Merry Happy Christmikwaanizkuh!

It's five to one in the morning, and I still haven't heard a peep outta Santa.
Christmas Eve is here, and not a creature is stirring - except for the mutant kangaroo mice my mom has in her house. I swear I saw one jump 18 feet from one side of the room to the other, and I wasn't even toasted on eggnog and Kahlua at the time. Was Madden any help? My dog is scared of little girls - you think he'd take on a mighty mouse? Yeah. Me neither.

It was a strange Christmas Eve. It didn't even feel like it was Christmas, and that didn't have anything to do with the fact we watched THE HEBREW HAMMER all night. We didn't light the menorah, spin dredels, sing Christmas carols, go to midnight mass... we just kind of chilled out.
Maybe the lack of turkey was what did it. The element in my mom's stove blew, meaning we couldn't roast the 30-pound bird chilling in the basement freezer. Instead, it was my sister's famous split-pea soup, complete with ham. (Let's just say it wasn't that kosher).
We opened up some presents, and I got some wicked ill gear. My sis bought me a pair of $200 Oakley boarding goggles, and my moms decided she'd drop a couple bills on the greatest video game of all time. I have placed my credit card in a protective and lockable container, where it will cool down from its holiday overuse. Love that 18.9% interest rate. I should be out of debt in, lessee here.... carry the one, add the seven, multiply by six.... Well, around the time there's a black female president in the U.S.

I will admit, it's always fun kibitzing with the family. Old memories are dredged up, bringing uncontrollable snorts of laughter along with it. There are times I wonder how I survived to adulthood, looking back.
For instance, things I actually did in my past, in no particular order...

- Climbed on top of stove, sat down, and turned on the element. My mom found me burning my ass off (literally), and I may or may not have a scar on my butt in the shape of concentric rings.
- Got a rock. Got a hammer. Got a shotgun shell. Hit said shell with hammer, thinking "COOL! Listen to that bang! I just put a hole in the shed! Neato!" I don't think it was intelligence that kept the bullet from being pointed at me when I hit it... Call it the luck of the retarded.
- Started a business in elementary school where I would climb on the school roof at night, avoiding cursing, broom-throwing Pakistani janitors, to retrieve balls, frisbees and any other toys that made it onto the roof. I would then sell them at recess the next day to the highest bidder. I then blew the money I made on hookers and blow. (the last part may or may not be true).
- Started my mom's VW van, put it in gear, and trundled towards a cliff with people running after me. I was 2 1/2, and couldn't even see over the windshield.
- Pantsed my sister in the middle of a mall in Mexico. She didn't talk to me for three months. She still won't talk about it to this day.

(Side note: Anya told some good stories, too. While we were sitting around, her laptop started a random slideshow of a movie she worked on in Mexico. The behind-the-scenes stories were even better than THE TRAILER, which was pretty damned good.)


I got lots more stories, and I'll have even more after today. Because Christmas Day, it's ferry time, crossing the Big Blue to White Rock, where we'll spend the day with my pops and stepmother.
And this time, I'd better get my turkey dinner.

Henceforth, I shall be known as Wor... I mean, Jacildo

My dad is always full of sage words, willing to drop some wisdom whenever the need arises.
"Son," he'd say, "little problems are like little kids. You can handle a couple of them at a time, but if you let them pile up, they'll beat the snot out of you."
Well, I got news for you, pops. Problems are like little kids - and I can take 36 of 'em at one shot. It's true - I took a test!

