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Category: Creative Work

Our Immense Turkey

Published by NiteMayr on October 14, 2008

Over this past weekend, my family and I celebrated our Second Thanksgiving since returning from the USA.  If one was to ask me what my preferred Thanksgiving is, I’d pick the US version, it comes later in the year and kicks off the Christmas Season (well, it used to) at the right time.  Snow is falling and fall is dissolving into Winter.

Thanksgiving in Canada is a practical and parochial affair, marking the end (or is it the middle) of the Harvest. Coming before the snow even starts to fall (it’s going to be in the 70s today and I was sweating out in the muggy morning today if ever there was an upside to Global Climate Problems it’s muggy Octobers), Canadian Thanksgiving is a celebration of the agricultural largesse of the country and the bounties that it provides.  Rather than a celebration of gorged appetites and pre-Christmas shopping.  No Black Friday here, you see.

Despite my preference for the American version, I dutifully invited my In-Laws over to the townhouse for a meal (My Sister in Law declined, in order to work) and we bought what we thought would be a decent sized, but still quite small Turkey.  In the end our 27 dollar monster turned out to be far more than we could easily handle and provided us with the raw materials for at least a weeks worth of meals if we played our cards right.

Two legs for soup, dark meat too.  Two immense halves of the breast for sandwiches and just sliced for meals.  The remaining bulk turned into curry and soup meat.  The Bones were boiled overnight to make a nice stock, along with the carcass of a Chicken cooked on Saturday.  The remaining greasy bits were disposed of, I hate to do that and wished for a bigger stock pot to boil the remaning “meat” out of them.  It would need to be strained, but I could have had three big soup pots out of the remaining bits alone, I’m sure.

We’re trying to wring all we can from our nearly 30-Dollar Turkey, but it’s just so much.  I’m tempted to return to our old rule of buying the more expensive (but utilitarian) Breast Only Turkey.  Which I’m sure makes the whole waste matter all the worse, but at least I don’t throw out the bits and pieces on my own, you know?

Are Turkey bits good for Composting?  Should I compost meats?  I don’t know, I should look into that.

However, this is not really about the Turkey that sits in my Fridge and soup pot today.  I’m actually looking at a much bigger Turkey today.

Canada prospered for a while in the hands of the Tories, but even my cursory and shallow understanding of the position of the Canadian Dollar and it’s buying power has revealed that the “prosperous” Canadian economy is really only so when the Petrodollar is valuable.  Which is what the Harper Government has led us into.  The whole value of the Canadian Dollar is tied to the price of Oil, and as that price slides, so too do the prospects of Canadians in terms of buying power and position on World Markets.  Canada lives and dies on it’s raw materials exports and the Harper Government has, for the most part let this slide in deference to the Thanksgiving Banquets to the south.  Of course, Thanksgiving isn’t for another month and a bit in the US and it looks like this might be the leanest in years.  Instead of gorging on our Resources, it may be that they are sipping them from a thousand cuts and another Harper government may allow the cheap death of Canada to continue.  Our National Turkey indeed.

My Little Christo-Fascist

Published by NiteMayr on October 1, 2008

Special Note: Yes, the title of this post is deliberately provocative.  Sometimes I just like to poke the bear and see if it really is asleep or just lying in wait.

I was raised Catholic and questions of faith and religion truly do enthuse me; I enjoy the debate and the conflict that surrounds religion. I willingly get into conflicts with my friends and family over religion and hope that my views on the matter have evolved over time in response to new information and my own personal growth as a person.  I also strongly believe that my brain wasn’t fully baked in place until my mid-twenties, and may still be cooling today.

Continue readingMy Little Christo-Fascist

Project Billy Part 4

Published by NiteMayr on September 29, 2008

Pika-Pooooooooo

The yellow rat was cute, that was for sure.  Billy didn’t look too happy about having a small pile of raisin-style defecants in his hand though.  For once, he wasn’t crying about it though.  Billy began to pet the neon-colored rat and it nuzzled his palm as he stroked it.

