Category Archives: Guest Commentator

I’se still watchin the Olys fer Davey, so’s he said I could post some more and what I wanted to natter on about was Sportsmanship.

Now, don’t be gettin exercised ‘cause I used sportsMANship.  I mean it in what they call non-gender specific terms.  Man is what we’re called, as in huMANs.  That be our species name, like dogs, or bovines, not referring to the presence or absence of the pink handrail, so’s you understand, do’n’t you know. The gals can be sportsmen too and usually are better at it than the men.

Sportsmanship means goin into a competition with some respect for the people you’re competin against.  Of course you want to beat them like a gong and be Number One, but you also know they could just as likely turn the tables and tap you one upside the head till you hear the ringin in yer own ears.

I was in a darts tourney down to the Branch a buncha years ago and some lad from Actinolite come up to compete.  Now, I’s never heard nor seen him play and he was awful good.  Doubles around the board to warm up fer shitsakes.  I stayed off the hops just so’s I could have a half a chance and he beat me like a drum in the Orangemen’s Day parade.  When it was over he shook my hand, looked me in the good eye and said I played well then thanked me for the contest.  He didn’t point at me an laugh, when he coulda, or done some parade lap around the tables, lookin all Rocky Balboa.  He was a gentleman and a sportsman about it.  I think it comes down to respect.

Now just to get to the Olys, nomatter what sport yer talkin about, that means you’re probably one of the best in your country, even if your country is one of them ‘stans out there in the middle of nowhere.  The Olys attract the best there be.  That Georgian luger Nodar Kumaritashvili who died on the first day, was one of the very best lugers from a whole country.  You nor me could do the luging as good as he could, even if we practiced a hundred years.  Even some gal from Turdistan who come 43rd in the Fancy Skatin is a thousand times better’n you and me will ever be.  We forget that sometimes and that leads to people behavin like arseholes.

Take the Gals Hockey.  Sure, we shellacked the Slovakians, but we still shook their hands and the crowd gave them a great big round of applause when it was over as the Slovakians did their very best and that’s all you can ask for.  Same with the speed skatin, or the Gals two-man bobs.  The Canadians always paid lots of respect to the others and even the crowds would applaud the teams which didn’t quite have the snuff for the stuff.

Then the Gals Hockey game with the US and Canada for the gold medal comes up.  The US is guarandamnteed a Silver even if they don’t do more than lace’em up and skate about for an hour.  But we go and beat them and take the gold medal away.

The Suomi’s come out, in Bronze and you’da thinked they’d won the Lotto 6/49.  They were proud to be the third best Gals Hockey Team in the Whole Friggin World and the crowd and the Canadian team all gave them a great big round of congratulations. 

Then the American Gals line up.  Durin that medal ceremony, I had never seen so many people with the pouts on, ever.  You’d a thinked we killed all their cats and then run over their kids with a backhoe.  Silver means they’re the second best at gals hockey in the WHOLE FRIGGIN WORLD, but no, that wasn’t what they wanted so they stand there like they just heard the rabbit died. 

By the way all that fuss about the underage Canadian Gals Hockey havin a pint and smokin cigars at center ice after the medal ceremony?  The reason they made that bad choice was they weren’t old enough to know it was wrong. Or none too smart. 

Last night, with the Mens 5000 meter team relay speedyskatin, all the lads on the podias were congratulatin each other without so much as a pout or a pissy attitude.  Koreans, Yanks and Canadians all proud to be there, ‘cause they know they’re the fastest sons of bitches on blades, in the whole friggin world.  That Yank, Apollo Mahi-Mahi Ono had a big proud smile on his fiz gettin the bronze to add to his wad of gold medals, knowing that his team and himself busted their ass and damn near did it.

Or at the Gals Curling final.  Cheryl Bernard misses one in the extra end and Sweeden gets the gold.  Does Cheryl Bernard toss her broom in the crowd and spit at the Sweeds?  Hell, no.  Cheryl knows her and her rink are the second best gals curlers in the whole friggin world and is gracious and damn glad to be there.  That’s what you call sportsmanship.  You could even call it classy. Which the American Gals Hockey team sure wasn’t.

There’s a time when you win and there’s a time when you lose in any competein’ event.  You might not get some ribbon and some piece of hardware, but you’re still the best just by gettin there. The best in the whole friggin world.         

