Alien Abduction
December 22nd, Aliens interfered with my trip home.
The first aspect of this event is not a surprising thing. Flight delays. Yes, even when the skies are blue and the day is bright and clear, planes delay in their departures. Thank you hub system. Where Toronto is the beating heart of Canada’s air travel.
My plane, due to leave Ottawa and head east... having nothing to do with Toronto to the south... is delayed due to a slow down where it should not be. For some reason, the plane starts in Toronto, working it’s way to Ottawa before heading on to Halifax and then St. John’s. And for some reason, it’s an hour late leaving Toronto.
I buy a book and hang about the airport. And in about an hour, we’re onboard the plane and heading east.
Flying Porter instead of Air Canada... I note the differences. Firstly, the staff don’t act as though you’re a burden. At Porter, they smile and offer to help you out. They ask you to watch your head as you board. They ask if you’d like free food and drink. They pardon themselves if they happen to bump you as they walk by.
At Air Canada, you’re told to behave... give exact change if you want to buy an overpriced sandwich... and you’re ignored while you hold your elbow in agony after the drink cart bashed it in the walk by. Then Air Canada flicks on the TV sets and expect you to turn zombie.
Porter has no video system. No TVs in the seat back in front of you. And no big screens hanging from the ceiling. Funny how this reduction in technology makes the trip somehow more enjoying. In our age, when TV is there to babysit our children, Air Canada took the practice and used it to babysit customers. Give them TV and gain a moment’s peace. Flight attendants can sit back and go about their day with all us “children” plugged in and drooling at the flickering images.
But with Porter’s lack of video, life comes back to travel. People acknowledge each other. Books are read in quiet and smiling faces enjoy each other’s company.
In Halifax, most get off and few get back on the plane. We taxi away from the gate with several empty rows of seats. I shift over and gain plenty of room to stretch out. Nobody in front of me... nobody to the side of me... and nobody behind. No kicking or seat back dropping. I’m left in peace.
I first thought this a bit odd. Why a flight goes to Newfoundland at Christmas without full capacity met. I now look back at this and figure it to be alien abduction. Those empty seats weren’t left by a lack of desire to head east. They were left empty while the missing passengers are zipped off to far away galaxies, being prodded and poked at by green men with great big insect eyes.
I’d have not thought anything of this except for the fact that our St. John’s landing came at an odd time. An hour delay due to Toronto... results in a three hour delay arriving in St. John’s. Where the other two hours went, I did not know. Until I remembered my A&E marathon sessions of aliens, Big Foot, and the Lock Ness Monster.
Aliens may be superior to us. They may be able to race across the light years and be home in time for dinner. But they don’t know how to properly change the clocks. It’s likely due to inexperienced abductors. “Okay, we’re ready to put Mr. Johnson back now... let’s roll the clocks back... what time did we take him?” “Oh... oh yeah... you know, I forget to check my watch when we pulled him from that jeep in Kansas... umm... well Toroc had just commented on how evening abductions are his favourite... and evening was just setting in then... so... let’s see... it was probably about 4:00.”
This is the scenario that happened with us. An alien forgot to check a watch and they guessed on when our plane was scooped up for probing and experimentation. We’d have been none the wiser had it not been for the two unexplained hours that went by.
And thanks to those aliens, I’ve now probably been impregnated by an intergalactic donor. The birth will be seen as a Christmas miracle... even though I’ll be quite uncomfortable with the whole event.
But at least I’ve been returned to Earth. Those poor passengers from the empty seats I happily took over. They must have been whisked back to the aliens home planet for more extensive testing and probing. I can only hope that the superior race will supply the human holding cells with video screens. Otherwise, that trip to planet Zoran will feel like it takes for ever. And the alien attendants will get annoyed at the whining humans who don’t have exact change for their space sandwich.
MONDAY...
— Take it easy around the house and do some packing for tomorrow’s flight. It looks like the biggest worry will be the wind. Will there be 100 km winds when my plane tries to land?
TUESDAY...
— Fly day. A little delay leaving Ottawa but the flights were fine and, from Halifax to St. John’s, I have a row to myself with nobody in the rows in front or back of me either. Nice. I like Porter. Hope the empty seats from Halifax to St. John’s won’t be a sign that the airline will have troubles. Much nicer than the Air Canada crew... ground crew excepted... Mr. Delahunty!
— For the first time I read a book cover to cover in one day. Bought a copy of Mitch Albom’s “Tuesdays With Morrie” and it was fantastic.
WEDNESDAY...
— Nice day shopping downtown with mom and dad. Do some split ups with me and dad for a while and me and mom for a while... lunch down there and the whole bit. Then off to Cousin Sandra’s for supper with Uncle Wince and family as well. 10 or so of us all total... and stuffed full of good food.
THURSDAY...
— Christmas Eve. We do lunch at Wince’s... fish is good.
— A bit of TV in the evening. It’s a Wonderful Life... the movie.
FRIDAY...
— Merry Christmas. Stuffed full of food most of the evening. All the family comes to the folk’s house tonight. It’s a nice day too with just mom, dad and me opening gifts and hanging out.
SATURDAY...
— Morning funeral... afternoon hanging out at Jim and Kristann’s... evening with mom and dad at the mall watching Avatar in 3D. Impressive movie. Quite good.
Monday, December 28, 2009
Sunday, December 20, 2009
Making It Up As I Go Along #395
Not sure if I’ll be writing next Sunday or not. It all depends on if my laptop makes it to Newfoundland on Tuesday and on how busy the schedule will be while on the east coast. So perhaps there’ll be something written next Sunday, but if not, expect it to be there New Years Eve. With that...
Twelves Christmas Wishes
Twelve things I’d wish for this Christmas. In no particular order...
1... Stability. I’ve become even more of a homebody now because that’s where life is most stable. I am most solid within my own space with my stuff around me. I’ve worked in the same section for six years and, from the outside, that looks stable. But on the inside, it’s far from it. Rare has been the time in those six years when you can go to work and know exactly what’s happening. Case in point... after two weeks back in my old department, I’m told I’m getting moved to a new team in January. So within two months, I’ll have worked for one section... but two departments, with a partnership and two teams. The instability is tiring.
2... One more solid season of fastpitch ball. After an eight year departure from it, last summer I returned to the game I grew up with. It was a challenge to take on after a year of slow pitch. And it came with mixed results. A batting average that was solid but a lack of comfort in the field made me, for the first time since I was about ten years old, feel like a liability on defense. And when the game started to come back and I started to feel like I was entering a grove... I tear and fracture my thumb. In the end I played less than half a season and didn’t show myself that I can still play good ball. I hope I can play next season and feel satisfied with it once the season is over.
3... Continued family health. My immediate family has been lucky. Me, my parents, sister, brother in law and nieces have lived healthy lives. Recent problems with some extended family has stood as a reminder that life can’t be taken for granted. I wish for those family members to overcome and for such wishes to be unnecessary a year from now.
4... A dog. I’ve gone far to long without and don’t have an ideal life to include one in... long periods away for work would leave a dog fending for itself longer than it should... but I’m becoming like a little kid in a sappy Christmas movie... Little Johnny would like a dog.
5... A turtle. I can’t have both a dog and a turtle... but I wish for both. I’ve wanted a turtle since I was about eight years old... And I remember the disappointment when my parents said they tried but found them to be prohibited in Newfoundland. The prohibition is over and the lifestyle probably better suits it. Perhaps 2010 will be the year of the turtle.
6... Olympic glory. Not really for the obvious reasons though. I’m just so tired of the year long campaign of children on TV commercials saying how they “believe”. And I know the best way for the Olympic hype to quickly disappear is for Canada to do well. A bad winter games means another year of sports talk shows going on and on about it. Please, for the love of God, no more.
7... Hair. I’m allowed to be somewhat superficial aren’t I? I remember when I’d get two or three haircuts for a year and my father and girlfriend of the time would both hound me to go get it cleaned up. I want those times back again. A return of hockey hair, bed head, hat head, hair gel, and hair brushes. To be able to buy shampoo and not think about the cashier looking at me, and then the bottle, and then me again... all the while wondering “he can’t be getting this for himself.”
8... The Hike. Port aux Basques to St. John’s... all on the old rail bed. And the plans and ideas that come with it.
9... A hole in one. I’ve said it before and I’ll stick to it. If ever I get a hole in one in golf, it’ll be the last golf shot I ever make. It could be the first hole of the day and if I sink that ball in one stroke, I’m done. There’s no better way to end one’s golf playing days.
10... To be left so in awe of something, that I’m totally speechless. I suspect I’d be that way if I stood atop Mt. Everest... or if I viewed the Earth from the surface of the moon. I wish there is some scenario that is more realistic in making this happen.
11... To no longer hear people laugh with pride in making me blush. I’ll blush if I get out of bed too quickly people. It’s not that big a feat to cause my face to turn pinkish. It’s the curse of the fair skinned. Now if you make me get out on the dance floor and bust a groove, then take pride in it. Making me turn red should bring no person any joy. It may very well have happened without you.
12... A basement. Hard to believe the things we miss. But I do miss having a basement. Being able to block a little window in order to sit in a black room... being able to sit in the cool without need of air conditioning. Being able to store things without worry of cluttering up the rest of the house. My kingdom for a basement.
Merry Christmas.
MONDAY...
— Two hour sleep night going into first day shift in weeks. Oh dear.
— Get through it okay and then head to a clinic for swine flu shot. A pain in the butt as I am sitting and waiting for about an hour and a half before getting it done.
TUESDAY...
— Slept better and work goes ok. Kind of hard adjusting to sitting there all day compared to running around in CPSIC.
WEDNESDAY...
— Halladay is traded. My favourite Blue Jay makes me wonder if I’ll become a Phillies fan. I’ve always admired how they play and like many of their players. Have we seen the beginning of the Blue Jay’s transformation into the Expos? And if Montreal moved to Washington, where will Toronto go in ten years? Portland? Vegas?
THURSDAY...
— Well, looks like I probably didn’t forget the Columbia House decline last month after all. No Star Trek in the mail. No charge on my credit card. A stocking stuffer idea has re-emerged.
— Too cold today... too cold. Lunch across with Shannon and Annick is fun. Haven’t talked much with either of them in a while.
— Work in CNI today. Kind of fun for a change.
FRIDAY...
— Team change time at work. Cause anything more than 2 weeks in the one situation is a luxury they just can’t afford. And the two months of messing with Brown, goes on.
— I skip the office Christmas party. Heading back to the office a few hours after work is hardly my idea of a good time.... and the afternoon team change announcement solidifies the decision I made a week ago when it came to not buying tickets for the thing.
SATURDAY...
— Laundry day.
Twelves Christmas Wishes
Twelve things I’d wish for this Christmas. In no particular order...
1... Stability. I’ve become even more of a homebody now because that’s where life is most stable. I am most solid within my own space with my stuff around me. I’ve worked in the same section for six years and, from the outside, that looks stable. But on the inside, it’s far from it. Rare has been the time in those six years when you can go to work and know exactly what’s happening. Case in point... after two weeks back in my old department, I’m told I’m getting moved to a new team in January. So within two months, I’ll have worked for one section... but two departments, with a partnership and two teams. The instability is tiring.
2... One more solid season of fastpitch ball. After an eight year departure from it, last summer I returned to the game I grew up with. It was a challenge to take on after a year of slow pitch. And it came with mixed results. A batting average that was solid but a lack of comfort in the field made me, for the first time since I was about ten years old, feel like a liability on defense. And when the game started to come back and I started to feel like I was entering a grove... I tear and fracture my thumb. In the end I played less than half a season and didn’t show myself that I can still play good ball. I hope I can play next season and feel satisfied with it once the season is over.
3... Continued family health. My immediate family has been lucky. Me, my parents, sister, brother in law and nieces have lived healthy lives. Recent problems with some extended family has stood as a reminder that life can’t be taken for granted. I wish for those family members to overcome and for such wishes to be unnecessary a year from now.
4... A dog. I’ve gone far to long without and don’t have an ideal life to include one in... long periods away for work would leave a dog fending for itself longer than it should... but I’m becoming like a little kid in a sappy Christmas movie... Little Johnny would like a dog.
5... A turtle. I can’t have both a dog and a turtle... but I wish for both. I’ve wanted a turtle since I was about eight years old... And I remember the disappointment when my parents said they tried but found them to be prohibited in Newfoundland. The prohibition is over and the lifestyle probably better suits it. Perhaps 2010 will be the year of the turtle.
6... Olympic glory. Not really for the obvious reasons though. I’m just so tired of the year long campaign of children on TV commercials saying how they “believe”. And I know the best way for the Olympic hype to quickly disappear is for Canada to do well. A bad winter games means another year of sports talk shows going on and on about it. Please, for the love of God, no more.
7... Hair. I’m allowed to be somewhat superficial aren’t I? I remember when I’d get two or three haircuts for a year and my father and girlfriend of the time would both hound me to go get it cleaned up. I want those times back again. A return of hockey hair, bed head, hat head, hair gel, and hair brushes. To be able to buy shampoo and not think about the cashier looking at me, and then the bottle, and then me again... all the while wondering “he can’t be getting this for himself.”
8... The Hike. Port aux Basques to St. John’s... all on the old rail bed. And the plans and ideas that come with it.
9... A hole in one. I’ve said it before and I’ll stick to it. If ever I get a hole in one in golf, it’ll be the last golf shot I ever make. It could be the first hole of the day and if I sink that ball in one stroke, I’m done. There’s no better way to end one’s golf playing days.
10... To be left so in awe of something, that I’m totally speechless. I suspect I’d be that way if I stood atop Mt. Everest... or if I viewed the Earth from the surface of the moon. I wish there is some scenario that is more realistic in making this happen.
11... To no longer hear people laugh with pride in making me blush. I’ll blush if I get out of bed too quickly people. It’s not that big a feat to cause my face to turn pinkish. It’s the curse of the fair skinned. Now if you make me get out on the dance floor and bust a groove, then take pride in it. Making me turn red should bring no person any joy. It may very well have happened without you.
12... A basement. Hard to believe the things we miss. But I do miss having a basement. Being able to block a little window in order to sit in a black room... being able to sit in the cool without need of air conditioning. Being able to store things without worry of cluttering up the rest of the house. My kingdom for a basement.
Merry Christmas.
MONDAY...
— Two hour sleep night going into first day shift in weeks. Oh dear.
— Get through it okay and then head to a clinic for swine flu shot. A pain in the butt as I am sitting and waiting for about an hour and a half before getting it done.
TUESDAY...
— Slept better and work goes ok. Kind of hard adjusting to sitting there all day compared to running around in CPSIC.
WEDNESDAY...
— Halladay is traded. My favourite Blue Jay makes me wonder if I’ll become a Phillies fan. I’ve always admired how they play and like many of their players. Have we seen the beginning of the Blue Jay’s transformation into the Expos? And if Montreal moved to Washington, where will Toronto go in ten years? Portland? Vegas?
THURSDAY...
— Well, looks like I probably didn’t forget the Columbia House decline last month after all. No Star Trek in the mail. No charge on my credit card. A stocking stuffer idea has re-emerged.
— Too cold today... too cold. Lunch across with Shannon and Annick is fun. Haven’t talked much with either of them in a while.
— Work in CNI today. Kind of fun for a change.
FRIDAY...
— Team change time at work. Cause anything more than 2 weeks in the one situation is a luxury they just can’t afford. And the two months of messing with Brown, goes on.
— I skip the office Christmas party. Heading back to the office a few hours after work is hardly my idea of a good time.... and the afternoon team change announcement solidifies the decision I made a week ago when it came to not buying tickets for the thing.
SATURDAY...
— Laundry day.
Sunday, December 13, 2009
Making It Up As I Go Along #394
Snow Migration
The birds and insects of the world do it.
They migrate as the year goes on.
Picking up and venturing thousands of kilometres north.
To stay for a while before picking up once again and heading back from where they came.
Whales as well.
The oceans being a great plain.
Where great beasts march half the globe as herds of bison.
Imagine the scene if only the sea was less secretive with that which goes on within.
White bears migrate from the land to the sea.
Standing around and waiting for oceans to freeze.
Then venturing out when all others bundle up.
Our burden becomes Polar Bear joy.
Ice mountains migrate each Spring.
Snapping off of ice continents and drifting through ice waters.
They appear along southern shores as a reminder of cold.
When the land begins to soften and warm.
And then there’s snow.
Spending the summers in the north.
Happy in it’s element and hostile to intruders.
Freezing and starving intruders.
Burying them for millennia.
Then beginning it’s southward trek.
By late September, you hear of it.
Snows appearing along the northern shores.
Often coming overnight, and then retreating during the day.
And as time goes on, the snow becomes less tentative.
Staying longer in the daylight hours.
Venturing further south.
News casts broadcast the migration pattern as it comes ever closer to human populations.
And then it arrives.
Snow
That wasn’t there one day.
Infests the next.
We run for cover.
When venturing outdoors,
We live in a constant muscular tension.
Trying to keep out the infestation.
Roadways become impassible.
Active Meadows become ghostly deserts.
Ponds become land.
And flats become mountains.
Months will pass and the return migration north will follow.
Where the snows will be drawn back north.
Leaving the southern lands.
And leaving the permanent inhabitants to return outside, relaxed and happy.
MONDAY...
— Dentist in the morning and then back to AFIS work in the evening. Went okay tonight. Easy going and quiet.
— Hang with Geoff for a bit after work as he’s in for a day or two of business. Then some TV and bed.
TUESDAY...
— Greek food for Kiyomi, Devin, Martin and me... yum.
WEDNESDAY...
— Storm day. Still have to go to work after pushing a neighbour’s car into their parking space.
THURSDAY...
— AFIS Christmas luncheon. Go with Sarah and Kiyomi and sit with them and Derek. A fun time.
— It’s half day off for Christmas... I take some leave to make it a full day instead... so today’s work is just the luncheon.
— Rolling Stone’s top 100 albums and songs of the decade are out. Wilco has the number 3 (Yankee Hotel Foxtrot) and 97 (Sky Blue Sky) albums. And Jesus etc. is the 67th top song. Good stuff.
FRIDAY...
— Laundry and groceries during the day, and for the night, drinks with a bunch from work. I originally thought it was simply for a group of us to have some fun... but it ends up it was all organized by Jamie to wish me a farewell from CPSIC and hello to AFIS. Melissa, Nick, Dusty, Sue, Phil, Jamie, Annick, Sarah Roy and Sarah Wright, Julia, Roz, Sheila, Jonathan, Terry and Larry are all there. A card from Terry makes it extra fun.
SATURDAY...
— UFC night. Phil, Osana and I check it out. PJ Penn was amazingly good tonight.
The birds and insects of the world do it.
They migrate as the year goes on.
Picking up and venturing thousands of kilometres north.
To stay for a while before picking up once again and heading back from where they came.
Whales as well.
The oceans being a great plain.
Where great beasts march half the globe as herds of bison.
Imagine the scene if only the sea was less secretive with that which goes on within.
White bears migrate from the land to the sea.
