Waste Not!

Willfull waste makes woeful want – Old Scottish proverb.  What a surprise.

Waste. It`s like stupidity. It`s everywhere. North Americans have the most wasteful society ever seen on the planet. Waste  is so prevalent, it is useless to try and document every example. Nonetheless, there are certain types of waste that bug me worse than others for no apparent reason. They are like personal pet peeves. We all have them and when it comes to waste, these are mine.

Take, for example, band-aids. You buy a pack of assorted sizes to cover every contingency; contusions abrasions, flaming boils on your inner leg just where your thighs meet when you walk. (What? Your thighs don`t meet when you walk???) More often than not, all you ever use are the standard size for the average oozing pimple, leaking hangnail or what have you. The itty-bitty ones are next to useless; suitable only for things like, say a dart puncture wound or infected follicle of some sort. By the time you`re done with the reasonable sized ones, you still have a full complement of the size appropriate for staunching blood flow on Barbie and Ken dolls.

It`s the same for the great big honkin` bandaids that accompany that same assorted pack. The way I see it, if you need to use a bandaid of this size, you better see a doctor... after the ambulance ride. You have bigger issues than a bandaid is able to cure, unless, of course, you don`t have health care insurance. By the time you are finished with the regulation sized ones, the only big ones you`ve used was to cut the strip of sticky stuff off to keep the ridiculously small bandaids on.

Gas is something else that is wasted constantly. I`m not talking about the wasted gas that is burned up in your average Tim Horton`s drive-through, although the amount frittered away waiting for a double-double is more staggering than six shots of tequila, but of that produced by our bovine buddies, the humble cow.  According to online government documents available to anyone who wants to google it like I did, ol` Bossy can put out 250 to 500 litres of methane a day. (!) You know how many cows there are on the planet? Me neither and I`m too lazy to google it but you can imagine it is a HUGE resource being squandered! If we could harness that energy, we could ease the burden on conventional polluting methods of transportation, home heating and power generation needs. I would not, however, recommend it for your natural gas barbecue. Or maybe it`s just me that doesn`t want my burger cooked over cow fluffs.

One type of waste saddens me greatly. I see it in stores of every kind; masses of merchandise that will never move; like rigor mortis has set in. To call it dead stock is an understatement, at least for this season. I`m referring to all the Edmonton Oiler stuff you see; hats, toques, cards, stickers, lighters,  and especially the flags. When`s the last time you saw an Oiler flag on a vehicle? All those resources used to manufacture all that stuff that`s just going to sit collecting more dust than a Swiffer abuser. It is not just a waste, it is a shame.

There’s one type of waste that is fairly insignificant in the big picture but drives me much crazier than it reasonably should. It’s that bit of sugar that’s left in the bag after I pour it into the sugar canister. No matter how much I shake the bag, I can still hear the individual grains of sugar rattling around inside, thumbing their crystallized noses at me. Years ago I saw on the TV show, Marketplace, where they had a spokesman from a sugar company who discussed this very issue. He demonstrated that, although it may sound like a lot of sugar trapped in the creases and folds of the bag, after dissecting the bag in a thorough package autopsy, the amount of all-natural sweetener freed was less than a teaspoon worth. My natural reaction was, of course. But it’s MY teaspoon worth, dagnabbit!!

Another waste; any amount spent on Brussels sprouts.

I notice Cupcake is very concerned about waste, particularly my wasting ways, not that I’m wasting away to nothing. She will hound me about running the water while I brush my teeth but takes an entire hotwater tankfull just to wash her hair, condition it, cream rinse it, even polish and wax it for all I know. Experiments limiting the hot water deliver at the tank while she is showering, however, have proven unwise. It does explain my limp.

Ultimately, I know that no matter how much I recycle and reuse, I will still waste stuff. From the last few dabs of shampoo at the bottom of the bottle that the squirty thing can’t suck up to the milk that isn’t drank quickly enough and ends up on the wrong side of the smoothy/chunky scale, waste will always be with us.

If life is a waste of time and time is a waste of life, let’s get wasted and have the time of our lives. - Anon

Tread Dread

With Cupcake’s birthday looming, I have been wracking my last remaining brain cells still in captivity as to what to get her as a gift. I have already used up the best ideas as Christmas presents such a short time ago and have no idea how to observe her XXth birthday. (Editor’s note, number removed to protect the idiot columnist.)

