Just a quick note during Christmas time. Thanks to bad weather and Air Canada's less than swift fixing of a problem, I spent Friday night, all day Saturday, and all day Sunday in Montreal. What was supposed to be a two hour stop in Montreal prior to moving on to St. John's ended up as a two day wait.
I arrived in St. John's at 12:30 AM Christmas Day. So no pre Christmas shopping or visiting occured.
Also, no pre Christmas writing. And now is the time when lots is going on. So no writing will be put on the blog or e-mailed out before my return to Ottawa. A rundown of my time from last Sunday to January 2 will be done on the night of the 2nd... and a story will come back on Sunday, January 7.
Have a good one.
Tuesday, December 26, 2006
Sunday, December 17, 2006
Making It Up As I Go Along #249
MONDAY...
— Tiring evening dealing with pettiness and childishness. The events at work are really becoming annoying.
— My voice is pretty well back. Still not all perfect but I can talk normal now.
— Long walk tonight to try to unwind. Blah!
TUESDAY...
— Better night tonight. Not much out of the ordinary one way or the other today.
WEDNESDAY...
— Okay evening. Really tired from supper on though. An after work walk is pretty good.
— Will see no more of Melissa until the new year. She leaves for Christmas tomorrow and I’m gone before she gets back.
THURSDAY...
— Tired... plenty of sleep lately but just worn down.
— Do a couple more meetings (did three with my team yesterday).
— I decide to cut the week short. I have a bit of leave stored and decide Friday will be my Saturday... making today Friday. This makes the tiredness more tolerable.
FRIDAY...
— Day off work is nice. Nick and Sheila pop by for lunch and we join Casey, Isaac, Steve, and Anne-Marie for a junior hockey game in Gatineau. St. John’s are in town and they come back to beat Gatineau 4-3 in OT.
— From there it’s off to Father and Sons for some hanging out with Linda and some other co-workers while Read and Jonathan sing.
SATURDAY...
— Quiet day around the house. Some napping and movies with hockey night in Canada in the evening.
Hockey Night in Quebec
It is an odd night of hockey. I travel from Ontario to go to Quebec to see a team from my home town in Newfoundland. It’s the first time I’ve seen my hometown team play as well.
I left St. John’s with the minor league Maple Leafs firmly entrenched with more than ten years experience. I had watched that team play out of two stadiums. I was there for the inaugural game. I was there for the trip to the Calder Cup finals. And it was a family event. For much of the time of the Leafs, dad and I shared season tickets with my uncle and a friend of his. And we’d get together each September to plan out the games of the season.
After I left, so did the Leafs. Now it’s junior hockey in St. John’s. The Quebec League’s St. John’s Fog Devils. I can’t say it brings any warm and fuzzy feelings for me in the way that the Maple Leafs did. The Leafs at least started out old school. It was a team with veteran players in an old stadium and a traditional name and uniform.
The move out of Memorial Stadium and into Mile One Stadium was needed... although it did remove some of the romance of the team. There was something about being in a little stadium with rusty rafters and wooden seats, thick with paint, that just felt like hockey. You’d trek through the snow and wind, climb in through the old wooden doors and breathe in the diesel of the Zamboni.
Mile One Stadium took away the warm and cozy, pull-up-a-chair-by-the-fire feel. In Memorial Stadium, you’d look across the building and recognize faces in the other sections. More than once I waved at a friend at the other end of the building. In Mile One, people have become more concerned with watching the jumbotron for their own faces than scanning the stands for those of others.
And now that the Leafs are gone, and the Fog Devils are in, I feel all the more separated from home. All tradition is gone. I hear they even removed the Stadium part of Mile One’s title. It’s now a Centre... just like all those other shopping mall wannabes.
And want on earth is a fog devil anyway? The desperate attempt to gain a foothold in the world of fad. Hoping to see rappers from LA adopt a new version of cool in the form of a horned Ziggy peaking out from behind a crest.
Still, when the Fog Devils came to Gatineau, a group of us from work decided it would be fun to go. I vowed not to cheer for St. John’s though. There betrayal to me as a traditional hockey fan has cut too deep. And besides, how can any self respecting fan cheer for a fog devil?
At the game, we get a treat. Entering the front doors of the old stadium brings back the feel of Memorial Stadium. Cramped corridors and thick coats of paint make the place feel like home. And walking the corridors has that same feel of hockey. I don’t recognize the faces but there’s a comradery in it all. They’re there... like me... for hockey. Nothing more, nothing less.
Before heading down to our seats, we stop to get a beer. It’s just a small stand with room for the one lady selling the beverages and her taps. I use my French to the best of my abilities... “Un Bleu?” Gets me a Labatt’s Blue and I even understand her quote the cost to me.
Sitting in the seats, it’s like I’m back home in old Memorial Stadium even more so. One Zamboni circles the ice in hypnotic fashion. No need for the two vehicles like in the newer arenas. And fans are left on their own for pre-game entertainment. There’s no jumbotron. There’s no entertainment coordinator. And even the public address announcer keeps things brief. People just mill about their seats, chatting to each other.
And through the game, it’s much the same. Back home, they’ve gotten caught up in the entertainment around the game. The have prizes to give away and trivia contests and kissing cam and the blasted jumbotron that searches out and rewards the most annoying children in attendance.
But here, throughout the game, it’s all about the game itself. Some shirts are fired into the stands during the intermissions... and some kids play a five minute game between the first and second periods, while a lone man takes a shot at an empty net during the second intermission. Other than that, the only times the public address announcer breaks the silence is to announce goals... penalties... and the attendance.
