Pondering
Lots of people refer to Wednesday as "Hump Day". I wonder what prostitutes call it...
He Shoots, He Scores!
NHL Hockey returns tonight... Oh, baby! And, in case you haven't heard, Sport Illustrated has already picked my hometown Calgary Flames as the Stanley Cup favorite for 2006. Oh yeah! Iggy and Kipper are gonna rock the 'Dome this year!
Help Wanted
Lookin' for a job in fun, high-paying, fast-paced environment? Well, I can't help you there... But, if you live in Calgary, are lookin' for work, and don't mind having embellished stories of your workplace performance posted to the Internet, drop me an email. Who wouldn't want Cuppojoe for a boss, eh?
The Other Cup Fever
My thumbs are almost completely healed... Must be about time for Tim Horton's to bring back their Roll Up the Rim to Win contest. I swear, if I don't at least get a free cup of coffee out of them this time around, I'm gonna... Well... I'm gonna... Uh... Damn! I probably won't do anything, but I'll sure be pissed! (Curse this cursed addiction...)
War... What Is It Good For?
Can anybody help out a poor Canadian and explain the Iraq War in a non-biased, non-partisan way? I've heard about a thousand people give their fist-shaking, frustration-venting accounts, but I still don't get it. What is the fight about? Is Iraq evil? Is Bush the spawn of Satan? What's going on here? Please, just a simple breakdown is all I ask for!
Wednesday, October 5, 2005
Monday, October 3, 2005
Analyze This: Up the Creek Without a Pilot
Standing at the open cargo bay door of the Hercules aircraft, I watched the clouds crawl past below and marveled at the fact such a huge plane could even get off the ground, let alone stay aloft.
Looking back, I saw the fighter jet holding position a little below and behind us, despite the lack of a pilot. I guessed the autopilot must have been engaged. Without question, someone would have to land the plane, or it would eventually run out of fuel and plow into the ground. What were the odds the impact would occur in an unpopulated area? Not good, I was sure. Bottom line, we had to find a way to bring it down safely.
I turned to see if either of my companions had a brilliant idea that would save the day. Alec Baldwin stood holding onto one of the massive hydraulic arms that operated the hatch, staring back at me with his patented cold stare. Or maybe it was a blank stare and I have over-estimated him all these years... It was hard to tell. Rockstar (of "Scenes from the Forklift" fame), on the other hand, was already springing into action. Without a word, he hurled himself out the back of our plane and plummeted the 40 or 50 feet separating us from the jet.
Miraculously, he hit the fuselage about midpoint and was somehow able to cling to the smooth metallic surface. Turning himself around, he straddled the fighter and inched his way forward until he was positioned just behind the canopy. Then, gripping two small handles that I hadn't seen before, Rockstar gave a tug and remotely activated the ejection seat. With a violent burst, the canopy came away from the plane. Half a heartbeat later, the empty pilot's seat erupted upwards, climbing for a few moments before the chute deployed. I quickly lost sight of it as we left it far behind.
Knowing we had little time left to avert a potential disaster, Alec and I jumped as well. I suppose I should have been terrified, jumping out the back of an airplane without a parachute, hoping to hit what seemed an impossibly small target, but it all happened too fast. Before I knew it, I was standing on the wing of the fighter, looking at the profile of Mr. Baldwin and wondering how his hair stayed so perfectly still as we screamed through the sky. Come to think of it, should I have been able to stand up and walk along that wing without the airflow ripping me from it and sending my body tumbling to the ground far, far below? Probably not, but I didn't have time to think about it. We still had a plane to land.
I climbed into the cockpit and situated myself on the floor. Without the seat, I wasn't able to sit high enough to see out the front of the plane, but the wind whipping in my eyes probably would have prevented me from seeing anything anyway, even if it didn't blow Alec Baldwin's hair out of place. So, gripping the flight yoke, I disengaged the autopilot and, using instruments alone, settled the fighter into a level course.
As I got everything under control, Rockstar and Alec climbed into the cockpit as well, one on either side of me. While trying to stay focused on the little floating ball with the white line that told me I wasn't about to flip the plane over, it crossed my mind that the inside of the jet had quite a bit of elbow room, considering we were sitting three abreast, much like Cylons from the old Battlestar Galactica series. Being the experienced pilot that I somehow sensed he was, Rockstar began barking out orders and Alec jumped to flip various switches and turn assorted dials in response to his instructions. Working together like a well-oiled machine (but not in the homo-erotic sense), the three of us were on the verge of landing the plane and saving the day.
Suddenly, the cockpit was filled with a raucous noise that threatened to break my concentration. I turned to find out were the sound was coming from and realized it was chatter from my headset. No... Wait. Not from my headset. It was coming from the radio...
...on my nightstand.
Time for this Fly Boy to hit the showers and get ready for work.
Looking back, I saw the fighter jet holding position a little below and behind us, despite the lack of a pilot. I guessed the autopilot must have been engaged. Without question, someone would have to land the plane, or it would eventually run out of fuel and plow into the ground. What were the odds the impact would occur in an unpopulated area? Not good, I was sure. Bottom line, we had to find a way to bring it down safely.
I turned to see if either of my companions had a brilliant idea that would save the day. Alec Baldwin stood holding onto one of the massive hydraulic arms that operated the hatch, staring back at me with his patented cold stare. Or maybe it was a blank stare and I have over-estimated him all these years... It was hard to tell. Rockstar (of "Scenes from the Forklift" fame), on the other hand, was already springing into action. Without a word, he hurled himself out the back of our plane and plummeted the 40 or 50 feet separating us from the jet.
Miraculously, he hit the fuselage about midpoint and was somehow able to cling to the smooth metallic surface. Turning himself around, he straddled the fighter and inched his way forward until he was positioned just behind the canopy. Then, gripping two small handles that I hadn't seen before, Rockstar gave a tug and remotely activated the ejection seat. With a violent burst, the canopy came away from the plane. Half a heartbeat later, the empty pilot's seat erupted upwards, climbing for a few moments before the chute deployed. I quickly lost sight of it as we left it far behind.
Knowing we had little time left to avert a potential disaster, Alec and I jumped as well. I suppose I should have been terrified, jumping out the back of an airplane without a parachute, hoping to hit what seemed an impossibly small target, but it all happened too fast. Before I knew it, I was standing on the wing of the fighter, looking at the profile of Mr. Baldwin and wondering how his hair stayed so perfectly still as we screamed through the sky. Come to think of it, should I have been able to stand up and walk along that wing without the airflow ripping me from it and sending my body tumbling to the ground far, far below? Probably not, but I didn't have time to think about it. We still had a plane to land.