Then, the other night, I was on my half of the loveseat (loveseat... more like a “keep your filthy hands to yourself seat”) reading while Cupcake was watching her favourite show, Criminal Law and Order Mind Scene Investigators or some such. Suddenly my attention was drawn to an ad for a treadmill that was inexpensive, fold awayable, easy to set up and, did I mention, inexpensive?

I know Cupcake is always concerned about her health and thought the treadmill would be just the thing to help her keep fit and so, be a mighty fine birthday surprise. However, just to be sure, I talked to my buddy, Pete, about it. He’s quite a bit older than me and wise in many ways.

“You’re buying Cupcake a treadmill as a gift?” he snorted beer out his nose in astonishment. “To put it delicately, old chum, are you out of your freaking mind? That would be about as popular as a wicker toilet.”

“I was only thinking of her health, I swear!” I defended myself. “I’m sure she would see it in that light. She was thrilled when I got her all that Oil of Oo-lala anti-aging goop at Christmas. She better have, at that price. The point is, she didn’t think I got it for her because I think she’s old looking... ”

“Face cream is something she’s been putting on for decades. She hasn’t had much to do with exercise equipment since that incident with the mini trampoline. Frankly, I’m sure she’d see a treadmill the same way as if you bought her a case of Slim-Fast,” he warned. “Would she buy you a carton of beer withdrawal patches? Look, if you really want to be certain the treadmill will be well received, maybe think of a way to bring it up without committing to it. Nonchalantly, you know?”

That night after Cupcake had gone to bed, I fired up the internet and found a page showing all the details of this fine piece of exercise equipment. I knew she’d see it when she would do her morning online Sudoku. I congratulated myself on my subtly.

“That’s a pretty good deal,” Cupcake enthused as she read it, while I mentally applauded my cleverness. “But you’re not thinking about this as my birthday present, I hope. It would be for all of us, not just me.”

“Well, there’s no way I’m going to unload that kind of dough on an impulse purchase AND buy you a present, too!” I protested.

The next day found me still in a quandary about what to buy her while lugging the huge treadmill box into the house. With sweat pouring down my face I wondered briefly if they included a set of weights with the machine. At least I’m getting exercise from wrestling the stupid box, I thought grimly. Unpacking the unit proved as equally arduous as it was manoeuvring it into the dining room. Carefully cutting up the mass of cardboard, polyfoam and Styrofoam had me foaming at the mouth. It yielded an enormous pile of stuff to get rid of; two huge recycling bags worth and those suckers don’t grow on trees. Finally, it was all set up and had run the requisite hour to recalibrate the tread belt. I was ready to climb aboard. I estimate the unit had cost me about $500.00, including incidentals; new runners, a pair of gym shorts and a bottle of extra strength ibuprofen. This figure was important because I planned to motivate myself by keeping track of the cost per hour of the machine. The first hour may cost $500.00/hour but the second hour will halve that to $250.00/hour. My goal was to get the cost per hour lower than a gym membership. (Not that I’ve ever actually set foot in one since graduating from High School. I’ve always associated the word “gym” with humiliation, emasculation, and the only C’s ever on my report cards and have since avoided them religiously.)

My first trip on the journey to nowhere was exciting. I felt relief the lowest setting was too slow for me at one km/hr. Apparently it only had a top speed of 6 km/hr which was a problem for some people who had commented on it in the “consumer reviews”. When I fired it up to Warp Six, however, I knew it wouldn’t be of concern as I would never need it to go that fast. If I tried it on that speed, there’d be a perfect impression of me in the drywalled wall behind the thing.

Epilogue: We’ve had the thing for two full days and three evenings. So far, the cost per hour is $1500.00. But, hey, I’ve been busy!

