Random Thoughts: The A to Z Blog of the Overactive Mind

  What do confidence, fashion, and random bird attacks have in common? Other than making me giggle, absolutely nothing! There are certain moments in life when happenstance hands you a laugh-til-you-cry worthy opportunity.  Like when you wear a kilt to a formal Scottish wedding and the wind decides it's time for a Marilyn Monroe tribute. Or that time in 1986 when you tried on the pirate-style shirt the guy in the Duran Duran video wore and somebody walked by and said "Nice blouse."  There's very few men who can pull off masculinity in poofy sleeves. My personal favorite: when a goose smashes into a man's face at 80km/hr mid-rollercoaster ride and the world collectively Googles "Supermodel vs Poultry." We'll start there. Because if you're under 30 and don't know who Fabio is, you've missed out on the most truly bizarre slice of pop culture. Who is Fabio? Why Was He on a Rollercoaster? Fabio Lanzoni.  Yes, that is his real name. I was hoping...

When you're 10 years old, there's a kind of quiet confidence that goes along with circling your dream car in your dad's well-used copy of Auto Trader . If your parents allowed you to read such "fantasy" magazines. I had all the big names circled in blue crayon (which is the only crayon my brother wouldn't eat cuz it tasted 'yucky'). Jaguar, Cadillac, Mustang. The trifecta of things I knew I wanted, even if I didn't appreciate their true value. It didn't matter at all that I wasn't old enough to drive, or that I couldn't afford a piece of Bazooka Joe without an advance in my allowance. I was already dreaming about what my future garage would look like in all its awesomeness. I had it all figured out. A sleek black Jaguar for mysterious evenings, which at 10 years old included going somewhere with a girl, and possible international espionage. Or, just going to the store for the good candy, you know, the stuff they only brought out at nig...

  You know that screaming at yourself in the mirror doesn't work, right? Because, let's get real here, there comes a morning in the life of each person in which they stare blankly at the toaster, holding a teaspoon for no apparent reason, and think: "I may not be cut out for Wednesdays." Maybe you just banged your shin off the corner of the coffee table that's been in the same spot for a decade. Maybe you answered "Abraham Lincoln" confidently to a trivia question about the inventor of safety helmets. (I know... too soon).  Whatever your moment of accidental brilliance may be, the truth is we've all felt like idiots at some point. But here's the amazing part: being an idiot is precisely where genius begins!  C'est vrai! As the French would say. Geniuses aren't born with some glow of intellect and a mysterious past. They don't become international chess champions by age 4 or write a symphony before they go to kindergarten. Okay, Mozart...

  There was a time - not so long ago - when hair was high and guitars were louder than your parents yelling "turn that racket down." Just like today, emotions were poured out in heart-to-heart talks, but in falsetto harmonies over guitar solos that seemed magnificently endless. This was the golden age of hair bands and power ballads, where love was loud, heartbreak was theatrical, and the Bee Gees surprised everyone by somehow staying relevant, like a true hard to kill band does. (Someday, maybe you and I should be one.) Also, the average music video budget was probably on par with several small countries. Excellent. Full disclosure: power ballads were not always accurate or insightful. "Romeo is bleeding" - not true, because according to Billy (Shakespeare) Romeo is poisoned . "I can see the heaven in your eyes" has a subtle implication that you're both already dead. Kind of a bummer for date night. "Take me as I am" is just plain wrong if ...

  Golf. The only sport where you can gain weight while playing it. (I refuse to call poker a sport, despite it being 'played' on sports networks) Other possibilities include pulling a hamstring by sneezing mid-swing, throwing out your back while lifting the flag out, or yelling 'fore' with so much force that you fall backwards. Yet, you may still feel like you've conquered nature.  It's a game that takes four hours, costs a small fortune, and involves a tiny ball that hates you. And yet, it's beloved, even revered, idolized by millions. Perhaps especially by those of a certain age group who see golf as not only recreation, but as a retirement plan with exquisite landscaping. I like to call it what it really is: G.O.L.F. - Glorious Oldies Lifting Fodder. Swing and a Miss... Again Let's be honest. The average golfer over 50 (that includes me, and I love it) spends more time complaining about hitting that tiny white ball than actually hitting that tiny whit...