I climbed into the cockpit and situated myself on the floor. Without the seat, I wasn't able to sit high enough to see out the front of the plane, but the wind whipping in my eyes probably would have prevented me from seeing anything anyway, even if it didn't blow Alec Baldwin's hair out of place. So, gripping the flight yoke, I disengaged the autopilot and, using instruments alone, settled the fighter into a level course.
As I got everything under control, Rockstar and Alec climbed into the cockpit as well, one on either side of me. While trying to stay focused on the little floating ball with the white line that told me I wasn't about to flip the plane over, it crossed my mind that the inside of the jet had quite a bit of elbow room, considering we were sitting three abreast, much like Cylons from the old Battlestar Galactica series. Being the experienced pilot that I somehow sensed he was, Rockstar began barking out orders and Alec jumped to flip various switches and turn assorted dials in response to his instructions. Working together like a well-oiled machine (but not in the homo-erotic sense), the three of us were on the verge of landing the plane and saving the day.
Suddenly, the cockpit was filled with a raucous noise that threatened to break my concentration. I turned to find out were the sound was coming from and realized it was chatter from my headset. No... Wait. Not from my headset. It was coming from the radio...
...on my nightstand.
Time for this Fly Boy to hit the showers and get ready for work.
Saturday, October 1, 2005
Simple Pleasures
I like my toast made with 100% whole wheat bread, lightly toasted so it has that nice, crispy exterior with a core of breadiness to it. Then, I slop on a healthy helping of margarine, spread to all corners so as to avoid any dry spots. Sometimes this is good enough for me, as is... But, more often, I like to put a thin layer of pasteurized honey on for flavor. Barring that, there's always the old standby: Peanut Butter. There's nothing quite like 6 slices done this way and washed down with a hot cup of black coffee as a late Saturday morning snack...
Just thought you might like to know.
Incidentally, thanks again to Mrs. Joe for the new toaster...
Just thought you might like to know.
Incidentally, thanks again to Mrs. Joe for the new toaster...
Wednesday, September 28, 2005
Tuesday, September 27, 2005
Scenes from the Forklift: We're Back, Baby!
Scenes from the what-now? Yeah, you read that right... Time for a long-overdue episode of Scenes from the Forklift.
It's not for a lack of material that I haven't spoken about work in such a long time. Rather, it has been a lack of desire and, quite frankly, lack of a forklift!
The desire part can be directly linked to the massive amount of work we've been doing lately. I'm sure I could have come up with quite a few funny stories over the last year, especially considering the daily antics of our latest crew, but did I want to? Did I really want to work myself into the ground (those of you who know me personally, stop laughing!) and then relive it as soon as I got home? Not bloody likely! Hence, no desire.
As for the forklift... Well, let's just say that 3 tons of industrial machinery can become 3 tons of industrial scrap metal if you're willing to neglect it enough. And, apparently, we were. In fact, so dedicated to this cause, we were, that we managed to do in two of them in a mere matter of months! The electric one now stands in a corner, up on blocks with its drive motor sitting on a nearby oil-soaked piece of cardboard. The motor we could move if we really wanted to, but the forklift itself remains a 10-foot tall, immobile testament to our complacency. Meanwhile, the good old sit-down propane forklift occupies another corner of the warehouse, its insides a mass of twisted metal and shredded belts that tell a sad tale of hard-livin' and scarce attention.
Yep, we done 'em in good!
But fear not, Good Reader! The day is darkest before the dawn, and I see the sun coming up... Remember how busy I said we were? Well, you can't get through that kind of workload without some heavy lifting-power. Not around here, anyway, and it seems the Powers That Be have inclined their mighty heads in our direction and noticed our need.
Have they bought us a new forklift, you wonder? Not exactly. But they've done the next best thing... They've rented us one!
Yes! At long last, Scenes from the Forklift can rise from the ashes like the mythical phoenix to entertain once again! Well, as long as the rental company is also providing service and maintenance...
Stay tuned...
It's not for a lack of material that I haven't spoken about work in such a long time. Rather, it has been a lack of desire and, quite frankly, lack of a forklift!
The desire part can be directly linked to the massive amount of work we've been doing lately. I'm sure I could have come up with quite a few funny stories over the last year, especially considering the daily antics of our latest crew, but did I want to? Did I really want to work myself into the ground (those of you who know me personally, stop laughing!) and then relive it as soon as I got home? Not bloody likely! Hence, no desire.
As for the forklift... Well, let's just say that 3 tons of industrial machinery can become 3 tons of industrial scrap metal if you're willing to neglect it enough. And, apparently, we were. In fact, so dedicated to this cause, we were, that we managed to do in two of them in a mere matter of months! The electric one now stands in a corner, up on blocks with its drive motor sitting on a nearby oil-soaked piece of cardboard. The motor we could move if we really wanted to, but the forklift itself remains a 10-foot tall, immobile testament to our complacency. Meanwhile, the good old sit-down propane forklift occupies another corner of the warehouse, its insides a mass of twisted metal and shredded belts that tell a sad tale of hard-livin' and scarce attention.
Yep, we done 'em in good!
But fear not, Good Reader! The day is darkest before the dawn, and I see the sun coming up... Remember how busy I said we were? Well, you can't get through that kind of workload without some heavy lifting-power. Not around here, anyway, and it seems the Powers That Be have inclined their mighty heads in our direction and noticed our need.
Have they bought us a new forklift, you wonder? Not exactly. But they've done the next best thing... They've rented us one!
Yes! At long last, Scenes from the Forklift can rise from the ashes like the mythical phoenix to entertain once again! Well, as long as the rental company is also providing service and maintenance...
Stay tuned...
Monday, September 26, 2005
Dying Wish Granted
If this one doesn't get to you, then you're colder than that leftover coffee I accidentally took a swig of this morning.
Sunday, September 25, 2005
No More Musing... If There Ever Was Any
That's right... I've dropped the "Musings of a". You see, upon reflection, I began to wonder if there ever truly were any "musings" on this blog. Oh, sure, there were plenty of questions, mostly of the rhetorical nature, and more than my fair share of hair-brained theories and ponderings. But did I ever really muse on a topic?
Perhaps that last paragraph could be considered my first and only "musing". But, moving on...
So, I've decided to stop living the lie and tell it like it is. I'm Cuppojoe and I've got a Caffeinated Mind. There. I've said it. No more pretense at musing, just good old random thoughts as they rise to the surface.
