Word of the Day

Now what kind of self-proclaimed writer would I be if I didn't offer a regular feature that promises to enrich the reader's vocabulary? Of course, "Day" must be taken loosely. With my track record it may be more like word-of-the-year.

Today's word: GRANDBASTARD

Definition: I don't really know for sure. Possibly it refers to the bastard child of your legitimate offspring. Or it could be the legitimate child of your bastard offspring. Or perhaps it is just one who is a phenomenal jerk. Who knows?

Let's see it in a sentence:

"...Lord Frey, who had outlived seven wives and filled his twin castles with children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren, and bastards and grandbastards as well."

------ George R. R. Martin, A Game of Thrones

Great book, by the way. Many thanks to Aequitas for the recommendation.

So there you have it. Please join us for tomorrow's word of the day, freckelshnowzercat.

These are the people in my neighborhood

Saturday morning. Early. Tim Hortons is the first stop on the garage sale tour. We then hit the sales, me with coffee in one hand, bagel in the other.

Every other person who sees me says, "Ooh. Coffee! Got one for me?" And all those who don't, say instead, "Ooh! Bagel! Where's mine?"

Oh how I must laugh and laugh and laugh at all this crazy Canadian Tim Horton humour. It's how Canadians spend most of their days. Either buying Tim Horton products or making these jokes.

Strangely I fall out of the mood by about the fourth garage sale. Still I have found no books.

"Ooh! Coffee!" says vendor man number four. "Where's mine?"

"Sorry," I say, dryly. "This was their last one."

"Well give me the coffee and I'll give you great deals!"

"You have no deals for me," I say. "You don't have what I want."

"What are you looking for?"

"Books."

He laughs out loud. "Do I look like the kind of guy who reads books?"

"No, you don't," I say flatly, looking at him as I would a bug on my dinner.

"I had a stack of Maxims," he says as I turn and walk away. He cries, "That's reading material!"


Later I'm babysitting little Stella the dog while Cap'n Vino and Professor Plonk go wine hunting with Tasty Scortez (formerly known as Doc Swallows). Stella needs to pee. I need a coffee but these bastards have no coffee cream in the house. We head out for a walk.

"Hi there!" says Three-Doors-Down-Lady. Stella heaves on the leash. She will apparently die if she does not immediately leap into the arms of the neighbor.

"Do you know this dog?" I ask.

"Do I know this dog!" she cries. "Hahahahahaha!"

"Hi Stella!" she says as they finally embrace. They then have a rather one-sided conversation about the dog biscuits on hand and Stella's health and the explanation as to why Stella will not be receiving a biscuit on this day.

"Oh!" says Three-Doors-Down-Lady, finally looking up at me. "You must be [Professor Plonk's] brother!"

"No. Just a friend."

"I thought you were Plonk at first. You look so similar. You have the same hair."

As my hair is fine and blond and Plonk's is thick and black - I see exactly what she means. And of course, I have a beard and Plonk does not so of course - the resemblance must be startling to those without a very clever eye.

"Do you know if there's a variety store within walking distance?"

"Closest one is Jug Milk. It's that way," she says and points. "What do you need?"

"Cream for coffee."

"Oh, I've got cream. I'll give you some."

"No, that's okay. I want to buy my own. It tastes better when you pay for it."

"Hang on," she says and disappears inside the house. Stella is freaking out trying to figure out where the damn biscuits are.

She returns with a big plastic dairy jug and hands it to me. It's almost entirely empty. And it appears not to be cream but milk.

"Oh wait," she says and takes it back. "It's not clean." She disappears again and returns with the jug which is now somewhat watery and less milky. "There you go," she says, handing me the jug back. "They'll give you a quarter for it."

'Ooh,' I'm thinking. 'I hope it's a shiny one.' I guess she just hates anyone leaving her place empty handed - be they human or canine. Or else she thinks I'm a street person. Come to think of it, I hadn't time to shower yet today.

"So the Jug Milk - it's within walking distance, is it?"

"No," she says, "Not really."

I thank her and tell her it was nice meeting her and say goodbye. I drop the jug in the bed of the truck, enter the house and lock the door. I decide I can do without the coffee. I've been woken up sufficiently.

Next time I'll tell you about the dentist and the bus driver and the chick with the purple face.

Bring on the balloons and clowns and open bar

Hooray. Hooray. That was my 400th post. Is that any kind of milestone?


Took long enough, I guess.
.








(Editor's note: We have no idea who those two guys are.)

Brothers from different mothers?

Call it a rip-off or call it a homage. Either way, this is my response to the very cool Automattic and his post of the same title.


St-Louis Ram's Steven Jackson and Predator. Can you tell which pic is which? Me thinks not.

.





I rest my case.

I don't even *like* cat food

Walking home from the bank this morning, I passed an old lady who was toddling along with a full bag of groceries in each hand - and not the regular disposable stretchy plastic bags either but those big foldable reusable ones that you buy for a couple bucks.

"Good morning," I said. "May I carry one of your bags for you?"

She looked at me, horrified, and said stiffly, "No thank you."

Clearly I must look like the kind of guy who would rape an old lady and steal all her cat food.

I never imagined I would look like the kind of guy who would rape an old lady and steal all her cat food but hey, I've been wrong before. Maybe I should have shaved this morning.

"Okay," I said. "Have a good day." Then I kicked my legs back into second gear and left her in my dust.

Ten minutes later, The Baroness informs me that, "Elsie says she's sorry."

"Who's Elsie?"

"Our next door neighbor. She says she's sorry she was rude to you but she didn't recognize you until she saw you walking up our driveway."

Well the joke's on Elsie. Because I didn't recognize her either.

Steve-o: The Final Farewell

Well, I hate to say it, But my close association to Steve-o-of-Streetsville has come to an end and I can only come up with four previously undisclosed offerings. This shall be the end of the Steve-o series but take heart. Between everyone else I know, combined, I tend to hear enough peculiar things that I will continue to post along a similar vein. Unfortunately - or fortunately - there are no more Steve-o's, but we'll do the best we can in his absence.


As always - words in italics were sang, not spoken:



Falafel, you came and you bought me a turkey, on my vacation from workie.

Did you capture the chili monster and cook him?


Okay kids! It's almost bed time! Brush your teeth and get your jammies on and smoke your two packs of cigarettes!


HELLO WISCONSIN! Dee dee dee, dee dee dee, Hangin out, down the street, playin badminton, standin on my feet...



The sentiments expressed above are not shared.