Category Archives: That’s Life

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Blogging Comedy

 

I started a blog about procrastination.  I’ll publish the first post tomorrow

Blogging is the only job where you can spend three hours writing, two hours editing, and the rest of the day refreshing the page to see if your mom left a comment.

I once wrote a blog post titled “How to Go Viral.”

It got three views—two were me checking for typos, and one was a bot from Russia.

My editor once criticized my blog….
….He said that double negatives were a “no-no.”

I wrote a scientific blog-post about Oxygen and Potassium….
….It was OK

I wrote a blog-post about pregnancy, and used ‘can’t, and ‘won’t.’….
….My first comment said, “You’re having contractions.”

A newly published novelist wrote in her blog that her 100,000-word thriller got her $1,000,000 from her publisher.

She bragged at a party that her words are worth $10 each. A slightly drunk guy walked up, confronted her by the bar, plopped down $10 and says “OK, wise ass, give me one of those $10 words.” The writer calmly stuffed the bill in her pocket, said “Thanks” and walked away.

There are just too many blogs – and I will discuss the problem in my next post.

I went to Church and said, “Father, I need to confess.”
He replied, “It’s okay, I read your blog.”

I blog, therefore I am….
….exhausted.

Blogged today. Survived another existential crisis.

If I had a dollar for every blog idea I never finished, I could hire a ghostwriter.

Fashion bloggers do it with style.

Food bloggers know how to dish it out.

Behind every successful blogger….
….is a neglected laundry pile.

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’26 A To Z Challenge – A

The Advent Of
Archon

The basis of my Archon alias is lost in the mists of history – literally.  My Grade 11 Greek history text had a story about the king of Sparta dying in battle.  His only son was just 12 years old, and the law insisted that he had to be 18 to assume rule.  Seven of the king’s closest friends and advisors formed a group of mentors called The Archons, who protected and trained him until he became of age.

That seemed to be the type of person I wanted to be, so I dragged the term with me through my life, applying it here and there, instead of my all-too-common and easily-confused real name.  When I registered with LinkedIn, it was as The Sage.

Later, I found that the term and concept also applied to other, and older, situations, especially among the fervently religious.  The name comes from the Greek, Arch – first, most powerful, most important.  My Bible with a concordance, says that there are 13 references to Archons, but they all speak of clan elders, city rulers, or chief Rabbis.  I cannot find the word Archon in the Bible.

Opinions are like assholes – everybody’s got one.  Some of the more-zealous Bible-thumpers think/believe that the Archons were the Nephilim – the giants who lived on the Earth before man was created.  Other equally-gullible convinced, feel that they are the seven arch-angels.  Another – just-as-sure and just-as-wrong – group insists that they are the seven major demons.  I found this bunch when I made negative comments on Christian blog-posts, and had them dismissed because I was obviously an agent of Satan.

There is only one Archon©™, accept no substitutes.  My super-hero name is much better than my secret identity.  Under it, I have had a paroled convict check in by phone – at 2 AM.  We finally listed the phone under the wife’s initials.  It helps sort out the scammers who want to talk to MR. J. T. Smith.

A teacher at the local Community College where I once attended, and worked for three months as a substitute teacher, has the same name.  I’ve been sued because a contractor from 50 miles away, cut down a tree to build a house further up my street.  I’ve been threatened – by phone – because somebody’s transmission fell apart.  The bank bounced three rent checks, because they couldn’t keep two accounts straight.  I got someone else’s dental anesthetic – and then I got my own, and my face fell off for the rest of the day.  Recently, I received mail for a guy who lives four miles away, in a different voting district.  I’m trying to find how the sender got my address.

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Blog Prompt 6-7/8ths

Scour the news for an entirely uninteresting story. Consider how it connects to your life. Write about that.

This prompt reads like it was composed by a Taylor Swift fan, or a MAGA hat speech attendee.  If it is entirely uninteresting, how could it possibly connect to my life??  Okay, here goes….

Back in January of last year, an ostrich farm in British Columbia had three or four of their flock die because of avian flu.  The owners destroyed the diseased birds, and there was no further indication of infection.  Around the first of August, the inappropriate government agency, working at the breakneck speed of smell, notified them that they had to euthanize the balance of a 3000-bird flock.  Appeal is still pending.

Watch how I string this together, like beads on a necklace.

