This stirs up so much nostalgia and excitement and wonder. It’s more than nostalgia. It’s magic.
UPDATE: The video wasn’t working, so I have changed it to a YouTube clip. You can still watch the trailer on the Apple site.
Monthly Archives: March 2009
rockstarpoet.ca
I am not renewing this domain. Before it goes to the general public, does anyone want it?
Blowing Bubbles
[youtube]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wuVgXJ55G6Y[/youtube]
DOLPHINS ARE BLOWING BUBBLES! HOLY CRAP! When I see this I think two things: (1) dolphins are over-achievers and a-holes and (2) I should live with dolphins because my cats aren’t teaching me shit.
Thanks BoingBoing.
Now You Call
God bless good friends. When I was younger I was blessed to have some very good friends that didn’t give up on me. Or rather, were extremely annoying. Curtis is one such friend.
Phone rings.
Curtis: Rhett, we are playing street hockey in ten minutes. See you outside.
Rhett: I don’t want to. I am watching cartoons.
Curtis: C’mon.
Rhett: I’ll think about it.
Five minutes pass. Phone rings.
Blair: Rhett, we are playing street hockey.
(Curtis in the background): Tell him we are starting in five minutes.
Rhett: I don’t want to.
Blair: C’mon.
Rhett: I’ll think about it.
Three minutes pass. Phone rings.
Harmony: Rhett, we are playing street hockey.
(Curtis in the background): Tell him we are starting in two minutes.
Rhett: I don’t want to.
Harmony: C’mon.
Rhett: I’ll think about it.
One minute passes. Phone rings. Parents are yelling because the phone keeps ringing.
Brad: Rhett, we are playing street hockey.
(Curtis in the background): Tell him we are starting in one minute.
Rhett: I don’t want to.
Brad: C’mon.
Rhett: Fine! I’ll play.
This is how most things went when I was younger. I was also on the other side of the phone calls, but usually I think it was me. I’m actually pretty sure this is a tactic that Curtis still uses and frankly it works. Both because Curtis is charismatic like that and because now I just know how relentless he can be. Luckily or unluckily for me, I am not in the same city anymore so I only get these calls when we’re within 20KMs of each other.
But, it seems I am continually blessed with new friends just like Curtis. But they are a lot smaller than Curtis. And furry. And meow-y.
JD and Elly have quite a routine, pretty much every morning. First, JD warms up. He knocks our closet doors and meows to alarm us to the fact that he requires food. Then comes the main performance.
He jumps up on the foot of the bed and he’s purring. He’s not purring because he’s happy. He’s not happy. He wants food. JD is purring because he wants to be cute (basically the opposite of his true nature). He’ll walk up my chest, let me pet him a few times (because he fools me into thinking he’s a nice cat) and then run off as to lead me towards his dish (which is regrettably empty). When I don’t follow, he jumps up on our dresser and selectively begins knocking items off. Enter Elly.
Elly, who is naturally the cutest cat on earth, jumps up on our bed and moves toward our head. But Elly is basically a mute. She can make noise, but she doesn’t. Her mouth moves like she’s meowing, but no sound comes out (obviously adding to how cute she is). But there is one thing you must know about Elly. She’s fat and you cannot mess with her food intake. Whereas JD will let you touch him, Elly will avoid it. Elly walks up and around our heads. With Elly you have to pay to play. (Playing, in this case, being the right to touch her.) If you make a slight movement she’ll take off running—also towards the food.
When we ignore Elly she jumps up on the dresser, JD jumps down and the dance begins again and goes on until one of us (read: me) feeds them.
Dodgeballa
Last week, for the first time in likely 16 years, I played Dodgeball.
Yes, you read that right. Dodgeball. With Leif. And we got destroyed, but we had great spirit. And the days following dodgeball I was sore. Really sore. Like I don’t think I have ever been more sore. And you better believe that Leah heard all about it.
As it turns out, dodgeball is way more intense then I remember. Or it could be the fact I haven’t done any physical activity in months. Working out is for suckers. This also concerns me about how badly I am going to hurt after skiing this weekend. Also, I am going skiing this weekend.
Probably the most interesting thing—aside from who much I can whine when in pain—is the reversion that seems to happen when playing dodgeball. Dodgeball has a magnificent ability to force you to regress to your 10 year old self. I thought I might take a stab at a few of the personalities that I noted.
Dodgeball personalities
For convenience, I am going to use he. Unless otherwise noted. This is a co-ed sport.
- Sucks at life and therefore way too serious about dodgeball. This is probably the funniest personality in any sport. I have seen it in soccer as well. But in dodgeball it was a whole new level of sad. It’s the guy who is awkwardly fierce. He throws it as hard as he can, even when there’s no reason to. He breathes harder than necessary. Everything about him is an over-exaggeration.
- Not really sure why he is being forced into this hell. He stands at the back. Often he is the last one to get hit and that’s the moment when the whole team realizes they are screwed. He wasn’t interested in participating and it looks like getting hit with a ball might really hurt. Plus, this gym smells funky. Don’t they have proper ventilation? So he puts in a half-assed effort. Maybe hits one of their players to give the rest of the team some hope before inevitably getting hit by three balls at the same time.
- Girls. They are still girls and, though I’m tempted to make a sexist joke, they usually have bigger balls then the boys. We’re too dainty.
- The Chameleon. This is the player who comes prepared. Who looks tough and cool. Who is a solid pick for any team—until you see him play. It’s this bizarre shock. It’s like expecting that everyone can swim and then realizing the guy with muscles always sinks like a stone. He can’t throw. He can’t run. And he certainly can’t dodge.
- The organizer. This personality always makes me giggle. Sometimes, because it’s me. In this case, it’s Leif. The organizer wants rules and order and though he feigns his desire to crush the enemy, it’s really his secondary motivation. Really he’s a paradox. He wants order, but dodgeball, by nature, is chaos. Rubberballs being thrown at your face. Never seen anything hairier.
- Cheerleaders still exist. God bless cheerleaders. Lord knows I need you. Everything I do—well I do it for myself—I do for you. I just happen to be my own cheerleader. You make us feel great about our ability to compete in a highschool gymnasium with a fake moustache on and no real throwing power to be proud of.
Who am I?
I fit into the last category (and all the aforementioned ones). The cool kids. I am part of the elite class of natural talent and tactical skills that always end up in me being out first. I am also the cockiest on the floor. I am the first target.
Bravado aside, I really am a mixture of all the personalities. Except the first. I really hope I am not one of the first. Depending on my mood and how many times I have been hit, I am probably more like the guy who just wants to hang out in the back and not get hit. Because, even though it doesn’t actually hurt, it does sting. And I hate stinging.
All that being said, I am ready to do it all over again tomorrow night. But I will do more stretching this time.
First picture by Laura on her iPhone. Second picture by me on my iPhone. Turns out it’s pretty difficult to take a picture of yourself with an iPhone.