and smoke a cigarette. Which was fine except on those days when I was dressed as a french maid, or a belly dancer, or a hooker. Turns out the good people of Kanata find that off-putting somehow.

Today they disliked me on a different level, however, as I moved from one end of my parking lot to the other. That meant that I carried most of my stuff by myself. TVs, boxes of movies, CDs, and all those other things a criminal might snag in a break-and-enter. I could see countless old faces peering out from behind their curtains as I struggled across the parking lot carrying an assortment of boxes and furniture. I quickly realized - they actually think I'm stealing this stuff! As though a criminal would find his 11 a.m. burglary to be so successful that he had to make thirty-two trips to get all the stuff he wanted.

The strange looks I got and the strange looks I normally get when dressed as a stripper are nothing, however, to the bizarre looks I get when, as a 250-pound hairy man, I take my new toy poodle out for a walk. Which would just be fairly amusing in an emasculating sort of way if the poodle wasn't named "Muffin". Giving a dog a name like that should be punishable by fine. If people in Kanata can get fined for painting their garage door, building hockey rinks and hanging clothes outside, they should definitely be fined for naming a toy poodle "Muffin". There should also be fines for talking in a baby voice to your cat and leaving your Starbucks cup on the roof of your SUV as you drive away.