Standing around and waiting for oceans to freeze.
Then venturing out when all others bundle up.
Our burden becomes Polar Bear joy.
Ice mountains migrate each Spring.
Snapping off of ice continents and drifting through ice waters.
They appear along southern shores as a reminder of cold.
When the land begins to soften and warm.
And then there’s snow.
Spending the summers in the north.
Happy in it’s element and hostile to intruders.
Freezing and starving intruders.
Burying them for millennia.
Then beginning it’s southward trek.
By late September, you hear of it.
Snows appearing along the northern shores.
Often coming overnight, and then retreating during the day.
And as time goes on, the snow becomes less tentative.
Staying longer in the daylight hours.
Venturing further south.
News casts broadcast the migration pattern as it comes ever closer to human populations.
And then it arrives.
Snow
That wasn’t there one day.
Infests the next.
We run for cover.
When venturing outdoors,
We live in a constant muscular tension.
Trying to keep out the infestation.
Roadways become impassible.
Active Meadows become ghostly deserts.
Ponds become land.
And flats become mountains.
Months will pass and the return migration north will follow.
Where the snows will be drawn back north.
Leaving the southern lands.
And leaving the permanent inhabitants to return outside, relaxed and happy.
MONDAY...
— Dentist in the morning and then back to AFIS work in the evening. Went okay tonight. Easy going and quiet.
— Hang with Geoff for a bit after work as he’s in for a day or two of business. Then some TV and bed.
TUESDAY...
— Greek food for Kiyomi, Devin, Martin and me... yum.
WEDNESDAY...
— Storm day. Still have to go to work after pushing a neighbour’s car into their parking space.
THURSDAY...
— AFIS Christmas luncheon. Go with Sarah and Kiyomi and sit with them and Derek. A fun time.
— It’s half day off for Christmas... I take some leave to make it a full day instead... so today’s work is just the luncheon.
— Rolling Stone’s top 100 albums and songs of the decade are out. Wilco has the number 3 (Yankee Hotel Foxtrot) and 97 (Sky Blue Sky) albums. And Jesus etc. is the 67th top song. Good stuff.
FRIDAY...
— Laundry and groceries during the day, and for the night, drinks with a bunch from work. I originally thought it was simply for a group of us to have some fun... but it ends up it was all organized by Jamie to wish me a farewell from CPSIC and hello to AFIS. Melissa, Nick, Dusty, Sue, Phil, Jamie, Annick, Sarah Roy and Sarah Wright, Julia, Roz, Sheila, Jonathan, Terry and Larry are all there. A card from Terry makes it extra fun.
SATURDAY...
— UFC night. Phil, Osana and I check it out. PJ Penn was amazingly good tonight.
Sunday, December 06, 2009
Making It Up As I Go Along #393
End’s Meat
The things we say. There are some things that often strike me as weird, or funny.
Until I reached the approximate age of 25, I thought the term wasn’t “making ends meet”... I thought it was “making ends meat”. I actually even had an explanation for the term in my head that made some level of logical sense... I figured, when times were tough, all that could be afforded was the end of a roast. So, complete with British accent storey telling, people would talk of how...
“Ahh, it was tough times back then, me lovey... we couldn’t afford the whole roast... na, back then we could only afford End’s Meat... and we felt lucky to have it.”
I felt this was much more poetic than simply making two ends come together. Ends of what anyway? Rope? I much prefer the end of the roast to the thought of a lasso.
Some things are spoken of differently in Ontario than they would be in the world I came from. Everybody around here, when talking of going from Toronto to Ottawa, says they’re “coming down to Ottawa”. Being one with a geographical background, I go the other way around... Ottawa is north, so you’d be coming up here from Toronto. I assume it’s based on sea level differences. Toronto is a bit higher than Ottawa so they come “down the hill”. Some may argue it’s the Toronto superiority complex and they look “down” their noses towards boring ol’ O-town. But Ottawa people do it too... speaking of “going up to Toronto for the weekend”.
There is one other place where the up and down aspect of things goes opposite of what I see as logical. Many Newfoundlanders, my father included, speak of going “down to the Labrador”. I’m really not sure where that one comes from, as Labrador would be both north and, if anything, higher than the island. But now that I’m used to it, I find the saying sort of legendary... especially with the “the” part thrown in. It’s not Labrador you’re going to... it’s THE Labrador.
With the help of google, I find this quote from a Melvin Baker, Robert Cuff article...
Residents of the Island of Newfoundland have regarded travel to Labrador as "going down north to Labrador" (or, more precisely, "the Labrador") rather than the usual geographical convention of regarding north as being "up". To Newfoundlanders the north has almost always been perceived as the Labrador portion of the province. Down north has been regarded alternately as a land of backwardness and poverty and as the Newfoundland "frontier", described by Smallwood in The New Newfoundland (1931) as "Newfoundland's high auxiliary" because of its resource potential.
And now we know.
There are other things around Ottawa that I’m not used to. There is Dalhousie Street. Anyone from the Atlantic region would pronounce this as del-HOWES-e. But people around here call it del-WHOS-e... and with the pronunciation of one word, your Atlantic roots can immediately be ascertained.
There is the use of baseball. That is the term, not the ball. In Newfoundland, baseball is the game as seen on TV. That one the Blue Jays try to play (stressing the “try”). After that, there’s two types of softball to play... fastpitch, and slow pitch. And back home, there is a level of manliness attached to each game. Baseball is played by the snobby elite. You’d say things like “pay no attention to him, he’s a baseball player” (said in the tone that he’s too caught up in himself to know what’s going on anyway). On the opposite side of things, slow pitch is played by drunkards... those that are two steps away from being homeless. You’d say things like “pay no attention to him, he’s a slow pitch player” (said in the tone that he’s too drunk to know what you’re saying anyway). The well rounded, good heads... we were all fastpitch players. Honourable members of a dying sport being overtaken by all those slow pitch riff raff.
In Ottawa, it’s all just baseball. Someone would say, “I’ve got to go, I’ve got baseball!” And, being an interested sort, you’d ask, “oh, you play baseball?” (Being surprised as you ask cause they don’t seem to be the snobby elite type). And they roll their eyes and begrudgingly say “well, slow pitch”. I think they call it baseball because they want to extend the illusion that somewhere out there, there may be a baseball card with their name and face on it. There are no softball cards to be had.
On TV, there are sayings that lose all meaning within moments. The most common that I notice is said at those times when two person news or sports casts end. One of the two hosts will say something like “for Jay Onrait, I’m Dan O’Toole, good night everyone”.
This is a touch silly sounding but still acceptable when it stands alone. But then Jay Onrait will chime in with a “Bye bye”... and the whole thing is ruined! Dan O’Toole spoke for you Jay Onrait. You’re last words makes what he said completely meaningless. Lesson to learn... Sometimes it’s just really hard for people to remain quiet.
Finally, there are those sayings that just need to go away. They have lost all relevance in today’s world and should never be spoken of again. You see, back in olden times... when times were tough and food was scarce, all people craved was a loaf of bread. I tell you, back then bread was viewed like a steak dinner. And if you had a bit of butter to go along with it, you lived just short of royalty.
“What did you do last night?”... “Why we broke bread with the Mitchell family from down the street, and a grand time we had!”
It didn’t take much back then. No need of a knife even. You just gathered with neighbours and broke your bread wide open, feasting on the bready goodness within.
With the only goal in life being to make enough money to earn your bread, with a bit of butter, born was the phrase, “that’s his bread and butter”. In other words, he’s so good at this particular skill, that he earns his bread and butter by doing it. (Again, I think using “End’s Meat” here would be even better).
But this bread and butter phrase continues... and it must be stopped. Lazy baseball commentators use it all the time (that’s real baseball, not Ontario baseball/softball/fastpitch/softball... of which there is no need for a commentator cause they’re too drunk/caught up in themselves to listen to a commentator anyway).
Constantly you hear them say things like “his curveball is his bread and butter.” In other words, that’s his best pitch. He’s making money as a baseball pitcher because of his curveball. The only thing is we’re beyond bread and butter. We have so much bread that we gorge ducks on the stuff at the pond! Enough with the bread and butter. When baseball players make $20 million dollars per season, there is no more talk of bread and butter.
So these are just a few of the words and phrases in this world that make absolutely no sense in using. And my “End’s Meat” is the best of all of them... and made that up based on pure stupidity for a twenty-five year period. Go figure.
SATURDAY...
— Work alone again, it’s a slightly busier than the average Saturday... but that doesn’t mean I’m worked too hard.
— Some hockey after work and then off to bed.
SUNDAY...
— Miss ball due to work. The team wins without me. I think I see the key to our success.
— Best Grey Cup I’ve watched in many a year... and there’s been some good ones over that time frame. Felt bad for Saskatchewan but it was still really fun to watch. KFC accompanied the game.
MONDAY...
— Last day working in CPSIC. Phil and I get pizza and have a fairly normal night of work.
TUESDAY...
— Quiet day at home. I’m now off until next Monday. The plus side of getting moved around at work.
— Blackberry surgery required tonight. Dust and dirt clogs the track ball and I can’t move the mouse up... check the internet a bit on procedure and I carefully remove and clean the ball. Don’t want to do that every day. But it works.
WEDNESDAY...
— Drinks and a bite of food with Laura. Janice and Cara Lea are there as well. Always fun seeing Laura... the stories... ah the stories.
— Finally get to see Ultimate Fighting on TV again (as it seems like it’s been the same repeat for months). Two shows back to back make it all better. But I have no interest in either of the guys going to the final... I was annoyed at the results of the fights.
THURSDAY...
— Groceries, some exercise, an hour and a half walk in the night.
FRIDAY...
— Accidently didn’t decline my Columbia House DVD for last month. Got lucky in the DVD I’m forced to take... Bring on Star Trek.
— Montreal’s 100th birthday of the Canadiens. Great ceremony to start the night. They really know how to make the history mean something. And cold shivers couldn’t be helped watching Patrick Roy skate out in full gear for a pre-game warm up.
SATURDAY...
— Home day. Pretty much do nothing. Get some flack for skipping out on a Christmas get together but I just wasn’t feeling too social tonight.
The things we say. There are some things that often strike me as weird, or funny.
Until I reached the approximate age of 25, I thought the term wasn’t “making ends meet”... I thought it was “making ends meat”. I actually even had an explanation for the term in my head that made some level of logical sense... I figured, when times were tough, all that could be afforded was the end of a roast. So, complete with British accent storey telling, people would talk of how...
“Ahh, it was tough times back then, me lovey... we couldn’t afford the whole roast... na, back then we could only afford End’s Meat... and we felt lucky to have it.”
I felt this was much more poetic than simply making two ends come together. Ends of what anyway? Rope? I much prefer the end of the roast to the thought of a lasso.
Some things are spoken of differently in Ontario than they would be in the world I came from. Everybody around here, when talking of going from Toronto to Ottawa, says they’re “coming down to Ottawa”. Being one with a geographical background, I go the other way around... Ottawa is north, so you’d be coming up here from Toronto. I assume it’s based on sea level differences. Toronto is a bit higher than Ottawa so they come “down the hill”. Some may argue it’s the Toronto superiority complex and they look “down” their noses towards boring ol’ O-town. But Ottawa people do it too... speaking of “going up to Toronto for the weekend”.
There is one other place where the up and down aspect of things goes opposite of what I see as logical. Many Newfoundlanders, my father included, speak of going “down to the Labrador”. I’m really not sure where that one comes from, as Labrador would be both north and, if anything, higher than the island. But now that I’m used to it, I find the saying sort of legendary... especially with the “the” part thrown in. It’s not Labrador you’re going to... it’s THE Labrador.
With the help of google, I find this quote from a Melvin Baker, Robert Cuff article...
Residents of the Island of Newfoundland have regarded travel to Labrador as "going down north to Labrador" (or, more precisely, "the Labrador") rather than the usual geographical convention of regarding north as being "up". To Newfoundlanders the north has almost always been perceived as the Labrador portion of the province. Down north has been regarded alternately as a land of backwardness and poverty and as the Newfoundland "frontier", described by Smallwood in The New Newfoundland (1931) as "Newfoundland's high auxiliary" because of its resource potential.
And now we know.
There are other things around Ottawa that I’m not used to. There is Dalhousie Street. Anyone from the Atlantic region would pronounce this as del-HOWES-e. But people around here call it del-WHOS-e... and with the pronunciation of one word, your Atlantic roots can immediately be ascertained.
There is the use of baseball. That is the term, not the ball. In Newfoundland, baseball is the game as seen on TV. That one the Blue Jays try to play (stressing the “try”). After that, there’s two types of softball to play... fastpitch, and slow pitch. And back home, there is a level of manliness attached to each game. Baseball is played by the snobby elite. You’d say things like “pay no attention to him, he’s a baseball player” (said in the tone that he’s too caught up in himself to know what’s going on anyway). On the opposite side of things, slow pitch is played by drunkards... those that are two steps away from being homeless. You’d say things like “pay no attention to him, he’s a slow pitch player” (said in the tone that he’s too drunk to know what you’re saying anyway). The well rounded, good heads... we were all fastpitch players. Honourable members of a dying sport being overtaken by all those slow pitch riff raff.
In Ottawa, it’s all just baseball. Someone would say, “I’ve got to go, I’ve got baseball!” And, being an interested sort, you’d ask, “oh, you play baseball?” (Being surprised as you ask cause they don’t seem to be the snobby elite type). And they roll their eyes and begrudgingly say “well, slow pitch”. I think they call it baseball because they want to extend the illusion that somewhere out there, there may be a baseball card with their name and face on it. There are no softball cards to be had.
On TV, there are sayings that lose all meaning within moments. The most common that I notice is said at those times when two person news or sports casts end. One of the two hosts will say something like “for Jay Onrait, I’m Dan O’Toole, good night everyone”.
This is a touch silly sounding but still acceptable when it stands alone. But then Jay Onrait will chime in with a “Bye bye”... and the whole thing is ruined! Dan O’Toole spoke for you Jay Onrait. You’re last words makes what he said completely meaningless. Lesson to learn... Sometimes it’s just really hard for people to remain quiet.
Finally, there are those sayings that just need to go away. They have lost all relevance in today’s world and should never be spoken of again. You see, back in olden times... when times were tough and food was scarce, all people craved was a loaf of bread. I tell you, back then bread was viewed like a steak dinner. And if you had a bit of butter to go along with it, you lived just short of royalty.
“What did you do last night?”... “Why we broke bread with the Mitchell family from down the street, and a grand time we had!”
It didn’t take much back then. No need of a knife even. You just gathered with neighbours and broke your bread wide open, feasting on the bready goodness within.
With the only goal in life being to make enough money to earn your bread, with a bit of butter, born was the phrase, “that’s his bread and butter”. In other words, he’s so good at this particular skill, that he earns his bread and butter by doing it. (Again, I think using “End’s Meat” here would be even better).
But this bread and butter phrase continues... and it must be stopped. Lazy baseball commentators use it all the time (that’s real baseball, not Ontario baseball/softball/fastpitch/softball... of which there is no need for a commentator cause they’re too drunk/caught up in themselves to listen to a commentator anyway).
Constantly you hear them say things like “his curveball is his bread and butter.” In other words, that’s his best pitch. He’s making money as a baseball pitcher because of his curveball. The only thing is we’re beyond bread and butter. We have so much bread that we gorge ducks on the stuff at the pond! Enough with the bread and butter. When baseball players make $20 million dollars per season, there is no more talk of bread and butter.
So these are just a few of the words and phrases in this world that make absolutely no sense in using. And my “End’s Meat” is the best of all of them... and made that up based on pure stupidity for a twenty-five year period. Go figure.
SATURDAY...
— Work alone again, it’s a slightly busier than the average Saturday... but that doesn’t mean I’m worked too hard.
— Some hockey after work and then off to bed.
SUNDAY...
— Miss ball due to work. The team wins without me. I think I see the key to our success.
— Best Grey Cup I’ve watched in many a year... and there’s been some good ones over that time frame. Felt bad for Saskatchewan but it was still really fun to watch. KFC accompanied the game.
MONDAY...
— Last day working in CPSIC. Phil and I get pizza and have a fairly normal night of work.
TUESDAY...
— Quiet day at home. I’m now off until next Monday. The plus side of getting moved around at work.
— Blackberry surgery required tonight. Dust and dirt clogs the track ball and I can’t move the mouse up... check the internet a bit on procedure and I carefully remove and clean the ball. Don’t want to do that every day. But it works.
WEDNESDAY...
— Drinks and a bite of food with Laura. Janice and Cara Lea are there as well. Always fun seeing Laura... the stories... ah the stories.
— Finally get to see Ultimate Fighting on TV again (as it seems like it’s been the same repeat for months). Two shows back to back make it all better. But I have no interest in either of the guys going to the final... I was annoyed at the results of the fights.
THURSDAY...
— Groceries, some exercise, an hour and a half walk in the night.
FRIDAY...
— Accidently didn’t decline my Columbia House DVD for last month. Got lucky in the DVD I’m forced to take... Bring on Star Trek.
— Montreal’s 100th birthday of the Canadiens. Great ceremony to start the night. They really know how to make the history mean something. And cold shivers couldn’t be helped watching Patrick Roy skate out in full gear for a pre-game warm up.
SATURDAY...
— Home day. Pretty much do nothing. Get some flack for skipping out on a Christmas get together but I just wasn’t feeling too social tonight.
Friday, November 27, 2009
Making It Up As I Go Along #392
Random Thoughts
The Return of Sunday
Starting December 6th, a week from this Sunday, my blog will once again be updated every week on Sunday rather than every eight days.
The reason for the move is I’m returning back to AFIS at work. Gone is the CPSIC shift. No more weekend working or overnights... for now.
I say for now because management in my office continue to harp on about transition and change and unclear futures. They’ve been doing it for six years and there’s no sign of that stopping anytime soon.
They are able to see far enough into the future to tell me that, come December 7, I will be in AFIS. Beyond that, we’ll wait and see.
So after a year and a few months of a less set schedule, the old Sunday routine is coming back. No more need of digging through calenders and trying to figure out the mathematics of it all. Something will be there each Sunday... plain and simple.
The Culture of War
I’ve often hinted that I thought it was coming. I now think it’s fully here. I think North Americans have become way to comfortable with the idea of war. It’s to a point that I think we’d worry about what to do with ourselves if we didn’t have some military conflict to be a part of.
For one, I’m still not even sure if you can call what goes on in Afghanistan a war. It’s some form of military action, but war really seems to not fit it. Yet we insist and proclaiming it so... therefore, it is.
We have the “War on...” phrases. “War on Drugs”, “War on Illiteracy”, “War on Terror”. We really like the way “war” sounds.
To get fit, women go to “Booty Camp” (which always brings a very flamboyant group of soldiers preparing to go overseas to the tune of Bee Gee songs). They also have “Body Combat”, “Adventure Boot Camp”, “G.I. Jane Boot Camp”, and “Kickbutt Bootcamp Workout”. Perhaps this is all one big cover as women train to overtake the men and rule the world with kettle bells and the tune of Mambo #5.