I feel 20lbs lighter already...
(P.S. Don't forget to update your Favorites... I am in your Favorites, right? Hello?)
Perhaps that last paragraph could be considered my first and only "musing". But, moving on...
So, I've decided to stop living the lie and tell it like it is. I'm Cuppojoe and I've got a Caffeinated Mind. There. I've said it. No more pretense at musing, just good old random thoughts as they rise to the surface.
I feel 20lbs lighter already...
(P.S. Don't forget to update your Favorites... I am in your Favorites, right? Hello?)
Monday, September 19, 2005
The Cat's Out of the Bag... Again
I want to begin by saying that the following post was written at the request of my girlfriend. She's got something to say but, not being a blogger herself, no outlet for getting it said. Well, in truth, she has a lot of things to say, and a number of tried and true outlets for getting them said, but I'm talking about getting it said to a broader audience... Like you folks.
Apparently, I've led her to believe I have this clarion voice that reaches the masses. I guess I've somehow given her the impression that there are hoards of people who rush to my blog everyday, just to read whatever clever, witty, amusing, or sarcastic thing popped into my head the night before.
And we'll just keep letting her believe those things, won't we?
Anyway, here's the thing: It would seem that my girlfriend (who will forever afterward be referred to as "Mrs. Joe" because typing "my girlfriend" over and over again is becoming tiresome and lame) is having a hard time buying me gifts. Not that she has any difficulty with the actual shopping part... No way. She's got that down to a science. In fact, I suspect that there are things girls are taught in Jr. High Home Ec that us guys totally miss while we're busy making ashtrays and paperweights in Shop class (because those are skills that no man can go through life without...).
It seems that the problem lies not in the spending of the money on the merchandise, but in keeping the purchased merchandise a secret from Yours Truly. And before anyone gets on my case for being a snoop, I'd like to point out that I do not, under any circumstances, going looking for my presents. Sure, when I was a kid I used to like finding out what I was getting way ahead of time, but I've changed in my old age. Now, I enjoy the anticipation, the element of surprise. Premature Gift Revelation (PGR to the lay-person) just blows the whole thing.
Still, I don't think Mrs. Joe and I have celebrated a single special occasion during the course of our 2+ year relationship without me discovering what at least one of my gifts was before the day of giving. Given an average of 4 gift-receiving days a year (birthday, Christmas, anniversary, and Father's Day), that puts me somewhere around 10 for 10 so far. Not bad odds, if you're a betting man. But, as amusing as this might be for me or you, I'm sensing that this trend is starting to annoy her. By "sensing" I mean I'm being told, loud and clear, and by "starting to" I mean "has been for a long time but now she's finally saying something about it".
How do I do it, you might ask? Good question! At first, it was simply that she didn't know me well enough. You know, she wanted to get "just the right thing" for me, but was worried her interpretation of that would differ from mine. So, she'd either ask too many questions about a particular item, or genre of items, and tip me off, or just come right out and ask me to help her pick something out. See? Not my fault.
Then it changed to her knowing me too well. She'd buy something for me, knowing that it was exactly what I'd want, then I'd be in the same store with her a few days later and go to buy the exact same thing for myself! Of course, she could have just let me buy it and then return her purchase when I wasn't around, but I think she really, really wanted to be the one who figured out the perfect gift first, so she couldn't help but tell me. Again, not my fault.
Lately, though, things have gone from bad to worse. Just last week, I actually found out about 2 Christmas presents she had bought for me. Can you believe it? Who the heck buys Christmas presents in September? That's what the final week of sales before Christmas Eve are for! Anyway, I think this latest infraction was the straw that broke the camel's back, as they say. She's absolutely had it with me and my "dumb luck", but it's just so comical to me, especially considering the eloquent mixture of bad planning on her part and good intentions on mine that led to the most recent PGR incident.
First, there was that really cold morning last week... I take the bus to work, but I noticed her windshield was covered in frost, so I decided to be a good boyfriend and scrape it off for her before I left. Now, she normally keeps the scraper in the back hatch, so I went rummaging around in there. Little did I know there was a gift hidden under the emergency blanket... A gift that will remain nameless because it can still go to someone else in the family, and there's no sense having that person experience PGR as a result of my blog.
Then, not more than a day later, after showering up before work, instead of leaving my towel in a heap on the bathroom floor, I actually put it in the laundry hamper... right on top of the shirts she had hidden in there. Seriously. Now, either she didn't think these hiding places through very well, or she thinks I'm an inconsiderate slob who would never go near those places without being expressly told to do so. For my own sense of pride, I'm going to have to go with the former.
Okay, so now that the grievance has been aired to an impartial court of our peers (more or less), she wants to know what she should do about this situation. I've already suggested what I think are better hiding places, but I don't think she trusts me anymore... not about this anyway. So, go ahead, let her know what you think, and I'll try not to read any of your comments...
(wink, wink, nudge, nudge)
Apparently, I've led her to believe I have this clarion voice that reaches the masses. I guess I've somehow given her the impression that there are hoards of people who rush to my blog everyday, just to read whatever clever, witty, amusing, or sarcastic thing popped into my head the night before.
And we'll just keep letting her believe those things, won't we?
Anyway, here's the thing: It would seem that my girlfriend (who will forever afterward be referred to as "Mrs. Joe" because typing "my girlfriend" over and over again is becoming tiresome and lame) is having a hard time buying me gifts. Not that she has any difficulty with the actual shopping part... No way. She's got that down to a science. In fact, I suspect that there are things girls are taught in Jr. High Home Ec that us guys totally miss while we're busy making ashtrays and paperweights in Shop class (because those are skills that no man can go through life without...).
It seems that the problem lies not in the spending of the money on the merchandise, but in keeping the purchased merchandise a secret from Yours Truly. And before anyone gets on my case for being a snoop, I'd like to point out that I do not, under any circumstances, going looking for my presents. Sure, when I was a kid I used to like finding out what I was getting way ahead of time, but I've changed in my old age. Now, I enjoy the anticipation, the element of surprise. Premature Gift Revelation (PGR to the lay-person) just blows the whole thing.Still, I don't think Mrs. Joe and I have celebrated a single special occasion during the course of our 2+ year relationship without me discovering what at least one of my gifts was before the day of giving. Given an average of 4 gift-receiving days a year (birthday, Christmas, anniversary, and Father's Day), that puts me somewhere around 10 for 10 so far. Not bad odds, if you're a betting man. But, as amusing as this might be for me or you, I'm sensing that this trend is starting to annoy her. By "sensing" I mean I'm being told, loud and clear, and by "starting to" I mean "has been for a long time but now she's finally saying something about it".