Billy pushed past me and sat at Mitzi’s desk, setting the rodent down on Mitzi’s paperwork and wiping the small pile of pellets from his hand into the trash.

“He hasn’t ate anything, but he keeps on pooping!” Billy lopsidedly grinned, “it’s a little poop machine, I guess it’s better than an electric mouse.  So, guys, what is going on?”

“Billy, uh, what do you mean?” I stammered a bit and looked to Mitzi to navigate through this.

“You two are both talkin’ in here, like it’s some kinda work meeting that.  Somethin’ up?” Billy scratched the Yellow Rat’s head.  It prompty soiled every paper on Mitzi’s desk out of sheer happiness. “I’m done with the project by the way, man.  It’s all over.  Do you think I could take a few days off this week, just today and tomorrow?”

Mitzi unclenched and walked over behind his desk and sat down, he saved what papers he could and noted on post-it’s what he would have to replace.   “Sure Billy, you can take a couple days off.  What about your partner here?”

“I,uh, yeah, I could use a couple days off too”  I sat down in the chair next to Billy.

“You guys are so intent on working me until I’m crazy, aren’t you” Billy straightened up. “The Popes, now this. You left your laptop on when you went to your desk and I could see some of the IMs from Mitzi up.”

“Look Billy, it’s not like we were trying to hurt you, these popes are amazing!  Did you always make stuff appear like this?” Mitzi started to settle into a rhythm, trying to smooth Billy out. “Billy, we’re your friends, it’s okay, you know.  You’re going to be well-paid for this when we figure out all the details, you know?”

“I know, man!  I know!  I already snagged all the notes off of Jerk-ass’s laptop here”  He thumbed at me.  “I’m gonna spend the next few days thinking about what I’m gonna do about this.  I can’t sue your asses, that would mean I’d have to produce these things,”he motioned to the foot tall Pope Eustace III that had waddled into the room, “all the time, just to prove I can.  Naw, man.  This is something else, I was going crazy.  YOU!  You put the idea in my head about the John Lennon thing too.”

I willed myself to get smaller, to shrink out of sight.  Billy was my friend and I had been exploiting his neurosis for my own ends.  I couldn’t have felt worse at that point in time. Mitzi figured out how to make it worse.

“Billy, c’mon, cool down.  It’s just between us.”

“Shut up! You Jim-Jay-Bullock looking fucker!” Billy stood up and pointed at me “This fucker is going to take me to the bar and get me drunker than a middle-school kid with two bottles of manischewitz!  Then you’re gonna cut me a check for a nice vacation, away from you assholes.  Maybe I’ll go to Disney World or something. C’mon asshole, get your ass in gear, it’s time to get my dose of Vitamin B”

Mitzi gave me a pained look and I got up to follow Billy as he led me out of the office and down the streets.  He straightened himself and looked at me with a devilish gleam in his eye.  “Do you wanna see something really cool man?”

“Uh, sure” I said, not sure what to expect.

“Check this out!” Billy held out his hand and 2 one-hundred dollar bills appeared in his hand.

“Holy Shit, since when can you do that?” I stared at the bills.

“Since I read your reports to Mitzi, man.  I was so mad at first, then I figured out what was really going on, I can make shit appear outta nowhere.  Then I gave it a bit of thought, I was kinda heavy when this all started and now I’m sorta thin, right?”

Billy had lost a ton of weight since we started seeing the Popes, mitzi and I had chalked it up to stress.

“It’s why they poop so much, they’re made of the stuff.  I make them out of the crap in my colon”  Billy beamed.  It’s poop-magic.

“So What now?  Are we cool?”  I asked.

“Oh yeah, man, we’re cool.  I know you didn’t really want to hurt me.  Next time you have a project that involves me thoughh, you tell me, kay?” he put his arm around me and stuff the bills into my pocket.

“How did you know abou the Poke-monster thing?”

“I was outside the door when Mitzi said it. So, are we gonna get our drunk on?”  Billy swerved me towards the Bar and sat at the counter.

“Billy, it’s only 10 AM.  Can we start with something light?”  I was overwhelmed.

