Bacteria and Bathroom Habits

Over the past few months I've been trying to drink more water, particularly during work. Over the course of my 8-4pm I usually drink between one and two litres of water. But since I've been doing that, I'm also going to the bathroom every 30 minutes and as a result I've had some time to nice some disturbing behaviours and I may have come up with the dirtiest thing on any given body.

First of all, the number of people who don't wash, or fake wash their hands is troubling. You'd think grown men would wash their hands but a good number simply flush, tuck their shirt in and back to work. "Hi Betty, here is my report for you along with some poo particles. You going for lunch in a few minutes?"

A significantly higher number of men do the fake-wash or the bacteria bath. This is when you turn the tap on, rinse your hands for three seconds and consider your hands cleaned. When all that was really accomplished was that you just gave the germs on your hands either a drink or a bath, but either way, they're still there and they're refreshed.

Even if you're from the school of thought that, "Well I don't piss on my hands," it's still a good idea to wash your hands at least a few times a day and since you're in the washroom, you might as well do it then.

One time after relieving myself I came to the conclusion that the dirtiest, most bacteria infested things are not door knobs, toilets, telephones or keyboards, but belt buckles. Whether you wash, fake-wash or don't wash at all, what is the one thing we all do before we are SUPPOSED to wash? We tuck our shirts in and do our pants up, including the belt. (So technically, the pant button and fly are in the same category).

Time and time again, we handle the belt buckle between pissing or dropping a deuce and washing our hands. You can make the valid argument that our pants get washed so the fly and button are not so bad, but I can't say I've ever washed a belt (on purpose) and I wear one of two belts every day, so the germs must be just stacking up. Knowing that brings a whole new level of fear when I think about the times I got the belt for being a retard.

"Oh no! Dad, I'm sorry! Not the belt please! Do you know what's on that thing??!!"

I suppose the proper thing to do would be to do the penguin waddle over to the sink, wash your hands and then do your pants up, but if we can't get 75% of the population to wash their hands with soap, I can't really see that happening.

Speaking of which, it's about 6:30pm. Regularity is great.

Dalai Lama in Toronto

A few weeks ago Debbie and I listened to one of the Dalai Lama's public talks. We had 5th row seats and it was my second time and Debbie's first time listening to him.

As we walked down the stairs onto the Roger's Centre floor we both looked at each other and commented on how it felt like we just walked through a wave of good energy. It was pretty powerful and neat that we both felt it at the same time.

He began his talk by saying he's not here to convert anyone. He's not here to talk to us a religious leader, a spiritual leader or a political leader. But he was there to speak to us about how to achieve world peace which will not be achieved until we can create inner peace and peace within our own minds.

He said he doesn't want anyone to convert to Buddhism but instead, he wanted everyone to explore their own faith more deeply and passionately while opening their hearts and minds to other religions, not to judge other religions or not to try to convert others to your own (stupid missionaries--see a few posts from several months ago).

What a great message and I'd like to see if other religious leaders would say that. Not likely. I believe both the Pope and the Supreme Leader of Islam recently said that everyone should just convert to their respective religions in order to acheive peace.

He said it's not until we accept others for no matter who or what they are, that we can even begin to live in real, sustainable peace.

If His Holiness ever comes back around again, I will definitely go to one of his public talks and encourage others to go as well. If other world, spiritual, community, political or religious leaders listened and acted on his message this world wouldn't be in such the mess that it is.

Been A While

So, it's been several months since my last post. I've had a bit to say but just not the motivation to write it out and really, most of what I've got to say lately is just a bunch of complaints and I don't really want to turn this blog into a complainer's forum. I'd rather keep it happy and ignorantly blissful.

I've got a few funny adventures to post, but they're better with sounds and actions and therefore don't really translate well into writing (or maybe that just makes me a weak writer).

Plus life seems to be in a bit of a boring lull. Get up. Go to work. Come home. Sleep. Repeat.

I've taken up rock climbing but I don't know any of the lingo so I can't effectively write about the time my partner dropped me 30 out of the 35 feet to the ground (plus 96% of the people reading this don't know the lingo anyways). To sum it up: I completed a climb (35 ft), rope was new and slippery, partner at the bottom popped the break too much and in a second I was screaming all the way down to within 5 feet of my death or horrible crash. Good times. I'm glad my leg straps of the harness was tight. That way it kept the shit from dribbling out of my shorts.

That's about it for exciting stories.

Preparing for the Great St. Marys' Beer Tent

Every year, on the fourth weekend of July is the St. Marys Fair. And for those over the age of 16, it is known simply as Beer Tent (BT) weekend.

Everyone and their dog goes and the BT is probably the only reason why anyone comes to the fair. By midnight, the "tent" is packed shoulder to shoulder with everyone from the mayor, university students home for the summer, high school students, teachers, farmers, factory workers, bums, and even the town prostitute. If we're lucky, a few Stratford and London prostitutes will come out and a reverse bidding war will start!

