Touch You Last

So I got hit in the crotch with the ball at last week’s soccer game, and it really got me thinking. It got me thinking that I don’t like getting hit in the crotch. No, actually (true as that is) it got me thinking about all the times I’ve taken a shot to the goods over the years. A little highlight reel played in my head on the drive home, and I haven’t quite shaken it since. So here, in chronological order, are the strongest crotch trauma memories I have: 1988 – This was the first time a girl just hoofed me right in the groin. It was Jen Crocker who did this to me. And I don’t really remember why (I probably said something sassy to her,) I only know that her junk-kicky reaction was a very disproportionate response. I also remember her turning to my friend Steve afterward and dismissing, “That didn’t hurt” as I lay there face down on floor. 1991 or 92 – We used to do all kinds of crazy shit on the school playground, and chief among my bag of tricks was walking across the top o...

I’m shutting that bad boy down as of today. Why? Because I don’t really use it anymore. Because I moved to Gmail long, long ago. And because the only people that this e-mail applies to are the Window’s Live Hotmail Team, and a collection of fancifully named people who are all interested in increasing the size of my organ. In semi-related news: as I logged on to Hotmail today for the first time in at least six months, I flashed back to the time I helped Blaine set up his first e-mail address, which happened to be on Hotmail. That address, in case you’re curious, was tugonmynuts@hotmail.com. That is all.

This is a picture of my Poppy McLean. I don't know how old this photo is, but I'd guess he's in his mid-twenties. That's a head of hair I never saw in my life. He was all bald and Ziggy-like long before I was born (and you can see a hint of that just starting in the photo). We borrowed this picture from my parents for a little project we're going to be working on (more on that later) and as you can see it wasn't in the best of shape. Rather than hanging on the wall or putting it up on the fireplace mantle, I think someone held it in their balled-up fist for the past sixty years. But then Photoshop came along and smeared awesome all over it. Scroll down to see the cleaned up picture. It wasn't push-button easy, but considering how frigged up the original was I definitely classify this clean up as Not Hard. It basically involved copying non-damaged, similar-looking parts of the photo and painting them overtop damaged parts (working at about 300x zoom). Th...

It’s day three of Home Alone: The Dave McLean Edition, and all’s going reasonably well. I haven’t bought a single meal so far, the cats’ litter boxes haven’t become ziggurats of poop, and the house doesn’t yet reek of stale sweat and/or Wild Turkey. Yet. I have to admit it’s incredibly weird not having Sarah around. It’s hard to describe, but everything feels ever so slightly off . I’ll be watching TV and I’ll suddenly think, “Holy crap! I forgot to…” but then I realize there’s nothing I’ve forgotten. Or this morning, stepping out of the shower, I had this strange sensation it wasn’t Friday at all, that I’d somehow missed Friday . Again—weird half-second of alarm, then I was fine. I’m not nuts, I’m not obsessing about this constantly; I just have these strange occasional flashes. We’ve been apart before, obviously, and longer than the two-and-a-half days that have passed so far, but usually I’m terribly busy when this happens. I’ve been in Toronto for work, but my days and ni...

Sarah’s away for the next two weeks. I’ve been on my own for about five hours now, and so far the house hasn’t caught fire, and I’m not drunk beyond reason. I sense I’ve beaten most people’s expectations already. She’s off to Vancouver for a few days to hang with Beth , and from there she’s meeting up with her parents and jumping on a cruise ship due for Alaska. I know, I know: nice life. Hey man, I’d be there too if I wasn’t out of vacation days (full disclosure: I think I have one spare day between now and October 1). So, it’s a sausage-fest at my house, what between me and the cats. I’m not sure what the longest time is I’ve been in this house without Sarah. I suspect it’s no more than three of four days. (And this is exactly the kind of thing I’d get her to confirm for me if she was hear right now.) It’s sort of nice to have the place to myself, and I don’t think I’m a dick for saying that. I think probably ninety percent of people enjoy hanging all by their lonesome once ...

Back from our Tuesday game. Turns out "hit 'em where they ain't" is not a soccer phrase. Furthermore, they definitely does not refer to the people on your own team .

Sunday was our last full day in the city. After breakfast, we all met up at the Georgia Aquarium which is right next door to World of Coke… and also happens to be the world’s largest aquarium (or so the website says, and this may be a good tim e to mention that for every website I’ve checked out related to these posts, there always seems to be a claim that that particular attraction is the biggest of its kind. The biggest cast iron statue!! The spoutiest water spout!!! Let’s just say I’m having my doubts at this point.) That said, the Georgia Aquarium is very cool. For a lot of reasons. 1. They have a petting zoo of sorts. There are areas where you can pet (with two fingers only!) rays, small sharks, starfish, and (no way in hell am I touching that) shrimp. 2. There’s a huge sea lion tank, and the sea lions are t otally OCD. In one corner, there’s a ledge and a door where the trainers come out with food. The sea lions would basically swim around for twenty secon...