Zach's Top 10 for the Day.

I like my job. I really do. Elderly people are generally nice people and they have great stories, and contrary to popular belief, are with it more than we think.

But, when your job in the morning is to pour tea and coffee for more than a hundred sleepy, grumpy, sometimes dentureless residents, things start to tick you off.

Without further ado,

The top 10 things that piss Zach off when he is pouring tea and coffee:

10. Questioning what kind of coffee I am pouring for them.
- I know what kind of coffee you drink, I pour it for you every single day. You don't need to tell me you drink decaf, and you don't need to stop me mid-pour to ensure that I am pouring decaf coffee. I know.

9. Ordering food from me when it is quite obvious I am not your server.
- When I first switched over from serving breakfast to pouring coffee, there was one troublemaker who didn't seem to get the concept that I would not be serving her breakfast anymore. She would return meal after meal, and would call me over and ask me to make the egg for her. First of all, I am not the chef, I do not make the egg (although I make a mean over-easy, I'll make one for you sometime). I told her this. Secondly, the egg was exactly the same as when I was serving it. It got to the point where I could take the egg she returned, walk around the kitchen with it for a minute or so, bring it back out with the egg shifted slightly, and all of the sudden, all-star breakfast server Zach had come to the rescue.

When I ask you if you would like tea or coffee, an appropriate response is NOT "I'll have two fried eggs and a piece of brown toast."

8. Getting my attention rudely.
- There are many ways to get my attention. Call my name if I am within appropriate distance (I am walking all over the dining room all the time, so this isn't a challenge), wave at me if I am looking at you (I constantly look around the dining room for this reason). Do not snap your fingers at me. Do not yell my name from across the dining room. It is rude. Do not stick your index finger in the air and "summon" me to your table. And finally, saying "thank you" in a non-thanking way as I walk by is not an appropriate way to get me to stop and top off your tea.

7. Asking for coffee before you are sitting down.
- As you are walking to the dining room, there are sometime dozens of people who have been waiting for coffee patiently. I am going to serve them first. Don't try to get me to pour your coffee for you when you are fifteen feet away from the table. You can't drink it from there.

6. Asking for "Hot" Coffee.
- Yes, the coffee is hot. I'm not working out of the back of a Starbucks truck. We don't serve that iced stuff. I know that the coffee should be hot. I'm smart like that.

5. Getting mad when you are not served within thirty seconds of sitting down.
- There are more than one hundred people in the dining room, all arriving within a thirty-minute period. Do the math. I'm not Spiderman. I can't shoot coffee out of my fingers into your cup four tables away. If I could, I'd pull a Dane Cook, and I'd say "Here's your coffee, you're very rude."

4. Telling me to come back later then asking for it almost immediately.
- My time isn't valuable at all in the morning. I got plenty to throw around.

False.

I do my best to time it so that if you are one of the people who has to have their coffee at a very exact part of the meal, I will try to time it so that your needs will be fulfilled. However, if you like your coffee when you are done your cereal, and I come over and there is three cheerios left floating in your bowl, for pete's sake, take the coffee. Please do not say "come back later" and then call me back just as I am returning the coffee. It wouldn't kill you to have just a little consideration for others.

3. Asking for the other size of cup.
- Way back when, we had two types of cups. Dining room cups, for the dining room, and cafe mugs, for the cafe. Since then, dishes have been broken or gone missing, and we are now forced to put half and half in the dining room. If you got a small cup and you wanted a mug, deal with it. I'll make two trips to your table if I know you need more coffee. Or, if you are that desperate to get a bigger or smaller cup, go trade with someone else. I don't have time for this.

2. Calling me over for an inch of coffee.
- Science. It's a beautiful thing. Let me explain something that should seem obvious to a common person but doesn't seem to make sense to the elderly. Adding one inch of coffee to an almost full cup of cold coffee will NOT make your coffee boiling hot. I'm sorry, that's the way things are. It's science. Don't get upset when it is still cold after me pouring that inch, because then I get even angrier than I was for having to walk across the whole dining room to pour a single inch of coffee in the first place.

The long-awaited number one.

1. Don't tell me it's cold.
- Because it wasn't when I poured it. Let me tell you a little something about our machines. The receptacles where the hot water comes out heats the water to 190 degrees Fahrenheit - a measly ten degree below actual boiling water. Believe me, I've burned myself quite a few times. It's hot. If you decided to eat your whole meal and then drink your coffee, yes it is going to be cold. Don't be freaked out by this - it's natural. And again, it's science. Don't ask me to bring you a new cup because it's cold. It's cold because you didn't drink it. It's cold because the only way to keep the water at that temperature is to have the room maintain that temperature, and that would be more than a little painful.



There you have it. I hope you enjoyed my sarcastic rant.

