Simon Wex: Category Antics

I'm Going to Work for ActiveState

Simon — Wed, 26 Sep 2007 12:29:00 -0500

After almost two years, I will be leaving Teligence to go work for ActiveState. I have really enjoyed working for Teligence. I have especially over the past few months working on some great projects such as our new Facebook application Call Me Now. I am especially going to miss my boss Rob and the IVR boys. I’m leaving on a good note and leaving Teligence in good shape with some solid underpinnings to their mobile and social networking efforts.

That being said. I am incredibly excited to be working for ActiveState. All of the people there are incredibly sharp and the energy and atmosphere is a perfect fit for me. Look for some cool work in the coming months from us.

I thought it would be appropriate to leave on a note that would be expected of me. I also wanted to get a laugh out of Rob. And wanted our ape overlords to have a laugh when they open the time capsule that will be my HR file years from now.

It just so happens that today I got a new HR representative. And they (who will remain nameless) needs to receive a letter of resignation from me.

So I went up to blank’s office and spent some time doodling while we discussed my leaving. She has no idea what she’s about to receive in inter-office mail. I think it is a work of art.

Need I say more?

It's amazing how much communion is like last call

Simon — Tue, 29 Mar 2005 12:17:00 -0600

For anyone who still reads this, I must apologize for neglecting you. It’s not that I don’t like writing, I just don’t like you.

My father is an Anglican minister. And yes, he does read this blog. Now many people are often surprised that I am a preacher’s son. But it’s cool; I even have my own theme song.

[“The only boy who could ever …”]

Think of the Anglican Church as “Catholic Light” – All the religion, half the guilt. Don’t fret; I’m not preparing you for a religious rant. I’ll save that for another day.

I recently spent my Christmas holidays in Vancouver where my immediate family lives. We had spent a great Christmas Eve day together relaxing, cooking, eating, laughing and drinking. – Admittedly not in that order. The plan originally wasn’t to go to the Christmas Eve service, but as the time neared, we changed our minds. Now we were faced with a dilemma: In the house of a minister, the biggest obstacle between us and attending service was finding someone sober enough to drive. So, my dad (a.k.a. “The Rev”) went to wake my mom up and we set out.

It’s pretty safe to say we were on what I like to call “Wex” time. Also known as Simon time, more commonly “late”.

We made it to the church well before the service was to start, but all the seats were already taken. It has been a long time since my father has had a formal congregation, over the past decade he has had a post at one hospital or another. For some time he was a Chaplin, but is now a director of spiritual affairs. – Which, for the record I’m sure would be a great business card to pick up those bible thumpin’ broads.

Now if I recall the busiest days in my father’s church, running out of seats wouldn’t be a huge problem. This would just mean some people might be sitting on the floor, others might be standing, but everyone would be welcome.

Much to everyone’s surprise, everyone was greeted by “Volunteer Thomas” who turned us away. He tried to explain that the building was only zoned for a certain amount of people and that if the fire marshal came by, they would be issued a ticket. May I remind you that it’s Christmas Eve, and any non-essential emergency staff, I’m sure would not be issuing tickets. So, confronted by this news, my little sister, who I’m often reminded, isn’t so little anymore, piped up. It so happened she noticed that “Volunteer Thomas” had a nametag that read “Welcome, My name is Thomas [Volunteer]. She promptly called him on it.

“It’s funny that it says Welcome”, she said whilst pointing at his lapel, “when we clearly aren’t.

This prompted “Volunteer Thomas”, to get what I can most closely relate to “bitchy”. Red-faced and obviously flustered, he explained the “situation”. At which point my dad piped in. This, I immediately noticed, is like going to a busy club with the owner’s best friend. Hehe, this is great, “I know a guy”. My father was obviously frustrated, not just that we couldn’t get in, but more so that others were being turned away from the church on what is probably the only night this year they’re going to show up. So after my father’s appeal much to his dismay “volunteer Thomas” decided to let us, and only us in. We just had to go around back and wait for the door to open. As we waited outside, I couldn’t stop laughing thinking of getting in the back door of clubs and bars. I was also noticing that my buzz was quickly disappearing and I promptly started worrying that we might miss communion.

I wonder if “Volunteer Thomas made it this past Easter without an embolism. On that note I wish you a very belated Merry Christmas.

I want to pee my own bed

Simon — Sun, 28 Nov 2004 12:38:00 -0600

t’s 12:38pm. I have been lying here since 2:30am after drinking plenty of water before I went to bed, I thought of making a trip to the bathroom but wrote it off in favour of labouriously clambering into the cave-type platform that is my bedroom. I am in pain.

So, what have I done to injur myself? If you know me well, you know a few of the stupid darwin-award-wining things I’ve done. And you, along with me are convinced that I will die a death such that even my closest friends will snicker as they recount my last few moments on this earth. So what was this spectacular event that brought me to actually think that being known as a bed-wetter would be less painful than walking to the bathroom? Well, it won’t come to anyone’s surprise that it was on a bicycle. But what will surprise you is that it was on a stationary bike. Let me reiterate that statement.

I, Simon Wex, crippled myself on a stationary bike.

