Since You Asked...

I haven't the energy today, really.
It's awful, I know.
It's one thing to purchase vitamins.
It's another thing entirely to swallow one every day with a meal.
Or to have meals in general, for that matter.
Gonna slow things down for a minute here and get Mr. Jim Cuddy to play us out.
Tomorrow's a new day.
Hopefully it will be one in which I produce something.
I do have an imaginary conversation that a person has with another person over the phone at an airport.
Which I had been keeping for this exact rainy day specifically.
But since you people have all finished work for the day anyway, I'll save it.
They don't care about Blue Rodeo in the United States.
Mostly because they don't know who Blue Rodeo is.
The words "Blue Rodeo" would likely get some of them excited.
But only because it sounds like something that Larry the Cable Guy might be performing at.
An overnight flight to a nearby province just to watch Jeff Dunham.
Jesus Christ.
Jeff Dunham gets to be racist onstage, and he isn't even some colour besides white.
Hopefully some misguided confederate fuck will shoot Achmed the Dead Terrorist-
"He don't seem dead enough t' me."-
And that will irreversibly injure Jeff Dunham's hand and end his career.
He won't have an asshole to turn to at that point.
Cause the puppets...he puts his hand up into their...
Anyway.
Jim? You still back there?
I could be involved with a show that involves Jim Cuddy some day.
That's not impossible.
The only thing about sacrificing oneself to comedy that is neat is to think of what is no longer impossible.
Me in a Kotex commercial?
Not impossible.
Hosting an amateur stripper contest in Shitty Dartmouth?
Not impossible.
Writing snooty blog posts about millionaire ventriloquists?
Well.
Turns out I have slightly more energy than I thought.

I'm as capable of saying "fine" as the next English-speaking human being.
Now, are you actually asking me how I'm doing?
Or are you asking me if I'm physically capable of saying "fine"?
Or "good"?
Because that's what some people (grocery clerks, primarily) are asking me when they ask me how I'm doing.
They're asking me to say "fine."
Just ask me to do that and I'll do it.
"Can you say fine for me, please?"
"Fine."
"Thank you. I'm fine, too."
Fine isn't even a feeling.
Fine is sort of like how you are when you're not feeling any feelings in particular.
You're not sad. You're not happy. You're not blood clotting.
You're fine.
I'm rarely fine.
I'm usually something else.
People constantly say after asking me how I am that, "You took a minute to think about that."
Why wouldn't I?
I'm trying to answer a question truthfully. It might take a second.
They're even more taken aback if I say that I'm terrible (which is, to be fair, usually a lie).
Can't I be terrible?
I'm a complete stranger to a lot of people who ask me how I am.
Maybe I'm terrible all of the time.
"How are you?"
"I haven't had a pleasant day since 1998!"
It's an answer.
I might be reading too much George Carlin.
I'm gonna go.
Jim? Where are you, Jim.
Jim's only here because I wanted to use that line about Larry the Cable Guy.
Thought of it while I was unloading the dishwasher.
Dunham came out because those two are the same thing.
A joke on nationalism.
Hope you're all feeling fine out there.
Or something a little more descriptive.