Who Am I?

Say "hello" to - well - we don't know, exactly. All we know is that she's kinda cute and she'll be moving into Casa Crazylegs sometime around the end of June.

Let me explain, and make my plea to you, Gentle Readers. We love animals in our house. But we love Dee - Mom to some, Bestest Friend and Critic to others - even more. Dee has pet allergies, big time: watery eyes, hives, the whole works. Dee can simply stand in the doorway of a pet owner's abode and immediately tell that furry creatures dwell inside. It's that bad.

As you might guess, this has limited our pet choices to a few fish and Bernard the Hamster (RIP 2004 - 2006). The kids have wanted a more substantial pet forever, and have basically adopted other peoples' pets in lieu of having their own. Late last year, kid number one (aka Band Geek) did some research and discovered the Siberian breed of cat that purportedly has hypoallergenic properties. While this breed has only been in North America for about 10 years, we managed to locate a breeder in Welland.

To say that I was skeptical is putting things rather mildly. There's no scientific evidence that supports the rather anecdotal evidence that this breed is allergy-friendly. Naysayer that I was, I really enjoy cats (always had one as a pet during my formative years) - so we contacted the breeder and arranged a 'test visit' to see if these cats really have the magical property that allergy sufferers seek.

Long story short, Dee spent an hour with Mama Cat on her lap and kittens crawling all over the place. No sneezing. No hives. No nuthin'. Stunned and surprised, we put our money town and picked out a kitten. And that really is her picture above.

Did I mention we were stunned?

So our little Russian ball of fur will be moving in at the end of June. There's just one problem: we cannot decide on an appropriate name. In fact, we seem to suck mightily at this game.

Sasha? Mischa? Hey You? We've even had a suggestion of WYSIWYG (What You See Is What You Get). Wizzy for short, I guess.

Here's the mission: bring to bear your impressive creative skills and feed me suggestions. A cat's very identity rests in the balance.

Spasibo!

Glenda Got Some Splainin' To Do

Mea cupla - having a cellphone that takes photos is pretty useful for capturing weird little everyday moments when you think, "Wouldja look at that.".

Such was a recent lunchtime fly-by of London's venerable downtown market-come-cattle-barn. My Lebanese walking companion, in need of pita bread, led me to a market stall named simply Glenda's. While pitas were being squeezed and examined for their pita-bility, I listlessly perused a wide assortment of dips in the refrigerator case. Typically, I wouldn't pay attention - but today was different. Glenda has either a bizarro-world marketing plan, or a truly macabre set of recipes behind the counter.

Thanks to my Swiss Army cellphone, you can check out the labels from Glenda's offerings and judge for yourself. One more mea culpa - the photos are grainy in that way that lets you just know they're clandestine. Quite honestly, I'm lucky to be alive to show them to you.




Spicy Pinto Beans with Chimp









Sandinista Dijon










Howler-Monkey Tzatziki garnished with bird heads









Asiago Dips - please god let this be for cats

Mexicali Sauce - Lions love it!

Why Is This So Hard?

For pure entertainment value, nothing beats Rogers Wireless customer service.

In most ways, I loathe the idea of electronic collars. But I made an exception when Rogers offered a rock-bottom deal through my employer. I managed to get 2 cellphones for less then the street-price of 1 phone, and this lets my oh-so-active daughter keep in touch with her oh-so-neurotic Dad. So, yes, we wear electronic collars.

Just a tangent - the only other exception I'd ever make on the whole electronic collar issue is for those perimeter wires that train your dog to 'stay put' via electronic shocks. I don't own a dog, but I think this technology has fun possibilities. I'm guessing the legal, moral, and philosophical issues are probably a little thorny.

Back to the phones. So I have 2 of them, and I discovered that this model (they're identical) will work in Europe, but they don't support the cell frequencies used in England and France. I wanted the comfort of a cellphone for our upcoming vacation, so I did some research and found that the current generation of phones will work fine for us.

