Rocky the Racoon …

2.30 am and two woman in their twenties, maybe?
step outside the building.
Letting the door crash behind them,
shaking this resident awake.

They then proceed to chatter, without stop,
in loud voices. For fully 15 mins.
before a young man appears from inside of the building,
suggesting they return upstairs.

There are multiple signs, around the doorway and building
areas, reminding residents that it is a non-smoking area.
That does not seem to stop the party participants,
stepping outside the door for their nicotine fixes.

One wonders where they get their air from? Talking incessantly, with loud voices, in the warm summer night.
Voices drifting upward on the slow breeze in the front door-well. Standing adjacent to each other, the loud voices break the stillness of the night.

Reverberating still, from the door closer. As they disappear back inside, leaving only butts on the pristine tiled foyer.
The night begins to return to it’s former slumber sleep evades, having been fully wakened by their empty-headed furor.

From the bed, stagger to the living room chair. Drinking apple cider vinegar in water, sleepiness begins to return.

The building door crashes open again, two couples emerge on the way to the visitor parking. Loud enough that the racoon, tiptoes away … unseen

Except by me.

 

Happy birthday …

… It is estimated that the rock we live on, Earth. Is 4.54 billion years old. Which make the fuss over Canada on this day, July 1st 2017, quite amusing. To myself, at least.

The bunting is out, the block parties are in full swing. I wonder if the Beaker people are invited? While The CBC Canadian Broadcasting Corporation insinuates far older occupation of North America by the human species? Here we sit like birds in the wilderness, waving the Maple Leaf flags, celebrating a mere 150 years.

 

No matter, crack a beer, heave some dead animal on the barbecue. Happy birthday? I call it the crazy weekend.  Last night maintained the assertion. As some troubled young lady roamed around, swearing and shouting that her phone was inside. Kicking the heavy glass door trying to gain entry. The car alarm of a visitor, going off time and time again. Nobody seemed, hehe … alarmed? The young lady was eventually taken away by the City police.

I wonder why car people have those alarms? Sure, I know, to prevent theft. Yet, if that was so? Why do the owners ignore them? If one takes the ferry between this Island and the mainland. A ride of about 1hr and 35 mins. I usually stay in my car. The other passengers go aloft. Once the ferry hits some rough water.

They all go off. The car alarms.

Nobody bats an eyelid. They are ignored. For the people still in their cars, like myself, they are an annoyance of intrusion.

One wonders why, people purchase such an expensive item when buying the car? Perhaps it was part of a package? Maybe they were planning on parking in East Vancouver or some other high crime area? However unlikely it would be for anyone to attempt to steal the tires, etc. For all the attentions they are paid. Any thief could steal and leave without any trouble, for sure.

Ahh well, Happy Birthday Canada. You have very little to celebrate … next up July 4th.

Passwords are the thing …

… These days everything is password protected.

Because? Because cybercrime lurks in every corner of the globe. We are supposed to value our privacy. Most of us do.

The extent to which this password protection is extended.
Is becoming obscene.

My macbook wants my password. I enter it. Then it desires another password. I enter it. Then it goes back to the first password asked for.

Why? I just gave it. Does it not have a memory? Is that what a computer is? A memory system?

If one fails the password test. After three tries you are disabled. Where is my disabled badge? Surely I can park in the disabled spot?

To recover the password. These days means entering a new one. It requires a two step process. One that usually ends in a text to my phone.

Enter the numbers sent and it will open to a door. Where one may enter a new password.
Then again, in case a mistake was made the first time around.

Underneath the guidelines of two uppercase, eight letters minimum.
Plus minimum two figures, we have a new password.

It has a helpful little figure underneath the information. Designed to inform us of the password strengths? Happy with your new password?

Now we have our password. Back to login and try it out.
Finally an email is sent telling me my password is now changed.

No shit, Einstein? Okay, well one can see that it would be helpful to know that and to ignore, if it was yourself?

Of course it was me. I sent you my email address, que’lle idiote.

 

Visiting the relatives …

They come on Saturdays, Sundays and the holiday Mondays.
To meet and greet the older relatives,
In the apartment building by the seashore.

Bring treats. Of flowers, bunches or pots; offspring in tow.
Yelling in the covered parking lot, to make the voices echo and shout floating up like disembodied banshee ghosts aglow.

Arriving in Nissans, Toyotas, Hyundai and the odd Ford.
SUV sparkly, shiny bright, plastic bodywork and glass
Horns tooting, as they lock the car door.

Using the intercom at the front door.
Announcing their arrival and the resulting buzz
Floats up behind, the garage shouts and yells.

