I'm Busy Doing Nothing

From Tom Gauld's, Physics for Cats.

For reasons unknown to modern science, I dawdle. It might be one of the great mysteries of life, why we, as a species, enjoy looking at clouds, watching fog roll in, or the effects of the wind in the trees. In fact, I genuinely enjoy a good dawdle. I muck about. I futz. Sure you could say I mess about and procrastinate, but procrastination is more about putting off a difficult task you aren't keen on. That's not what I mean, though to be clear, I put the "pro" in procrastination and sometimes I also put the "crass" in procrastination, but I do not put the "nation" in procrastination, that is entirely up to the ministry of foreign affairs, which when you think about does sound like you're up to a bit of naughty fun with a visiting dignitary. See what I mean? It's like I actually procrastinate from procrastinating. When I futz about, I am talking about all the time I waste doing nothing in between other times when I'm doing nothing, and I do so industriously.

I've heard a story that Steve Jobs was so infuriated by how long it took a computer to start up, he calculated how much of his year was wasted sitting unproductively in front of a machine. He challenged his engineers to improve the start-up time. They couldn't, so instead they created "sleep mode" which put the computer into a low-energy mode that could be "awakened" almost instantaneously, giving the appearance of a fast start-up time. The lesson is that even very smart people can't complete an assigned task and will be forced instead to trick their boss into thinking they've done it. Unfortunately, that innovation led us to never shutting our machines off. I used to be like Steve Jobs and hated wasting precious minutes of my day until I heard Douglas Copeland's term, "Time Snack", which he coined to refer to the small moments when a device reboots to relax and take a micro-break from work. I now embrace the slowdown in our work day that slow machines give us. I'm still weirdly impatient, but I'm also weirdly good at wasting my own time. In a sense, I wonder if I dawdle/futz/muck about so that my body feels busy, but my mind is at rest. Let me relate an example of this.

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How to Remain Positive

You can buy the vibe at TeePublic.

After another silenced spring for Leafs' fans, I've been thinking how not to let it get me down. I proposed finding a nice cave with a contemplative view of nature. With cave prices being what they are these days, an alternative might be to find a way to improve my attitude. A quick Internet search led me to the Mayo Clinic's page on Stress Management. I'd like to share some of their insights, if I may.

It begins like this:
Identify negative thinking.
Focus on positive thinking.

Well, that was easy. Unfortunately, we know the human mind doesn't work that way. You can't just tell someone who is worrying, not to worry and assume your work here is done.

Here is a list of actions to make your outlook more positive:

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Private Peeps

My funny dicks.

I stood before the customs agent as neutral as I could. A blank piece of paper. Like an unthreatening swath of undyed muslin. I took nothing, I gave nothing. I had been fairly anxious about going through US customs for a work trip given everything being reported and rumoured. The anxiety was soon quelled by boredom after several frustrating lineups. If the anxiety doesn’t get you the boredom will. After two or three benign questions, I was directed to stand in front of a camera, remove my hat and glasses and stand still. My photo was then taken. No one asked me. I was told.

A similar thing occurred coming back in Toronto going through Canadian customs. Remove your hat and glasses and hold still for your unrequested portrait. Then the kiosk produced a small portrait of me on a slip of thermal paper. In the week in between those photos my picture had been taken numerous times by work colleagues at restaurants or by the government of California as I drove south on the 101 as I tried to avoid the toll lanes. Who knows how many other times I was in the background of someone else’s photos or surveilled by some other government’s camera.

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Misfortune Cookie

You can't trust anything cookies say these days.