My Resolve

The zombie appeared out of nowhere and advanced quickly.... menacingly. Its bulging, bloodshot eyes moved independently of one another as its slackened jaw allowed drool to trickle down its rotting chin. It reminded me of a girl I dated in high school. A pull of the triggers on my double-barrelled shotgun took care of the problem quickly. The blast left my attacker with less head than a stale glass of draught beer. Suddenly, an even more terrifying spectre appeared. This one, however, wasn’t cannon fodder in a video game like the zombie but my conjugal colleague Cupcake. “Honey...” Cupcake began. I instantly put full shields up and mentally sounded ‘red alert’ for the conversation to come. “I thought of a great New Year’s resolution for you!” she enthused, as if it were good news.“I thought you loved me just the way I am.” I protested. “Besides, it’s half-past January already. Your resolution window of opportunity has closed. We must move forward.” “Don’t give me that ‘move forward’ malarkey! If you would move in ANY direction, I’d be happy.”

“I’ve been waiting for you to come up with a resolution like you promised for almost two weeks. Forgive me if I think you could use some.... encouragement.” “Is that what you call it now?” I put in courageously. “We used to call it...” I was going to use the “n” word but Cupcake HATES the term ‘nagging’.

“...a er... uh... pleasant reminder,” I finished lamely.
Cupcake didn’t rise to the bait but continued to plough forward with her agenda.

“I was just going to suggest you resolve to stop constantly putting things off,” she continued relentlessly. “I mean, you put the ‘pro’ in procrastination. Your slogan should be ‘Procrastinators of the world, UNITE... TOMORROW!” “Very funny,”  I grunted.  “With gags that clever, you could write for the CBC.” “Well you do tend to delay doing things,” she ignored my jab. “We painted the hall two years ago and I’m still waiting for you to put the switch-covers back on.” “I’ve been busy!” I protested weakly. “You don’t just rush into highly dangerous and difficult tasks. You wait for the right moment. Besides, I’m curious to know what YOUR resolution was. You certainly didn’t share it with me. It obviously didn’t involve quitting nnn... going on about the stupid switch-covers. And if you get to choose my resolution, I get to choose yours and I’m making it that you resolve to double our nookie output!” “Over my dead body,” she snorted. My mind leaped at the comedic possibilities of her response; however a quick-witted retort died on my lips. Apparently, my survival instinct had kicked in.
          
I decided to continue to press her on her own resolution-appropriate shortcomings. Although the strategy was more dangerous than any zombie attack, I figured a good offense would be the best defence; an approach apparently lost on the Edmonton Oilers.
          
“Okay, how about something more realistic?” I prodded. “I made a little list for you.” I pretended to feed a lengthy stream of paper through my fingers. Most situations are improved by jocularity. It seemed this wasn’t one of them.
          
 “Look here, Mr. Perfect...” Cupcake can take a lot but there is always that point... like the one she’d just reached. “I have gone without chocolate for over 288 hours and.... 27 minutes... and if you think I’ll deny myself any longer, when you’re not willing to make changes in your life, you’re nuts.”
With that she strode to the cupboard and took out a bag of Russell Stover chocolates. I’d never seen them kept in the spaghetti canister on the top shelf before.
          
“You gave up chocolate?” I was astounded. That’s like Linus giving up his blanket. “Oh, honey, please don’t give up chocolate. I beg of you. Remember what happened last time? Besides, your Hershey habit isn’t out of control or anything. It’s not like I was going to sign you up for an intervention.” “I know,” she muttered unhappily; a mouthful of the brown confection slurring her words. Her eyes had taken on a glaze a TimBit would be envious of. “It’s just that they are my weakness and I’ve tried to just cut down and that worked about as well as your old pickup lines. I thought maybe if I tried to go cold turkey, I could handle it but chewy granola bars just don’t cut it.”
      
 I hugged her closely, trying not to think of the chocolatey fingers on my new sweater.
      
“There, there, my sweet,” I said soothingly in her ear. “Let’s just forget all this silly resolution stuff. It’s never ever changed us one iota in all the years we’ve tried. The fact that I have flaws makes it okay for you to have flaws, too. Love can only exist between two people who can tolerate each other’s faults.” “So, your solution is to never try and improve yourself or attempt to become a better person? Accept your failings rather than fight them?” she frowned. “What’s the use of getting married if you can’t ‘let yourself go’?” I grinned. “Works for me!” she giggled, stuffing another chocolate in her mouth.”

