Kung Fu’d For Thought

Dear Solitary Reader: While my wife was convalescing from the parting of ways with her gall bladder last night I found myself in a rare position: sitting in front of the TV with nothing to watch. Taking advantage of the free month offered by Netflix.ca I hopped on to find something I like, but normally don’t think to watch with my wife sitting next to me.

The result? A kung fu movie.

Now its not that my wife doesn’t like Kung Fu, its more that when we’re sitting together deciding on a TV Show we tend to go to the middle of the spectrum for our entertainment, shows with something for everyone. She does not say to me: “Dear Husband, let us watch this show about how to applique a quilt using a butter knife and the help of elves.” Likewise I do not say to her: “Yo, babes, how bouts we watch dis awesome Kung Fu movie where dis guy punches dis guy in de head and his eyes fall out.”

Lately we’ve watched Warehouse 13 – good show with something for everyone.

Back to the story: last night I was surfing Netflix.ca for something to watch (btw, I’ll be dropping Netflix like a bad habit when the free month is over because I cannot find anything to watch on it) and finally I settled on The Legend of the Fist.

It started off promisingly enough. World War 1 setting with Chinese laborers fighting for their freedom. The hero of the movie runs wild over the enemy in eminently Kung Fu style. It hadn’t yet made me get up off the couch and mime the moves along with the hero, but all indications were it was going to happen (somewhere after the third beer probably).

Cut to China some few years later and then it happens: plot.

Before I knew it I was actually learning things about China and what happened in the period between World War 1 and 2. I learned. I felt dirty.

At what point have we as a race become so preoccupied with story that I can’t watch someone beat up minions for 50 minutes before making it to the boss and watching that capped with an awesome 10 minute kung fu battle of epic proportions.

I’m getting old because I’m about to say “in my day” but this needs to be said …. In My Day Kung Fu was Game of Death and the plot of the movie was that a guy was hosting a kung fu tournament featuring a lot of, you guessed it, kung fu.

Bruce Lee must be spin kicking in his grave.

If any of you reading this decide at some point to ever direct a kung fu movie, do me a favor… and put some kung fu in it.

My Glade Plug-in is Trying to Kill Me

Dear Solitary Reader: My wife is a big fan of things that don’t smell like crap. As such she’s made several efforts to hide the shameful smell emanating from the cat’s litter box.

When Strider’s driving in his Chevy and his pants are gettin’ heavy – he heads to the litter box. When Willow almost craps the pillow... she goes to the same place. I’m glad they have a place to go but on an especially warm day I can arrive home from work and be greeted by the wafting aroma of what should only be described as: “bidness.”

One of the more successful attempts my wife has made to mask the musk is the Glade... um... “Something or Other.” I can’t remember the exact name of this particular incarnation, and it’s about 25ft away from me so I ain’t getting up to go check out the name. All you have to do is place it at the source of the stank and that stank is gone forever (or until it’s time for a refill). At any rate whatever it is... it works.

And that’s why I’m not getting rid of it even though it’s trying to kill me. Here’s the story:

My wife and I are pretty good about exchanging household tasks. Our relationship is one of symbiosis: she cooks, I eat; I dirty, she cleans. The yin and yang of household activity. But occasionally I’ve been known to do my share and the other day my turn came up to be scoopin’ de poopin of our two favourite felines.

Pardon the pun but scooping the cat litter is often a crapshoot. You can go down there one day and be done in a couple of swipes of the scoop; other days it’d give the fifth labour of Hercules an... ahem... run... for its money. And until you take the lid off the litter box, you never know what you’re going to get... it’s like a box of chocolates that way... disgusting, icky chocolates.

So, as I said, this one particular day it was my duty to take out the doody and as I bent down to take of the lid of the litter box the Glade “Something or Other” released a gentle mist right into my face. I woke up three days later tied to some railroad tracks wearing a clown suit and singing “The Song of Caligula’s Horse.”

I didn’t make the connection until it happened the second time. When my turn to clean the box came around and once again the Glade Plug-in plugged me out by releasing its gentle toxic mist; this time I woke up in Tibetan town wearing lederhosen and still singing “The Song of Caligula’s Horse.” That’s when I made the connection.

The Glade Plug-in is trying to kill me. He Hate Me Bro.

But it’s still the best cat de-smeller we’ve used, so I can’t get rid of it. It’s like an arrogant but capable employee that insists on mocking me because it knows it has all the answers. Curse it! Until such time as something better comes along I’m stuck with it, but I’ve gotten pretty good at avoiding the gentle mist – except for the other day when I found myself in the Amazon jungle wearing a chef’s hat singing “The Song of Caligula’s Horse” again...

Caligula's horse
Was a senator of course
And he always voted Neigh!