Saturday, 18 March 2017

Tom Jones, Phobias, and the Humour-Neutered Admin - A Rather Odd Prelude to Mom Raz Part 3

Q1) Oh Blair? Yoohooo... You in there? Have you run away with Tom Jones

A) No, just the same old writers block and other related issues.

Q2) Do you fear putting your intimate thoughts online?

A) of   Somewhat. I have  an  unnatural fear of the publishing button. No, I do not fear the button itself.  But  I am most certainly, aware of the possible consequence of pressing that darn  button. As all of my readers are well aware, I am capable of chewing my literary cud for weeks on end. Some say I store enough in there that I could host - and feed an entire book club Writing for me is a process much like composting, or making a meal in a slow cooker. There is trasformational process that ocurs. As in marinating a cheaper cut of meat - The les you put into the blog pot initially, the longer it may need to sit to mature.

Q3)  Blair, You big baby What is it exactly that you fear?

A) I am intimidated by the permanence and longevity of my intimate thoughts once I upload. Specifically, I have this recurring dream that down the road a few years I am disqualified from some opportunity because some extreme  Trumpian  vetting or background check uncovers some disqualifying information in one of my blog postings. Or worse that a wrongfull assumption is made that just because I  am a Rasmussen boy I face the same intelectual challenges and carry the same coding through life as my brothers.   The following examples illustrate three of the most common themes.

Ex. 1A).  A. Noble Undertaking
Nobel Prize Selection Comittee Member: I must say, Mr.  Rasmussen, we were very surprised to receive your application as the Nobel Prize for literature (blogging) is normally awarded - we do not sol applications, nor do we accept them. However the panel saw the boldness in your application as quite intriguing so we took a peek at your blog.  Panel member Sven's respose might be the most apt: "denna gud-awfull "alternate sanning" blogg är så illa otäck ABBA l åten Dancing Queen" while Bjorn, offered the incisive, but possibly less generous: "Han är en\ Cocky SOB är inte han? Det finns inget sätt han kan vara en Canuck"

Q3)  Blair, You big baby What pray-tell is it exactly that you fear?

 A) I am intimidated by the permanence and longevity of my intimate thoughts once I upload. Specifically, I have this recurring dream that down the road a few years I am disqualified from some opportunity because some extreme vetting or background check uncovers some disqualifying information in one of my blog postings. The following examples illustrate three of the most common themes.

Ex. 1 A Noble Undertaking
Nobel Prize Selection Comittee Member: I ust say, Mr. Rasmussen, we were very surprised to reeive your application as the Nobel Prize for literature (blogging) is normally awarded - we do not solicit applications, nor do we accept them. However the panel was intrigued by the boldness of your application so we took a peek at your blog.  Panel member Sven's respose might be the most apt: "denna gud-awfull "alternate sanning" blogg är så illa otäck ABBA slåten Dancing Queen" While Bjorn offred the insightful but possibly less generous: "Han är en Cocky SOB är inte ? Det finns inget sätt han kan vara en Canuck".

We wish you the best of luck in your future endeavors.

Ex.2) We're Not Fond Of Neither Your Ilk Nor Your Elk
Mr. Rasmussen, while we would love to have you as a resident of this nursing home but your background and the info gleaned primarily from reading your blog ha led us to conclude  you don't play well with others.Your appalling slanderous treatment of your brothers pales only in  comparison to the alternative facts you might have propaganda ted about the profession of social work - Like "social workers invented. fabric softener. Sorry, we don't think you will be a good fit for this home.
(Blogger: I did not say that fabric softener was invented BY social workers.  - I said that fabric softener was invented FOR social workers!

Ex.3) Alternative Alternative Facts
President: Mr. Rasmussen, we're gonna make you great again. You must be sick of losing. You're gonna be so healthy you're gonna be sick of being healthy.
    : Donald, er...Mr. President, you. know what neuroDUHgenerative means, right? How did you find me?
President: KellyAnne was headhunting for staff on some alternative truth blog where you were listed as one of the genres new up and comers.
Blogger: you know I stretch the truth for comedic value, right?
President: What is the chart with the plumetting line? Is  that your progress chart?
Blogger: Looks like it. but it is not. It is the trajectory of your administration as projected by the Parkinson's Wake Corporation
President: You neuoDUHgenerate!  You're. dead Ramussen. I'm gonna put you and your corporation into such a world of hurt, you're gonna wish that Parkinson's was your only worry.
Blogger: You're fired Donald

Q4) Do you write every day?

