My brush with the military (inspired by AlexendraLeigh)

My senior year of high school, my dad got it into his head that I should join the military, as a way of paying my way through university. After all, he'd done it, so it must be the best way of doing things, right?

I wasn't sure what I wanted to do in University, but it hadn't occured to me at that point that I didn't have to go. I was thinking a Business Co-op program would probably be okay, and the thought of someone paying for me to do it appealed to me. The thought of the military, not so much, but I figured doing ROTC might not be too bad.

And conveniently enough, the recruiting centre was directly across the street from my high school. So more to shut my dad up than anything, I went over to take the tests. I remember taking the test and thinking that I must have gotten the easy version. I finished in less than twenty minutes and handed my paper into the very surprised proctor.

Two days later they called me back, and told me I'd scored in the top percentile of all test takers. I guessed that didn't bode well for the rest of the incoming recruits. There was some confusion as to whether I had all the academic credits, but after some wrangling we got the physics component sorted out.

So now it was time to do the physical, which more or less went fine. The Doc at the recruiting centre told me I was severely underweight, but that I met everything else with flying colours. I just needed to submit my eyeglass prescription, and we'd be all set.

So I got a copy of that, and faxed it to them.

A week later they called me for some more testing, which I went and did, again scoring very high.

And a week later, again with more testing. Two days after that, more testing. One of the recruiters told me I'd probably end up at the ROTC centre in Quebec. I'd been thinking Ontario or BC would have been better, but what the hell. I looked at the pay structure, and thought it looked pretty good. I'd be making good money all summer, then go to school through the year. I'd then owe them 4 years on the other end.

I hadn't really mentioned much of this to any of my friends, because I knew deep down the idea of me in the military was more than a little ridiculous.

Three weeks and three more bouts of testing later I get a call from a Major telling me that they were not able to accept me at this time, as my vision fell below their requirements.

"Pardon me?"

"Your eyes are too bad son, sorry."

"You can tell that from the prescription I faxed to you?"

"Yes."

"Five weeks ago?"

"Sorry?" He seemd confused. He likely wasn't used to people questioning him. He was a Major after all.

"I've been to your fucking recruiting centre once a week for the past five weeks, and you're telling me now that I'm not being accepted?"

"Well, these things take time..."

"And what about my time? The time you felt was so unimportant that you could waste it?"

"..."

"And how much time could it take? You look at the paper. If the numbers are outside the range, then you call me up and say thanks but no thanks."

"Well, there's no need to take that tone..."

"You know what... if you guys can't get your shit together, I don't want to be in your fucking army anyway." CLICK

So, I guess it wasn't a total loss. I mean if I'd joined the army, how many years would I have had to wait before I got the opportunity to tell a Major to fuck off?

Looking All Serious

Against my better judgement, I've posted this photo... I think I'll leave it up a couple of days before I pull it. But until then, feel free to admire my magnificence. =)

From Skinhead to Law Enforcement Official in 5 weeks

Interesting weekend... went to the folks place, blah, blah, blah.

Anyhow, on to the interesting part. I got a call from the folks I'd auditioned for back in May... potty-mouthed mysogonist skinhead, remember?

They decided to cast me as a cop instead, so now I'm officially Cop #1. Apparently I've got some decent screen time, including a riot scene, which will be tres cool. I'll know more once I get my script. So I signed my contract, and got my shooting days on Sunday.

I must admit though, I'm impressed with these folks so far. They are seriously organized, and have their shit together. Of course with a cast of 150+ for a feature, I guess you'd have to be. =)

So for four days at the end of July I'm gonna get to play at being an actor.

Woohoo for me!

This is it

doo-wop... Actually, it's an excellent example of why I hate people, and the power of priceless comeback. God bless those who are quick with the wit.

Overly cheerful people just piss me off. I've got the same feelings towards them as I do those who are militantly religious - I'm happy for you, but keep it to yourself.

My standard response when grumpy to in(or overly)sincere "Have a nice day!"?

Thanks, I have other plans.

Crime and Punishment

Ladies and gentlemen, the Vagabond Kangaroo Court is now in session. The right honourable Lord Vaga of Bond presiding.

Be seated.