In sports, it’s often been said that the game was “a war out there”. For a little while, after Iraq started, people stopped saying that. They spoke of putting things in perspective and “this is just a game, after all”... But that feeling has gone away and we’re right back to calling heated games “wars”.
Don Cherry has virtually given up all efforts to discuss hockey related issues in his Coach’s Corner segment. He’s somehow become the man to pay tribute to the fallen. I’ve never thought that’s a bad thing. But I have also never agreed with doing such a thing between the first and second period of a hockey game. It’s out of place.
Fly overs at sporting events are as popular as ever. Jets and bombers zip past sports stadiums as if they’re about to attack. And the fans go crazy for it every time.
The Ottawa Senators, always being an organization not quite able to know what’s best, decided to call their fans “Sens Army”. For one... it’s rather desperate to have to dub your fans anything. The Senators aren’t the only team to do it but that doesn’t mean it’s a good thing for them to do. And, for another, when the news is constantly beating us over the head with “war”, and our hockey teams now “go to war”, do we really need to make fans a part of the “army”?
Yesterday, a sports talk radio host asked an American commentator what he’s thankful for (seeing as it’s American Thanksgiving). Right off the top of his head, the answer wasn’t his family. Not his friends. Not the fact that he gets paid to follow around a pro sports franchise. No, predictably, he was “thankful for the troops”. Again, I’m not saying we shouldn’t pay respect to the soldiers who put themselves in harm’s way. But I don’t feel real comfortable with that being the first thing to be thankful for on a sports talk radio show.
Like it or not, we’ve become a continent that has grown very comfortable with the idea of war. Too comfortable. It’s become a part of our everyday lives.
Grey Days
Ottawa has become grey. For about a week, the sun has gone away. Probably it’s in Vancouver or St. John’s... cause it seems very much like Ottawa got their weather the last week or so.
And with that said, I kind of enjoy the grey. It for certain beats the extreme cold. Depression comes when nostrils freeze and I’m quite satisfied being able to wear sneakers outside here at the end of November.
Also, I’ve grown up with so little sun, that I feel kind of at home when the clouds sock in. On Tuesday morning, I drove home from work in such a thick fog, that I had to reduce speed in order to give myself time to maneuver the streets. A wall stood a constant fifty feet in front of the car. Never able to see further... never able to run into it. It just hangs there in front, drifting ahead as fast as you go. And then re-enveloping you from the back... chasing from that fifty foot cushion as well.
I enjoy foggy days in Ottawa. They are so rare here that you don’t get claustrophobic, like at home. Two weeks of fog in St. John’s can get to you. A day of it in Ottawa is just sort of nice. Quiet, mysterious, mild... there’s just something nice about a foggy day. Now if only they had fog horns around here!
I also find I like a drizzly day now. Again, St. John’s drizzle is not so good. Weeks of it coupled with winds that slap you wetly in the face... not so good. But a day of drizzle with little wind means you can carry on comfortably.
I find the puddles that build on streets and sidewalks are as city tidal pools. Yes, it’s unlikely that you’ll find fish and crabs milling about the pool. But you can’t help peaking in the pool, looking for worms.
FRIDAY...
— Fairly normal day at work. Last week day dayshift for me in CPSIC. The date is in... I’m back to AFIS December 7.
SATURDAY...
— Work... nap... then off to UFC night at the bar with Phil and Sarah to start... Osana joins us. Fun night.
SUNDAY...
— Chinese food at work makes a lousy slowpitch game not hurt so bad. Plus side of the ball game, my first game played without the thumb taped.
MONDAY...
— Last hour or so of the night shift was hard. Ran out of gas and wanted a nap... DIDN’T!... no sleeping on the job... but had to get up and walk around in order to keep the blood flowing.
TUESDAY...
— Up around 11:30. Laziness follows.
WEDNESDAY...
— Still sleeping in. After 11:00 again today. Laundry and drinks and supper with Sam and his friend from Toronto.
THURSDAY...
— Quiet day with groceries and some TV. The Ottawa Senator’s third jersey is most assuredly among the five worst jerseys in the NHL today. Thank goodness Montreal has never been so stupid to design a jersey with “Habs” on the chest.
The Return of Sunday
Starting December 6th, a week from this Sunday, my blog will once again be updated every week on Sunday rather than every eight days.
The reason for the move is I’m returning back to AFIS at work. Gone is the CPSIC shift. No more weekend working or overnights... for now.
I say for now because management in my office continue to harp on about transition and change and unclear futures. They’ve been doing it for six years and there’s no sign of that stopping anytime soon.
They are able to see far enough into the future to tell me that, come December 7, I will be in AFIS. Beyond that, we’ll wait and see.
So after a year and a few months of a less set schedule, the old Sunday routine is coming back. No more need of digging through calenders and trying to figure out the mathematics of it all. Something will be there each Sunday... plain and simple.
The Culture of War
I’ve often hinted that I thought it was coming. I now think it’s fully here. I think North Americans have become way to comfortable with the idea of war. It’s to a point that I think we’d worry about what to do with ourselves if we didn’t have some military conflict to be a part of.
For one, I’m still not even sure if you can call what goes on in Afghanistan a war. It’s some form of military action, but war really seems to not fit it. Yet we insist and proclaiming it so... therefore, it is.
We have the “War on...” phrases. “War on Drugs”, “War on Illiteracy”, “War on Terror”. We really like the way “war” sounds.
To get fit, women go to “Booty Camp” (which always brings a very flamboyant group of soldiers preparing to go overseas to the tune of Bee Gee songs). They also have “Body Combat”, “Adventure Boot Camp”, “G.I. Jane Boot Camp”, and “Kickbutt Bootcamp Workout”. Perhaps this is all one big cover as women train to overtake the men and rule the world with kettle bells and the tune of Mambo #5.
In sports, it’s often been said that the game was “a war out there”. For a little while, after Iraq started, people stopped saying that. They spoke of putting things in perspective and “this is just a game, after all”... But that feeling has gone away and we’re right back to calling heated games “wars”.
Don Cherry has virtually given up all efforts to discuss hockey related issues in his Coach’s Corner segment. He’s somehow become the man to pay tribute to the fallen. I’ve never thought that’s a bad thing. But I have also never agreed with doing such a thing between the first and second period of a hockey game. It’s out of place.
Fly overs at sporting events are as popular as ever. Jets and bombers zip past sports stadiums as if they’re about to attack. And the fans go crazy for it every time.
The Ottawa Senators, always being an organization not quite able to know what’s best, decided to call their fans “Sens Army”. For one... it’s rather desperate to have to dub your fans anything. The Senators aren’t the only team to do it but that doesn’t mean it’s a good thing for them to do. And, for another, when the news is constantly beating us over the head with “war”, and our hockey teams now “go to war”, do we really need to make fans a part of the “army”?
Yesterday, a sports talk radio host asked an American commentator what he’s thankful for (seeing as it’s American Thanksgiving). Right off the top of his head, the answer wasn’t his family. Not his friends. Not the fact that he gets paid to follow around a pro sports franchise. No, predictably, he was “thankful for the troops”. Again, I’m not saying we shouldn’t pay respect to the soldiers who put themselves in harm’s way. But I don’t feel real comfortable with that being the first thing to be thankful for on a sports talk radio show.
Like it or not, we’ve become a continent that has grown very comfortable with the idea of war. Too comfortable. It’s become a part of our everyday lives.
Grey Days
Ottawa has become grey. For about a week, the sun has gone away. Probably it’s in Vancouver or St. John’s... cause it seems very much like Ottawa got their weather the last week or so.
And with that said, I kind of enjoy the grey. It for certain beats the extreme cold. Depression comes when nostrils freeze and I’m quite satisfied being able to wear sneakers outside here at the end of November.
Also, I’ve grown up with so little sun, that I feel kind of at home when the clouds sock in. On Tuesday morning, I drove home from work in such a thick fog, that I had to reduce speed in order to give myself time to maneuver the streets. A wall stood a constant fifty feet in front of the car. Never able to see further... never able to run into it. It just hangs there in front, drifting ahead as fast as you go. And then re-enveloping you from the back... chasing from that fifty foot cushion as well.
I enjoy foggy days in Ottawa. They are so rare here that you don’t get claustrophobic, like at home. Two weeks of fog in St. John’s can get to you. A day of it in Ottawa is just sort of nice. Quiet, mysterious, mild... there’s just something nice about a foggy day. Now if only they had fog horns around here!
I also find I like a drizzly day now. Again, St. John’s drizzle is not so good. Weeks of it coupled with winds that slap you wetly in the face... not so good. But a day of drizzle with little wind means you can carry on comfortably.
I find the puddles that build on streets and sidewalks are as city tidal pools. Yes, it’s unlikely that you’ll find fish and crabs milling about the pool. But you can’t help peaking in the pool, looking for worms.
FRIDAY...
— Fairly normal day at work. Last week day dayshift for me in CPSIC. The date is in... I’m back to AFIS December 7.
SATURDAY...
— Work... nap... then off to UFC night at the bar with Phil and Sarah to start... Osana joins us. Fun night.
SUNDAY...
— Chinese food at work makes a lousy slowpitch game not hurt so bad. Plus side of the ball game, my first game played without the thumb taped.
MONDAY...
— Last hour or so of the night shift was hard. Ran out of gas and wanted a nap... DIDN’T!... no sleeping on the job... but had to get up and walk around in order to keep the blood flowing.
TUESDAY...
— Up around 11:30. Laziness follows.
WEDNESDAY...
— Still sleeping in. After 11:00 again today. Laundry and drinks and supper with Sam and his friend from Toronto.
THURSDAY...
— Quiet day with groceries and some TV. The Ottawa Senator’s third jersey is most assuredly among the five worst jerseys in the NHL today. Thank goodness Montreal has never been so stupid to design a jersey with “Habs” on the chest.
Thursday, November 19, 2009
Making It Up As I Go Along #391
Unicorn Prowlers
Great headlights of sun illuminate the darkness to a point of daylight. Shadows abound, birds rouse from their nests early, and raccoons scamper back to their lair.
Oops, it’s simply a car passing.
New headlights are advertised on TV now. Headlights that allow you to see so much more. And I’ve seen some of these things on the road. One of the things the ads don’t show you being able to see is the whites of the eyes of blinded oncoming drivers.
The way around the constant flicker from low beam to high beam... install sun beams. Why is this not illegal?
It shows the lack of common sense in today’s society. Where we need to spell everything out, and if we don’t, it’s our fault for not rather than their fault for not cluing in. For instance... soon after the law hit Ontario banning driving and talking on the cell phone at the same time, people had to specify driving and texting shouldn’t be done either. You’d think if we’re told not to hold a cell phone to your ear and talk, it goes without saying you shouldn’t look down at it and type as you drive.
Texting, for a short time, was a way around not being able to use your phone while driving. These halogen lamp headlights are a way around the high beam issue. “Cop tell me not to drive with my high beams on, I’ll show him... these ain’t no high beams!”
So now we can spot unicorns in the woods (so TV tells us). Talking unicorns!
Perhaps we don’t need to see so well at night that mythical beasts become reality. And what of the expression, “caught like a deer in the headlights”? Will driving around with halogen headlights cause all deer to remain motionless... blinded for hours... in the middle of our night time roads? Blinded deer statues propped up in the middle of the highway... an obstacle course of deer.
Flocks of birds must bounce of the windshields of halogen lit cars like some sort of living hail. Hail the size of golf balls? Try the size, and shape, of sparrows, finches, and robins all crashing into the car the way they do lit sky scrapers in the downtown core.
I guess, at this point in the game, it’s good for the small percentage of the population who drives around with the sun beams. The get to see as if driving by day, and it’s only a small part of society that has to endure the flash of blindness. You could even set up watches and post alerts on the news... Halogen lit car traveling eastward on highway 417, last seen at the Vanier exit ramp! Other drivers could change their route to avoid it as if avoiding rush hour traffic. But imagine if we all switch to halogen lights. Thousands of bird carcases, statuesque deer, confused unicorns, and a multitude of cars dropped into ditches or wrapped around trees. All as a result of headlight blindness.
For the religious amongst us, when you’re out driving at night and you think you must have died... for the love of God, DON’T go towards the light! It’s likely not the path to heaven... but just some guy who recently made a purchase at Canadian Tire... out on the prowl for Unicorns
THURSDAY...
— Long day thanks to bad sleep. I fell asleep around 10:45 last night... woke at 12:30... lay awake until 2:30... TV until 3:15... back to bed for another hour before the alarm for work.
— Make it through things better than I thought I would. Still, a general feeling of unsettlement in and around the office these days. It slowly drains.
FRIDAY...
— Busy day. Some very busy times and some quiet time near the end of shift. Out to supper from work... my first go of Vietnamese food. Good stuff.
— Home for some TV afterwards... very tired but staying up until around 2:00 to try to get set for night shift.
SATURDAY...
— Alone at work on a quiet Saturday night.
SUNDAY...
— Slept until 1:30. That’s late for me, even coming off night shift. Still fighting this cold/flu thing. A scratchy throat has got a cough on the go for the last two or three days. So tired of this... three weeks of feeling under the weather. But it’s not uncommon, many people have the month long virus.
MONDAY...
— When I get home from work I’m feeling like the sickness is just about out of me. Sleep for four hours or so and then catch up on the Sunday TV... bless PVRs. Geoff arrives in the evening and we hang out some before he hits the hay. Another round of the Keg is coming tomorrow.
TUESDAY...
— Laundry by day... steak by night. Meet Geoff at the Keg and have a great meal. Then home, stuffed and lounging in front of the tube watching the new nature program on Discovery, “Life”.
WEDNESDAY...
— Bowling is fun. Lucky comeback for me in the second game and I get the high score after being 5th through six frames. But it’s good with Jamie, Annick, Julia, and Tom as a team.
— Walk tonight. Hour and fifteen minutes. Need to do more of this stuff.
Great headlights of sun illuminate the darkness to a point of daylight. Shadows abound, birds rouse from their nests early, and raccoons scamper back to their lair.
Oops, it’s simply a car passing.
New headlights are advertised on TV now. Headlights that allow you to see so much more. And I’ve seen some of these things on the road. One of the things the ads don’t show you being able to see is the whites of the eyes of blinded oncoming drivers.
The way around the constant flicker from low beam to high beam... install sun beams. Why is this not illegal?
It shows the lack of common sense in today’s society. Where we need to spell everything out, and if we don’t, it’s our fault for not rather than their fault for not cluing in. For instance... soon after the law hit Ontario banning driving and talking on the cell phone at the same time, people had to specify driving and texting shouldn’t be done either. You’d think if we’re told not to hold a cell phone to your ear and talk, it goes without saying you shouldn’t look down at it and type as you drive.
Texting, for a short time, was a way around not being able to use your phone while driving. These halogen lamp headlights are a way around the high beam issue. “Cop tell me not to drive with my high beams on, I’ll show him... these ain’t no high beams!”
So now we can spot unicorns in the woods (so TV tells us). Talking unicorns!
Perhaps we don’t need to see so well at night that mythical beasts become reality. And what of the expression, “caught like a deer in the headlights”? Will driving around with halogen headlights cause all deer to remain motionless... blinded for hours... in the middle of our night time roads? Blinded deer statues propped up in the middle of the highway... an obstacle course of deer.
Flocks of birds must bounce of the windshields of halogen lit cars like some sort of living hail. Hail the size of golf balls? Try the size, and shape, of sparrows, finches, and robins all crashing into the car the way they do lit sky scrapers in the downtown core.
I guess, at this point in the game, it’s good for the small percentage of the population who drives around with the sun beams. The get to see as if driving by day, and it’s only a small part of society that has to endure the flash of blindness. You could even set up watches and post alerts on the news... Halogen lit car traveling eastward on highway 417, last seen at the Vanier exit ramp! Other drivers could change their route to avoid it as if avoiding rush hour traffic. But imagine if we all switch to halogen lights. Thousands of bird carcases, statuesque deer, confused unicorns, and a multitude of cars dropped into ditches or wrapped around trees. All as a result of headlight blindness.
For the religious amongst us, when you’re out driving at night and you think you must have died... for the love of God, DON’T go towards the light! It’s likely not the path to heaven... but just some guy who recently made a purchase at Canadian Tire... out on the prowl for Unicorns
THURSDAY...
— Long day thanks to bad sleep. I fell asleep around 10:45 last night... woke at 12:30... lay awake until 2:30... TV until 3:15... back to bed for another hour before the alarm for work.
— Make it through things better than I thought I would. Still, a general feeling of unsettlement in and around the office these days. It slowly drains.
FRIDAY...
— Busy day. Some very busy times and some quiet time near the end of shift. Out to supper from work... my first go of Vietnamese food. Good stuff.
— Home for some TV afterwards... very tired but staying up until around 2:00 to try to get set for night shift.
SATURDAY...
— Alone at work on a quiet Saturday night.
SUNDAY...
— Slept until 1:30. That’s late for me, even coming off night shift. Still fighting this cold/flu thing. A scratchy throat has got a cough on the go for the last two or three days. So tired of this... three weeks of feeling under the weather. But it’s not uncommon, many people have the month long virus.
MONDAY...
— When I get home from work I’m feeling like the sickness is just about out of me. Sleep for four hours or so and then catch up on the Sunday TV... bless PVRs. Geoff arrives in the evening and we hang out some before he hits the hay. Another round of the Keg is coming tomorrow.
TUESDAY...
— Laundry by day... steak by night. Meet Geoff at the Keg and have a great meal. Then home, stuffed and lounging in front of the tube watching the new nature program on Discovery, “Life”.
WEDNESDAY...
— Bowling is fun. Lucky comeback for me in the second game and I get the high score after being 5th through six frames. But it’s good with Jamie, Annick, Julia, and Tom as a team.
— Walk tonight. Hour and fifteen minutes. Need to do more of this stuff.
Wednesday, November 11, 2009
Making It Up As I Go Along #390
Self Cooked Stone Steaks
The service industry has become obsessed with ramming do-it-yourself down our throat. It’s made out to be some amazingly great thing. Where we are supposed to feel good about doing duties and tasks that others used to get paid to do... primarily because nobody else would want to do this for free.
We’ve become like children who get duped into cleaning up their room by a parent who says “let’s make a game of it!”
As a result... we now check ourselves in at airports. This started out good. Only a few adventurous sorts would tackle the machine while others lined up to be served. A quick line to drop your bag and you’re on your merry way.
Only now, everybody gets their own boarding cards. So the baggage drop off line is just as long now as the boarding pass line used to be. Nothing is saved unless you decide to travel with no baggage at all.
Still, airport self serve is a fairly painless one. How about the one that gets me the most... and the longest running one... all you can eat buffet.
So the deal here is that you can eat as much as possible as long as the people preparing the food have nothing to do with serving it to you. The long lines to get a scoop of rice are one thing. But we have to put an awful lot of trust into the idea that the strangers who wander up to the troff ahead of us are sanitary. Fingering an egg roll hardly seems beyond the realms of possibility. And what of the heat lamp? Should we feel good about eating food that’s been left to simmer under glorified light bulbs? The end result is that you eat more food than you actually need in you and it’s at a low end quality. Yet we go nuts for the deal and elbow each other out of the way for the last scoop of dried out lasagna.