A) I try to, but if the words are not coming, I pack things up pretty quickly. Writing is just way too much work for me when the words don't come easily. I write best, when I enjoy my writing and I enjoy my writing when I  write my best. I totally get that you guys would love to hear from me a little more frequently than you do now. But in the end, I write for pleasure, and for therapy, and if I'm not getting either from it, then I simply will not pick up the pen.

Q5) At what point in the writing process do you get stuck?

A) Often very close to the finish. That is often why it is so exceedingly frustrating. It seems very easy for me to get 90% of my content on the page but when it comes time to create structure and decide on an endpoint for my ideas the neurons stop firing. It's like I need to learn how to be a "closer", to borrow some baseball vernacular. ie, someone who takes charge in the late stages, zings a few metaphorical fastballs, mops up a few messes, then is carried off on the shoulders of his readers - lik2 ely to a blog signing at Chapters.

Q6) Do you think you might need an editor to expedite the writing process?

A) While that might be prudent, I am not terribly fond of the idea. You see, I'm not very good at being told what to do. As anyone who lives with me will attest. My wife acts as more of an advisor than an editor. She is a good fit for the position as she is from a profession generally not known for leaving you in stitches. Unless you are a boomer from the golden era of education where corporal punishment ws still enjoyed Err... I mean employed. Seriously, have you ever seen a school administrator moonlight as a  clown? This dour demeanour is not necessarily their natural state - it is the desired default setting following admin leadership training.  Their no-nonsesnse appoach designed specifically to neutralize, or balance out the extreme silliness and lunacy that is middle school. 

Q6) Blair, not to sidetrack you by any means, but I'm curious what methods do they use to train the ha ha out of staff? Do they use those shock collars that they utilize to train the bark out of dogs?

A) I'm not sure. I have never been privy to their methods. (Their admin training is inflicted from the discomfort of  a nondescript concrete bunker on the edge of town  but I'm pretty sure that the answer would be no. As whether we are talking about the domestic situation at home, or school, the situation is the same - in this post-corporal punishment era, their bark IS their bite. So it would make absolutely no sense to train it out of them.  
                                                                                                           For conistencies sake, in order to minimize the variables, we focus on a few the we can control. The blog is always administered orally, at the end of a standard 12 hour  school day following a maximum of 2.5 glasses of red (California). As far as getting consistent results, timing is everything. Weeknights seem to be the optimal time to administer your blog, as the weekeds are typically taken up attempting unbelievable feats of nocturnal endurance.

At the end of the day if one can make a buttoned up middle school administrator smile - you've got a winner, Press that damn publish button. If you can make them laugh, start working on your acceptance speech. If you can make them laugh at themselves - polish up your Swedish.

"thwack, thwack, thwack"
 The distant sounds of an IKEA doghouse being assembled.

Ikea Assembler #1 (Lars) Det bloggerDude var en riktig dumbass va?
Ikea Assembler #2 (Sven) att bloggare är inte den skarpaste kniven i billiga ikea bambu kniv rack.                 

Ultimately, this blog entry is like no other. I feel like I only have one shot to get it right. While with some entries I may build to go back and edit after the fact I don't think that's the case when you're writing posthumously. Back to work. And thanks again for your considerable patience

I approve of most of this rubbish - in the sense that for the most part, it is grammatically correct. The content and message would be considered questionable for most well-adjusted individuals including most Swedish neurodegenerates that rely on free online translation. 

Blair's Wife 

Sunday, 8 January 2017

Mom Raz: A "Good Enough Mom"?

 Sorry, the latest posting up for few hours yesterday but have encountered some really odd formatting errors. As soon as I get things sorted out and I have it up again