Are the Elderly Really So Out of Touch?

We all know how it goes.
We all laugh at them.

"What's that thing hanging out of that girl's nose?"
"When I was a child, we wouldn't dare say something like that"
"Music these days sounds like fingers on a chalkboard."

I assume it's been happening for generations really. What I am talking about in case you are confused is how out of touch with youth that old people seem to be.

Many of them don't have the internet. They got their first telephone when they were 25, and their first TV when they were 45. They don't get our music, the clothes we wear, the way we talk.

I am going to just throw this out there. I think I and many others are the same way.

I recently turned nineteen, I should really be in the centre of this. Crazy piercings, blue hair, weird music, but I don't seem to be, and I don't GET it.

I was at a concert the other week with 18000 other people. I got the chance to see some interesting people.

They are so interesting with their weird piercings, tattooed faces, and odd mismatching costumes that scream for attention but the second you look them, they return a look that resembles "You just kicked my dog." I don't GET it. If I want nobody to notice me, I'll dress in plain colors and try to look like everyone else. No one is going to look at me twice if I don't have a 6 inch disc in my ear, or a ring attached to my eyeball.

I turn on my radio sometimes, and think I've turned it to a static-filled no air station when I realize that that is a real song, and a band wrote and composed that song, and that people enjoy listening to that song, and that that band makes a living producing that song. I don't GET it.

You walk by a bunch of kids, and besides a couple articles thrown in here and there, as well as some swears you've heard, you don't understand what they are talking about whatsoever. All of a sudden, sick is amazing, fat is cool, and wicked is what we're all aiming for. And tomorrow, no one will say those words, and then I'll have to learn new words. The English language has changed completely. And I don't GET it.

Even technology, where a guy like me should be king, I see things coming out that are so odd and look terribly confusing that I don't even bother trying to figure out what it's meant to do, because I'm fine with what I've got, and even if I bought one, I just wouldn't GET it.

So there you have it. Old people, while they are hopelessly out of touch, can you really blame them. I certainly can't, because I'm just the same as they are.

Mother's Day

Yes, I know it was last week, but I've been really busy.

Anyways, 'Mother's Day'. If you remember at all a post I made about three months ago, you'll recall I talked about celebrating Valentine's Day without a girl. Well, Mother's Day has come and gone, and I spent mine without a mother.

For those of you who don't know, my mother is currently travelling in Italy, and she is on week four of six I'm pretty sure. I could be wrong, my mind has been so wraught with distress over the situation I don't know which side is up anymore.

My mother chose an interesting time to leave the country. She missed Mother's Day, which is the only day is our household besides July 22nd (that being her birthday) we show our respect to her and we make it count, because spreading 2 packets of strawberry jam over 365 pieces of bread is as hard as it sounds. She missed us making her a satisfactory breakfast which she could have made for herself a lot faster. She missed that terrible cup of coffee when we put two portions of coffee for one portion of water. She missed those fantastic presents that have no inspiration usually and are just picked from a list such as a set of giant orange porch chairs which she has used twice. (Although, to be fair, one year I bought her a rose bush to plant in the backyard to be creative, but I'm pretty sure it's smaller than when I bought it, and hasn't produced a single flower.) She missed that very special lunch that you always take your mother to, usually a very classy place like Swiss Chalet where you wait for a table for six and a half hours because every son in the world is taking their mother to Swiss Chalet. You cover the bill, and she pretends she is so appreciative, but she really doesn't care, because on any other day, Dad would cover the bill. She missed hanging with her children who would much rather be hanging with their friends playing golf but wouldn't dare say anything.

She missed a lot. I'd like to think she has her own little Mother's Day in Italy, although I'm not sure they have a Mother's Day. They don't need one. Every day is Mother's Day over there, just as it should be. A mother missing Mother's Day is strange, and similar to Wiarton Willy deciding to go to Guatemala on Groundhog Day.

To make up for this missed opportunity, she found another way to make up for it. Orginially, this trip was only meant to last one month, bringing her back here sometime next week. Conveniently, this was changed to six weeks, and conveniently, this causes her to not be home by the 26th, her "baby's" 19th birthday. Yes, that's right. I am turning 19 motherless. Bad things are bound to happen. If you expect to feel better by doing this, you are wrong Susan. I have decided that instead of moping around on my birthday being sad that my own mother doesn't feel it necessary to be around for it, I am going to use that energy to make my birthday that much more enjoyable. So there mom. Enjoy your gelato, enjoy your sauve-talking gentlemen and your sculptures of David. I'll find something better to do.


As I got off easy this year with not having to spend Mother's Day with my mother, I feel it necessary to do something for her to make up for it, if just a little bit. So I am writing a poem, if you can even call it that. Enjoy.


