Why I Dislike Cats

Don’t get me wrong. I don’t actually hate cats. At one point, I even had four cats.

No, really. I did.

But my affection for the little fleabags died off a long time ago.

Because cats are evil.

You can’t take it personally. They’re not just evil at you or because of you or even something you did or said.

They’re born evil. They come out of the package that way.

Evil and stupid. Now that is a dangerous combination right there.

They’re not cute or adorable or endearing or sweet or anything like that. At all.

They’re fur-bearing parasites. Feline freeloaders. They should be discouraged at every opportunity.

Stop the madness!

That is all.

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As an extra bonus attraction, please see this wonderful Huffingtonpost article!

This is more like it!

Those who know me know that I hate the heat. And the humidity. And nice weather.

And most of all, sunshine. I literally cannot stand the feel of it on my skin.

Try and appreciate that I am writing this on a sunny afternoon in July. Temperature  33C (91.4F). I hate it.

Everyone says I should live in the Hebrides. [1] 

From what I understand, I would thoroughly enjoy the place!

Be that as it may, I occasionally stumble across a photograph that captures much of what I consider an ideal setting for me.

Such is the case with the photograph below…

(Now this is more like it!)

Overcast, almost dark, misty, cool, damp. I’m not sure where this photo was taken. Could be anywhere, I suppose.

I just love it.

The only improvement I would make would be that the season be autumn. Mid-October to be precise. Cool days, cold nights. Colourful trees.

Just over two more months of summer left. It cannot end too soon for me.

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[1] The Hebrides (/ˈhɛbrɨdiːz/; Scottish Gaelic: Innse Gall) comprise a widespread and diverse archipelago off the west coast of mainland Scotland. There are two main groups: the Inner and Outer Hebrides. These islands have a long history of occupation dating back to the Mesolithic and the culture of the residents has been affected by the successive influences of Celtic, Norse and English-speaking peoples. This diversity is reflected in the names given to the islands, which are derived from the languages that have been spoken there in historic and perhaps prehistoric times.

Roadside Daylilies

I hate summer with an undying passion.

Everything about it revolts me. Every warm sunny day fills me with disgust.

The heat. The humidity. The smiling happy people and their nauseating tots having fun and ((((shudder)))) enjoying the weather!

And oh, lord save me, the relentless sunshine!

It is, for me, a three-month hell hole.

One thing and one thing only makes the entire sickening season bearable.

Roadside Daylillies.

Driving down a country road, air-conditioner on full blast, sunglasses, sunscreen. Karen Carpenter’s “Sleigh Ride” blaring on the radio…

And there at the side of the road is the thing that saves me from insanity every year.

It’s as if Nature has taken pity on me and my suffering and has given me this one tiny solace… as if to help stop me from driving a spike into the neck of the next oaf who says, “Hot enough for ya?”

So the next time you hear some sweaty nitwit say, “It’s not the heat… it’s the humidity!” and he DOESN’T get hit with a shovel hard enough to drive his head into his chest…

…give thanks to the Daylily.

Why I Hate Almost Everyone (Part 25): Lurkers and Hoverers

These people drive me up the wall and across the ceiling!

The ones who hover around or lurk somewhere near you.

They are silent, sneaky and they make me crazy.

People who walk up behind you at the computer and then start looking at what you are doing, pretending that if it is on your monitor, then obviously it is open to the public.

And it doesn’t matter if you are reading the news or composing a personal email. Everything is open season for the hoverers and lurkers.

They can’t be that oblivious. I refuse to believe they have no concept that what they are doing is an invasion of privacy.

And it’s just creepy!

It’s not exactly stalker behaviour. They don’t concentrate their lurking and hovering to one person – they are more ‘free range.’ But it sure feels like it sometimes.

It’s weird. Stop it. Now!

Why I Hate Almost Everyone (Part 21): The ‘Too Cool for School’

Too Cool for School:

A state in which a person thinks him or herself superior to everyone else in a given group or in general. Most commonly used sarcastically. [1]

“You may think you’re too cool for school. But I got a news flash for you…you AREN’T.” (Zoolander)

There is a difference between being ‘too cool for school’ (TCFS) and being snobbish, pretentious, conceited or even having a superiority complex, although being TCFS may at times incorporate those other repellent qualities.