“Sure man, two stouts”

Suddenly two stouts appeared in front of me.

“Drink up man”

Billy Grinned.

Poem: For an Immoral Bottom Dwellor

Published by NiteMayr on September 12, 2008

I am now totally going out on the streets with a BAN DUFFY NOW placard. I would *love* to have a poem written because of me. What a memorial!
posted by low_horrible_immoral at 9:38 AM on September 12

oh what a beastie is this, when winds are blown from o’er it’s rump?

For it sighs in repose and calls for censure and retort from no cause and no strong tort.

For when can a beast from the bottom say when the sun should shine, for it’s own jealous eye can see no light.

In which I test out the audio player tool

Published by NiteMayr on August 31, 2008

This is an mp3 I produced for a wedding; I hear Mary’s Wedding at “traditional weddings” all the time and I really can’t stand hearing the same one all the time; so I made a short rendition for the wedding:

[audio:SWGTtheAM.mp3]

Angie has Tattoos

Published by NiteMayr on August 30, 2008
Angie has Tattoos, originally uploaded by NiteMayr.

This is my friend Angie; whom I met many many many years ago. We’re pretty estranged these days, but in the halcyon days of yore we were good buds. She was totally afraid of “The Shining” when she was younger, and for some reason this picture of her has had over 500 hits in the past 36 hours. It’s not a ton of hits, but it’s a strange upsurge.

Is it linked somewhere that I don’t know about?

You can check out more of my photographs at: Flickr

Quick Story: Bobo and the Newspapers

Published by NiteMayr on August 28, 2008

Bobo the Chimp having previously gained his freedom from the Brentwood Academy; set about learning all he could about the human world beyond his gated and caged world.  Previous to his escape; he had lived on what he learned from errant radio and newspapers.  He had come to believe that the human world was filled with dangers and worrisome crowds of monsters who would prey upon him, (morese because he chose to disguise himself as a child).

The Real world proved to be just as worrisome; but not as horrifying as the newspapers had made it seem.  Bebo noted that the Humans seemed to rush through their days, going back and forth from place to place in seemingly endless circles.  He gripped the Omega Nugget tight in his paw when he wandered the late night streets; willing the people that passed him to simply ignore his hairy arms; especially when he couldn’t get shaved.  Remarkably; most people simply ignored him or thought him afflicted with some terrible condition.  Those in the latter group were to two types; one would see him and make a concious effort to avoid contact and the others would approach and engage him.  Bobo found the latter more troublesome as he had not mastered Human speech and would have to gesture to them to leave him alone.

One late summer evening; after a long subway ride and a visit to the park, Bobo found himself wandering the streets near a series of Bars and Clubs; it was too early for the normal crowds and Bobo always gravitated to the more “empty” parts of town when he could.  It made avoiding people easier and he could be sure to avoid any unwanted trouble from rowdy children and criminals.  Bobo was lost in thought when he was approached by an old lady, dressed in a pink overcoat and wearing a similarily color cake shaped hat.

“‘ere, yoo look like wun ‘a them monkies, yoo doo!” she cackled and pointed at Bobo, “innit, it’s a monkey!  ‘ere Mavis.  Look at this ‘ere monkey!  Ooos a handsome lad then?”  She cooed to Bobo and crooked a finger to call him to her.   “Awww, c’mere and give us a kiss you little fellar.  I likes Monkeys, yoo looks like a fine feller.”

Bobo had dealt with drunken ladies before; he bared his teeth at her and gave a low keening squeal between them, as if hurt.  The lady and her friend recoiled from Bobo and stopped their coaxing.  Bobo snorted and waddled past them, shrinking his head into his jacket and pulling his scarf up over his mouth.

The ladies watched him go, not sure what they had just seen.  They were both sure that they had been speaking to a hairy kid; but now they weren’t sure.  When they sobered up they would both swear that they had seen a monkey wearing clothes and walking in the entertainment district, but being well known-drunks their story wouldn’t be well-regarded.

Bobo; for his part had learned to avoid people who had been drinking heavily and kept his walks to the late evening and early mornings.