I went to Rogers with the simple goal of replacing my phone, and I was prepared to pay. I wasn't looking for anything else: no changes to my account, no extra services, nothing. I quickly learned that I'm naive. Where cell service is concerned, nothing is simple.

First off, the Rogers outlet was staffed by teenagers, on a Wednesday, in the middle of the day. Great, I thought. Highly educated service technicians. Turns out one fellow was the Veteran and he was supposed to be training the New Guy.

Over the course of the next 40 - count 'em - minutes, I descended into a bureauatic miasma that even I found breathtaking - and I've spent the last 25 years working in multinational corporations. I will never be able to recreate the conversation that, at various points, brought Veteran, New Guy, and myself close to blows.

The highlights:

• I have a 'corporate plan', and store computers can't access these. They had to phone someone, somewhere who could see Who I Am and What I Have.
• paper forms needed to be filled out like I was opening a new account, except they wrote 'hardware upgrade' across the top of the form. I fear this.
• Veteran thought my corporate plan sounded too good to be true. I must be mistaken, apparently. This made me mad at Veteran.
• my new phone was a free upgrade! Naturally this makes me nervous. Nothing is 'free'.
• the new phone takes pictures and videos, and plays MP3s, and surfs the Web, and plays games! I'm kinda hoping it makes phone calls.
• Veteran was sick of New Guy, and the feeling was mutual. This erupted into frequent verbal fisticuffs.
• you need to write down several codes to replace a phone. They are secret, and I believe they can cure the sick, raise the dead, and hack HD-DVD videos.

40 minutes for this. My favorite part - as I left the store New Guy gave me a wink and let me know this would have been much easier, but Veteran is kind of an asshole.

I can't wait to open my next Rogers Wireless bill.

I'm anticipating a Part 2 to this story.

Gonna Party Like It's 600 BC!

When I first read this story, I was pretty sure it was a put on. Then I wondered about how an invitation to such an event might sound.

Sony Flack: "Hey there! Just wanted to let you know we're having a big coming-out party for God of War II and, you know, you're invited!"

Me: "Wow! Cool! So it's a party?"

Sony Flack: "The biggest, man! It'll be a whole Ancient Greece kind of vibe..."

Me: "That's amazing! I'll look forward to it!"

Sony Flack: "Amazing is not the word. We'll have lots of food and wine..."

Me: "Great!"

Sony Flack: "...and PS/3's setup everywhere - with the game, of course..."

Me: "Excellent!"

Sony Flack: "....and, ahem, topless serving girls..."

Me: "Holy cow! Topless?"

Sony Flack: "...thought you'd like that...and, of course, the decapitated goat..."

Me: "...love the topless ladi...say, what?"

Sony Flack: "And snake handling! You get to touch snakes, man!"

Me: "...wait, what?"

Sony Flack: " Got more calls to make. Don't wanna to tell you all the surprises! See you there!"

My phone: "Hummmmm"

Update: Looks like the goat was pre-decapitated.

Big-Ass Pixels

Question: What do you get if you mix 10 bored people with 5 hours to kill, 6,400 spare Post-It notes, and 4 stories of window-glass?

Answer: Retro-gaming Awesomeness

I am impressed. I can barely manage spray-on snowflakes.

C'mon You Guys!

Okay, I'm done biding my time. A guy can only stand on the sidelines for so long; waiting for the real smartalecks to show up. So, I guess it's up to me, Mr. Pedestrian Blogboy, to weigh in on the news that's been hanging out there like some turgid piece of rotting fruit just waiting - nay, demanding - for someone to pick and hurl at a fitting target.

Our beloved London Free Press has discovered that people in Kilworth use YouTube. The Freeps plastered their scoop on the front page 3 days ago - and breathlessly detailed how a noted Kilworthian made his own video, with music even, and posted it on the Internet. As if this, alone, wasn't enough to send shock waves through our community (dare I say Future Shock waves?), they further report that some people even watched this video on the Internet!

