Wandering Flames of the Olympiad
The Olympic Flame is taking a torturous journey across our great land. It’s painful watching the Flame wander aimlessly through Canada. Sports networks update it’s progress, showing it’s travels by a map and it’s a simple shame to see the networks taunt it so... as it obviously has no idea how to get to Vancouver.
The Flame spends a few days seemingly going the right way. You think “good ol’ Flame, he knows where he’s going... he’ll be there soon”. This is when the Flame is actually traveling west across the country. You see where the highway is, you figure the Flame will stay the course and all will be well.
But either the Flame has ADD, or is a pushover for a friendly small town hospitality, or maybe it just has a real bad sense of direction and is wandering helplessly like a blindfolded fan at a hockey intermission, hoping the fans in the stands will guide it to the prize by way of cheers when he’s pointed in the right direction.
Well if this last one is the case, Canada hasn’t been cheering, cause the Flame has been all over the place.
It seems it shot through Atlantic Canada with not too much delay. And Quebec seemed fairly co-operative in sending it in the right direction too.
But once it reached Ontario, oh my... it seems as though the Canadian people had some Flame fun and pointed it all over the place.
I’ll admit that I tried my best to ignore the Flame. So maybe I’m partially to blame... having not pointed it in the right direction... but wow. The thing was zig zagging up and down, west and east, backtracking and, some days, only seeming to go a couple of dozen kilometres before holding up somewhere for the night.
And people began taking advantage of the Flame. Some were so drawn to it’s warm glow of love and peace among men, that they jumped out of the crowd and tackled those who were kind enough to try to send it on it’s way. I can only assume the tacklers wanted the Flame to stay a while longer.
Others wandered out from the crowd to beg the hand of the Flame’s carrier in marriage. The poor Flame had to sit there while the couple hugged and bystanders applauded. The cross country journey was becoming ever the longer... the Flame would be invited to the wedding.
And these carriers. The bearers of the Flame. Well it was my understanding that these people were supposed to be athletic and they’d actually run with the thing. After all, Canada’s a big country and the Flame has to be at the other end of it in a fairly short time span. But the people have taken the Flame hostage. Slow walks and movements that kind of impersonate a run... as if done in severe slow motion... would take the Flame a few hundred meters before the hand off would occur.
It was once considered a special honor to carry the Flame. Now you’re more unique if you’re one of the ones who never got your hands on it. The Flame has become as popularly trendy in it’s uniqueness, that it’s the same as a tattoo of Chinese symbols on white people. In both cases, it’s embraced by people who have no idea what the real significance is... but it looks cool and gives the appearance of something special.
The Flame made it to British Columbia. But the people there, who are sick of all that the Flame brings, messed with it. With Vancouver in the southwest corner of the province, the people pointed north. And off to Prince George and beyond the Flame did go.
But it seems as though it’s in the home stretch. The Flame has a pretty good idea where to go from here. But there’s still time for more wedding invitations, tackles, and sloth walking poses. I just wait for the day, not far from now, when the Flame gets pied by a protestor. And, after making 98% of the journey, from Olympia to British Columbia, the Flame will be stopped. And the Olympic caldron will be ignited by a smoker’s Bic.
MONDAY...
— Evenings with Scott, Frankie, Nicole. It’s a pretty good evening of AFIS work.
TUESDAY...
— Not much work. I go out for drinks and supper with Laura and Cara Lea. Nice, as always, to meet up with L-Mac.
— After food, I go to the office for a little more than 2.5 hours of work. Then off to the movies with Karl. Goldeneye on big screen is fun times. Famke Janssen is the best Bond villainess of all time.
— By the time the movie is over, it’s too late to plan a return to work. So I’ll make up for some lost time in the next few days (work 10 hour days instead of 8) and some of my vacation time is to get used.
WEDNESDAY...
— Ten hour day at work. Scott gives some pointers for certification and I have my best stats night doing it... maybe I’ll stay out of trouble... thanks to Scott.
THURSDAY...
— Starts the day not too cold but goes nuts as the day goes on and the temp drops from something around -5 early on to about -27 with the wind at night.
— Albums have arrived. Amazon sends Neutral Milk Hotel and Wilco’s “Being There” in vinyl. Good times.
— Pizza at work makes for a pretty good night.
FRIDAY...
— Work a bit. Hockey pool first... drop two and add two... I get the two switches I want but still will likely not catch up.
— After a few hours work, I head out for movie night with the gang. Legion is likely the worst movie I’ve ever paid money to watch... simply awful. To the point of being nearly fun to watch so that you can laugh at it... almost.
SATURDAY...
— First time with friends over in a year or two. Hockey Day in Canada is the reason. Not a tonne show from the list that were invited but it’s a fun evening with Jamie there a while, Sheila, Melissa, Nick, Dusty and Dave all there.
Sunday, January 31, 2010
Sunday, January 24, 2010
Making It Up As I Go Along #400
Searching for Substance
My four hundredth Making It Up and I’m not really sure what I think of that. I actually probably felt better about my blog two hundred updates ago than I do today. And the first year or two felt much more exhilarating than now as well. My first few years of blog writing, well, at the time the first few years were group e-mails... but in those first few years, I felt a connection with people. People wrote to chat after my update. I reconnected with some cousins and got a different perspective of the lives of some of my uncles, aunts, and friends.