Higher end restaurants have gone in on the action. Fondu places have been around forever. Raw meat and boiling water... somehow it seems to work. A social aspect to the meal enables it to be one of the few that get away with legitimate do-it-yourself. But yesterday I was at a restaurant that posted rock grilled steak.
For more money (about $3 extra) you have the privilege of finishing off the cooking process of your steak. It comes out to you half done on a stone that’s heated to 700 degrees. It’s then your job to turn it over, cut it, and see to it reaching your desired degree of cooking. Rare? Well done? Medium? From now on, you no longer have the option of sending it back to the kitchen complaining that it isn’t done to your liking. It’s all on you!
That’s a lot of pressure for someone who just wants to sit back, chat, and have a meal. The steak can be overdone by the simple slipping into too good of a conversation. And let’s not forget, you’re sitting inches from a 700 degree stone. Reach across the table for a napkin, and leave half the skin of your forearm sizzling there next to the meat. Your steak will surly be overdone as you take the time to get iced and gauzed. A perfect evening. All at an the bargain cost of $3 more!
Grocery stores are the worst though. We used to bring our food to cash registers and look at the cashier with a degree of pity. Remembering when we were a seventeen year old entering the adult world of the working. We’d watch as they fumble with an item, looking for a price tag or barcode. Exasperated, they’d get on the phone calling Bob to the cash for a price check. This was no job that I ever aspired to do. I was thankful for not doing it and sometimes felt like I should give them a little something extra just to help them out financially... anything to get them on to a better job.
Today, we are meant to feel overjoyed for stepping into the role of seventeen year old cashier. Bring your groceries to a scanner and do it all yourself! Only... I don’t want to weigh bananas... and I don’t want to try to scan a tin of soup. I don’t even know this Bob guy who’ll do my price check!
Somehow, businesses are giving us less service and trying their best to make the customer feel that this is a good thing. The funny thing is, quite a few people buy into it. They gleefully head for the self checkout line at the grocery store. And they seem confused as to the holdup, not knowing why that eighty-three year old woman is having trouble scanning her can of peas. What a glorious and advanced age we live in.
WEDNESDAY...
— Busy day at work. I’m pretty much doing it alone from 6 to 2:30. Once Phil gets in there, I’m pretty wiped out.
— Groceries and gas slow the getting home process. Just some baseball on TV to polish the night.
THURSDAY...
— Paranormal Activity... round two. It’s fun again to see.
FRIDAY...
— Quiet night at work... pizza comes in to make it go better. Getting cold... -10 with windchill tonight. Brrr.
SATURDAY...
— Scratchy throat, hot and cold, and some general aches... sick again. Work is quiet and I get through okay, despite feeling crumby.
SUNDAY...
— Get some much needed stuff at the store after work. Vitamin D and multi vitamins... and orange juice.
— Play ball even though I’m not feeling great. First game since I hurt my thumb where I don’t feel off in the field. Could still hit a bit better in this indoor league, but felt good in the field. Finally.
— Skip post game drinks in favour of a shower and soup... want to get rid of this sick thing.
MONDAY...
— Find out my new team to be at work. Come December I’ll be back in AFIS with a decent looking group. Pretty quiet day otherwise... Still not feeling 100% but improving for sure.
TUESDAY...
— Hockey night. Meet up with the crew and we eat at the Crazy Horse restaurant... then off to the stadium for the Oilers vs. Sens. Good game that goes to the cursed shootout. Ottawa pulls it out 4-3.
The service industry has become obsessed with ramming do-it-yourself down our throat. It’s made out to be some amazingly great thing. Where we are supposed to feel good about doing duties and tasks that others used to get paid to do... primarily because nobody else would want to do this for free.
We’ve become like children who get duped into cleaning up their room by a parent who says “let’s make a game of it!”
As a result... we now check ourselves in at airports. This started out good. Only a few adventurous sorts would tackle the machine while others lined up to be served. A quick line to drop your bag and you’re on your merry way.
Only now, everybody gets their own boarding cards. So the baggage drop off line is just as long now as the boarding pass line used to be. Nothing is saved unless you decide to travel with no baggage at all.
Still, airport self serve is a fairly painless one. How about the one that gets me the most... and the longest running one... all you can eat buffet.
So the deal here is that you can eat as much as possible as long as the people preparing the food have nothing to do with serving it to you. The long lines to get a scoop of rice are one thing. But we have to put an awful lot of trust into the idea that the strangers who wander up to the troff ahead of us are sanitary. Fingering an egg roll hardly seems beyond the realms of possibility. And what of the heat lamp? Should we feel good about eating food that’s been left to simmer under glorified light bulbs? The end result is that you eat more food than you actually need in you and it’s at a low end quality. Yet we go nuts for the deal and elbow each other out of the way for the last scoop of dried out lasagna.
Higher end restaurants have gone in on the action. Fondu places have been around forever. Raw meat and boiling water... somehow it seems to work. A social aspect to the meal enables it to be one of the few that get away with legitimate do-it-yourself. But yesterday I was at a restaurant that posted rock grilled steak.
For more money (about $3 extra) you have the privilege of finishing off the cooking process of your steak. It comes out to you half done on a stone that’s heated to 700 degrees. It’s then your job to turn it over, cut it, and see to it reaching your desired degree of cooking. Rare? Well done? Medium? From now on, you no longer have the option of sending it back to the kitchen complaining that it isn’t done to your liking. It’s all on you!
That’s a lot of pressure for someone who just wants to sit back, chat, and have a meal. The steak can be overdone by the simple slipping into too good of a conversation. And let’s not forget, you’re sitting inches from a 700 degree stone. Reach across the table for a napkin, and leave half the skin of your forearm sizzling there next to the meat. Your steak will surly be overdone as you take the time to get iced and gauzed. A perfect evening. All at an the bargain cost of $3 more!
Grocery stores are the worst though. We used to bring our food to cash registers and look at the cashier with a degree of pity. Remembering when we were a seventeen year old entering the adult world of the working. We’d watch as they fumble with an item, looking for a price tag or barcode. Exasperated, they’d get on the phone calling Bob to the cash for a price check. This was no job that I ever aspired to do. I was thankful for not doing it and sometimes felt like I should give them a little something extra just to help them out financially... anything to get them on to a better job.
Today, we are meant to feel overjoyed for stepping into the role of seventeen year old cashier. Bring your groceries to a scanner and do it all yourself! Only... I don’t want to weigh bananas... and I don’t want to try to scan a tin of soup. I don’t even know this Bob guy who’ll do my price check!
Somehow, businesses are giving us less service and trying their best to make the customer feel that this is a good thing. The funny thing is, quite a few people buy into it. They gleefully head for the self checkout line at the grocery store. And they seem confused as to the holdup, not knowing why that eighty-three year old woman is having trouble scanning her can of peas. What a glorious and advanced age we live in.
WEDNESDAY...
— Busy day at work. I’m pretty much doing it alone from 6 to 2:30. Once Phil gets in there, I’m pretty wiped out.
— Groceries and gas slow the getting home process. Just some baseball on TV to polish the night.
THURSDAY...
— Paranormal Activity... round two. It’s fun again to see.
FRIDAY...
— Quiet night at work... pizza comes in to make it go better. Getting cold... -10 with windchill tonight. Brrr.
SATURDAY...
— Scratchy throat, hot and cold, and some general aches... sick again. Work is quiet and I get through okay, despite feeling crumby.
SUNDAY...
— Get some much needed stuff at the store after work. Vitamin D and multi vitamins... and orange juice.
— Play ball even though I’m not feeling great. First game since I hurt my thumb where I don’t feel off in the field. Could still hit a bit better in this indoor league, but felt good in the field. Finally.
— Skip post game drinks in favour of a shower and soup... want to get rid of this sick thing.
MONDAY...
— Find out my new team to be at work. Come December I’ll be back in AFIS with a decent looking group. Pretty quiet day otherwise... Still not feeling 100% but improving for sure.
TUESDAY...
— Hockey night. Meet up with the crew and we eat at the Crazy Horse restaurant... then off to the stadium for the Oilers vs. Sens. Good game that goes to the cursed shootout. Ottawa pulls it out 4-3.
Tuesday, November 03, 2009
Making It Up As I Go Along #389
The Snow Tire Affair
There are connections between people. Connections that can span the globe where, without talking to or seeing them, you just know something is wrong. Such connections are most often spoken of between twins. One falls and breaks a leg... the other feels pain. One trapped under a fallen bookshelf... the other feeling a sudden urge to read. Hmm, maybe that isn’t completely right... but you get the idea.
The Brown family has had such a connection. Even though my sister is on the western end of the continent and my parents are in the far east. And even though I’m perched in the middle of them all... we came together last week. No phone, e-mail or text message played any roll. Perhaps we came together in our dreams. But last Wednesday, from coast, to middle, to coast... we all had winter tires installed on our cars.
Sure this isn’t as sexy a connection as those direct to video movies which star Pamela Anderson as a pair of twins. There are no double crosses, murders, or nation wide journeys where one can’t rest until they’ve reached the other, as they lay trapped. But it’s still pretty spooky. Hey, I mean really... if a Doritos chip can look like Jesus, this isn’t beyond the realm of the supernatural.
Some knowledge was shared the night before the event. A quick e-mail exchange between sister and I enabled us to realize we were both about to hit the garages the next day. But the plans were all set in motion well before these e-mails. Edena makes plans of this nature weeks in advance. It may have been first hatched as far back as May. You just really never know.
But in previous years, despite best intentions, I have found myself waiting until after the first major snowfall. When the car needs a good twelve hours of garage time before it’s ready to be picked up. For some reason, this year, something entered my subconscious. And I had to make the move while still able to walk back to work in a fleece and sneakers.
The eeriness peaked upon learning that dad had also brought the car in. Just a casual e-mail discussing the days events. Yet the mention of the snow tires stuck out on the electronic page as if it were written in blood and dripping down the wall. I sat dumbfounded at the coincidence.
Near a week has gone by since the Day of the Tire. I’ve been able to drive about with little need of them. Temperatures have stayed up and roads have remained clear. But this must have happened for a reason.
I suppose I should not be surprised in the fact that I can not understand this. The universe is a complex place... one that we are unable to fully comprehend. If a butterfly’s wings can create hurricanes, I’m sure the Simultaneous Snow Tire Affair also holds a greater meaning.
Last Wednesday, the Brown family set the wheels in motion for something magnificent.
TUESDAY...
— Work... not a real busy day... a staff meeting that meant nothing.
— Bit of TV in the evening.
WEDNESDAY...
— Officially out of CPSIC. It won’t happen until the beginning of December. At that time, it’s back to AFIS for me... mostly night shifts again. Back to eight hour days and regular weekends off. It’ll take getting used to in many ways.
— Movie night. After Phil drops me to get my car (snow tires put on) it’s supper at the mall and then Paranormal Activity at the movies with a crew of us. Sarah and I are the only two to really like it. Jamie thought it was alright. Everyone else (Phil, Jon, Sheila, Julia... disliked it).
THURSDAY...
— Find out that yesterday was a family bonding event from coast to coast... Edena, mom and dad, and I all put snow tires on the cars yesterday.
— Quiet time around the house waiting for night shift. Not a great afternoon nap, so we’ll see if tonight gets tough.
FRIDAY...
— Bad back. Big knot in the middle of the shoulders.
— Two phone calls before 9:30 this morning... which isn’t great when bedtime was about 7:20. Got back to sleep again after until about 12:15. So not too bad.
SATURDAY...
— Up around 11:30. Sleeping in to most but not when you consider I went down at about 6:30. Hang around the house... nap during the hockey game and watch a few movies.
SUNDAY...
— Quiet day around... then off to ball. We lose a close one. Supper with Nick, Dusty and Melissa afterwards and then home for some Sunday night TV.
MONDAY...
— More goalie masks in the house! I end a walk of the pond and go to the mailbox to find my miniature masks arrive from the Hockey Hall of Fame. Gerry Cheevers and Grant Fuhr join the Fuhr autographed rookie mask mom and dad gave me on their visit. I’m just a goalie mask junkie. I love to look at them.
There are connections between people. Connections that can span the globe where, without talking to or seeing them, you just know something is wrong. Such connections are most often spoken of between twins. One falls and breaks a leg... the other feels pain. One trapped under a fallen bookshelf... the other feeling a sudden urge to read. Hmm, maybe that isn’t completely right... but you get the idea.
The Brown family has had such a connection. Even though my sister is on the western end of the continent and my parents are in the far east. And even though I’m perched in the middle of them all... we came together last week. No phone, e-mail or text message played any roll. Perhaps we came together in our dreams. But last Wednesday, from coast, to middle, to coast... we all had winter tires installed on our cars.
Sure this isn’t as sexy a connection as those direct to video movies which star Pamela Anderson as a pair of twins. There are no double crosses, murders, or nation wide journeys where one can’t rest until they’ve reached the other, as they lay trapped. But it’s still pretty spooky. Hey, I mean really... if a Doritos chip can look like Jesus, this isn’t beyond the realm of the supernatural.
Some knowledge was shared the night before the event. A quick e-mail exchange between sister and I enabled us to realize we were both about to hit the garages the next day. But the plans were all set in motion well before these e-mails. Edena makes plans of this nature weeks in advance. It may have been first hatched as far back as May. You just really never know.
But in previous years, despite best intentions, I have found myself waiting until after the first major snowfall. When the car needs a good twelve hours of garage time before it’s ready to be picked up. For some reason, this year, something entered my subconscious. And I had to make the move while still able to walk back to work in a fleece and sneakers.
The eeriness peaked upon learning that dad had also brought the car in. Just a casual e-mail discussing the days events. Yet the mention of the snow tires stuck out on the electronic page as if it were written in blood and dripping down the wall. I sat dumbfounded at the coincidence.
Near a week has gone by since the Day of the Tire. I’ve been able to drive about with little need of them. Temperatures have stayed up and roads have remained clear. But this must have happened for a reason.
I suppose I should not be surprised in the fact that I can not understand this. The universe is a complex place... one that we are unable to fully comprehend. If a butterfly’s wings can create hurricanes, I’m sure the Simultaneous Snow Tire Affair also holds a greater meaning.
Last Wednesday, the Brown family set the wheels in motion for something magnificent.
TUESDAY...
— Work... not a real busy day... a staff meeting that meant nothing.
— Bit of TV in the evening.
WEDNESDAY...
— Officially out of CPSIC. It won’t happen until the beginning of December. At that time, it’s back to AFIS for me... mostly night shifts again. Back to eight hour days and regular weekends off. It’ll take getting used to in many ways.
— Movie night. After Phil drops me to get my car (snow tires put on) it’s supper at the mall and then Paranormal Activity at the movies with a crew of us. Sarah and I are the only two to really like it. Jamie thought it was alright. Everyone else (Phil, Jon, Sheila, Julia... disliked it).
THURSDAY...
— Find out that yesterday was a family bonding event from coast to coast... Edena, mom and dad, and I all put snow tires on the cars yesterday.
— Quiet time around the house waiting for night shift. Not a great afternoon nap, so we’ll see if tonight gets tough.
FRIDAY...
— Bad back. Big knot in the middle of the shoulders.
— Two phone calls before 9:30 this morning... which isn’t great when bedtime was about 7:20. Got back to sleep again after until about 12:15. So not too bad.
SATURDAY...
— Up around 11:30. Sleeping in to most but not when you consider I went down at about 6:30. Hang around the house... nap during the hockey game and watch a few movies.
SUNDAY...
— Quiet day around... then off to ball. We lose a close one. Supper with Nick, Dusty and Melissa afterwards and then home for some Sunday night TV.
MONDAY...
— More goalie masks in the house! I end a walk of the pond and go to the mailbox to find my miniature masks arrive from the Hockey Hall of Fame. Gerry Cheevers and Grant Fuhr join the Fuhr autographed rookie mask mom and dad gave me on their visit. I’m just a goalie mask junkie. I love to look at them.
Monday, October 26, 2009
Making It Up As I Go Along #388
A bit of a ramble this week.
Twelve Days Off
Twelve days off. Since my move to Ottawa I haven’t taken twelve days off and not flown somewhere.
The original plan was four days of nothing followed by eight of writing and research. Then I was given crumby work news, just prior to my time away, and it changed to a time of decompression and settling down.
Writing happened... but not as much. Two or three days of the twelve went towards the project.
Twelve days can be a lifetime. Two and a half days under the weather... three work related e-mails... two work related phone calls... one trip to (you guessed it) work... and, for anyone who knows my work, zero work related official decisions. And management wonders why staff complains.
Sleep came and went. Thursday night I went to bed with a headache... lights off at about twenty to one. Wake for the first time around 9:00. Sleep more off and on until about twenty after twelve. Almost twelve hours in the bed means I’m not up to par. For the next few days after that, sleep amounts to a little less than half of that day. Tonight is likely to be an adventure with a 4:30 wake up call coming up.
Twelve days came with a Hitchcock moment. On day eleven, after the first victory of the indoor ball season, I stand in the parking lot talking with Trevor... about a hundred Canada Geese lift off a block away and drift atop us, honking from a hundred feet up. A flight slow... almost a hover with the wind against their beaks.
Our talking stopped and we stood looking up at the mass of birds. I thought of a dive into the car, with geese wings slapping against the windshield as geese beaks crack the glass in waves. It didn’t happen.
Three big purchases in twelve days. A plane ticket home for Christmas... the one bit of good that comes from the toss from CPSIC... Ho Ho Ho! A pair of miniature goalie masks online from the Hockey Hall of Fame... cause I’m a goalie mask geek. And a down jacket for the winter from Eddie Bauer... all set for the inevitable brrrr.
Lots of baseball over the twelve days. Playoff baseball can only be matched by playoff hockey in my books. I just wish it would be decreed that only Vin Scully, Jon Miller (without sidekick Joe Morgan... twit) or Dan Shulman will call all baseball games. TBS is nasty in their coverage. Scully and Shulman make me wish I had satellite radio. It would almost be worth it to turn off the TV and only listen to a ball game on the radio if it meant hearing Scully or Shulman call it.
Speaking previously of my goalie mask obsession... I took a TSN online poll where they give a choice of one goalie per NHL team and you are to pick the best mask in the NHL accordingly. I’ve decided that the great majority of today’s goalie masks are too busy in their design. It is so cram packed full of details that, on TV, the mask looks like a great big scribbled blob. My pick for winner... Roberto Luongo. Very plain but something really good about it... it draws me in.
What I know is that twelve days off could be extended twelve more. I love being on my own schedule and staying away from the politics and drama that is the work place.
MONDAY...
— Home day. Some baseball... a walk... pizza delivered.
TUESDAY...
— Get some groceries... review some old writing to prepare to work on it... watch baseball and hockey. Relaxing day.
WEDNESDAY...
— Some writing research. Trying to get a good background to go with a story I’m getting into.
