I became a Dad for the first time. To say that experience changed me would be a major understatement.

I love you my “petite coccinnelle”. You and your brother are the best things that happen in my life. Please don’t grow up too fast.

On Monday I got home and found a letter from my son’s afterschool program waiting for me.

The letter was basically to inform us that during the summer, someone broke into the school and stole the afterschool safe.

No big deal, I thought. WRONG. Turns out that in the safe were also post dated cheques that parents gave the program last JUNE. WTF? Who the hell asks for post-dated cheques and then just leaves them in a safe for the whole summer? Isn’t the whole point of post-dated cheques to get them to the bank as soon as you get them and then forget about them?

So we phoned our bank, and they recommended that we close our account and open a new one. Because, you know, there’s someone out there with my bank account number and my signature. Ghaaaaaaa! That means that all my mortgage payments, my student loans, and our automatic deposits are to be transferred to a new account. Obviously this will not happen overnight, and it potentially means a break in our revenue stream or worst, some other payments might not go through if they still try to use the old accounts.

After talking face to face with a bank representative, we decided to simply go with stopping cheque #127 in the amount of 42$ for… 10$. Tomorrow we have to call the afterschool’s people to ask them what ELSE was in that safe. I’m worried that maybe our Social Insurance Numbers were in there – they use our SIN for tax purposes. Fingers crossed that nothing else was in there.

But there’s worst out there:

Added insult to injury for victim of Norbourg scandal
Mon, 2008-08-18 13:45.
Tim Parent
Added insult to injury for one of the victims of the Vincent Lacroix.
69-year-old Michel Vezina, a pensioner who had to find work to recover the 300-thousand dollars he lost in the Norbourg scandal, was given some positive news by liquidators Ernst & Young.

Ernst & Young had agreed on distributing $31-million to about 5,600 investors who were among those the hardest hit.

It sent a letter to Vezina saying it would repay him 84-thousand dollars but, as it turns out, the decimal was in the wrong place and instead, Vezina will get only 840-dollars.

No word if other victims also received letters with the wrong decimal point. 

I went to see Tropic Thunder on Sunday. After reading Dave‘s review of the movie, I read about the controversy and I simply had to go see the movie.

In case you havn’t figured this out yet, it takes a lot to offend me. I’m like a volcano this way. I can keep all kinds of thinks well-hidden underneath the surface, but when I blow, I blow with tremendous force.

I can only imagine the hits I’ll get from search engines now.

Back to the point: I was not offended by the RETARD scene in Tropic Thunder. In fact, I was not offended by anything I can remember in that movie. Sure, the script could have been funnier in some parts, but that didn’t offend me, I expect this kind of uneveneness from a comedy. The RETARD scene lasts about 30 seconds, and if anything drives the point that all mentally handicapped persons portrayed in the movies are not RETARDS.

Could it have been funnier? Maybe. Was it offensive? Not really.

I found it more offensive to read some comments on this blog.

I’ve worked tirelessly to undo the damage that Ben Stiller did for models in Zoolander. I’ve counseled former newsreaders of Mexican origin post his work in Anchorman: The Legend of Ron Burgundy. Morally outraged superheroes have sought my help ever since the release of 1999’s Mystery Men. I know for a fact that Tenenbaums everywhere no longer sleep on any floor above ground level since The Royal Tenenbaum fiasco of ‘01.

But never, anywhere along the line, until this whole Tropic Thunder affair, did it occur to me that the man’s initials are what they are.

Cheap shot? Yeah. Maybe. I’m so tired of having to bloody re-state why so much of TT is so wrong. Sorry everybody (and I even include ole BS himself in that.)

What?

The damage did for models in Zoolander? Really? Anchorman was Will Farrell, dumbass*. Morally outraged Superheroes? What? The Tenenbaums? Arrrrrgh! Ah, so Ben Stiller’s initials are B.S. wow, that’s pretty smart. What a zinger! Well played sir, well played.

What the FRAK?

*it is noted on the same blog that replacing the word RETARD with dumbass would’ve made things acceptable.

Nothing to post about today… So here’s a picture of a cat with a pancake on its head.

Meh.

What do you think?

faceyourmanga.com

Pretty easy! Can you do a better me?