36

There's really not much for me to report these days. Heck, there's not much for me to do at work - hence the fighting five-year-olds. Don't believe me? Here's my column from Friday:

"I opened my front door, and stepped into what appeared to be chicken slaughterhouse.
Feathers – and bits of was used to be feathers – lay strewn haphazardly about my living room, coating the furniture in a soft, fuzzy down. Smack dab in the middle of the carnage, my 12-month old puppy, Madden, wagged his tail with the innocence reserved for saints, angels, Ghandi, and dogs who have just destroyed an entire Christmas trees' worth of decorations.
I could hear the sobs of my roommate filtering through the closed door from her bedroom, as she mourned the loss of the antique feathered Xmas balls her recently passed grandmother had willed to her, the only worldy possesions she cherished enough to leave to her grand-daughter. Or something to that effect.
In the 40 weeks Madden has been with me, he has managed to chew, gnash, grind and gnaw his way through everything from propane hoses to persian rugs to Christmas ornaments.
But it could be worse – he could have been “Boss,” Jonathan Papelbon's prize pup.
The Boston Red Sox closer claims his pooch purloined the souvenir from the final out of the World Series this year.
"He plays with baseballs like they are his toys," Papelbon told the Hattiesburg (Miss.) American. "He jumped up one day on the counter and snatched it. he likes rawhide. He tore that thing to pieces. Nobody knows that. I'll just keep what's left of it."
And now, some other off-beat news from around the world of sports you can peruse while I'm out shopping for ornaments that look like stuffed styrofoam chickens.
––––
Some of you may remember the story of Mike Flynt, the 59-year-old grandfather who returned to college football after 37 years, suiting up for his alma mater of Sul Ross State.
The Texas senior is now partners with the superstar, LeBron James, having been signed to the Cleveland Cavaliers star's marketing company on Thursday.
Flynt was kicked off the team in 1971 for fighting, but after learning he still had a year of eligibility left last summer, he came back to play college football at a year shy of 60. He was eight years older than his coach, and six years short of medicare.
He played mostly as a blocker on field goals and extra points for his Div. III school, though he played linebacker during the final minutes of the season-ending game.
His role with James' company, LRMR Innovative Marketing and Branding, will involve fitness products, speaking appearances, books, along with TV and movies.
"Mike is a normal guy, but he had the will and desire to go back and play college football at 59," said Maverick Carter, CEO of LRMR. "I want those type of people to be around me and my company. We want to do things that are cool, innovative and different."
––––
Dallas Cowboys receiver Terrell Owens took some flak for suggesting, tongue in cheek, that Jessica Simpson was responsible for the worst game of Tony Romo's career last Sunday.
With the cameras focussed firmly on Simpson jumping up and down in the stands, Romo had threw three picks, no touchdowns, and had a miserable 22.5 quarterback rating in the 10-6 loss to Philadelphia.
Owens made it clear Thursday he was just joking, after having to call Romo and smooth things over after Simpson had called Romo.
"I just she was kind of upset about it," said Owns. "I told him I would do whatever I can to rectify the situation. That's about it."
The off-shore gambling site Bodog.com has posted odds on how long they think the couple will be together; 2-1 it will last at least six months, and 6-1 they'll be done within 30 days.
Anti-Romo fans at the website www.ruinromo.com are offering a downloadable cutout picture of Simpson, complete with instructions to cut out the eyes and tape it to a popsicle stick for (ahem) "easy handling." The caption on the page says "Help your team to victory by letting Tony Romo know the love of his life is in the stands!!!"
Panthers and Redskins fans, your teams are up next...
––––
Alhassan (Al) Bangura, a 19-year-old from Sierra Leone who plays for the English football club Watford, will be able to relax slightly this holiday season after learning the British government will allow him to apply for a work permit and avoid being deported to his native country.
Why the relief? You'd be a little apprehensive, too, if you knew at voodoo cult was awaiting you at home with sharpened machetes ready to lop various parts of your body off.
Bangura fled Sierra Leone when he was 15, leaving the West African country where his now-late father was the cheif of a secret society called The Soko. They expect Bangura to assume his father's role, and the initiation ceremony involves various unspoken amputory procedures.
Thousands of people across England, including Elton John, wrote the government in hopes of swaying their decision. When the news came down that the government had relented on their earlier decision to deny his claim, it was the second Christmas present for Bangura. Earlier this month, his girlfriend gave birth to a son, Samal. "

How's that for Pulitzer Prize winning journalism? Yeah. I know.