Session 5 of 5 for docket number 665 then. Charges of overworking and abuse of Mr. Laugh Track, for purposes of making a singularly terrible and unfunny sitcom seem funny. Defendant is the Fox Network, the sitcom Stacked, and 'star' Pamela Anderson.

Fox, Stacked and Ms. Anderson, you have been charged with a very serious offence; the assault, battery, abuse and overwork of a laugh track.

I myself have watched 10 minutes of Stacked, and am prepared to summarily rule against you. I have not seen such a painfully unfunny, mugging filled, stereotype laden ...oeuvre since the last time I watched 5 year olds put on a play for their parents.

You are hearby convicted and sentenced to removal of Stacked from the already polluted airwaves, $500,000 in restitution to the abused Mr. Track, and an additional $10,000 fine payable to the right honourable Lord Vaga of Bond. This fine represents $1000 for each minute of my life that I will never get back. I will use this money to repair the bleeding from my ears, and the pain in my eyes.

Case closed. Bailiff, take them away.

A Different Kind of Tens

Gal flew to the east coast on Saturday to surprise her Dad for Father's Day, so I've been a bachelor for a couple of days, and will be until she's back next week.

In that spirit, here's another Tens of things that have happened since Saturday.

1. Number of concussions I've had. (also number of times I've had food poisoning)
2. Number of hours at the walk-in clinic
3. Maximum hours of consecutive sleep
4. Number of times I've lost the cat. (fortunately, also the number of times he's come back)
5. Number of conversations I've had with Ralph.
6. Half the number of hours of work I've missed.
7. Number of times I've answered the phone.
8. Number of hours of Firefly watched.
9. Number of years before I eat at BK again
10. Total hours of sleep I've had.

I don't get sick often, but when I do, I do it up right.

But this alone time has been good. I've gotten a lot more accomplished than anyone in my condition had any right to expect (mainly because I'm stubborn and refuse to allow my body's weakness to rule me). And I've realized how huge a part of my life Gal has become. I started missing her about halfway on the drive home from the airport.

Okay, I lied. I started missing her as soon as I pulled away from the terminal.

More Letters

Dear City of Toronto Parking Authority,

Haha guys, very funny. Okay, you got me again. Nice trick, by the way, of switching which side of the street you can park your car on. Twice a month no less. Well done, good source of extra income.

Now you know, if you actually enforced some of the other bylaws, you might be able to take your hand out of my pocket. I'm talking about the 3 Minute Idle rule, the Blocking the Box rule, the Do Not Run over Pedestrians Exiting Streetcars rule... plus a host of others. I'm sure that these could carry higher fines than me parking on the wrong side of the street for FOUR FREAKING HOURS!

I mean really... hire me. There's three intersections I could sit at and write my weight in tickets every day for blocking the box. That's probably 8000 tickets a day! At $100 a piece, we could solve this budget crisis in a matter of months. Minus my 10% danger pay of course.

Sincerely,

Lord Vaga "Two Tickets and counting" Bond

**********

Dear Guy who hangs around the diner near where I work,

I'm impressed. You are a burly stereotypical red-headed Scottish looking bearded fellow. Wearing cut-off camo pants, combat boots, a red and white flannel checked shirt, paisley vest and a red tam with a white pom-pom. And how can I forget the corn cob pipe and striped socks?

That my friend takes a certain fashion flair and je-ne-sais-quoi to pull off, and you do it swimmingly. I'm suitably impressed, and that's not easy to do.

Congratulations,

Monsignor Vaga "Brain going into overload" Bond

PS: This letter brought to you by adjectives.

Flavoured Water

We have a name for this stuff. It's called juice. Or Kool-Aid. Flavoured water is so much marketing crap that I want to beat the next person I see drinking it to death.

Seriously, who the hell are you kidding?

It's water with a hint of peach!

No it's not! It's weak-ass juice - and shitty juice at that!

What's next?

Would you like solid water in your Rye and Seven Mr. Vagabond?

Shut up assmonger, and don't you dare put ice in my drink. I asked for it neat and that's how I want it. And if I find a straw in there, I'm going to rip off your arm and beat you about the head with the wet end. Then I'm going to skewer your left eyeball with the straw, and stuff it down your pants so you can watch me kick your ass!

....

....

...um okay, no more coffee for me today.

