…in small packages.
That leaves a lot to the imagination especially if you are a frequent visitor to this blog. I could very well just let your minds frolic in the gutter. After all I’d have to agree with the first part of the blog title wholeheartedly. Course referring to someone as a thing is just crass. But then again if you look at the whole phrase if I’m the good thing then is it derogatory to little people?
Anyway before the train of thought veers down the track into Perv Town, my title is in reference to the innocent old adage referring to a meaningful gift.
I take you back a couple of weeks to a certain young girl who is on the precipice of a landmark birthday. She’s knocking on the door to the wonderful world of teenagerdom and I wanted to welcome her to the next stage of her life with a very special gift. Her ridiculously cool mother and I concocted a plan that was ABC After School Special worthy. It was a scheme so deliciously sweet it made my cavities ring and would serve as my Get Out of Hell Free card for the Rapture.
Oh wait… that passed already and I didn’t get taken away. Dammit! I guess I have to go back to being bad then…
The mission was to craft a piece of artwork for the young lass and get it to her by or before her birthday. On the outset it looked like an easy task. The picture was completed in only a couple of days leaving plenty of time to get it sent off. There were a few obstacles to overcome first in order to get said package from point A to point B. The first of which is the fact that I live next to Santa Claus and she lives near Sin City. That’s a heckuva distance for a flimsy parcel to travel. I’m no stranger to undertaking improbable missions though. Heck I first met my wife face-to-face on a dare. Traveled all the way from the heart of NYC to Niagara Falls Canada just because she didn’t think I’d do it. But that’s another tale…
I know. I’m awesome.
Nunavut to Nevada doesn’t seem to be too insurmountable but then there stands my old nemesis and the second gateway obstacle – good ole Canada Post. There is no love lost between us. We’ve engaged in many wars against one another and have fought each other to a stand still. A peace treaty was established earlier this year in the hopes of putting an end to the decade of conflict. The peasants rejoiced. Unfortunately CP caught wind of my super secret Priority One mission and shattered the pact by announcing there was going to be a nation-wide union strike.
Right on. Couldn’t have waited a couple more weeks right? Of course not. You are the bane of my existence. Why should I expect anything less. Touché.
I was wily in my ways and dispatched the package with a tracking number a week and change before the rumored start of the strike. Although it was a sneeze above regular mail priority it didn’t bring me any relief. Mail moves like frozen crap going uphill in the north and my greatest fear was that it would take too long getting to the south then get stranded there just as the strike would erupt. Sheer luck allowed it to blaze a trail all the way to the border without so much as a delay and avoided the strike by mere days. Up next the greatest challenge – Americans.
The final challenge was a twin fanged threat. American Customs can be a very fickle entity. You can easily get a package opened, confiscated or even destroyed depending on the mood of whoever is on duty doing the processing at that time. It’s their discretion. We all know how dangerous a piece of paper and a CD can be so naturally I anticipated the worse. Remarkably though it passed right on through customs and made its way to my old stomping grounds of New York City by the 1st of June.
I was giddy all day yesterday. When I checked the status it had reached the Las Vegas Sorting facility on Sunday (the 5th) and was slated for delivery. My hopes were high, but still I held on to that little shadow of doubt because I know far too well how the final leg of the race is always the toughest. I waited and waited to receive word. Finally, later that night I got an email from Thypolar informing me that the package arrived on time and intact. (12) was given her surprise gift(s) early and I was treated to a couple of pictures mommy took of her reaction as she opened it.
I have to say the smile she had and the look of shock on her face gave me the warm fuzzies of doing something good for someone. I may say I don’t like children but that’s just generally speaking. I don’t like people either but I have quite a few that I consider very dear friends. The same holds true with kids. Some kids I truly do like and appreciate. (12) is one of those. She’s a great little gir…err.. ‘scuse me… soon-to-be young lady who has a very pure heart. She’s not selfish. She’s not caught up with all the nonsense many children nowadays get wrapped up in and still has that precious dose of innocence. She also has the luxury of being surrounded by an awesome (yes I referred to someone other than myself as awesome) family and good friends. I was really tempted to post at least one of the pictures she sent but alas, she is not my child and I’d never violate a family’s privacy like that. I’m bad but I’m not a douche. I trust there will be a great many pictures of the newly crowned (13) once her birthday has come and passed so stay tuned to Thypolar’s blog for more updates. I don’t like to get sappy too often because it seriously tarnishes my gangsta nerd reputation but sometimes it eeks out.
I’m man enough to show respect when respect is due. I’ve bashed Canada Post and the United States Parcel Service on numerous occasions but this time you came through big time and were spot on in every phase of the transit. For that I thank you. You’ve done Kevin Costner proud. Somehow though I suspect we will meet once again on the battlefield. Until then you have my respect.