— Movie on TV and supper out with Riggs.
— Christmas is booked. My getting shifted out of my section at work means Christmas is a go. Porter Airlines doing it this time... should be interesting.
THURSDAY...
— Tired day. That’s what happens when it’s dark and rainy all day. Watch a movie and some hockey and do some napping.
FRIDAY...
— Got out of bed shortly after noon. I was in bed for about twelve hours and slept about nine of that. Not feeling good today.
— Cancel supper plans tonight and Port Perry party night tomorrow is in jeopardy. Headaches, tired, cough, hot/cold... all on the docket for today.
SATURDAY...
— Best hockey game in years on TV... Montreal beat the Rangers in overtime and it was quite exciting.
— Stays home rather than go to Nick’s birthday party in Port Perry. Still under the weather. Feel a bit better by the night but still not totally right.
SUNDAY...
— Snoozy day, trying to get some strength. Ball in the evening. We win our first game out of three in the fall league and I don’t play like a total duffus. A shwarma for supper and TV night.
Twelve Days Off
Twelve days off. Since my move to Ottawa I haven’t taken twelve days off and not flown somewhere.
The original plan was four days of nothing followed by eight of writing and research. Then I was given crumby work news, just prior to my time away, and it changed to a time of decompression and settling down.
Writing happened... but not as much. Two or three days of the twelve went towards the project.
Twelve days can be a lifetime. Two and a half days under the weather... three work related e-mails... two work related phone calls... one trip to (you guessed it) work... and, for anyone who knows my work, zero work related official decisions. And management wonders why staff complains.
Sleep came and went. Thursday night I went to bed with a headache... lights off at about twenty to one. Wake for the first time around 9:00. Sleep more off and on until about twenty after twelve. Almost twelve hours in the bed means I’m not up to par. For the next few days after that, sleep amounts to a little less than half of that day. Tonight is likely to be an adventure with a 4:30 wake up call coming up.
Twelve days came with a Hitchcock moment. On day eleven, after the first victory of the indoor ball season, I stand in the parking lot talking with Trevor... about a hundred Canada Geese lift off a block away and drift atop us, honking from a hundred feet up. A flight slow... almost a hover with the wind against their beaks.
Our talking stopped and we stood looking up at the mass of birds. I thought of a dive into the car, with geese wings slapping against the windshield as geese beaks crack the glass in waves. It didn’t happen.
Three big purchases in twelve days. A plane ticket home for Christmas... the one bit of good that comes from the toss from CPSIC... Ho Ho Ho! A pair of miniature goalie masks online from the Hockey Hall of Fame... cause I’m a goalie mask geek. And a down jacket for the winter from Eddie Bauer... all set for the inevitable brrrr.
Lots of baseball over the twelve days. Playoff baseball can only be matched by playoff hockey in my books. I just wish it would be decreed that only Vin Scully, Jon Miller (without sidekick Joe Morgan... twit) or Dan Shulman will call all baseball games. TBS is nasty in their coverage. Scully and Shulman make me wish I had satellite radio. It would almost be worth it to turn off the TV and only listen to a ball game on the radio if it meant hearing Scully or Shulman call it.
Speaking previously of my goalie mask obsession... I took a TSN online poll where they give a choice of one goalie per NHL team and you are to pick the best mask in the NHL accordingly. I’ve decided that the great majority of today’s goalie masks are too busy in their design. It is so cram packed full of details that, on TV, the mask looks like a great big scribbled blob. My pick for winner... Roberto Luongo. Very plain but something really good about it... it draws me in.
What I know is that twelve days off could be extended twelve more. I love being on my own schedule and staying away from the politics and drama that is the work place.
MONDAY...
— Home day. Some baseball... a walk... pizza delivered.
TUESDAY...
— Get some groceries... review some old writing to prepare to work on it... watch baseball and hockey. Relaxing day.
WEDNESDAY...
— Some writing research. Trying to get a good background to go with a story I’m getting into.
— Movie on TV and supper out with Riggs.
— Christmas is booked. My getting shifted out of my section at work means Christmas is a go. Porter Airlines doing it this time... should be interesting.
THURSDAY...
— Tired day. That’s what happens when it’s dark and rainy all day. Watch a movie and some hockey and do some napping.
FRIDAY...
— Got out of bed shortly after noon. I was in bed for about twelve hours and slept about nine of that. Not feeling good today.
— Cancel supper plans tonight and Port Perry party night tomorrow is in jeopardy. Headaches, tired, cough, hot/cold... all on the docket for today.
SATURDAY...
— Best hockey game in years on TV... Montreal beat the Rangers in overtime and it was quite exciting.
— Stays home rather than go to Nick’s birthday party in Port Perry. Still under the weather. Feel a bit better by the night but still not totally right.
SUNDAY...
— Snoozy day, trying to get some strength. Ball in the evening. We win our first game out of three in the fall league and I don’t play like a total duffus. A shwarma for supper and TV night.
Sunday, October 18, 2009
Making It Up As I Go Along #387
Doctors and Vices
We all have vices. Some smoke... actually, a lot still smoke. They may push it harder and harder to remove smoking from society but it seems every second car on the road has a smoker in it. The automobile has become one of the few acceptable smoking venues now. And cigarette butts have become the only acceptable litter to be discarded at will, no matter the location.
Back on track... vices... we have cigarettes. There are also drugs. Recreational drugs of all types, alcohol, prescription drugs. The fact is, a lot of people want to change the way they feel as they walk through the world. For them, the drug changes reality... at least for a little while.
Food is a vice. A lot of people eat many times the number of daily calories than is needed. Chocolate is a vice for millions.
Pornography, fast cars, shopping... all vices.
I have several vices. I’d assume I do anyway. People go through life with vices that they don’t even realize is a vice.
The vice I will speak of today is one I’ve carried for many years now... one that has increased it’s grip on me over the last six months or so... I’ve been drawn in by a doctor... enslaved and in need of his fix.
The vice I speak of... Dr. Pepper.
This is the greatest soft drink of all time! In the battle of Coke vs. Pepsi, I was always on the Coke side of the equation. But the Doctor has them both beat.
For a while I was off soft drinks for the most part. None would find their way into my home refrigerator unless a party was to occur that night. Sure I’d get the occasional Coke when out to supper, but in the house... only milk and juice!
Well Dr. Pepper has weaseled it’s way in. I don’t go nuts on it. I allow myself no more than one a day. But it’s there, tempting me... ready to make my day a little better.
In childhood, Dr. Pepper was not an option. Newfoundland had no Dr. Pepper in the stores. It must have had something to do with the island ecology. As a kid, I wanted Dr. Pepper and a turtle. Both were kept out of the province. Turtles for the diseases they could bring if released into the wild... Dr. Pepper... possibly the same. Perhaps they feared if a can of the stuff was left at a vacated camp site, bears would become hooked.
So my only Dr. Pepper fixes would come on summer vacations off the island. The drink I’d see on American advertising... there within my grasp on the shelf. In the beginning it was exotic. Like a soft drink movie star. I couldn’t believe it was right there in front of me.
We’d return to the campsite after our grocery run and the first thing I’d ask for is the Dr. Pepper. And what a wondrous drink it was. A taste like no other! I mean really, Coke and Pepsi... they have a bit of a difference but it’s subtle. Dr. Pepper is a drink onto itself. Not a cola, not root beer, not cream soda... a marvelous concoction that has to be tasted to be believed.
Over the years, this is how I had Dr. Pepper. On road trips to far off worlds. Worlds like... Toronto and Victoria. Worlds where the exotic is readily available.
In the mid 1980s, two incredible things came together... Dr. Pepper... and the three litre bottle. I saw it on a Toronto trip and was blown away. The bottle sat in the fridge... a seemingly never ending keg of goodness. After each outing, we’d return to our room and I’d run for a glass and pour myself a great cold piece of heaven. The bottle never seemed to empty... it was as if a dream.
Back home, in the early 90s, Oran Coffin and I struck gold. Not many knew of it, but there was a Dr. Pepper supplier within the city of St. John’s. Just one store... a convenience store that was located on the way from our neighbourhood to the ball hockey arena.
Car pooling to and from games, Oran and I would make a pit stop after a hard fought... loss (I’d like to say victory but, more often than not, we lost) and we’d venture into the store all sweaty and dehydrated. And there would be the cooler... off in the back... stocked with Dr. Pepper. It’s just as exotic cousin, Mello Yello, sat on the racks next to it. This is another drink available nowhere else in town and seen on all the TV ads. But my heart was spoken for... and the Doctor is what gave me my fix.
Today, Dr. Pepper has breached all worlds. Still not quite as easy to find as a Coke or a Pepsi... but now there no longer needs to be expeditions made half way across the world. The bears must have survived an accidental dose... as Newfoundland now has Dr. Pepper in most every grocery store (along with turtles at the pet stores).
And as I’ve endured a hard week. Where my character has been tested and all that’s right has been shaken... I’ve been able to lean on an old friend. A friend who knows how to put a smile on my face. One that sits upon it’s coaster within arm’s reach as I type these final words.
Sometimes vices are a very good thing.
SUNDAY...
— Slow day at work. Some moments of business but, overall, a quiet time.
MONDAY...
— Much like yesterday at work.
TUESDAY...
— Sucky day at work because my days in CPSIC, are now numbered. Starting shift being told you’re going to be moved out of the section soon isn’t a great way to go. I’ll leave it at... I did nothing wrong... they’re happy with my work... and leave it to the RCMP to be the only organization on earth where the end result of winning a promotion is sliding backwards in the grand scheme of things. I’ll ask to go back to AFIS... it all likely means that, within a month, I’ll be back to working five days a week with my weekends off. And blog writing will return to straight Sundays. We’ll see... we’ll see. But suddenly I have extra motivation to look at job possibilities in BC.
WEDNESDAY...
— Lots of food. RCMP softball party has pizza... work has Chinese food ordered in... cake and pie and other snacks. Work is something not really easy to be up for right now, after the way things have gone the last few days.
THURSDAY...
— Talk to a few people in the know about work promotions. It appears that this is within the rules and I understand it more but am a bit more disenchanted with the RCMP. One flawed interview process means more when it comes to work placement than a year of experience on the job. I’m being removed from CPSIC even though my supervisors are happy with my year of service... someone ranked higher in an interview than me.
— Wings and bowling with Jamie, Sarah, Phil, and Tom tonight. A nice time out.
FRIDAY...
— A few e-mails, one to the officer in charge of my section at work. The response is predictable and less than inspiring.
— Movies and baseball on TV help me unwind.
SATURDAY...
— Why is it that they say goalies can’t have smaller equipment in hockey, or they may be killed by shots... yet players are blocking shots more than ever without getting hurt. It doesn’t add up. When it comes to logic and common sense, the NHL is not a number one institution to look to for examples.
We all have vices. Some smoke... actually, a lot still smoke. They may push it harder and harder to remove smoking from society but it seems every second car on the road has a smoker in it. The automobile has become one of the few acceptable smoking venues now. And cigarette butts have become the only acceptable litter to be discarded at will, no matter the location.
Back on track... vices... we have cigarettes. There are also drugs. Recreational drugs of all types, alcohol, prescription drugs. The fact is, a lot of people want to change the way they feel as they walk through the world. For them, the drug changes reality... at least for a little while.
Food is a vice. A lot of people eat many times the number of daily calories than is needed. Chocolate is a vice for millions.
Pornography, fast cars, shopping... all vices.
I have several vices. I’d assume I do anyway. People go through life with vices that they don’t even realize is a vice.
The vice I will speak of today is one I’ve carried for many years now... one that has increased it’s grip on me over the last six months or so... I’ve been drawn in by a doctor... enslaved and in need of his fix.
The vice I speak of... Dr. Pepper.
This is the greatest soft drink of all time! In the battle of Coke vs. Pepsi, I was always on the Coke side of the equation. But the Doctor has them both beat.
For a while I was off soft drinks for the most part. None would find their way into my home refrigerator unless a party was to occur that night. Sure I’d get the occasional Coke when out to supper, but in the house... only milk and juice!
Well Dr. Pepper has weaseled it’s way in. I don’t go nuts on it. I allow myself no more than one a day. But it’s there, tempting me... ready to make my day a little better.
In childhood, Dr. Pepper was not an option. Newfoundland had no Dr. Pepper in the stores. It must have had something to do with the island ecology. As a kid, I wanted Dr. Pepper and a turtle. Both were kept out of the province. Turtles for the diseases they could bring if released into the wild... Dr. Pepper... possibly the same. Perhaps they feared if a can of the stuff was left at a vacated camp site, bears would become hooked.
So my only Dr. Pepper fixes would come on summer vacations off the island. The drink I’d see on American advertising... there within my grasp on the shelf. In the beginning it was exotic. Like a soft drink movie star. I couldn’t believe it was right there in front of me.
We’d return to the campsite after our grocery run and the first thing I’d ask for is the Dr. Pepper. And what a wondrous drink it was. A taste like no other! I mean really, Coke and Pepsi... they have a bit of a difference but it’s subtle. Dr. Pepper is a drink onto itself. Not a cola, not root beer, not cream soda... a marvelous concoction that has to be tasted to be believed.
Over the years, this is how I had Dr. Pepper. On road trips to far off worlds. Worlds like... Toronto and Victoria. Worlds where the exotic is readily available.
In the mid 1980s, two incredible things came together... Dr. Pepper... and the three litre bottle. I saw it on a Toronto trip and was blown away. The bottle sat in the fridge... a seemingly never ending keg of goodness. After each outing, we’d return to our room and I’d run for a glass and pour myself a great cold piece of heaven. The bottle never seemed to empty... it was as if a dream.
Back home, in the early 90s, Oran Coffin and I struck gold. Not many knew of it, but there was a Dr. Pepper supplier within the city of St. John’s. Just one store... a convenience store that was located on the way from our neighbourhood to the ball hockey arena.
Car pooling to and from games, Oran and I would make a pit stop after a hard fought... loss (I’d like to say victory but, more often than not, we lost) and we’d venture into the store all sweaty and dehydrated. And there would be the cooler... off in the back... stocked with Dr. Pepper. It’s just as exotic cousin, Mello Yello, sat on the racks next to it. This is another drink available nowhere else in town and seen on all the TV ads. But my heart was spoken for... and the Doctor is what gave me my fix.
Today, Dr. Pepper has breached all worlds. Still not quite as easy to find as a Coke or a Pepsi... but now there no longer needs to be expeditions made half way across the world. The bears must have survived an accidental dose... as Newfoundland now has Dr. Pepper in most every grocery store (along with turtles at the pet stores).
And as I’ve endured a hard week. Where my character has been tested and all that’s right has been shaken... I’ve been able to lean on an old friend. A friend who knows how to put a smile on my face. One that sits upon it’s coaster within arm’s reach as I type these final words.
Sometimes vices are a very good thing.
SUNDAY...
— Slow day at work. Some moments of business but, overall, a quiet time.
MONDAY...
— Much like yesterday at work.
TUESDAY...
— Sucky day at work because my days in CPSIC, are now numbered. Starting shift being told you’re going to be moved out of the section soon isn’t a great way to go. I’ll leave it at... I did nothing wrong... they’re happy with my work... and leave it to the RCMP to be the only organization on earth where the end result of winning a promotion is sliding backwards in the grand scheme of things. I’ll ask to go back to AFIS... it all likely means that, within a month, I’ll be back to working five days a week with my weekends off. And blog writing will return to straight Sundays. We’ll see... we’ll see. But suddenly I have extra motivation to look at job possibilities in BC.
WEDNESDAY...
— Lots of food. RCMP softball party has pizza... work has Chinese food ordered in... cake and pie and other snacks. Work is something not really easy to be up for right now, after the way things have gone the last few days.
THURSDAY...
— Talk to a few people in the know about work promotions. It appears that this is within the rules and I understand it more but am a bit more disenchanted with the RCMP. One flawed interview process means more when it comes to work placement than a year of experience on the job. I’m being removed from CPSIC even though my supervisors are happy with my year of service... someone ranked higher in an interview than me.
— Wings and bowling with Jamie, Sarah, Phil, and Tom tonight. A nice time out.
FRIDAY...
— A few e-mails, one to the officer in charge of my section at work. The response is predictable and less than inspiring.
— Movies and baseball on TV help me unwind.
SATURDAY...
— Why is it that they say goalies can’t have smaller equipment in hockey, or they may be killed by shots... yet players are blocking shots more than ever without getting hurt. It doesn’t add up. When it comes to logic and common sense, the NHL is not a number one institution to look to for examples.
Monday, October 12, 2009
Making It Up As I Go Along #386
Late with the writing. Mom and dad were here until Saturday evening... leaving enough time for supper and a little unwinding before bed... then work and work some more.
Space Tourism
I’m not ready for space tourists. I’m really not. I know that now as clearly as I know anything.
So I’ve seen a total of one space tourist. Guy Laliberte spent tens of millions of dollars in order to wear a rubber nose and make Ron James faces while floating in front of a crew of astronauts. He claims it was worth the money to bring awareness to some cause or another. The fact that I couldn’t name you that cause without having to google it shows that perhaps it was not money well spent.
Every time a camera came out, so did that damn nose. I can see it now. Laliberte bobbing there in the corner while the crew does actual work. One astronaut takes out a camera to take some pictures of our wondrous planet below... Laliberte sees the camera and, like a trained seal, he digs into his space pocket to haul out his space nose at warp speed. His tongue starts protruding and his eyes squint crazy as he drifts towards the camera-naut... “um Guy, I’m going to take a picture of Africa... if it’s okay with you.” “Oh sure, sure” he answers. The sparkle dims in his eye and he floats back to his corner.
I think of the astronauts. A life’s dream to go into space. To be one of those rare people who have made it through the training and preparation. The sacrifice over all those years... and their first trip into the heavens is overshadowed by some billionaire clown.
Please God... if more billionaires are to be brought into orbit... may they be left up there. Oh how I’d adore the Canadarm if it plucked Laliberte up and slowly tossed him out into deep space... that little red nose become ever so small as he drifts into eternity.
I fear other billionaires shall follow Laliberte’s lead.
Rosie O’Donnell, a billionaire she is not, but such a nut is sure to find the sponsorship. Singing in space... well, perhaps the lack of gravity will make her voice more musical. Perhaps the talentless O’Donnell will find her calling in the vacuum of space... where she can sing to the top of her lungs... and we’ll hear not a peep.
Tom Cruise will go... in order to get closer to his god. Looking out from the space station into the depths of space, he’ll be bouncing off the walls... floor... and ceiling... weightlessly proclaiming “I’m moving towards the eighth dynamic... I can see it!... see it? Over there! It’s coming!” An astronaut will peek out the window and say “Mr. Cruise... that’s the moon.” Tom will proceed to wet himself and the world will be watching as urine beads fan out through the space station.
No space tourist mission could be complete without Oprah. Her hair being a gravityless puff of curls. Passing astronauts becoming entangled in her locks... taking orbit around her head. And each time a new astronaut is caught in the gravity that is her head, Oprah will shout in glee... “I’m giving you a four-year supply of Carmex lip balm!”