Poppy is guest posting at 2HT today. Sorry Poppy,  I have no imagination. But I have mad Photoshop Skillz (or something like that) !

L.L. Kool Karl!

Britt and Karl have decided to quit smoking on Aug 18th. Go Britt and Karl!

Normally, this is the kind of thing that a 300 pound gorilla like me should be able to say.  But facts of my ninjadom are a-plenty.

I am ninja FACTS:

FACT 1) I wear a lot of black. This is not a “proof” by any means, but I do believe it contributes to the countless legends surrounding me.

FACT 2) If you have not heard about the ninja legends about me, it’s because I am a ninja. Most people have not even heard about this blog.

FACT 3) I can sneak up on anyone, at almost anytime. Sometimes I make my in-laws scream in terror, sometimes I tickle my kids, I never get caught mid-stride. Lovely Wife looks for me in the house all the time.

FACT 4) I can hide in plain sight. Sometimes I can be with a group of coworkers/friends and have one of them ask where I am. When I say I’m here, they’re always surprised.

FACT 5) I know what you’re thinking.

FACT 6) I would never reveal that I am a ninja. Oups.

Wow, this must be all that it’s cracked up to be

I know what you’re thinking (see FACT5), and let me tell you straight up: No, being a ninja is not all that it’s cracked up to be.

PROOFS:

1) Sometimes I have to wait a long long time before clerks/salespersons notice me. One time I tried to buy a car and had to give up after wondering aimlessly in the showroom for fifty minutes, sitting in all the cars, honking all the horns, opening and closing trunks. I’m almost certain that they called an exorcist when I walked out. This last sentence is totally influenced by watching Flipping Out yesterday.

2) While most of you will never hear people talk about you behind your back, it happens to me all the time. “I’m right here!” I’ll say, waving my arms. “I can hear this!” I’ll whisper in the backstaber’s ear as I twist his neck. Just kidding. Disregard that. Ahem.

3) Those Tabi rub in a displeasing way between my toes.

4) I quit my last job 3 years ago and I still get a paycheck from there. Revenue Canada, I’m kidding! Please don’t audit me.

Like these were not enough proofs, this morning brought the ultimate proof that I am ninja. I got ran over by a bicycle while crossing the street. She tried to catch the light as it turned red and instead of stopping she decided to speed through the pedestrian crosswalk. I had green, so I started to cross, not looking left before I did and WHAM! Our paths collided.

Picture this: Limbs flailling, cul par-dessus tête, scraped knees and elbows, the sound of a head on the pavement and a little girly scream. When the dust settled, she was sprawled face first in the road, bicycle flat on the ground. I was standing up, not a drop of my Starbuck’s Venti White Mocha Americano spilled, House Salad and Wildberries Parfait intact.

It was like she hit a brick wall. A big, soft, cushy brick wall. I offered an apology, said it happened all the time, asked if she was okay. I went on my merry way as she started unbending the frame of her bike. Coworkers walking beside me at the time asked me what happened. Except for one guy, they didn’t see anything.

I am ninja.

Can someone explain this to me, seriously?

It’s not even mid-August for crying outloud.

These were taken Wednesday morning at 6:30. By noon, that hedge behind the second picture was gone. We’re redoing the outside of the house, and those plans call for a 4″ wide fence to replace the 14′ wide hedge. I’m gaining a 6’10″ wide strip of land on my side of the future fence (around 175 sq. ft.). Sweet!

Update: Well, it turns out it was meant as a joke. I can’t begin to describe how I felt during the 45 minutes I didn’t know where it was from or what it meant. Maybe some other day.

I had a whole entry in my head about the leaves turning yellow in my backyard. And then it happened.

I received a package at work.

Normally I love to receive packages. Most of the times it means that my t-shirts, my books, or some techie toy has finally arrived. One time I receive a potato and some grape jelly and I couldn’t stop laughing for days.

But today’s package is different. But don’t take my word for it.

If you can’t read, it says “MIKE’S WHORE” in green pen. The lips and eyes are traced UNDER the plastic wrap, the “MIKE’S WHORE” is written on top of the plastic wrap.

I admit that I have a twisted sense of humour, but this is head and shoulders – well, at least head – above anything I would consider funny.

I think it’s a death threat of some kind.