Fun With Colours

I decided to have a little fun with my camera tonight. Took some water colour photos.
What do you think of my artwork? Which is your favourite?

North America

Jupiter

The Storm

Tegan

Mr. Bana

Evil Twins

Skyscrapers

Heartache

Every heartache has a story.
Every tear drop leaves it's mark.
Countless times I've sat alone,
crying quietly in the dark.

How much can one heart ever stand,
it breaks with every bother.
With something small, or very great,
like the passing of my father.

Then it fractures even further,
shattered pieces break into bits.
an unrequited heart turns black,
and then suddenly it quits.

No more beating of the heart,
it is cold and dark instead.
this heartache causes so much pain,
I will feel better when I'm dead.

J.A.Scott

Chit-Chat

R.a.n.t. of week 01/26/70

When I was younger, I could chat forever on the phone with my friends. With one of my friends, in fact, it was so hard to say good-bye to we devised a system where after an hour or so, we'd finally agree to count to three and hang up. Seriously, if we didn't do that, one of us would think of one last thing to bring up, and suddenly we'd be on the phone for another hour. To be honest, we still do that to this day, more out of nostalgia than absolutely being necessary. The only drawback to this feature is when other people are generally around when I talk to him on the phone, they (my kids) always know to whom I've been talking to. I suppose everyone who has an 'oldest' friend likely has some quirk they still engage in. What is it you still do with your closest friend?

But now that I'm older, I have a hard time finding even small things to talk about. Unless I have somehow grasped their attention with a story, I find it really hard to chit-chat. As for grasping someone's attention, I don't generally have a great story to share with others because I'm now a generally boring individual. Most of my conversations lately consist of me saying, uh huh, yes yes, oh really, I know. I've become quite the good listener. When I do work up the nerve to initiate a conversation it's usually something like, "I must be invisible". It's supposed to be a joke, usually when a friend walks past me without acknowledging me. Of course, then the rest of the conversation is fairly awkward and I ponder for the next few hours if I just sounded like a jerk. What have been some of your feeble attempts to initiative a conversation with someone, that failed. Here are my top ten.


Jeffrey Scott's Top 10 Worst Chit-Chat Initiations

10. I must be invisible.
9. Did you lose a fight or something?
8. Can I get a raise?
7. Cold enough for you?
6. You have tissue on the bottom of your shoe.
5. Hi Shuma, wait, no. It's Kayra, right?
4. Wanna hear a joke?
3. So I hear (favourite sports team) lost again.
2. Do you have a quarter?
1. Did you fly here with your broom?

Accidental Rap

At times I'm inspired to vocalize a rap,

it is accidental from a sudden coffee lap.

The words, gibberish, as a Dr. Seuss map,

yet exciting as Ackbar saying, "It's a trap!"

Quickly it's sung, in a rushed snap.

With the loss of the coffee for my yap.

Escape, if you must, through the cat flap.

Do not feel you need to clap.

J.A.Scott

Silent, Dark & Cold

I walk into the room
and what do I hear?

Not a single welcome,
No one to say hello.
It is silence that I hear.

I walk into the room
and what do I see?

Not a single greeting,
or 'how was your day',
Darkness is all I see.

I walk into the room
and how do I feel?

Not a thing inviting,
no fire to warm this soul,
The cold is what I feel.

J.A.Scott

Leave the Despising To Us

R.a.n.t. for week of 01/19/14

I've decided to take another week off so Professor Sanee can continue her travel horror story. Reflecting on this story, I recall my own travel horror story. It happened in Mexico. Perhaps I'll relate that next week if anyone would like to hear it. But I digress, Professor Sanee you have the conn.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

[WARNING] Those of you who have not read last weeks r.a.n.t. should, as this is a continuation. You can find it HERE.

Chapter seven of my book is titled, 'Frustration, Crying, Laughter'. In this chapter I try to help people stay positive despite the many perils they may be facing. The emotions one feels typically starts in frustration, then moves to crying and finally, later, laughter. Realistically, rage is one of the feelings too but the book tries to remain positive and I gloss over those feelings. Maybe I shouldn't have done so, because suddenly rage was all I was feeling. If you recall from last week, I left off relating how the Greyhound bus departed from New York City when I began to fall asleep. Let's pick up where I left off.

