End of the World Paranoia

When I visited Mexico, I toured some of the Mayan ruins. I remember hearing over and over again how wise the Mayans were and how they were able to predict their own demise. It is for this reason, I am led to believe, that we are supposed to pay special attention to their calendar and take heed of their warning that the world will end in 2012. After all, 2012 is when the Mayan calendar ends.

But don’t you think that maybe, just maybe, it is possible that the Mayan calendar ends in 2012 because they felt like that was far enough in the future that they could stop for a bit before making more calendar?

My current calendar ends this December, but I do not think this is the printer’s way of trying to hint to me that on December 31, 2009, the world has a preordained date with a catastrophe. No, instead I recognize that a calendar has to stop at some point in time, so why not December?

Maybe the individuals who were making the Mayan calendar just got tired. One of them, whom I will hereon refer to as “Jim,” probably said to the others, “Dudes, we’ve already gone, like, 1,000 years into the future. Let’s take a break for a decade or so and then get back to this. To be honest, my hands are cramping, and I could really go for a refreshing glass of water.” Obviously, the others would have agreed with what Jim was saying because, after all, they were way ahead of the game. Besides that, Jim was super cool and everyone was always trying to impress him.

Kanye West Tweets

Imagine, if you will, genius in 140 characters.

It’s hard to imagine anything in 140 characters, let alone genius.

One hundred and forty characters is not many characters. In fact, this very sentence you are now reading is actually, if you can believe it, one hundred and forty four characters, including all spaces. Although, if I am being honest, I will admit that my previous sentence looks incredibly long, and I only actually even wrote it to illustrate one point: 140 characters is not a whole lot of characters.

My point is to truly be able to reach people, to touch them down deep in their souls, in 140 characters (or fewer) is an incredible feat… An incredible feat that Kanye West has mastered.

A few examples of Kanye’s genius:

Fur pillows are hard to actually sleep on

I hate when people type LOL next to shit that is nooo way near LOL-able…

I make awesome decisions in bike stores!!!

Sometimes I get emotional over fonts

What’s better for devil worshipping Iphone or the Droid… Does lucifer return text… is he or she on Skype? Don’t wanna be sexist

I hate when I’m on a flight and I wake up with a water bottle next to me like oh great now I gotta be responsible for this water bottle

Man… whatever happened to my antique fish tank?

See what I mean? Genius.

Dancing

Within the confines of my apartment walls, I am the world’s greatest dancer. No question.

Sometimes, at weddings, after having one or seven drinks, I am also exceptionally skilled on the dance floor.

Dancing is innate. It is true. Just go to youtube and check out all the videos that have been uploaded of babies dancing. No one taught them to do this (except maybe this baby. Someone probably taught that baby at least some of its moves. Or it’s really just a little person pretending to be a toddler). And, let’s face it, if someone did teach them, that someone did a really bad job because not one of those babies is a particularly good dancer.

And now you’re probably thinking that I am a terrible person for being so judgmental of a baby’s dancing abilities. To this, I respond by saying EXACTLY. If we are not critical of these babies right from the start they are going to grow up thinking that this kind of dancing is good enough. And then who knows what will happen. It is highly probable that they would go on to audition for “So You Think You Can Dance?” and that would just be a waste of everyone’s time.

But I digress.

When dancing in a non-professional setting, it does not matter if you are good or bad. All that matters is that you are having fun. I mean, if you can look cool at the same time then that is a definite plus, but having fun is pretty high up there when it comes to what you should get out of dancing.

Last month, at my cousin’s wedding, I was on fire on the dance floor. Not literally on fire, but metaphorically on fire. If I had literally been on fire, it would have been, I would imagine, a fairly traumatic day for everyone who attended the wedding.

My dance moves were so intense that evening that people felt compelled to video tape me. Dance moves I called upon included (but were not limited to) the sprinkler, the shopping cart, the lawnmower, the running man, the grapevine and a little something that I like to call the upside down tornado. Yes, it’s true, Internet; I looked incredibly cool that night. All of the other girls wanted to be me and all of the guys wanted to be with me. But what was most important was that I was having a good time.

I carried pieces of that night around with me well into the next day. Mostly in the form of a hangover, but partly in the form of the unadulterated joy derived from dancing.

An Ode to Hamilton

I see him, without fail, each time I take the dogs for an evening stroll. “If ever someone were to eat 80% of my face,” I think to myself, “it would be you.” When we pass, I look him right in the eye (just one though) to make sure that he knows that I know he is not to be trusted.

Hamilton is a city defined by its people. The thing is that its people are so magically diverse that there is no real way to define it at all.

My apartment building itself is filled with a mixture of the hopeful and hopeless. It was built sometime in the early 20s, meant to house Hamilton’s rich and famous. I like to imagine what it might have looked like in its day. As I walk through the halls, I hear the voice of Ron Burgandy echoing in my head, or maybe I am actually hearing it from someone’s TV. Regardless, Burgandy says, “I have many leather-bound books and my apartment smells of rich mahogany.” If mahogany smells anything like marijuana, Ron Burgandy’s apartment and my apartment building have much in common.