“Avoid agreeing with people merely to keep the peace.”
This was what was written, in red ink, on a tiny strip of paper inside a faintly sweet biscuit, known as a fortune cookie. Seems like good advice unless, its real meaning is not to be confrontational so as to make you more of a pushover. It is, after all, a piece of advice from a fortune cookie which are a Chinese invention so could it really be disinformation? Are they trying to plant ideas of weakness, conformity, and passivity into the Western consumer's mind? I was about to use my fortune cookie’s "lucky numbers" as a new password when I paused and wondered, "Is that what they want me to do? Easier to guess my password if you've suggested my password to me!" How many people have followed the advice of a fortune cookie without realizing it’s exactly what the people’s republic wanted all along? My eyes opened to the real harm of taking advice from a confection of dubious origin.

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Everything’s Computer!

In the future, everything's Computer! Even kitchen and breakfast.

“Everything’s Computer!”, so said the mad king sitting in a plastic chariot.
Microwave ovens? Computer!
Broadcast television? Computer!
Electric cars? Computer!
Social media? Computer!!
The Internet? That’s Computerrr!!
AI? You better believe that’s nuthin’ but Compooter!!
Everything’s Computer!

Remember when we thought putting Computer in everything would make everything work better all the time? Remember when we thought connecting everything Computer (which at this point might as well be everything) to the Internet (which is computer!) and it would make our fridges smart enough to help us drink fresher milk? Now we’re going to put AI inside Computer which is inside everything and is connected to everything else and it won’t cause any harm at all.

Like it wouldn’t suddenly take over the power grid and turn off all the traffic lights at night to save money. It wouldn’t raise the temperature in refrigerators to spoil all our food to raise food sellers’ profits. It wouldn’t call you randomly and ask for $10,000 in bail money for the release of your nephew in the voice of your nephew. It wouldn’t scam your grandmother. It wouldn’t funnel money from the treasury and invest in bitcoin to fund a series of coups in the Balkan states. I’m absolutely sure it wouldn’t transpose the names of Estonia and Lithuania on every published map as an unsanctioned improvised defense strategy. It wouldn’t rename The Gulf of Mexico to Gulf of America then to Big Gulf of Water brought to you by Taco Bell, then rename it The Pepsi Halftime Gulf Brought to you in partnership with Verizon. It wouldn’t invent a new kind of porn that blends seafood with anime and broadcast it to screens, large and small, across the planet (OK, I’ve just been told it’s already done that). It wouldn’t spread disinformation to destabilize economies. It certainly wouldn’t take your job by making you redundant.

Well, it might do that.
Actually, there’s a good chance it will.
In fact, there is a 97.9% chance it has already happened.

The New Egg

Leave your morals at home.

There’s been a lot of talk about a scientific paper from Italy purporting to make the perfect boiled egg using the periodic method. The methodology described uses two pots and takes 32 minutes to complete. The reason for such complications are because the white of the egg cooks at around 85°C, while the yolk cooks at around 65°C. It's this difference that generally has flummoxed many a home cook. Over a decade ago the sous vide technique lead to the 50-minute egg and became the new standard of eggy perfection. Neither of these methods compare with my Sunday ritual that requires four pots set at three different temperatures and takes six to eight hours, depending on your elevation above or below sea level.

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Word Play

I think this is how movie ideas are generated now.

Epic Penile Picnic Panic
There’s a hot dog joke in there somewhere.

Each morning I do a series of New York Times puzzles including Wordle, the Mini crossword, Connections, and Strands but I start with the Spelling Bee. That's how this gem of a sequence of words appeared as I puzzled away on the possible anagrams (where you try to create as many words as possible with the seven assigned letters).

It even included the word “Alien”. I only wished I hadn’t thought of it out of sequence. Can you imagine being confronted with “Epic Alien Penile Picnic Panic” first thing in the morning? Even separately there's fun to be had: "Epic Penile-anything" could be fun or terrifying. Who hasn't had a "Picnic Panic"? Or, if I may say so, who amongst us hasn't suffered a "Penile Panic"? The less said of "Penile Picnic" the better.

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Not So Fast

How many clothes do you really need? Image by Midjourney.