When I woke up, the bus was stopped in Newark, NJ. It seems after I fell asleep, the bus stopped to pick up a few people and let more get on. That was when they discovered the bus was unable to continue it's journey. For whatever reason, the door was jammed. It was not closing and "safety regulations required the door to be closed at all times while in operation", as I was told. This resulted in another forced layover. The time was now six-thirty. In the span of 3 hours, I had travelled exactly 30 miles! I began to wonder if taking the bus was the wisest choice.

'Joyce II' was not much friendlier than her predecessor. Reissuing new tickets for a bus load of wayward and cranky passengers most likely didn't help her demeanour. "Final destination", she yelled at me. Mr. Smiley was behind me listening in. "Cleveland", I said quietly. "WHAT?" she yelled at me. "Cleveland" I said leaning in. I gave her my previous ticket, hoping that would clear everything up. "You're gonna have to speak up!" she growled back. I again showed her the ticket which she snatched out of my hand and placed it on a pile of papers, she repeated the question. "Final destination!" I tried to explain she could take the information off the ticket I just handed her, but she replied with this nugget of gold, "Who do you think you're talking to! I happen to work here, and I know how to do my job. Final destination!" Reluctantly I told her it was Cleveland, loud enough for her, Mr. Smiley, or anyone else that wanted to know my information. Then the fun started because now she wanted my credit card and I.D. to confirm the previous ticket POS. I had an enjoyable 20 minute discussion with her about my credit card being missing and how easy it would be for her to confirm everything using my passport as reference. People started grumbling behind me, and I'm assuming that can be the only reason she finally gave in and printed out my replacement ticket for the bus which was now leaving at 10:00pm.

I spent the next few hours, crabby, tired, hungry and miserable. How I longed for the warmth and comfort of a cozy bed. I wanted to take my shoes off, but dared not. A few of the bus terminal transients were playing a game called 'name the stain on the floor'. I wanted to take my bra off, but dared not. I knew if I had it would only be a matter of time before I used said bra to strangle someone. Could I ever be that upset? Would I want to risk spending the night in jail? I wonder if prisons in America have nice cozy beds. Probably not. A few hours of waiting and my stomach was growling. I hadn't eaten since the morning. Mr. Smiley came over and offered me a sandwich he bought from the vending machine. He obviously had heard I was out of currency. Reluctantly I snatched the proffered sandwich and choked it down as he proceeded to sit down next to me. Five minutes later he was snoring loudly and slowly leaning closer and closer to my shoulder. That was the time I decided to NOT use the restroom. A second upon entering the toilet, I knew it was a mistake. It smelled worse than Mr. Smiley, there was no tissue, and a spider had decided the back of the tank was a great place to make it's home. No thank you!

Around 10:00 we were allowed onto the bus which I hoped was non-stop to Cleveland. Yes, I know the ticket said it was supposed to be, but I had a hard time taking anything for face value during this trip. As we were lining up, I noticed Mr. Smiley was still snoring loudly. Relief overtook me as I realized he would not be on this bus, his own idiocy would have cost him that. Standing in line, I was ecstatic knowing I would be close to the front. The seedier, degenerate people always tend to sit in the back. I was not one of those people, I was a fine upstanding individual. And yet, suddenly I felt very ashamed. Getting out of line, I walked back to Mr. Smiley and nudged him. He wiped the sleep out of his eyes as I told him the bus was boarding. I quickly took my place in queue while others were still collecting themselves. I sill managed to get a seat close to the front, Mr. Smiley went directly in back. No doubt to sleep more or drink more, I cared not which. One of the last to get on the bus was this rather obnoxious and portly women who refused to sit in the back of the bus, despite those being the only seats available. This was a crowded bus and no other seats in the front were available. Even the carry-ons and laptops had been stowed. I had a young Asian girl sitting next to me, I think she said her name was Kira. She looked scared, terrified and I wasn't even sure if she spoke English. The large women certainly scared the little girl as she continued bellowing out choice colourful metaphors. Eventually, someone relented and went to sit in the back with Mr. Smiley. I wish this rotund women had read chapter four of my book, 'Swearing and Cussing May Get You to the Front of the Plane, But it Won't Make You Any Friends'.

A few hours later, we arrived in Milesburg PA to refuel. I had learned from Kira she was having a traumatic experience of her own. She did speak English but had only been in the country a few years and this was her first trip travelling via bus. Like me, probably her last as well. As the bus took off again, we continued our conversation. Suddenly from the back of the bus, I heard what almost sounded like someone trying to stifle a cough. A few seconds later I was certain it wasn't a cough they were trying to hold in, but their 'lunch'. I'll give you just one guess who suddenly lost all control and vomited explosively. Gasps and shrieks awoke anyone who dared miss the adventure, the bus driver pretended not to notice. Kira turned to look and I suggested she not do so, explaining the man was probably sick. I knew better though. Kind of wish I had this guys address so I could send him my book and make him read chapter nine, "Laughter is the Best Medicine, But Your Doctor Won't Prescribe It For You'.

