Use that Capital One card to buy...

I was listening to CBC Radio 1 on my way home from a weekend work thing and found myself enjoying, as usual, the musings of Terry O'Reilly and the Age of Persuasion. Great stuff, I highly recommend it. Anyway, interesting factoid is that the ditty from the Capital One commercials ("Hands in my pocket...") was created specifically for the commercial, but with the commercial's success, was made into an actual full length song by the songwriter, Jim Guthrie. You can listen to it here. I expected it to be more about banks, more about "the man", more funny. It's none of those, but it's still quite catchy.

Kind of ironic though, that the guy's now found a way to get his hands into your pockets...

Driving Directions

So I was trying to figure out how to get from Niagara Falls, ON to the Walden Galleria in Buffalo on Google Maps just now and Catherine tells me to try asking it for driving directions from New York City to London, England. You may be thinking this is impossible. Bring your speedo.

Never one to give up on such an oddity I tried Hong Kong, then Hawaii, then Japan. Apparently swimming the Atlantic is perfectly acceptable, but the Pacific is just out of the question.

Also, when it comes to Cuba, you just cannot get there from here. New York City or Toronto.

The case for spending more time in Walmart, or not

This afternoon I was in a giant Wally-world with my parents and my grandparents. You know what they say about herding cats? Yep, that’s how I felt. We were in the bathroom accessories section and 2 of my four companions felt the need to stress very strongly to me that what we needed to get right now, absolutely this moment, was socks. Sigh. Thank goodness the dog isn’t so demanding. Although I did wake up this morning with him hanging his head over mine and staring straight into my eyes, willing me to awaken, no doubt. If I could attribute some insight to him, he was likely cursing his lack of opposable thumbs and wanting the door open.

But back to Walmart. So I finally find the parents in the frozen food section and call out to them while simultaneously waving madly at Grandma further down in the condiments section. Just then, a nice, youngish looking guy walks buy with a friendly looking smirk and says “Lose someone?”. I replied “A couple of people, actually,” and smiled back. Then he disappeared. Oh my god, there might have been a half decent guy in Walmart. It’s making me rethink the time I spend in Indigo. But anyway, he’s gone, or maybe was an apparition, and I really wasn’t in best form having spent the last hour herding the aforementioned recalcitrant felines.

None of this is earth-shattering news of course, but Catherine called tonight and mentioned that she’d checked my blog and I hadn’t written lately. Remember, I was raised Catholic. Dammit, I owe the universe a post! Really, probably no one cares, but such is the nature of Catholicism: If shit happens, it’s all your fault. In fact, even if it doesn't happen, it's your fault. Amen.