Mom, you make my world go round.
Mom, if I got lost, you'd have me found.

After sarcasm, and being ignored,
You respond, "I love you Son."

After laziness and disobedience,
You smile, "I love you still."

After a phone call in the middle of the night,
and a desperate "I love you" to smooth the situation,
You whisper, "I love you more, sleep tight"

Forced hugs, and awkward kisses.
Rolled eyes, and one-way conversations.
Through it all, you overcome what must be frustration.
You proclaim your affection on every occasion.
I feel it today, even from a different nation.
Oh mom, you really, really deserve this vacation.

I love you Mom.
I love you still.
I love you more, sleep tight.

Kiss kiss.

The Unmotivational Motivational Speaker

As many of you know, my place of employment is a retirement home. Every couple of weeks or so, we have a motivational speaker come in to talk about whatever the hot issue is.

A couple of days ago, we had a paraplegic woman come in to talk about how, even with disabilities, a person can live a fulfilling life. A great idea in my opinion, as many if not all of the residents have some sort of dishabilitating illness or condition.

This motivational speaker, did everything but that.

(Note: The following post is not intending to offend anyone)

She set up her talk more like a musical then anything else. She would talk for a few minutes and then sing a song with her guitar.

The talks were absolutely depressing. I understand that losing the use of your legs would be an awful experience, but so is losing your memory. Or losing the ability to use more than just your legs.

She would take a seemingly sweet story, turn it into something needlessly horrific, and then would say at the end, "But that's ok, he's made the most of his life." And then she'd sing 'What a Wonderful World'.

Take the lovely friend she met, who also was a paraplegic. They were great friends, and they helped each other deal with their disability. He helped her see what she had in the world rather than what she had taken from her. It helped her to feel more normal, like everyone else. He has a lovely wife, and lovely kids who accept him just the same even though he is a little different. And then one day, he was crossing the street, and he was struck by a vehicle. His wheelchair was knocked over, and he landed on his shoulder, and he lost the use of that arm. And then, "Che, sera, sera, whatever will be, will be..."

Call me ignorant, call me insensitive, call me weird, just don't call me Sue, but I was not motivated whatsoever.

A motivational speaker should inspire us to do more with our lives, to strive for greater things, to go above and beyond what is expected of us. She should not regale us with extensive tales of how the doctor messed up her diagnosis, and then sing "How Much Is That Doggy In the Window".

But that's just my opinion. Thus the blog.

The Startling Rate of Spoilage.

Giving my ambiguous title, I could really talk about pretty much anything and it would make sense.

I could talk about milk.. Did you know that milk will go bad after being out on the counter for only a few hours. That is startling. But, no, that's not today's topic. Maybe tomorrow I will delve into the startling nature of spoiled milk.

What I want to talk about is children.

While I'm legally an adult, I am still a child in many ways, so this is not me pretending to be above them.

However, it seems to me that children today are more spoiled than they have ever been in history. And things don't just seem this way; this is the truth.

I dare you to go ask your parents how they were treated when they were a child. Then ask your grandparents. Yes, times were different. People were poorer (or were they?) and the world wasn't as complicated as today. But that isn't the main reason.

Parents are simply getting lazy. When I was a child, if I did something wrong, I was punished. If I did something wrong repeatedly, I sometimes even got spanked. And I am very thankful for it. Kids today however, seem to think they run the place. They do whatever they want, and aren't reprimanded, so they feel like this is ok. And its not. Instead of cutting their child off at the start, they go down the path of looking the other way and shrugging it off. They comfort themselves by telling themselves that their children aren't as bad as other kids.

These aren't the people I want running my world down the line. These kids grow into men and women who don't feel like they should have any responsibility. They think that if they don't want to do something, they shouldn't have to. This just leads to laziness. And its plain to see that it has already had a major effect on our society.

It's not all the parents' fault however. It seems like even the topic of spanking is a sensitive one nowadays. Even ten years ago, most parents spanked their child. And rightfully so. There comes a time when telling a child to stand in the corner just isn't good enough anymore. I'm not saying you should go full tilt on your child, but an occasional spanking in a regulated manner is a respectable way to parent your child.

Parents like to think that if they just give their kids whatever they want, the child will love the parent that much more. But this is so untrue. Look at the kids who get new cars for their 16th birthday and forget five minutes later when their mom asks them to clean their room and they throw a temper tantrum like she just asked for them to donate their spleen to charity.

Spoiling your child does no good for anybody. Parents become disrespected a whole lot more, and the relationship between a parent and child is almost non-existant. Kids learn early on that everything in life will be given to them, they don't have to work for anything, and if they don't get what they want, they should pout until the decision is changed.

Child spoilage is a dangerous thing. More dangerous than salmonella ever could be.