And like home, I do end up running into a couple of familiar faces, even here in Gatineau. Two other guys from work stop by, tapping me on the shoulder and standing in the isle to talk for a few minutes just as we would do with friends during those games in Memorial Stadium. It completes the feeling of pulling up that chair next to the fire. It’s this feeling that makes hockey a very real piece of Canada’s culture.
Of course, there are differences from home as well. All the announcements come in French before English. The people selling 50/50 tickets are calling out in French. And the team from St. John’s is not being cheered for.
Anytime I’ve seen St. John’s play in hockey, it’s been as the home team. But today, they’re on the road and getting booed. It’s surreal for me.
By the end of the second period, I’ve been brought back over. Where I went vowing not to cheer for a fog devil, I find myself drawn in by the familiar names on the backs of the jerseys as well as the “St. John’s” written into the crest on the front.
And even though the team is outplayed, they play hard, fight back to tie the game with two goals in the final five minutes, and score a beauty to win it in overtime.
I walk out of the old building with my co-workers talking about how it was a good game in much the same way as I would years previously, walking out of Memorial Stadium with my dad.
St. John’s will be playing a home game while I’m there for Christmas. And I’ll probably get down to Mile One to take a look at the Fog Devils on home ice as well. And even though the faces in the stands will contain some familiar to me, and I’ll be there with my father, there’ll be something missing from the night. Because we’ll be in plastic seats in a Centre rather than wooden ones in a Stadium. And jumbotron will be on throughout the night, trying to pull the mind away from the action on the ice.
Yes, there may be a fireplace at Mile One Centre on that night... but rather than the pop and crackle of the warm fire as we sit comfortably and in peace, it’ll be an electrical fireplace with a rotating light and no warmth what-so-ever. But at least a few kids will get on the jumbotron... and, after all, isn’t that what going to a hockey game is all about?
— Tiring evening dealing with pettiness and childishness. The events at work are really becoming annoying.
— My voice is pretty well back. Still not all perfect but I can talk normal now.
— Long walk tonight to try to unwind. Blah!
TUESDAY...
— Better night tonight. Not much out of the ordinary one way or the other today.
WEDNESDAY...
— Okay evening. Really tired from supper on though. An after work walk is pretty good.
— Will see no more of Melissa until the new year. She leaves for Christmas tomorrow and I’m gone before she gets back.
THURSDAY...
— Tired... plenty of sleep lately but just worn down.
— Do a couple more meetings (did three with my team yesterday).
— I decide to cut the week short. I have a bit of leave stored and decide Friday will be my Saturday... making today Friday. This makes the tiredness more tolerable.
FRIDAY...
— Day off work is nice. Nick and Sheila pop by for lunch and we join Casey, Isaac, Steve, and Anne-Marie for a junior hockey game in Gatineau. St. John’s are in town and they come back to beat Gatineau 4-3 in OT.
— From there it’s off to Father and Sons for some hanging out with Linda and some other co-workers while Read and Jonathan sing.
SATURDAY...
— Quiet day around the house. Some napping and movies with hockey night in Canada in the evening.
Hockey Night in Quebec
It is an odd night of hockey. I travel from Ontario to go to Quebec to see a team from my home town in Newfoundland. It’s the first time I’ve seen my hometown team play as well.
I left St. John’s with the minor league Maple Leafs firmly entrenched with more than ten years experience. I had watched that team play out of two stadiums. I was there for the inaugural game. I was there for the trip to the Calder Cup finals. And it was a family event. For much of the time of the Leafs, dad and I shared season tickets with my uncle and a friend of his. And we’d get together each September to plan out the games of the season.
After I left, so did the Leafs. Now it’s junior hockey in St. John’s. The Quebec League’s St. John’s Fog Devils. I can’t say it brings any warm and fuzzy feelings for me in the way that the Maple Leafs did. The Leafs at least started out old school. It was a team with veteran players in an old stadium and a traditional name and uniform.
The move out of Memorial Stadium and into Mile One Stadium was needed... although it did remove some of the romance of the team. There was something about being in a little stadium with rusty rafters and wooden seats, thick with paint, that just felt like hockey. You’d trek through the snow and wind, climb in through the old wooden doors and breathe in the diesel of the Zamboni.
Mile One Stadium took away the warm and cozy, pull-up-a-chair-by-the-fire feel. In Memorial Stadium, you’d look across the building and recognize faces in the other sections. More than once I waved at a friend at the other end of the building. In Mile One, people have become more concerned with watching the jumbotron for their own faces than scanning the stands for those of others.
And now that the Leafs are gone, and the Fog Devils are in, I feel all the more separated from home. All tradition is gone. I hear they even removed the Stadium part of Mile One’s title. It’s now a Centre... just like all those other shopping mall wannabes.
And want on earth is a fog devil anyway? The desperate attempt to gain a foothold in the world of fad. Hoping to see rappers from LA adopt a new version of cool in the form of a horned Ziggy peaking out from behind a crest.
Still, when the Fog Devils came to Gatineau, a group of us from work decided it would be fun to go. I vowed not to cheer for St. John’s though. There betrayal to me as a traditional hockey fan has cut too deep. And besides, how can any self respecting fan cheer for a fog devil?
At the game, we get a treat. Entering the front doors of the old stadium brings back the feel of Memorial Stadium. Cramped corridors and thick coats of paint make the place feel like home. And walking the corridors has that same feel of hockey. I don’t recognize the faces but there’s a comradery in it all. They’re there... like me... for hockey. Nothing more, nothing less.