There is a sense of being ‘above it all’… that just about everything and everyone else is somehow beneath you. Not in terms of social or financial standing for many of the TCFS come from quite modest, even poor backgrounds.

(Truman Capote ~ seriously too cool for school)

There is often a distinct gap between where the TCFS feel they should be and where they in fact are.

I’ve noticed many a waiter or waitress in artsy type restaurants and cafes adopt a tired, bored attitude when serving customers. An overwhelming sense of ennui engulfs them making it barely possible for them to do the menial tasks that cruel fate has inflicted upon their noble souls. Baristas (or baristards, as I sometimes call them) are quite often TCFS. In fact, being a barista is perhaps the ideal job for someone who is TCFS yet lacks any other marketable skill or talent.

(TCFS Baristard)

Uh huh… Spare me the attitude and make me my cappuccino, ok?

The TCFS are at their best when they need something from us plebes. People with whom they would otherwise never be caught dead, let alone associate, suddenly become necessary. What to do, what to do? No problem. The TCFS make it seem like they are doing YOU a huge favour by allowing you to be of some small assistance to them.

(I’ll let you do me a big favour… but just this once, ok?)

“It would be really cool if I could use your cell phone. I’d use mine but international calls are way expensive!”

Oh, golly gee. COULD I??

Listen… you’re above it all. Fine. Too involved in the high drama that is your life to talk with the groundlings. Great.

Just don’t expect me to play along, ok?

Now get me my damn cappuccino!

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[1] UrbanDictionary.com

Stay in School!

In most parts of Canada and the U.S., school starts this week.

With that in mind, here’s some unsolicited advice for high school students.

Finish high school. Seriously. I mean it.

If you think life in general is hard…

Try life without a high school diploma.

Bill Gates (supposedly) once said, “If you think your teacher is tough…

Wait til you get a boss!”

Studying is not fun. Studying is rough.

And do yourself a favour… don’t use short-cuts.

They’ll test you on the parts of the book that weren’t in the movie.

OK, that was my rant for the day.

Go forth and slack no more!

Dress for the body you have… not the body you want! (Part 2 – Men)

I recently posted a blog article about some young teenage girls and their unfortunate habit of dressing for a body type other than their own.

Today I get to take a swing at the guys.

I’d like to set my sights on an equally repellent aspect that some men have, namely decking themselves out in a way that causes right-thinking members of society to want to claw their eyes out.

(Friends don’t let friends wear mullets!)

Young or old, middle class or poor, there is something about a guy who seems to be completely oblivious as to what he really looks like.

They can’t possibly leave the house knowing that they look the way they do!

(John Daly’s golf pants make me want to scream)

And no normal self-respecting woman I know would ever let their guy leave the house looking like that!

And yet… there they are, infesting the aisles of the local Walmarts!

Each and every one of these clowns left the house thinking they look gooood!

They soooo don’t!

(Oh, COME ON!!)

So guys… for the love of all that’s good and decent in the world…

Stop it.

JUST… STOP IT!

Why I Hate Almost Everyone (Part 17): Marathons

While technically, ‘marathons’ would normally not be included in a list of people I hate, I am going to have to make an exception in this case.

Running marathons, bike marathons and all the other stupid thingathons would not occur if it wasn’t for those people out there who are eager to participate in marathons, curse their sweaty, spandex-encased little hearts.

(GET AWAY FROM MY NEIGHBOURHOOD, DAMMIT!!)

It is common (albeit not publicly expressed) knowledge that any kind of marathon that disrupts or interferes with traffic or even one’s ability to cross an intersection without having to wait for a hundred well-meaning yet horribly annoying people, bothers right-thinking members of society.

Today was an excellent example. There I was, minding my own business and deliberately taking a country drive in order to avoid traffic and crowds. No sooner did I arrive in town than I (and a dozen other drivers, including a couple of motorcyclists with whom I would not want to mess) were held at bay by a local regional police officer (no doubt cursing under his breath). It was in the one of the warmest days of the year so far.

