Random Thoughts From People Our Age is inside my head.  I’ve had roughly 90% of these thoughts before - funny stuff.

Like taxes and telemarketing calls during dinner, death is one of the few certainties we encounter; and yet no matter how often the Grim Reaper comes knocking we can never become quite used to it.

Some people incorrectly believe that there is no such thing as a soul, that death is nothing but a lack of life.  I have a hard time with this as the corollary would then suggest that life is nothing but a lack of death, and what a depressing thought that is.

In the grand scheme of the cosmos, one might question the significance of the passing of one small, frail, hamster, but in the passing of this life lies an inspiration we can look to in our own lives: things can end at any time.

And that brings us to Rhinee, beloved brother to Rhino, son to Brett and Mathilda, cousin to many and friend to all.

Who doesn’t remember Rhinee as the fun loving rodent he was?  Full of life, always running, never getting anywhere.

In talking with the family before this ceremony, they were reminded of the many times during which Rhinee would be placed in the sink while the cage was being cleaned.  The sink, with it’s polished surface and steep inclines, posed a challenge for Rhinee, one to which he always took head on, never letting failure present itself as an option.  Rhinee was stubborn, determined and a fighter.

It is not clear how long Rhinee was stuck there in the cage, trapped between the bars of the upper level and the side of the cage, but when he was found he was still kicking, despite any damage he had done to himself.  He appeared to be fine but in the days following the incident he ran every day, less and less.  As the cage was cleaned and as new food and water were added, he continued to eat and to drink, less and less.

Concern set in for the family when he seemingly lost the use of his back legs and just lay there; his brother Rhino showing his concern by stepping on him to get to the running wheel, as if to say, “You may not run anymore, but I will continue to run enough for both of us.”

In the end Rhinee’s breathing slowed and he just lay there, responsive to only a slight blowing between the bars.  A twitch of his eyelid and of his whiskers the only signs of life.  Soon, even these disappeared and he lay there, the light from his eyes had gone out.

And as the family prepared Rhinee’s body for the cat, they reflected on what a good pet he had been.  As they removed the feet so that the tiny claws would not scratch the cat’s throat, they remembered the hours of entertainment Rhinee had provided, like that one time where he pooped in their hands as they held him.  That was Rhinee right there - always the prankster.

As they set the dinner plate down, they took pause and thanked the maker for such a wonderful life, and as they watched the cat devour Rhinee they smiled, for even in death they saw how much Rhinee could still offer the living.

With the final lip-smacking chew, as Rhinee’s tail disappeared from sight, the family realized he was finally gone and they wept as they mopped up some of the bloody bits that had made their way to the kitchen tile.  These last bits of Rhinee they threw in the trash can so that they may be preserved forever in the city dump.

Rhinee, you will be missed by us all, and wherever you may be right now, may the water bottle never leak, may the tissues be three-ply and may the wheel keep on spinning forever.

God bless.

I don’t just mean those who took French in University, or those who, like me, put down bilingualism as an asset during their monster.ca job search. Sure I could work as a translator, as long as all anyone ever told me was that they had to go to the bathroom or that this a red tomato.

I mean the fully, amazingly, stupidly bilingual people who aren’t only bilingual on the tongue, but in the brain as well. Their thoughts mesh from one language to the other and never is it more entertaining to eavesdrop than when you see two such people meet up in public.

To illustrate this in writing, I will replace all words in French with numeric sequences. Not only will this adequately convey a sense of confusion, but it saves me from showing my ignorance in the proper spelling of French words.

It is very difficult to misspell numeric sequences.

Ah, Jacques!

Ah, Pilo!

How are you?

I’m fine. And you? How is 65748 46577 6 38740?

8574902873 5647 28273 dog catcher 56 47291 mail-in rebate.

Really? 847563 938. I never knew. 746 292920 3746 2632 Charlie Brown 736 29293 486463 Steve McQueen.

Steve McQueen?! 65739209 437565 39485 375464 98 ha ha ha, Charlie Brown!

Ha ha ha!

Ha ha 75 84 75 ha!

You get the idea.

———-

Last weekend while in Ottawa, we took a wrong turn and ended up in Quebec.  I know, it can happen.

I was hungry and decided to stop off at a McDonald’s.  My wife - my French-speaking wife, was not hungry and so allowed me to go into the restaurant alone.

