The Annekenstein Monster

Okay, my posting has fallen way off.  I apologise. Or apologize (I can never be sure about the ‘s’ ‘z’ thing).
A few reasons why I’ve not been blogging:  to be honest, I feel like I’ve kinda run out of things to say.  Then I get that "I’m in a slump" feeling and think I need a good posting to get me out of the slump. Then, whenever I begin to write something, I get into it, then an overwhelming "this is a stupid waste of time post" despondency comes over me and I erase it.  Then I build it up in my mind to where the post has to be fantastic before I deem it Monster worthy. Boo hoo, me.

So, I’m in a slump, and who does one turn to when one is feeling down?  Why, one turns to the anonymous and not so anonymous friends who frequent one’s blog.  And so I turn you do, dear reader.  I turn to you with an offer. 

How about you write a post (or two, or three) for me?  The only stipulation is that you need to write it as if it’s me who’s written it.  In my voice (or lack thereof).  Write your The Annekenstein Monster post and email it to me at my email address on the left hand side there… "send it 2 me at gmail dot com"
If I receive any, I’ll most likely post them.  I’ll not indicate, in the posts, which ones were not written by me.  It’ll be a little secret between you and me.  Only I get all the glory, because people will think your excellent words will have come from my brain.

To write like me, I suggest you follow these guidelines:  1) have bad plumbing in your home.  Bad plumbing holds a wealth of blogable material.  Actually, I’m thinking of nailing some holes in the toilet, just so I’ll have something to post about.  2) when driving to work, look at something totally innocuous and vow to write about it.  Good ‘somethings’ are birds by the side of the road, signs, a solitary glove stuck to a branch of a tree (actually, don’t take that one, ’cause I’m writing a great post about the very thing.  oh, what the hell, you can have that one).  3) take a trip to Moncton and then type the boring details of the trip, as if it was interesting. 4) make the Miami Dolphins your favourite sports team.  The disappointment you feel, loss after loss, should be sufficient to encourage you to write "my" blues away.
Remember, I’m rather proud of my "clever" post titles, so if you’re going to submit an "authentic" Rob MacDonald TAM post, please include the sharp title.

Thanks for your help.  I’m sure you all will have no problem out Robbing Rob.

Is it "Hear! Hear!", or is it "Here! Here!"?

My inclination is to think it’s Here! Here!, but I could see it going the other way too.

Hear! Hear!… as in "Listen to what is being said.  And by me requesting that all around hear what is being said, I am endorsing it!"

or

Here!  Here!… as in "I agree with, and endorse what was just said.  I do.  Me.  Right here.  Here." or "I endorse you, sir. Me, standing here!"

I suppose too, it could be "Hear here!"…as in "Everyone here, in the vicinity of the speaker, hear what he has to say!"

I have come to this particular post having no idea what I am going to post about.  In fact, apart from that initial line, which I thought of as I was waiting for the page to load, the rest of this is free flow, top of my head kinda stuff….so, in other words, likely pretty boring, bad stuff.
I am currently half way through the longest hour of the workday.  I always find from 3 to 4pm to be dreadfully long.  You know, I just paused and re-read those last two lines, about the time there, and I made myself sick.  Sick with the awful feeling that this could be the worst post I ever make, resorting to commenting on the time.  Holy shit!
At least it’s a sunny day, and the forecast for the weekend looks pretty good too, doesn’t it.
Oh, man, drastic action time, so here’s a joke I’m just going to make up right now.  It will not be funny, but it will be completed.

A man who has two left feet walks into a bar and orders a Banana Daquiri.  It’s a rather rough and tumble bar, and the barkeeper, in no polite terms, tells the man that they don’t serve Banana Daquiris.  The man makes a pouty face and whines "But I have two left feet.  Doesn’t that count for something?"
The barkeeper, whose very own recently departed mother had two left feet as well, suddenly felt pangs of guilt and sentimentality.  He broke down and began crying.  One of the tough guys in the bar, who was playing pool with his girlfriend, heard the crying and asked "What the shit is that crying?"
The barkeep was by this point sobbing uncontrollably, so the two-left-footed man took the initiative to answer the question.
"I could tell you the sad tale of the crying barkeep", said the man, "but to do so, I’d have to have sex with your lovely lady there."
The woman, who was sick and tired of beating her boyfriend at pool, spoke up and said "I’ll have sex with you, but first I need to call my two children and tell them I’ll be home later than usual."
The tough guy, who had often expressed to his girlfriend, his desire to participate in a threesome, didn’t interject and instead offered, "That’s okay by my, but I want to be part of the action."
All three agreed, and they decided they’d do the deed right there on the pool table.
However, before they could really get into it, the woman, who had a crippling brittle bone disease, broke in two and died.
This made the tough guy sob.  His wailing added to the still-strong sobs of the barkeep, who was now remembering the last time he spoke to his mother, and how he wished he would have told her he loved her.
Through his pain, the tough guy noticed that Two-Left Feet wasn’t crying.  "How can you not be upset over this?  The cracking in two of the woman I was about to share with you in sexual pleasure gratification?"
To whiche the two-left-footed man replied.  "I’m sorry, but I was told never to cry over split MILF."

The tough guy and the barkeep then punched the shit out of the two left footed guy.

Ugh.  I can barely bring myself to click the submit button to post this.

I have a stereotypical image of what an Islander is:  He is of slight build, with ballcap, denim jeans and denim jacket.  He holds a Tim Hortons cup almost always.

I am not of slight build, I don’t wear ball caps (not the right shaped head), only occasionally hold Tims cups (prefer Robins), and until this weekend, didn’t wear a denim jacket.  This weekend I took a major step towards looking like an Islander.  I bought a denim jacket.  In Moncton.
I had been searching for a new jacket for a few weeks now.  I wanted one that had big pockets on the lapel (big enough to carry my iPod and my digital camera), pockets in front down below (to carry car keys and coins).  Buttoned up or zippered, it didn’t matter, but I wanted it to be cotton or denim.  And it needed to be long enough for my tall frame.  I didn’t want a nylon jacket.  Any jacket I saw in Charlottetown failed in some way, so I moved to the internet and a brief search there failed too.  My only hope was a trip to Moncton.
It’s the old story:  I looked in practically every pertinent store in Moncton and hadn’t found a jacket that came close.  After mentally giving up, I went into one more store, and there it was:  the jacket.  Huge upper pockets, deep dark lower front pockets (some inner pockets too!) and it was on sale.  The only down side was that the jacket was of that type of denim that looks old and worn, kind of distressed.  I really don’t like that.  So, I had a decision to make.  Get a jacket that is perfect in almost every way except for the crappy faded look, or, succumb to my petty ideas of taste and leave empty handed.
I bought the jacket and I’m glad I did.
Now I just have to rid myself of the notion that I look like an Islander.  I am a Maritimer.  Just like those two guys in Goin’ Down The Road.
I must embrace my roots. 
I must be me.