It was wednesday during a spin class at the gym. These high-end stationary bikes have what is called a “fixed-wheel”. That means that the cranks are connected directly by a chain to the rear wheel (or in this case a large rotational mass). Theses bikes also have clipless pedals, which are the biking equivilent to ski bindings. So sing along with me now, “The hip-bone’s connected to the leg bone, the leg bone’s connected to the crank arm, the crank arm’s connected to the large rotational mass.” – Okay, so it doens’t quite have the ring to it required to make it a childrens classic, but you get the idea.

With this information in mind, let’s say that someone was in the middle of a sprint, and the solid machined aluminum wheel were to be doing an equivilent of 50kph, and that very same person were to suddenly get an odd cramp in their calf and try to “coast”, it wouldn’t work so well. Actually, it would be just like trying to accellerate from 0 to 50 kph in no time flat, on a bicycle, backwards. Can your legs do that? As I found out, mine can’t. This happened to me a few minutes into the hour long spin class. A spin class like this one is basically off-season training for some pretty hard-core cyclists. So for the next hour, not wanting to give up, I beat my legs into further submission, and when I dismounted, my legs almost couldn’t support me.

The next day I was a bit sore, the following evening I had a bit of trouble getting into bed. The next morning I woke up and to my surprise, I experienced the most physically painful moment since I caught David Kuzyk’s lacross ball with my left testicle, in grade six. It wasn’t getting run over by a bus, it wasn’t landing on my face after gapping an access road on my bike like last year; it was putting on my fucking socks. An activity that most people, myself included can do without feeling forced to wail out prophanities. It took me 25 minutes to shuffle myself into bed last night and take off my clothes. I still have a sock on because I just gave up. And now the bathroom is so, so far away.

Wood-fired Kraft Dinner

Simon — Sun, 14 Nov 2004 12:02:00 -0600

I have just had a week of hell. Today is the first day in a while I have been able to vegitate by any stretch of the imagination in a while. It feels great. I miss the life of Riley.

This year, I am heating my appartment mostly with a wood stove. It’s lots of fun and comparatively innexpensive. I was in the middle of chopping a bit of wood and stoking the fire when my hunger surfaced. It was time for Kraft dinner. I had to chuckle because there seems to be something inherently wrong with cooking Kraft Dinner on a 100-year-old cast iron stove/oven. I think an apple pie is next.

Ah, wish me happy loafing.

Flashback: The first pee story - Urine for some laughsFlashback: The first pee story - Urine for some laughs

Simon — Tue, 02 Nov 2004 11:55:00 -0600

Everyone seems to be taking the urinating-houseguest story quite harshly. I’ve even heard of some people preparing to stage an intervention. The idea that it is anything but laughable is beyond me. So I got to thinking, perhaps I should give my readers a little bit of background. So here goes my first flashback. Something that if it turns out, I might do more of.

December 17th 1980, Cape Town South Africa: I crawl out of my warm, comfortable, dark cave into what we all refer to as “life”. Now I think my mother would take exception to it sounding so easy, but we were both there, so it’s her word against mine. My first breath of air, a good spank, and into the waiting arms of my mother I went.

This is when I decided I would introduce myself to the world as “Simon the comedian”. I still argue that I had the best grasp of farce out of any twenty-two-second-old that has since lived. I started to pee. All over. It has been explained to me that this pee was impressive beyond my years (or seconds) at the time. Like the monitor of a fire truck, I hosed down the nurse, my father and a good dose to the floor, but not before getting the doctor right in the face. He apparently had it dripping off of his chin and silk tie.

My mother and father apologetically looked up at the doctor, already embarrassed by their new son. -A trend that would continue. The doctor answered their gazes with a simple conclusion:

“Well; at least we know that works.”

I, satisfied, giggled and went to sleep.

p.s. As for the intervention: I’m in – I’ll bring the keg

Good day, I am subarachnoid hemorrhaging

Simon — Sun, 31 Oct 2004 13:53:00 -0600

I have no desire to talk nerdy to you today. Relating my current mental and physical state is something that I think is beyond my wordsmithing capabilities. I also will apologize ahead of time for my distracted writing “style” today.

Did you know that a spontaneous subarachnoid hemorrhage is indicated by a sudden, severe headache? Nausea, vomiting, and dizziness frequently accompany the pain. Loss of consciousness occurs in about half the cases of spontaneous hemorrhage. A coma, usually brief, may occur. A stiff neck, fever, and aversion to light may appear following the hemorrhage. Neurological symptoms may include partial paralysis, loss of vision, seizures, and speech difficulties.

If it weren’t for the empty 40 oz bottle of vodka, this would be an easy diagnosis.

A good friend of mine crashed in my spare room last night. He woke me with some disturbing news:

“Simon,” he mumbled, “I wet your bed.”

This news triggered an unfortunate series of events. I laughed, this had the unusual effect of making me pass gas, which offended my girlfriend who promptly lashed out and tore a fist-sized clump of fake pubic hair attached with contact cement off of my chest (hey it’s Halloween), I stopped laughing and debated crying. It’s a pretty safe bet that my girlfriend is a little less in love with me today.

While rummaging around in my pockets I did find a ribbon with the words “Funniest costume” on it. As I see it this is not enough compensation for the pain I feel. Did I mention I have a bed full of urine?

I will be sure to attach any photos of the night that surface provided they do not inspire any legal consequences.

The Devil was in full force last night. – Happy Halloween