Now that I have your attention, I must warn you that there is no big payoff in this column. The title is a phrase coined by a friend many moons ago. It means nothing. The column's content is whatever falls out of my head the night before I jet off to the Great White North.
We have too many Canadians at work. Some of them have fled the Valley since the downturn, relocating to our offices in Toronto. I say we have too many Canadians because they all sound pretty damned proud to be Canadian. One loud jingoistic dildo-head is enough. I've had my fill of Canadian flags, Canadian trivia, and hockey. I wonder if all the proud Canadians are expatriates. They must screen all the folks that leave the country in order to form a corps of elite propaganda shock troops to spread the word of Canada's primacy. All the depressed Canadians are kept chained to their jobs as fish gutters or hockey fans or something. And another thing: what the hell is up with "eh"? My wife and I use it. I have never been to Canada. People always ask me if I'm Canadian as if they've broken some secret code or exposed a secret agent. I tell them that I'm actually from the Belgian Congo. Of course, I expect that Victoria, B.C., is going to be as Canadian as TJ is Mexican. Too many tourists tend to spoil a place. That's one reason why Anaheim is such a shithole. I hear that Disney and the city have sunk bazillions of dollars in to the area in order to realize their wet dream of California Adventure. I don't need to go back there to know that it's still a shithole.
As I've just ably demonstrated, there's no way that I would be able to spew out five hundred words in only five hundred seconds. In high school, when given the choice between typing and stagecraft, I took stagecraft. This has permanently handicapped me as a geek. First of all, I don't spend enough time geeking. I'm sure if I let the sandal-shaped tan lines on my feet fade to a fine alabaster as I typed at night and slept during the day, my typing speed would improve. Of course, stagecraft gave me the chance to lose 25 pounds in four days of playing the Cowardly Lion, running up and down a 19-foot tall witch's castle under hot lights while wearing the equivalent of a sleeping bag. Ah, them's were the days. Stagecraft also eventually led to me getting laid. Let this be a warning to all males: in my experience, most theater women are a wee bit messed up in the head. If you're horny and manipulative and don't look too much like Marty Feldman, then you stand a pretty good chance of getting some. However, think carefully before you plumb those depths. They say that the most important sex organ is the brain. I must've been thinking with my second most important organ in those days. As "Red Will" Danaher put it "He'll regret it till his dying day, if ever he lives that long."
Pakeha