Before heading down to our seats, we stop to get a beer. It’s just a small stand with room for the one lady selling the beverages and her taps. I use my French to the best of my abilities... “Un Bleu?” Gets me a Labatt’s Blue and I even understand her quote the cost to me.
Sitting in the seats, it’s like I’m back home in old Memorial Stadium even more so. One Zamboni circles the ice in hypnotic fashion. No need for the two vehicles like in the newer arenas. And fans are left on their own for pre-game entertainment. There’s no jumbotron. There’s no entertainment coordinator. And even the public address announcer keeps things brief. People just mill about their seats, chatting to each other.
And through the game, it’s much the same. Back home, they’ve gotten caught up in the entertainment around the game. The have prizes to give away and trivia contests and kissing cam and the blasted jumbotron that searches out and rewards the most annoying children in attendance.
But here, throughout the game, it’s all about the game itself. Some shirts are fired into the stands during the intermissions... and some kids play a five minute game between the first and second periods, while a lone man takes a shot at an empty net during the second intermission. Other than that, the only times the public address announcer breaks the silence is to announce goals... penalties... and the attendance.
And like home, I do end up running into a couple of familiar faces, even here in Gatineau. Two other guys from work stop by, tapping me on the shoulder and standing in the isle to talk for a few minutes just as we would do with friends during those games in Memorial Stadium. It completes the feeling of pulling up that chair next to the fire. It’s this feeling that makes hockey a very real piece of Canada’s culture.
Of course, there are differences from home as well. All the announcements come in French before English. The people selling 50/50 tickets are calling out in French. And the team from St. John’s is not being cheered for.
Anytime I’ve seen St. John’s play in hockey, it’s been as the home team. But today, they’re on the road and getting booed. It’s surreal for me.
By the end of the second period, I’ve been brought back over. Where I went vowing not to cheer for a fog devil, I find myself drawn in by the familiar names on the backs of the jerseys as well as the “St. John’s” written into the crest on the front.
And even though the team is outplayed, they play hard, fight back to tie the game with two goals in the final five minutes, and score a beauty to win it in overtime.
I walk out of the old building with my co-workers talking about how it was a good game in much the same way as I would years previously, walking out of Memorial Stadium with my dad.
St. John’s will be playing a home game while I’m there for Christmas. And I’ll probably get down to Mile One to take a look at the Fog Devils on home ice as well. And even though the faces in the stands will contain some familiar to me, and I’ll be there with my father, there’ll be something missing from the night. Because we’ll be in plastic seats in a Centre rather than wooden ones in a Stadium. And jumbotron will be on throughout the night, trying to pull the mind away from the action on the ice.
Yes, there may be a fireplace at Mile One Centre on that night... but rather than the pop and crackle of the warm fire as we sit comfortably and in peace, it’ll be an electrical fireplace with a rotating light and no warmth what-so-ever. But at least a few kids will get on the jumbotron... and, after all, isn’t that what going to a hockey game is all about?
Sunday, December 10, 2006
Making It Up As I Go Along #248
MONDAY…
--- Skip squash and have a tricky time at work due to my throat. I’m losing my voice and it’s pretty sore there when I swallow. It’s especially bad if I sneeze. I did it once at work and it felt like my tonsils were going to shoot out of my mouth.
TUESDAY…
--- Well the doctor was visited and my voice isn’t due to sickness but… a strained or pulled vocal chord. Not quite as glamorous as twisting a knee on the playing field in sports but what are ya going to do?
WEDNESDAY…
--- Kind of garbage day at work, largely based on a bit of a tiff with a friend. It’s a lot nicer at work when there are certain people you know you can see and laugh with at break or when you pass them by… And that’s not happening with one person in this place today.
--- Out with mom and her friend/co-worker after work. They’re in town for business so I meet them downtown and we do supper together… it’s good.
THURSDAY…
--- Nasty day. One of the worst ones in a few years actually. Not much went right on this day… but I’ll live.
FRIDAY…
--- Better day than yesterday but still some issues that aren’t super.
--- Real food day… Tom (the manager) gives us breakfast at HQ to start the day… then we have the office Christmas lunch at the Keg downtown… and tonight I have supper with mom and her co-worker at the Mongolian place. My voice just about dies over the day but I make it.
SATURDAY…
--- Quiet day around the house trying to get my voice feeling better.
Badges of Honour
Injuries are one of the badges of honour for an athlete. Most people I’ve played sports with have a story to tell of a time they got hurt. The stories come out... people relate and tell their own... and the whole process continues... sometimes, if enough alcohol is consumed, for hours.
I have endured many an injury over the years. And I can be fairly proud with my record of returning early or playing through problems.
Early one fastpitch softball tournament, while I was playing shortstop, I took a screaming line drive off of my ankle. With my leg numb from toe to shin, I scrambled to pick up the ball and make the out. And I continued with the tournament, playing three games in two days with a swollen and bruised ankle.
Prior to another fastpitch game, I took a ball off the tip of my left ring finger. The finger snapped back and swealed up within seconds. Still, I threw a bit of tape around the knuckle and proceeded to catch the game... catching many a hard pitch right on top of that finger. This was about ten years ago... I’ve never been able to bend that finger all the way since... but I finished the game!
My most proud ‘warrior’ story is of the time I tore my medial collateral ligament (MCL) in my right knee. In the third inning, it popped while I was making a quick stop along the base paths. But with my knee throbbing, I caught another two innings before finishing the game at first base. I didn’t play well for the rest of the game... but such details get left as unimportant.
My MCL story ends with the fact that I returned to the team three weeks later (at least a month before I should) to be a designated hitter in the playoffs. I hit the first pitch I saw to deep centre field for an sacrifice fly and a game tying RBI.