With the dawning of the sun, my horror story was drawing to a close. We were supposed to have arrived in Cleveland around 4AM, but we had a "quick" stop (45 minutes really) to a way-station so the back of the bus could be cleaned as best as possible. Any liquor Mr. Smiley had was confiscated. I'd like to think Kira still thought he was just 'sick', but I'm sure she knew better. Finally, my trip was over, but I felt bad for Kira. She was continuing her journey, as was Mr. Smiley. She showed me her ticket, her next transfers were Chicago, Milwaukee, Minneapolis, Worthington, then finally South Dakota. The poor sweet child, she'd be travelling for almost another 24 hours. I felt bad for her and gave her my direct phone number. I Told her to call me if she needed anything. As I departed, I again noticed Mr. Smiley snoring away. No, I didn't nudge him this time. I had a hot shower and a change of clothes calling me.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Professor Sanee resides in Italy
and teaches the course 'the
Ethics of Humour' at I.M.A.
She's also author of the book,
"Why Isn't Anyone Laughing?"

No-Go Greyhound

R.a.n.t. of week 01/12/14

Nothing to rant about this week. Well, nothing I haven't already ranted about 'ad nauseam'. So I've decided to take a break for a few weeks. But don't worry, I've got something very interesting to read to fill the time. My good 'friend' Professor Sanee was kind enough to fill in with a tale of the greyhound. A true horror story if you ever heard one.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Thank you for the space Jeffery. As you know, I'm in America doing a book tour for my recently published, "Why Isn't Anyone Laughing". After this tale, you'll certainly see why I'm not the one whom is laughing. It started last week when New York was hit with that terrible snow storm. I was supposed to be in Cleveland the next day for a book signing, but unfortunately the airport had cancelled my flight and looked like all flights were cancelled until further notice. As the snow was supposed to fall well into the next day, I quickly realized I had to either cancel my book signing or seek other arrangements. As I'm only in America for a couple of weeks, I opted to look for other arrangements. Car rentals were uncooperative, though I find it hard to fault them considering the weather. I was informed the only company likely to be operating at the time was the Greyhound bus lines. Reluctantly, I consulted their website.

Ten minutes later, I was in a taxi heading to the Greyhound Bus Depot, inconveniently located about twenty minutes away. We had gone a few blocks when the driver decided it was a good idea to stop for petrol. You'd think these things would be topped off between fares. When he had finished, he started driving then turned into a 7-11. I don't mean he physically turned into a 7-11, the taxi pulled into a 7-11. Apparently the cabbie thought we were taking a leisurely jaunt and was heading in to acquire provisions. The women inside me wanted to scream at him to get back in the taxi, my bus was scheduled to leave at 2:30, so I had little time for side trips. But I kept my cool and remembered the first chapter of my book, 'Pleasantries Will Get You Somewhere'. Essentially, people respond more favourably to a kinder word, than ranting and raving. Despite my anger, I jokingly replied, "Have any dry cleaning you need to pick up on the way"?

In retrospect, perhaps it sounded more sarcastic than anything else, because the rest of the trip seemed to take forever. Was he taking the longest route possible? Thirty-five minutes later I was in the bus depot when I discovered my bus was delayed. The bus scheduled to depart hadn't arrived yet. Joyce, the lady at the ticket counter, shrugged her shoulders when I told her my situation and said the bus "will get here when it gets here". Chapter 11 of my book is titled, 'Laughter Isn't Communication', and indeed neither is shrugging one's shoulders. In the chapter, I describe the best way to avoid escalated verbal onslaughts by being calm and collected. However Joyce was really pushing my buttons by her complacency. Still, she must see this type of thing every day, so I did my best to forgive her blank stares. I didn't try a feeble joke this time.