Family gatherings can often become scripted. With the same shared smiles and same shared conversations... none of which seems one hundred percent authentic. My first few years of writing and sharing what I wrote seemed to bring some more honesty and openness. Not just from me... but given to me. I learned things about cousins, uncles and aunts that I never before knew. Family barbeques often get overshadowed by the weather and job interview style questioning... “Are you seeing anyone?”... “Do you like your job?”... “Do you watch American Idol?” There is too much distraction with the size of the gathering to get into anything of more substance than these one off question and answer periods. “Are you seeing anyone?” can become a substantial conversation. But when there are a dozen people preparing supper, no one topic gains anymore than about three minutes of back and forth.
With my original writing, I’d often have a half dozen e-mails back and forth with someone. It may cover several days and there’d actually be learning about each other coming from it. By the end of the e-mails, the conversation may have nothing to do with what I had written about. But my writing seemed to act as a starting point. And the learning grew from there.
I started to reconnect with cousins who I see a couple of times a decade. Much of that has gone by the wayside. Same goes with friends. Where once I felt like my writing kept me connected to several friends living far from me... I feel like that connection has faded and, in some cases, is gone entirely.
So it’s not that I necessarily crave praise or a feeling of importance from my writing. But I do want to feel like it matters on some level. And getting to know people... what they’re really like... underneath the facebook facades and 140 character twitter style proclamations... that brought meaning to me.
Today, I am pretty sure there are some posts I’ve made that have been read by fewer than five people. And I get a meaningful response about a half dozen times a year. Not that I’m begging for a forced response now. I’m just explaining why I felt better about my blog two hundred updates ago than I do now.
And having mentioned facebook earlier. It’s a community I grow ever more tired of. Where I have mentioned here that I miss the meaningful connection where you actually get to know what a person is like... Facebook is the anti-meaningful connection community. Let’s make the world as superficial as possible. Cryptic status updates that, if you try hard enough to solve the hidden meaning, you often find that the hidden meaning wasn’t worth trying to solve in the first place.
And then it goes to the other extreme. Where, in one instance, you get to learn how your facebook friend loves shoes, an hour later they may post intimate feelings and secrets for all to see. Gone is the personal, deep conversation. Replaced by a wall post that screams for sympathy and huggy emoticons.
I enjoy facebook on many levels. I get to see pictures of certain friends and family. I get to play a few games. And I get to see a general point of view of several people that I’d probably never see otherwise.
But I hate facebook on many other levels. Getting to see the shallowness... pettiness... and silliness of people that, in the same manner as with the positive levels, I’d probably never have seen otherwise. Those general points of view you get to see from several people... well... thanks to facebook... that’s all you see of those people. Facebook has become such a major form of connection that many people are making real life connections that have about as much substance as facebook. While others use it as a public means of psychiatric help.
There is very little healthy middle ground in facebook. Superficial strangers... or deep end lunacy. That’s 98% of facebook.
So with so much disconnect. Or, in some cases, wishing for disconnect. This week, I reconnected. With the past.
My final part of Christmas came yesterday. My main gift from mom and dad... and old style radio/record player now sits in my living room. And I reconnect with the warmth and intimacy of music by way of vinyl.
I remember being a kid, laying on the living room floor with album sleeves in front of me and liner notes pulled out next to them as music engulfed the room in a blended form that is lost when coming via CD.
The sleeve and liner notes would take on the importance of charts and maps for a sea faring captain, plotting his course. The sleeve’s art work... something to be studied and memorized along with the music. Every minute detail examined. Often times a favourite corner of the sleeve would coincide with a favourite lyric on the album. Something discovered at just the moment that those lyrics are played. And it stays with you.
And other times, when you’re reading the lyrics as they’re sung to you. Reading them as if they were a discovered parchment that help you clarify meaning. You’ve heard the song a thousand times... but sometimes, reading the lyrics on liner notes, there on the living room floor, opens your eyes to a whole new world.
Downloading a song on iTunes just doesn’t offer this. If the history of music only consisted of iTunes, there would never have been a Dylan, Lennon or Young. They’d have been musical prophets preaching to emptiness.
Good, meaningful music can not be absorbed through the rush of iTunes. Hearing a bit of a song on the radio, and then searching it out for download only brings a bit of the musical experience to the listener.
Musical poets have to be absorbed. And there’s no better way to absorb music, than on a vinyl album while you lay on the floor, studying lyrics and artwork.
Christmas ran long this year... and ended in a musical bang.
MONDAY...
— On my new team at work. Went alright tonight with Christine, Anne-Maire, Mark and I... plus Roz.
TUESDAY...
— Tough day at work. Slow and tiring.
WEDNESDAY...
— Computer troubles continue and I’m bringing it to Atlas for a look. A new computer purchase may be in store.
THURSDAY...
— Get the computer back. Atlas gave it a good cleaning (lots of dust inside, stopping air flow). It’s so much more quiet now. The fan not having to rev hard. Hopefully that’ll do the trick.
— Buy some records before work. Go to Value Village and get three albums for $7. Emmylou Harris, Jackson Browne, and Bruce Springsteen are on board, awaiting the record player to arrive.
FRIDAY...
— Pretty quiet day. I’m not feeling the best. My stomach is a bit out of wack and headaches. So I stay home and lay low.