Groundhog Day.. again?

A little more than six weeks ago, Punxsatawney Phil gave his long-awaited prediction on the matter of whether or not Spring was on it way.

"Six more weeks of winter!" he declared triumphantly.

Not a surprise. At that point, we had had a pretty rough go of it. Lots of snowstorms, frigid weather, slippery roads. Who wouldn't think it would continue? And continue it has. We are now mere millimetres from breaking the snow accumulation record for Ontario, and in what might be the worst news of the year, there is no end in sight.

I have been told to expect six more weeks of colder than normal temperatures. And not by a groundhog either.

This means that while we aren't expected to have below zero temperatures for much longer, we shouldn't expect warm weather until at least a week into May. Who knows what this will do to our trees, flowers and etc. Most families with pools open up on the May 2-4 weekend or soon after. Where am I going to swim?

And what will this do with the morale of the population. I know this winter more than any before has been bumming me out, quite frankly I don't feel like being bummed out for another six weeks.

Let's just hope whoever decided this to be true is wrong, and that warm weather is coming sooner rather than later. Otherwise, I'm off to California.

Departure.

I'm not ready. At all.

This is what I find myself saying more and more as the day approaches. The "day" I am pertaining to is Saturday, for this is the day that Ben and Alec, two of my most solid friends, leave for Fort McMurray for who knows how long.

I am not going to pretend that I am one hundred percent enthusiastic that they are going, but I am far past the point where I am going to wish they weren't going. I'm past being selfish. Despite what this entry may apply.

For me to say I'm not jealous would be lying. It will be the adventure of a lifetime.
For me to say I don't want to go would be lying. I just don't think I'm ready yet.

I don't have much more to say. I just hope they come back.

Dodgeball, Dodgeball, Dodgeball..

It's the only sport I know where the primary objective of the game is right there in the name of it: Dodge. Ball. Simple as that.

Our 20-somethings group held last night a dodgeball tournament for all those kids in our church from grade 7-12. We had twelve teams, each with two captains that were in the 20-somethings. Except of course for the team of old people, that believe or not, came fifth out of twelve.. Not too shabby.. Each team had some awesome uniforms, and I mean awesome. Best costumes by far went to Andrew and Barb, who took the time to so fake blue fur onto all of the sleeves and collars of their yellow tanktops..not to mention Andrew showing in a green outfit that made him look a bit like Donatello.

We started with a round robin. Each team played four games, which consisted of playing as any games as you could within the eight minutes alotted. Two points for a win in each single game, none for a loss. So the key was to play as many as you could.

We picked the kids schoolyard style after having the referees throw the balls at us captains to determine the order of picking. Getting off to a bad start, I was the first eliminated and thus the last to pick, but somehow we managed to pick up a AAA baseball player with our first pick. The rest of our team consisted of my co-captain Amanda who ended up being a lot better than I was, a more petite girl, Cody, who was most often the last to be hit, and Jared, the tournament director. I must say, we had a pretty solid team.

In our first match, we managed to win 6 games, to the other team's 0. However, in our second game, we went up against Reuben's Rowdies, a team that consisted of three of the hardest throwing captains, another AAA ball player, and a younger kid who wasn't bad himself. We knew we were in tough.

In the first game, they had us down to one player, Joel, and they had all of theirs left. Joel did not give up, and preceded to eliminate every single player from their team, giving us the win. That was the only highlight though, and we lost four games to one.

In our last two games, we did very well, and won five games to two both times. This allowed us to be the number one seed, going 17-8. Reuben's team took second, going 14-4.

We played the number four seed, Team Ballseye, the team of Rob Brown and Josh Carabin. They were a worthy opponent, but we knocked them out quickly three games to zero.

Reuben's team beat Zac's Zanies to meet us in the finals. The one team we didn't want to play.

I would say we held our own for the most part, but it was evident that they were stronger and more dodgy, and they beat us in three straight, becoming the first Annual Super Fun Dodgeball Tournament champions.

I was disappointed, but with their degree of stackedness, I thought our team did pretty darn well.

And now, I must somehow relate dodgeball to life.

In dodgeball, you must have a view of everything around you. You have to see every ball coming at you, and more importantly your groin, and you must find a way to get out of the way of them, no matter what you have to do.

In life, the balls represent the ladies, and I represent me. It appears I'm better at playing the dodgeball of life then the game itself.

Similarly, in dodgeball if you catch a ball that an opponent has thrown, he is out. In life, when lemons are thrown at you, you grab them, and you make lemonade. Or so I've heard.

So there you go, a couple of life lessons for you.

But I have one more. If you are playing dodgeball, did get hit in the cajones. It hurts real bad.

The Obligatory Valentine's Day Entry.