How do I do it, you might ask? Good question! At first, it was simply that she didn't know me well enough. You know, she wanted to get "just the right thing" for me, but was worried her interpretation of that would differ from mine. So, she'd either ask too many questions about a particular item, or genre of items, and tip me off, or just come right out and ask me to help her pick something out. See? Not my fault.
Then it changed to her knowing me too well. She'd buy something for me, knowing that it was exactly what I'd want, then I'd be in the same store with her a few days later and go to buy the exact same thing for myself! Of course, she could have just let me buy it and then return her purchase when I wasn't around, but I think she really, really wanted to be the one who figured out the perfect gift first, so she couldn't help but tell me. Again, not my fault.
Lately, though, things have gone from bad to worse. Just last week, I actually found out about 2 Christmas presents she had bought for me. Can you believe it? Who the heck buys Christmas presents in September? That's what the final week of sales before Christmas Eve are for! Anyway, I think this latest infraction was the straw that broke the camel's back, as they say. She's absolutely had it with me and my "dumb luck", but it's just so comical to me, especially considering the eloquent mixture of bad planning on her part and good intentions on mine that led to the most recent PGR incident.
First, there was that really cold morning last week... I take the bus to work, but I noticed her windshield was covered in frost, so I decided to be a good boyfriend and scrape it off for her before I left. Now, she normally keeps the scraper in the back hatch, so I went rummaging around in there. Little did I know there was a gift hidden under the emergency blanket... A gift that will remain nameless because it can still go to someone else in the family, and there's no sense having that person experience PGR as a result of my blog.
Then, not more than a day later, after showering up before work, instead of leaving my towel in a heap on the bathroom floor, I actually put it in the laundry hamper... right on top of the shirts she had hidden in there. Seriously. Now, either she didn't think these hiding places through very well, or she thinks I'm an inconsiderate slob who would never go near those places without being expressly told to do so. For my own sense of pride, I'm going to have to go with the former.
Okay, so now that the grievance has been aired to an impartial court of our peers (more or less), she wants to know what she should do about this situation. I've already suggested what I think are better hiding places, but I don't think she trusts me anymore... not about this anyway. So, go ahead, let her know what you think, and I'll try not to read any of your comments...
(wink, wink, nudge, nudge)
Monday, September 12, 2005
It's Uncle Cuppojoe To You, Kid...
That's right... There's a new leaf on the old Family Tree. Specifically, another nephew for Yours Truly. You see, my kid sister has gone and had a kid of her own. Okay, at 22, I can hardly call her a "kid" anymore, but, come on! I can still remember giving her her bottle and changing her diaper when Mom got too busy or too tired!
(In order to avoid almost certain insomnia, I will no longer dwell on the former action in that sentence... And neither will you.)
So, this past weekend, the girlfriend and I packed up my daughter and went on down to visit the new little guy. Had to see what he thought of his first three days, you know? Not to mention introducing him to the cousin who will be setting him up with her friends and sneaking him into bars 17 years from now.
A pleasant drive, it was... What with the pitch-black of the Alberta countryside, the driving rain, the worn windshield wipers, and the oncoming traffic that just couldn't be bothered to dim their high-beams. I couldn't just wait and do the 2-hour trip in the morning, could I? No way! Had to get there as soon as possible. But apparently not soon enough to meet up with the rest of the family before they went to bed...
Did you know that there aren't any restaurants open past 11 o'clock in certain small Alberta cities? We didn't. And did you know that large hotel chains in said cities prefer to give their night managers the weekends off in favor of staffing the front desk with trainees unable to perform a check-in for guests in under 45 minutes? Again, neither did we. On the plus side, it only took them 15 minutes to check us out the next morning. Pretty good for newbies, if you ignore the fact that we're still waiting for them to process our Air Miles...
What? Me, bitter? No...
The weekend brightened up as soon as we saw the new addition to the family, though. Cute little guy, really. Loads of black hair and (from what I was told about a dozen times) a really clear complexion. They didn't think my sister was giving birth to a teenager, did they? And he didn't have much to say but, what with wise-cracking clowns like my brother in the family, I think he was probably just playing it safe. Oh! And the grandparents were out in full force, oohing and ahhing over the baby, pointing out all the features that made him "just like his Mom" or "Daddy's little man"...
There should be a longer unit on genetics in High School biology...
One of the highlights had to be when the new Dad was asked what it was like to be in the delivery room when his son was born... All he could say was, "I'm glad I'm not a woman!"
Amen to that... And I'm sure my sister's glad you're not, too!
Anyway, now that the weekend is over and I'm back in town, all I have to do is go through the 300 or so pictures I took of each and every member of the family holding the baby, and walking with the baby, and feeding the baby, and burping the baby, and...
"What's that? Grandpa is holding him in his left arm now? Quick! Throw me my camera!"
(In order to avoid almost certain insomnia, I will no longer dwell on the former action in that sentence... And neither will you.)
So, this past weekend, the girlfriend and I packed up my daughter and went on down to visit the new little guy. Had to see what he thought of his first three days, you know? Not to mention introducing him to the cousin who will be setting him up with her friends and sneaking him into bars 17 years from now.
A pleasant drive, it was... What with the pitch-black of the Alberta countryside, the driving rain, the worn windshield wipers, and the oncoming traffic that just couldn't be bothered to dim their high-beams. I couldn't just wait and do the 2-hour trip in the morning, could I? No way! Had to get there as soon as possible. But apparently not soon enough to meet up with the rest of the family before they went to bed...
Did you know that there aren't any restaurants open past 11 o'clock in certain small Alberta cities? We didn't. And did you know that large hotel chains in said cities prefer to give their night managers the weekends off in favor of staffing the front desk with trainees unable to perform a check-in for guests in under 45 minutes? Again, neither did we. On the plus side, it only took them 15 minutes to check us out the next morning. Pretty good for newbies, if you ignore the fact that we're still waiting for them to process our Air Miles...
What? Me, bitter? No...
The weekend brightened up as soon as we saw the new addition to the family, though. Cute little guy, really. Loads of black hair and (from what I was told about a dozen times) a really clear complexion. They didn't think my sister was giving birth to a teenager, did they? And he didn't have much to say but, what with wise-cracking clowns like my brother in the family, I think he was probably just playing it safe. Oh! And the grandparents were out in full force, oohing and ahhing over the baby, pointing out all the features that made him "just like his Mom" or "Daddy's little man"...