I have attended several Renaissance Faires.  One of the few, historically-accurate foods sold, are entire, roast, turkey legs.  One of those will keep a normal adult male busy all afternoon – or a hyperactive kid about ten minutes.

Vendors would need larger roasters/smokers, and the captive-audience price could break the food budget, but a whole, roast ostrich leg could feed a family of four or five.

I had one emu burger at a French-fry wagon.  It tasted like chicken – ‘cause everything tastes like chicken –at twice the price.

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’25 A To Z Challenge – Z

This is the final episode of the 2025 A To Z Challenge.  I wanted to end the series with a bang, but this is what has become the standard, two-days-late, so I can’t do that.  Besides, it’s almost impossible, with a word beginning with Z.  I don’t want to go out with a whine.  I do enough of that without a challenge, so I decided to go out with a

ZHUZH

To make something more stylish, lively, or attractive:

It comes from a language/dialect known as Polari, originating in the mid-1800’s British theater workers, or gay community – often the same thing.

I’ve written about Polari before.  I finally, actually, saw/heard the word Zhuzh used, in a YouTube short.  We went to a party store, and bought a bunch of decorations to Zhuzh up the apartment for Christmas and New Years.  It sounds as gay as it looks.  I will not be using it in conversations or blog-posts – any more!

Some more (hopefully) humorous fibs will be coming up on Friday.  Hope to see you then.  😀

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Pretty Little Snowflake

Canadian snowflakes are flakier than Americans snowflakes.  I can prove it.

It all began on a warm, sunny, Southern-Ontario, summer day.  One, of Canada’s answers to American First-Amendment auditors, put on a floppy hat, a large pair of dark sunglasses, pulled his Covid mask up over his nose, grabbed his expensive electronic recording equipment, and went to a nearby plaza.  There, he stood outside, on the public sidewalk, and recorded cars going through a Tim Horton’s coffee-shop drive-thru lane.

The 18-year-old, female drive-thru server was just terrified by this apparition.  She did not contact plaza management.  She did not notify plaza security.  She did not voice her concerns to her own manager.  She just called 911.  Two police officers soon arrived.  They had a quick look.  They asked a couple of questions.  They shook the cammer’s hand, and went into the coffee shop to assure staff and patrons that there was no danger, and that everything was legal, and left.

But they didn’t make the big, bad man go away, so she did what every Entitled Princess-In-Training would do – she called her Mommy and Daddy.  They arrived, and confronted the photographer.  Mrs. Entitled immediately went into full harpy mode – screaming, yelling, demanding, ordering, insulting, and ending by, live and online, accusing the cameraman of being a pervert and a pedophile.

When the cammer stood his ground, Mr. Entitled aggressively pushed him in the chest three times, the last one almost driving him into the path of a car exiting the plaza.  He then violently swatted the recording equipment away, breaking the support frame, and smashing the camera against a passing car.  THEN THEY CALLED THE POLICE.

The cammer was able to show the responding officer video footage from a body-camera, and was close enough to record the Entitleds’ report.  Mr. Entitled was quiet, but his wife was still in full rant mode.
He’s a pervert, and a pedophile, recording a minor!
The daughter you just told me was 18??
Well, he made death threats!
Do you have any recorded proof of that, or corroborating witness?
No, but just look at him.

They were just astounded at what their little snit earned them.  Mrs. Entitled was charged with improper use of an emergency system, filing a false police report, public mischief, and a civil charge with litigation, for defamation of character and malicious libel.

Daddy Dearest got four separate charges of felonious assault, one of reckless endangerment, two of destruction of property, and two civil suits for repair/replacement of the destroyed video camera, and the unfortunate, innocent, passerby-driver’s car.  This pampered little nut didn’t fall far from the dotty doting parent trees.

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Doctor!  Doctor!

This growing old shit is not for the faint of heart.  Even just Stayin’ Alive can become a full-time job.  I recently read a post from a young woman who complained that she had two doctors’ appointments in one day – and then she went for a workout at the gym.  It is possible, but not likely, that they were both with the same doctor.

Damned amateur!!  For those whose idea of excitement is perusing a long list of medical appointments and whines – Read on Mac Duff!