The future is here and now, folks. The Freeps says so.

So where have you guys been? This was front page news in a Saturday edition!

Discuss, dammit!

Let's Think About Bridges

I'll go first. I have been thinking about bridges lately. Actually, I'm pretty sure I think about them a lot; maybe too much. I don't know what it is about bridges that makes them so interesting for me. I suppose I could get all introspective here, and imagine them as metaphors for dealing with life's obstacles blahdy blah blah. But that would be dishonest and end up as a crude ripoff of a really boring novel. I think.

I just like the looks of them. At least the interesting ones. In my local environs:

Blackfriar's Bridge is one of my favourites. In warmer weather I'll take a lunchtime stroll that includes a trip across this bridge. It's a noisy, historic, lovely-to-look-at piece of Secret London. I can't imagine why some local residents would want to get rid of it. Oh...right. This is London, Ontario we're talking about.




The Sarnia Road CPR bridge is actually in my neighbourhood, and I love it. While it's rickety and constantly in need of repair, this wood-and-steel span seems to defy the encroaching development all around it. It's a one-lane bridge serving a two-lane road and, as a result, it forces traffic to wait while oncoming traffic crosses the bridge. Folks treat it as a four-way stop - and waving at the stopped vehicles as you cross is de rigeur in these parts. This is what I love about this bridge: no matter how hurried you might be on any given day, crossing the CPR tracks here forces you to acknowledge your fellow human beings in a courteous way. Just for a minute.

The Guy Lombardo Bridge, I hate. You really can't tell that you're on a bridge, so it's handy that we spent the dough to make a sign. Actually, I think the sign was stolen from a Provincial park - it has that look. Anyways, the bridge spans one of London's best vistas of the Thames River. Why the city erected this drab, flat, concrete shrine to blandness; I cannot say. Although it does make a lovely matched set with the nearby Guy Lombardo Museum. And his music. *rimshot*

So that's my sampling of local bridge-stuff. I could go on, of course, but I want to leave a few bridges for the rest of you. I await your well-crafted witticisms on Lloyd Bridges, Nash Bridges, Todd Bridges, etcetera etcetera.

North Post

This post has no real point - other than it's the most northerly post I've made since The Beginning. I'm sitting in the basement office-slash-spare-bedroom at my in-laws' house. This house is in a small mining town called Levack. This small mining town is 30 minutes northwest of Sudbury where, of course, it's cold and snowing. The TV upstairs is tuned into (wait for it) curling - which I actually enjoy.

If Norman Rockwell was a Canuck, he'd be here drawing a picture right now. Of course, he'd have to drive 7 hours through snowsqualls to get here - like I did yesterday and will do again on Monday.

Thanks be for the Innertubes.

Where Can I Get a TARDIS? - Part 3

In hockey, it's called telegraphing your shot. In writing stuff down, it's called... errr....(KD, help me out here!).... lack of real suspense?. So I might as well confess; Part 1 and Part 2 of this silly tale were just preambles to the real story, and that is that we're biting the bullet and heading for Europe in July.

I'm excited for sure; largely because it's been Dee's Northern Girl Dream for as long as I've known her. Pre-Crazylegs, she had never traveled - and we've made a point of making up for lost time. Where other folks might save money for a rainy day, buy a new car, or put rainforest hardwood into the sunroom - we put our pennies into the travel account.

We've had this agreement of sorts that Europe would wait until (a) we'd saved enough pennies and (b) our youngest kid was at least 10 years old. As I've pointed out before, the agreement seemed easy at the time. There were lots of years and lots of pennies between Me and Driving In Europe.

Now it's time. And I'm anxious about it.

Guided tours aren't really my cuppa tea, but we've agreed that having something reasonably structured and worry free would be the way to go for the sake of both parents and kids. After leafing and clicking through countless brochures and websites, we were certain that there was no such thing as a 'family friendly' tour Over There - only the loathsome If It's Tuesday It Must Be Belgium kind of tours. Ugh!

