Author Archives: Rob MacD

I was walking back to work at lunch today, and I saw a guy trotting up a street carrying a cumbersome load of papers in his arms. He was, perhaps, 30 yards from where I was. He didn’t drop his pile of paper, but as I saw him, I wondered: if he did start to drop it, and I had super power strength or ability or speed, would it be worth my trouble to go and prevent the accident. Further imagining my super-powers to be secret to the public, I decided it wouldn’t be worth the trouble of possible discovery of my wonderful abilities. (Yes, I’m 38 years old.)

But that got me wondering something else. In my lifetime, what incidents (that didn’t directly involve me) have I personally witnessed where the use of some super-human ability would have been ‘worth the trouble’? Had I witnessed a car accident, where my super-speed could have shoved the little girl out of the way of the speeding car? No, nothing like that rings a history bell with me.
After a thorough 20 second google of my brain, I came up empty. I couldn’t think of anything that sticks out in my life that would have benefitted from my secret super powers.

What about any of you? Have you been in the vicinity of some event or accident or incident where you’d have used a secret super-power to keep it from happening?

Having spent more years than I should have in my poverterial (my word) pursuit of the performing arts, and acquiring the financial debt that this implies, I now take serious aim at freeing myself of this obligation, and look forward to the day (year?) when I am finally quietus in my relationship with Mastercard and Visa.

For Al: They can take away our amplifier and our guitars, but they’ll never quietus.

I have a sense of humour. Everyone does, of course, to varying degrees. And each of us has a differing opinion on what is funny.
One aspect of my sense of humour relies on sarcasm and, to some extent, on the appearance that I mean what I say. For me, a sarcastic remark is best if the receiver of it isn’t sure if it is, in fact, sarcasm. And I may go to great lengths to not give anything away.
In the textual world of the internet, sarcasm is a tough sell. Especially for someone who doesn’t like to make the sarcasm obvious. So, when you come across any of my online personas: Unka Whiskerz in the lolita chat rooms; BlueBallzz in the fetish forums; AzzCrackz in the big bum boards, or Lieutenant Dan in any of the alt. newsgroups, don’t be looking for an “lol”, or a winking smiley face emoticon from me, because I won’t give it away that easily.

I made the committment not to give it away so easily on that night, right after I lost my cherry.

Well, it looks like we’ve saddled ourselves with a name for both our group and for our show this summer.

We are, and it is, called ‘Sketch 22’. Now, of course, we wait for the inevitable ‘there’s a group in blah-blah who have that name’, or ‘What? Just like 22 minutes?’, or ‘that name sucks’. To all of that, I say:

That’ll do, pig. That’ll do.

You can catch a sneak peek during the TheatrePEI theatre festival in late March.

Someone just asked me if I had plans for lunch.

It strikes me as odd that ‘plan’ needs to be pluralized here. Whose lunch is so complicated, so detailed, that they need to create more than one plan? Even so, if your lunch is so complicated, detailed and full of things to do that it requires you to create a list, wouldn’t that still just be a plan? Does the ‘plans’ refer to contingencies in case the original plan gets altered? If so, how many of us make up plans in advance? Don’t most of us make one plan for lunch, and if that falls through, then we make another plan?

Don’t even get me started on that single item of clothing called ‘pants’.

…I never made anything like this. Granted, my sandbox wasn’t backlit.

It’s a fair-size download (18M) for you dial-uppers, but I found this to be extremely cool, soothing, comforting (I’m not sure why), and beautiful.

To those offended by the Quebec musings of Conan’s puppet dog, I say:

Yawn.

I swear to god, this is what I heard last night during Survivor when “Pretty Boy” Probst (so-called by Boston Rob) asked Big Tom what he thought about Jenna abandoning the game in favour of going home to be with her dying mother:

Ahm gamma dohney abrroot atorpin’ betingluh shamoo applain. Tuh dumbah samgamblin’ abrroot muh whole family in a car crash, bin laden samores tadingluh Big Tom for Big Tom.

I swear, that’s what I heard.

On my homepage, myway.com (an excellent commercial/popup free alternative to the more popular yahoo or msn, commercial-filled versions ), I get a daily update on whose birthday it is.

Today is Christina Ricci’s birthday. She was born in 1980. 1980!!!! But she’s a grown-up. That depressed the hell outta me. Then I got more depressed when I realised that probably some people who read this are even younger than that.

I have a hard time grasping the concept that it’s possible that people born during my initial pubic hair-bearing years could possibly have pubic hair of their own now. Was 1980 really that long ago? Shouldn’t someone born in 1980 still be in, I don’t know…junior high, at most? Where did the ’90s go? Aren’t I still ‘just out of my 20s’, even though it’s been 3/4 of a decade since a ‘2’ appeared anywhere in my age?

sigh

At least it’s good to have the hell outta me for a while, even if it was depressed outta me.

Our new fridge is working wonderfully. We had to replace the old one because it couldn’t be trusted to keep things cold, and it would bombinate in the most annoying way.