Google’s been whispering nasty stuff this week. Weather forecasts that climb into singe-your-eyebrows-off territory. Humidex readings in the 40C range.
It’s been Hot. Good Morning Vietnam hot…
Canadians aren’t good with sweltering. We crank up the air conditioning, head out to the nearest lake with a cooler full of ice and beer, and start up the helicopter.
The helicopter. You know, to pick up the ice cream cake from Dairy Queen.
The RCMP in Tisdale, Saskatchewan aren’t thrilled with the pilot who landed his helicopter in an empty school parking lot to pick up an ice cream cake.
To be fair, the pilot’s hometown of Leroy doesn’t have it’s own Dairy Queen, and it’s an hour and a half drive from Tisdale. What’s a guy to do?
Cole Porter would understand…
As anyone who has ever dieted knows, Monday’s the day.
The day you kick a lifetime of bad habits out the door, and usher in the new and improved you.
The day you pop out of bed, hit the treadmill and the shower, and get it together…all of it, everything on that DIY improvement list in your head.
The only problem with Monday is, there’s always another one coming along 🙂
Now that the vaccines are out and about, and we’re impatiently awaiting the end of pandemic restrictions, have you put any thought into a post-Covid world, and what that might look like?
I’ve wondered if masks might become a permanent part of my wardrobe, if the Western handshake will be replaced by the Eastern bow, if my poor neglected passport will ever escape the drawer its imprisoned in, but that’s as far as it went.
In the kitchen, baking cookies I had no business baking, I saw it—our post-Covid world.
You’ve seen it too, in all its HD clarity.
It’s been awhile since 2009 so you might not remember, but the movie ends with people stumbling out of their houses, blinking in the daylight most of them haven’t seen in years. Unshaven, unwashed, wrapped in bathrobes, they’re lost in a world they’re no longer familiar with.
OMG, Yes! Have you seen my robe?
FYI, the cookies came out pretty well 🙂
Don’t tell anyone, but my husband is better at Covid than I am.
I reach for a cookie, he does sit-ups. I bake brownies, he gets on the treadmill. I veg out in front of the television, and he’s downstairs practicing his golf swing.
I get bored, and eat. He gets bored, and cranks out a set of push-ups.
After almost a year of sheltering in place, I’m a mess, and he’s in better shape than ever.
Can you divorce someone for being perfect?
Brand new year, same crap virus.
Just to keep it interesting, Covid-19 has come up with a few new variations. And here we are, hunkering down for another winter of lockdown, Zoom, and Netflix.
Into a sadly distanced holiday season, Netflix dropped a champagne glass bubbling over with cheer. Death to 2020, a British mockumentary from the creative minds behind Black Mirror, had me laughing out loud.
In a year that bounced from frightening to bizzare and back again, Charlie Brooker and Annabel Jones have managed to find the funny. Find it, dissect it, and serve it up on a platter—proving that laughter is the best medicine.
If you’re feeling a little lost and low, now that the gifts have been opened, the balls have dropped, and the fireworks are over, check out Death to 2020. It injects humour into a year that desperately needed it.
Good intentions might, or might not, pave the road to hell, but they don’t take you one metre down the path to a happier number on the scale.
Not when your jog around the track at the park ends up at the local Dairy Queen and your fifteen minute stint on the rowing machine has you pawing through the freezer for that ice cream sandwich you swore you weren’t going to eat.
If only all it took to fit into your thin clothes were good intentions, but I hear it takes something called discipline.
Something I don’t have 🙂
To paraphrase Jeff Foxworthy, you know you’re old when—
1. You’ve never heard of half the shows nominated at the Emmys.
2. You sit down to put your shoes on.
3. You think TikTok is a new clock.
4. You remember when Amazon only sold books.
5. You’re phone takes you aside, and says, “Look, we’re really sorry. We know you’re one of the dinosaurs who still buys music on Google Play, but we’re switching over to YouTube music.” And you say, “YouTube has music?”
Excuse me, but—I’m old.
Tom Ellis has been working the British accent and devilish charm for five seasons now. As Lucifer Morningstar, he takes us into a world where the Devil is real—and runs a club in L.A.
In the tradition of Death Takes a Holiday and Meet Joe Black, the Devil is on vacation. As one would expect, he’s keen on all the things our mothers warned us about, liquor, drugs, and sex in all its many incarnations.
Unexpectedly, this Devil wears a three-piece suit, plays the piano, and has daddy issues. The ruler of hell spends his time solving crimes with an LAPD detective and chatting with his therapist—when he’s not otherwise engaged.
According to this Lucifer, hell is fueled by guilt. Humans torturing themselves in endless loops of their worst sins. No brimstone and fire, just people blaming themselves for eternity.
Damnation based on human psychology; I like it. That’s why I watch the show. Absolutely nothing to do with the fact that the devil looks like this…
I’m not talking major unanswered questions here, no whatever happened to Amelia Earhart, or what’s with the Bermuda Triangle, or has Elvis really left the building? No, I’m thinking small scale.
Life’s little mysteries, the everyday perplexities that have us standing, and staring, and thinking what?
Take lids, for example…
Each lid has a corresponding container. They are a matched set, they go into the kitchen cupboard together. How is it then, that I found myself with four lonely lids on my hands this morning—and no equally lonely containers?
Did the containers grow bored with their partners, become disenchanted with the old ball and lid? Are they off somewhere, smiling at the newer, younger lids popping up on their dating app?
And what about socks?
How do they go into the laundry as a pair and come out as single? Do they argue in the washer, get divorced in the dryer?
Life’s little mysteries 🙂