Now, if a McChicken is a MacPoulet, then shouldn’t Chicken McNuggets be Poulet McCroquettes?  Nope.  MacPoulet Croquettes it was.  McChicken Nuggets.  What a crazy language.

That, and all of the “combo” menus read “trio”.  This made perfect sense to me - burger, fries, drink… a trio!  It almost makes more sense than combo!  However, when I tried to order a trio the French McYouth behind the counter said in butchered English, “Do you meen a combo?”

No, I mean a trio.  Like it says on the sign.  A MacPoulet Trio.

S’il. Vous. Plait.

———-

When I was a kid we sang the national anthem every morning before class; I don’t know if they still do that anymore. We also said the Lord’s prayer, and I know they don’t do that anymore, but we never said the Lord’s prayer in French, so that’s a topic for another time.

We sang the national anthem in English on some days, in French on others, and occasionally that weird hybrid version they sing at hockey games, where they never change up which paragraphs they sing in English and which ones they sing in French. It’s like there’s only one version of a fully bilingual anthem, and that’s the one.

Brian Mulroney in deep negotiations with French lobbyists, June, 1985:

“We want zee ‘gloween arts’ part and zee ‘God keep our land’ part.”

“I… uh… I don’t think that’s quite fair.”

“Gloween arts!!!”

“If you take the gloween art… the glowing hearts, can you do without the end bit?”

(the group whispers amongst themselves for several seconds)

“We will take eet. Zee end always she be drown out by ockey fans anyway.”

“Deal.”

“Deel.”

We could always tell—to get back to the story—which anthem it was going to be by the way the instrumental bit at the beginning started out, and if it happened to be the all-French version you could just feel the entire class sigh with frustration; twenty-eight eight-year olds unhunching their shoulders and steeling themselves up for an extra 90 seconds of French class.

———-

Part of me wants to start taking French classes. Oh, not so I can understand the people at the McDonald’s in Hull, but just to be able to think in more than one language and have the full lexicon of two languages at my disposal.

Then the other part, the lazy part, reminds me that it’s not all fun and jeu. I vaguely remember something about twelve different tenses and some crazy witch lady named Mrs. Vandertamp. Learning French at this stage would be too hard, especially when you consider the fact that I hate all the French muppets on Sesame Street. You guys couldn’t even make one of them cool?

And yes, in case you were wondering, I had to look up “game” in French for that last paragraph. Pathetic, n’est pas?

———-

To finish, check out the song “Grade Nine French” from my University folk-comedy days…

I stumbled on the link this morning in some old files and was pleased to find out the site still exists.

Not knowing who to search for, I checked out the top celebrities, where I found the following message to Keanu Reeves:
 

I couldn’t resist, so I googled Max Mace and got his IMDB page. As of today he is down 31% in popularity.  That makes me sad.

Let’s help the kid out - google “Max Mace Hatched” and click on his IMDB page - let’s give him a boost.

While we help out Max, let’s try and avoid Carrie, who also wrote to Keanu.
 

Funny, as crazy and creepy as Carrie is, I like how she got a “confusing” vibe from Keanu.

But if you think Carrie was creepy, have a look at this letter to Jennifer Aniston from her best friend…
 

That whole “I’m a girl” thing at the end rings a little false, doesn’t it?

“I love you and you are the bestest and, oh, by the way, in no way am I a creepy 50 year old man…”

Also, lesson number 4 in celebrity letter writing:  Never end your email with “I hope I see you.”

That’s right, I’m giving lessons.  I’m here to help these people out.

Stuart Mitchell takes a unique approach, updating the old elf on his behaviour quarterly to give an overall perspective on his annual behaviour.

1.  The secret of Casey’s guilt.

2.  His distance.

3.  The lid on.

4.  Zarek as vice-president.

5.  The faith.

6.  His mind off hitting home runs.

7.  Mum about plot points.

8.  An eye on the Dawgs.

9.  It real.

10.  His focus on the immediate future and says he has no thoughts of where he will go when he leaves high school in two or three years time

What are you keeping?

When was the last time the subject “Discount CialisViagra from $1.20″ made it through any kind of spam filter?

I’ll give a bit of credit to the guy who entered “Become the owner of exquisite and stylish thing”, but even that is fairly obvious.

It makes me sad - clearly the industry has given up hope, has lost it’s way and now they are just phoning it in.  Who will lead them?

Alan M Ralsky or Ronald Scelson?

I’m used to a bit of entertainment when deleting my spam folder… let’s hope these guys can start raising the bar a little bit…