— Computer is working fine. I think Atlas did it.
SATURDAY...
— Record player is here. Springsteen’s “Born in the USA” is the first record to break it in. Really nice to hear that old sound again.
— Lovely Bones with Sarah and Phil tonight... goes ok for a while and then a few stupid things make it a 2 of 5... maybe 2.5.
— Montreal beats up the Rangers and Vancouver looks good against Chicago. A good hockey night. I do the Vancouver game on PVR... nice being able to go out and still catch the game.
My four hundredth Making It Up and I’m not really sure what I think of that. I actually probably felt better about my blog two hundred updates ago than I do today. And the first year or two felt much more exhilarating than now as well. My first few years of blog writing, well, at the time the first few years were group e-mails... but in those first few years, I felt a connection with people. People wrote to chat after my update. I reconnected with some cousins and got a different perspective of the lives of some of my uncles, aunts, and friends.
Family gatherings can often become scripted. With the same shared smiles and same shared conversations... none of which seems one hundred percent authentic. My first few years of writing and sharing what I wrote seemed to bring some more honesty and openness. Not just from me... but given to me. I learned things about cousins, uncles and aunts that I never before knew. Family barbeques often get overshadowed by the weather and job interview style questioning... “Are you seeing anyone?”... “Do you like your job?”... “Do you watch American Idol?” There is too much distraction with the size of the gathering to get into anything of more substance than these one off question and answer periods. “Are you seeing anyone?” can become a substantial conversation. But when there are a dozen people preparing supper, no one topic gains anymore than about three minutes of back and forth.
With my original writing, I’d often have a half dozen e-mails back and forth with someone. It may cover several days and there’d actually be learning about each other coming from it. By the end of the e-mails, the conversation may have nothing to do with what I had written about. But my writing seemed to act as a starting point. And the learning grew from there.
I started to reconnect with cousins who I see a couple of times a decade. Much of that has gone by the wayside. Same goes with friends. Where once I felt like my writing kept me connected to several friends living far from me... I feel like that connection has faded and, in some cases, is gone entirely.
So it’s not that I necessarily crave praise or a feeling of importance from my writing. But I do want to feel like it matters on some level. And getting to know people... what they’re really like... underneath the facebook facades and 140 character twitter style proclamations... that brought meaning to me.
Today, I am pretty sure there are some posts I’ve made that have been read by fewer than five people. And I get a meaningful response about a half dozen times a year. Not that I’m begging for a forced response now. I’m just explaining why I felt better about my blog two hundred updates ago than I do now.
And having mentioned facebook earlier. It’s a community I grow ever more tired of. Where I have mentioned here that I miss the meaningful connection where you actually get to know what a person is like... Facebook is the anti-meaningful connection community. Let’s make the world as superficial as possible. Cryptic status updates that, if you try hard enough to solve the hidden meaning, you often find that the hidden meaning wasn’t worth trying to solve in the first place.
And then it goes to the other extreme. Where, in one instance, you get to learn how your facebook friend loves shoes, an hour later they may post intimate feelings and secrets for all to see. Gone is the personal, deep conversation. Replaced by a wall post that screams for sympathy and huggy emoticons.
I enjoy facebook on many levels. I get to see pictures of certain friends and family. I get to play a few games. And I get to see a general point of view of several people that I’d probably never see otherwise.
But I hate facebook on many other levels. Getting to see the shallowness... pettiness... and silliness of people that, in the same manner as with the positive levels, I’d probably never have seen otherwise. Those general points of view you get to see from several people... well... thanks to facebook... that’s all you see of those people. Facebook has become such a major form of connection that many people are making real life connections that have about as much substance as facebook. While others use it as a public means of psychiatric help.
There is very little healthy middle ground in facebook. Superficial strangers... or deep end lunacy. That’s 98% of facebook.
So with so much disconnect. Or, in some cases, wishing for disconnect. This week, I reconnected. With the past.
My final part of Christmas came yesterday. My main gift from mom and dad... and old style radio/record player now sits in my living room. And I reconnect with the warmth and intimacy of music by way of vinyl.
I remember being a kid, laying on the living room floor with album sleeves in front of me and liner notes pulled out next to them as music engulfed the room in a blended form that is lost when coming via CD.
The sleeve and liner notes would take on the importance of charts and maps for a sea faring captain, plotting his course. The sleeve’s art work... something to be studied and memorized along with the music. Every minute detail examined. Often times a favourite corner of the sleeve would coincide with a favourite lyric on the album. Something discovered at just the moment that those lyrics are played. And it stays with you.
And other times, when you’re reading the lyrics as they’re sung to you. Reading them as if they were a discovered parchment that help you clarify meaning. You’ve heard the song a thousand times... but sometimes, reading the lyrics on liner notes, there on the living room floor, opens your eyes to a whole new world.
Downloading a song on iTunes just doesn’t offer this. If the history of music only consisted of iTunes, there would never have been a Dylan, Lennon or Young. They’d have been musical prophets preaching to emptiness.
Good, meaningful music can not be absorbed through the rush of iTunes. Hearing a bit of a song on the radio, and then searching it out for download only brings a bit of the musical experience to the listener.
Musical poets have to be absorbed. And there’s no better way to absorb music, than on a vinyl album while you lay on the floor, studying lyrics and artwork.