In the meantime, internet surfing (How do you think I found that Bangura story?) has allowed me to continue collecting a paycheque.
There's this link which made me think of pretty much every blonde girl I know, there was this link (my name is Jacildo - which I kinda like), and then, there was this ...



Check out Buffalaxe's Michael Jackson Thriller video, too...

Dr. Evil is dead. Well, not actually "dead" per say. Just figuratively - not literally

There are about a billion different shades of purple. The best way to see them all? Check out my mom's arm.
Her final day of chemo turned out to be the most trying; there were just no more veins left in her arm for the nurses to stick needles in.
It took five - FIVE - different nurses prodding and pricking her arm before they managed to find a viable vein to juice her up. At the end of the day, her arm looked like it had gone 12 rounds with the California Raisins.
But she'd be the first to tell you that she's happy it's over. Chemo is done, and now she can get back to what is most important to her- growing her hair back.
I had a couple different nicknames for her the past couple months; it started out as Dr. Evil, but eventually morphed into the Evil Elf, because she insisted on wearing this black and purple toque with a little fuzzy dingleball on top. Just imagine what would happen if one of Santa's little helpers developed a serious meth problem, and you've pretty much got it nailed.
She even wrote a thank-you card, complete with a little picture of an evil elf, for the nurses. It was actually pretty hilarious watching their reaction to it, as there were times I'm sure she tested their patience.
Last time I went with my mom to the chemo ward at Royal Jubilee, I met a sweet old lady, and we ended up talking for hours. This time around, I met this wacky Quebecois lady who was telling us all about her kids.
Then she, and I'm not making this up, started doing the Souljah Boy dance to demonstrate how hip she was. (For those of you who don't know what it is, here's the instructional video. If you're white, have no rhythm, or your name is Miceail, don't attempt this dance, because you'll end up like these doucheb... err, guys.)

Seeing an old lady "crank it" and do the Superman while hooked up to a rolling IV was pretty funny, but it wasn't the highlight of my trip. That had to be seeing the Archer sisters again. Well, two-thirds of the Archer sisters, since I still haven't caught up with Cindy yet. (Why? Well... that's a good-ass question.)
The last time I saw Whitney, she wasn't even able to drive yet. In fact, she'd barely even acknowledged that she liked boys. Bear in mind that this is a girl who I've known since she was four years old, with lil braids and underoos. Now? Well, now she has breasts, drinks Porn Stars, is going to UVic and has a hockey-playing boyfriend named Jesse.



So, naturally, as I feel all paternal and ish, we had to go for a drink when I was there. It was a lot of fun catching up, and not once did I feel like:
a) I was super old. (I am)
b) She was super young. (she is)
c) Weird having a drink with someone the same age as people I date.
d) Upon reflection, ya maybe I did feel like that... lol

But it was good times. I tried to pull the ol' intimidating older brother routine when Jesse showed up, but by that time, the alcohol was flowing through my system and and couldn't help but be jolly. Dammit.

That was the first night - Evening No. 2 involved the middle sister, Amy, two bottles of wine and a whole lot of "you did WHAT?!"
I will not divulge the details here, but needless to say, Amy has developed an affinity for the bad boy. Bad boys who father more kids than Shawn Kemp. (That's a lot, for all you non-sports fans).
She does, as messed-up as her love life is, seem to have everything under control. Or, at least, a semblence of control.
Anyways, I'll probably see them both again - and maybe even Cindy .. hmmmm ... - when I head back to Vic for Christmas.

It's two days in Vic, leave on Xmas day, a quick ferry ride to White Rock, a turkey dinner, then back on the road again on Boxing day so I can make it to work for 4 p.m.

Love those holiday travels... bah!