MONDAY – The worst
I took the wife to see her GP.  I insist on using that term.  Clinics and medical labs use the term ‘Family doctor.’  She has one.  The son and I have another.  They both treat “Families,” just not this family.  This visit was not medical.  It was administrative.
The polyp in her duodenum that was removed two years ago, has regrown.  We hadn’t heard anything from the specialist in Toronto who was going to operate, until we got a Sayonara Suckers email from him, telling us that he’s moving to Vancouver to practice.  Since it’s been precisely located and identified, the less-than-specialist in Cambridge feels that he can handle it.  We await an appointment.

Her dentist found a lesion on one side of the wife’s tongue.  A local Oral Surgeon snipped out enough for three stitches, and a biopsy.  It might have been Hyperkeratosis, a callus-like thickening of tissue.  (Insert shrewish housewife joke here.)  It was Dysplasia, a modification of cells that isn’t, but could become, cancer.
We were sent 75 miles to an Oro/Fascia/Maxillary Surgeon.  He felt that it extended too far back into the throat and ligament, and suggested an ENT.  The GP referred the wife to a local one who is probably the best in the Province.  We hadn’t got an appointment, so we asked the doctor to check.  The computer file showed that the ENT had declined, because his wait-list is 4 years.  He suggested 3 or 4 other names.  The GP wanted to know, if she couldn’t contact a local one, would we be willing to travel 75 miles east again, to Hamilton, or 75 miles West, to London.  As long as somebody does something, soon.

TUESDAY
We both had an appointment with our new Osteopath, because our last one decided to practice from her home, 20 miles away.

WEDNESDAY

We both had appointments with our Optometrist.  They already had to be delayed and rescheduled three weeks later.  The wife had her lenses with cataracts removed, and new, plastic lenses inserted about six months ago.  An emergency visit later showed that, as often happens, not all the organic matter was flushed out of the sacs, and it combined and grew like ivy, clouding her vision.  Only last week, she spent a half a day at the hospital, having it burned out with a laser.  Both her sight and mine are better than they were a year ago.

THURSDAY

Both the wife and daughter put their best foot forward, and I took them to their Podiatrist.

FRIDAY

It was the car’s turn for a service visit at the dealer.  The son dropped it off at 8:00 AM after work, and was Uber-ed home.  It was both his, and the driver’s, first Uber trip.  I was Uber-ed back to pick it up in the afternoon.  I have ridden in a few electric cars, although not a Tesla, yet.  Even including Toronto taxis, this was my first ride with a dash cam – front-facing, cabin and audio.

The week was so busy that neither of us had time for a workout at the gym.   😳

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What An Ordinary Atheist Looks Like

(Spoiler alert – It’s Boring)

If your mental picture of an atheist includes anger, black clothing, constant arguments, or a bookshelf organized alphabetically by anti-religious authors, I’m about to disappoint you.

An ordinary atheist looks like… me. And I am painfully average.

I don’t wake up every morning celebrating the absence of God. There’s no ritual. No moment of smug reflection. I don’t stand at the window whispering, “Still no gods today.” I mostly wake up thinking about orange juice , knees that creak more than they used to, and whatever appointment I forgot to put on the calendar.

I’m married. Have been for a long time. My marriage didn’t require divine oversight to function, just patience, compromise, humor, and the occasional strategic silence. We didn’t need shared belief—just shared values and a willingness to grow up when it mattered.

I have a son. He’s grown now, functional, kind, and not secretly plotting the downfall of civilization despite being raised without religious instruction. Turns out teaching empathy, accountability, and curiosity works just fine without invoking eternal consequences.

I care about people. I care about fairness. I care about not being a jerk when no one’s watching—which, inconveniently, turns out to matter even without cosmic surveillance. Morality didn’t disappear when belief did; it just stopped outsourcing responsibility.

I don’t have all the answers. That’s not a bug—it’s the feature. I’m comfortable saying “I don’t know” without rushing to fill the silence with certainty. Mystery didn’t vanish when belief left; it just stopped pretending to be solved.

And no, I’m not angry at God. That would require believing there is one. I’m occasionally frustrated with how belief is used—to control, to silence, to oversimplify—but that’s a human problem, not a supernatural one.

Being an atheist didn’t turn me into something exotic or dangerous. It made me quieter. More cautious with claims. More appreciative of time. More aware that this life—messy, finite, unrepeatable—isn’t a rehearsal.

So if you’re looking for outrage, you won’t find it here.

If you’re looking for certainty, I can’t offer that either.

But if you’re curious what a normal, peaceful, belief-free life actually looks like—welcome. This is it.