Christmas ran long this year... and ended in a musical bang.
MONDAY...
— On my new team at work. Went alright tonight with Christine, Anne-Maire, Mark and I... plus Roz.
TUESDAY...
— Tough day at work. Slow and tiring.
WEDNESDAY...
— Computer troubles continue and I’m bringing it to Atlas for a look. A new computer purchase may be in store.
THURSDAY...
— Get the computer back. Atlas gave it a good cleaning (lots of dust inside, stopping air flow). It’s so much more quiet now. The fan not having to rev hard. Hopefully that’ll do the trick.
— Buy some records before work. Go to Value Village and get three albums for $7. Emmylou Harris, Jackson Browne, and Bruce Springsteen are on board, awaiting the record player to arrive.
FRIDAY...
— Pretty quiet day. I’m not feeling the best. My stomach is a bit out of wack and headaches. So I stay home and lay low.
— Computer is working fine. I think Atlas did it.
SATURDAY...
— Record player is here. Springsteen’s “Born in the USA” is the first record to break it in. Really nice to hear that old sound again.
— Lovely Bones with Sarah and Phil tonight... goes ok for a while and then a few stupid things make it a 2 of 5... maybe 2.5.
— Montreal beats up the Rangers and Vancouver looks good against Chicago. A good hockey night. I do the Vancouver game on PVR... nice being able to go out and still catch the game.
Wednesday, January 20, 2010
Computer troubles
I'm having laptop troubles and am going to bring it to a friend today for a look. If things are bad, it's possible I'll be computerless for a bit. So if there's no weekend update, you know why.
Sunday, January 17, 2010
Making It Up As I Go Along #399
Fleece Sheets
It’s harder to rise from bed each day
The fleece just holds me in.
Cold, wet, politics, agendas.
All await you.
You venture towards them.
Try to skirt them.
Hope the car heats a little quicker,
Keeping the cold at bay.
Hope the rain drops miss you
Or the wet snow fails to reach within a boot.
Hope common sense prevails.
That character and honesty
Trump self promotion and politics
Hope at least that you can exist in a bubble.
Oh why part from the fleece?
These sheets comfort, snuggle, warm.
They lead you to dream worlds
Where things are comfortable, dry, fair and just.
Where wonder and calm sweep bitterness away.
People should be as bears.
When darkness envelops the land
And all that was green is no more.
We should close up ranks, find our caves, and hunker down
Within fleece sheets.
Four months is all I ask.
It isn’t too much to hope for.
Better than desperately clinging to Florida and Mexico
Where we treat people as lottery winners
Ten days they pay for, yet we curse them for their luck.
No, luck would be hibernation.
Four months of fleece sheets.
Perhaps a warm fire to sit by
With toes wriggling as hot chocolate is smiled into your mouth.
Government prorogation says we can take the time.
The world will not collapse.
If our leaders can lead by example with months away
I say we follow their lead
And let fleece sheets
Recharge the batteries
And make winter a fantasy dream world.
MONDAY...
— Got to give Rhodes and Williams some credit. The office opened at 8:00... they called me regarding my e-mail at 8:15. New fax and new set of insurance info in the mail to me... I was always covered, just a mix up with the fax to Mazda.
— Work is long. Chinese food with Melissa helps.
TUESDAY...
— Admiring Conan O’Brien for how he’s handling NBC’s mess. Such a familiar situation... hmm.
— Curtis Joseph retires today... classy player... one of my all-time favourite pro athletes.
WEDNESDAY...
— Loving the fleece bed sheets this winter. Coupled with evening shift, I’m up close to 9 hours of sleep most nights.
— Republic of Doyle remains fun... still not sure if it’ll have lasting power. I think the crazy relationship with his wife will wear thin soon.
THURSDAY...
— Movie with Melissa before work. Sherlock Holmes was fun... Sherlock is a bit of an action star here... and no awards to be won... but fun all the same.
FRIDAY...
— Greek supper... Set ups because I need a break from Certification.
SATURDAY...
— Laundry day with some football and hockey on TV.
— Computer is giving trouble. Shuts down within about two hours of start up now. Not sure if it’s heat build up or problems. Time to go to an expert.
It’s harder to rise from bed each day
The fleece just holds me in.
Cold, wet, politics, agendas.
All await you.
You venture towards them.
Try to skirt them.
Hope the car heats a little quicker,
Keeping the cold at bay.
Hope the rain drops miss you
Or the wet snow fails to reach within a boot.
Hope common sense prevails.
That character and honesty
Trump self promotion and politics
Hope at least that you can exist in a bubble.
Oh why part from the fleece?
These sheets comfort, snuggle, warm.
They lead you to dream worlds
Where things are comfortable, dry, fair and just.
Where wonder and calm sweep bitterness away.
People should be as bears.
When darkness envelops the land
And all that was green is no more.
We should close up ranks, find our caves, and hunker down
Within fleece sheets.
Four months is all I ask.
It isn’t too much to hope for.
Better than desperately clinging to Florida and Mexico
Where we treat people as lottery winners
Ten days they pay for, yet we curse them for their luck.
No, luck would be hibernation.
Four months of fleece sheets.
Perhaps a warm fire to sit by
With toes wriggling as hot chocolate is smiled into your mouth.
Government prorogation says we can take the time.
The world will not collapse.