I read somewhere last week that sixty percent of single Canadians spend Valentine's at home alone, sulking because they are single.

To me, this is pretty sad. Sadder than being single ever could. Now, I'm pretty pro by now at being single. Not too many people are better at being single than me. But I've spent nary a February 14th at home feeling sorry for myself.

Here are a couple reasons that will help you to enjoy the day despite being so very, very lonely.

1. You are single. You don't have to buy anyone chocolates, you don't have to take anyone out for dinner, write any poems or compose any songs. No one is going to be mad at you for forgetting it was Valentine's Day. Except maybe your mother.
2. In my opinion, Valentine's Day has the best candy of all the holidays. Yes, I am including Christmas, and even Halloween. First off, you got those witty conversation hearts with hilarious love messages such as "Fax Me" and "U R Hot". Whoever invented these things is a genius, not to mention the fact that I can literally eat 10,000 of these. You got those heart suckers that are delicious, you got those heart jujubes that are so much better than all the rest. And since you don't have anyone to buy for, you can treat yourself.

I was gunna go on, but why? If I haven't convinced you by now, you are a lost cause. Which means you are one of those sixty percent. Which means you are just yearning for the special boy or girl. Well boys, you are about to get a little lesson from the king of love.

In the form of the most passionate thing known to man: the poem. I am going to show you how to woo the girl of your dreams. Here is a little excerpt from the poem I am writing for my future lucky lady.

My love for you is as deep as Marianas Trench.
When you are with me, you tighten my heart like a wrench.
When you aren't, my soul, it cannot be quenched.
All I can ask for is your undying compassion.
Will you share with me your part of the rations?

Let's break it down. I started off here with a very powerful line. One that gets their attention right off the bat. How much deeper can you get than the deepest part of the world? I don't know.

These next two lines kind of go together. It shows that you are thinking about her twenty-four slash seven. That's a lot of time.

Next comes the request. I am reaching out to her right here. I can only love someone so much. They have to love me back. Don't worry, they will be eating out of your house by the time they get past those three lines. And by saying 'undying', you've got written proof against her if things don't work out.

And always at the end, you pose a question. I chose a question that goes kind of back to war times with the whole ration thing. Despite all the fighting, it was a very passionate time, what with ladies having to be away from their men so long and all. Given what I said about them eating out of your hand, it really is a rhetorical question.

Well, there you go. If you can't get a girl now, I don't know what to say. Rent the Notebook. Take a lesson from Ryan Gosling or whatever. But if you want my advice, stay single.

For when the time comes that you have a special someone in your life, you can't eat the candy you buy. It's just not worth it.

Happy Valentine's Day to all.

Pancake Tuesday!

Yah, I know. Its Wednesday. Truth is, I meant to talk about this yesterday. I forgot. Sorry. I suppose I really should be talking about Ash Wednesday, but who wants to talk about a day whose theme is rubbing that grey stuff on your forehead? Pancakes, or head-ash, you decide. I've made my decision.

Growing up going to a private school, we always had Pancake Day. I never thought about the meaning of it, the relevance of the whole thing, but honestly, who in my situation would? It's a day devoted to pancakes. You show up, they put pancakes on your paper plate. What is so hard to get? Sounds like the kind of day I'd come up with if I was running this place. Instead, we get Family Day. Why would I want to eat my family. Liberal psychos.

Until about five minutes ago, I still had no idea what it was about. All I know is that someone mentioned it was on Tuesday to me, and I decided we at work had to celebrate. So we made pancakes for the residents. What a joyous day.

I did some research. Now, I already knew that it came on the day before Ash Wednesday, which is the first day of Lent. What I found out is fascinating! (It's really not.) It's Pancake Day because pancakes look like the Sun.. dot dot dot. I'm not impressed so far. If they wanted it to be a solar thing, why don't they make it Sun Chip and Sundae Day? Helllooo, who wouldn't want both of those things?

I also found out that Pancake Tuesday is Mardi Gras in other places. Let me get this straight. Down in New Orleans, they are partying down the main streets, and I'm here eating pancakes. This day gets worse and worse. We don't even get a day off work.

Oh well. I will continue to obliviously eat pancakes on this day. But I am waiting for my Sun Chips and Sundaes.

And I WILL put gummie worms on it.

Lottery Scratch Cards and the 2008 US Election.

I want you people to know something. I am writing this blog despite it causing me extreme pain. I sliced my finger on a can of tapioca pudding yesterday. It was not a very good day. It bled and bled, to the point where I would wipe the sink clean of blood, but then more blood would just be in it, despite my finger not even being over the sink. It was quite confusing. I double wrapped my finger in bandaids, as tight as I could. I stuck a glove on and resumed my job. I looked down after two minutes and the entire finger of the glove was soaked with blood. I went to the nurse's office, and she triple wrapped it with gauze. Even after this, it was coming through. So now, every time I type a letter with my index finger, it kills. And I type a lot with that finger. Enjoy this. It's full of spite.