I have a few housekeeping items to take care of. Many readers are wondering why there was a photo of a  scantily clad. Ms Dopamine  but absolutely no reference to her in the body of the first installment. Was she included simply for your gratuitous pleasure or did it serve some journalistic purpose? Ms. Dopamine will be familiar to those who have  been with us from the start she is (at least in Blair's Dopamine-starved/Sinemet-flooded Substantia Nigra) a sort of drug dealing Santa. She delivers hits of the neurotransmitter Dopamine to desperate neurodegenerates globally. No, she does not ride a sleigh pulled by a herd of hungover reindeer, as that would be just silly. As per your fantasy you confessed to me last week, Ms Dopamine rides a silk bed sheet. The inclusion of ths superheroine was intended to highlight Mom Raz's tolerance of my choice of content and  writing style that she did not share.
My idolatry of my mother is not blind. It should be clear to readers by now that Mom was no  Mother Theresa. She was  significantly flawed just like the rest of you. If you know her reasonably well you may, despite the overwhelming evidence otherwise chose to suspend your belief. In that case, that's why I feel compelled to present you with one more example. Don't let her benevolent, seemingly compassionate appearance fool you. Mom may have appeared as docile as one of those semi-domesticated pet  elk that Parks Canada employ every summer to keep the more dim-witted tourists in line. But do keep in mind that like the elk, Mom: was not shy about reinforcing a point with one of he prongs of her tiara.

As a young woman, Mom Raz was employed in the human resources dept of a large company. As a result she was able to gather some valuable intel on the incoming "prospects" (I feel  compelled to embarrassingly confess that my 90 year old Mom referred to them as "hotties" in a bedside confession). She was able to collect personal detail such as age, income, make and model of car driven, Facebook status. While there is no proof that Mom Raz ever peddled this valuable intel to others, there is evidence that Mom may have been one of the first to use this type of raw personal data to her strategic romantic 

Once Lloyd had been mined from the pretenders, It took no no time at all for Mom and Dad to find that while they had the human resources to field a baseball team - meeting payroll for such a large squad. was sometimes a challenge. Consequently, Dad trotted off to the Middle East to earn more., typically for months at a time. Maybe Dad wanted to give his family some of the finer things in life - like properly fitting women's mauve cords for his aspiring blogger,  an opportunity to eat normal parts of cow, like other families did - not liver, kidney, and tongue,or to have the means to put some CCM skates under the tree instead of wrapping those limp-as-lettuce Mastercraft hockey skates around your ankles. In the end, I think it may may have been the the horrible spectre of seven insolvent insolents terrorizing the streets of Vineland Ontario that sent him overseas.
Just how she managed to produce one  beautiful daughter and six seemingly well adjusted boys all within the "normal" range of most relevant psychological parameters - while  surviving  herself has most therapists familiar with the case baffled. Several possible theories have been put forward however.

The first theory sees Mom spiking her weekly meatloaf recipe with a sedative, turning us into seven de-clawed pussycats. The second involves the Threat of Latent Paternal Punishment. (Just wait till your father gets home) I don't think any of us took this one seriously. We were kids afterall, anything that was going to happen after the sun went down might as well be next year. Secondly, as long as you weren't caught using Dad's tools, or resetting the thermostat, with most transgressions you could usually escape with 30 minutes of putting your nose in the corner. This meant that you were safe from the other inmates for at least a half hour.  Dad was not as tough as he looked. He was much like an original Werthers. Hard on the outside but softer on the inside. The next theory has mom dispatching us of to the local rowing club to dispense of our energy and demons. This theory is popular with adherents of the sport who would recognize that this would render the boys a bunch of harmless humble bumbles walking in the door. 

Our final theory - and the one I lean toward is that Mom subscribed to the The "Good Enough Mom" model of mothering. This was pychoanalyst Donald Winnicott's depiction of the ideal Mom. In his mind, the best mom was a real woman - ie one who while they loved their children and role, they also were honest enough that they would admit that they occasionally fantasized about running away with the circus - or Tom Jones. They neither over-parented, (mom did not have the time for that), nor did they under-parented (with seven kids, mom could not afford to do that). She parented "just enough". She was the "Goldilocks" parent. She would model good behaviour, walking the walk wherever possible, allowing children to make (and learn from), their mistakes.

So much so that I honestly don't remember being "parented" by mom. I don't even recall mom being particularly instructive. For the most part, the house was free of platitude and we lived by only a few rules. There were only a few Commandments,one being that every child was required to finish everything on their plate - lest a child on the African continent go hungry. I was never bold enouh to challenge Dad on hs suspect understanding of Global ecoomics and food distribution - and I am proud to tell you that I have never resorted to such flawed logic in our household. 

The only other comminques remotely resembling "commandments" that I can recall were."thou shalt not geet blood on the carpets - drag your victim to, the hardwoood floors, and finally "Thou  shalt  not utilize any choke hold as that would be a no-brainer for the coroner.