Having been born and raised in a city Hamilton adjacent – one that prides itself on being both morally and economically superior to its blue collar neighbour – I have found myself surprisingly fond of my new home. I like it here.

“It’s not as bad as you think,” I once told a friend.

“You should take that to the tourism office. I think you just found a new slogan. Hamilton: it’s not as bad as you think.”

But, seriously, it’s not as bad as you think.

Making Artistic Films

I have this wonderful idea for a series of non-pornographic adult films. So far, the series includes two films: Dirty Bitches Get Clean: Part One and its sequel: Dirty Bitches Get Clean: Part Two.

The first film would feature myself and one of my best friends doing household chores. We’d wash windows. Floors would be cleaned. Dusting would take place. Halfway into the film, there would be a knock at the door and a pizza delivery man would show up. “I have a hot delivery for you,” pizza man would say (as pizza men so often do). “Where do you want me to put it?”

“Oh, why don’t you put that on the table,” we would tell him.

But pizza delivery men are clumsy, so, in his journey from the front door to the table, he would drop the pizza on the floor.

“Oh no!” we would cry, “We are going to have to clean up all of that pizza!”

And scene.

Genius.

But probably not as genius as Dirty Bitches Get Clean: Part Two. Dirty Bitches Get Clean: Part Two is the real money maker.

Dirty Bitches Get Clean: Part Two involves, once again, myself and a friend. But the twist this time is that we are not cleaning houses. Instead, we are giving baths to dogs. To be more specific, we are giving baths to bitches. Dirty ones.

“Wow, this bitch is so dirty,” I would say to my co-star/friend. She, of course, would nod in agreement.

“This bitch has gotten me all wet,” my co-star/friend would say.

The beauty of this movie would be that not only do we make money from the sales of the film, but we also make money charging people to bathe their dogs.

Exercising

I never thought the day would come, yet here it is. In all seriousness, Internet, I am going to confess to you that I like exercising.

How weird is that?

I do not like exercising when I am in the midst of it. It is only once I have made it past the halfway point of my alloted exercise time that I am even able to begin to entertain the idea of appreciating what I am doing. Until that halfway point, I am a bitter, angry person. I spend that first 35 minutes, during which I am doing cardio, cursing to myself.

I like to think that the rage and resentment I feel towards exercising vacates my body along side the copious amounts of sweat I produce during my workout. Actually, “copious” does not even begin to paint a proper picture of how much sweat while exercising.

Prior to beginning a routine of regular exercise, I did not know that my forearms could sweat. That’s not true. I knew that my forearms could sweat; I just did not realize that my forearms could create enough sweat that the sweat would bead and fall to the floor.

By the time I have finished exercising each evening, it looks as though I had decided to take a shower while wearing workout attire. Thinking about it now, showering in my workout attire might actually be a good idea as I could use the time to wash both myself and my workout ensemble simultaneously.

One of the side effects of regular exercise has been that I have lost a little over 30 pounds. Seriously, I have no idea where it has gone. One day, it was there, on my hips, and the next day it had magically disappeared. While I am generally pleased by this development, I did not find it amusing when my pants nearly fell down while I was out grocery shopping. I had a flashback to a similar event that had occurred several years prior that ended in me being escorted, by staff, out of a bookstore.

It is probably time to invest in a belt.

Stuff Megan Does Not Like (Part Four)

My cat.

Actually, I generally like my cat, but there was a time that this was not the case. It was several years ago, and it was largely the result of the rift between us that was caused almost entirely by his drinking problem.

My cat is actually American. However, his nationality has nothing to do with the disdain I once felt for him. Rather, I was bothered by the air of superiority that he projected when in the presence of other cats and the way he insisted that a “real” football field was only 53 and 1/2 feet wide.

My cat is also technically a mutant. Aside from the power to annoy, he lacks any super abilities. However, he does have an unusually high quantity of toes. To be exact, my cat has twenty-seven toes. This is commonly referred to as polydactylism. I specifically sought him out because of this trait.

I’d become interested in polydactyl cats after visiting the home of Ernest Hemingway while I was in Key West, Florida. Polydactyl cats are supposed to bring good luck, but I think someone forgot to tell this to my cat.

My cat has many quirky traits that cause a special love/hate relationship to exist between us. For instance, my cat licks plastic. He also enjoys chewing on electrical cords. Have you ever had to tell a university professor that you weren’t going to be able to submit a paper on time because your cat chewed through your laptop’s power cord and your battery died? I have.

Although I lack actual proof, I think my cat may be evil.

Pie Night

I first celebrated Pie Night in 2004.

It was glorious.

“That is lovely,” you may be saying to yourself, “but what is Pie Night?”

The answer to that question is fairly simple, as the name of the event, Pie Night, is kind of self-explanatory. Pie Night is a night on which many pies are purchased and then eaten. It was born out of indecisiveness and a craving for pie. Unable to choose between apple, pumpkin, lemon, cherry or any of the other flavours that Sobey’s had displayed in their baked goods section, I just bought one of each.