We did find something, eventually, from a tour company called Adventures by Disney. Laugh if you must, but it looks like a winner. Family oriented (natch), first-class all the way, striving for a unique experience; we're excited. It'll be 4 days in London and 4 days in Paris with highlights such as backstage passes to a West End theater production, first-class seats on the (chunnel) Eurostar, a bicycle tour of Versailles, and a DaVinci Code-inspired scavenger hunt in the Louvre (for the kids). Here and there - a free afternoon and/or evening to do your own thing.

I thought this was going to be perfect. Disney picks us up at the airport in the England, they show us a great time, and they deposit us back on a plane when it's all over. Reasonably structured. Worry free. I'm so wrong.

Dee started like this, "You know - while we're there...".

I knew where this was going. "Yes?", I countered, using my patented ruse where I inspect a wall, magazine, birdfeeder, etc. with laser insensity, all the while avoiding direct eye contact with Dee.

She started her attack using the direct approach. "We could go to Europe a few days early, or maybe stay a few more days after the tour. You know, I've always wanted to go to Switzerland. And everyone says the train system over there is fantastic!".

"Ummmm", was all I could muster. I wasn't against this in principle, but I knew logisitics would end up killing us in a dozen different ways. My only defense in keeping the vacation scope in check was The Kids - the A-Bomb in our household. "Sure, we should think about that. But the kids... I don't think the kids are ready for the, umm, backpack experience. You know you have to travel pretty light on the trains."

I got bolder. "And what about hotels? I mean, if it was just you and me, that'd be different. Just kinda go somewhere with no planning...seat-of-the-pants...but the kids. You have to think of the kids. You don't want them wandering around some little foreign village after dark looking for a hostel, do you?".

It was unfair, and I knew I was going to win. But winning is subjective at our house. It's all about tactics - lose a battle, negotiate terms of surrender, end up winning the war. And win she did.

First off, we're staying in France one extra day to spend at EuroDisney. That was an easy one. We're in Paris anyways, so it makes sense to travel the 30 miles for a visit to The Mouse.

Also, we're arriving in England 5 days early. We'll land at Heathrow, pick up a car, and roam around Southern England for a few days before joining the tour in London. This is where I'm getting my angst. This is where I become Chevy Chase.

I'm sure this driving part will be okay. 20-odd years ago, I never worried about this stuff. Today, I'm older and more neurotic - so I worry about it all. While we'll have to drive in and out of Heathrow (and various places in the countryside we hope to visit), I laid down the law that we would not set foot in London with Crazylegs behind the wheel of any vehicle.

It's not a bad compromise. I don't think we're biting off more than we can chew travel-wise, and we'll get 2 full weeks of family fun. We're thinking we'll visit Stonehenge, Bath, Windsor Castle, maybe Portsmouth, etc. We'd love to head west out to Land's End, but that looks too ambitious for us. (Question - anyone have any advice on not-to-be-missed places in Southern England?)

But I am worrying, and probably will - until it's over.

So why the TARDIS? Simple; it would alleviate all of these travel logistics and angst. Of course, I'd probably end up driving the thing into a binary star. Or worse.

Glistening With Irony

My musical tastes are pretty weird sometimes - and I'm betting that's pretty normal, actually. But I can't say that I've ever been a huge fan of Alanis Morissette. Some of her stuff I kinda like, most of her stuff I don't. She's just kind 'there', you know?

But I have to admit, she's got that sliver of genius somewhere inside. Her video rendition of that donkey-sucking My Humps is so achingly sad and scathing all at the same time. Or maybe I'm just thinking too hard.

It Depends

Sure, we've all thought about it. Buy a new video game, take the phone off the hook, bolt the door, and geek out for, like, a weekend.

But this guy went ahead and did it - and pissed off a lot of people in the process.

Do They Know?

