My favourite Beatle has always been Ringo. Apparently that says something about me. From what I’ve read of his his Wiki Entry he doesn’t seem like such a bad guy. I prefer a drummer that’s a human metronome to a show-off, anyways.

Wow. AccuRadio just played Gold Dust Woman by Fleetwood Mac. I recalled talking with Teddy about what the band was going through while recording “Rumours” and I really heard it in the song this time.

And what the hell is “Solsbury Hill” about anyways?

Erik raised the question of having children and I replied that I don’t trust my restraint and patience enough to be a good father. Until recently I couldn’t even stand kids under the age of about 14. They cried for no good reason, they were selfish, and all the things that made kids kids got on my nerves. After Jilly and Wesley that inquisitive bint that makes a child walk up to certain death with avid curiousity became adorable. Now when kids play loudly in the TTC or a restaurant I think it’s cute and smile; Especially when they’re happy. I guess I must be aging somewhat if the smile on a child’s face perks me up from even the darkest mornings.

But Jilly, Wesley, Madison and everyone else’s kids can still be taken away if I do get tired of them. Teddy and Brenda change the diapers, not me. I love dispoable income, and selfishly dread the thought of it going into food, medicine, a crib, a big enough home, pens, pencils, books, college, toys, pets, and everything I would spend it on to keep my kid happy and growing to his/her full potential. I also have a mouthy temper that when I’m at work I’m proud of, but dread unleashing on my son or daughter just becuase they were being young. Nope, I’d rather leave the kids to good, responsible proud parents like Teddy, Brenda, Erik and Lisa than have any of my own because it’s what’s expected.

But, at least I know I’d never be one of these.

Upon returning to Vancouver, William went to a doctor’s appointment as part of the preliminaries to becoming a paramedic. The doctor informed him that he had two years to live unless he fixed his diet up and lost 50 lbs. I didn’t think he was that bad, and just realised I’m not much better. If at all.

The immediate result of the diagnosis is that he has to be on a seriously restricted diet: Roughly 10 servings of fruit a day and maybe a cup of 1% milk. If he behaves, he has a burger on Fridays. Thinking about the gravity of being told your way of life will kill you in two years and thinking about how miserable Will isn’t quite admitting he must be, I’ve decided out of support to join him and go on the same diet.

EDIT: This what I get looking up the DASH diet as Will mentioned. It actually doens’t look that bad at all.

I know Erik’s going to disagree with me on this one, but I’ve been impressed with the Bourne movies. I am not a fan of the books as they get redundant, but whoever translated them to the screen did a great job essentially shucking Ludlum’s plot and just using the names for a decent low-brow technothriller series.

Humour me here: How hard, expensive, and mired in bureaucracy would it be for me to try living and working in the UK for a while? No dignity, Virgin records, farmhand, whatever.

Work instituted a heavy anti-smoking policy recently that has the tenants in a uproar. Every level of Canadian government in my area from municipal up is cracking down on smokers; Which has lead my first thought when hearing these people complaing is, “Well what did you expect?” I maintain a certain level of sympathy for the plight of smokers, chiefly because anti-smokers can be more vehement and preachy than gun control nuts.

That’s my main gripe in the Tobacco War: The incredible fanaticism on both sides. Anti-smokers hold up obnoxious pictures of tar-stained lungs, blaming smokers for every sick baby in a 50-mile radius. Smokers cough up a blast of human-made smog and crudely grind out a cigarette butt into the sidewalk two metres from an ashtray; All the while acting persecuted for a habit that “only harms the smoker.” There’s variations, but having sat in the middle of plenty of frothy, screaming smoking battles (including a very heavy one right here in the family) the theme is the same: A demagogue versus an addict.

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