On another chilly minus-umpteen centigrade February morning I donned a thin, red fleece that is one of my most worn and cherished items of clothing. It cost $19 USD. That was 25 years ago. That means it has cost me about 76¢ per year or put another way, about less than a fifth of a penny per day. It is from "fast fashion empire" H&M. I bought it in New York City before the brand had any presence in Canada.

This isn't the only item I have from retailers like Uniqlo, Old Navy etc. Many of them over a decade old. Mind you, I have on a occasion purchased some items from shops that are either long gone, or should be. A summery short-sleeved cotton shirt from "Jean Machine" comes to mind. As I recall, it was dirt cheap, I wore it about a half dozen times and on one sunny day, the back of the shirt went from dark gray to a bleached out pale colour. Additionally, the fabric had become closer to dust than fibre. The cloth was even too weak to be used as a rag. It had to be tossed. I have never been back to a Jean Machine location, and am now even wondering if such a place actually existed. Is it a machine that made jeans or one made from denim? So yes, I have bought super cheap clothing that couldn't withstand a single washing, but most items I have purchased, outlasted my interest rather than their usefulness.

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Walk like a dog 

Walk like dog, if you wish.

We've all done it. We all have it. We all have a song that despite knowing the lyrics, we still hear them incorrectly, usually to humorous effect. The Bruce Springsteen song, Blinded by the Light, in its original version has the curious lyric, "cut loose like a deuce, another runner in the night." The "deuce" refers to a nickname for original V8 engines or something. Even in that explanation, I wouldn't have understood it. Now listen to the Manfred Mann version, wherein an English vocalist evoking an American accent sings something that sounds more like "revved up like a douche" and you have added confusion. The fact that this version was played constantly on the radio of my youth only made my brothers and I even more confounded by it. The more you heard it, the more it confirmed your suspicion of it. More commonly, listeners to Jimi Hendrix's Purple Haze, often wondered if the singer was excusing themselves to either "Kiss this guy" or "Kiss the sky"? A friend of my brother's was sure the chorus the 1981 Kim Carnes' hit "Bette Davis Eyes", came through our fuzzy dashboard speakers as "She's got thirty days inside", instead of "She's got Bette Davis eyes." To be honest, the misheard lyrics sound as improbable as the actual ones. There are dozens and dozens of other examples.

In 1954, writer Sylvia Wright gave this phenomenon the name, “mondegreen”. As a child she claimed to have misheard a line of poetry as:
"Ye Highlands and ye Lowlands,
Oh, where hae ye been?
They hae slain the Earl Amurray,
And Lady Mondegreen."

The actual verse is, "They hae slain the Earl o' Moray / And laid him on the green." Thus "Mondegreen" was, if not created there and then, at least given a name.
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Cap it and Forget it 

Washington, D.C., circa 1919. "Hat display, Saks & Co." Panama hats, and how they're made.

Something attributed to Fran Lebowitz has stuck in my head. Lebowitz is an American author and, I don't know, "cultural critic" or something (she hasn't published anything in some time but often is asked to speak publicly on numerous topics). The quote I heard is that men over sixty shouldn't wear baseball caps. Lebowitz is for some reason seen as having insight on fashion. I don't know why. In my estimation, she has worn the same outfit for decades, which is essentially heavy tortoiseshell eyeglasses, a man's blazer (too large for her small aging frame), straight-leg, high-waisted denim jeans, a crisp white dress shirt, and cowboy boots. This is to say, I wouldn't necessarily consider fashion advice from Lebowitz as useful or relevant. Though, I'm not sure I would take fashion advice from anyone anymore. I'm in my mid-fifties and to be honest, dressing to me is personal and simultaneously, trivial. I do think I understand her point, however. Baseball is a young person's game, and men in their sixties are not usually leaving the house for the park for a game of pickup, so they really should dress for their age and not the age they want to be.