Yet, many familiar with the "good enough mother" concept doubt it can account entirely for some of her brightest moments in parenting: She has raised six fine men - who when told to "Get out here", would reply, "which flight? She survived parent/teacher nights - one which lives on in Rasmussen lore, as one of our teachers told her categorically, that: "Marion, the Rasmussen Boys will always struggle. So what if he was right for the most part. That's not the point

But Mom's brightest moment, her peak, her Everest, was her solo trek across the country in 1968 - solo parent, that is, This is the original, "vacation", the one that gave Chevy. Chase a career then created a whole new genre "family vacation" movies category. This  saw  Mom drive solo from Southern Ont to Alberta in a Polaris 500 station wagon, with six hellions (including one aspiring 7 year old blogger who documented the hijinks of his siblings on his tablet. Unfortunately for us his orginall fieldnotes were saved with the .EAS file extension, a early proprietary format of the now defunct Etch-a-Sketch tablet. At least for now these potentially explosive firsthand accounts will remain in the dustbin of history.

 Experts suggest that not even Moma Raz would be good enough to survive such a Stalinesque trek solo. there have been some suggestions that mom may have taken advantage of an unsustantiated "good enough brother" phenomenon. While I except that there may be some evidence giving credence to this theory, personally, I would lean towards a "far more than good enough" sister provided some assistance to get the job done. It was Linda after all, who often referred to us as "mental midgets" (Hey, if you are offended, imagine how we felt). Linda's intentions were noble though, and this effectively demonstrated as she had effectively"coded" us before our teachers had - getting us the special academic help and resources the Rasmussen boys needed.

 Hey Blair? Aren't these the same Brothers that you have been trashing in your blog? - and if you are to be believed, The thugs who beat you to within an inch of your life, forty some years ago?" Yes, the same. My therapist thinks that  it may be a treatable case of Late-Onset.Stockholm Syndrome. It had taken me nearly half a decade, but I had  finally found some redeeming features in my  captors 

In some ways my was not conventional in the least. She did not want a typical funeral- with people wandering in a mournful glaze offering creative platitudes such as  "I'm sorry for your loss" . She told me once that she did not believe in pity parties and she hosted one a ways back and no one showed up - so she stopped having them. Being one who would prefer to focus on what she had, has and is taking forward, rather than what has been lost. - She wanted us to have a "celebration. As such, part three will be looking forward - as Mom  would prefer, Loooking at the valuable life lessons that are Moms wonderful legacy.

Sunday, 18 December 2016

Mom Raz 1926-2016

Pakinson''s Wake Corporation would like to print a correction regarding the result of the arm wrestle between the late Mom Raz and my brother " The Therapist". The corporation would like to sincerely apologize for any embarrassment the mistake may have caused. Off the record this blogger would like to add "Hell hath no fury like a therapist spurned."  I'm not sure if I nicked the ego or the superego Regardless, What kind of grown man calls the press to make a correction to the results of a private family event depriving his 90 year old mother post-humously of one of the final victories of her l remaining days..

Any resemblance of this blog entry to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely intentional. Most of it is absolutely true. Some events could have happened, with the balance being Trumped up BS.. You should be aware that the autor is on certain Parkinson's medications whose main side effect is extremely vivid dreams. author may wake up from said vivid dreams not sure if he he was simply mentally rehashing old memories, or dreaming up noveau events, a.k.a. crafting a new blog entry.

 My writing regularly elicits a wild and wholly range of responses. Some critics suggest that I have single-handedly created a new genre called NON-FACTion. While others suggest that the genre might be more aptly referred to as "Pulp Fiction", because that is what the plot looks like after I get a hold of it.  A more credible  journalist proclaimed, "I have seen the future of "fake news" and  it's name is Blair Rasmussen". Yet another offered: Life in Parkinsons Wake: More hyperbole than a Trump rally.
Having read that, you be surprised to hear that I received countless requests from well-intentioned readers pleading with me to find a ghostwriter to write the entry honouring my late mother, m a.k.a. Mom Raz.  Heeding   their concerns I penned countless  drafts most of them in a more eulogistic,   obituarial tone, it's just not me. It's just that, you know, while  the words were as incisive, as hard-hitting as my usual fare. I just didn't feel the Seussian dopamine rush that my body craves. It was like the time I went upstairs to put on a pair of shorts - but I mistakenly put on a pair of my wife's capris. You know they were close. They felt like shorts. They looked like shorts. But there was just something not right.

