Those Dangerous Games

There are politicians who like to preach that we should ban video games, burn them, protect our stupid minds from them because if we don't we'll go on a rampage of carjacking, killing prostitutes, and randomly beating guys on the street with a baseball bat in hopes glowing money will pop out of them.

Grand Theft Auto I am looking at you.

I didn't believe you political fringe types, I thought maybe you just realized you spend a lot of time and money to get elected only to discover you don't really believe in anything and so desperate, you looked for the easiest target to go after. Porn was taken by the Junior Representative from Lackawanna County, and the movie industry was under attack from a Senator out of Utah, so you thought you'd settle for video games.

That's what I thought, I did. Until I realized you were right! It's hit me!

You my dear fear mongering friend of Fox News were right, its happened to me!

One day I am immersed in several hours of Mario Kart Wii (Rainbow Road I will make you mine!) then the next I am driving my Saturn, minding my own business. Suddenly this guy starts riding my tail, he's all up behind me and I don't know what to do.

Perhaps if I was a level headed video game free individual I would have just let him go about his tailgating. Perhaps.

But no, I did something so horrible, so shameful it is hard to admit.

I finished the banana I was eating, rolled down my window and then... then... yes, that's right I did it! I through the banana peel back at his car.

But it gets worse, my slippery slide into mindless, easily influenced video gamer continued.

I don't even want to tell you what happened, but lets just say the turtle I promised my little sister I'd take to the vet, well it never made it.

So you were right and I was wrong. We can not trust video games, we as humans are so stupid. How could I ever have doubted you?

I have to end this here, have to rush to the pet store before my sister gets out of school. I'm kind of cutting it close, but I figure if I pop a few mushrooms it should give me the speed boost I need to make it in time.

HIATUS

Confessions of a Cidiot will be on hiatus from March 18th until June 3rd, when it will begin again.

Over the next few weeks while Cidiot is off why not come out and see
Derek Robertson's stand-up live, or reread old Cidiots.

Check back in June for an exciting new batch of stories
from the misadventure that is Derek.

Water, Water Everywhere

I remember when I used to be a free range water drinker, able to roam where ever I liked with the thought in the back of my young mind that no matter where I end up a sip of water was never far away.

I could turn on a tap and fill up a glass, saddle up to a drinking fountain, or on hot summer days there was nothing more satisfying then sticking your face in the path of a garden hose and opening wide.

Oh to be a free range water drinker, had it not been so natural it would've felt like the sweet life.

And then came bottled water. Well technically I wasn't there for the birth of bottled water, that credit goes to the Roman Empire, but they lacked polyethylene terephtalate, or recyclable plastic as those of us who didn't spend a small fortune on diploma collecting call it.

Mineral water was already gaining fans but with the birth of polyethylene terephtalate suddenly we could choose between glacial, spring, well, or repackaged tap water.

At first it was a big joke, a punch line to jokes about Hollywood and the rich, but then slowly more and more of us started trading in the tap for the 24 pack, and suddenly we ceased to be free range becoming tied down to water coolers, fridges, and store shelves.

And now its hard to go back. The idea of raising garden hose to mouth on a warm summers day seems akin to a feast of roasted plague rats, bird flu marinated chickens, and a big juicy mad cow steak. It's a miracle I survived my youth.

When I am at a persons house and they offer a glass of water, if their hand passes the fridge and heads towards the sink I feel the need to inquire, "tap water? Really? What am I to you? Some common dish? A utensil?"

Clearly my water domestication is well ingrained in me.

That brings me to last night.

I was a bit thirsty and in need of a nice cool glass of water. I headed for the kitchen, obviously the only place in a home one can find water suited for anything other then cleaning your body. Passing the metal basin in the middle of the counter where dishes queue for their turn in the dish washer I headed straight for the water cooler.

My cool water dispensing friend, usually full and bubbly, looked alarmingly empty. At first I hoped it was just an optical illusion, perhaps the light bouncing off the plastic container in a funny way. I studied the water cooler, circling it, looking at it from all sides, from above, below... it still seemed kind of empty.

Maybe there was some hidden reservoir within the base of the cooler, some oasis where water sits patiently as it waits for me to lap it up.

Cautiously I put my cup under the dispenser, pushed the button, and waited to be pleasantly surprised.

A trickle of water came out, just enough to evaporate by the time the cup hits my lips.

"Why are you doing this water cooler?" I asked.

It didn't seem to have an explanation.

Thirsty I didn't know what to do. I needed water, but where could I find it?

I considered running out to a 24-hour grocery store and buying some, but it was 2 AM and wearing pants no longer felt like an option. Would I have to go thirsty? Suffer through the night? It certainly felt like it.

Then I remembered my youth, I recalled the garden hoses, taps, and those public water dispensing things that seemed as quaint as a phone booth.

I eyed the metal dish basin suspiciously.

Could I? Should I? Would I wake up with a nasty case of the Norwalk?

I was pretty thirsty, a little tired, and just crazy enough to try.

I walked over to the sink and turned it on. It felt hotter then drinking water should.

Remembering how to operate the contraption it occurred to me I had to adjust the temperature.

"Hey Water Cooler, can you believe this sink? It doesn't even know how to cool a drink to proper drinking standard!"

Filling my glass I cautiously raised it to my mouth, fearful of the fact that no soda pop or chocolate bar corporation had certified my beverage.