So now I can sit with old team mates and nod as they talk of sore shoulders. I pipe in that I had my shoulder checked out and was told there was likely calcification within the joint. Now that’s a war story for a ball player!
I have other stories of pain and injury. My sister sent my flying over the front steps in my childhood. Eyebrow met concrete walkway and the blood flowed. My uncle thought my eye was no longer within it’s socket... that’s how much blood was gushing from my tiny skull. The scar remains as a reminder for my only time receiving stiches.
I know co-workers who have endured injuries too. Anne-Marie tore knee ligaments in an office volleyball tournament. She finished the tournament and was part of the winning team. Devin was walloped with a curling broom so hard that he was almost killed! A lump of legendary status welled up in record time and the photograph was circulated for months afterwards. And Laura fractured a bone within her wrist while playing hockey... yet she played on, not even realizing that the bone was fractured until months later. Even then, she said “Forget the cast! It’s summer time!” She played golf as my team mate at the RCMP tournament... fractured wrist and all.
And me? Well, we’re getting to me now.
Three weeks ago, I was sitting at my home computer without a care in the world. Healthy, killing some time, enjoying the sun coming through my living room window. And, without warning, I had a mighty sneeze!
It was one of those mega-blast sneezes that explodes from deep down. Not one of those messy sneezes where you’re left to towel off mind you. It was neat and titanic. And with it, I felt an ache in the side of my throat.
My first thought was a small curse. It was me wondering if that was the first sneeze of an oncoming cold. That the ache in my throat would soon develop into a scratchiness, and that would be followed by sinus congestion.
But I was lucky. Over the following days, no symptoms developed and the ache disappeared. Yet, from time to time after that, another quick sneeze would flare the ache. For the following two weeks, It never fully goes away.
Six days ago, the ache graduates from occasional irritant after a sneeze to a constant annoyance. Swallowing is by no means agonizing... but it isn’t a simple pleasure either. It’s sort of like trying to swallow a peanut. And with an oral presentation days away, I began to fear the cold catching up to me. Would I be miserable on the day when my thoughts would have to be clear and my voice strong?
But that day passes without incident. The ache is still in my throat but no other symptoms come.. I make it through the presentation alive.
Still, I’m tired and emotionally drained, so Saturday is a quiet day around the house for me. By Saturday night, an amazing thing... my voice changes! I talk to myself.. Likely in complaint about some commercial I see on TV... and suddenly I can barely recognize the voice that comes out. It’s Johnny Cash’s voice... no... no it’s Barry White’s voice. Deep and with a base that would shake the water in a glass like when the T-Rex approached the heros in Jurassic Park. And then I knew... at age 34, I would begin my life as a singer. Not just singer... I’d be a crooner! No more single life for me my friends! The girls would be running for me wildly.
For the rest of the evening, I walked around testing my voice. Not through song, but simple sentences. “Hello, I’m Johnny Cash”... “This is the sound of my voice.”... “Oooo baby.”
On Sunday, trouble begins. My deep voice that’ll make me millions vanishes. A couple of crackles and things begin to close down.
By Sunday night, I’m down to a weak gravely thing to communicate with. There is a shade of Cash still in there... Barry White is long gone... and fear of the flu comes back.
Monday I have co-workers trying to coax me into saying those famous words... “Hello, I’m Johnny Cash.” I refuse... my voice will not be turned in to a mockery!
At lunch, it’s too late. Johnny is long gone and all that’s left is a troll that lives under a bridge. Nick even offers to go look for some Billy Goats.
This morning, I’m down to a whisper. Instructions at work are given by me secretly telling the closest person to me so that they can broadcast it to the crew. I’m a whispering mob boss now. “Never go against the family.” I belong in the Godfather movies.
So I’m off to the doctor. Three and a half years into my stay in Ottawa, I finally have to go to see a doctor. And what is it he tells me? Strep throat? Pneumonia? Bronchitis? No... it appears that I have a pulled vocal chord! It takes six weeks for these things to heal!
Quite a warrior I am. Torn MCL... finish the game. Blasted finger... catch the game. And a shoulder joint turning to bone due to years of intense use!
And my latest injury... six weeks of voice trouble due to a sneeze. Millions of dollars gone, simply because my vocal chords shifted from Barry White to the troll under the bridge.
--- Skip squash and have a tricky time at work due to my throat. I’m losing my voice and it’s pretty sore there when I swallow. It’s especially bad if I sneeze. I did it once at work and it felt like my tonsils were going to shoot out of my mouth.
TUESDAY…
--- Well the doctor was visited and my voice isn’t due to sickness but… a strained or pulled vocal chord. Not quite as glamorous as twisting a knee on the playing field in sports but what are ya going to do?
WEDNESDAY…
--- Kind of garbage day at work, largely based on a bit of a tiff with a friend. It’s a lot nicer at work when there are certain people you know you can see and laugh with at break or when you pass them by… And that’s not happening with one person in this place today.
--- Out with mom and her friend/co-worker after work. They’re in town for business so I meet them downtown and we do supper together… it’s good.
THURSDAY…
--- Nasty day. One of the worst ones in a few years actually. Not much went right on this day… but I’ll live.
FRIDAY…
--- Better day than yesterday but still some issues that aren’t super.
--- Real food day… Tom (the manager) gives us breakfast at HQ to start the day… then we have the office Christmas lunch at the Keg downtown… and tonight I have supper with mom and her co-worker at the Mongolian place. My voice just about dies over the day but I make it.
SATURDAY…
--- Quiet day around the house trying to get my voice feeling better.