In my neighbourhood, I do see many, many men, my age or older, who are definitely not dressing suitably for their age and forget about dressing for the job they want. Often it's that particular look of the white rapper with oversized ball caps, oversized basketball jerseys worn over oversized tees, paired with oversized basketball shorts, or oversized jeans crumpled atop loose-fitting, untied basketball shoes. Not only is this a look fit for the 13 to 25-year-old crowd, but it was a look that was only fit for 13 to 25-year-olds about 30 years ago. I have no idea what these guys are thinking, and often I worry about my classist assumptions that most of these men are absolute idiots who simply don't know any better. Or worse, they are so ignorant as not to be aware of their ignorance. What it appears to me is this is an individual who has not matured past the age of 15 and is stuck thinking a life dressing this way is somehow showing their individualistic, "stick it to the man" independent streak that says, "I don't have to dress like I have a job, because I don't have a job!". Good for you. Let everyone know, that you're out here living in the streets, free from income. It's none of my business. I saw the most egregious of this sort when I witnessed a fellow who appeared to be in his 50s (or older), again wearing the sideways-pulled cap, oversized tee and shorts while riding a teeny-tiny BMX bicycle. Not only was this gentleman not on his way to the ballpark but he was also not on his way to a skate park to try out some new bike tricks. I would say getting on or off the bike was his big trick.
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I'm Obmutescent 

I don’t have words to describe the spectacular event of the eclipse we recently witnessed. There are so many ways of describing the eeriness of the light quality, the sheer awe of seeing the corona and diamond ring effect, and the humbling realization of the wondrous dance of the cosmos but nothing that encapsulates the joy, wonder, and humility one feels at that precise moment. Now that Grammarly has replaced my Strunk & White The Elements of Style I find I struggle even more to find the right words. As robust as the English language is, we've never really had any rules for inventing new words, which might explain why English is so eccentric and weird. We mash existing words together in portmanteaus such as breakfast and lunch to make "brunch", or we borrow from the French to have words such as bureaucracy or entrepreneur. We even look to both the Danes and the French to describe that cozy warm feeling of hygge or àpres-ski and even though we may think of Germans as being unpoetic, we love terms like schadenfreude when we find ourselves enjoying the downfall of others. It seems particularly in English that we'd rather write essays, poems, novels or op-ed columns about things that are really common experiences like the ones we have when we travel. Perhaps we should take a page from the books of Charles Dodgson (aka Lewis Carroll) or Douglas Adams and invent words as needed.

Like a word for the high expectation of going to a museum paired with the despair after finding it has been closed for renovations.
Proposal: Acropoly - from the Acropolis in Athens, a site of ruins.

Or a word for the joy and satisfaction when you finally find a nice restaurant followed by the lull of waiting for your order to arrive.
Proposal: Mealacuna, from "meal" + "lacuna" (an unfilled space from the Latin, "lacus" or lake.).

I think I need a word for the difference between my happiness at going to my dream bookshop only to realize that everyone else thinks it’s just a very regular bookshop.
Proposal: Bibliomojo - like library vibes, you might claim to others who look bored, "You're jamming my bibliomojo, man."

There definitely should be a word for the anxiety of catching the one bus that will take you somewhere you have to be but once you are on board, you're entirely unsure if it’s going in the right direction.
Proposal: Autoxiety - autobus anxiety portmanteau, applicable to any automotive travel. Usage: "This on-ramp is giving me major autoxiety!"

A word for the butt-clenching refusal to use the onsite toilets at a music festival.
Proposal: porta-not.
Usage: "This $50 Coachella burger isn't agreeing with my stomach right now."
Friend: "The porta-potties are just over there."
Me: "Porta-not."
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Positively Languid 

Before Peloton.

“C’mon people! Let’s go! Let’s do this! You got this!”
- insanely inspired Peloton coach

Am I the only person who finds those Peloton ads actually make me less likely to subscribe to the service? Part of adulthood might mean doing boring things like work or paying and filing taxes but it also means I’m not a child being scolded by teachers, librarians or life coaches. Is there something from my upbringing or childhood that means I would rather push a bullying fitness coach off their stationary bike than put up with their relentless, vociferous positivity?