I’m busy doing some work-related work and travelling here and there.  In my stead, I gave our esteemed guest commentator Mason Baveux the login to the blog.  What’s the worst that could happen, right?

Thanks lad fer the logging rights.  I don’t see no trees here, even them virtual ones. 

OK then, Earth Hour.  The deal is we’re supposed to shut down the lights and turn off the cable from half-past 8 to half-past 9 o’clock tonight.  Supposed to show were all organic, drive a Volvo station wagon and wear them freak sandals with black socks.

First off, I looked out the window last time we did this.  Didn’t see nobody turn off the lights.  Didn’t see nobody down in the park all holdin hands around a campfire singing Koombayah or nothin. 

Didn’t even seem to matter to some arsewipe who decided to up and die, as the ambulance had to fetch him to the hospital.  Then again, maybe his missus decided to go Earth Hour and turned off his ventilator to save on the hydro. I dunno.

Now the high ideal here is a good one.  Don’t use so much hydro as you used to.  What they said is that if we use less juice, then we don’t have to burn as much coal and that means the Earth ain’t gonna warm up as fast, toastin us all to crumbs by June.  I can buy that.  I might not have gone to a bunch of fancy schools, but Jeezus Jimmy Jones the winters gone right stupid and last summer was up and down like a toilet seat.  And shes been that way for a few years now.

I’m not all convinced about the science, as half of its over me head and the rest of it, I don’t understand worth a shit, but theres some who do and it sort of smells like there’s a bit of truth in her. 

Which means I’ll do my bit, if you will.  I’m not gonna get a Volvo and start eatin Tofoo, but you know, we’re all in this shit together, so if we all take a slice, then theres less to go around.

But i got me a problem:  The curling is on now.  Womens Worlds Championships.  Damn good curling too.  Our girls are kickin arse and takin names as they should, but we’re only in it for the bronze.

Seems the Sweeds and the Chinese are the ones going for the gold.  Sweeds I can see, but the Chinese?  Holy Mary and Joseph!  When did China start curling?  Did they start breeding em in 1995 and send the two year olds to a special school after they was weaned?

I’m what the counsellor at the Center calls “conflicted”.  Meaning I want to do the right thing by the planet, but damn, there’s curling on.  So’s I’m going to go do both.  I’ll turn off the beer fridge for a hour, as its an extra fridge just for beer and she’ll keep cold enough for an hour, as Red Cap doesn’t get that warm that quick in a cooler full of ice.  I was thinking ahead you know.

I’ll turn off the lights and stop the neighbour from welding up some of his arsehole ‘art’ on a Saturday night, but dammit I’m watching the curling.

Earth Hour.  Do your part and we won’t have to eat as much shit this summer.  Now that’s a fine slogan!

I’m busy getting ready for a business trip next week.  On Monday I asked our esteemed commentator and pitch-hitter, Mason Baveux to compare and contrast Canadian and American Thanksgiving.

Thanks lad fer givin me another shot at the blog writing.  I’m getting the hang of ‘er and I don’t have to get my drink on like last time from watching the voting.  Plus, I’m startin to get a handle on this HyperTex Tampax Protocol stuff, ‘cept it sounds a little too feminine for me.  Just the same.  Thanksgiving.

OK, now us Canadians had our turkey last month, on the 13th of Oct.  You Yanks are getting stuffed tomorrow, which would be Nov the 27st.  You’d think we’d line these two holidays up a bit better, but there’s a reason why we don’t.  Lemme explain it out for you.

The whole shebangs been going on since before there was a North America.  Thanksgiving’s a harvest festival, meaning the locals got the crops in and then sat down to put the feedbag on before the snow flied. 

In Europe, or the UK more like, she started raining for two friggin months, with a day or two of snow.  She was too wet to plow or do much more than sit around the fire and say "Fook, she’s rainin; again.  Yep, she’s rainin’ and we got fog too. Fook this, crack open ye olde flagon of ale and let’s get lit up!"  Which is how they passed the winters in Bill Shakespeare’s time.  The same’s true at Lahr in Germany, when the base was open there, which it isn’t anymore.

My Indian buddy, Peter Three-Skidoos told me about how the First Nationals used to celebrate the same thing over here, before the Europeans came over.  Same idea of party it up before the snow flies.  And Peter isn’t an Indian Indian, like from Calcutta with the curry.  He’s 100 percent Ojibway First National:  Like he says, his family met my family when we came over about 400 years ago, so he should know, right?