Yes, I fear space tourism. The red nose of Guy Laliberte is only the weightless tip of the iceberg.
SATURDAY...
— Work is pretty slow and it’s followed by Imax movies. One on Mecca and the other on Safari in South Africa. Both really good.
— Two days and two opposite emotions in sport. First Markov gone four months after Montreal’s first game... makes me sad. Second, JP Ricciardi is fired as GM of the Blue Jays... when I read that I break into smile! Moron.
SUNDAY...
— Quiet day at work due to many systems being down for six hours.
— Softball after work. My first game in the indoor ball for the year and first game back from the thumb problem. Team loses and I have lost the hitting rhythm... but it’s still fun.
MONDAY...
— A little TV, nap, and TV... off to work for night...
— Pizza with Phil and work is pretty quiet. The gym breaks it up some.
TUESDAY...
— Not much sleep. About three hours. A little TV before going to the train station to get mom and dad. Get some groceries... mom makes a good soup... and dad and I watch the Twins vs Tigers baseball game. Twelve great innings of baseball.
WEDNESDAY...
— Walk at Mer Bleue... followed by lunch and then a trip downtown. Some shopping at Rideau Centre... supper at Fish Market Restaurant... and Imax movies to end the night.
THURSDAY...
— Drive around day. To Arnprior, Almonte, and Carlton Place. Good times. A fun time trying out the GPS on the cell phone... which brought us to a café in Arnprior that we’d never have known of otherwise.
— Lots of traffic going home. Get shwarma’s for supper and lay pretty low in the evening.
FRIDAY...
— A bit of shopping with mom and then it’s home for turkey with the parents. Fine meal and relaxing night.
Space Tourism
I’m not ready for space tourists. I’m really not. I know that now as clearly as I know anything.
So I’ve seen a total of one space tourist. Guy Laliberte spent tens of millions of dollars in order to wear a rubber nose and make Ron James faces while floating in front of a crew of astronauts. He claims it was worth the money to bring awareness to some cause or another. The fact that I couldn’t name you that cause without having to google it shows that perhaps it was not money well spent.
Every time a camera came out, so did that damn nose. I can see it now. Laliberte bobbing there in the corner while the crew does actual work. One astronaut takes out a camera to take some pictures of our wondrous planet below... Laliberte sees the camera and, like a trained seal, he digs into his space pocket to haul out his space nose at warp speed. His tongue starts protruding and his eyes squint crazy as he drifts towards the camera-naut... “um Guy, I’m going to take a picture of Africa... if it’s okay with you.” “Oh sure, sure” he answers. The sparkle dims in his eye and he floats back to his corner.
I think of the astronauts. A life’s dream to go into space. To be one of those rare people who have made it through the training and preparation. The sacrifice over all those years... and their first trip into the heavens is overshadowed by some billionaire clown.
Please God... if more billionaires are to be brought into orbit... may they be left up there. Oh how I’d adore the Canadarm if it plucked Laliberte up and slowly tossed him out into deep space... that little red nose become ever so small as he drifts into eternity.
I fear other billionaires shall follow Laliberte’s lead.
Rosie O’Donnell, a billionaire she is not, but such a nut is sure to find the sponsorship. Singing in space... well, perhaps the lack of gravity will make her voice more musical. Perhaps the talentless O’Donnell will find her calling in the vacuum of space... where she can sing to the top of her lungs... and we’ll hear not a peep.
Tom Cruise will go... in order to get closer to his god. Looking out from the space station into the depths of space, he’ll be bouncing off the walls... floor... and ceiling... weightlessly proclaiming “I’m moving towards the eighth dynamic... I can see it!... see it? Over there! It’s coming!” An astronaut will peek out the window and say “Mr. Cruise... that’s the moon.” Tom will proceed to wet himself and the world will be watching as urine beads fan out through the space station.
No space tourist mission could be complete without Oprah. Her hair being a gravityless puff of curls. Passing astronauts becoming entangled in her locks... taking orbit around her head. And each time a new astronaut is caught in the gravity that is her head, Oprah will shout in glee... “I’m giving you a four-year supply of Carmex lip balm!”
Yes, I fear space tourism. The red nose of Guy Laliberte is only the weightless tip of the iceberg.
SATURDAY...
— Work is pretty slow and it’s followed by Imax movies. One on Mecca and the other on Safari in South Africa. Both really good.
— Two days and two opposite emotions in sport. First Markov gone four months after Montreal’s first game... makes me sad. Second, JP Ricciardi is fired as GM of the Blue Jays... when I read that I break into smile! Moron.
SUNDAY...
— Quiet day at work due to many systems being down for six hours.
— Softball after work. My first game in the indoor ball for the year and first game back from the thumb problem. Team loses and I have lost the hitting rhythm... but it’s still fun.
MONDAY...
— A little TV, nap, and TV... off to work for night...
— Pizza with Phil and work is pretty quiet. The gym breaks it up some.
TUESDAY...
— Not much sleep. About three hours. A little TV before going to the train station to get mom and dad. Get some groceries... mom makes a good soup... and dad and I watch the Twins vs Tigers baseball game. Twelve great innings of baseball.
WEDNESDAY...
— Walk at Mer Bleue... followed by lunch and then a trip downtown. Some shopping at Rideau Centre... supper at Fish Market Restaurant... and Imax movies to end the night.
THURSDAY...
— Drive around day. To Arnprior, Almonte, and Carlton Place. Good times. A fun time trying out the GPS on the cell phone... which brought us to a café in Arnprior that we’d never have known of otherwise.
— Lots of traffic going home. Get shwarma’s for supper and lay pretty low in the evening.
FRIDAY...
— A bit of shopping with mom and then it’s home for turkey with the parents. Fine meal and relaxing night.
Friday, October 02, 2009
Making It Up As I Go Along #385
Flinstones, Meet the Flinstones
Words and phrases change over the years. There are communities that have had to deal with the differences of years. The Newfoundland community of Gay Side. They became so sensitive to the change in the meaning of the word “gay” that they decided to change the name of their community. Baytona has taken it’s place. From a community that was happy and light... to Baytona. Look what the modernization of homosexuality has done.
Some communities grin and bare it. Dildo... and Dildo Run. Two locals, again in Newfoundland, that must deal with the jabs and snickers that come with the modern day meaning of the word. A few years ago, there was a controversy in Newfoundland because a kid and his father went to Toronto to watch a Maple Leaf game. The game was televised and the kid, wanting to get on TV, made a sign stating how “Dildo loves the Maple Leafs”. An usher took the sign away from the child. Community name or no... that word isn’t about to be put on television during a hockey game. Most people in Newfoundland seemed to take the kid’s side. But realistically, I’m in no way surprised that the sign would be lost and I kept thinking that the father must have been naive to think they would be able to hold up a sign with the word Dildo on it and not have problems.
Going back to “gay”. If the Flinstones came on the air today, the theme song would open you up to imagining a completely different style of cartoon. After all, the Flinstones “Will have a gay old time...” Betty and Wilma in one house... Fred and Barney in the other... or perhaps a night of bowling, or a meeting of the Royal Order of Water Buffalo, lead by the Grand Poobah... well... in today’s land of “gay old times” the activities of such a club could be vastly different. And bowling could simply be a code word.
Names can bring new meanings as well. Adolf must have been a fairly popular German name prior to World War II. Not so popular anymore.
I’ve seen several Michael Jackson’s in the world. And I’ve often thought “why wouldn’t that guy go with his middle name?” Or “I’d be calling myself Mike Jackson instead.” This is especially true after the allocations late in Jackson’s life came out.
Even I have come under the name problem. Chris Brown. There have always been many of us. But none of us have been terribly famous. The most trouble I’d have was with a goalie who was a year or two older than me back home. He’d go off to hockey tournaments and people would ask me how it went.
Since I joined the RCMP, I’ve gotten many an e-mail meant for a police officer in BC (who’s e-mail is Christopher instead of my Chris). I’ve forwarded them along and we’ve joked with each other over the mix ups.
But now I’m famous. Those years of me saying the other Michael Jackson’s should go by Mike or their middle name have come back to haunt me. For I beat up Rihanna.
I’ve had teenage girls call me to ask why I hit her before they broke into Chris Brown song. I’ve had officers from across the country also make comment. In fact, it got so bad that, when asked for my name, I would only volunteer Chris. When they’d push me for the second name, it would happen. A pause... followed by “Chris Brown? Why’d you do that to Rihanna?” I could be talking to an officer who’s in a rush to get information to put away a robber. But they’d need to take that extra second to ask me about Rihanna.
So perhaps I should become Christopher full time now. Or switch to my middle name... Lloyd Brown the second. One thing I can assure everyone... I shan’t be called Baytona Brown anytime soon.
FRIDAY...
— Work. Get up okay as I’m still sort of on NF time. Distracting afternoon as we wait for e-mails informing us of the FIT 3 promotion. Good news comes to me. It means my acting position will become permanent. So after that, it’s a more easy going time.
SATURDAY...
— Quiet day at work. Phil buys me a sub for my promotion and we pretty much just hold down the fort for most of the day.
— Out for drinks and food in the night at Grace O’Malley’s. Martin, Kiyomi, Jason, Phil, Sarah, Angela, and Bana all go. It’s fun.
SUNDAY...
— Quiet night at work with Chinese food.
MONDAY...
— Hit the gym at work tonight. And before work, go to the mall to replace my bluetooth charger. While there I check out some DVD’s at HMV and buy a couple of cheap ones. The Princess Bride is much less a chick movie than the title would say... and Blair Witch Project is a classic.
TUESDAY...
— Quiet day. Sleep until about 11:30 and laze about on a rainy day after that. First day off work is often a jetlag day.
WEDNESDAY...
— Supper at Melissa’s. Burgers and salad with Kutlik and Dusty there as well.
— Off to the movies with Melissa. The Informant is good... but maybe not quite as good as I expected going in. Still worth seeing.
THURSDAY...
— Hockey’s back. Montreal beats Toronto in overtime in a fairly entertaining game. Vancouver and Calgary, I don’t watch much of but looks fairly good in the third.
— Laundry day.
Words and phrases change over the years. There are communities that have had to deal with the differences of years. The Newfoundland community of Gay Side. They became so sensitive to the change in the meaning of the word “gay” that they decided to change the name of their community. Baytona has taken it’s place. From a community that was happy and light... to Baytona. Look what the modernization of homosexuality has done.
Some communities grin and bare it. Dildo... and Dildo Run. Two locals, again in Newfoundland, that must deal with the jabs and snickers that come with the modern day meaning of the word. A few years ago, there was a controversy in Newfoundland because a kid and his father went to Toronto to watch a Maple Leaf game. The game was televised and the kid, wanting to get on TV, made a sign stating how “Dildo loves the Maple Leafs”. An usher took the sign away from the child. Community name or no... that word isn’t about to be put on television during a hockey game. Most people in Newfoundland seemed to take the kid’s side. But realistically, I’m in no way surprised that the sign would be lost and I kept thinking that the father must have been naive to think they would be able to hold up a sign with the word Dildo on it and not have problems.
Going back to “gay”. If the Flinstones came on the air today, the theme song would open you up to imagining a completely different style of cartoon. After all, the Flinstones “Will have a gay old time...” Betty and Wilma in one house... Fred and Barney in the other... or perhaps a night of bowling, or a meeting of the Royal Order of Water Buffalo, lead by the Grand Poobah... well... in today’s land of “gay old times” the activities of such a club could be vastly different. And bowling could simply be a code word.
Names can bring new meanings as well. Adolf must have been a fairly popular German name prior to World War II. Not so popular anymore.
I’ve seen several Michael Jackson’s in the world. And I’ve often thought “why wouldn’t that guy go with his middle name?” Or “I’d be calling myself Mike Jackson instead.” This is especially true after the allocations late in Jackson’s life came out.
Even I have come under the name problem. Chris Brown. There have always been many of us. But none of us have been terribly famous. The most trouble I’d have was with a goalie who was a year or two older than me back home. He’d go off to hockey tournaments and people would ask me how it went.
Since I joined the RCMP, I’ve gotten many an e-mail meant for a police officer in BC (who’s e-mail is Christopher instead of my Chris). I’ve forwarded them along and we’ve joked with each other over the mix ups.
But now I’m famous. Those years of me saying the other Michael Jackson’s should go by Mike or their middle name have come back to haunt me. For I beat up Rihanna.
I’ve had teenage girls call me to ask why I hit her before they broke into Chris Brown song. I’ve had officers from across the country also make comment. In fact, it got so bad that, when asked for my name, I would only volunteer Chris. When they’d push me for the second name, it would happen. A pause... followed by “Chris Brown? Why’d you do that to Rihanna?” I could be talking to an officer who’s in a rush to get information to put away a robber. But they’d need to take that extra second to ask me about Rihanna.
So perhaps I should become Christopher full time now. Or switch to my middle name... Lloyd Brown the second. One thing I can assure everyone... I shan’t be called Baytona Brown anytime soon.
FRIDAY...
— Work. Get up okay as I’m still sort of on NF time. Distracting afternoon as we wait for e-mails informing us of the FIT 3 promotion. Good news comes to me. It means my acting position will become permanent. So after that, it’s a more easy going time.
SATURDAY...
— Quiet day at work. Phil buys me a sub for my promotion and we pretty much just hold down the fort for most of the day.
— Out for drinks and food in the night at Grace O’Malley’s. Martin, Kiyomi, Jason, Phil, Sarah, Angela, and Bana all go. It’s fun.
SUNDAY...
— Quiet night at work with Chinese food.
MONDAY...
— Hit the gym at work tonight. And before work, go to the mall to replace my bluetooth charger. While there I check out some DVD’s at HMV and buy a couple of cheap ones. The Princess Bride is much less a chick movie than the title would say... and Blair Witch Project is a classic.
TUESDAY...
— Quiet day. Sleep until about 11:30 and laze about on a rainy day after that. First day off work is often a jetlag day.
WEDNESDAY...
— Supper at Melissa’s. Burgers and salad with Kutlik and Dusty there as well.
— Off to the movies with Melissa. The Informant is good... but maybe not quite as good as I expected going in. Still worth seeing.
THURSDAY...
— Hockey’s back. Montreal beats Toronto in overtime in a fairly entertaining game. Vancouver and Calgary, I don’t watch much of but looks fairly good in the third.
— Laundry day.
Thursday, September 24, 2009
Making It Up As I Go Along #384
A bit short this week. Been busy times and I still have stuff that should be done prior to work tomorrow.
Shoe Tying vs. Breathing
I am not able to return to Newfoundland as a place to live. Some may say this is a fact of employment. Or perhaps an inability to withstand the weather. Crazy people... lack of options and opportunities... or, in the words of one somewhat delusional seat sharer on the plane, a lack of recycling.
No, the reason I can not return to Newfoundland on a permanent basis is based purely on food. In Newfoundland, I would become a 500 pound needing the removal of the living room wall in order to go for a waddle outside.
Whenever I go home, weight follows. A few Christmas’s ago, I was home for ten days. I gained nine pounds. And there have been two occasions in my life when I was unable to both breathe and tie shoe laces at the same time. Both of those occasions happened on visits home.
This trip was no different. Too much food that I’d have no opportunity to eat on a routine day in Ottawa. Gravy and peas pudding and dressing and toutins and salt meat... all awaited me around each corner.
And Uncle Bert’s house. Sweet mercy. Two suppers there resulted in six deserts. On both occasions a large meal was followed by my choice of blueberry pudding, lemon cheese cake, and lassy jam tart. All three would not be available to me in Ontario. So all three have to be eaten on those nights.
Yesterday, supper was at Wince’s. Turkey, roast and salt meat are all on the menu. Peas pudding and gravy find their way to my plate as well. And, because I’m a weak individual, I go back for seconds! The insanity is ended with a partridgeberry pudding. Two servings of that as well, complete with thick sauce on top.
Make no wonder that the people of Newfoundland are on the larger side of the scale. Periods of weather described as “not fit” coupled with food as mentioned above and you have a lethal combination of food and inactivity. It tastes glorious... but makes you seek out elastic waisted gym pants and hockey jersey sized shirts in order to make it through life clothed.
So I am back in Ontario and perhaps, here, I have a chance to keep myself below the 250 pound mark. Shwarmas and salads make for a more difficult path to obesity. For a Newfoundlander, Ontario can qualify all by itself... as a diet.
THURSDAY...
— Work is slightly annoying and fairly busy. I get home and watch Survivor... nice to have it back.
— Decide to not go in tomorrow... which means holidays starts tonight. Off for a week and hitting Newfoundland tomorrow night.
FRIDAY...
--- took the day off work. Slept about 8.5 hours (way more than normal).
--- go to Mazda for a new gear shift knob and then got a great shwarma for supper.
--- off to the airport after I eat and a direct flight home. Watch the latest Terminator movie on the plane. Average at best.
--- little lunch and chat with mom and dad before bed.
SATURDAY...
--- lunch with Morrissey. We also hit Fred's Records and walk around downtown. See Allan Doyle (of Great Big Sea) walking along there.
--- Ches's Fish n Chips with mom and dad for supper and then the Riggs's come for cards.
SUNDAY...
--- drive out to central. Visit Aunt Margaret and end off at Bert's for the night.
MONDAY...
--- over to Fogo in the morning with Bert and Bet in tow. Running around all over. Going to south side of Joe Batt's and running around the town of Fogo some.
TUESDAY...
---Day on Fogo with mom and dad (we dropped Bert and Bet at the ferry last night).
---to Sandy Cove for a walk and Back Western Shore for lunch. Then a hike up Brimstone Head to peer out from one of the four corners of the Earth.
--- across on the ferry and supper and a night of cards at Bert's.
WEDNESDAY...
--- drive to town in the late morning/afternoon.
--- hang with Wayne for an hour or so after getting back.
--- supper at Wince's. One of those unable to breath due to fullness suppers. Cards end things and it's home to pack.
Shoe Tying vs. Breathing
I am not able to return to Newfoundland as a place to live. Some may say this is a fact of employment. Or perhaps an inability to withstand the weather. Crazy people... lack of options and opportunities... or, in the words of one somewhat delusional seat sharer on the plane, a lack of recycling.
No, the reason I can not return to Newfoundland on a permanent basis is based purely on food. In Newfoundland, I would become a 500 pound needing the removal of the living room wall in order to go for a waddle outside.
Whenever I go home, weight follows. A few Christmas’s ago, I was home for ten days. I gained nine pounds. And there have been two occasions in my life when I was unable to both breathe and tie shoe laces at the same time. Both of those occasions happened on visits home.
This trip was no different. Too much food that I’d have no opportunity to eat on a routine day in Ottawa. Gravy and peas pudding and dressing and toutins and salt meat... all awaited me around each corner.
And Uncle Bert’s house. Sweet mercy. Two suppers there resulted in six deserts. On both occasions a large meal was followed by my choice of blueberry pudding, lemon cheese cake, and lassy jam tart. All three would not be available to me in Ontario. So all three have to be eaten on those nights.