There should be a longer unit on genetics in High School biology...
One of the highlights had to be when the new Dad was asked what it was like to be in the delivery room when his son was born... All he could say was, "I'm glad I'm not a woman!"
Amen to that... And I'm sure my sister's glad you're not, too!
Anyway, now that the weekend is over and I'm back in town, all I have to do is go through the 300 or so pictures I took of each and every member of the family holding the baby, and walking with the baby, and feeding the baby, and burping the baby, and...
"What's that? Grandpa is holding him in his left arm now? Quick! Throw me my camera!"
Friday, September 2, 2005
Photo of the Week: Liquid Color
Monday, August 22, 2005
Brangelina Fever
Oooo! Get ready to wet yourself with uncontainable excitement... Brad and Angelina have officially arrived in Calgary!Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god!
It's true, folks... Hollywood's most talked about couple is here, getting ready to shoot Pitt's latest movie, "The Assassination of Jesse James by the Coward Robert Ford". Well, only Brad is here for the movie... Angelina's motives for coming along are, as yet, unstated, but I'm sure you can jump to the same conclusions everyone else has.
To be honest with you, I can't really see what the big deal is. Calgary already has a well-established relationship with Tinseltown, and we've definitely seen our fair share of celebrities over the years. My recollection goes as far back as Stephen J. Cannell's "Stingray" and the lack-luster "Superman 3" in the mid 80's, but there have been many more in the years since: "The Edge" (with Alec Baldwin and Anthony Hopkins), "Unforgiven" (with Clint Eastwood), and "Legends of the Fall" (starring none other than Brad Pitt himself) to name a few. Throw in a handful of TV series like "Lonesome Dove", "North of 60", "Viper", and "Honey I Shrunk the Kids" and you can see why I'm not exactly star-struck by this latest visit.
Still, it would seem that this attitude puts me in the minority these days. The local media has been priming the public for this Visit from the Stars for a little while now. One newspaper has gone so far as to offer $350,000 to the first person who can provide a photograph of Brad and Angelina kissing! Can you believe that? It’s ridiculous! We’re actually being encouraged to turn ourselves into the same paparazzi that actors and actresses are so glad to get away from by coming here... Talk about shooting yourself in the foot!
Even the Calgary Herald, our supposedly non-tabloid newspaper, seems to have lost it in light of the recent Brangelina Invasion... This morning's front page shows "First Photos of Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie in Calgary" with the accompanying article proclaiming, "Brad Pitt is officially one of us."
What?!?
Somehow, we are led to believe that, since he has shown a desire to eat and/or drink outside of his hotel room, Mr. Pitt now considers himself a Calgarian. These are the things, after all, that set us apart from the rest of the savages in this world... Right? Seriously, until I see Brad suiting up to practice with the Flames or pushing a shopping cart through Wal-Mart, I don’t think I'll be considering him "one of us".
I'm sure I could go on with this rant, but what's the point? Besides, I have to go make sure the memory card on my camera is empty... Rational or not, $350,000 buys a lot of coffee!
Sunday, August 21, 2005
"Tide To Go" Weekend Update
Just in case my glowing review wasn't enough to convince you, here's a few more things that Tide To Go has been proven effective on:
-ketchup on white blouse
-chocolate ice cream on white pants
-root beer ice cream on beige cargo pants
That last one was mine.
You should have seen the looks we got as we sat out front of the My Favorite Ice Cream Shoppe, methodically erasing the drippings that fell from our cones. We've practically become walking advertisements!
I should find out who the Ad Agency for this little pen is...
-ketchup on white blouse
-chocolate ice cream on white pants
-root beer ice cream on beige cargo pants
That last one was mine.
You should have seen the looks we got as we sat out front of the My Favorite Ice Cream Shoppe, methodically erasing the drippings that fell from our cones. We've practically become walking advertisements!
I should find out who the Ad Agency for this little pen is...
Monday, August 15, 2005
GTA Didn't Make You Do a Damn Thing
By the time I was old enough to count I'd already seen Daffy Duck's beak blown to the back of his head by a point-blank shotgun blast more times than I could count. Not to mention the number of times I saw Wile E. Coyote squashed into an accordion by a falling boulder... Or witnessed Foghorn Leghorn lose every feather on his body to a TNT explosion. And, funny enough, the majority of these near-fatalities were caused, directly or indirectly, by "The Good Guys"... Elmer Fudd, the Road Runner, and the Dog.Did this give my 5-year old brain the impression that doing this type of damage to each other was okay, or even acceptable? Did I suffer Temporary Insanity by way of Loonie Tunes?
Not bloody likely.
Then came my not-so-brief love affair with arcade games. Sure, I was raised in the relatively tame era of Asteroids, Pac-Man, and Dig Dug, but I eventually evolved along with the rest of the world. Some of my favorite games became the driving ones, like Cruisin' USA, where I could put the pedal to the metal and fly down the interstate with reckless abandon. What's that? Oncoming traffic? Bah! No big deal for a daredevil like myself! And who cares how many cars I destroy along the way anyway? And the shooting games! Yeah... I loved any game with a little plastic gun tethered to it. I played some of them so many times that I knew where every target (be it a robber, a cop, or an alien) would pop out and I could pick them off with a nice, clean head-shot. I took great pride in the fact that my arm and wrist would give out long before my quarters would.
But I didn't take my need for speed to the real streets... I've never once believed I could drive through rush hour traffic at top speed just because I could do it in an arcade. Nor have I ever gone on a shooting rampage. In fact, I've never even fired a real gun... I have no urge to what-so-ever.
So, it should come as no surprise that I can't understand how Devin Moore from Alabama thought for two seconds that he could blame his senseless killing of three police officers on the Grand Theft Auto game series. I'll freely admit that the games are ultra-violent and not suitable for children... I know because I play them. But to say that they influenced you into killing cops in the real world is just retarded. Who are you kidding? The most influence those games are going to exert over a person is to compel them to stay up playing all night then call into work sick so they can keep right on going. Go out and kill someone? Bah! That would mean getting out of Mom's basement...You know, I'll bet it wasn't even this kid's idea to cop the plea in the first place. It was probably his court-appointed lawyer, looking to make more of this case than there was in order to springboard his pathetic career. Maybe this guy is suffering from temporary insanity, brought on by watching too many courtroom dramas.
"Your Honor, I'd like to cite Ben Matlock in the case of The State of Georgia vs. The One-Armed Hillbilly Bandit..."