I did some looking up about it on that Wiki-tiki-tavi-pedia thing.  Seems the first thanksgiving by white folks was done in 1548, in Newfie, fer Christ sake.  The explorer Martin Frobisher, who was looking for the Northwest Passage, finally got back to his base camp on the Rock.  Marty Frobisher and the rest of the lads cracked the rum open and had a go to celebrate Not Dying.  Good a reason as any.

The Americans got into it late, as usual.  We’re not counting some Spaniels, or Spanyards who did it up September 8th, 1565 near St. Augustine Florida.  There were 600 of them, so’s I suspect there was a hell of a party.  I think they had it near the Arby’s in St. Augustine.  I’ve been there you know.

The American folks who claim the first one up, were what were called the Berkeley Hundred, in Dec 4 1619 near Jamestown Virginia.  They weren’t into the turkey then, they were just glad to not be dead from sailing across the ocean.  It was more a prayer service than anything.

The first Americans who did something like the kids story Thanksgiving were the Pilgrims at Plymouth Mass.  Before the car, there was the town Plymouth and they did it in 1621.  Seems that a First National called Squanto and his tribe, the Wampanomags taught the Pilgrims how to catch turkeys and eels and how to use the foods that grew there in Plymouth.  That would be pumpkins and cranberries and squash and sweet potatoes.  And turkey.

If Squanto and the Wampo tribe lads hadn’t been there to help the Pilgrims get their heads out of their arses, the Pilgrims would have all starved to death that winter and we wouldn’t have Plymouth cars.  They’d be called Worcesters or Massachusettses.  Worchester Belvedere?  That’s no damn good.

For the longest time where Thanksgiving showed up on the Canadian and the American calendar moved around a bit.  Up here we kept it in October, as that’s more or less when the last of the corn comes in.  Down south, the seasons longer, so the US Thanksgiving sometimes would run later the more south you went. 

For a while, both of us kept to the British tradition in October, but when the Yanks had their Revolution in 1776 they wanted to get rid of all the British leftovers, so they looked for a later date.  It wasn’t until Honest Abe and Civil War that you Yanks settled on November and that’s where she sits now.

As for what we do up here, we do the same thing.  We cook a big goddam turkey and more vegetables than the third floor ward at the Penatanguishine Home for the Insane.  There’s bread stuffing, cranberries, both jellied and whole, mashed spuds, sweet potatoes, brussel sprouts, boiled carrots, green beans and enough gravy to float a skiff.  You eat until your pants don’t fit, then loosen the belt and have seconds or thirds.

When you can’t see no more, you push back and take a break.  In our house we used to have gravy bread for the last course.  If you’ve never had gravy bread, I’ll give you the recipe.  You take a slice of white bread, put it on the plate.  Then you pour turkey gravy on it until is just starts to think about floating.  Then you eat it.  An old family recipe that.

Then there’s the pie.  Pumpkin pie, apple pie, mincemeat pie and sometimes lemon pie.  You get whipped cream on the pumpkin, but not on the lemon pie as that’s just wrong.  And Apple Pie without Cheese is like a Kiss without a Squeeze.

For drinks, well, you’ve got the traditional basics:  Rum and Coke.  Rum and Ginger.  Rum and Diet Coke for those who are watching their weight.  After you’re done, sometimes there’s Rum and Coffee, but lately it’s been Bailey’s and Coffee, or Rum and tea for them what drinks tea.  The usual measure is three fingers of Rum or Bailey’s and top the mug up with coffee.

By this time you’re half in the bag and can’t feel your legs anymore.  Some of the family go out hunting, if its close to deer season.  Well, more proper, they go jacklighting off the ATV’s or the snow machines, if we’ve had a early snow. 

Sometimes they get a deer, but more often than not they just shoot the hell out of the highway signs.  I’ve never seen them bring back the highway signs, but the deer always come back across the ATV if they’ve had some luck. 

By now most of us have had a snooze and its about time for cards.  Cribbage is the game of choice.  Now there’s a choice of rum or beer.  I’ll stick to the beer about then, as I can’t count cribbage if I’m full of rum.  On the rum, it’s 15-2, 15-4 and then I get confused and it goes to hell from there.  On the Red Cap, it’s fine.  I can peg and count at the same time.  There’s always an argument or two.

Around midnight, we give it up and go home.