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I could have written this myself – if I had a smidgen more ability.  Instead, I stole researched it wholesale from What an Ordinary Atheist Looks Like ‹ No Santa to No Gods ‹ Reader — WordPress.com

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Flim-Flam Phlegm

I was never a snot-nosed kid, but following my heart surgery, I have become a snot-nosed octogenarian.  It seems that I am constantly sniffing, snuffling, snorting, sneezing, wheezing, coughing, honking, barking and blowing.  It can’t have been caused by the physical operation.  I suspect that I have allergies to one or more of the new medications that I’m taking – irritating, but an acceptable tradeoff.

My Father contracted chronic bronchitis from serving on ships in the North Atlantic, during WW II.  Throughout his life, he suffered extended bouts when he would cough up and swallow mucus.  He probably, unconsciously, learned to self-medicate with Coca-Cola.  The acids help break up the long-molecule phlegm, and ease digestion.

He drank one Coke a day.  He was raised on the old 7 ounce bottle, which Coke first enlarged to 10 ounce, then changed to cans, and finally upsized to standard American 12 ounce – 355 ml here in semi-metricland.  I often saw him crack one, and pour a third of it down the sink.

Possibly because of an increasingly aged population who prefer and can handle only a smaller quantity, the 7-ounce serving is kinda, sorta making a comeback.  Stores are now offering “Minis,” which, here in Canada, are 222 ml, or 7.5 US ounce bottles and cans, .  Other than, “It’s a handy, portable size.” I can’t seem to discover exactly why that size was chosen.

Seven ounces isn’t very much, but in normal circumstances, no amount of soft drink could be considered ‘healthy.’  My Mother nagged convinced him to give up his addiction to Coke, and consume a small glass of milk, instead.  With the best of intentions, it was exactly the wrong thing to do.  Milk, in a stomach already full of phlegm, caused even greater digestive distress.  When we discovered what she’d done, the wife explained the benefits to Mom, and got Dad back on his “medicine.”

Remembering that, now that my nose seems to be constantly running, and my sinuses forever draining, I often swap out my afternoon chocolate milk, for a 6 ounce juice-glass of Pepsi – diluted with an ice cube, a splash of filtered water, and a dash of Morello Cherry syrup.  For more life hacks, follow me here – mostly to ensure that I don’t wander off and get lost.

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’25 A To Z Challenge – X

I have previously whined opined that I accept the inevitable evolution of the English language.  I just don’t want it to be led by guys with their name on their shirt.  HOLY SHIT!!  It just got even worse.  I recently ran into the Newspeak word

XERTZ

At first, I thought it might have something to do with new, electronic, micro-circuitry.  We should be so lucky.  The Earl of Sandwich invented a new type of food, because of his addiction to, and his refusal to leave, the gambling tables.

This word, which means, Xertz means to gulp or swallow something quickly, often in a greedy or hurried manner, similar to chugging or scoffing down a meal or beverage.

It is a (mostly) slang term, invented by gamers, who are addicted to, and refuse to leave, their precious keyboards, barely taking time to eat, drink, sleep, or attend to basic bodily needs and functions.

Heroin is not toxic, and by itself, will not damage the body.  All of the harm – physical, emotional, social, financial – is caused by distraction from immediate reality.  JUST SAYIN’!!

 

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That’s One For The Books

I’m becoming more and more addicted to YouTube shorts, which leaves me less and less time to read books.  Here are the ones I managed to get through last year.


1493 – Charles C. Mann
A successor to his 1491 book, showing the massive socio-territorial changes wrought by European colonization of the Western Hemisphere, from Santa’s workshop, down to Patagonia.


Burner – Mark Greaney
Men’s action/adventure novel, good for passing some of the reduced spare time I have.

Dead Letter – Warren Murphy
I dug this book out of a storage box to reread.  Murphy is half of the writing team that produced the very successful Destroyer series.  This is #3 of a short series of three books about a smart, observant, laid-back investigator, based in Las Vegas.  It could have been the archetype for The Rockford Files.  I purchased numbers 1 and 2 on Kindle.


False Positive – Andrew Grant
When Andrew Grant is not busy, doing most of the writing for his brother, Lee Grant (Child), about Jack Reacher, he publishes the occasional book about a similar character.


Flash Point – Don Bentley
The actual, full title is TOM CLANCY Flash Point.  Bentley is one of several writers keeping the series – and the cash flow – alive.  The story arc has moved on to the next generation.


