Jokes I Made Up

   Okay, if you're not a fan of "groaners" then please feel free to quickly exit this blog and spare yourself the pain!
   Anyone who knows me really well also knows that puns are one of my favourite forms of humour (sad to say) and I relish it whenever I hear a new one or am capable of coming up with one on my own.

But not where I work...

   Most of them I've forgotten (thank God!) but today I will offer (offal) up a few of the ones that popped right out of my own head (okay, last chance to switch back to your e-mails, Facebook or internet porn, whatever it was you were doing before you made the mistake of starting to read this blog...)

    Benjamin and Penelope Smith were newlyweds, and they were very much in love. They were so in love that they could hardly stand to be apart from each other. Because of this, Penelope would join her husband in the bathroom every morning, completely enraptured by his manly morning routines. Her favourite part of his morning routine was watching him shave. She was so enamoured of him that she would wear her flimsiest negligee, and entwine herself around him as he shaved. Unfortunately, Benjamin had a very old electric shaver with a badly frayed cord. One morning, as she was wrapped around her new husband, her negligee touched the frayed cord, burst into flames and burned her badly. The moral of the story: "A Benny shaved is a Penny burned!"

   Okay, I guess that was a little dark, wasn't it? Well, if you don't like "dark" then just skip the next one, please!

   Q: Why was Jackie Kennedy so upset in Dallas?

   A: Apparently her husband gave her a real piece of his mind!

   There you go, two dark ones in a row. Not sure why my mind gravitates that way, but now that I think of it there's probably blog material there...
   The next one is longer and not nearly as dark. But just as stupid.

   Many, many years ago there was a a small village just north of London on Highway 4 called Larva. It was called Larva because back when settlers first arrived there were numerous and yearly infestations of caterpillars. At the time, and being a small rural area, the name seemed to make sense.
   As the village became bigger over the years and more populated, with businesses, the name slowly began to take on a more negative connotation. Finally, the people of Larva got together to try and decide what they could do to possibly change the name enough make it more positive-sounding but still retain its identity and sound. What they came up with was the simple idea of dropping the "L" from the front of the name.
   The necessary town vote was taken, the paperwork was completed and, finally, "Larva" became "Arva". This worked magnificently! With the name changed, people were more easily attracted to the village and new businesses sprouted up. The village folk rejoiced at this. In their happiness, they decided to make a yearly celebration of the change, during the Christmas season. Every year they decorated the village festively and all the people would gather around the new name sign for the village. The faces of the villagers would all be merrily lit up by the candles they all held as they sang, in unison, one special Christmas carol.
   The name of this carol...?

 'The First No "L"!'

   Ooh, that really was bad! Next are a couple that I inflicted on my Facebook friends earlier on this year. For those of you who were lucky enough to miss them the first time!

   Q: What do you call a bunch of crazed photographers who harass sailors?

   A: Popeyerazzi.

   Q: What colour do they paint infrastructure?

   A: Infra-red.

   Finally (you're welcome), here's the bedtime one I came up with last night, which kinda got me started thinking about this whole stupid joke thing in the first place.

   I was headed off to orchestra rehearsal until I found out it was band.

   Okay, I'm done, you can thank me later! Cheers!

Coincidence

    I received the latest Stephen King novel for Christmas and have started reading it. It's titled, simply, "11/22/63". This is the date JFK was assassinated. If you are both a Stephen King fan and fascinated (haunted) by the Kennedy killing, then this book is a must-read.
   The premise of the book is that someone from 2011 discovers a portal that transfers them back and forth from the present to the year 1958. One man in particular sets out on the mission to prevent the assassination. When he enters the past, he is in the fictional town of Derry, Maine (if you're a King fan, you're familiar with the name). A fair amount of time is spent describing Derry and everything in it. One of the significant street names mentioned is Kolluth Street. I've never in my life heard this name and King himself even spends a line describing how to pronounce it.

