Rudolph the red-nosed, genetically-altered, reindeer subspecies

We all know the song. We’ve all seen the 1964 Rankin-Bass television special. In our Western culture, we have a story of an underdog, recognized one foggy Christmas Eve for a trait that only he possessed, which saved Christmas as we know it. And thus Rudy the Red-Beaked Reindeer went down in history.
But we live in an enlightened age. We like to know why things happened, not just how. And if you listen to that story — even if you take the Bumble and such into account — there’s just too darned much that we’ve missed. Where’s the reality check, huh? Oh, you’re going to throw that Santa thing at me? Sure, okay, now you’re just being dismissive. We have to face facts, folks. There’s more to this song. Way more.
Rudolph wasn’t a hero. He was a convenient freak of nature.
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True story

As you know, I’m going to be moving back to Calgary in December. The exact timing for that is still being determined, but let’s just go with the broad stroke: we have a lot of stuff that needs to be done as part of moving back.
One of those things — rather obvious to anyone who’s ever been responsible for their own utilities — is making sure that the electricity, gas, and water are put back in our names. And there’s no time like the present to do the research about services, plans, companies, and so forth.
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Los Terribles 2

Well, Monkey, you’ve hit the period of your life that Mommy and I kind of hoped you’d side-step. Until recently, you showed every sign of being a Perfect Angelâ„¢ and not following lock-step with most other children. But perhaps we were being too naïve, too optimisitic. After all, despite my initial (self-mocking) perspective on your conception, you’ve pretty much blown through every expectation.
In fact, up until a couple of weeks ago, you seemed pretty much hell-bent on being the perfect child. I had visions of you always coming to us for permission to watch TV or use the computer, letting us know the moment you found something on the internet that you shouldn’t be seeing, letting us know before you go outside to play with your friends, looking for approval before even thinking about dating, letting us help decide where you go for university…
Well, kiddo, based on your behaviour the last weekend, I’ll be lucky if you let me watch Backyardigans with you. Yeesh.
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WALL-E: What is Disney-Pixar not telling us?

I had an epiphany this morning as I waited for my carpool. I don’t know why it came to me, it just did. I can’t even remember how I got onto the thought. But as I stood there, I had the clear vision:
There are no old people on the Axiom.
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The Network Connection

With all the problems we’ve been having down here, you eventually start to become inspired to find an outlet, a way of bringing forth all your frustrations and desires into a singular vision. For some, it is art, for others it’s the urge to beat the living crap out of something.  
For me, it’s music.  
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Funny things in emails

I got into a fairly typical email exchange with Paul, one of our Release Engineers. Since I’m no longer on Rolex, I wanted to be taken off the email lists. This was how it went down:

Hey Paul,
Now that Torin’s running the Tech show, can you pull me from the Rolex Monitoring alias, please?

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How much of the internet is a waste of time?

So the other day, one of my coworkers starts laughing about how there’s this video out there, two somewhat-scantily clad women with tinfoil-wrapped boxes on their heads, doing a choreographed “dance” to Daft Punk’s Harder, Better, Faster, Stronger.
Then it hit me.
Someone — namely these two people — had to spend a considerable amount of time creating this. Thinking up the idea, practising it, filming it (with however many takes to get through the mistakes and undoubted laughter), and editing it.
Then it really hit me.
How much of the stuff out there is a complete waste of time?
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80th Oscars

Well, the annual Oscars show has come and gone again. And I almost missed it this time! It was by mere fluke that I happened to come across the E-Talk Red Carpet pre-show tonight. If I hadn’t caught it during a brief pause in my harried running around, I might have missed the show.
Not that I really would have missed much, admittedly. I have to admit, it was one of the more boring years.
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The Dirty Jobs Drinking Game

Everyone thinks their job sucks. It can be for any number of reasons. But there’s one guy out there who looks for the dirty jobs. The ones that no-one really wants to do, but does anyway. The ones where if the job wasn’t done, the world would (in many cases) come to a halt. They’re dangerous, often nauseating, and usually done by people far more interesting than we’d ever believe.
That’s what Discovery Channel‘s Dirty Jobs is all about. If you haven’t watched it, you really should check it out. It’s one of the few decent things on television, and one of only three shows that I’ll go out of my way to watch (the other two being Dirty Jobs’ sibling, Mythbusters, and ABC’s Pushing Daisies).
But there’s something about Dirty Jobs’ host, Mike Rowe, and the way he handles the content of the show, that really adds another layer. Namely, poo.
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