I am a scratch card fanatic. I almost can't walk by a post in a mall and go in a store that sells them without buying a couple. But I'm serious when I say this, I don't do it for the money. It's about the thrill, and some of the games are just damn fun to play. I mean, you can play Tetris now. Freaking Clue. Scrabble. Tell you what, I'd pay $7.95 to put Tetris on my phone. Why do that when I can play it for 3 and have a chance at winning 65 trillion dollars?


Most people lose all the time. I don't however. Now, I never win big, the most I have won on a ticket that was for me is nine bucks (I bought one for a friend that won twenty-five) but usually I'm able to make most of my money back. For some reason, I have been saving my tickets for about a year and a half, minus a period inthe summer when I went almost daily, trading in tickets for more tickets, but that's dumb. I've got about 15 tickets, worth 64 dollars. I've literally got 64 bucks in front of me as we speak. It's a nice feeling. But now I've got a decision. What do I do with the money? I'm gunna let you decide. Let me know.

UPDATE: My finger is now bleeding again. Bllod on the keyboard. Thanks guys. Appreciate it.

The last thing I want to write about today is a little issue I have had pertaining to the 2008 US Election. Anyone who doesn't know what that is can skip to the end. I won't be offended.

I have had two friends come up to me and ask: "So who would you vote for, Obama or Clinton" To which I respond, "Do you mean who would I vote for to represent the Democrats?" No. they mean president. Newsflash people: There are two parties (two main ones at least.). One is the Democratic, the other is the republican. In a little while, only one of these two is going to be running for president. So my response to both has been neither. I'm Republican by nature, why would I vote for a Democrat? Most of the people I come across only even know of these two, because the media has made them. If the media elected president, Democrats would win 90 to 10 every time. Thank goodness they don't. Most of the media loves to make Republicans look worse than they are, and hide all the crap that the Democrats have done. Is Bush as bad as people think? Heavens no. Go up to five people, ask them if they hate Bush. Five of them will say yes. Ask them why. Majority will generally say a single word, whenever they have picked up, usually just "war", or something like that. What about the war? They don't have an answer.

I'm not asking you people to be Republican, or anything like that. I just want you to open your eyes. There are two parties. And come election time, despite what the media will tell you, it will be close, just as it has been for a while. Do your research. Look deeper. You might actually learn something.

As for that question, if you are asking who would I rather have run the Democrats. Obama. Clinton just wants to be president to make history. Just so she can say there has been a woman and she was it. I have no problem with a woman running either my country nor the US, but not this one, please.

That's all I've got right now. I've gotta go stop this bleeding and then watch Lost.

Across Town Walks and the Toronto Sun.

Every Monday to Friday, it's the same thing. Alarm goes off at 6:15. Shower till 6:25. Get dressed, eat breakfast, check things out on my computer. Out of the house by 6:50. If I'm fast enough, I can catch the bus that goes by at 6:55. It's the comfy bus that has very cushiony chairs, and a moustached man who isn't in the right line of work, because he is one of the happiest, good-natured people I have ever come across, and he drives a bus. Every day, on the garbage, he has written a message - usually something about having a fantastic day. It cheers me up a little. Every time you get off the bus, he says something uplifting, something that barely any of the others do. My favorite so far - "have a grooooovy day" This guy may not be married or be the "coolest of cats", but its a good start to the morning.

I usually sleep the whole ride towards downtown, which probably just makes me more tired. Every day, I get off the 1 Woodlawn, and hop on the 9 Stone Road Mall. Everyday, I walk by the newspapers, and think to myself, I should really buy one. So this most recent Friday, I did just that. I picked up the Toronto Sun, and actually, I'm pretty sure I looked around me to make sure no one was watching because I felt so awkward. Reading this thing though, I felt so accomplished. I read it front to back twice throughout the day. It's just such a wealth of information. I actually got excited today when I received two loonies in change. It means I can buy 2 papers. Can't wait.