Why am I so put off by cheerleading? It is annoying but that seems like a universal truth rather than a personal insult. I suppose it’s my own skepticism that makes such an approach seem entirely performative and thus, wholly disingenuous. Am I too cynical to be cheered on by someone paid to cheer me on? I used to wonder about myself, “Am I a pessimist?”, but I don’t think so. I used to say I’m a realist but I think that’s something pessimistic people say to not sound so negative. Rather, I think I am an optimistic person but perhaps I fall on the dark side of optimism. What is the dark side of optimism? Is it like the dark side of the moon, always in shadow and cold beyond imagination? Or is it just the cautious, chill, relaxed view that warns you to not get your hopes up in case everything goes badly?
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How to know if you’ve stayed too long. 

Edward Gorey's The Doubtful Guest most likely stayed too long.

There is an old saying that visitors are like fish: after three days they begin to stink. Whoever came up with this expression may not have been aware that some fish stinks a lot sooner than three days. Also, this adage is really intended for the host but how would you, as a visitor, know you've overstayed your welcome. We are here to help and hopefully provide this guidance on knowing when you've stayed too long.

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Your Magic is Basic 

These kids were so poorly educated, they formed their own study group.

Like a lot of people, over the holidays I like to revisit old favourites. Be it music, food, books and of course, movies. For the last couple of years I’ve rewatched the Harry Potter series and I’ve made some observations.

It’s the 21st century and they still use a steam train?
The professors dress like 19th century dandies.
No mobile phones?
No Internet, only owls?

This aversion to contemporary technology in the “Wizarding World” brings to mind the well known adage of science fiction writer Arthur C. Clarke, “Any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic.”

When they do use technology (a camera, an enchanted car, a phonograph), it looks like it came from the 1920s or a 1940s junk shop. By the time the film series concluded, “Muggle Magic” had caught up to “Magic Magic”. For example, “Luminous”, the incantation that produced a glowing wand tip evoked by magical kids is easily matched by the dumbest smart phone. Self driving cars? Tesla, the electric car maker with auto-pilot “safety features” can hardly keep up with demand, and it has GPS and satellite radio. Seeing someone’s memories? In an age of social media it’s almost impossible to not see someone’s memories, whether you want to or not. Truth serums? Too many to mention, though mostly are alcoholic in nature but as a bonus, often come with tiny novelty umbrellas. Killing someone with an unforgivable curse? Please, we’ve been coming up with ways to kill each other since Cain did in his brother. Wizards clearly don’t have dentists. One professor has never even heard of the profession and asks if it’s dangerous. Judging by the teeth of Bellatrix Lestrange and Sirius Black, Azkaban Prison didn’t even have toothbrushes, never mind any charms for dentistry. Magic moving photos in a newspaper? Animated GIFs have been annoying us for two decades now. Why would I send an owl to deliver a parchment when I can just call or text someone anywhere in the world at any time (“Hey Boo, you up?). Mobile phones plus the Internet are a Muggle’s super powers.

“Any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic.”
– Arthur C. Clarke

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The Wrong Side

Little Nemo found all the sides of the bed to fall out of.

 

Someone got up on the wrong side of the bed this morning.

Which side is the wrong side of the bed, again?

Honestly, there are plenty of days when all the sides of the bed appear to be the wrong side and it would have been much safer to stay within all sides of the bed. The bed is a safe, warm space. At some point it becomes a warm, safe and smelly place so exiting from one of the sides is the only appropriate action. Then there are other days when my bed has no wrong sides. All the sides are the right sides. From a geometric point of view, I'm not sure this makes sense. If this matter of bed egress is simply a matter of having a bad day, then I'm guessing over the last year, a whole lot of people had beds with wrong sides.