If our leaders can lead by example with months away
I say we follow their lead
And let fleece sheets
Recharge the batteries
And make winter a fantasy dream world.
MONDAY...
— Got to give Rhodes and Williams some credit. The office opened at 8:00... they called me regarding my e-mail at 8:15. New fax and new set of insurance info in the mail to me... I was always covered, just a mix up with the fax to Mazda.
— Work is long. Chinese food with Melissa helps.
TUESDAY...
— Admiring Conan O’Brien for how he’s handling NBC’s mess. Such a familiar situation... hmm.
— Curtis Joseph retires today... classy player... one of my all-time favourite pro athletes.
WEDNESDAY...
— Loving the fleece bed sheets this winter. Coupled with evening shift, I’m up close to 9 hours of sleep most nights.
— Republic of Doyle remains fun... still not sure if it’ll have lasting power. I think the crazy relationship with his wife will wear thin soon.
THURSDAY...
— Movie with Melissa before work. Sherlock Holmes was fun... Sherlock is a bit of an action star here... and no awards to be won... but fun all the same.
FRIDAY...
— Greek supper... Set ups because I need a break from Certification.
SATURDAY...
— Laundry day with some football and hockey on TV.
— Computer is giving trouble. Shuts down within about two hours of start up now. Not sure if it’s heat build up or problems. Time to go to an expert.
Sunday, January 10, 2010
Making It Up As I Go Along #398
Don’t Hit My Car
Thanks for grounding me this weekend Rhodes and Williams Insurance company. Friday mail is pulled from the superbox after work Friday night but not opened until Saturday. Within the mail is a letter from Mazda. I noticed it Friday and expected some talk of a special on tune ups or an update on my lease.
This is not to be. On Saturday I find a letter telling me that my insurance expired in the middle of November and calls by Mazda to Rhodes and Williams have gone unanswered. I check the proof of insurance in the car and, sure enough, that one is expired.
It’s one of those things you don’t think of. You hop in the car, turn the key, and all is the same as the last time you hopped in the car and turned the key. Engine starts, you go to where you’re going. You don’t even think of the proof of insurance until the new one comes in the mail. It didn’t dawn on me that none has come in the mail for a little more than a year.
I’m left wondering if I did something wrong. Threw out a piece of mail that I should have responded to. Maybe things did run out due to my negligence. Checking my old mail, I actually find a letter from April when Rhodes and Williams thanks me for my service and, for continued coverage, do nothing.
Well I can do nothing. I’m rather good at nothing doing. So no answer there.
I check my previous month’s bank statements. Oh looky there, my money was removed from my bank account. Rhodes and Williams got paid. Notice how the mistakes are never in getting their money. Mistakes never make things better for the client.
Calling an insurance company about their lack of service, on a weekend, meets absolutely no resolution. The only people able to talk to you is there in case you ran into a poll or your kid fell down the stairs. There’s nobody there to explain why they’re taking your money for no reason.
And so I find myself grounded. Until Monday at least. An old lady could rear end me at the grocery store parking lot and I’ve suddenly got hundreds of dollars of bills possibly falling into my lap. Hundreds of dollars if I’m lucky.
Perhaps I’m still covered. For Rhodes and Williams sake, I better be. We aren’t chummy enough for me to feel good about giving them a few hundred dollars for nothing. But I can’t afford to take that chance.
So if I’m going to play ball this evening, it’ll be by putting out some of the guys who’ll have to drive fifteen minutes in the wrong direction before heading to the game. Thank goodness for the convenience of insurance companies.
MONDAY...
— Relaxing in the fleece sheets until 11:00 AM is a fine thing.
— Work is work... blah. Nice palling around with Kiyomi though... helps make certification go by.
TUESDAY...
— Well a long week it’ll be... I’m in certification all week. Ugh.
— Junior Gold medal game on PVR after work. Based on the bits people would do and say around me at work, I knew the game went to overtime before I ever started watching. A good game all the same, despite America beating Canada. Others winning is the only hope for this tournament not becoming a total joke anyway. I often wonder how excited we should be about Canada victories when Canada is really the only country in the world that really cares about this tournament in the first place.
WEDNESDAY...
— Pizza night at work. Larry, Devin, Kiyomi, Sarah, Leslie and I all place orders at Louis’ Pizza... glorious glorious Louis’.
— Work is painfully slow going... but chatting with Sarah and Kiyomi as we go helped.
— Republic of Doyle on PVR for my return home. The first episode of the new CBC show filmed as a detective show based in St. John’s. I liked it. Fun, good shots of the city... and a scene filmed in the Duke of Duckworth... you just can’t go wrong.
THURSDAY...
— Sleeping in the fleece sheets is amazing these days. Getting out of bed is the problem.
FRIDAY...
— Meeting before I start work. Checking out options with other possible RCMP jobs. You never know... can’t hurt to see what’s out there and available.
SATURDAY...
— Clean day. Laundry and house... well, still a bathroom to do and lots of junk to toss, but it’s a start.
— Nice to see my auto insurance company is on the ball. I get mail from Mazda saying my insurance expired and their calls to the company have been unanswered... and yet the next month’s installment came out of my bank account. So now I may be uninsured on the car and am stuck without wheels until the mess gets cleared up.