While the flyer has been sitting for over a week in the perpetual pile of crap that guards our kitchen phone, I only just noticed something yesterday. The Grand Prize home in London's annual Dream Lifestyles Lottery has a rather interesting address.

It's 2046 Logans Run, London, Ontario

That's Logans Run, folks.

I'm guessing someone with a sense of humour nominated this street name, and someone who didn't 'get it' did the approval. Or maybe I'm wrong. Maybe there's a geek down at City Hall who has a sly sense of humour.

Either way, if I win this lottery I'll have to take the cash. I'm already too old for that neighbourhood.

Thanks, Ze

I've been a huge fan of The Show with Ze Frank ever since I stumbled across the site back in Summer 2006. It's tough to describe exactly what it is, other to say it's been an experiment of sorts by the aforementioned Ze Frank to host a video blog 5 days a week for 1 full year.

But it's been more than that. Every show is well-produced, entertaining, damn smart, and sometimes silly. Along the way, Ze has attracted thousands of fans from around the world, who have been active participants in this weird, collaborative experiment.

The Show has invented its own culture and vocabulary, including: Sportsracers (fans), Ride the Fire-Eagle Danger Day (Fridays), Power Moves (must be seen to be understood), and the signoff "...thinking, so you don't have to". I can't even begin to describe the fan-collaboration projects such as Earth Sandwich and Dress Up Your Vacuum Cleaner.

If nothing else, The Show has proven there are lots of 'regular people' out there who are full of creativity, and just need a little spark and direction to unleash what they have inside.

Yesterday, March 17 2007, was the last show in the 1 year experiment. I'll miss it, although I imagine that we'll see Ze pop up elsewhere (he's already being courted in Hollywood). Here's to hoping that his future endeavours are as intelligent as the The Show has been.

In the meantime, I'd invite you to check out The Show and Ze's main site. There's lots to do there, and the shows are still archived.

It's been an interesting year. Thanks, Ze.

Where Can I Get a TARDIS? - Part 2

Let's recap Part 1, shall we? It's 1985, I'm in London, England, and I'm driving a car. In what would be an amazingly prescient moment were I, in fact, Chevy Chase, I'm stuck in a traffic circle for all eternity. I'm traumatized to the point where I vow never to drive on the wrong side of the road ever again. Ever. At least, not on purpose.

Now let's set the Wayback Machine for somewhere in the vicinity of Summer 1998. My youngest kid is 2 and a half years old. My oldest kid is 6 months shy of 6 years. We're still basking in the warm memories from our first Big Time Family Vacation, which we had taken in Springtime of that year.

Emboldened by a truly enjoyable week in Florida with 2 young kids (one still in diapers), my wife wonders aloud about 'Europe'.

"I'd love to go someday", she says. "I guess the kids would need to be a bit older".

I know where this going. It's going to be one of those conversations where we both know the right answer, but one us will have to speak The Truth aloud. It's gut-check time.

"That's a long way from home", says I, using my amazing grasp of the obvious. "The kids - the kids are kinda young, aren't they?". I'm looking for the soft landing, but Dee is not going to let me go that easy.

"Sure. You're right, they're too young. I'm mean, they were great little travelers down to Florida. But Europe, that's big isn't it?". Dee's reaching for something, I know. She wants measurable objectives. She wants goals.

So I give her what she wants. "I think we should wait under our youngest kid is, like, 10. You know, old enough to appreciate castles and stuff".

Perfect, I thought. That gives us 8 years - minimum. Not so long a wait as to be unimaginable, but not so short a time as to oblige anyone (like me) to plan or worry about anything.

That was 9 years ago. You probably think you know where this is going.

Stayed tuned for Part 3.

So How Cool Is That?

Okay, I know the world waits for Part 2 - breath baited, lives on hold, phones off the hook, etc. - but my Monday steadily upgrades from craptastic to pretty nice.

My kids just sat and watched "Singing in the Rain" with me. I tuned it in as a joke; something to annoy them, really. They sat and watched the whole damn thing; all of us on the couch with arms and legs akimbo. And they liked it.