I kinda like the old ways some days.  Just a day for saying "Hey, we’re not dead today!  Thanks!"  The rest is good, but not always necessary, so’s your could say I’m from the Marty Frobisher school of Thanksgiving.

Thank you Mason.  As always, insightful.  And I’m certain you won’t mind if I offer my and your best wishes to our American friends for a Happy Thanksgiving. 

There was a bit of a scheduling conflict on the tube last night.  The Canadian Leadership Debate was on at the same time as the US Vice-Presidential Debate, essentially 9 pm to 11 pm.  I can watch two car races at once, as I am motivated and card-carrying gear head, but two political debates?  Not in this life.

We called on our 500-channel Universe expert, Mason Baveux to watch both debates at the same time.  I stuck with a book (Morell’s Contract Law for Third Year Students) and called it a night around 2200 hrs.  Here is Mason Baveux’s commentary:

So’s Davey said I could do him a favour and watch both debates one on the US and t’other on Canada, then write‘er up.  Now I don’t follow the politics as close as he does, so I’m gonna get some wrong, but you can figure it out, if you’re smart.

First off, what tool told the CNNers that we wanted to see all that stuff up the sides and bottom of the screens.  They had doodads for their analysts to say good or bad as she went.  The dials went back and forth all the time. 

Then there was some bar graphs along the bottom from where they had a bunch of citizens hooked up to electronic things based on their sex (Gettin’ Some/Gettin’ None) and their political twist.  The graph’s would go up and down depending on who said what and how much electricity was goin’ through their heads.  Almost made me dizzy, but I cracked the top of a couple more wobbly-pop and she straightened out by half time.

Now over at the CBC (them holes what lost the rights to the theme for Hockey Night in Canada.  Don’t get me started.) they did ‘er easier.  Big-arse table the shape of an egg with the Leaders around it and Mandy Patinkin as the question guy.  I liked seein Mandy again.  Last time he was on the TV was “Dead Like Me” and he’s lost some weight too.   (Ed.: It was Steve Paikin from TVOntario, not Mandy Patinkin)

The CBC had the leaders around the table and Mandy would shoot questions at them, then they’d have a go at each other.  While over at CNN, they had the two podiers up there one for Biden and one for Palin, with Gwen Iffile in the middle asking questions of each. 

Oh, hey, did Gwen Iffiles’ Grandma knit that friggin’ sweater?  Lord thunderin Jesus that was an ugly green.  I seen better colours come out of my nose after an afternoon of layin fiberglass insulation in the attic.

So, the questions:  Neither Mandy nor Gwen asked the really important question of their guests.  Which was, “Are you fer friggin real, or are you piss drunk right now?”  Jesus I’ve heard some bullshitters in my life, especially at the Legion, or when I worked at the plant before going on the disability, but the two Americans wouldn’t answer a straight question if you’da held a gun to a puppy’s head.

All’s I heard was sound bites for the news about how great their Presidential leaders was and how the other guy was a lying sack of crap.  Palin came off like she’s the friend of the Working Man, what they called Joe Six Pack.  Which means you can’t trust her worth a damn.  Six Pack means you’re twelve years old.  There’s twenty four in a case and twenty-four hours in a day.  You figure it out.

Over to the Canadians.  I think someone made Stevie Harper cry before the debates.  His eyes look like he’s just finished watching “Old Yeller” then went on stage. 

At the beginning when they introduced the leaders, Stevie Harper looked at the camera and smiled.  Scared the shit out of me.  At least he wasn’t wearing that pigs in a blanket sweater which makes him look like a pigs in a blanket made with a dog turd.

Then there was Stevie Dion.  I wonder when he passed away, as he looked like he was sitting up at his own wake out of the casket.  Liz May and Gilles Duceppe had a run at Harper, ignoring Dion the Dead Guy.  Duceppe looks like someone run an air hose up his arse and inflated him out past 30 psi:  His eyes were all bugged out and his hair looked like he’d been hangin out the window of a car going down the 401 at 130 per. 

Liz May, she kept beatin Harper like a gong which was fun to watch for a while, but the fun was when Jack Layton jumped in with both boots and kicked Harper’s ass, then tag-teamed off to Liz May who cut Harper an extra one. 

What scared me was Harper would smile at both of them with that half-arsed smile that makes him look like he’s got a weapon, a case of rounds and a high building all picked out if he loses.  Didn’t nobody at the party tell him to never smile? 