I pondered my dilemma. The one person really mattered was not here. Of course, when I had to do was to think like mom. Then it came to me, "Mom would never make me wear capris! Mom might make me wear  a pair of thick, extremely feminine mauve cords, but never capris.  (I think they had been my sisters. Mom. said that mens and womans were the same and nobody would know - but of course the boys did and and shouted down the hall that they could see my panty lines.  I believe that Mom would want me to write in my natural voice MY voice and in the style that has helped me cope with Parkinson's all these years.

While it would be a stretch to say my mother and I shared the same sense of humour, I do know for sure that she saw the value in my blog. She did not necessarily always appreciate the content but she most definitely had an appreciation for what my blog represented: my conscious decision to attack Parkinsons proactively, actively, and always, with a smile. She understood that my nonsensical commentary on the neurological crap that made no sense to me was a crucial component of the way I coped with my disease.

Indeed, Mom always respected my commitment  to seek the truth with any of the storylines we have run. so I have no doubt that she would have accepted the inherent risk of disturbing some skeletons that might come with putting her name in the limelight again.
Mom Raz, who possessed a tremendous  ecapacity for love, sacrifice and devotion to family, also had an evil, nefarious,  dark mischevious side.

She was willing to do just about anything for her family -- and her family themselves were not immune to her schemes of fraud and deception. Mom Raz presided over one of longest-runnng "pay-fo-play" favorite son schemes ever. It is said that even Ponzi master Bernie Madoff marvelled at how Mom Raz kept this scheme alive decade after decade.

Mom inflects yet another beating on the
social work profession taking down
the therapist.
This game netted her hundreds of orchids, gettaways at vacation properties all over BC, leaving players so wound up so tight, that they would get on the next flight for the tiara clad matriarch if summoned. In a bedside testimony to this blogger Mom Raz asserted. that the scheme was to acheieve the ultimate goal of family unity. I think she achieved this as in her final few years of need every single boy in the family was there to support her when needed. I am so proud of all of them for that. Her legacy will certainly be at risk if the family cannot substantiate this claim.

Not all of her scams were conducted on the scale of the favourite son  scam.
One of her most successful is the timeless Cry Wolf scam. This is illustrated by the above photo  an obviously ailing Mom Raz. Her boys were contacted and told that Mom was ailing an it would be a good idea to come out "just in case". A you can see from the photo Mom managed to pull through thanks to  concentrated dose of "son therapy

Not even her daughter-in-law's could escape her deception. Whenever asked by a son  for a recipe from the Mom Raz Classic Collection, she would. routinely copy it  out longhand carefully leaving out a single, though crucial (knowing her son would use it in a culinary disaster - while the daughter-in-law would bask in victory of her own recipe). Her explanation? "I did it for my daughter-in-laws" you know to take the pressure off. You know, to level the playing field."Again, this seems to be yet another scam that has all the hallmark of a Mom Raz scam - The ultimate benefciaries was her family. 

Looking forward, I cannot replace my mom. However, I do need someone to take up some of  her duties. I haven't settled on a job title yet - but you can count on it reflecting the duties of the following:  spiritual Guide,  Fan Club President, Son Whisperer. your specific duties may include some or all of the following tasks: you will react to a new blog entry (regardless of how trashy it maybe) as if it is prize-worthy, and that I am his second coming of Hemingway. You agree to react to any accomplishments I may communicate to you, as if I have split the atom, or  invented Penicillin. Finally, you will posess an Amazing Kreskin-like ability to read me like a cheap  paperback.

In Part 1 You have seen the worst some might say the best) of Mom Raz. I figure , that in  order to appreciate the light, you need to experience the darkness. In part Two, I will  describe the incredible legacy my mom has left me

Coming up:Part 2 "The Gift"

Saturday, 3 September 2016

Qs For The Blogger

Look for new post shortly. Very sad to say that my mom has passed away. So a change of topic. I hope to tell you a  bit about her this weekend.