Saturday, August 13, 2005
Wednesday, August 10, 2005
And Now, A Word From Somebody Else's Sponsor...
I don't normally plug new products, but this time I couldn't resist.
Have you seen the "Tide To Go" commercial where the woman is about to take the podium at a huge lecture when, just offstage, she spills something on her blouse? Well, she whips out this little orange pen and scribbles on the stain. In seconds, the stain is gone and all she has to do is quickly fan the spot dry. With not a moment to spare, she is introduced and walks out, full of confidence in her appearance.
Wow. Amazing.
In the last 15 years or so, we've been practically inundated with OxyClean and Didi-7 ads, so I didn't give this one much notice, to tell you the truth. However, earlier this evening, I had the perfect opportunity to put that little orange pen to work.
As background to this testimonial, I need to tell you a little about my girlfriend first. You see, she has a bit of a spilling problem, so to speak. I can't even begin to count the number of times we've been out at a restaurant when she has looked down at her blouse and cursed. Not that she can be held accountable, mind you... You see, there are factors that conspire against her.
For starters, she has what you might call a well-developed chest. You know, she's got copious cleavage. The girl has quite a large rack. Do I have to spell it out? Her breasts are big.
Where was I? Oh yeah...
Basically, falling food has little or no chance of ever hitting her plate with those, er, assets running interference on the way down. And when you consider that she's usually quite mesmerized by whatever incredibly clever or witty thing I'm saying, it's not hard to see how morsels manage to escape her fork. Put it all together, and there you have 'em... Stains.
So, we were out tonight at a local restaurant... Nothing fancy, just your typical family place. We were both dressed quite casual, but her shirt was white, so a little "spillage" was inevitable. Actually, we made it through the majority of the meal without a mishap but, as she brought the fork up for her second last mouthful of creamy mashed potatoes, a sizeable dollop of rich roast gravy tore away and descended to the target area.
Of course, it was right about this time that the waitress came by to clean away our dishes, so my girlfriend was pinned in the booth, practically cowering behind the napkin clutched to her chest. She couldn't exactly make an inconspicuous dash to the bathroom with a dark brown blob on her ever-so-white shirt and someone standing over her. So...
Cuppojoe to the rescue!
I quickly excused myself from the table, made my way out the door, and went to the drug store next door. It took me 2 seconds to find what I was looking for: Tide To Go. Unfortunately, it took the cashier 5 minutes to do a return for the customer in front of me, and another 3 minutes to verify the $50 bill I handed her wasn't counterfeit. By the time I was finished, my girlfriend had somehow managed to pay for dinner (ain't she the greatest?) and get to the van. No matter. Even with the crisis over, I was still going to find out how well this stuffs worked.
I may have been dubious about Tide's claims but, a few dabs from the pen, a little rubbing, and... Bam! The stain was gone! It was unbelievable! Okay, so the spot didn't dry as fast as they show on TV, but so what? A wet spot on your shirt for a few minutes sure beats a big old stain that everyone will notice!
I guess all you mechanics and axe-murderers should probably just disregard this whole blog, then.
Have you seen the "Tide To Go" commercial where the woman is about to take the podium at a huge lecture when, just offstage, she spills something on her blouse? Well, she whips out this little orange pen and scribbles on the stain. In seconds, the stain is gone and all she has to do is quickly fan the spot dry. With not a moment to spare, she is introduced and walks out, full of confidence in her appearance.
Wow. Amazing.
In the last 15 years or so, we've been practically inundated with OxyClean and Didi-7 ads, so I didn't give this one much notice, to tell you the truth. However, earlier this evening, I had the perfect opportunity to put that little orange pen to work.
As background to this testimonial, I need to tell you a little about my girlfriend first. You see, she has a bit of a spilling problem, so to speak. I can't even begin to count the number of times we've been out at a restaurant when she has looked down at her blouse and cursed. Not that she can be held accountable, mind you... You see, there are factors that conspire against her.
For starters, she has what you might call a well-developed chest. You know, she's got copious cleavage. The girl has quite a large rack. Do I have to spell it out? Her breasts are big.
Where was I? Oh yeah...
Basically, falling food has little or no chance of ever hitting her plate with those, er, assets running interference on the way down. And when you consider that she's usually quite mesmerized by whatever incredibly clever or witty thing I'm saying, it's not hard to see how morsels manage to escape her fork. Put it all together, and there you have 'em... Stains.
So, we were out tonight at a local restaurant... Nothing fancy, just your typical family place. We were both dressed quite casual, but her shirt was white, so a little "spillage" was inevitable. Actually, we made it through the majority of the meal without a mishap but, as she brought the fork up for her second last mouthful of creamy mashed potatoes, a sizeable dollop of rich roast gravy tore away and descended to the target area.
Of course, it was right about this time that the waitress came by to clean away our dishes, so my girlfriend was pinned in the booth, practically cowering behind the napkin clutched to her chest. She couldn't exactly make an inconspicuous dash to the bathroom with a dark brown blob on her ever-so-white shirt and someone standing over her. So...
Cuppojoe to the rescue!
I quickly excused myself from the table, made my way out the door, and went to the drug store next door. It took me 2 seconds to find what I was looking for: Tide To Go. Unfortunately, it took the cashier 5 minutes to do a return for the customer in front of me, and another 3 minutes to verify the $50 bill I handed her wasn't counterfeit. By the time I was finished, my girlfriend had somehow managed to pay for dinner (ain't she the greatest?) and get to the van. No matter. Even with the crisis over, I was still going to find out how well this stuffs worked.
I may have been dubious about Tide's claims but, a few dabs from the pen, a little rubbing, and... Bam! The stain was gone! It was unbelievable! Okay, so the spot didn't dry as fast as they show on TV, but so what? A wet spot on your shirt for a few minutes sure beats a big old stain that everyone will notice!
I guess all you mechanics and axe-murderers should probably just disregard this whole blog, then.
Tuesday, August 9, 2005
New Homeland Invasion... With Big Hair and Bangles
We've had it here in Canada for a few years, and now it's sweeping across the States with a vengeance. No, I'm not talking about Mad Cow Disease, although the effects can be disturbingly similar... Actually, it's the latest radio format fad to hit the airwaves... Jack FM.
"Playing What We Want" is the station's slogan, and they aren't kidding! While the rest of the dial is competing for listeners with Classic Rock, Oldies, Country, or Top 40, Jack refuses to give in to that pigeon-holing concept. Instead, they like to think of themselves as "diverse". In truth, you'll mostly hear pop hits from the 80's and early 90's, but it sure beats the worn-out repeats on the other stations...
