Tuesday, December 31, 2002
Sunday, December 29, 2002
I'm sitting here at work, watching the clock.. tick tick.. brutal. I even came to work early today.. can you believe that? Well if you had to be alone with me today you would do anything to get away too. I wonder what the night has in store? Any guesses? 12:30 ish should be a real interesting time at our place... I hate being right.
Saturday, December 28, 2002
Employment History
My first job was working in an orange juice factory, but I got canned. I couldn't concentrate.
Then I worked in the woods as a lumberjack, but I just couldn't hack it, so they gave me the ax.
After that I tried to be a tailor, but I just wasn't suited for it mainly because it was a so-so job.
Next I tried working in a muffler factory but that was too exhausting.
Then I tried to be a chef, figured it would add a little spice to my life, but I just didn't have the thyme.
I attempted to be a deli worker, but any way I sliced it, I couldn't cut the mustard.
My best job was being a musician, but eventually I found I wasn't noteworthy.
I studied a long time to become a doctor, but I didn't have any patience.
Next was a job in a shoe factory; I tried but I just didn't fit in.
I became a professional fisherman, but discovered that I couldn't live on my net income.
I managed to get a good job working for a pool maintenance company, but the work was just too draining.
So then I got a job in a workout center, but they said I wasn't fit for the job.
After many years of trying to find steady work, I finally got a job as a historian until I realized there was no future in it.
My last job was working at coffee house, but I had to quit because it was always the same old grind.
SO, I RETIRED, AND I FOUND I AM PERFECT FOR THE JOB!
Did I mention I'm moving to Smithers?
My first job was working in an orange juice factory, but I got canned. I couldn't concentrate.
Then I worked in the woods as a lumberjack, but I just couldn't hack it, so they gave me the ax.
After that I tried to be a tailor, but I just wasn't suited for it mainly because it was a so-so job.
Next I tried working in a muffler factory but that was too exhausting.
Then I tried to be a chef, figured it would add a little spice to my life, but I just didn't have the thyme.
I attempted to be a deli worker, but any way I sliced it, I couldn't cut the mustard.
My best job was being a musician, but eventually I found I wasn't noteworthy.
I studied a long time to become a doctor, but I didn't have any patience.
Next was a job in a shoe factory; I tried but I just didn't fit in.
I became a professional fisherman, but discovered that I couldn't live on my net income.
I managed to get a good job working for a pool maintenance company, but the work was just too draining.
So then I got a job in a workout center, but they said I wasn't fit for the job.
After many years of trying to find steady work, I finally got a job as a historian until I realized there was no future in it.
My last job was working at coffee house, but I had to quit because it was always the same old grind.
SO, I RETIRED, AND I FOUND I AM PERFECT FOR THE JOB!
Did I mention I'm moving to Smithers?
Wednesday, December 25, 2002
The Night Before Christmas
====================
'Twas the night before Christmas, and out on the ramp,
Not an airplane was stirring, not even a Champ.
The aircraft were fastened to tiedowns with care,
In hopes that come morning, they all would be there.
The fuel trucks were nestled, all snug in their spots,
With gusts from two-forty at 39 knots.
I slumped at the fuel desk, now finally caught up,
And settled down comfortably, resting my butt.
When the radio lit up with noise and with chatter,
I turned up the scanner to see what was the matter.
A voice clearly heard over static and snow,
Called for clearance to land at the airport below.
He barked his transmission so lively and quick,
I'd have sworn that the call sign he used was "St. Nick".
I ran to the panel to turn up the lights,
The better to welcome this magical flight.
He called his position, no room for denial,
"St. Nicholas One, turnin' left onto final."
And what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But a Rutan-built sleigh, with eight Rotax Reindeer!
With vectors to final, down the glideslope he came,
As he passed all fixes, he called them by name:
"Now Ringo! Now Tolga! Now Trini and Bacun!
On Comet! On Cupid!" What pills was he takin'?
While controllers were sittin', and scratchin' their head,
They phoned to my office, and I heard it with dread,
The message they left was both urgent and dour:
"When Santa pulls in, have him please call the tower."
He landed like silk, with the sled runners sparking,
Then I heard "Left at Charlie," and "Taxi to parking."
He slowed to a taxi, turned off of three-oh
And stopped on the ramp with a "Ho, ho-ho-ho..."
He stepped out of the sleigh, but before he could talk,
I ran out to meet him with my best set of chocks.