Here at Parkinson's Wake Corp. our fan mail comes from across the globe. We like to do our best to make everyone feel welcome here even if their leaders have recently invaded a sovereign nation, tested a nuke, or builds  a beaver lodge along their southern border "to keep  those damned Yanks out" (They're not sending us their best) Regardless of your nationality, Parkinson's a bitch, so simmer down! Fear not, we we'll always share.1

So, a hearty "Welcome fellow global degenerates! Our latest visitors hail from: Russia: Как дела. мои товарищи глобальные выродки ?France: Comment allez-vous. mes dégénérés mondiaux collègues ?, Serbia: Ako sa máš. moji kolegovia globálne degeneruje ?, and finally, Newfoundland: "Ow's she cuttin', me global degenerate"

Our mail bag is just a burstin' so let's get a few out of the way...

Q Do you have any hobbies?

Jackie M

"I am a weeble
weeebles do not fall down"
Blair centers himself
Holds his pee
And chants the Weeble Mantra
A I sure do.My main hobby Weebling is an activity developed in-house here at Parkinsons Wake. Originally developed as an exercise targeting the balance issues inevitable for anyone with Parkinson's. Weebling was devrloped from a unique blend of traditional Eastern mind/body thought and modern Western Bullshit..A Weeble session may at times seem like Pilates, other times like yoga, yet other timesa like Mindfullness Meditation

              Blair, I have heard  rumour has it that you Cannucks are building a massive beaver lodge along the 49th to "keep those damned yanks out

Well, it doesn't seem that you guys have  been sendding us your best. And you know what, you guys are going to pay for it                                                                                                        

 Despite having no Greek heritage whatsoever, and taking advantage of my stellar manual dexterity I have plunged head-first into competitive. Greek Dish Smashing reaching the pinnacle of the sport by crushing the sports Holy Grail, the "Corel Challenge with ease. I would love to compete at the Para Games  - but alas, neurodegenerates have yet to be classified. It’s like we are just too good at what we do. Lose a single limb and you are golden. Wheelchair sports, basketball, sledge hockey, the opportunities are endless. Lose twenty million brain cells, and you are still stuck competing against the "Generates".

Lest you think I am a one trick pony, you should know that I also excel in gymnastics, specifically tumbling..One might say that I ocasionally wobble like a weeblr  - but unlike the weeble, I do fall down My dismounts are legendary. I nail the landing. every time. If you want to see sometthing eally exciting watching as are combined to sports of Greek Dish Smashing and tumbling.

I have also been dabbling in Cognitive Decline Anxiety Management. If there's any time remaining after' bustin' up the kitchen', I can usually  devote it to this pastime. It's a great way to wind up at the end of the day

Our first letter, comes from a regular contributor, Gifford Falway. Giff is known as somewhat of a loose canon around these parts.. But we figure that he would be more dangerous if we didn't give him his space to vent. Despite bring on the payroll, He will occasionally  nip and will not hesitate to bite even the hand that feeds him. Giff does not suffer  fools gladly, so YOU best careful!

Q I've just finished reading your latest post previewing your brothers kayak trek to Alaska. As usual  your brevity is unmatched Why were you such an ass to your brother? So what if he cut you for stitches. That was a half century ago. Grow up and get over it.  I thought that your treatment of social workers in general and your brother in particular was appallingly unfair.  What have you got against social workers?
- Gifford Falway -
A Gifford, my criticism was not of social workers in general nor any social work professors in particular. It was more a pragmatic concern that the harrowing life of a social worker and specifically the  "pjs till noon” routine  of a professor on sabbatical might not be the best preparation to ready  oneself for a colossally epic undertaking such as "Paddle For Parkinson's".

Giff, I think you'll agree that there are decidedly less spills and thrills in the daily life of a social work professor than their more dashing colleagues in Archaeology who - when they are not marking term papers seem to spend most of their spare time racing through streets of Bangkok with a Capuchin on their shoulder evading massive rolling stainless steel balls, seeking a grail of some sort. It is a fact that the closest thing to harrowing  in the daily grind of a social worker, might be the odd bruise to the ego, superficial lacerations to the superego, not to mention the risks of exposing the id to perilous paper cuts in The copy room.

The legendary South Pole explorer Earnest Shackleton advertised for the following qualities.

"Men wanted for hazardous journey. Low wages, bitter cold, long hours of complete darkness. Safe return doubtful. Honour and recognition in event of success. Doesn’t sound much like a social worker does it?.

Q Blair, you seem to like the number three, as when you list things or ideas you usually do it in groups of three. Why is that? Is there something special about the number three?