Bucket List

There is an air of excitement as people across the planet embark on our collective voyage aboard The Good Ship 2010. The excitement stems from the hope the journey will be better than The Kind of Sucky Ship 2009. At this auspicious time, it is required by law that all editorialists, columnists, bloggers and  hack writers of every stripe must create more lists than a busload of seniors on Shopping Day. These lists are mostly comprised of the best and worst of this and that; from economics to electronics, from pandemics to preparation for the Olympics. 2009 will be analyzed more closely than a scoring play in the Superbowl.
      
Being sadly ill-equipped to discuss political culture, pop culture or even a bacterial culture, my list contribution is a review my own 2010 personal “bucket list”. A bucket list is an inventory of all the things I’d like to do before I “kick the bucket”.  (Gulp!) The term was popularized by a movie starring Jack Whats-His-Name and that other guy. (I told you pop culture wasn’t my strong suit.)
        
To begin with, let’s review the items I have already checked off in 49 years on the planet.
        
Graduate High School: CHECK. Go to college: CHECK. Get a decent job: CHECK. Get lucky: Not so far this year but I’m hoping.
      
Granted it’s a rather meagre list, however, it is nothing like what I plan to do! Here is my own personal bucket list and the progress I’ve made towards attaining them.

Go hang gliding. Perhaps the closest thing to flying there is (other than drinking the 190 proof Everclear I bought at the liquor store for the eggnog. The high-test hooch had numerous warning labels; one regarding blindness and four others concerned with catching yourself on fire with it. Wow.) My hang gliding preparation, so far, consists mainly of watching the occasional video. I realize I’d probably have to wear some kind of adult under-garment but I can dream, can’t I?

Go into space. So far the Canadian Space Agency has yet to call (I can’t believe it, either.) but Cupcake still insists that even at my age, I qualify as a space cadet. In fact, she has even said I’ve had space in my head for as long as she’s known me. Then she giggled.

Lose weight permanently. HAHAHAHAHAHAHA! Yeah. Right.

Get my finances in order. My current system involves writing cheques on payday until I get nervous. Then I wait until next payday to write some more. Okay, so maybe “system” is too strong a word for it.
Go on “The Daily Show With Jon Stewart” to flog my book. one: write book.

Meet celebrities. So far, the most famous person I’ve ever met was Leduc Mayor, Greg Krischke. Well.... it’s a start. I’ll never forget His Worship’s parting words to me the last time I saw him. He said, “Get off my lawn, you weirdo or I’ll call the cops.”

Figuring out Cupcake. Nothing concrete so far, as it’s kind of a moving target. The only facets of her complex character I have uncovered that I can be 100% certain of, 100% of the time, are that she likes chocolate and jewellery.

Understanding my sons. If I wore my hair like that as a kid, I’d have been beaten up. It is kind of tragic, I think, that nowadays, no matter what you do to your hair, nobody gives it a second glance. Kind of defeats the purpose of having a pink and purple Mohawk. I may as well go back to my brush-cut.
Spend a week at the Smithsonian Institute. Am I boring or what?

Go snorkelling at a coral reef. Of course I’d want armed guards, a shark cage and numerous applications of shark repellent. I saw the movie “Jaws” back when it didn’t look so hokey.
Do something spontaneous. This one is so difficult to plan.

Watch the Oilers win the Stanley Cup. Cupcake bought me socks for Christmas with Oiler logos on the ankles. They were really good for a while but then they just sucked. Then they were okay for a little bit then they had a really bad run...

Sample beer from every country. Not all in one night, of course.
Win the Stephen Leacock award for humour. Okay... any award for humour. Any award, actually. Something. Jeez.

Watch all the greatest movies of all time. Important, ground-breaking masterpieces like “Citizen Kane”,

“Gone with the Wind”, “Debbie Does Dallas”...
        
 I have others but space prohibits my ability to share them. Plus, I don’t want Cupcake to read a couple of choice ones. (Woohoo!) Whatever your own bucket list consists of, however, I hope you check off a few in 2010. Just remember the wise words of George Bernard Shaw, “There are two tragedies in life; one is to lose your heart’s desire. The other is to gain it.”

HAPPY NEW YEAR EVERYONE!