Or does it?
I have to admit, being born in the early 70's and spending my most musically formative years in the 80's, I was initially thrilled when Jack came to Calgary. At last, I could listen to guys like Wham!, Mr. Mister, and The Thompson Twins without having to dust off my old cassette collection! Memories of awkward Jr. High dances where everyone just stood against the walls clumsily shuffling their feet came flooding back... It was awesome. Sure, some of the younger guys I worked with turned their noses up at it but, after having to endure over a decade of rap, I didn't have much sympathy.
The thrill faded, however. Since the majority of my music-listening happens while I am at work for 9-and-half hours a day, it didn't take long before I began to hear the same stuff over and over again. Or maybe all the songs just started to sound the same... Either way, it felt like I was stuck listening to an "All 80's" playlist on my computer.
Blasts from the past can be cool, but there are limits. I'd get a kick out of seeing a few re-runs of "The Six Million Dollar Man" or "Knight Rider", but to have to sit through Glenn A. Larson / Stephen J. Cannell era TV everyday would suck!
From what I've heard, the Jack Experience could be even worse for those of you south of the border... Down there, radio stations adopting the Jack format are letting their DJ's go. They claim today's mp3- and iPod-driven lifestyle demands that they cut out the useless chatter and do nothing but play music. For those of you who can't stand the same tired jokes from a guy who was never funny in the first place, this might sound like a good idea... but don't be so quick. It also means their won't be anyone to tell you the name of that awesome song that just played. You can also forget about things like traffic updates or community event announcements. And what about the morning shows, where the DJ humor is actually more important than the music? Gone.
I'm not saying you're not going to like Jack... I'm just warning you to not expect some great Radio Revolution. And definitely don't forget where the other stations are on your dial!
Now, who's up for a little "Safety Dance"?
"Playing What We Want" is the station's slogan, and they aren't kidding! While the rest of the dial is competing for listeners with Classic Rock, Oldies, Country, or Top 40, Jack refuses to give in to that pigeon-holing concept. Instead, they like to think of themselves as "diverse". In truth, you'll mostly hear pop hits from the 80's and early 90's, but it sure beats the worn-out repeats on the other stations...
Or does it?
I have to admit, being born in the early 70's and spending my most musically formative years in the 80's, I was initially thrilled when Jack came to Calgary. At last, I could listen to guys like Wham!, Mr. Mister, and The Thompson Twins without having to dust off my old cassette collection! Memories of awkward Jr. High dances where everyone just stood against the walls clumsily shuffling their feet came flooding back... It was awesome. Sure, some of the younger guys I worked with turned their noses up at it but, after having to endure over a decade of rap, I didn't have much sympathy.The thrill faded, however. Since the majority of my music-listening happens while I am at work for 9-and-half hours a day, it didn't take long before I began to hear the same stuff over and over again. Or maybe all the songs just started to sound the same... Either way, it felt like I was stuck listening to an "All 80's" playlist on my computer.
Blasts from the past can be cool, but there are limits. I'd get a kick out of seeing a few re-runs of "The Six Million Dollar Man" or "Knight Rider", but to have to sit through Glenn A. Larson / Stephen J. Cannell era TV everyday would suck!
From what I've heard, the Jack Experience could be even worse for those of you south of the border... Down there, radio stations adopting the Jack format are letting their DJ's go. They claim today's mp3- and iPod-driven lifestyle demands that they cut out the useless chatter and do nothing but play music. For those of you who can't stand the same tired jokes from a guy who was never funny in the first place, this might sound like a good idea... but don't be so quick. It also means their won't be anyone to tell you the name of that awesome song that just played. You can also forget about things like traffic updates or community event announcements. And what about the morning shows, where the DJ humor is actually more important than the music? Gone.
I'm not saying you're not going to like Jack... I'm just warning you to not expect some great Radio Revolution. And definitely don't forget where the other stations are on your dial!
Now, who's up for a little "Safety Dance"?
Monday, August 8, 2005
What's With Our City Cops?
The other night, a friend of mine was driving home when he suddenly spotted the dreaded red-and-blue lights in his rear view mirror. Pulling over, he was informed that he had gone through a yellow light. So what, right?
Wrong. Apparently, that particular yellow light was worth $115.
My girlfriend witnessed another incident, this time involving a pedestrian crosswalk. As a person approached the corner and reached out to press the button that would activate the flashing lights, a car went through the intersection. At that moment, a police officer jumped out and pulled the car over. The offense? Passing a pedestrian at a crosswalk. And in this city, that carries a $500 penalty!
Now, don't get me wrong... I have a healthy respect for the law and those who enforce it, especially when it comes to traffic law. I think we all need to slow down, pay more attention to the road than our cellphones, and just generally try to get where we're going in one piece. But I have to draw the line when it comes to outright stupidity.
The last time I checked, the purpose of a yellow light was to alert motorists to the fact the light is about to turn red. It is a buffer between the green and the red that allows you to clear the intersection. If you can safely stop on the yellow, then do so. If not, continue through before it turns red. And these things are properly timed, too, so you should be able to do one or the other, unless you're speeding.
Now, if they're going to take away our buffer and require us to stop for yellow lights too, I think you're going to see a dramatic rise in rear-end collisions as people slam on their brakes to avoid a ticket.
Bottom line: You shouldn't be able to receive a ticket for running a yellow, only a red.
It's no different with the crosswalk... I agree there should be penalties for driving right past someone attempting to cross the street. I can't count the number of times I've stood at a corner, waiting for someone to take pity on me and allow me to cross. But when you're talking about controlled pedestrian crossings with the flashing lights, it's a different story. If the lights aren't flashing, you should be able to drive on through. Even if they start flashing and you don't have time to stop safely, you should carry on... The same as the yellow light.
On the flipside, I had an altogether different experience this weekend. There's a stretch of road where I live, called Deerfoot Trail. For those of you who aren't familiar with "The Calgary Autobahn", it's a 6-lane freeway that runs north and south through the city. The speed limit is 100km/h (60mph), but that is seldom paid any attention. I'm used to the speeding and I accept it as a normal part of driving Deerfoot.
This past weekend, however, things were completely out of hand. It wasn't just the usual 10 or 15 over the speed limit... It was people flying past me (I was doing about 110), drivers riding only a few feet off each others' bumpers, and one guy that decided to use the shoulder to pass. And guess what... Not a single cop in sight.