Badges of Honour
Injuries are one of the badges of honour for an athlete. Most people I’ve played sports with have a story to tell of a time they got hurt. The stories come out... people relate and tell their own... and the whole process continues... sometimes, if enough alcohol is consumed, for hours.
I have endured many an injury over the years. And I can be fairly proud with my record of returning early or playing through problems.
Early one fastpitch softball tournament, while I was playing shortstop, I took a screaming line drive off of my ankle. With my leg numb from toe to shin, I scrambled to pick up the ball and make the out. And I continued with the tournament, playing three games in two days with a swollen and bruised ankle.
Prior to another fastpitch game, I took a ball off the tip of my left ring finger. The finger snapped back and swealed up within seconds. Still, I threw a bit of tape around the knuckle and proceeded to catch the game... catching many a hard pitch right on top of that finger. This was about ten years ago... I’ve never been able to bend that finger all the way since... but I finished the game!
My most proud ‘warrior’ story is of the time I tore my medial collateral ligament (MCL) in my right knee. In the third inning, it popped while I was making a quick stop along the base paths. But with my knee throbbing, I caught another two innings before finishing the game at first base. I didn’t play well for the rest of the game... but such details get left as unimportant.
My MCL story ends with the fact that I returned to the team three weeks later (at least a month before I should) to be a designated hitter in the playoffs. I hit the first pitch I saw to deep centre field for an sacrifice fly and a game tying RBI.
So now I can sit with old team mates and nod as they talk of sore shoulders. I pipe in that I had my shoulder checked out and was told there was likely calcification within the joint. Now that’s a war story for a ball player!
I have other stories of pain and injury. My sister sent my flying over the front steps in my childhood. Eyebrow met concrete walkway and the blood flowed. My uncle thought my eye was no longer within it’s socket... that’s how much blood was gushing from my tiny skull. The scar remains as a reminder for my only time receiving stiches.
I know co-workers who have endured injuries too. Anne-Marie tore knee ligaments in an office volleyball tournament. She finished the tournament and was part of the winning team. Devin was walloped with a curling broom so hard that he was almost killed! A lump of legendary status welled up in record time and the photograph was circulated for months afterwards. And Laura fractured a bone within her wrist while playing hockey... yet she played on, not even realizing that the bone was fractured until months later. Even then, she said “Forget the cast! It’s summer time!” She played golf as my team mate at the RCMP tournament... fractured wrist and all.
And me? Well, we’re getting to me now.
Three weeks ago, I was sitting at my home computer without a care in the world. Healthy, killing some time, enjoying the sun coming through my living room window. And, without warning, I had a mighty sneeze!
It was one of those mega-blast sneezes that explodes from deep down. Not one of those messy sneezes where you’re left to towel off mind you. It was neat and titanic. And with it, I felt an ache in the side of my throat.
My first thought was a small curse. It was me wondering if that was the first sneeze of an oncoming cold. That the ache in my throat would soon develop into a scratchiness, and that would be followed by sinus congestion.
But I was lucky. Over the following days, no symptoms developed and the ache disappeared. Yet, from time to time after that, another quick sneeze would flare the ache. For the following two weeks, It never fully goes away.
Six days ago, the ache graduates from occasional irritant after a sneeze to a constant annoyance. Swallowing is by no means agonizing... but it isn’t a simple pleasure either. It’s sort of like trying to swallow a peanut. And with an oral presentation days away, I began to fear the cold catching up to me. Would I be miserable on the day when my thoughts would have to be clear and my voice strong?
But that day passes without incident. The ache is still in my throat but no other symptoms come.. I make it through the presentation alive.
Still, I’m tired and emotionally drained, so Saturday is a quiet day around the house for me. By Saturday night, an amazing thing... my voice changes! I talk to myself.. Likely in complaint about some commercial I see on TV... and suddenly I can barely recognize the voice that comes out. It’s Johnny Cash’s voice... no... no it’s Barry White’s voice. Deep and with a base that would shake the water in a glass like when the T-Rex approached the heros in Jurassic Park. And then I knew... at age 34, I would begin my life as a singer. Not just singer... I’d be a crooner! No more single life for me my friends! The girls would be running for me wildly.
For the rest of the evening, I walked around testing my voice. Not through song, but simple sentences. “Hello, I’m Johnny Cash”... “This is the sound of my voice.”... “Oooo baby.”
On Sunday, trouble begins. My deep voice that’ll make me millions vanishes. A couple of crackles and things begin to close down.
By Sunday night, I’m down to a weak gravely thing to communicate with. There is a shade of Cash still in there... Barry White is long gone... and fear of the flu comes back.
Monday I have co-workers trying to coax me into saying those famous words... “Hello, I’m Johnny Cash.” I refuse... my voice will not be turned in to a mockery!
At lunch, it’s too late. Johnny is long gone and all that’s left is a troll that lives under a bridge. Nick even offers to go look for some Billy Goats.
This morning, I’m down to a whisper. Instructions at work are given by me secretly telling the closest person to me so that they can broadcast it to the crew. I’m a whispering mob boss now. “Never go against the family.” I belong in the Godfather movies.
So I’m off to the doctor. Three and a half years into my stay in Ottawa, I finally have to go to see a doctor. And what is it he tells me? Strep throat? Pneumonia? Bronchitis? No... it appears that I have a pulled vocal chord! It takes six weeks for these things to heal!
Quite a warrior I am. Torn MCL... finish the game. Blasted finger... catch the game. And a shoulder joint turning to bone due to years of intense use!