You can definitely get in on the wrong side of the bed. For a long time I've known my natural go-to-bedtime is so late, it might be considered early. Likewise my natural get-out-of-bedtime is so late that, well, it can only be considered late. To make matters worse, I would find myself lying awake, waiting for sleep to come. It took sleeplessness to realize that all that exercise I used to do made sleep quite easy. I'm not saying it made me a morning person but at the very least it made me a socially acceptable mid-morning person. Than came all the reasons I stopped exercising and then came the pandemic.

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You're doing everything wrong.

Nope. You are definitely not walking correctly

You’re doing everything wrong.

You’re eating wrong.

You’re exercising wrong.

You’re petting your cat wrong.

You’re walking wrong.

You’re running wrong.

You’re sleeping wrong.

You’re breathing wrong.

You’re cooking eggs wrong.

You’re making coffee wrong.

It’s actually a wonder you’re still alive. How are you even surviving? I’m surviving well, thanks for asking. I’m not sure how but I kind of feel like I’m doing something right. Of course, it’s easier for me. I’m a middle-aged, educated white guy. Although I self-identify as a “Newfoundlander” and 19-years-old, which is the age you can do almost anything to your body without consequences. Now there are consequences but I’m also at the age when I care very little about such things.

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21 Things That Will Be Different in the Future 

The Office of the Future

The question keeps coming up. After a global epidemic has ravaged our populations and our economies, what will the future look like? What will the future of work be; what will the future of travel be; what will entertainment, sports, or restaurants look like? I think I have some answers.

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Dr. Stephen Hawking has some questions while aboard the Millennium Falcon 

Stephen Hawking demonstrating what gravity looks like when there isn't any. Image via Le Devoir

I'm sure we all remember Dr. Stephen Hawking's various appearances before a live audience or on programs such as the Simpsons, but do you remember his Star Wars cameo?

---

Hans Solo:

Welcome aboard Doc!

Stephen Hawking:

Thank you, Mr. Solo or should I call you Captain, or Han or…

Hans Solo:

This is the fastest ship in the galaxy you know, made the Kessel Run in 12 parsecs.

Stephen Hawking:

Oh? How fast was that?

Hans Solo:

Fast enough for you, old man!

Stephen Hawking:

But a parsec is a unit of distance, not time…

Hans Solo:

Exactly!

Stephen Hawking:

Well, that's confusing? Tell me, can you explain to me how gravity is achieved on this vessel?

Hans Solo:

Empire cruisers! Hang on, this might get rough!

Empire cruisers open fire on the Falcon, which sustains a direct hit.

Stephen Hawking:

But wait? If "blasters" (whatever they are), are striking this craft why aren't we pushed away from the point of impact? Come to think of it, why aren't the Empire's cruisers also pushed away in the opposite direction. That is to say the conservation of…

Hans Solo:

The shields can't take much more of this!

Stephen Hawking:

Yes - about the “shields”…

Hans Solo:

Punch it, Chewie!

Stephen Hawking:

Wait? Are we moving at the speed of light?

Hans Solo:

Hyperdrive, baby! We'll be home soon enough.

Stephen Hawking:

How is this possible? Look, back at the cantina, how were so many species able to breathe the same atmosphere? How can so many life-supporting planets be so close to each other? And planets of such different sizes that apparently have the same climate planet-wide not to mention they seem to have roughly the same gravity?

Hans Solo:

You ask a lotta questions, Doc!

Stephen Hawking:

How are there heavier-than-air craft that can defy gravity without wings or without the necessary thrust to create lift yet can enter and exit the atmosphere easily? And how, in a place without schools do so many people know how to build and maintain bi-pedal androids with significant artificial intelligence? Or why would shooting the keypad of a locked door open it? That would be like unlocking a front door by shooting the door bell.

Hans Solo:

Look, Doc, I don’t have time for this.

Stephen Hawking:

Does this entire galaxy run on suspension of disbelief?

Cue theme music, then use every conceivable screen wipe effect at once.

My Life Now 

THEATRE LOBBY INT

Do I have to use the bathroom?