I closed my eyes, crossed my fingers... almost lost my grip on the cup, uncrossed my fingers, and then had a sip.

And you know it wasn't bad.

But there isn't anyway I'd kick my bottled water habit and return to the ways of free range sipping.

I remember though when the concept of paying for a bottle of water seemed laughable. Those crazy Californians we thought.

You know what they are up to these days in LA? Designer Oxygen. The last time I was down there I stopped in at an Oxygen Bar where I could sample the latest scents like fresh cut grass or grapefruit for a dollar a minute. I hear they are even starting to sell the stuff in cans. I was going to make a joke here, but it just occurred to me you hear about those air borne virus' all the time, maybe Pepsi Brand Oxygen wouldn't be so bad...

Stuck in the Middle with You

Look I like winter as much as the next sane, rational human being (which is not at all), but isn't it enough already? Just when you've dug out from the last snowfall, before you can so much as get the hot chocolate on a burner, its coming down again around here.

Have you noticed how quiet Al Gore gets during the winter? The last thing you want is some Nobel Peace Prize/inventor of the Internet going around saying the world is getting to warm when icicles are forming off your eye lids.

I like Al Gore, I like to imagine he would've made a good president, but here's a good Al Gore related exercise to occupy your mind when you're are shoveling for the fifth time in one day: ask yourself what exactly did he do to win a Nobel PEACE prize? How is talking about something everyone else is talking about bringing peace to anyone?

"What? Mr. Gore says green house gases are going to cause the polar ice caps to melt? Let's lay down our weapons men!"

We all just went a little Al Gore crazy last year, there wasn't an award we couldn't give him! Nobel prizes and Oscars and an Emmy, why I'm pretty sure he also received the WNBA's Rookie of the Year.

Say what you want about his defense, but his drive to the net has all the ladies scrambling.

Right, I digress, I was doing what most of my fellow Canadians like to do, complain about the winter.

I usually try to rise above complaining about such a predictable thing as a season, but a few days ago winter turned on me, and now the gloves (or mittens) are off.

See I had just performed stand-up comedy that night, and it felt good, felt like a really good show. So after all the post show partying my girlfriend and I were driving back to my place.

Did I mention I was feeling good?

It was about 2 AM and the adrenaline was still coursing through my body from the flight or fight response that is standing alone on a stage to a room full of people looking at you as you try to make them laugh. And on this night I did, so maybe I didn't make the right decision, maybe I was just a little to cocky.

I decided to take a short cut on my way home.

I cut through this alley which immediately was a bad idea. Ice and hardened snow gave my shocks a work out. If we weren't bouncing we were skidding.

But I knew this alley and I knew we'd come out on the other side of it quickly.

I knew this alley.

Really.

I did...

...I thought.

Okay, so I couldn't find where the lane way exited back onto the other street. I could've sworn I should've already found it, but here I was still bouncing along.

Then I saw it, the break in garages and back yard fences, my sweet escape.

I turned down it without giving it a second thought.

I probably should've given it a second thought.

Quickly it became clear that this was not part of the public lane way, this was a family's driveway. A family who didn't really practice the art of shoveling their driveway.

Here I was driving right up alongside their house, middle of the night, my headlights bouncing in their windows, but I couldn't turn back now. I was committed. I had to just keep on going.

Within moments I was stuck fast, the battle between snow and tire ringing in a knock out. I wasn't moving anywhere.

I sat there in a strangers driveway contemplating my options. I could wake the people in the house up and explain I had somehow found myself stuck on their property.

No, it really was to cold to stand outside and wait for someone to answer their door. Maybe, I figured, I could just abandon my car and come back for it in the spring.

Nah, they might notice it.

I could go all Oprah on this family's ass.

"Look under your iced over lawn chairs! It's keys to a five year old car!"

Nah, then I'd have to do that whole 'walking' thing again. Things were hopeless, I was doomed. I sat there wallowing in my own defeat.

It was sometime between me imagining how I'd stick car keys to the under side of a chaise lounge and sobbing quietly into my steering wheel that my trusty girlfriend Amanda, got out and pushed the car free.

Yes, she may wear the pants in this relationship, but I like to think my butt looks cute in a skirt.

Not So Sharp a Shooter

I had this job interview over at Fort York to be one of those army reenactors.

I did, I did. And as I was going in for the interview I realized just how big an idiot I was. I was wearing my glasses, hardly historically accurate. So I tuck them away in my pocket, I mean yes okay sure I am a little blind without them on. A little blind. I mean I can make out shapes.

So the woman calls me and I sit down, making sure to look straight ahead at the blurry shape asking me questions.

And I’m doing amazing, nailing questions left and right, left and right.

About fifteen minutes into the interview I realize the shape I’ve been staring at is the women’s breasts.

This now explain the five questions in a row she’s fired at me about sexual harassment.

I figure I’ve blown this one. But there’s still the second portion of the interview, where I am led out into the field to follow the woman’s commands to load and fire this reenactment musket.

I consider putting on the glasses, but I decide I don’t want the woman to think I was a pervert and a liar.

I start following the instructions, loading the gun. The woman yells for me to aim, I bring the gun up. The bayonet on the end of the weapon connects with a shape.

I pray it’s not the woman’s breasts.

So I’ve just stabbed a small maple tree, which is a bit of a relief to learn the wet stuff dripping off the gun is just sap.

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