   I let this pass, as I do with a lot of King's voluminous info. Yesterday, however, our family was planning a trip to the Butterfly Conservatory in Cambridge and, as I was looking at the Google map direction, I discovered that the Conservatory is on Kolluth Road! What are the chances that twice in the same week I would run into a street name I'd never in my life heard before?!
   On how many occasions have you had a random thought about a song you haven't heard in years and the very same day they play it on the radio? Happens all the time, doesn't it?
   Many (about 30) years ago I was involved in a minor fender bender. The other driver and I exchanged information, as per usual. What arose from this exchange of info plus informally chatting was that we were both not where we were supposed to have been and had changed our normal routines, all of which brought us to the same time and place. We discovered we both worked for the school board. The man's name was Hutton and that's the public school I went to and, to top it all off, when he saw my address on Emery Street he said that he had once lived at that address in a private home before it got torn down and changed to a four-plex (the one I now lived in)! Small world!

   Back round about the same period of my life we used to get all these phone calls, asking me if I was the same Brian Baker that fixed organs. I wasn't, and after awhile these calls stopped. Many years later I was having a conversation with a Fanshawe student where I worked whose last name was Baker. I introduced myself. She then said that her dad's name was Brian Baker. Playing a hunch, I asked her if by any chance he fixed organs. Her jaw dropped about a foot. "Yes he does! How did you know?!" Even later than that, I found myself stopping into a music shop in Masonville Mall to tell them about a problem I was having with my digital piano keyboard. We talked about possible remedies and they said that if none of those worked that I could bring it in and their keyboard repair guy could take a look at it. And the guy? The same Brian Baker!
   So those are probably the two most memorable strings of coincidences I've run across in my life. They do tend to happen on a regular basis, though. A couple of weeks ago Doralyn and I were watching a movie on Netflix wherein they mention one thing we hadn't heard of before (at this point neither of us can remember what it was, which is annoying me terribly but Doralyn figures it'll come to me right after I post this blog and won't that be a coincidence), we turned off Netflix, switched to regular T.V. and the first channel we turn to is talking about the same subject, right out of the blue!
   How many times, as we've negotiated our way around social network sites, have we said to ourselves, "OMG, so-and-so is also friends with my good friend so-and-so!"

   So does this point out how inter-connected everything in the world is? If you do some research on coincidental occurrences you will discover many absolutely astounding examples. Case in point, all you need do is compare the assassinations of Lincoln and J.F.K. It seems almost incomprehensible that there should be so many similarities. Yet, there they are. Were they discovered simply because of the vast amount of scrutiny both of those events received? If we (and thousands of researchers) delved into a whole myriad of events in our own lives would we discover like sets of similarities? Possibly. Then again, perhaps there was something about the social enormity of Lincoln and Kennedy which, in the swirling vortex of the universe and all its energy, brought them together, 100 years apart from each other.
   Is there such a thing as destiny, then? If there is a force out there drawing us into patterns wherein unbelievable coincidences occur then how much choice do we have in how we run our lives? One changed decision in either of those presidents' lives would have rendered future similarities negligible and unremarkable.
   I'd like to think that we have total control over what goes on in our lives. At the same time, I'm fascinated by the idea that we are all just spinning around in patterns that eventually collide with each other, coincidentally. What I don't believe is that there is a God, running things. Sometimes coincidences happen and are called miracles. Sometimes this happens in reverse. I suppose that what we call them depends on just what our spiritual beliefs are.
   When I think of fate, destiny and coincidence, I often go back to the World Trade Center attacks. You listen to the stories about people that should have been in one of the buildings when they were hit but, for some reason, weren't. At the same time, there were stories about people that weren't supposed to be there but, unfortunately, were. Were there forces behind that? And what of all the people that were there because it was simply a regular work day in their regular lives. Just their fate? Or purely coincidental? As a topic for debate, this would go on forever.
   I look forward to coincidences when they occur in my life. I imagine that it's kind of like finding that four-leaf clover. You know they're out there, you're not sure why, and when they happen it seems magical. At the very least, they provide a moment of wonder in what seems often like a mundane and ordered life. I spend little time pondering their significance, I simply bow to their whimsical nature.    
  

  
  
  
  
   
  
  
  

Gypsy

One of our favourite pics--Gypsy and Quin

   Later on today, we are off in order to have one of our cats, Gypsy, put to rest. She's been sick with a variety of ailments for some time now and when we got the results from her visit to the vet yesterday, it very unfortunately became clear that this is what we had to do.
   Gypsy was our first cat, as a new family. She was a "found" cat and the details on her life before she came to us are a little fuzzy, but she spent much of her time as a stray, hanging around a trailer park.
   She was a little too lovable to spend the rest of her life this way, though, and that is how she ended up with us. Because of her wandering lifestyle prior to us, we named her "Gypsy"!
   I have never considered myself to be a "cat" man, however, and needed to be convinced that having a cat around was the best thing. This was just prior to us getting together as a family and, at the time, I was living in a one bedroom apartment. I somewhat reluctantly found myself giving in to my Sweetie, though, and Gypsy soon arrived to keep me (and, later, us) company.