"I'll do it for $50."

"I'll do it for $40!"...and so on until someone yells, "For Christ's sake Mom, go home! You too sis!" Good times. Good times.

The event is held on the parking lot of the arena, with a large canvas tent covering a portion and the rest of it just on the large gravel and hazardous pot-holes that land-mine the way to the urinals.

Every year, it is a right of passage for all the underage kids to sneak into the BT from behind the urinals. Oh--and the entire area is securely fenced off with orange, perforated snow fencing.

There is also an unwritten rule that only those without penises use the urinals and the men discharge their crystal clear Labatts Blue pee behind the urinals, exactly where the under-agers try to hop the fence--and usually fall. All of this is assuming bladders don't burst when they trip in the pot-holes on the way to sweet urinary relief.

It's so blatently obvious who is underage or at least new. They are the ones who have rolled in warm puddles of pee to get into paradise and claim it as a spilled beer. Then "chug" their beer and yell "Woo." Chug is in quotes because they only ingest a mouthful because they use the rest of the cup to wash the piss out of their shirts.

Every year, the same sequence of events happen. I run into at least four people who insist we get together sometime soon and then take the next 15 minutes summarizing the past year of their life since we last saw each other at the previous BT. Make arrangements to get together despite a total lack of interest and without the slightest intention of following up with them.

There will be at least one fight which is eventually broken up by the police, followed up with the loser's friends yelling at the cops.

Then the highlight...everyone runs like retarded AND drunken buffalo to the Sammy Souvlaki truck who comes into town one weekend a year and despite the drunken small town red necks, make enough money to take the rest of the summer off. Probably spent hosing the puke off the sides of the trailer.

Souvlaki, gyros and poutine at 2:00am while more drunk than Rhea Pearlman and Danny Devito are every time they get intimate is fantastic. That mental picture alone makes me want to drink.

Coincidentally, stain remover and bleach fly off the shelf the following week. A great business opportunity would be to sell plastic bibs that say "I ate at Sammy's during Beer Tent and my shirt now only smells like piss and beer."

This happens Thursday, Friday and Saturday every fourth weekend of July. Without fail.

The feat of surviving all three nights of drunken debauchery is known as making the Triple Crown. This year, I'll be making the Double Threat (two nights) and the Debbie will be making her first ever BT appearance. I'm undecided whether I'll send her over the snow fence behind the urinals or not but this is St. Marys; the Queen of England herself would have to go over the fence if she wanted to be accepted.

$67 Million Dollar Pants?

I've been following this court case a little bit, simply because this is the reason why I hate lawsuits.

To sum up: a dry cleaners lost a pair of pants. The man then tried to sue for $67 million dollars because there is a sign "guaranteed satisfaction." He is claiming he's asking so much because he represents the millions of abused customers. He also forgot to mention that he claimed bankruptcy a year ago and can't find a job.

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WASHINGTON (AP) - A judge ruled Monday in favour of a dry cleaner who was sued for US$54 million over a missing pair of pants.

The judge's decision said Custom Cleaners did not violate the city's Consumer Protection Act by failing to live up to Roy Pearson's expectations of the "Satisfaction Guaranteed" sign once displayed in the store's window. Judge Judith Bartnoff of District of Columbia Superior Court ordered Pearson to pay the court costs of defendants Soo Chung, Jin Nam Chung and Ki Y. Chung.

Pearson, an administrative law judge, originally sought $67 million from the Chungs, claiming they lost a pair of suit trousers and later tried to give him a pair that he said was not his.
He arrived at the amount by adding up years of alleged law violations and almost $2 million in common law claims.

Pearson later dropped demands for damages related to the pants and focused his claims on signs in the shop, which have since been removed.

Chris Manning, the Chungs' lawyer, argued that no reasonable person would interpret the signs to mean an unconditional promise of satisfaction.

The Chungs said the trial had taken an enormous financial and emotional toll on them and exposed them to widespread ridicule.

The two-day trial earlier this month drew a standing-room-only crowd and overshadowed the drunken driving trial of former mayor Marion Barry.

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If I was the judge, here is how I would have settled it.

First, I would order a donkey to kick Pearson in the nuts for being retarded, greedy, abusing the court system and an opportunistic slug.

Then, I would order the dry cleaners to go to Wal-Mart and buy Pearson a new pair of pants, costing roughly $50--and that's probably a great pair of pants from Wal Mart! Along with the new pants, I would have them apologize for losing his pants.

Then, as the real judge did, I would have Pearson pay for all the dry cleaner's legal fees and legally change his name to Jack Ass after berating Pearson for being a leech on society and claiming this frivolous lawsuit would make him a hero to all American consumers.

He lost his pants. He should get his pants back with an apology. Be thankful for what he's got. Shut the hell up. Go home and find another dry cleaner.