Harper with a smile on his mug looks like Geecher Brock at the arena did before he drove the Zamboni over to the railroad tracks and waited for the afternoon fast freight to come by.  We had to get a Wintario grant to replace the Zamboni.  We never did replace Geecher Brock as there wasn’t much left and his family buried him in an old Bell Canada reply envelope.  Didn’t hurt the freight train none. 

The Americans kept going at each other.  You could tell that Biden was holding it back and not speaking his mind, which might have been fun.  You could also tell what Palin was thinking:  “Jeez there’s lots of folks out here and there’s shiny lights.” 

She did good enough but I’m fed up with hearing about hockey-moms.  Palin doesn’t know about real hockey-moms, at least in the Bantam league around here.  There was hockey-mom I saw last season name of Maureen who cold-cocked the ref with a quart bottle of Ex when the ref came over to the timekeepers bench to call a five minute major on her son. 

Maureen went over the boards and tried to get the linesmen too, but slipped on the ice so’s we could see she was wearing a tiger-striped thong under her miniskirt.  That was a change, as Maureen didn’t normally wear any gitch. 

The cops took Maureen away after gettin out the pepper spray, which only made her madder.  Last we heard she got probation and had to stay away from the arena for the rest of the season.  Constable Kutchkie wears a cup on patrol now, as Maureen got him once while they took her away. 

All in all, by 11 o’clock I’d had enough.  Harper got his ass kicked and Palin showed she can mouth off:  She’s no idea what she’s sayin, but she sure can mouth off.  Felt like someone’d filled my ears with Lepage’s mucilage by the time it was done. 

Overall, she’s a tie in the US and Jack got’er done in overtime in Canada.

Thank you Mason.  As always, insightful.  Frightening, but insightful. 

We gave Mason Baveux an assignment, despite our better judgement, to watch and report on the Bejing Olympics.  I’ve transcribed his ‘report’ from the three-ring binder paper he used and have left the grammar and spelling as crafted by Mason.

Dave said I could do the wrapup on the Olympics fer his blog as I was gonna watch most of it.  Which I did you know.  Went thru two sets of batteries on the remote bouncing back and forth from CBC to NBC.  I told the boss I was takin some time off, so’s I wouldn’t be interrupted. 

Now the first thing is Bejing is 12 hours away, so if she’s noon here, she’s midnight over there and the Olys don’t run at night, so if you wanned to watch live, you’re up at some jeezly hour fighting the shakes.  Which I did you know.

The Opening ceremonies were weird dam shit.  What the hell do strippers bangin waterlogged drums have to do with track and field?  The TV guys said that it was about the history of China over the centuries, but I didn’t get’er.  Canada looked pretty good in the parade tho, ‘cept if you were watching NBC. 

Which brings me to a pisser.  How come the American TV did all these stories on the guy who ties the shoelaces of some Yank athlete, from Dumbcrack Idaho, with his retarded sister and his war veteran mom.  Jeez, not even a story about the guy wearing the shoes, but about his shoelace tyin specialist, followed up by a half-hour about how tyin your shoelaces wrong’ll cost you the Gold in pond jumpin or some other such bull. 

Gymnatics:  If them Chinese girls are 16, I’m a raccoons ball sack.  I was waitin for the cops to bust down the door for me watching child porn.  There weren’t no fuzz on the peach if you catch me drift.  Nobody whacked face as best I remember, as there all good at getting on the beam.  The shit with the ribbons and hoops made me dizzy, so I had a nap.  Which I did you know.

Field Hockey:  Never seen it before, so I figured I’d giver a try.  Yessiree Lanka versus Chad?  On grass, with canes and a softball?  I guess they don’t have ice in Beijing, or Chad.  And nobody gets 5 for fighting or misconduct.  I’d a paid money to watch Tiger Williams cross check some of them players flat to the sod then drop gloves.  Good passin tho. 

Swimming:  I’d want to check that Mike Phelps for gills.  He’s good. 

Running:  Holy Mother of Mary them Jamaicans were fast.  Hussein Bolt was just playin with’em in the 100 and the 200, then showed us what fast means in the 400 relays.  Then the NBC showed us a two-hour documentary about how passin a stick from one guy to another is harder than the whole NASA space program ’cause one of their turtles hurt his hand signing endorsement contracts and couldn’t pass the stick.