Yeah, that's what it's all about.

Where I Can Get a TARDIS? - Part 1

It's funny how events separated by time and space can converge in unexpected ways. In this case, there are 3 events spanning 22 years and 2 continents that have come together to cause me much anxiety. It's a long tale and I'm telling it in 3 parts; beginning with where it began.

Back in 1985 I spent a couple of weeks in Europe with 3 friends. This was the cliched 'students do Europe on the cheap' kind of trip. Except it wasn't. None of us were in school, and we could afford to avoid the whole youth hostel scene.

Rather than use cheap rail passes, our plan included - in part - a driving tour of Scotland, Wales, and England. We rented a car with the intention of sharing the driving chores. We would start at Prestwick, Scotland and end this leg of the trip in foggy ol' London. From there, we would head to the Continent.

I won't bore you right now with the physics involved with a transatlantic flight, too much booze, and driving on the wrong side of the road. The most excitement we had driving-wise was a close call with a flock of sheep blocking a road. Turns out it was our fault - or at least that's what the old guy with the wooden staff told us. Generally, though, we made out alright.

That was before we made it to London.

It was my day to drive. The route: drive from Salisbury Plain (Stonehenge) and drop the car off at the rental depot in London (just off Hyde Park). No one had warned me about the impossibility that is The Traffic Circle that contains Hyde Park. That scene in National Lampoon's European Vacation - Chevy Chase caught in a traffic circle for an entire day - that was me. We spent 90 minutes circling Hyde Park; trying to get to the outside lane so we could pull into the rental depot.

It just could not be done. I'm serious about this. That traffic circle seemed to suck us into the inner lane like some great automotive whirlpool, and It was loathe to let us out. All that was missing from the experience were skeletal remains of tourists and their rental cars strewn about the inside lane. Maybe we were going to be the first.

In the end, Our Saviour was the cop who investigated our illegally-parked rental car at one end of the Park. He took pity on the poor tourists, and used his radio to summon someone from the rental depot to pick up the car. The depot, it turns out, was right across the street from where we had made our last, desperate stand.

I vowed never to drive in England again. Ever. You must remember this as we head into Part 2 of my tale.

The Kids Are Alright

Right now - at this precise moment - two 11 year-old boys are sitting in front of the 'kid computer' down the hall from where I sit. They're laughing their asses off. They're watching episodes 1 through 6 of Chad Vader.

I'm so fucking proud.

Geek Clutter

There be Geeks here, so be warned.

I collect a lot of crap; especially odd things I run across on the Net. The only trait worse than being a website pack-rat is the act of squirreling stuff into forgotten corners. And the only thing worse than that is using two rodent references in a single sentence. So, I guess I'm guilty on all counts.

Today I ran across an interesting Star Wars story. And as I prepared to squirrel... oops....archive the website, I ran across a folder of bookmarks entitled Star Wars. Obviously this was created during one of my legendary creative periods, but finding it (again) was just the kick-in-the-lightsabre I needed to do a thorough airing out of all the weirdly useless bookmarks I've collected in past months.

But the Star Wars folder seems to be a keeper. Whether you're into the whole George Lucas scene or not, none can deny that the man created a happy cult. How else can one explain the time, effort, dedication, talent, and general weirdness that Star Wars has fed through the years?

So here's a small shrine to the uber-Geeks of Star Wars. May you all experience the Sun and kiss a girl someday soon. Oh that I had a tenth of your talents.

-- The story that started this post; a Chicago suburbanite decides to make his own Star Wars movie. Long live public access television!

-- I don't know how or why I have this, but it cracks me up; slightly more mature than fart jokes.

-- Quite possibly the geekiest video ever made; simply and utterly amazing.

-- My personal favourite (and likely a tip from Kid Dork). As a fan and a horribly amateur video-maker, this is High Art to me.

Now the clutter is put into slightly neater piles, and there's room for new shiny things. I wonder what's in the other 28 folders of bookmarks...