An hour and a half later, an announcement was made for those of us holding tickets for the 3:35 departure. It seems the bus was cancelled all-together and we had to get new tickets for a 5:45 departure. A minor inconvenience typically, except for the fact I suddenly could not find my pocketbook. I couldn't even recall when I had used it last. Either it was buried in my luggage, lost forever in my bottomless purse, or I had been pick-pocketed. Fortunately, I keep my passport secured around my neck at all times. It was fun trying to inform Joyce a passport is a valid form of identification. Sometimes Americans frighten me. Again, remaining focused worked to my advantage. As stressful as this situation had been so far, at least two good things happened. One: I was finally on a bus heading to Cleveland. Second: I recalled chapter three of my book, 'Laughing at a Change in Circumstance'. No matter what life throws at you, unless it's truly traumatic, you can find some way to look back on the event and laugh. I claim this as a good point because I then decided to keep notes of this travel and use it as source material for a future publication.

With all the complications, I was the last to board the bus. I searched for an empty seat but found it to be more difficult than finding a pin in a pile needles. Any available seat that should have been open was being used by selfish people for carry-on bags and laptops. Finally, I found a seat in the rear of the bus across from 'Mr. Smiley'. Mr. Smiley smelled of piss and vodka and winked at me as I sat down. It seems he incorrectly assumed he was 'my type'. "Are you married?", "Where you headed?", "Did you say you were married?", "Do you have any tattoos?", "You're married, right?" and "Want a swig?", were a few of the questions thrown in my direction. I tried to politely avoid his questions as best as possible till I could take it no more and informed him that I was on my way home from a business trip to see my husband and two children whom I 'loved and missed' very much. His interrogation stopped shortly after, which was great because I was very drowsy and wanted to sleep the entire rest of the journey.

Sweet slumber overtook me, but it was far from restless. I dreamt I was on the bus, naturally enough, but noticed we were going in the wrong direction. I kept seeing signs pointing towards Ohio, but the bus always took the opposite direction. Suddenly I'm seeing signs for Niagara Falls, Hamilton and then Toronto. I start to freak out because instead of going to Cleveland, we're going to Canada! I tried to make my way to the front of the bus but Mr. Smiley is blocking the way with two flasks. He keeps trying to give me one. Somehow I manage my way around him and yell at the bus driver he's going the wrong way. He calmly tells me the bus has to go to Canada because the door is jammed. That's when I woke up to a realistic horror.

To be continued:

Next Week - Professor Sanee continues her travel horror story.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Professor Sanee resides in Italy
and teaches the course 'the
Ethics of Humour' at I.M.A.
She's also author of the book,
"Why Isn't Anyone Laughing?"

Done With American Football

R.a.n.t. of week 01/05/14

"Well, there's always next year." That's what we're suppose to say when our favourite sports team has finished their season, not coming out on top. Right? Currently, that's what I'm saying about my own favourite sports team, the Green Bay Packers. However, contrary to what the title of this rant says, I'm not done watching football games forever. Let's just say I'm done for this season.

There certainly are a few reasons I could be done with American Football. First, it's so shocking to see how much these players get paid. Millions of dollars just to play a few games a year. Of course, there is more involved than just that, but when you know other people work so hard in the daily grind for pennies on their dollar, it's a little discouraging.

With the salaries so high, there is a lot of advertising that needs to be done. Adverts are seen everywhere during the game; clothes, sidelines, equipment, stadium, and of course the commercials. At least in the million and a half commercials run during the game, there are many which are humorous, so that's okay. Probably the best commercials are the ones which makes us laugh so much we forget what they were hawking in the first place. Good for me, any way, maybe not for the product. But what do I know?

One of the other things that gets me disgruntled about watching football are the over enthusiasts. The ones who know every stat and figure from every team. Okay, that's a little unfair, it doesn't offend me so much. Talk to me about Doctor Who and I could probably give you a trivia list on each episode. But it's the ones who are so overly adamant about their football team, they belittle anyone who disagrees with their choice. It goes beyond just rooting for their team, it includes the onslaught of taunts when any team opposite of their own plays a bad game. As I said before, I love watching my Packer games, but as for any other team, I could care less if they win or lose. Unless of course it affects how my team could finish in play-offs.

The 49rs can play a fantastic game or they can go suck an egg. The Steelers too can play well or go suck their thumbs. The Lions & Vikings & Bears (oh my!) can just suck for all I care. At least you won't find me rubbing it in the face of their fans. They have their team, I have mine.

True, I know it's all in good fun and I usually let the Team insulting cartoons and posts roll off my back, yet in a way, it hurts. But for a specific reason. My dad was a big Packer fan. And on the day he died, he watched his final Packer game and mustered a "Go, Go, Go" cheer for them. He barely had strength to talk any more, but he still cheered. So every game I watch, I think of my dad. He may be done watching American Football, but for me, there is always next year to cheer for his team.