His red helmet and goggles were covered with frost
And his beard was all blackened from Reindeer exhaust.
His breath smelled like peppermint, gone slightly stale,
And he puffed on a pipe, but he didn't inhale.
His cheeks were all rosy and jiggled like jelly,
His boots were as black as a cropduster's belly.
He was chubby and plump, in his suit of bright red,
And he asked me to "fill it, with hundred low-lead."
He came dashing in from the snow-covered pump,
I knew he was anxious for drainin' the sump.
I spoke not a word, but went straight to my work,
And I filled up the sleigh, but I spilled like a jerk.
He came out of the restroom, and sighed in relief,
Then he picked up a phone for a Flight Service brief.
And I thought as he silently scribed in his log,
These reindeer could land in a one-eighth-mile fog.
He completed his pre-flight, from the front to the rear,
Then he put on his headset, and I heard him yell, "Clear!"
And laying a finger on his push-to-talk,
He called up the tower for clearance and squawk.
"Take taxiway Charlie, the southbound direction,
Turn right three-two-zero at pilot's discretion"
He sped down the runway, the best of the best,
"Your traffic's a Grumman, inbound from the west."
Then I heard him proclaim, as he climbed thru the night,
"Merry Christmas to all! I have traffic in sight."
====================
'Twas the night before Christmas, and out on the ramp,
Not an airplane was stirring, not even a Champ.
The aircraft were fastened to tiedowns with care,
In hopes that come morning, they all would be there.
The fuel trucks were nestled, all snug in their spots,
With gusts from two-forty at 39 knots.
I slumped at the fuel desk, now finally caught up,
And settled down comfortably, resting my butt.
When the radio lit up with noise and with chatter,
I turned up the scanner to see what was the matter.
A voice clearly heard over static and snow,
Called for clearance to land at the airport below.
He barked his transmission so lively and quick,
I'd have sworn that the call sign he used was "St. Nick".
I ran to the panel to turn up the lights,
The better to welcome this magical flight.
He called his position, no room for denial,
"St. Nicholas One, turnin' left onto final."
And what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But a Rutan-built sleigh, with eight Rotax Reindeer!
With vectors to final, down the glideslope he came,
As he passed all fixes, he called them by name:
"Now Ringo! Now Tolga! Now Trini and Bacun!
On Comet! On Cupid!" What pills was he takin'?
While controllers were sittin', and scratchin' their head,
They phoned to my office, and I heard it with dread,
The message they left was both urgent and dour:
"When Santa pulls in, have him please call the tower."
He landed like silk, with the sled runners sparking,
Then I heard "Left at Charlie," and "Taxi to parking."
He slowed to a taxi, turned off of three-oh
And stopped on the ramp with a "Ho, ho-ho-ho..."
He stepped out of the sleigh, but before he could talk,
I ran out to meet him with my best set of chocks.
His red helmet and goggles were covered with frost
And his beard was all blackened from Reindeer exhaust.
His breath smelled like peppermint, gone slightly stale,
And he puffed on a pipe, but he didn't inhale.
His cheeks were all rosy and jiggled like jelly,
His boots were as black as a cropduster's belly.
He was chubby and plump, in his suit of bright red,
And he asked me to "fill it, with hundred low-lead."
He came dashing in from the snow-covered pump,
I knew he was anxious for drainin' the sump.
I spoke not a word, but went straight to my work,
And I filled up the sleigh, but I spilled like a jerk.
He came out of the restroom, and sighed in relief,
Then he picked up a phone for a Flight Service brief.
And I thought as he silently scribed in his log,
These reindeer could land in a one-eighth-mile fog.
He completed his pre-flight, from the front to the rear,
Then he put on his headset, and I heard him yell, "Clear!"
And laying a finger on his push-to-talk,
He called up the tower for clearance and squawk.
"Take taxiway Charlie, the southbound direction,
Turn right three-two-zero at pilot's discretion"
He sped down the runway, the best of the best,
"Your traffic's a Grumman, inbound from the west."
Then I heard him proclaim, as he climbed thru the night,
"Merry Christmas to all! I have traffic in sight."
Tuesday, December 24, 2002
A guy walks into the bar carrying a shotgun in one hand, a bucket of shit in the other, and with a cat sitting on his shoulder. He walks up to the bar and orders a drink. The bartender proceeds to pour the man a drink. With that the man throws back his drink, cocks his shotgun, blows away the bucket of shit, which scares the cat off his shoulder, and finally chases the cat out of the bar never to return.