Life is Februray

Many years ago, I was with a group of friends at bar. Everyone was just cutting loose - chatting, drinking, smoking (those were the good ol' days). Through the general din and nonsense, Someone said something and Someone Else misheard Someone and, magically, the phrase Life is February entered our lexicon.

We laughed a bit at how a mistake-of-the-ear in a student bar on a Friday night could produce such a pithy philosophy. But we knew it was true. Life is February, sometimes - too short from the outside, too long from the inside, a little bit odd, a little bit overcast, and a little purposeless. What's February for after all? What it's reason for being? Why does it seem to last forever and, yet, get nowhere in particular?

That's kind of how it's been this month for me. Too much shit to worry about and too little energy to deal with it, but I'm determined to make progress. I just need to get something done - get something behind me.

And this is how it starts - post something here after almost 2 weeks of silence. It's not really for you; it's for me. And I just accomplished something.

Think I'm going to track down Shinobi and watch it with JediBoy.

Chain Blog?

Normally, I don't go much for chain letters. I think it started with a rather embarrassing exchange with a Cub Leader back when I wore a leather woggle. It involved a hole in my pocket, a chain letter from a (girl)friend, and a very public discovery (and lecture) by said Cub Leader.

While you think about that, I'll talk about this.

I'm not sure of the feminine equivalent of a Bon Vivant; but whatever it is, it describes Sheena. So when she tagged me with a chain letter of sorts, I knew I'd be obliged to comply. Frankly, I'd rather not be on the wrong side of sarcasm where Sheena is concerned. I think her words can kill.

So here is for all the world to see: 6 Weird Things About Crazylegs.

1. I cannot stand to see or hear a refridgerator door slam shut. I really can't. When making a sandwich (or whatever), I'll leave the fridge door open until I'm done. Open once. Close once. And since our fridge has never been perfectly leveled, I've had to discover the exact point at which the door equilibrium is matched between 'open' and 'close'.

2. Under the right conditions (spirits can play a part), I can dislocate my left shoulder - and then pop it back in again. This is not a natural talent, but the result of an unfortunate sporting accident from 20 years ago. I prefer not to do this since it hurts the next day. Also, there is no empirical evidence that this ability gets me invited to more parties. Or maybe that should read any parties.

3. I can do cartoon voices - some really well. My Scooby Doo is outstanding and, consequently, children love me. However, I get embarrassed if someone asks me to "do that Scooby Doo voice" and I typically find an excuse to beg off. I only feel comfortable doing these cartoon voices if it's my idea. So don't ask, okay?

4. I did not date in high school. I wanted to, but I just didn't. In hindsight, I know some girls who wondered why I never asked them out. This proves that regular sessions of Dungeons and Dragons and Risk where not necessarily stunting my sex appeal. So why didn't I? Who knows...

5. I'm just 44 years old, and I think about retirement. I think about a lot. I'm betting not a day goes by when the thought of retirement doesn't cross my mind. Whether I love my job or hate it (I don't happen to be lovin' it right now), I'd think about the fact that it's just 11 short years until I'm 55. In all likelihood, I can't retire when 55 - but I'm in denial. Even weirder, there's nothing I'm particularly looking forward to in retirement. I have some vague ideas about travel, hobbies, and volunteering. But the real allure seems to be just 'not working for a living'. The reality may involve dumpsters. I can't wait!

6. Back to the physical abnormalities department: I can wiggle my ears and my nose. I can wiggle them independently. I can wiggle them in grand unison. My kids have never considered this entertaining and, in all honesty, this used to creep them out. Now they simply consider all of this as one of the many annoyances I bring to their lives.

There you have them. This was actually harder than I thought because I've never thought about myself as 'weird'. It must be the people I surround myself with.

Now, to complete Sheena's bargain - and risk losing the majority of my semi-regular readership - I pass the torch to:

Kid Dork
David
Sonny

Good luck.