A It's  called the Rule of Three", or The Magic of three. It just seems right, doesn't it? As I understand, it  all comes down to the way we humans process information. We have become proficient at pattern recognition by necessity, and three is the smallest number of elements required to create a pattern. Google It.

Q. Blair, do you have any peculiar habits, or oddities that your readers might find interesting?

A When at Starbucks I feel a tremendous compulsion to align the sippy hole with the Starbucks logo. My wife thinks its odd, but frankly  to me it it just  a good safety precaution. The visual of the logo  is a god reference point to know where exactly the hot liquid is pouring out.

I am betting that I share this next “oddity” with at least a few of you. While waiting for a flight I will typically wait at an adjacent gate, For example if I am travelling to Winnipeg in January, I will typically wait at the nearby gate of a more attractive destination - like Hamilton, or Gander,

For me, holidays are all about anonymity,, and everyone knows that those "chirpy" Manitobans didn't get their "Friendly Manitoba" license plates by respecting personal space.

Q.Blair, what book is on your bedside table right now?

A It is”The Gifts Of Imperfection. In all honesty, I can’t say I’m “reading” it. My style of literary consumption is more like the way you read your cell phone contract.I scan for headings, exclamation points, and my name. In my estimation, this book is a “plant”, a book that is subtly left out - generally for the betterment of your spouse. The genre is usually that annoying class of books referred to as “self help” blended with a little DIY (or shall I say “do it himself” It is a rudimentary form of marital communication used when one would prefer not to present the issue face to face, or when an issue has been presented previously  - but the desired solution has not taken root.

Initially I gave it my all - I dove headfirst into the book - then called it quits. I just couldn’t relate. The book simply did not “speak to me. I then had an epiphany - if not me? then who? Could this be a confessional? Maybe she was trying to tell me that she wasn’t the Hope Diamond, as she had always thought we thought? That the bill of goods dating more than a decade ago had some discrepancies. Most notably, was she telling me that despite this, that if the book was to be believed - that I ultimately maybe the receptor of riches beyond my wildest dreams.

Q. Hey Blair- why to you you continue to perpetuate this myth of this big corporation, this
 delusion that you are anything but a solitary fellow posting blog entries in his underwear.
A That's just patently false. I sometimes change things up and post in my PJs.You take that back or you will be hearing from Zeus in Legal.Oops, sorry, there I go again I suppose that IF this was a delusion, it might stem from my fascination with the Circus full of smoke and mirors that the modern day web is. . Where al it seems to take is a dearth of dopamine, and Ok, so I give you that we are not apple - but how do you know that we don't have a Foosball table in the cafeteria that my employees don't ride around the SW Calgary campus on Segways, and how can you be absolutely sure that if I told you that the Corporations spending on employee wellness is not the highest in it's sector?(Totally fictitious Corporations whose founders should be monitored for cognitive decline) Which begs the question, how do you know I post in mu underwear. Which days? Bruins, or the Leafs on my Pyjamas?

Mr Rasmussen
Last year you chronicled your trials and tribulations you had with Deep Brain Stimulation - or as you seem fond of putting it, “DBS L1ight - most of the benefits of DBS, without any pesky hardware left behind, and no drain on the power grid.Where are you in the surgical process?\alsaddl

A I am just getting ready to climb back into the surgical saddle, having just passed the "cognitive test", As m dear Mother puts it, the"marble test".I have been deemed to have enough marbles remaining to  get another crack at DBS. You are right,smartass, that should be definitive confirmation that they do not/ read my blog.
Bon Creed

Blair, I saw a donation on your brothers site made “In memory of Blair Rasmussen. Was that a joke?,.

A To this day. we have not found out who the fellow is. I thought it was hilarious. I was going to make our donation  in memory of him. But my editor said it would be in poor taste. What ever happened to “an eye for an eye” You know what my first thought was? Am I a big enough fish that someone has pre-written my obituary? If not, I need to get on that. Oops! Reminder that dark humour has been shown to be one of the earliest signs of dementia!

1) In fact all of all of Blair's accumulated knowledge is in the public domain.including the vast 16gb of possibly malignant , most certainly questionable humour in his bloated Blogospheric Inflatuius. (the area of your brain where your NON- sense of humour is said to reside.He is currently mired deep down an inflatius tranpslant list - finding few possible donors even remotely silly enough to be compatible