Elephants and Bamboo Rafts

One of the first things we did when we arrived in Chiang Mai, Thailand was to arrange a day trek of elephants, bamboo rafting and hill tribes.

It was a drizzly day with a light but cooling rain spraying us as we moved about. Our first stop was at an elephant training centre.

We were told we could buy a bag of bananas and sugar cane to feed and make friends with our elephant for 20 baht ($0.66). Looking at the size of the bag, we thought for sure one bag would last us the entire trip (30 minutes). But then we quickly remembered just how big elephants are and how small bananas are.

Our elephant, named Orangatang (or something like that) ate our bag of bananas like Rosie O'Donnell would eat at a free smorgasboard of M&Ms and Oreo cookies. He'd put his trunk over his head and leave it there, snotting over us with his breath.

We'd give him one or two bananas at at time but came back as soon as he could feed the tiny, over ripe morcel into his enormous mouth. Fortunately, there were four "banana shops" conveniently located along the path with just the right amount of bananas and sugar canes stuffed into a plastic bag, also for sale for 20 Baht.

Orangatang, the elephant slash banana-poop maker, ate through five bags of food.

If we ran out, he'd just leave his trunk on his head. After a while, I figured out that if I slap the top of his head, he'll take his trunk away.

Our elephant was the leader. Clearly bigger than everyone else's, but Ron and Yvette's elephant was the proud and slow moving mother of Lucy, the four month old baby who desperately tried to keep up with mom's big steps.

As you can see, all the elephants were trained get their free meals.

After a slow tromp through a well beaten path in the forest, we visited a hill tribe called the Hmong ('H' is silent). And what a disappointment that was. No one was around until they heard us coming, then about three of them waddled down to their posts and began to benignly carve, wittle, or stitch some ornamental junk that would surely be thrust into my face later on in Bangkok, preceded by "Hey mister! You want scarf?"

Gee thanks. It's a million degrees out but I could use an extra layer of warmth.

We got out of there relatively quickly and moved to our bamboo white water rafting adventure. Our guide told us that this trip normally lasts an hour but due to the fact that the rainy season has come two weeks early, the water is so high and fast, that it would only be 20 minutes long!

When we saw the rafts, I think we all collectively shit our pants. About 20 feet long, and maybe four feet wide, we were told to sit directly on the bamboo. Cold and oh-so comfy!

As soon as we hit the first set of rapids, we realized that we were in no danger of tipping into the churning and silt filled river because the rafts were so long and disappointingly slow moving.

Despite the slow movement, Debbie still screamed her head off as we went through it all. I tried my best to yell back to her that she really needed to keep her mouth closed.

It was over in a flash and we were cold, wet and filthy but it was a great day.

The photo to the left is my "bird's eye view" of our river guide. You can see how wide and comfy it is.

Thai "ladies" of the Night

Thailand, especially Bangkok, is known for its red light district (the Patpong District). What I didn't know, was that the island of Koh Samui is also known for its prostitution, and that nearly 75% of all prostitutes are actually men. And boy, are they aggressive!

Debbie and I arrived on Koh Samui and walked down the main strip. We stopped to read a menu outside a nice looking restaurant. During the read, my attention was drawn to a racket behind me. Curiously, I turned around to see two girls dressed in typical Muay Thai kick boxing uniforms, giving me the blow-job sign from a second floor bar called Mosquito Bar. Odd name because I don't think they sucked blood.

I giggled and told Debbie. When she turned around, they gave her the same signal! I think they either wanted her to send me upstairs, or maybe they were actually men and wanted it from her! Either way, neither one of us were going to indulge.

A day or so later, a group of us were walking past a bar with several ladies out front when one of them grabbed my arm and tried to pull me in. Debbie was just behind me and said "no, no, no! He's mine."

To which the prostitute replied, "I just kidding. Just kidding! Happy time!" It was quite funny and we all laughed, including Debbie and the prostitute.

Then, Debbie and Steph were getting ready to pose for a photo while sipping a fruity tropical drink on a patio bar when a couple of "ladies" walked behind them. Thinking quickly--which was a stretch after sitting in the sun all day and working on my second large Chang beer--I zoomed the camera in and took a photo. Upon quick inspection, they look like female prostitues. Then if you zoom in, you'll notice the girl on the left has sasquatch feet about size 11, the makings of an adam's apple and she may or may not have been glad to see me if you know what I mean.

I've done you the pleasure of zooming, cropping and resizing the picture to focus on the gigantic package, feet and Adam's apple.

They were coming out the Na Na Bar. Notice the sign above it. At least that one is almost subtle. We found another bar that, in big white letters across the door, a sign that clearly said "No Condoms Required." Yikes. Could have been false advertising. Maybe there weren't a brothel and therefore condoms aren't required. Maybe suggested for your cleanliness and comfort, but not required.

I'll tell you about our adventures actually in the Bangkok red light district later.