Thanks for grounding me this weekend Rhodes and Williams Insurance company. Friday mail is pulled from the superbox after work Friday night but not opened until Saturday. Within the mail is a letter from Mazda. I noticed it Friday and expected some talk of a special on tune ups or an update on my lease.
This is not to be. On Saturday I find a letter telling me that my insurance expired in the middle of November and calls by Mazda to Rhodes and Williams have gone unanswered. I check the proof of insurance in the car and, sure enough, that one is expired.
It’s one of those things you don’t think of. You hop in the car, turn the key, and all is the same as the last time you hopped in the car and turned the key. Engine starts, you go to where you’re going. You don’t even think of the proof of insurance until the new one comes in the mail. It didn’t dawn on me that none has come in the mail for a little more than a year.
I’m left wondering if I did something wrong. Threw out a piece of mail that I should have responded to. Maybe things did run out due to my negligence. Checking my old mail, I actually find a letter from April when Rhodes and Williams thanks me for my service and, for continued coverage, do nothing.
Well I can do nothing. I’m rather good at nothing doing. So no answer there.
I check my previous month’s bank statements. Oh looky there, my money was removed from my bank account. Rhodes and Williams got paid. Notice how the mistakes are never in getting their money. Mistakes never make things better for the client.
Calling an insurance company about their lack of service, on a weekend, meets absolutely no resolution. The only people able to talk to you is there in case you ran into a poll or your kid fell down the stairs. There’s nobody there to explain why they’re taking your money for no reason.
And so I find myself grounded. Until Monday at least. An old lady could rear end me at the grocery store parking lot and I’ve suddenly got hundreds of dollars of bills possibly falling into my lap. Hundreds of dollars if I’m lucky.
Perhaps I’m still covered. For Rhodes and Williams sake, I better be. We aren’t chummy enough for me to feel good about giving them a few hundred dollars for nothing. But I can’t afford to take that chance.
So if I’m going to play ball this evening, it’ll be by putting out some of the guys who’ll have to drive fifteen minutes in the wrong direction before heading to the game. Thank goodness for the convenience of insurance companies.
MONDAY...
— Relaxing in the fleece sheets until 11:00 AM is a fine thing.
— Work is work... blah. Nice palling around with Kiyomi though... helps make certification go by.
TUESDAY...
— Well a long week it’ll be... I’m in certification all week. Ugh.
— Junior Gold medal game on PVR after work. Based on the bits people would do and say around me at work, I knew the game went to overtime before I ever started watching. A good game all the same, despite America beating Canada. Others winning is the only hope for this tournament not becoming a total joke anyway. I often wonder how excited we should be about Canada victories when Canada is really the only country in the world that really cares about this tournament in the first place.
WEDNESDAY...
— Pizza night at work. Larry, Devin, Kiyomi, Sarah, Leslie and I all place orders at Louis’ Pizza... glorious glorious Louis’.
— Work is painfully slow going... but chatting with Sarah and Kiyomi as we go helped.
— Republic of Doyle on PVR for my return home. The first episode of the new CBC show filmed as a detective show based in St. John’s. I liked it. Fun, good shots of the city... and a scene filmed in the Duke of Duckworth... you just can’t go wrong.
THURSDAY...
— Sleeping in the fleece sheets is amazing these days. Getting out of bed is the problem.
FRIDAY...
— Meeting before I start work. Checking out options with other possible RCMP jobs. You never know... can’t hurt to see what’s out there and available.
SATURDAY...
— Clean day. Laundry and house... well, still a bathroom to do and lots of junk to toss, but it’s a start.
— Nice to see my auto insurance company is on the ball. I get mail from Mazda saying my insurance expired and their calls to the company have been unanswered... and yet the next month’s installment came out of my bank account. So now I may be uninsured on the car and am stuck without wheels until the mess gets cleared up.
Sunday, January 03, 2010
Making It Up As I Go Along #397
Airport Hits
Retrieving your car from long-term parking at the airport is probably the most lonely event in a man’s life. Especially when the event occurs during the Christmas season.
It starts at the re-entrance to the real world. That’s when you leave the artificial life of airport security and go back to the land of the living.
I always find that somewhat similar to how astronauts must feel when they return to earth. You are walking through an exclusive world. Everyone there is going to or coming from somewhere. They’re all in travel mode... focused... slightly uneasy... rushing.
It sounds horrible but there’s something I like about being in airport security areas. I guess it’s the feeling of having made it. You passed the test... you aren’t that bad... no rubberized fingers had to probe bodily orifices.
Once you leave, the real world closes in around you once again.
It starts with great signs that warn you of the oncoming reality. Telling you that once you walk through, there’s no coming back. You almost want to turn around and go sit in front of the giant windows, watching planes taxi by.
By you go on through and hit the slowest escalator known to man. It’s the display escalator. And it’s you that’s going on display.
Real world people stand around at the bottom of the escalator. Most of eternal grins on their faces... unable to handle the excitement of the arriving family member. And when that family member actually hits the escalator... it’s like John Lennon entering a Beatles convention. The family members lunge forward, knocking over security guards and the elderly so that they can be standing right there next to the escalator’s end. As if a step upon solid ground can not be taken without that loved one draped over you.
For the single man... nobody awaits. Some must look on with sadness as they see him walk to the luggage carousel and await his bags all alone.