We went out to Tony's on Friday to celebrate Ben's 22nd birthday. Man, people are getting old. We had a great night playing pool and hanging out. At 1:30 or so, we started to leave. Me, Ben, and Reuben had ample opportunity to get rides home (there was 9 empty car seats between the vehicles)but we decided it would be best to walk it, keeping in mind that my house is a good hour and a half hike. It didn't seem too cold despite the fact that it was somewhere around negative 15 and my toes and fingers were frozen. We got Mega Pizza, after which Reuben promptly dropped all of his on the well-trodden grey snowed ground. No matter, I picked it up and handed it to him, and he ate the whole thing. His reasoning: It's just water. Saw some interesting people downtown as is obviously always the case, and we started our trek. We took a way that none of us had even seen before, and while I had my doubts that we were going in the right direction, I felt we were being led the right way. It was a great bonding experience, and we had a fantastic man-to-man. It seems like life is so hustle and bustle these days. Everyone's got their iPods and their cell phones and their new cars, no one seems to just enjoy what we have naturally. It felt great just to be a part of nature, just as it was intended to be. Even if we were lighted by street lamps and directed by road signs. A little over ninety minutes after we began, I was at my door, Ben and Reuben having walked me right to it. I was very appreciative of this, especially since the walk from Tony's to Ben's house is only half hour, and by walking me home, their walk took two and a half hours. They didn't even complain.

Two challenges today: Buy a newspaper. Read it. You may be different from me, but you may find you'll enjoy it, and it might make you learn something.

Embrace nature sometime. Go for a walk. Forget about bustle and just breathe it in. We live in a masterfully created world, and though I hate winter and though often times I take God's creation for granted, it felt good to be a part of it and appreciate it for what it is.

Sushi? That's where they take food and not cook it, right?

Sushi will be my downfall. Wait, that makes it sound bad, doesn't it? Ok, it's my up-not-fall. Better? Freaking sushi. I mean (and bear with me for the next little bit, I'm writing from the heart here. I ain't adding any professional englishism to these next words. These are the words I would say to you, in person) I haven't always loved weird foods. I was always kinda skeptical of weird things. And things that aren't even that weird. But hell, I'll try leather shoe now, just season it correctly, please. But one of the things I have always enjoyed is a good sushi. And don't be politically Japanesically correct with me now, I don't need it. Sushi is sushi to me. Don't care if its california rolls or raw (insert your pet's name here). To me, it is what it is. I always said I wouldn't try the raw stuff. Creeps me out. So I just ate the crab ones or chicken ones.. keeping it simple for a simple guy. But recently, I've branched out a bit. Spread my wings if you will. Raw's in, but with it comes the tapeworm, or so I've heard. Oh well. So tonight we (we being me and others) checked out the new place downtown that I can't remember the name of. All you can eat, 20 bucks. May seem expensive, but it's not. I've paid more than that for a fifth of the food. I had some crazy things. Eel, salmon skin, full soft shell crab within a maki, it's all good.

I have a lot of respect for the Japanese. In this age, we like to cook your food twice, pre-cook food, deep-fry food, all to make it safe to eat. But it's also very unhealthy. These Japaners are just like "Screw it. See this salmon I just caught? There, it's on your place. Eat it, it's good." They probably say that in Japanese but I think I'm the only one around here that speaks the language so I won't bother. But the thing is, they are so right. They got cajones. (balls)

These days, I have a whole lot more respect for them than I do for the Chinese. Typical Chinese household:

"Dear, we are out of rice."
"Well just throw Fluffy in the crackpot then"
"Ok."

Now, I love meat. I swear though, if you ever even TALK about cooking my cat, we are finished. No two ways about it.


Last thing. Might I encourage all of you this weekend to go out there and try something different? I'm just talking about food at the moment. Try something you wouldn't normally eat. Unless it gives you hives. Seriously, we always assume we don't like something before we even try it. The Japanese wouldn't eat raw fish if it wasn't good. The Polish wouldn't eat perogies if they weren't the best meal in the whole world. The Italians wouldn't eat italian food if they didn't steal all their ideas from China. You get my point. And that's my challenge to you. Keep chewin'.

Zach's New Personality.

In my life, I try my best to be a kind person. May be not so much with my words, as I was born immediately sarcastic and maybe a tad critical, but at least with my actions. I mean, ridicule aside, I don't think I've ever truly yelled at a person with seriousness in my voice.

However, after watching a number of celebrity chef Gordon Ramsay's TV shows, I think that is going to change.

I've had the privilege of watching one of his older shows called Gordon Ramsay's Boiling Point on a "completely legal" website that a compadre of mine showed me, the name of which I can't mention merely because the site in question hasn't paid me for advertisement, and that just wouldn't be fair. I've always loved Gordon Ramsay. His shows such as Hell's Kitchen and Kitchen Nightmares amaze me and have actually taught me quite about the food industry, whether it be cleanliness, how to prepare certain things, or just other lessons that can be applied in other areas of your life. And how has he come to be so well-respected and revered?

He yells. A lot.