So… what does a sanity challenged individual who made a child happy do for his next trick?
Start pushing my way back to the front of the line to HELL of course! I can’t very well start getting a reputation for being a do-gooder now! There are far too many assholes in the world for me to rant about and stupid people to cruelly mock for me to turn good. For now it’s back to the drawing board (no pun intended).
I’m not a nice guy.
Don’t let the devilishly good looks, intoxicating writing style, utterly unbearable aura of awesomeness and supreme humbleness fool you. I’m not saying I’m a bad guy, mind you, but I’m certainly not as “good” as I could be. Often I have thought farts that don’t make it to the blogosphere. I call them thought farts because no matter how disgusting a fart is you still laugh. You don’t want to but you do. They’re crude, rude and lewd and if said in public would bring forth a piercing sneers and jeers but muffled giggles as well. I say things people think about but don’t have the balls to say sometimes. I’m like a walking South Park episode. I find humor in almost anything. I make light of things other people take far too seriously. There’s a fine line between disrespect and comedy that people really need to learn about. I push boundaries sometimes but it’s all in good fun. I’m frighteningly politically incorrect and in some people’s eyes that’s a bad thing.
With that as the backdrop to this whole post, I fear I’m losing my place in line in Hell. Over the past 23 or so years I’ve strategically maneuvered my way down the queue. There are a ton of people at the head of the line that I’ll never be able to get past but that’s okay. I just want a decent seat if I’m going to roast for eternity. Unfortunately moving up here has halted and, dare I say, even reversed my hard-earned progress. First it was volunteering my services at the animal shelter. Initially I only intended to build a website for them for free but now I’ve found myself walking and tending to dogs for the past 3 weeks. That’s not the kind of thing you put on your resume to Hell.
Then it was volunteering for a couple of activities during Toonik Tyme. There I was working long hours, making friends with adults and mingling with children. Me. The supposed antisocial anti-child anarchist. As if that wasn’t enough, as of the past week I’ve found myself volunteering once again – this time at the Iqaluit Community Greenhouse – doing manual labor duties such as hauling soil and bedding planters. Helping the community and expecting nothing in return.
What the hell is going on? The now 23hrs of daylight must be baking my brain.
But then came the ultimate act that’s bound to get me kicked right out of the line completely…
A couple of weeks ago I was reading a few posts about a loving mother and her beautiful young daughter’s medical condition. Some of you may be familiar with my blend Thypolar. If not I urge you to cease reading my dribble and catch up with this fascinating woman’s tale. Her daughter, who creatively is referred to as (12), is an inspirational young girl who’s going through some physically and mentally taxing times right now. She’s a trooper that somehow manages to crank out a movie-star quality smile whenever the camera is on her. Some how… some way she managed to inspire the non-existent fluffy frilly side of my heart. I decided since I’ve been on a sketching roll as of late that I’d make something specifically for her. Not only would I send her the signed sketch (which I rarely do) but I’d digitally render a full color, print quality illustration of it as well. She likes frogs and faeries so that’s what I’m going to make for her. I’m still debating on how to present it to her. I know Thypolar reads my blog and sometimes informs her kiddies about the well wishes and compliments they receive but I don’t think they actually see this blog.
Geez… I’d hope not. I live in fear of my parents keeping up with this much less underage children. *nyuk nyuk*
The recent Rapture-mania made me think about (12) once again so I finished off the sketch for the most part…
On a completely serious and out-of-character note, it saddens me that the flaming bag of douche who got the whole Doomsday craze rolling has gained so much notoriety meanwhile real people with real problems and real concerns like young little (12) remain anonymous. Sure I kid around a lot here, spout outlandish thoughts and spin interesting tales about my life experiences but I would hope people are intelligent enough to know when I’m playing the fool and when I’m dead serious. I’m very proud and honored to send this little wonder something I created. Sure, it’s just a piece of artwork, but if it puts a smile on her face or makes her day I’m happy. I’m actually experiencing a bit of anxiety about sending it because I want it to be just right. A 35 year old tough guy is intimidated by a 12 year old girl. Go figure. Every artist wages a constant battle with perfection. I know this picture is far from perfect and it makes my stomach turn on end as I constantly question myself whether its good enough.
Anyway before I start babbling again stop flitting around here and read something more interesting. Read up on her. Beam her and her lovely mother some positive energy and if you’re feeling really proactive, send her a card or something. Let her know there is still some hope for humanity and that we’re not all a bunch of trend-hopping stooges who go gaga over the stupidest things and neglect the people, plights and stories we should really be concerned about.
Stay tuned for future updates about this piece.
Love, peace and hair grease folks!