The feeling soon wears off though. As those sad onlookers shove the single guy out of the way in order to quickly scoop up Aunt Dolores’s luggage. After all, the meter’s running. Parking meter that is. Two minutes can mean the difference of $2. Parking a car at the airport is like buying hard drugs. How much of the drug called time, can you afford.
I get my bag and change for the outdoors. Down jacket and wool cap come out. It’s a slow trudge over ice cold concrete as ice cold winds sweep around ice cold pillars. Short term parkers can remain indoors when getting to the car. They don’t need to feel the harshness of winter until they reach their home driveway with warm glows from warm inside lights welcome you back.
Long term parking is an outdoor lot and you walk along what feels like an industrial lot in order to reach it. The only time cold winds don’t overtake you is when the cold whine of airplane turbines overshadow them.
The car is a welcome thing. The first sign of your actual existence within this town. A familiar face in the form of a tail gate. But the car doesn’t say “welcome back, it’s good to see you.” It says “where the hell did YOU go!” It sits there frozen and possibly even more lonely than you. Days of frost have clouded the insides and one whole side of the car shows the evidence of that ice storm you heard about that hit a few days before.
I’m not talking about a bit of frost or thin layer of ice on the windshield. I mean that the entire passenger side of the car was strapped to an ocean liner and sent out to battle the waves of a North Atlantic winter storm. Feet of ice would be an exaggeration... but centimetres and inches would not.
But the parking drug clock is ticking and I need to do battle with the elements. I’m like that Fargo scene where William H. Macy tries to scrape his windshield, but ends up hitting it with the useless device in his hands. It’s like trying to scrape concrete off the ground.
A half hour of this work goes on. You’re left wondering why the airlines can’t lend a de-icer to the airport authority... ready to spray long term parking cars as the owner strolls along a pine encased walkway, all sheltered from the winds and acting as a winter wonder land.
But no... there are no pine encased walkways. And there is no parking lot de-icer. The elderly would wind up dead in a frozen pile at the edge of their automobile salvation... one hand gripping their chest while the other continues to hold their ice scraper in a hard fast death grip.
After the half hour, I have all but one square foot of the ice removed. That one square foot is simply impossible to remove without a blow torch. No hard or sharp device known to man would penetrate it. Five days after the event... it remains there still. Scared with the lines of my ice scraper... but not penetrated. It will remain there until Spring.
Once done... and back within the car... I sit alone breathing hard and having just worked up a sweat, despite the -18 degrees outside. I pull out and head to the exit... only to find that I spent too long scraping. Despite having prepaid my parking in the comfort of the airport, the computer tells me I now owe another $6 in order to depart. There’s no human here to argue with. There’s only a cold wooden plank dropped down in front of my car while I stand outside (having not been able to lower my frozen window). I’ve no choice... the credit card pays off my parking “dealer”. I’m square... and on my way... knowing that sometime next year, I’ll need another “hit”. And the airport will fix me up, not caring anything about me... just as long as I have the cash.
MONDAY...
— Lunch with Craig downtown. A nice time.
— Lazy in the afternoon around the house and tired. Peter and Kelly come for supper and I’m too stuffed by the end of the night. Some hockey on TV and sorting through some boxes of my stuff end the night.
TUESDAY...
— Fly day. Sleep in some in the morning and laze about during the day. To the airport for about 3:00 and fly out. Halifax is snowy and a great night view of Montreal... it ends up being a nice trip back... although I’d rather have not taken it.
— The car is iced over. Scraping for about thirty minutes... long enough that I have to pay an extra $6 to leave the lot (having gone over the allotted time to go from the airport to the long-term parking and gotten out.
— Unwind some once I get home at around 9:00.
WEDNESDAY...
— Noon to eight at work. It’s okay. Not many people around. Groceries after work. Need to re-stock a bit after a week out of town.
THURSDAY...
— Quiet New Years Eve alone at home... watching Canada vs. USA junior hockey. Great game... with a shootout scarring the night. Still fun... but would rather have seen it end in a real moment of hockey.
FRIDAY...
— Hockey in Fenway. Kind of neat... I sort of lost interest as the game went on though. Boston vs. Philadelphia should be better.
— Arcade Fire is on Austin City Limits. First time I’ve seen them in concert... and amazing. Canada’s greatest band... perhaps of all time. For such a great band, they don’t get enough Canadian press in my mind. Canada is too busy promoting Nickleback, Blue Rodeo and rambling on about Rush. And don’t get me wrong, I’m a Blue Rodeo fan... but none of those bands are in Arcade Fire’s league.
SATURDAY...
— Too cold and windy to go outside. Some movies and hockey... and reading.
Retrieving your car from long-term parking at the airport is probably the most lonely event in a man’s life. Especially when the event occurs during the Christmas season.
It starts at the re-entrance to the real world. That’s when you leave the artificial life of airport security and go back to the land of the living.
I always find that somewhat similar to how astronauts must feel when they return to earth. You are walking through an exclusive world. Everyone there is going to or coming from somewhere. They’re all in travel mode... focused... slightly uneasy... rushing.
It sounds horrible but there’s something I like about being in airport security areas. I guess it’s the feeling of having made it. You passed the test... you aren’t that bad... no rubberized fingers had to probe bodily orifices.
Once you leave, the real world closes in around you once again.
It starts with great signs that warn you of the oncoming reality. Telling you that once you walk through, there’s no coming back. You almost want to turn around and go sit in front of the giant windows, watching planes taxi by.