The front door clangs behind the visitors, with automatic closing.
To spend an hour or two
With the old folks.

The resident’s cars, lay idle in the lot
sedentary in and of the makes.
BMW, Audi, Chevrolet, Pontiac or Ford

Departure, is procedure in reverse
Culminating in engines, bursting awake
Then the TOOT to unseen residential life, as they leave. Duty complete

Slowly the apartments, one bedroom, two & three,
townhouses at the sides,
Simmer’s down to tranquility.

Stillness broken only by the siren sound, of emergency vehicle.
Destination;
hospital next door …

 

Why does everything have to be logged in, by facebook… ?

… It blows me away. Every time one tries to find any sort of info on the internet. We are asked to log in using FB. Well, I will not. I will not subject myself to an online social media site.

I’m looking for some info about my ex. and I’m subject to this presence of facebook wishing to log me in using my credential, with them. Who asked them, for this?

This, to me, is insidious use of some sort of perceived power.

It is overt use of a privilege. One that if a member? Requires  surrender of private information. One that ostensibly FB says it takes seriously. yet it will meekly surrender to any agency, that uses them for a login.

Talk about loss of privacy. No matter how much they bleat …. Baaah They are more than complicit to use your credentials in any online interaction.

Bah humbug …!! Kiss my Royal Canadian ….as Howie Preston would say

Out of the Amazon basin …

… Amazon, a giant online retailer. They started with books and CD’s now there’s not much one cannot buy through Amazon.

I have three accounts with them. Amazon in UK, Canada and Dotcom. The USA version.

Is anybody asking why? Well, the retailer will deliver to addresses without the hefty mailing fees, from country to country. That’s why.

Mostly, I use Amazon for my own needs. It aids, in that no more lining up at a cashier’s desk, sorting through products hanging or not hanging in a conventional retailer and the generally good price asked by the business. From household products to luxury items may be found there. No more driving to malls, parking, to the cost of gasoline for the purpose.

It behoves the consumer to be vigilant. Yet returns are free. usually. Call customer service and they are phoning back as promised.

Probably my only annoyance factor. Is the day or two after a purchase of anything. They bombard my email with “deals” after the fact. If I just bought soap? Why would I want more? As an example. Why give me a sale price after? Why not at time of purchase? Well, that last question is redundant, I know. Yet, dear reader, you likely get the drift?

Still overall, Amazon gets a big thumbs up from this happy customer!!

I bought some new underwear …

… recently.

Not so momentous in and of itself. The reason for the writing. Is for how the world is going.

Cotton seems to be a disappearing commodity?

When they may be located, often they are a mix of Polyester/Cotton of various proportions. The main sources of underwear come from the companies, Fruit of the Loom and Hanes. Go to any retail outlet and that’s what you’ll inevitably find. Although being fair, Denver Hayes too. Once in a while BVD. All of these sellers. Are they made in-house, somewhere then have the labels affixed to show the brand seller? They often used to say, “Made in Pakistan” on the garment.

They all construct their Men’s Boxer shorts in a newer way. Called a comfort fit. One that sees a piece of fabric inserted, from beneath the crotch to the back of the waist band and a seam running up each cheek of the bum.

“Comfort Fit”, is really a misnomer. For those seams may be very annoying. 100% cotton or a blend. It’s difficult to find the old method of boxer construction. With just a seam, running along one’s crack.

Having been looking for the old-fashioned type, for about 2 years. With purchase of the inferior design in the meanwhile. It might be interjected here, that I’m easy on the wear. Changing them almost daily and practising good personal hygiene. In the end they still wear out. From washing machines and powerful detergents. Even if the detergents are “green” or not?

When 100% cotton, exclusive of trim, may be located.

Yeah sure! I understand the waistband is going to be a synthetic material and that the seams will be using polyester threads.

When they are located. I found some made in China, from a seller caller Luk, with a umlauf over the U.

They have the polyester label from hell, sewn in at the rear. So I fetched my trusty seam ripper to take out the offending piece.

Lordy, once again.

If the stitching holding those labels in place were as strong and impenetrable; as the ones on the rest of the garment? Why I might have those ‘boxers” for 5 years not 2. Eventually, I prevailed. Not before a load of swearing over the tiny knots of machine threading that held them in place.

When buying, whether on-line or in the store. You’ll never see a rear view of the boxers. Just the bulging crotch shot, of cotton knit. I don’t care for cotton knit either. I like the older type of cotton fabric, and plenty of it. For it’s breathability. Especially for the summer months. So Hanes, if you ever read this? Please take note. One dissatisfied customer.