And my latest injury... six weeks of voice trouble due to a sneeze. Millions of dollars gone, simply because my vocal chords shifted from Barry White to the troll under the bridge.
Sunday, December 03, 2006
Making It Up As I Go Along #247
MONDAY…
--- Little bit annoying/tough day at work.
--- It’s Melissa and visitors for lunch prior to work.
--- Me falling asleep on the sofa after I get home.
TUESDAY…
--- Busy night with trouble with the computer system.
--- Chinese food with Megan and Laura is a good break though.
--- Tom Waits is on the Daily Show tonight and man… that guy commands attention when he sings.
WEDNESDAY…
--- Crazy day. Starts nice enough with office bowling. My team has Melissa, Megan, Laura and I on it and it’s fun with that group.
--- Work is pretty insane afterwards. System troubles to fix up… helping workers… just lots of craziness.
THURSDAY…
--- Another busy day at work. Lots of work getting things ready for temporary employees to apply for other jobs.
--- After being friends for almost a year and a half, I find out I’ve been pronouncing Laura’s last name wrong. Everyone at work has been. She just let it go. Craziness.
FRIDAY…
--- Tough day with pre work stuff that is stressful and wearing on the nerves. And then work starts with a bang as well. Supper at the officer’s mess for the staff Christmas supper. I sit with Laura, Megan, Melissa, Janice and Phil and that’s good… but I’m too worn out to have any real input into the evening.
--- Home a bit early and it’s time to decompress from a tough week.
SATURDAY…
--- With little sleep last night, I go lazy around the house today. I need it anyway… feeling pretty worn out from the last week or so.
--- Liberal convention stuff is odd at times and mildly entertaining. Stephane Dion is fine by me as the winner.
A very busy week keeps me away from the story for update #246. There was just no good time to sit and come up with anything. Actually, I think it’s the busiest week I’ve had since 1998… when I was finishing up my university degree.
Anyway…
Stanley Cup for Geeks
After a week that smacked me around and left me bruised and battered mentally, I was in hide away mood Saturday. The curtains didn’t even open, I was able to figure the weather outside based on hearing some wind against the windows and seeing some brightness against the kitchen blinds late in the day.
So on hide away day, the TV is on from 9:00 AM to midnight… and much of the watching is of the Liberal leadership convention.
Politics is a bizarre field to study. Not necessarily the issues behind the politics but the human element of it all. Seeing the people drawn in to the production of it all is what’s fascinating.
And, after watching a dozen of hours of the Liberal game, here’s my conclusion... democratic nations are run by dorks!
That’s right, the people in political power are largely the same people that were beat up and wedgied in high school. And the delegates who vote for the leaders on a day like Saturday are the biggest set of dorks and nerds in society today. They’re stuck in this frantic bubble of flash. For many of the 4500 people in attendance, this is the Stanley Cup… the World Series… Woodstock… Live Aid. It’s their moment to be a part of a group that ‘makes a difference’ and they go wild in nerdish, dorky delight.
What makes them this way? Let’s observe examples shall we…
Straw hats. Even the commentators made a joke of straw hats. Those cheap hats with “liberal” written on them (although they could have any political slogan taking the place of that moniker). And I thought “no, surly people don’t still wear those hats.”
Not ten minutes later there’s some dishevelled old man with a straw hat perched atop his head. In fact, this seems to be a man of straw. His beard is bristles of an old style curling brush and the bits of hair poking out from under his lid is that of the common kitchen broom variety. It appears that this guy was pulled in from off the street to be given a cup of coffee and a bit to eat prior to being deposited back on a nearby street corner. He doesn’t even appear to be aware of what’s going on around him.
Spin is another topic even the TV commentators joke of. How every supporter spin the situation to make things sound just peachy. Every candidate is being made out to be the next Pierre Trudeau or John F. Kennedy. And after every vote, even the candidate near the bottom of the popularity has loyal followers touting how “this is where we want to be”… “We’re building momentum”.
Some of this isn’t even spin. Some of it is just bold faced lies. Nobody got on camera, during the entire twelve hours of live broadcasting, and said “This doesn’t look good, I think we’ll lose.”
And for some, it seems like they’re drinking the kool-aid of a cult leader. They’re blindsided by defeat even though the rest of us are seeing it come some six hours before it got there.
It got me thinking… who are these people trying to convince anyway? Everyone able to vote for this show is already right there. As far as the TV audience goes, they could tell the cameras the absolute truth and it won’t make any difference. A supporter can say that their candidate will lose and the vote will remain the same as when they proclaim to the nation that their man will lead the free world. I have no 1-900 number to call. I can’t get my friends to call either. There’s no internet site to point and click for my choice. They’re in their bubble with all the power to decide the turnout, and they’re trying to convince us of something other than reality.
And so I continue to watch the insanity, wondering more and more about this question. Who are they trying to convince? Why do they bother to do this? I’m looking at seas of signs with candidate names on them as they bounce along the auditorium floor almost like living bits of cardboard that dance across human heads. And I wonder “Why?” There could be 4000 signs with one candidate’s name floating through the throngs but, when it comes time to vote, any of these sign holders could punch any other name they wish. It’s not like it’s a sign counting democracy we’re in.
Then there’s the prop to prove anyone’s inclusion in the world of fanatic dork. That invention brought to us through Japanese baseball. I speak, of course, about Thunder Sticks!!!
For those who never knew their name or where they came from, Thunder Sticks are those inflatable contraptions that look like a creation of a really bored clown at a kid’s birthday party. Giraffe? Horsey? No kid, you don’t want that… here’s an inflatable 2x4! Actually, here… take another and have some fun.