By you go on through and hit the slowest escalator known to man. It’s the display escalator. And it’s you that’s going on display.
Real world people stand around at the bottom of the escalator. Most of eternal grins on their faces... unable to handle the excitement of the arriving family member. And when that family member actually hits the escalator... it’s like John Lennon entering a Beatles convention. The family members lunge forward, knocking over security guards and the elderly so that they can be standing right there next to the escalator’s end. As if a step upon solid ground can not be taken without that loved one draped over you.
For the single man... nobody awaits. Some must look on with sadness as they see him walk to the luggage carousel and await his bags all alone.
The feeling soon wears off though. As those sad onlookers shove the single guy out of the way in order to quickly scoop up Aunt Dolores’s luggage. After all, the meter’s running. Parking meter that is. Two minutes can mean the difference of $2. Parking a car at the airport is like buying hard drugs. How much of the drug called time, can you afford.
I get my bag and change for the outdoors. Down jacket and wool cap come out. It’s a slow trudge over ice cold concrete as ice cold winds sweep around ice cold pillars. Short term parkers can remain indoors when getting to the car. They don’t need to feel the harshness of winter until they reach their home driveway with warm glows from warm inside lights welcome you back.
Long term parking is an outdoor lot and you walk along what feels like an industrial lot in order to reach it. The only time cold winds don’t overtake you is when the cold whine of airplane turbines overshadow them.
The car is a welcome thing. The first sign of your actual existence within this town. A familiar face in the form of a tail gate. But the car doesn’t say “welcome back, it’s good to see you.” It says “where the hell did YOU go!” It sits there frozen and possibly even more lonely than you. Days of frost have clouded the insides and one whole side of the car shows the evidence of that ice storm you heard about that hit a few days before.
I’m not talking about a bit of frost or thin layer of ice on the windshield. I mean that the entire passenger side of the car was strapped to an ocean liner and sent out to battle the waves of a North Atlantic winter storm. Feet of ice would be an exaggeration... but centimetres and inches would not.
But the parking drug clock is ticking and I need to do battle with the elements. I’m like that Fargo scene where William H. Macy tries to scrape his windshield, but ends up hitting it with the useless device in his hands. It’s like trying to scrape concrete off the ground.
A half hour of this work goes on. You’re left wondering why the airlines can’t lend a de-icer to the airport authority... ready to spray long term parking cars as the owner strolls along a pine encased walkway, all sheltered from the winds and acting as a winter wonder land.
But no... there are no pine encased walkways. And there is no parking lot de-icer. The elderly would wind up dead in a frozen pile at the edge of their automobile salvation... one hand gripping their chest while the other continues to hold their ice scraper in a hard fast death grip.
After the half hour, I have all but one square foot of the ice removed. That one square foot is simply impossible to remove without a blow torch. No hard or sharp device known to man would penetrate it. Five days after the event... it remains there still. Scared with the lines of my ice scraper... but not penetrated. It will remain there until Spring.
Once done... and back within the car... I sit alone breathing hard and having just worked up a sweat, despite the -18 degrees outside. I pull out and head to the exit... only to find that I spent too long scraping. Despite having prepaid my parking in the comfort of the airport, the computer tells me I now owe another $6 in order to depart. There’s no human here to argue with. There’s only a cold wooden plank dropped down in front of my car while I stand outside (having not been able to lower my frozen window). I’ve no choice... the credit card pays off my parking “dealer”. I’m square... and on my way... knowing that sometime next year, I’ll need another “hit”. And the airport will fix me up, not caring anything about me... just as long as I have the cash.
MONDAY...
— Lunch with Craig downtown. A nice time.
— Lazy in the afternoon around the house and tired. Peter and Kelly come for supper and I’m too stuffed by the end of the night. Some hockey on TV and sorting through some boxes of my stuff end the night.
TUESDAY...
— Fly day. Sleep in some in the morning and laze about during the day. To the airport for about 3:00 and fly out. Halifax is snowy and a great night view of Montreal... it ends up being a nice trip back... although I’d rather have not taken it.
— The car is iced over. Scraping for about thirty minutes... long enough that I have to pay an extra $6 to leave the lot (having gone over the allotted time to go from the airport to the long-term parking and gotten out.
— Unwind some once I get home at around 9:00.
WEDNESDAY...
— Noon to eight at work. It’s okay. Not many people around. Groceries after work. Need to re-stock a bit after a week out of town.
THURSDAY...
— Quiet New Years Eve alone at home... watching Canada vs. USA junior hockey. Great game... with a shootout scarring the night. Still fun... but would rather have seen it end in a real moment of hockey.
FRIDAY...
— Hockey in Fenway. Kind of neat... I sort of lost interest as the game went on though. Boston vs. Philadelphia should be better.
— Arcade Fire is on Austin City Limits. First time I’ve seen them in concert... and amazing. Canada’s greatest band... perhaps of all time. For such a great band, they don’t get enough Canadian press in my mind. Canada is too busy promoting Nickleback, Blue Rodeo and rambling on about Rush. And don’t get me wrong, I’m a Blue Rodeo fan... but none of those bands are in Arcade Fire’s league.
SATURDAY...
— Too cold and windy to go outside. Some movies and hockey... and reading.
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