Yesterday, supper was at Wince’s. Turkey, roast and salt meat are all on the menu. Peas pudding and gravy find their way to my plate as well. And, because I’m a weak individual, I go back for seconds! The insanity is ended with a partridgeberry pudding. Two servings of that as well, complete with thick sauce on top.
Make no wonder that the people of Newfoundland are on the larger side of the scale. Periods of weather described as “not fit” coupled with food as mentioned above and you have a lethal combination of food and inactivity. It tastes glorious... but makes you seek out elastic waisted gym pants and hockey jersey sized shirts in order to make it through life clothed.
So I am back in Ontario and perhaps, here, I have a chance to keep myself below the 250 pound mark. Shwarmas and salads make for a more difficult path to obesity. For a Newfoundlander, Ontario can qualify all by itself... as a diet.
THURSDAY...
— Work is slightly annoying and fairly busy. I get home and watch Survivor... nice to have it back.
— Decide to not go in tomorrow... which means holidays starts tonight. Off for a week and hitting Newfoundland tomorrow night.
FRIDAY...
--- took the day off work. Slept about 8.5 hours (way more than normal).
--- go to Mazda for a new gear shift knob and then got a great shwarma for supper.
--- off to the airport after I eat and a direct flight home. Watch the latest Terminator movie on the plane. Average at best.
--- little lunch and chat with mom and dad before bed.
SATURDAY...
--- lunch with Morrissey. We also hit Fred's Records and walk around downtown. See Allan Doyle (of Great Big Sea) walking along there.
--- Ches's Fish n Chips with mom and dad for supper and then the Riggs's come for cards.
SUNDAY...
--- drive out to central. Visit Aunt Margaret and end off at Bert's for the night.
MONDAY...
--- over to Fogo in the morning with Bert and Bet in tow. Running around all over. Going to south side of Joe Batt's and running around the town of Fogo some.
TUESDAY...
---Day on Fogo with mom and dad (we dropped Bert and Bet at the ferry last night).
---to Sandy Cove for a walk and Back Western Shore for lunch. Then a hike up Brimstone Head to peer out from one of the four corners of the Earth.
--- across on the ferry and supper and a night of cards at Bert's.
WEDNESDAY...
--- drive to town in the late morning/afternoon.
--- hang with Wayne for an hour or so after getting back.
--- supper at Wince's. One of those unable to breath due to fullness suppers. Cards end things and it's home to pack.
Wednesday, September 16, 2009
Making It Up As I Go Along #383
Little Drunken Ones
Over the last few weeks I have come to a rather startling conclusion. Children... all cute and innocent and sweet and cute... yes I mention cute twice because it’s just that important... children are drunk people!
What are the qualities of a drunk?
Difficulty walking...
We all know how a drunk walks. They could be positioned five feet away from a barn and be right in the middle of the doorway, and they’ll still stumble enough to find a way to run into the door frame. Hills can cause a headfirst dive into concrete. Just getting from point A to point B can be a literal two steps forward, one step back procedure.
Well children walk very much as a drunk. Deliberate stomps take place on the verge of toppling. A backwards step sometimes needing to balance the wobble of forward momentum. A hill can result in a tumbling little one. And the nudge of shoulder into door frame will bring a quick end to the affair followed by a quick drop onto the butt.
Speaking gibberish...
A drunk person may say anything. It may be truthful... it may be heartfelt... it’s often totally devoid of any sense. Homer Simpson, when drunk, tells a story in which he can be quoted as saying “you’re a baloney”.
Now couldn’t you picture a child saying that very same thing? Where adults will talk civilly to try and iron out differences, children will get frustrated and resort to “you’re a baloney”.
Drunks.
Unable to pronounce words properly...
The phrases may be correct and the words make sense, but a poor ol’ intoxicated individual may slur and stumble all over the word. “I just want to tell you something” can quickly be reduced to “Ieee juice waan t’tell ya somin” when too much beer or rum has entered the body.
Well children speak in much the same way. Many a time I’ve listened to the things coming out of a child’s mouth and then turned to a parent for translation. And many of those times, the parent shrugs and says “nobody knows”. I myself have words of my own childhood to prove this fact. Recently, my parents sent along a list of words I said at 21 months of age. They include:
Brie = bread
Crie = ice cream
Mulk = milk
Oage = orange
Na na = banana
Mouf = mouth
Throw those words into sentences and that could pass for drunkeness no problem.
Public urination...
Only two types of people do this so boldly that others could be walking five feet away and you’re still letting it fly. Toddlers... and drunks. I’ve walked along in downtown St. John’s on more than one occasion, and saw a little river making it’s way down the sidewalk while a man gently sways along side a Water Street office building. These are now almost sacred spots. Places where I pass in the light of day, and look upon them, knowing their history. These places are unknown to tourists. Perhaps we could set up a tour. “This is unique architecture seen prior to the great fire of 1892 and, a little known fact, Greg Doyle peed here last Friday night”.
A child has the same sense of boldness. Although sometimes the boldness isn’t there so much, but just the knowledge that what must be must be. Yesterday I went for a walk along the pond. I came along one section where a child had run ahead of his mother and brothers. He paused when seeing me and I heard him yell back to his mom “but there’s a man there”. She called back something reassuring... and then, the next thing I know, I’m looking at his bare butt while he gives the grass a little watering. This being at 3:00 in the afternoon. No bushes to cover his deed. I suppose I should feel lucky that he decided not to face me.
So that’s it. More than enough proof to show that what we see as cuteness in a child is actually the signs of a deep seeded alcohol problem disguised under a veil of cuteness. We must help the poor little drunkards. The only mystery left is how their little livers don’t give out before they hit eight. I guess it’s proof of the resiliency of the human body.
THURSDAY...
— Day after the promotion interview is better. I still didn’t sleep much but the anxiousness is gone now and I can just do my work.
— Go to the fastpitch game tonight. Game one of the semi’s. I coach first base... we lose 1-0. Good game though... I miss playing in such a game.
FRIDAY...
— Sleep a bit... watch some TV... sleep some more... night shift. Chinese food is great and the work is fairly quiet tonight.
SATURDAY & SUNDAY...
— Work Saturday night is quite quiet. Sleep most of the time at home before it.
— Tired Sunday around the house. Got up around 11:00 and was almost asleep... or asleep... up until around 2:30.
MONDAY...
— Keg night with Riggs. Good food and eats... getting spoiled with this Keg thing!
— First day in weeks I sleep well. I had better than 7 hours worth last night... getting up around 11:00 this morning.
TUESDAY...
— Quiet day. A walk... a bit of TV... some laundry. And another good night’s sleep.
Over the last few weeks I have come to a rather startling conclusion. Children... all cute and innocent and sweet and cute... yes I mention cute twice because it’s just that important... children are drunk people!
What are the qualities of a drunk?
Difficulty walking...
We all know how a drunk walks. They could be positioned five feet away from a barn and be right in the middle of the doorway, and they’ll still stumble enough to find a way to run into the door frame. Hills can cause a headfirst dive into concrete. Just getting from point A to point B can be a literal two steps forward, one step back procedure.
Well children walk very much as a drunk. Deliberate stomps take place on the verge of toppling. A backwards step sometimes needing to balance the wobble of forward momentum. A hill can result in a tumbling little one. And the nudge of shoulder into door frame will bring a quick end to the affair followed by a quick drop onto the butt.
Speaking gibberish...
A drunk person may say anything. It may be truthful... it may be heartfelt... it’s often totally devoid of any sense. Homer Simpson, when drunk, tells a story in which he can be quoted as saying “you’re a baloney”.
Now couldn’t you picture a child saying that very same thing? Where adults will talk civilly to try and iron out differences, children will get frustrated and resort to “you’re a baloney”.
Drunks.
Unable to pronounce words properly...
The phrases may be correct and the words make sense, but a poor ol’ intoxicated individual may slur and stumble all over the word. “I just want to tell you something” can quickly be reduced to “Ieee juice waan t’tell ya somin” when too much beer or rum has entered the body.
Well children speak in much the same way. Many a time I’ve listened to the things coming out of a child’s mouth and then turned to a parent for translation. And many of those times, the parent shrugs and says “nobody knows”. I myself have words of my own childhood to prove this fact. Recently, my parents sent along a list of words I said at 21 months of age. They include:
Brie = bread
Crie = ice cream
Mulk = milk
Oage = orange
Na na = banana
Mouf = mouth
Throw those words into sentences and that could pass for drunkeness no problem.
Public urination...
Only two types of people do this so boldly that others could be walking five feet away and you’re still letting it fly. Toddlers... and drunks. I’ve walked along in downtown St. John’s on more than one occasion, and saw a little river making it’s way down the sidewalk while a man gently sways along side a Water Street office building. These are now almost sacred spots. Places where I pass in the light of day, and look upon them, knowing their history. These places are unknown to tourists. Perhaps we could set up a tour. “This is unique architecture seen prior to the great fire of 1892 and, a little known fact, Greg Doyle peed here last Friday night”.
A child has the same sense of boldness. Although sometimes the boldness isn’t there so much, but just the knowledge that what must be must be. Yesterday I went for a walk along the pond. I came along one section where a child had run ahead of his mother and brothers. He paused when seeing me and I heard him yell back to his mom “but there’s a man there”. She called back something reassuring... and then, the next thing I know, I’m looking at his bare butt while he gives the grass a little watering. This being at 3:00 in the afternoon. No bushes to cover his deed. I suppose I should feel lucky that he decided not to face me.
So that’s it. More than enough proof to show that what we see as cuteness in a child is actually the signs of a deep seeded alcohol problem disguised under a veil of cuteness. We must help the poor little drunkards. The only mystery left is how their little livers don’t give out before they hit eight. I guess it’s proof of the resiliency of the human body.
THURSDAY...
— Day after the promotion interview is better. I still didn’t sleep much but the anxiousness is gone now and I can just do my work.
— Go to the fastpitch game tonight. Game one of the semi’s. I coach first base... we lose 1-0. Good game though... I miss playing in such a game.
FRIDAY...
— Sleep a bit... watch some TV... sleep some more... night shift. Chinese food is great and the work is fairly quiet tonight.
SATURDAY & SUNDAY...
— Work Saturday night is quite quiet. Sleep most of the time at home before it.
— Tired Sunday around the house. Got up around 11:00 and was almost asleep... or asleep... up until around 2:30.
MONDAY...
— Keg night with Riggs. Good food and eats... getting spoiled with this Keg thing!
— First day in weeks I sleep well. I had better than 7 hours worth last night... getting up around 11:00 this morning.
TUESDAY...
— Quiet day. A walk... a bit of TV... some laundry. And another good night’s sleep.
Wednesday, September 09, 2009
Making It Up As I Go Along #382
People
Some people drain you.
Taking the energy out of you.
Making you tired.
Causing heads to ache
Some make you anxious.
Can’t be trusted.
Can’t be believed.
Causing stutters of uncertainty.
Some people bore you.
Words come out of mouths.
They even enter ears.
But the brain fails to register the meaning.
Some comfort you.
Warm blankets of smiles.
Soothing voices.
Words that chase the bad away.
Then there is those that energize you.
Time with them makes you electric.
If forced to choose one, take this.
For these people inspire your best.
TUESDAY & WEDNESDAY...
— Work the day shift. Feel a bit out of it this week of days. Almost like I would have felt nine months ago working. Odd how that happens sometimes.
— Tuesday supper with Geoff was good. The Keg again... good good steak.
THURSDAY...
— Tired. I go back for my afternoon nap before 1:00 and sleep until almost 3:00. Slept last night without the splint on my thumb too. It was more comfortable that way and the improving continues.
— Work is busy for a night shift. And pizza is brought in to get us through.
FRIDAY...
— Tired night at work. Learn some latent stuff with Jason, in preparation for the promotions. But the eyes are heavy from about 2:00 until 4:30. That’s what happens when the afternoon nap is tampered with.
SATURDAY...
— Groceries after work. Bed by 7:00 AM and up at noon. Lay pretty low until 5ish... do some cleaning and try to study some for the promotions but I’m pretty tired... typical day after shift with that.
— Vin Scully calling the Dodger game tonight on TV. Vin Scully is one of those rare people able to make you thankful he’s one of a kind while, at the same time, wishing there was thirty of him... one for each big league team to act as play by play man. Vin Scully is to Blue Jay announcer Jamie Campbell as Wayne Gretzky is to Tie Domi. One being a master of his craft... while the other is simply an idiot. I challenge anyone to listen to Vin Scully call a ball game and not become an instant fan of baseball.
SUNDAY & MONDAY...
— Study days for the upcoming promotion interview at work. Sunday with Leslie, Mark and Sarah involved, Monday on my own. Too nice out to be stuck inside... but oh well.
TUESDAY...
— Should have written today but was too busy with study. Most of the day from 9:00 to 3:00... and then another hour and a half or so for review after supper.
— Supper is an evening out with Laura, Janice and Cara Lea. Good to see Laura... some fine laughs to be had.
— All my fingers can now reach my thumb. So it’s improving pretty well. Still swollen though and I still await my consultation with the plastic surgeon. But I’m hoping they just say physio will cover it.
Some people drain you.
Taking the energy out of you.
Making you tired.
Causing heads to ache
Some make you anxious.
Can’t be trusted.
Can’t be believed.
Causing stutters of uncertainty.
Some people bore you.
Words come out of mouths.
They even enter ears.
But the brain fails to register the meaning.
Some comfort you.
Warm blankets of smiles.
Soothing voices.
Words that chase the bad away.
Then there is those that energize you.
Time with them makes you electric.
If forced to choose one, take this.
For these people inspire your best.
TUESDAY & WEDNESDAY...
— Work the day shift. Feel a bit out of it this week of days. Almost like I would have felt nine months ago working. Odd how that happens sometimes.
— Tuesday supper with Geoff was good. The Keg again... good good steak.
THURSDAY...
— Tired. I go back for my afternoon nap before 1:00 and sleep until almost 3:00. Slept last night without the splint on my thumb too. It was more comfortable that way and the improving continues.
— Work is busy for a night shift. And pizza is brought in to get us through.
FRIDAY...
— Tired night at work. Learn some latent stuff with Jason, in preparation for the promotions. But the eyes are heavy from about 2:00 until 4:30. That’s what happens when the afternoon nap is tampered with.
SATURDAY...
— Groceries after work. Bed by 7:00 AM and up at noon. Lay pretty low until 5ish... do some cleaning and try to study some for the promotions but I’m pretty tired... typical day after shift with that.
— Vin Scully calling the Dodger game tonight on TV. Vin Scully is one of those rare people able to make you thankful he’s one of a kind while, at the same time, wishing there was thirty of him... one for each big league team to act as play by play man. Vin Scully is to Blue Jay announcer Jamie Campbell as Wayne Gretzky is to Tie Domi. One being a master of his craft... while the other is simply an idiot. I challenge anyone to listen to Vin Scully call a ball game and not become an instant fan of baseball.
SUNDAY & MONDAY...
— Study days for the upcoming promotion interview at work. Sunday with Leslie, Mark and Sarah involved, Monday on my own. Too nice out to be stuck inside... but oh well.
TUESDAY...
— Should have written today but was too busy with study. Most of the day from 9:00 to 3:00... and then another hour and a half or so for review after supper.
— Supper is an evening out with Laura, Janice and Cara Lea. Good to see Laura... some fine laughs to be had.
— All my fingers can now reach my thumb. So it’s improving pretty well. Still swollen though and I still await my consultation with the plastic surgeon. But I’m hoping they just say physio will cover it.
Monday, August 31, 2009
Making It Up As I Go Along #381
Some things to note over the past week or so...
I have little reason to be a National Hockey League fan...
Gary Bettman is the biggest liar in pro sports (narrowly beating out Blue Jays GM JP Riccardi). Bettman once claimed that the NHL was not financially supporting the Phoenix Coyotes. Less than six months later, he claims that the owner of the team can not put them up for bankruptcy because the league has been paying the bills.
Paul Kelly is fired as the players association boss. Kelly isn’t confrontational enough. The players are doing quite fine in today’s economy, yet greed and power hungry morons have done enough to lead the great majority of players (who pay no attention to their union) away from a civil and reasonable leader. Eric Lindros and Buzz Hargrove are here to call the shots. The next strike/lock out will soon be upon us... 2011, here we come.
The Shoot out. Gimmick.
Southern Ontario is the greatest hockey market on earth but we have one team covering that zone while New York City has three teams within walking distance, Los Angeles has two teams, and even the state of Florida is equal to the province of Ontario with two teams a piece. All that said, with talk of moving the Phoenix franchise, rather than putting another team into one of the few markets that want hockey and don’t get enough of it, the league would rather look at Kansas City or Vegas. This is the only sports league in the world whose goal it is to keep franchises away from markets that desperately want them.
The Toronto Maple Leafs are the most greedy sports franchise on earth. Where the New York Yankees work for their money (building connections with other sporting franchises and owning it’s own television network). The Maple Leafs fight the idea of a hockey team in Hamilton because that would infringe upon their market. With an attitude like that, it’s no wonder the team hasn’t won a championship in more than forty years.
Indeed, there are few reasons why I should be a hockey fan. I have to overlook way more of the disgusting than I have wonderful things to draw me in. It’s sad.
Broken thumbs and Soy Sauce packets don’t mix...
It was an epic battle when I recently bought Chinese food and tried to zest up my rice. In the end, scissors were needed and I felt like I cheated by calling in relief to get through the fight.
Without babies and drunks, Facebook would not exist...
New privacy laws are being adopted by Facebook after it learns the site breaks Canadian privacy laws. But it seems a large portion of the population on this site could care less about privacy. And it goes from one extreme to the other. Pictures of babies, all pure and innocent, are sprawled across the pages of millions of Facebookers. Sometimes it seems as though you’re actually a Facebook friend with a toddler rather than a co-worker. Then, on the other extreme, drunken parties are no longer private. Back in the day, you could wretch over the side of a cabin deck with minimal intrusion. Today, such an incident makes it’s way to the World Wide Web.
I understand the baby pictures. I may be somewhat overwhelmed by them sometimes. When I see six friends online and five of them have pictures of six month olds as their profile pic, I tend to wonder if I’m in the wrong place. But I can’t understand why people regularly want to show off the fact that they may indeed have an alcohol problem. To have a somewhat crazy picture of yourself there once in a while, or to occasionally post status reports about how you’re feeling a bit under the weather due to tying one on the night before... that’s acceptable. But when the drunk status report comes up weekly and when pictures are regularly showing you licking a stranger’s face at the bar... maybe you’re sharing a little too much.
Slowpitch Softball can be exciting after all... huh...
See the MONDAY & TUESDAY status below.
The furnace comes on August 29...
I’m actually a believer of Global Warming. And I can understand how the general warming of the globe can cause cooler weather in given locales. But still, hitting the heat before you’re out of August is a hard thing to do. Yes it can happen in Newfoundland, with it’s sea breezes and the like. But in Ottawa? A depressing day this was.
MONDAY & TUESDAY...