  Football is many things to many people. It's a sport, a strategy, a culture, and an excuse to eat enough hot wings in one sitting to guarantee bloating for the next three days. But at it's core, football is about one thing: extremely aggressive group hugs. Try to imagine the following scenario in any other setting: A big, muscle-bound man sprints 20 yards at full speed with the intention of wrapping his arms around another muscle-bound man and throwing him to the ground and then holding him while others pile on. Depending on your background, that's either a felony or a family reunion. But in football? First down. There's something both slightly unhinged and endearing about a game where bombastic physical contact is precisely scheduled, refereed, and replayed in slow motion while commentators praise someone's abilities to hit another human with the force and accuracy of a guided missile. Man, that's beautiful! Fashion and Emotion on the Field There is a certain...

  There was a time (and yes I'm old enough to remember but not too old to tell if I was having a porridge induced dream or not) when receiving an envelope in the mail held about the same majesty as would finding a sealed scroll on your doorstep. Is it a letter from a friend or relative? Maybe. Is it a flyer from a local store offering huge discounts? Possibly. Is it a surprise bonus cheque from your boss in appreciation of your work? Hopefully. This is not that time. Not anymore. Today, we mostly get contest entry forms that boldly and honestly say "You may already be a loser," and election flyers for some guy whose picture looks like it was taken with defunct passport cameras. You know; the ones where it looks like the flash surprised him mid-enema. But once in a while, an envelope appears in our mailbox with proper name, address and postage like it was sent on purpose. And this is where the real intrigue begins. Because the larger the envelope, the larger the uncertain...

  It happens in every family Zoom call - somewhere between the male members in the family trying to speak, sing (and yes, maybe even fart) the loudest and "You're still muted, Aunt Gladys" - the dad joke gets unleashed. At first, everyone stares blankly at the Brady Bunch gallery-view window with the offender in it. In the meantime, he's thinking the pun is good, his delivery was confident and the joke inescapably funny. That's when the reaction happens: a chorus of eye-rolls, deep sighs and at least one "Really, Dad?" And yet, the strangest thing happens. Even though everyone in the family audibly groaned at the joke like Grandpa trying get his head through the arm hole of his favorite polo shirt, it sticks around. It gets repeated. Mom tells it at work or to the members of her book club or cooking class. The teenager who rolled his eyes a week earlier is telling the same 'lame' joke to their friends in class, and they are laughing. Ironically, ...

  Let's begin by saying something honest about the foods we eat: the worse they are for us, the more we seem to enjoy them. That's true for me anyway. I love calorie-rich foods. I'm a red meat and potato guy. Also a chip guy, chocolate bar guy, pretzel guy, popcorn...well, you get the point. And that point is: If I set aside all those things and actively chose a salad, my system would probably slip into toxic shock and take me out! Lunch is a cruel mistress, and calories her weapon of choice. However, something has to be said about calories themselves: they are the sneakiest little invisible traitors on the planet. Yeah, I thought it was murder hornets, too. But no, it's calories. Because they are everywhere. They lurk behind innocent croutons and hide in your "no sugar added" creamer like a ninja assassin on a stealth mission. They hide mockingly behind that "just one bite" of cheesecake you thought wouldn't count because you stole it off somebo...

  Okay, let's get one thing out of the way right from the beginning: beer is NOT a health food.  I know - I wanted it to be true too!  Sorry, but that's just the truth.  Still, you might be clutching your favorite brewski like it's kale juice with tiny bubbles, and you wouldn't be the only one. But here's one way to know for sure it's not a health food:  there are no hipsters to be found having a tailgate party at Whole Foods with their six-packs of "locally sourced barley hydration."  However, it has been touted as a healthy choice throughout it's cozy existence as one of man's best friends.  So, let's take a journey on frothy waves into the golden, red, pale, blonde or stout black glass of lies we've all chosen to sip from. Liquid Bread:  A Balanced Diet Includes All Food Groups, Right? Once upon a medieval time, beer was considered "liquid bread."  Monks brewed it to provide nourishment and sustenance during fasts (loophole...