Yup… or, maybe?

No?

I think not going is starting to give me a headache. That’s a thing, right? Not going can give you a headache? Everything gives me a headache these days. At least this headache is taking my mind off my knee. Man, my knee. Can everyone else hear that? It is audibly creaking, like an old loose floorboard. There it is again.
But maybe it'll go away? But just in case…

Pretty sure I have to go.

What the heck, I’ll go anyway.

THEATRE BATHROOM INT

Oh man… this lighting? Do there have to be this many mirrors to remind me how visible my baldpate is at every possible angle?

God. This feels good. I mean, so good. Should this simple biological act feel so triumphantly good? Who cares. Enjoy it. At least that still works.

Jaysus. How much liquid can a normal human bladder hold? I'll have to Google that later. In private mode. Wouldn't want every friggin' ad pop-up to be all "adult diapery" or "prostrate-ful". If I had an iPad right here I could look it up now… on a 56.6 dial-up modem. Should this take this long? Also look up average urination duration.

THEATRE LOBBY INT

Whew. Glad I went. Surprised how much I had to go once I got in there. Though… do I have to go “more”? It’ll have to wait until I get home now. I mean, 20 minutes tops. I can make it. Sure. Going to have to now.

THEATRE EXT

(Burps, then sighs)
Ugh, me old guts!

(Unlocks bike, dons helmet, mounts bike and starts pedalling)
Ooof!
(groaning)
My knee! And my back. And that ankle sprain that never really healed. Why are my elbows sore? Do my elbows go to some sort of joint fight club when I'm asleep or what?

Maybe I’ll just have a quick lie-down when I get home.

Just ’til this headache passes.

After I use the bathroom.

Viral Letter 

Hey there,
It's me, your cold. First I’d like to say what an honour it is to be in the position to have been your last cold of 2015 and your first cold of 2016. I know I lingered around in the back of your throat for a few days before I became really obvious but that’s partly your immune system’s fault, not mine. Also, you do take a lot of zinc supplements which makes it hard for a throat infection to stick and you were drinking a bit of alcohol which probably cleared some of your congestion. You really didn’t leave me with a lot of options, that’s why I had to practically yell at you with that sinus headache.

Sorry about ruining your Saturday morning latte. If you could only take a hint, you would’ve gone for the green tea instead. But nope, like a dope you were determined to have that big cup of milky, mucous-manufacturing snot bomb of a coffee. Again, that’s on you, not me. I was surprised you took the bike out for a spin. I mean, dude… were you hoping to freeze me out? You have to know that won’t work. I was pretty glad when you came to your senses, and just lay down on the couch – unless that was just your regular Saturday nap? I assumed when you woke up two hours later you would’ve finally figured it out. I know I’m not the biggest cold but if you’d hit the mat on Friday like I suggested this would’ve all been over by now and we both could have gone our separate ways. I mean, really, you know my Kryptonite just happens to be one of your favourite things: sleep. You could’ve just slept through the weekend and started Monday on the right foot. But no, you had to be a big man and drug up and go out and do your errands and stay up watching your movies (half awake I might add).

I’m glad you did it though. It allowed me to stay just a little bit longer and get to know you a smidge better than if you’d had soup instead of cheese covered pasta and hit the hay rather than stay up late. I won’t forget what you did for me. You allowed me to stay in this world a few days more rather than flicker out like a mayfly. You helped me spread my progeny by ignoring my existence. For that I say, “Thanks, brother.”

But before I go, I need to know that after all we’ve been through, from St. John’s, the workouts, the runs, the four hour flight, the train and cab ride… from the sinus pain, the massive pressing headache (that’s kind of my signature thing), the pain around your eyes, the sore throat (hey man, I know how much you hate the sore throat and I’m sorry about that, I get it. I do)… after all that, we’re good, right? You and me? I want us to part on good terms, you know?

Thanks, bro…

Sincerely,
Your Cold