Gypsy curled up with her little sister, Squeaker

  
   It didn't take long to fall in love with her.
   As a reason to avoid having a cat (or any other kind of a pet, for that matter) I had offered up as excuses the facts that you need to take care of them, they can't tell you what's the matter if they're sick and the cost.

L-R Puffer, Squeaker and Gypsy. R-L indicates the pecking order!

   At that point I was sweet-talked into it, however, and soon Gypsy arrived at the apartment with her food and litter box. One of my fears was that she would "get in the way" (of what, I really wasn't sure). This, of course, was a groundless fear, I barely knew she was there! If I remained stationary for any great length of time she would seek me out but she also seemed quite happy doing her own thing. And she essentially took care of herself, as cats are wont to do.
   I hadn't really counted on this, this bold non-interference by this new cat in my life!
   The time she sought me out the most was at bedtime, soon after I headed off she'd hop up on the bed, find a cozy little corner and we were both down for the night.
   Not long after this we found ourselves together as a family of five in a townhouse. One cat became two became three, with the addition of Squeaker and then Puffer. It took some time but eventually the three of them established their own pecking order, with Gypsy at the top. The other two basically didn't mess with Gypsy and she, in her own right, had little time for them and their hi-jinx.
   One of my earliest and fondest memories of Gypsy went back to the townhouse; we had computer desks set up in the livingroom and I would be busy working away at one of them and Gypsy would get up on the back of the armchair behind me and very gingerly reach out and tap me on the shoulder. This was a "remember me" kind of a tap and it was hard not to turn around every time and spend a little time scratching her around the ears or under her chin. It struck me at the time as being one of the most "human" things I'd seen an animal do and hard not fall a little more in love with her every time!

If you were wondering where all the static went...

   As time went on Gypsy asserted herself more and more with the other two. She didn't try and intimidate them but would not put up with them either, many of their attempts to engage her resulted in a barrage of hissing and face-washes, on a fairly regular basis. The other two would tangle with each other but never with Gypsy!
   So Gypsy was the kind of cat who kind of went around doing her own thing, never played too much (if she chased a toy mouse for any more than three seconds we'd all look at each other and say "What the heck was all THAT about?!") and was not that interested in interacting with anyone on their terms.
   At the same time, though, she was the cat that would end up on your lap, you'd look down and wonder just how long she'd been there! It wasn't that she really needed petting at the time, she just wanted to be on you. When she did want to be petted, she simply walked over to where you were, plopped herself down and rolled over on to her back, exposing her belly to whatever ministrations you were able to accord her.

Gypsy, with Squeaker, doing her "ignoring" thing.

   So, as I am prone to do when blogging, I started writing this earlier in the day and am finishing it at the end of the day. This afternoon Doralyn, Keenan, Callum, Quinlan and I took Gypsy to the vet and had her put to sleep. Essentially we were fine (on the outside) right until we entered the exam room. It was like we all took a look at each other, knew why we were there, and the tears started to flow. A lady came in and took Gypsy away to insert an IV. She then brought her back. Shortly after that, the vet entered the room and helped Gypsy pass over into whatever kind of kitty heaven there exists. Many tears at this point, some petting, hugs, kisses,  and a final goodbye.

Gypsy, asleep

   I have been finding  it terribly ironic that I just finished writing a blog called "Saying Goodbye" and here we were, doing just that. It's amazing how attached you can become to your pets. In retrospect, I think it's because they represent unconditional love. They only ask for food and water and if you give them this and don't abuse them they will love you to the ends of the earth. This is the reciprocating relationship we had with Gypsy. This, indeed, is the relationship we have with all our cats. It is unfamiliar to have to say goodbye to a cat. I hope it's something we never become too familiar with.
   So tonight Gypsy is no longer with us. This is not to say that she is too far away though. I am sure that there is somewhere we, as humans, go when we pass away. If I am sure of that then I am just as sure that Gypsy is now pain-free and somehow still near.