Tell you what, you live through a Ramsay dinner service without being yelled at even once, you've done a hell of a job. But this is why he is so successful. He's got many restaurants, almost all of which have got Michelin Stars, and he is one of the most famous chefs out there. He is making millions. On this particular episode, he was opening his very first restaurant, simply called Gordon Ramsay, if I remember correctly. He seemed to have it out for a certain waiter, who made the grave error of wearing a blue bandaid on his finger. Now, I probably wouldn't have done this myself. It stands out more than a white or skin colored one, and probably isn't to appetizing when you are thinking about food. To the waiter's defence, he claimed they were the only ones he had, and he was in a rush. Ooooh, big mistake. The last thing Ramsay wants to hear are excuses. I learned that early on. He ripped on the pair youngster for what seems like minutes, I swear some tears were welling up. This guy was one mistake short of being sacked. For wearing the wrong color of bandaid.

So I'm turning over a new leaf. I figure if he is going to make millions, I may as well jump on the bandwagon. Everytime someone makes a mistake, even just a slip-up, I don't care if you leave your bedroom light on when you aren't in there. I'm gunna find you, and I'm gunna yell. And yell. And then I'll be rich. Foolproof isn't it? Let me know what you think. (Or maybe you shouldn't, anger might spew from my lips)



WHO LEFT CRUMBS ON THE COUNTER?!

My Outrageous Blog Name, the 80s, and the Stunning Inability of Some to Do a High Five.

Let me start by saying that I am convinced that literally every blog in the world starts off with the blogger writing about why he has decided to write this blog (someone made him) and fair enough - it's good to know the reasons behind it. Nevertheless, I have decided to become the first of my kind, a pioneer if you will, to not do just that. So you may just never know why I came to the decision of writing one. Adds to the mystery. Chicks dig mystery. Or so I'm told.

Now I'm sure all zero of you that are reading this are wondering about the very odd moniker I've given this blog. Writer's block will do wonders, but we can break it down.

Buttercup: This one is attributed to the sport of squash - one that I am determined was created for men between the ages of 30 and 55 that are slightly overweight but are in surprisingly good shape, or at least so it would seem. I really feel like the minority when I make my way to the Y. Ninety percent of the squash players fit that description, and despite my being 20 years their junior, and not overweight (well maybe a little, but I'm working on it), and in good shape, I can just tell these guys would all soundly kick my ass. But hey, I'm a rookie.

Me and Andrew, my main squash playing friend, decided that we wanted squash-type nicknames. He was to be the classic, Butternut, whereas I started researching. All of the kinds I saw were kind of boring: acorn, spaghetti, etc. And thus, Buttercup was born. I had some headbands made online to celebrate the occasion. Embroidered and everything. They seemed cheap, $9.50 each. After shipping, and other fees, over sixty bucks for two headbands. Oh well, they were worth it.

The Fist of Legend: I recently purchased Rock Band. Best game ever, might I add. If you don't know the premise of the game, it's Guitar Hero with bass, drums, and singing added. So much better.

Now, to some of you, Fists of Legend may just be the title of a Jet Li Movie (either him, or that other Asian martial artist who chops tables). For me, it's the name of my brother and I's band. And we rock. Hard. We have something like 350,000 fans, we play gigs from Seattle to Reykjavik, we have our own jet, and I've got sexy long hair. So realistic. We'll be coming to a venue near you soon.

A good friend of mine Ms. Julie, has her birthday party this week. (Happy 20th to her) Theme: the 80s. Now I'll admit, I was a bit skeptical of this theme from the beginning. After all, I was only alive for a little more than seven months of it, and I'll be honest, I didn't pick up all that many fashion tips. However, after a bit of research, it seems like the easiest decade ever to dress up for. You just wear bad clothes. Badly. It's basically just like my regular life. You have to make sure the clothes are bright colors, and they have to clash horribly. Shiny was in. I went to Value Village the day of, and picked out this fantastic outfit: Shiny purple tearaways (ok, maybe 90s, give me a break), a bright t-shirt, and a clashing track jacket. Throw in aforementioned headband and some wristbands, yellow socks and some oldschool sneakers, you got yourself a nice one. I'm seriously considering wearing this outfit just regularly, I love it so much.

At the party, I was having a nice chat with my friend Kate, when, for whatever reason, we exchanged a high-five. Let me just say, it was the worst high-five I have ever experienced. And hey, I'm not being mean, we've talked thoroughly about this. This high-five had no emotion. There was no relaxation in the arm or hand, it was stiff as hell, and it just bounced back. It shouldn't bounce. It should be smooth and flowing. I quickly taught her all that I know about the high-five, and thankfully, she has improved, albeit a bit slower than I had been hoping. I started going around the room to show her how easy it is, and how pretty much everyone knew how to do it. I was appalled. I swear that barely anyone knows how to do it anymore. Now, don't get me wrong, everyone has their own style, but you should at least be able to do it without embarrassing yourself. I am honestly going to start a school for this. That's how passionate I am.

That's all for now.