What was the hold-up? It could have been an accident. It could have been some other emergency that legitimately and understandably kept us stranded at that intersection.

(I’ve been waiting 10 minutes to cross the street. GO AWAY!!)

But noooooo!! It was hundreds of stupid bike marathoners!!

One even had the nerve to smile and wave at me. Wave at me? You think I’m happy that I’m sitting here in the heat while you glide on by, you twerp? If there wasn’t an armed member of the local constabulary standing nearby, you’d be a hood-ornament on my car!

Listen. If people want to run around for miles and miles, bless them. If people want to peddle around for miles and miles, let them.

Just get them away from people who have things to do!!

(Now THAT’S more like it! Text me if you make it, ok?)

Stop the madness!

Or at least move the entire shindig out to where it can’t be an inconvenience to pedestrians and traffic.

Why I Hate Almost Everyone (Part 16): Traitors

Of all the things a close friend or loved one can do to you, betrayal is one of the worst.

It is the element of breach of trust that cuts deeper than the knife in the back. As the saying goes, “Backstabbers are only powerful when your back is turned.” Why was your back turned? Because you trusted the traitor.

(Brutus about to slay Julius Caesar… the quintessential backstabber)

On a national level, treason is perhaps the worst crime there is. The traitor is betraying the entire country and putting it at risk.

On a personal level, a traitorous friend can destroy your faith in people… or at least in that person. You can become mistrustful of others and be tempted to close yourself off from friends and family.

In addition to whatever actual damage the betrayal costs you physically, psychologically, emotionally, financially, etc. the blow to your spirit can be devastating.

Traitors and backstabbers don’t just affect the people whom they betray… they bring down society as a whole. We want to be truthful, honest and open. We want to be able to trust others. And when a betrayal becomes known, it’s almost as if, even temporarily, a tiny crack forms in what we feel society should be.

We hate them, and rightfully so, because traitors and backstabbers are loathsome creatures whose actions not only hurt the victim or victims of their betrayal… but make our world a bit worse off.

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Special thanks to author and screenwriter Michael Plumides. Some of his experiences as a ‘backstabee’ during his years in college radio provided the inspiration for this piece. Thanks, Mike!

Kill the Music: The chronicle of a college radio idealist’s rock and roll rebellion in an era of intrusive morality and censorship

Why I Hate Almost Everyone (Part 14): The Humourless

I like to think of myself as a rational, even-minded person, I really do.

However, every once in a while (and far more often than necessary), I run into certain types of people who drive me to distraction… to the point where I hate them and, as a result, almost everyone.

The ‘jerks du jour’ I’d like to discuss are the humourless.

People with NO sense of humour. They don’t laugh. They don’t smile. They take everything seriously. Nothing is funny to them. Even when they know something is meant as a joke, they take an almost perverse pleasure in pretending it was said seriously. They meet every punchline with a blank stare, every rim-shot with a derisive sneer.

(Professor Severus Snape – Patron Saint of the Humourless)

When presented with the type of person who wears frivolity like an impenetrable shield, they shake their heads mournfully.

They sap the fun and pleasure out of life.

Not content with being humourless themselves, their mission is to drain the cheerfulness from everyone around them. When they walk into a room, you can almost feel the energy waning. People hang their heads and sigh or groan.

I have no idea why humourless people are the way they are and, frankly, I could not care less.

Someone near and dear to me married a humourless person. When I met the spouse-to-be, I was immediately struck by the fact that the person never smiled, let alone laughed. What kind of person never cracks a smile? The marriage did not last. No one was the least bit surprised.

Humourlessness is, to my way of thinking, a sign of an unhealthy mind and a sick spirit.

Deep inside, I know that this type of person is more to be pitied than censured… but I can’t help it.

I do not feel compassion for them. I do not sympathize with their predicament. My heart does not bleed for them. I do not say to myself, “There, but for the grace of G-d, go I.”

I just hate them.

Thinking about them makes my hair hurt.