That’s Thunder Sticks. Two inflatable 2x4’s that the fanatic will pound together. It has taken the place of the normal human ritual of applause. For the dork, hands just won’t do, you have to slap together inflated plastic to show your support. This began in Japanese baseball. Fans throughout Japanese stadiums would eat their sushi and slam their Thunder Sticks.
The sushi failed to make it to North American sports facilities (unless you have seats in a luxury box) but the Thunder Sticks came in hoards and all over North American sports facilities, annoying Thunder Sticks became the rage.
That rage has died down in sports. Only the desperate franchise, looking to latch on to a fade a few years too late, break them out. But the dorks in politics have found a whole new level of ‘cool’!
I picture them now, prior to the convention, digging through their closet for the straw hat while yelling to the wife asking “where’d you put my Thunder Sticks???” The horror.
The press get caught up in the dorky fanaticism. For the first few hours, they aren’t too bad but… by hour four… you’re clinging to every reaction and looking for gold on film. A candidate gets up to go to the bathroom and a dozen camera people jump up, flick on the lights, and run to cut him off. Microphone yielding reporters are trampled as they try to extend their arm far enough to get a snippet of political thought from a guy who needs to drain the kidneys. This is, after all, important stuff.
And no discussion of political dorkiness would be complete without mention of the music.
A political convention is a time warp to a 1980s concert of all the worst musical acts together on one stage… on one night. The delegates dance and clap, completely out of sequence, to the most horrid collection of tunes a music lover could ever hear. But they love it. It’s like they’ve returned to their teenage years when they got their first kiss in the middle of a Journey concert. Or maybe Starship… or the worst moments of Fleetwood Mac. But even though their minds take the geeks back, we at home get to watch forty-five year old, delusional, straw hat covered twits as they put down their Thunder Sticks long enough to do some out of time jig to Mambo #5! Now I tell you people… that truly is horror.
And, in closing, what in the name of God is up with the thumbs? An enthusiastic thumbs up to anything went out the day after Happy Days was taken off the air. Maybe if you review movies, you can give a very easy going and slow paced thumbs up… maybe. But if you’re a political person of any kind, and you have some insane grin plastered to your face with a straw hat perched atop your skull… for the love of all that you find holy!... keep your hands in your pockets! Some spastic thumbs up to show how all is wonderful in your world is the greatest tip off to the rest of the world that… you are very much insane.
Yes indeed. After twelve hours of watching the Liberal Leadership convention, I have come to the conclusion that democracies the world over are run by crazy dorks. And after watching his candidate win, last night some guy named Eugene, skipped home, gave passing cars an enthusiastic thumbs up, and lost his straw hat in the wind. But he didn’t even mind much cause when he gets home, his mom will make him some hot coco and he’ll retire downstairs to his basement apartment, having won his Stanley Cup. And forty-five year old Eugene will drift off to sleep with a smile on his face and the tune of Mambo #5 racing through his head.
--- Little bit annoying/tough day at work.
--- It’s Melissa and visitors for lunch prior to work.
--- Me falling asleep on the sofa after I get home.
TUESDAY…
--- Busy night with trouble with the computer system.
--- Chinese food with Megan and Laura is a good break though.
--- Tom Waits is on the Daily Show tonight and man… that guy commands attention when he sings.
WEDNESDAY…
--- Crazy day. Starts nice enough with office bowling. My team has Melissa, Megan, Laura and I on it and it’s fun with that group.
--- Work is pretty insane afterwards. System troubles to fix up… helping workers… just lots of craziness.
THURSDAY…
--- Another busy day at work. Lots of work getting things ready for temporary employees to apply for other jobs.
--- After being friends for almost a year and a half, I find out I’ve been pronouncing Laura’s last name wrong. Everyone at work has been. She just let it go. Craziness.
FRIDAY…
--- Tough day with pre work stuff that is stressful and wearing on the nerves. And then work starts with a bang as well. Supper at the officer’s mess for the staff Christmas supper. I sit with Laura, Megan, Melissa, Janice and Phil and that’s good… but I’m too worn out to have any real input into the evening.
--- Home a bit early and it’s time to decompress from a tough week.
SATURDAY…
--- With little sleep last night, I go lazy around the house today. I need it anyway… feeling pretty worn out from the last week or so.
--- Liberal convention stuff is odd at times and mildly entertaining. Stephane Dion is fine by me as the winner.
A very busy week keeps me away from the story for update #246. There was just no good time to sit and come up with anything. Actually, I think it’s the busiest week I’ve had since 1998… when I was finishing up my university degree.
Anyway…
Stanley Cup for Geeks
After a week that smacked me around and left me bruised and battered mentally, I was in hide away mood Saturday. The curtains didn’t even open, I was able to figure the weather outside based on hearing some wind against the windows and seeing some brightness against the kitchen blinds late in the day.
So on hide away day, the TV is on from 9:00 AM to midnight… and much of the watching is of the Liberal leadership convention.
Politics is a bizarre field to study. Not necessarily the issues behind the politics but the human element of it all. Seeing the people drawn in to the production of it all is what’s fascinating.
And, after watching a dozen of hours of the Liberal game, here’s my conclusion... democratic nations are run by dorks!
That’s right, the people in political power are largely the same people that were beat up and wedgied in high school. And the delegates who vote for the leaders on a day like Saturday are the biggest set of dorks and nerds in society today. They’re stuck in this frantic bubble of flash. For many of the 4500 people in attendance, this is the Stanley Cup… the World Series… Woodstock… Live Aid. It’s their moment to be a part of a group that ‘makes a difference’ and they go wild in nerdish, dorky delight.