New Office

So we've changed offices over the weekend, and now I have people sitting behind me. Which means my blogging will have to be done a little less, unfortunately. Of course I say this, but it won't necessarily be so.

Plus I have too many writing projects that I'm supposed to be working on to blog at home. We'll see how those go.

As an aside, anyone know where one could put his hands on Final Draft 7? And more importantly, is it any good?

Hugs and Kisses,

Lord Vaga of Bond

The People I really Hate...

are what I now affectionately refer to as the Puddle Deep. People who feel that they've learned all they need to in their lives, and have no urge to ever have a new thought enter their head.

PD's will hold the same conversation, on the same topic for days on end, covering the same ground over and over again. Their car, house, children, wardrobe, television watching habits are all fair game. Unfortunately, these topics are the only game in town.

Seriously PD's, you've got a couple of options. I'll spell them out, 'cause you sure as hell can't come up with them on your own.

1. Get the hell away from me.
2. Shut up.
3. Deep throat a loaded gun.
4. Never procreate
5. Any combination of the above (preferably all)

Someone said to me that she didn't want to learn anything new because she was too old. I'd guess she's in her late thirties.

No Skinheads Here

Alas, it's been over 2 weeks since my audition; no joy in that department.

Oh well, no biggie, I'm glad I went, if nothing else.

Maybe it's just me (or A study in bias)

Sigmund, Carl & Alfred run a very interesting, and thought provoking blog. If you're a thinking sort, like to examine tough questions, and hear other's opinions, it's a great place to stop in.

That being said, I'd be interested to know if anyone thinks that the good Doctor's bias is as obvious as I find it.

Victims, aren't we all

He stood on the hillock; his gaze crept over the field. It was cold; a frost that snuck up, and chilled all at once, the moment you let your guard down.

Brushing tears of realization from his eyes, his soul tore.

Bodies, piled upon corpses, upon more discarded dead. Men, women, children with empty eye sockets. Soldier and civilian, cheek to jowl.

Damned and Saintly, wrecklessly left, brought down by hatred.

This is the end he thought. Of all things.

We don't need another hero

... Apparently, this train has plenty.

Marcus leaned against the door of the subway, enjoying the music pumping through his headphones. A little Beethoven always helped to smooth the commute after a long day.

They got on the train two stops after his. He noticed her at first; young, sweet, though a little sad looking. He guessed she was in university. The U of T sweatshirt was a bit of a give-away. She had a beauty that Marcus had always thought of as classic; straight blonde hair, fine features, high cheekbones, and just a small cleft in her chin to offset her otherwise flawless appearence.

She shyly tucked a stray lock behind her ear, and turned to look at her companion. He was pretty unremarkable looking; homely almost. Marcus chuckled to himself, envisioning throwing a penalty flag for "Too Hot Girlfriend".

Marcus closed his eyes, enjoying the music. Two stops later, he sensed a change. A palpable threat permeated the air. He could taste the fear and anger; smell it thick in the atmosphere. It crawled over the back of his neck, chilling and nipping with pointed puppy teeth.

Eyes snapping open, he sought out the danger. It was Miss University and her homely companion, now ugly, his face now contorted in anger and disgust. His mouth was running, small flecks of spittle emerging, punctuating his fury like so many wet exclamation marks.

Marcus assessed the situation quickly. She had done something to raise his ire; deservedly or not, he knew what the next step would be. He had some experience in the area; he sported more than his fair share of bruises.

Shifting his weight to spring into action, he dialed down the volume to his personal soundtrack. Sure enough Ugly's arm came back; so complete in his fury that he did not realize that he was in public. Before it had a chance to go forward, a small Asian woman stepped forward.

"You no hit her," she announced.

"Shut up bitch, this is none of your business," he snarled.

"I make it my business," his diminutive foe replied.

"And I'm making it mine," a burly construction worker announced.

"And mine," a high school student added.

"Mine too," Marcus added quietly.

"You touch her, and I will peel you like a grape," a punk-ish looking girl added.

"Fuck all of you," Ugly announced, and exited the train as it came to a stop. Miss University stayed on, but looked quite embarassed. She mumbled her thanks and smiled shyly.

*****

Four days later Marcus was reading the daily free rag, when he came across a brief news clip.

22 year-old man murdered in city's west end, no suspects.

He knew that Ugly wouldn't bother Miss University again.