When I approached the register to make my purchase, the checkout boy looked at me inquisitively. “Having a party?” he asked.

“No,” I replied, “these pies are just for me.” But this was only true in part. The pies were largely for me, but I fully intended to return to my apartment, wake up my roommates (it was 3 a.m.) and force them to eat pie with me. Eating eight pies by yourself at 3 a.m. is sad and may indicate that you are suffering from emotional issues. Eating eight pies with your college roommates at 3 a.m., however, is making the kind of memories that will last a lifetime.

The downfall of Pie Night is that there is always pie left over the next day. While living in residence at university, this problem was easily solved by leaving leftover pie in the kitchens of the unfortunate souls on our floor who happened to leave their apartments unlocked at night.

I will tell you a secret, Interweb: I have a dream of entering a pie eating contest. I do not think that I would be able to eat more than one pie, but I feel like a pie eating contest is the only time when it is socially acceptable for me to stick my face into a pie, and this appeals to me.

Sparkles

Nothing in the world causes me to experience a rush of euphoria quite the way that sparkles do. Actually, that is not true. I can probably make a list of things that cause me to experience a rush of euphoria similar to the way sparkles do: puppies, winning money, high-fiving and finding great things on sale. But there is just something about sparkles that makes me so happy inside.

Maybe referring to them as sparkles is not being specific enough; I enjoy glitter. I will be even more specific and state that I am not referring to “Glitter,” the Mariah Carey movie. I do not enjoy that. Although I will admit that I have not actually seen the movie “Glitter,” and I have no intention of doing so in the near future. I am not going to say that I will never watch the movie “Glitter” because I may one day find myself on a plane where “Glitter” is being shown as the in-flight entertainment. At such a time, it is more than possible that I will choose to view the film.

But I digress. Glitter.

Wikipedia defines glitter as “very small pieces of paper, glass or plastic painted in metallic, neon and iridescent colours to reflect light in a sparkling spectrum.” It also states that glitter is often used in craft projects because of the brilliant effects which can be achieved relatively easily by using it.

I have used glitter in several craft projects that I have undertaken. My favourite “craft project” is making encouraging signs for people using poster board, glue and glitter.

I made my first glitter sign for my younger brother to encourage him to do well as he played in a high school football game.

His team lost that game, just as they lost many more games that season, and I feel it can be directly linked to my brother’s bad attitude about sparkly signs bearing his name.

After adamantly refusing to hold the sign I made him so that I could take a photo, he finally agreed to stand in front of the camera while my mother held the sign up beside him. I will tell you, Internet, that, if someone made a sparkly sign for me, I would hold that sign proudly for any and all photos people wanted to take of me. In fact, this past June I made myself a sparkly sign bearing my name and bribed my brother into holding it for me while I ran my first five kilometre race. After the race, I walked all around downtown Burlington with my sign and refused to put it down. The sign is currently sitting on a shelf in my garage. Every so often, I go to visit it in my garage and simply bask in its glittery glory.

Hamsters

Three years ago, just after I made the joyful move back into my parents’ house (please read the former with just a hint of sarcasm), I let it be known that I had an overwhelming urge to purchase a hamster.

“No,” my mother stated firmly. And so I ended up going out and spending several thousand dollars on a saltwater aquarium instead. Now that several years have elapsed, and I have some perspective, I can tell you, Internet, that, without a doubt, getting a hamster would have been a much better choice.

Do you remember the show “Tales of the Riverbank?” Of course you do. But just in case you are having “one of those days,” I will remind you that it was a children’s television programme that ran intermittently from the early ’60s all the way until 1998. You will recall that it starred Hammy the Hamster and featured other notable characters such as GP the Guinea Pig, Roderick the Water Rat, Turtle, and Berti and Herbi.

So what made this show so remarkable? I will tell you what: those rodents captained boats! Sailboats, ferryboats, steamboats and motorboats were only a few of the water crafts these clever little mammals handled. But their genius was not limited to chauffeuring aquatic vehicles. I watched one episode where Hammy the Hamster and Roderick the Water Rat used power tools to assemble and erect a clock tower. Even I have difficulties when using tools such as power saws, so you can imagine my amazement (and jealousy) when I witnessed a rat use one with ease.

“How?” I thought to myself. “Rats do not even have thumbs.” And yet, the lack of an opposable digit did nothing to hinder this animal’s carpentry ability. In fact, as shown in the clip below, the rat was even able to use a drill and a hammer without the aid of a pollex.

When not building clock towers, episodes of the series indicated that Hammy enjoyed spending his time fishing. Prior to watching this show, I had never realized that rodents were even able to fish let alone use it as a means of unwinding. But the exposure to Hammy’s past times got me thinking: where did this hamster even get the money to buy a boat? After all, Hammy owned at least two boats and one car. Fine, I am willing to admit that it is possible he merely leased them, but even so, how did he earn the money required to make his monthly payments? And what kind of deals do insurance companies offer hamsters?

I feel that the show missed out on a great opportunity to explore the working world of rodents and the real obstacles they face.