In Too Deep – Lee Child
Credited as Andrew Child, Lee’s brother presents another tale of Jack Reacher out-thinking, out-meaning, and out-punching a bunch of bad guys – predictable, but still mesmerizing.


Magic Claims – Ilona Andrews
Twenty years ago, I’d have had a hard time believing that I’d get hooked on a series with shape=shifters, vampires, magic, and Russian witches.  She includes so much personal, social, and interpersonal details, the stories are surprisingly believable.  She claims that this is the last book in her “Magic” series. I still have three books in a similar, magic, “Innkeeper” series to go through.


Midnight Black – Mark Greaney
Another author who feeds the Tom Clancy franchise, Greaney also sometimes publishes the odd diverting, generic Action/Adventure novel – lots of brains, lots of high-quality weapons – saving America, or the world, from…. (Take your pick – Russians, Muslims, terrorists, Lex Luthor???)


Moa Lisa Overdrive – William Gibson
Book review post is here.


Red Winter – Mark Cameron
Another “Tom Clancy” action novel.  The man has published more books since he died, than he did while he was alive.  These books are not just (all) mindless, time-killing babble, as I accuse the wife’s ‘Nurse Jane’ romances.  They often include interesting and educational, social, historical, and geographical details.


The 6:20 Man – David Baldacci
An established author, who is new to me.  His special-ops-trained protagonist, studying to be an accountant, opens lots of story-arc possibilities.


The Antitheist’s Dictionary – Opher Goodwin
One of only two books I read last year to improve my mind – and I shouldn’t say that too loud.  It’s a list of (mostly Christian) religious words and phrases, what they seem to mean to believers and debaters vs. what they mean to skeptics.


The Atlas Maneuver – Steve Berry
Murder, terrorism, covert world-wide social and political power, and unimaginable wealth, all through the manipulation of Bitcoin.


The Chaos Agent – Mark Greaney
Same Old – Same New.  In all literature, there are only 7 basic stories.  Writers like this keep them fresh and interesting by twisting and adding details.


The Cradle Of Ice – James Rollins
Rollins used to write men’s action books, like the above.  Possibly because of saturation in the genre, he has branched off into Sci-Fi/Fantasy about a non-rotating world, where the sun-facing side roasts, the back side freezes, and all life exists on the narrow, central band.


The Devil’s Elixir – Raymond Khoury
The distilled sap of an Amazon plant can produce extended/eternal life??!  I’d enlist a bunch of friends, strap on some guns, and go looking – wouldn’t you?


The Last Kingdom – Steve Berry
The Kingdom of Bavaria might wind up owning Hawaii??!  That’s enough alternate history to cause a lot of international intrigue.


The Omega Factor – Steve Berry
I don’t know how these writers are blessed –or cursed – with such deep and broad imaginations.  My longest short story was only 1500 words.


The Survivor – Gregg Hurwitz
Somebody is after the wrong guy – and he has to get smart, fast, and lucky – or die.


The Tower – Gregg Hurwitz
The maximum security wing of a seaside prison is an 8-story tower, composed only of round, stainless steel bars.  Of course, the insane serial killer escapes the escape-proof facility, and it takes the almost-as-insane tracker to find and stop him.  There’s a lot of deep Freudian psychology dished out.


To Die For – David Baldacci
The agent-turned-Accountant has graduated, and is back with the CIA.  He’s using his gun and his brain more than his bookkeeping skills.  Perhaps next book.


Till The End Of Time – Allen Appel
Time travel into the past by mental effort, with no guarantee of duration of visit, or return time.  Doesn’t sound like a good idea to me.  Still, it gives the author a chance to describe history.  Try as hard as he might, the protagonist finds that he cannot change the outcome of the Battle of Little Bighorn.


Weapons Grade – Don Bentley
In yet another ‘Tom Clancy’-estate inspired novel, the author has the next generation foil a plot to produce H-bomb fuel.


Zero Hour – Don Bentley
Bentley has Tom Clancy’s ‘kids’ – even though they’re well into their 30s – foil a plot where a Chinese faction is aiding North Korea to develop a missile capable of reaching America’s Pacific coast.  How “Today’s Headlines!”  Having a heroine in an action team, with no left hand, is an interesting twist.

That’s all the books I carried on the Reading Railroad.  CU again soon.