New Beginnings

I'm not an expert on anything. I'm not a jounalist. I'm not a professional writer of any kind. Many would say I'm barely passable as a friend or family member. That notwithstanding, I apparently can't shut up. As such, I have decided to harangue the masses via the internets. It seems only fair that after I have taken so much from so many, that I should give back in some small, meaningless way.

Here you will find my absurdist take on any number of things that affect my existence, such as Heath Street between Yonge and Spadina, hockey in general and all things Toronto Maple Leafs, '24' starring Keifer Sutherland, eating, swearing at people, faulty electronics, unheralded fantasy-fiction author and fellow Canadian R. Scott Bakker, sweat pants, the Crusades, sports, The Christie Mansion, general surliness, the Canyonero (I remain firm that unexplained fires are a matter for the courts), why Vince Carter probably eats poo and Chris Bosh probably eats diamonds (or at least sapphires), sharks, the TTC, Commander Riker, beers, stupid stuff, things that are neat, Pearl Jam, sleeping, 45-peice stainless steel flatware sets, the woeful state of long-term care in Ontario, the Fazer, glass cases of emotion, fantasy sports pools, NEVER FOLDING ACE-QUEEN BEFORE THE FLOP, yappy dogs, horror violence, Mats Sundin, chicken souvlaki on a bun, regretting nothing, poppycock and horsefeathers, Caruso, and so on and so forth.

Deal with it or don't.