Five days later the man returns; a shotgun in one hand, a bucket of shit in the other, and a cat upon his shoulder. He proceeds to walk up to the bar and orders himself a drink. The bartender, obviously annoyed at having to spend several hours cleaning up all the shit from the man's last visit, interrupted bitterly, "What the hell do you want?"
"I'd like a drink", responded the man.
"No way, not after your last escapade", snapped the bartender.
"But bartender, I'm in training", replied the man.
"Training! Training for what?", questioned the bartender.
"I'm training to be an airline pilot", responded the man.
"An airplane pilot?", questioned the bartender, "How do you figure?"
"Well", added the man, "I go on a trip, I do a little drinking, I shoot a little shit, I chase a little pussy, and then I take five days off!"
By the way, I'm moving to Smithers, B.C. www.flycma.com
Five days later the man returns; a shotgun in one hand, a bucket of shit in the other, and a cat upon his shoulder. He proceeds to walk up to the bar and orders himself a drink. The bartender, obviously annoyed at having to spend several hours cleaning up all the shit from the man's last visit, interrupted bitterly, "What the hell do you want?"
"I'd like a drink", responded the man.
"No way, not after your last escapade", snapped the bartender.
"But bartender, I'm in training", replied the man.
"Training! Training for what?", questioned the bartender.
"I'm training to be an airline pilot", responded the man.
"An airplane pilot?", questioned the bartender, "How do you figure?"
"Well", added the man, "I go on a trip, I do a little drinking, I shoot a little shit, I chase a little pussy, and then I take five days off!"
By the way, I'm moving to Smithers, B.C. www.flycma.com
Tuesday, December 10, 2002
Sunday, December 08, 2002
So... I gotta tell you about this... Sorry Buddy, I know I promised I wouldn't tell...
I almost let the secret out... almost.... I was just one button shy of telling everyone.. Phew, good thing I didn't... I think you'll have to wait for about 6 months for this one... :-) (re: The BITCH!)
On another subject... HOLY FUCK is there ever a pile of shit going on right now. I'm getting stressed. Sorry I can't talk about this stuff either, maybe after next week... maybe.
And then there is the family stuff going on.... How did I get in the middle? I'm the baby, so everybody trusts me... They would never have expected the left hook they just got! Just like the song Cruel Be Kind.
Weird... usually I spill all my guts out here. Not lately... too much up in the air... Do you know that song by The Clash, Should I Stay Or Should I Go Now? That doesn't even begin to cover it. So you got to let me know.... Should I Stay Should I GO?
I almost let the secret out... almost.... I was just one button shy of telling everyone.. Phew, good thing I didn't... I think you'll have to wait for about 6 months for this one... :-) (re: The BITCH!)
On another subject... HOLY FUCK is there ever a pile of shit going on right now. I'm getting stressed. Sorry I can't talk about this stuff either, maybe after next week... maybe.
And then there is the family stuff going on.... How did I get in the middle? I'm the baby, so everybody trusts me... They would never have expected the left hook they just got! Just like the song Cruel Be Kind.
Weird... usually I spill all my guts out here. Not lately... too much up in the air... Do you know that song by The Clash, Should I Stay Or Should I Go Now? That doesn't even begin to cover it. So you got to let me know.... Should I Stay Should I GO?
Thursday, December 05, 2002
40 years in a wall (true story from the Calgary Sun 04 Dec 2002 )
MILAN (Reuters) - An Italian man who packed his bags 44 years ago and told his friends he was leaving for America was found dead inside one of the walls of his home yesterday.
Found inside a thick wall in the cellar were human remains, two packed suitcases, a trowel and other equipment to make a wall, a rusted rifle and a bottle with a suicide note.
The note, on paper heade with the name Nemo Cianelli, explained that the man had discovered he had an incurable disease and had decided to kill himself. He said he had invented the tale of going to America to avoid upsetting his family.
MILAN (Reuters) - An Italian man who packed his bags 44 years ago and told his friends he was leaving for America was found dead inside one of the walls of his home yesterday.
Found inside a thick wall in the cellar were human remains, two packed suitcases, a trowel and other equipment to make a wall, a rusted rifle and a bottle with a suicide note.
The note, on paper heade with the name Nemo Cianelli, explained that the man had discovered he had an incurable disease and had decided to kill himself. He said he had invented the tale of going to America to avoid upsetting his family.