— Busy times at work. Just me for two days... lots to do. Each day, by lunch, there’s no stop.
— Monday has the best slow pitch softball game I’ve been around. With me coaching third, the team rallies from being down 8-1 after two to win the game 18-17 in nine innings. Quite a playoff game... a bit of everything.
— Tuesday is movie night with Annick, Jamie, Sarah, Sheila, Jon and myself. Meant to see the Tarintino movie... but it’s sold out, so we see 500 Days of Summer. Quite good.
WEDNESDAY...
— Sort of a sudden day off. That is to say, I knew I’d always be late going in... but end up deciding not to go at all.
— Geoff and I head downtown for supper at the Fish Market Restaurant. Good time and a fine tuna steak for me. Could go to work after it’s done, but instead we hang out a bit, as Phil tells me it’s a pretty quiet shift.
THURSDAY...
— Work is quiet. Not much else.
FRIDAY...
— Groceries at Sobeys at 6:30 AM... right from work. Nice sunrise viewed from the parking lot.
— Sleep a few hours and then lay pretty low... a walk around the pond is about it.
SATURDAY...
— UFC night with Phil. Jamie comes part way through. A fun night of food and drink and fights... plus we saw some knob have to get carried out of the bar he was that drunk... classy!
SUNDAY...
— Quiet day. Naps and a talk with mom and dad on the phone.
I have little reason to be a National Hockey League fan...
Gary Bettman is the biggest liar in pro sports (narrowly beating out Blue Jays GM JP Riccardi). Bettman once claimed that the NHL was not financially supporting the Phoenix Coyotes. Less than six months later, he claims that the owner of the team can not put them up for bankruptcy because the league has been paying the bills.
Paul Kelly is fired as the players association boss. Kelly isn’t confrontational enough. The players are doing quite fine in today’s economy, yet greed and power hungry morons have done enough to lead the great majority of players (who pay no attention to their union) away from a civil and reasonable leader. Eric Lindros and Buzz Hargrove are here to call the shots. The next strike/lock out will soon be upon us... 2011, here we come.
The Shoot out. Gimmick.
Southern Ontario is the greatest hockey market on earth but we have one team covering that zone while New York City has three teams within walking distance, Los Angeles has two teams, and even the state of Florida is equal to the province of Ontario with two teams a piece. All that said, with talk of moving the Phoenix franchise, rather than putting another team into one of the few markets that want hockey and don’t get enough of it, the league would rather look at Kansas City or Vegas. This is the only sports league in the world whose goal it is to keep franchises away from markets that desperately want them.
The Toronto Maple Leafs are the most greedy sports franchise on earth. Where the New York Yankees work for their money (building connections with other sporting franchises and owning it’s own television network). The Maple Leafs fight the idea of a hockey team in Hamilton because that would infringe upon their market. With an attitude like that, it’s no wonder the team hasn’t won a championship in more than forty years.
Indeed, there are few reasons why I should be a hockey fan. I have to overlook way more of the disgusting than I have wonderful things to draw me in. It’s sad.
Broken thumbs and Soy Sauce packets don’t mix...
It was an epic battle when I recently bought Chinese food and tried to zest up my rice. In the end, scissors were needed and I felt like I cheated by calling in relief to get through the fight.
Without babies and drunks, Facebook would not exist...
New privacy laws are being adopted by Facebook after it learns the site breaks Canadian privacy laws. But it seems a large portion of the population on this site could care less about privacy. And it goes from one extreme to the other. Pictures of babies, all pure and innocent, are sprawled across the pages of millions of Facebookers. Sometimes it seems as though you’re actually a Facebook friend with a toddler rather than a co-worker. Then, on the other extreme, drunken parties are no longer private. Back in the day, you could wretch over the side of a cabin deck with minimal intrusion. Today, such an incident makes it’s way to the World Wide Web.
I understand the baby pictures. I may be somewhat overwhelmed by them sometimes. When I see six friends online and five of them have pictures of six month olds as their profile pic, I tend to wonder if I’m in the wrong place. But I can’t understand why people regularly want to show off the fact that they may indeed have an alcohol problem. To have a somewhat crazy picture of yourself there once in a while, or to occasionally post status reports about how you’re feeling a bit under the weather due to tying one on the night before... that’s acceptable. But when the drunk status report comes up weekly and when pictures are regularly showing you licking a stranger’s face at the bar... maybe you’re sharing a little too much.
Slowpitch Softball can be exciting after all... huh...
See the MONDAY & TUESDAY status below.
The furnace comes on August 29...
I’m actually a believer of Global Warming. And I can understand how the general warming of the globe can cause cooler weather in given locales. But still, hitting the heat before you’re out of August is a hard thing to do. Yes it can happen in Newfoundland, with it’s sea breezes and the like. But in Ottawa? A depressing day this was.
MONDAY & TUESDAY...
— Busy times at work. Just me for two days... lots to do. Each day, by lunch, there’s no stop.
— Monday has the best slow pitch softball game I’ve been around. With me coaching third, the team rallies from being down 8-1 after two to win the game 18-17 in nine innings. Quite a playoff game... a bit of everything.
— Tuesday is movie night with Annick, Jamie, Sarah, Sheila, Jon and myself. Meant to see the Tarintino movie... but it’s sold out, so we see 500 Days of Summer. Quite good.
WEDNESDAY...
— Sort of a sudden day off. That is to say, I knew I’d always be late going in... but end up deciding not to go at all.
— Geoff and I head downtown for supper at the Fish Market Restaurant. Good time and a fine tuna steak for me. Could go to work after it’s done, but instead we hang out a bit, as Phil tells me it’s a pretty quiet shift.
THURSDAY...
— Work is quiet. Not much else.
FRIDAY...
— Groceries at Sobeys at 6:30 AM... right from work. Nice sunrise viewed from the parking lot.
— Sleep a few hours and then lay pretty low... a walk around the pond is about it.
SATURDAY...
— UFC night with Phil. Jamie comes part way through. A fun night of food and drink and fights... plus we saw some knob have to get carried out of the bar he was that drunk... classy!
SUNDAY...
— Quiet day. Naps and a talk with mom and dad on the phone.
Sunday, August 23, 2009
Making It Up As I Go Along #380
More short stuff thanks to the stump that’s strapped to my hand.
Generations of Summers
Treeless.
The buildings of wood.
As much a wonder upon this land.
As Stonehenge across the sea.
Soil.
So common wherever we live.
Here it remains as scraps upon the rock.
Bits of peat where hard work gives a few potatoes.
Fog.
A daily event the comes with the breath of the sea.
From the horizon to the land within an oceanic gasp.
Obscuring the other side of the bay, known only by a haunting horn.
Sea.
The reason why we came.
Worked long hours.
Plots of ocean fenced by points and crags.
Destroying the families it provides for, with the turn of a breeze.
Families.
Have come from far and carved life here.
Generations venturing out into the fog by boat.
And tending small gardens upon the rock.
Gulls hover high above,
held in place upon the blue
by constant winds
which brings freshness to bed cloths by day...
By night, they tuck us into darkness, their smell bringing dreams of the sea.
SUNDAY...
— Not much sleep last night... I’m tired for work.
— Sheila brings me a Subway sub for lunch... yummy.
MONDAY...
— Not a bad Monday at work. Fairly quiet.
— Geoff comes tonight. We hang out a bit tonight then he’s off to bed as I stay up late for night shift.
TUESDAY & WEDNESDAY...
— Sort of a blur of night shift. Kind of busy Wednesday and not so much Tuesday. I get my eyes checked at the doc Wednesday and they’re about the same as three years ago.
THURSDAY...
— Quiet day. I sleep until about noon and then take off the splint and air out the thumb for the day while I do little around the house.
FRIDAY...
— Golf day. The RCMP tournament. I can’t do much... putting and some one handed nine iron shots. But we avoid the bad weather and have some fun.
— After the golf and supper, I hit the pub with some of the work crowd. A fun night.
SATURDAY...
— Quiet day around the house. Leave the splint off to try and help with the pressure irritation that has come with the splint.
Generations of Summers
Treeless.
The buildings of wood.
As much a wonder upon this land.
As Stonehenge across the sea.
Soil.
So common wherever we live.
Here it remains as scraps upon the rock.
Bits of peat where hard work gives a few potatoes.
Fog.
A daily event the comes with the breath of the sea.
From the horizon to the land within an oceanic gasp.
Obscuring the other side of the bay, known only by a haunting horn.
Sea.
The reason why we came.
Worked long hours.
Plots of ocean fenced by points and crags.
Destroying the families it provides for, with the turn of a breeze.
Families.
Have come from far and carved life here.
Generations venturing out into the fog by boat.
And tending small gardens upon the rock.
Gulls hover high above,
held in place upon the blue
by constant winds
which brings freshness to bed cloths by day...
By night, they tuck us into darkness, their smell bringing dreams of the sea.
SUNDAY...
— Not much sleep last night... I’m tired for work.
— Sheila brings me a Subway sub for lunch... yummy.
MONDAY...
— Not a bad Monday at work. Fairly quiet.
— Geoff comes tonight. We hang out a bit tonight then he’s off to bed as I stay up late for night shift.
TUESDAY & WEDNESDAY...
— Sort of a blur of night shift. Kind of busy Wednesday and not so much Tuesday. I get my eyes checked at the doc Wednesday and they’re about the same as three years ago.
THURSDAY...
— Quiet day. I sleep until about noon and then take off the splint and air out the thumb for the day while I do little around the house.
FRIDAY...
— Golf day. The RCMP tournament. I can’t do much... putting and some one handed nine iron shots. But we avoid the bad weather and have some fun.
— After the golf and supper, I hit the pub with some of the work crowd. A fun night.
SATURDAY...
— Quiet day around the house. Leave the splint off to try and help with the pressure irritation that has come with the splint.
Saturday, August 15, 2009
Making It Up As I Go Along #379
Keeping things short these days as the thumb, while improving, doesn’t really lend to a comfortable hour or so of typing. So combining recent experiences with some poetic licence and a few phrases/words I’ve either heard or though up lately...
Emergency
A war zone.
That’s what it looks like outside of the hospital.
With barriers up and machines rumbling through.
Construction zones are battlefields to be crossed panicked and with vulnerability.
Inside is as if the war zone is true.
Defeated souls slouched in chairs clinging to blankets that pose as skirts.
Around the corner clatters an unstable man.
Drifting into a chair as if walking on the deck of a ship in a heavy swell.
He catches the dislodged chair, shuffles it back a few inches, and carefully raises finger to mouth.
Wide eyed, drooling out a pronounced “shhhhh” before stumbling on, content that he’s fooled us.
This is the life of a stealthy drunk.
I’m surrounded by a new family. A fellowship brought together by pain and misery.
An endurance of time and boredom brings us closer. We talk in an effort to survive the hours.
In the real world, talk is fake. Weather and sales noticed in mailbox fliers.
In this fake world, talk is real. The wish to follow parents into death. Without suicide, of course... nice to meet you.
My thumb brings me to this feverish biker.
Who misses parents so much he wishes for the grill of a big rig while enjoying the freedom of the highway.
The biker talks of Harleys. Unreliable bikes ridden by posers.
My eyes are opened as a mean machine is suddenly transformed into a bean dip bicycle.
Next to him sits a mover who battles demons within his head.
There with the wife of a church goer. She lends him strength as he waits to get his hernia seen to.
A hernia seven years in the making.
Seven years enduring a muscular protrusion.
And two weeks of a battered thumb.
Have brought us here together.
The roots of our meeting took hold when I lived on another land and his stability was not in doubt.
My life has been blessed compared to that of my new friends.
Perhaps the church goer’s wife is more fulfilled but the others are barely getting by.
Battered by life. Telling stories of crashes and falls and the use of three of their cat like lives already.
I’ve needed no extra lives so far. And my thumb was damaged in recreation on my left hand.
So the inconvenience for me is minimal. Seven years of hernia it is not.
Where they’ve had hard lives and I’ve had an easy time,
it seems only fair that they are seen and done first here today.
Tend to the more battered first. I’m destined to spend ten hours here while they’re due to leave happily and soon.
They know it. I’m resigned to it. And they seem happy, for once, to be catching the breaks.
But it is not to be.
Less than four hours in to the stay, I’m called in and seen.
My injury seems not as bad as first thought. No pain in the examination. No need of a cast. Surgery appears unlikely.
They tell me to go on home.
So I return sheepishly.
As my damaged family remains in that marathon sit in the hall.
I shrug apologetically and admit my freedom is at hand.
They smile and wish me well. But I can see the betrayal they feel. Another hope dashed.
And as I walk out into the daylight.
The war zone has disappeared. Sun shines down and birds praise summer.
I think of those I’ve left behind.
Such an odd way... to learn the truth... about a Harley.
SATURDAY...
— Quiet day at work. I’m glad... me alone with a sore hand, headache and general tiredness. Timely drugs help.
SUNDAY...
— Work until around 10:00. Then I go home and sleep... and deal with my thumb.
MONDAY...
— Another day much like yesterday as far as the sticking close to home thing goes. Geoff arrives in the evening. We hang out for a bit catching up.
TUESDAY...
— On the way in to work I get a call from the doctor’s office. Got to go see them tomorrow about my x-rays. Such a call is never good news... oh dear oh dear.
— Work starts quite busy. I don’t stop to get supper before 7:30. By 1:00 it’s pretty quiet again though.
WEDNESDAY...
— Doctor day... part 1. Clinic says I indeed fractured my thumb. They tell me to go to hospital to get it seen to.
— Hospital tells me it’ll be about four hours before I’m seen. That’d ruin supper with Geoff so I leave. $3.50 parking for 15 minutes... good good.
— Supper downtown with Geoff is great. Keg steaks on the patio... lots of good catching up going on.
THURSDAY...
— Up early to go to hospital... part 2. Three and a half hours waiting to be done. Doctor there says the fracture isn’t too bad and the ligaments seem to not be overly loose. Three more weeks in the splint and the hope is it’ll be good. I also have fun listening to the stories of the biker dude who’s sitting in the waiting room next to me. All topics covered... from French women to Harley’s... from his buddy “Hillbilly” who had numerous bike accidents to his girlfriend’s ex banging on the door at night.
— Walk the pond in the afternoon. Hot out... around 35 with humidity and sun... great.
FRIDAY...
— Go for another pond walk. Bring the camera this time. Still 35 degrees. Nice.
— Watch some Fox News tonight. They are ridiculous. Everything they claim democrats did when Bush was in office... now they do. Just a constant democrat attack with commercials for the network saying “fair and balanced.” Idiots.
Emergency
A war zone.
That’s what it looks like outside of the hospital.
With barriers up and machines rumbling through.
Construction zones are battlefields to be crossed panicked and with vulnerability.
Inside is as if the war zone is true.
Defeated souls slouched in chairs clinging to blankets that pose as skirts.
Around the corner clatters an unstable man.
Drifting into a chair as if walking on the deck of a ship in a heavy swell.
He catches the dislodged chair, shuffles it back a few inches, and carefully raises finger to mouth.
Wide eyed, drooling out a pronounced “shhhhh” before stumbling on, content that he’s fooled us.
This is the life of a stealthy drunk.
I’m surrounded by a new family. A fellowship brought together by pain and misery.
An endurance of time and boredom brings us closer. We talk in an effort to survive the hours.
In the real world, talk is fake. Weather and sales noticed in mailbox fliers.
In this fake world, talk is real. The wish to follow parents into death. Without suicide, of course... nice to meet you.
My thumb brings me to this feverish biker.
Who misses parents so much he wishes for the grill of a big rig while enjoying the freedom of the highway.
The biker talks of Harleys. Unreliable bikes ridden by posers.
My eyes are opened as a mean machine is suddenly transformed into a bean dip bicycle.
Next to him sits a mover who battles demons within his head.
There with the wife of a church goer. She lends him strength as he waits to get his hernia seen to.
A hernia seven years in the making.
Seven years enduring a muscular protrusion.
And two weeks of a battered thumb.
Have brought us here together.
The roots of our meeting took hold when I lived on another land and his stability was not in doubt.
My life has been blessed compared to that of my new friends.
Perhaps the church goer’s wife is more fulfilled but the others are barely getting by.
Battered by life. Telling stories of crashes and falls and the use of three of their cat like lives already.
I’ve needed no extra lives so far. And my thumb was damaged in recreation on my left hand.
So the inconvenience for me is minimal. Seven years of hernia it is not.
Where they’ve had hard lives and I’ve had an easy time,
it seems only fair that they are seen and done first here today.
Tend to the more battered first. I’m destined to spend ten hours here while they’re due to leave happily and soon.
They know it. I’m resigned to it. And they seem happy, for once, to be catching the breaks.
But it is not to be.
Less than four hours in to the stay, I’m called in and seen.
My injury seems not as bad as first thought. No pain in the examination. No need of a cast. Surgery appears unlikely.
They tell me to go on home.
So I return sheepishly.
As my damaged family remains in that marathon sit in the hall.
I shrug apologetically and admit my freedom is at hand.
They smile and wish me well. But I can see the betrayal they feel. Another hope dashed.
And as I walk out into the daylight.
The war zone has disappeared. Sun shines down and birds praise summer.
I think of those I’ve left behind.
Such an odd way... to learn the truth... about a Harley.
SATURDAY...
— Quiet day at work. I’m glad... me alone with a sore hand, headache and general tiredness. Timely drugs help.
SUNDAY...
— Work until around 10:00. Then I go home and sleep... and deal with my thumb.
MONDAY...
— Another day much like yesterday as far as the sticking close to home thing goes. Geoff arrives in the evening. We hang out for a bit catching up.
TUESDAY...
— On the way in to work I get a call from the doctor’s office. Got to go see them tomorrow about my x-rays. Such a call is never good news... oh dear oh dear.
— Work starts quite busy. I don’t stop to get supper before 7:30. By 1:00 it’s pretty quiet again though.
WEDNESDAY...
— Doctor day... part 1. Clinic says I indeed fractured my thumb. They tell me to go to hospital to get it seen to.
— Hospital tells me it’ll be about four hours before I’m seen. That’d ruin supper with Geoff so I leave. $3.50 parking for 15 minutes... good good.
— Supper downtown with Geoff is great. Keg steaks on the patio... lots of good catching up going on.
THURSDAY...
— Up early to go to hospital... part 2. Three and a half hours waiting to be done. Doctor there says the fracture isn’t too bad and the ligaments seem to not be overly loose. Three more weeks in the splint and the hope is it’ll be good. I also have fun listening to the stories of the biker dude who’s sitting in the waiting room next to me. All topics covered... from French women to Harley’s... from his buddy “Hillbilly” who had numerous bike accidents to his girlfriend’s ex banging on the door at night.
— Walk the pond in the afternoon. Hot out... around 35 with humidity and sun... great.
FRIDAY...
— Go for another pond walk. Bring the camera this time. Still 35 degrees. Nice.
— Watch some Fox News tonight. They are ridiculous. Everything they claim democrats did when Bush was in office... now they do. Just a constant democrat attack with commercials for the network saying “fair and balanced.” Idiots.
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