Cocks and Eight:  Just rowing a boat, but we kicked ass.  Same with kayaks and one and two guy rowing.

Boxing:  There’s one little guy from Cuba who’d beat down the Great Wall of China if you’d let him.  Tough son of gun.

Wrestling:  This ain’t rasslin, but the Oly brand of wrestling, where you can’t come off the top rope and the chairs are kept away from the ring, which is just a circle, so it took some getting used to.  And there was female wrestling too, and not on pay-per-view, right in the coverage, as normal as you please.  I wonder if they’ll add midget wrestling for the London games.

Sword Fighting:  They call it fencing and you couldn’t see shit.

Softball:  The Women’s Softballers are kinda sneaky.  I played a game once with the lads against the Forrester’s Falls Women’s Team and when they’d pitch the ball, all you’d see was nothin’ then hear it in the catchers mitt and hear the ump say ‘strike one’.  It might be underhand, but when they get the whip on, she’s movin’.  They played some good ball and it was a hell of a lot better than watchin the Jays.

High Def:  The Olys were in High Def HD, which means the pictures are bigger, wider and clearer for you what has a High Def.  They say you could see the camel-toe in beach volleyball from a hundred yards away.  I don’t have HD, so go figure.

Horse Jumping:  We did good there.

Sailing:  Didn’t watch’er.

Pentaheptadodecahedratholon:  5, 8, 10 or 136 sports all in a row by the same guy who then pukes up his guts at the finish line.  Won by some Kenyan I think.  At least he wasn’t American, ’cause they would have had a four hour profile on his left nose hair trimmer and a half-hour story on the crippled gal who made the ink for his paper number.  All brought to you by Budweiser, Summer’s Eve and General Motors.  Jeez there was lots of commercials.

Closing Ceremonies.  I was half in the bag when she wrapped up, so I don’t remember much but the London bus opening up to show a pole dancer and some guy from Led Zepplin who looks like my Uncle Phil, but more wasted.

That’s the Olys. See you in Vancouver when we do her for real.

(I’m too damn busy to write this week, so I’ve enlisted the help of a guest writer, the esteemed Mason Baveux, to fill in.  He’s quite insightful.)

Dave asked me to write about Tibet and the Olympics this week, but about all I could come up with is that the International Olympic Committee knew that China was crapping all over the mountain top in Tibet.  Juan-Tony Sandwichshop was the yutz who signed off on giving the Olys to a bunch of nut crushers and jackbooters in 2001.  Big friggin surprise now that the Red Army is taking Tibetans away for a chat that involves a beat down then a round in the back a tha head.

The suckage starts when pissants start talking ’bout boycotting the Olys to ‘express their displeasure’ about the new Oly sport of "Monk Beating".  You shoulda expressed your displeasure in 2001.  It wasn’t like we didn’t know China was a bunch a bastards back then. 

I’m not gonna miss the games tho.  I like the balance beam when they miss getting on right and bash some face on her.

Politics:  A bunch of shiite, north or south of the border.  She’s coming down to a choice of Johnny Mac or Barrack Obama.  One is crazy and the other is just dumber than a box of hammers.  If Johnny Mac wins, I betcha a large double double they invade someplace ’cause Johnny Mac wakes up on the wrong side of the bed with a hate-on for Peru.  Friggin Perunians.  Is is Lima or Leema?  I dunno. 

Up here, we got more of the same.  Canadian Primo Steve-O Harper is runnin the joint like his own personal bible study class in Alberta.  He pulls his head outta his arse long enough to tell us nothing.  Eff that!

Curling:  We’re gonna clean up. 

Hockey:  Friggin Leafs are golfing early.  Last time the Leafs was in the playoffs was in 1803.  Every time I go by the Hockey Hall of Fame, I wanna cry.  At least they got Terry Sawchuck’s mask in the Hall.

Donuts:  The price of Dutchies is up.  Seems the price of wheat is up nine one-thousandth of a cent, so they raise the price of Dutchies by a quarter!  What the hell is that all about? 

Lights off for a hour:  Frig that!  I’m turning them all on for a hour between 8 and 9 tonight.  Then I’ll fire up the welder.  You save the energy and I’ll watch the Curling on TV.  I might unscrew the lightbulb in the beer fridge for an hour.

Spring:  I can smell the dogcrap thawing out in the park.  Must be spring.