What makes them this way? Let’s observe examples shall we…
Straw hats. Even the commentators made a joke of straw hats. Those cheap hats with “liberal” written on them (although they could have any political slogan taking the place of that moniker). And I thought “no, surly people don’t still wear those hats.”
Not ten minutes later there’s some dishevelled old man with a straw hat perched atop his head. In fact, this seems to be a man of straw. His beard is bristles of an old style curling brush and the bits of hair poking out from under his lid is that of the common kitchen broom variety. It appears that this guy was pulled in from off the street to be given a cup of coffee and a bit to eat prior to being deposited back on a nearby street corner. He doesn’t even appear to be aware of what’s going on around him.
Spin is another topic even the TV commentators joke of. How every supporter spin the situation to make things sound just peachy. Every candidate is being made out to be the next Pierre Trudeau or John F. Kennedy. And after every vote, even the candidate near the bottom of the popularity has loyal followers touting how “this is where we want to be”… “We’re building momentum”.
Some of this isn’t even spin. Some of it is just bold faced lies. Nobody got on camera, during the entire twelve hours of live broadcasting, and said “This doesn’t look good, I think we’ll lose.”
And for some, it seems like they’re drinking the kool-aid of a cult leader. They’re blindsided by defeat even though the rest of us are seeing it come some six hours before it got there.
It got me thinking… who are these people trying to convince anyway? Everyone able to vote for this show is already right there. As far as the TV audience goes, they could tell the cameras the absolute truth and it won’t make any difference. A supporter can say that their candidate will lose and the vote will remain the same as when they proclaim to the nation that their man will lead the free world. I have no 1-900 number to call. I can’t get my friends to call either. There’s no internet site to point and click for my choice. They’re in their bubble with all the power to decide the turnout, and they’re trying to convince us of something other than reality.
And so I continue to watch the insanity, wondering more and more about this question. Who are they trying to convince? Why do they bother to do this? I’m looking at seas of signs with candidate names on them as they bounce along the auditorium floor almost like living bits of cardboard that dance across human heads. And I wonder “Why?” There could be 4000 signs with one candidate’s name floating through the throngs but, when it comes time to vote, any of these sign holders could punch any other name they wish. It’s not like it’s a sign counting democracy we’re in.
Then there’s the prop to prove anyone’s inclusion in the world of fanatic dork. That invention brought to us through Japanese baseball. I speak, of course, about Thunder Sticks!!!
For those who never knew their name or where they came from, Thunder Sticks are those inflatable contraptions that look like a creation of a really bored clown at a kid’s birthday party. Giraffe? Horsey? No kid, you don’t want that… here’s an inflatable 2x4! Actually, here… take another and have some fun.
That’s Thunder Sticks. Two inflatable 2x4’s that the fanatic will pound together. It has taken the place of the normal human ritual of applause. For the dork, hands just won’t do, you have to slap together inflated plastic to show your support. This began in Japanese baseball. Fans throughout Japanese stadiums would eat their sushi and slam their Thunder Sticks.
The sushi failed to make it to North American sports facilities (unless you have seats in a luxury box) but the Thunder Sticks came in hoards and all over North American sports facilities, annoying Thunder Sticks became the rage.
That rage has died down in sports. Only the desperate franchise, looking to latch on to a fade a few years too late, break them out. But the dorks in politics have found a whole new level of ‘cool’!
I picture them now, prior to the convention, digging through their closet for the straw hat while yelling to the wife asking “where’d you put my Thunder Sticks???” The horror.
The press get caught up in the dorky fanaticism. For the first few hours, they aren’t too bad but… by hour four… you’re clinging to every reaction and looking for gold on film. A candidate gets up to go to the bathroom and a dozen camera people jump up, flick on the lights, and run to cut him off. Microphone yielding reporters are trampled as they try to extend their arm far enough to get a snippet of political thought from a guy who needs to drain the kidneys. This is, after all, important stuff.
And no discussion of political dorkiness would be complete without mention of the music.
A political convention is a time warp to a 1980s concert of all the worst musical acts together on one stage… on one night. The delegates dance and clap, completely out of sequence, to the most horrid collection of tunes a music lover could ever hear. But they love it. It’s like they’ve returned to their teenage years when they got their first kiss in the middle of a Journey concert. Or maybe Starship… or the worst moments of Fleetwood Mac. But even though their minds take the geeks back, we at home get to watch forty-five year old, delusional, straw hat covered twits as they put down their Thunder Sticks long enough to do some out of time jig to Mambo #5! Now I tell you people… that truly is horror.
And, in closing, what in the name of God is up with the thumbs? An enthusiastic thumbs up to anything went out the day after Happy Days was taken off the air. Maybe if you review movies, you can give a very easy going and slow paced thumbs up… maybe. But if you’re a political person of any kind, and you have some insane grin plastered to your face with a straw hat perched atop your skull… for the love of all that you find holy!... keep your hands in your pockets! Some spastic thumbs up to show how all is wonderful in your world is the greatest tip off to the rest of the world that… you are very much insane.
Yes indeed. After twelve hours of watching the Liberal Leadership convention, I have come to the conclusion that democracies the world over are run by crazy dorks. And after watching his candidate win, last night some guy named Eugene, skipped home, gave passing cars an enthusiastic thumbs up, and lost his straw hat in the wind. But he didn’t even mind much cause when he gets home, his mom will make him some hot coco and he’ll retire downstairs to his basement apartment, having won his Stanley Cup. And forty-five year old Eugene will drift off to sleep with a smile on his face and the tune of Mambo #5 racing through his head.
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