It looks like they don't mind handing out tickets for traffic violations, but they'd prefer it if the offenders came to them. So, I say we take away the useless cruisers and hand out lawn chairs so they can park themselves at intersections with coffee and donuts. It sure would ease the pressure on the budget!
Wrong. Apparently, that particular yellow light was worth $115.
My girlfriend witnessed another incident, this time involving a pedestrian crosswalk. As a person approached the corner and reached out to press the button that would activate the flashing lights, a car went through the intersection. At that moment, a police officer jumped out and pulled the car over. The offense? Passing a pedestrian at a crosswalk. And in this city, that carries a $500 penalty!
Now, don't get me wrong... I have a healthy respect for the law and those who enforce it, especially when it comes to traffic law. I think we all need to slow down, pay more attention to the road than our cellphones, and just generally try to get where we're going in one piece. But I have to draw the line when it comes to outright stupidity.
The last time I checked, the purpose of a yellow light was to alert motorists to the fact the light is about to turn red. It is a buffer between the green and the red that allows you to clear the intersection. If you can safely stop on the yellow, then do so. If not, continue through before it turns red. And these things are properly timed, too, so you should be able to do one or the other, unless you're speeding.
Now, if they're going to take away our buffer and require us to stop for yellow lights too, I think you're going to see a dramatic rise in rear-end collisions as people slam on their brakes to avoid a ticket.
Bottom line: You shouldn't be able to receive a ticket for running a yellow, only a red.
It's no different with the crosswalk... I agree there should be penalties for driving right past someone attempting to cross the street. I can't count the number of times I've stood at a corner, waiting for someone to take pity on me and allow me to cross. But when you're talking about controlled pedestrian crossings with the flashing lights, it's a different story. If the lights aren't flashing, you should be able to drive on through. Even if they start flashing and you don't have time to stop safely, you should carry on... The same as the yellow light.
On the flipside, I had an altogether different experience this weekend. There's a stretch of road where I live, called Deerfoot Trail. For those of you who aren't familiar with "The Calgary Autobahn", it's a 6-lane freeway that runs north and south through the city. The speed limit is 100km/h (60mph), but that is seldom paid any attention. I'm used to the speeding and I accept it as a normal part of driving Deerfoot.
This past weekend, however, things were completely out of hand. It wasn't just the usual 10 or 15 over the speed limit... It was people flying past me (I was doing about 110), drivers riding only a few feet off each others' bumpers, and one guy that decided to use the shoulder to pass. And guess what... Not a single cop in sight.
It looks like they don't mind handing out tickets for traffic violations, but they'd prefer it if the offenders came to them. So, I say we take away the useless cruisers and hand out lawn chairs so they can park themselves at intersections with coffee and donuts. It sure would ease the pressure on the budget!
Sunday, August 7, 2005
Wednesday, August 3, 2005
Miracle Flight 358
It's certainly not the best way to arrive in Toronto, but it could have been a lot worse.
All 309 passengers and crew of Air France Flight 358 are lucky to be alive today following yesterday's crash at Lester B. Pearson Airport. While attempting to land under severe weather conditions, the plane skidded off the end of the runway and plunged into a ravine, bursting into flames.
Black smoke billowed out and a number of explosions sent small fireballs skyward but Toronto Airport officials say that, in the 52 seconds it took rescue crews to arrive on-site, approximately three-quarters of the plane had already been evacuated. In just under 2 minutes, the craft was empty, with the co-pilot being the last to exit.
Although reports vary as to the number of people who sustained minor injuries (Air France claims 22 while Airport officials say 43), it's practically a miracle there was no loss of life in such a disastrous wreck.
The exact cause of the crash has yet to be determined, but the airport had been under a "red alert" all day due to a number of storm cells that passed through the area. Excessive windshear, or possibly a microburst, could have been a factor. Reports from survivors say that all the lights went out in the cabin just before touchdown, indicating a possible lightning strike. The black box will be recovered today.
On an ironic note, one airport staffer said yesterday that lightning may have caused problems with the airport's lightning detection system...
Huh?
All 309 passengers and crew of Air France Flight 358 are lucky to be alive today following yesterday's crash at Lester B. Pearson Airport. While attempting to land under severe weather conditions, the plane skidded off the end of the runway and plunged into a ravine, bursting into flames.
Black smoke billowed out and a number of explosions sent small fireballs skyward but Toronto Airport officials say that, in the 52 seconds it took rescue crews to arrive on-site, approximately three-quarters of the plane had already been evacuated. In just under 2 minutes, the craft was empty, with the co-pilot being the last to exit.
Although reports vary as to the number of people who sustained minor injuries (Air France claims 22 while Airport officials say 43), it's practically a miracle there was no loss of life in such a disastrous wreck.
The exact cause of the crash has yet to be determined, but the airport had been under a "red alert" all day due to a number of storm cells that passed through the area. Excessive windshear, or possibly a microburst, could have been a factor. Reports from survivors say that all the lights went out in the cabin just before touchdown, indicating a possible lightning strike. The black box will be recovered today.
On an ironic note, one airport staffer said yesterday that lightning may have caused problems with the airport's lightning detection system...
Huh?
Tuesday, August 2, 2005
Summer Vacation 2005Part IV: All's Well That Ends Well
I can see how you might get the impression that we had the most horrible holiday of our lives, based on my last few posts. In truth, aside from the Bellingham experience (that I will no longer mention unless I find a funny way to do so), we had a spectacular time. And we have the photos to prove it!
Between my newly acquired Minolta DiMage Z1 and my girlfriend's Fuji Finepix A201, we managed to snap off more than 600 shots over the course of 10 days. Naturally, most of them will never get made into prints or emailed out to family, but that's the beauty of digital photography, isn't it? You just keep shooting until you get what you want!
In true tourist fashion, we filled everyday with as much sight-seeing as we could handle. And, although the Vancouver area is absolutely packed with great attractions, it seemed like the best things for us were either off the beaten path, or simply nature itself. We had already done the Vancouver Aquarium the year before, so we decide to avoid that. I was initially quite excited about walking across the Capilano Suspension Bridge... That is, until I found out that they charge $26 per person for the priviledge of walking across said bridge. That's something I'll never do, on principle alone.
The B.C. Mining Museum, on the other hand, turned out to be quite a pleasant surprise. At first, I didn't think I'd be very interested in going to an abandoned copper mine to learn about... well... copper mining, but it was actually quite cool! The best part came at the end of the tour when we were shown how to pan for gold. Yours truly actually found a piece! I'd probably have to go back 1100 more times before I'd have enough to make a ring, but that's not the point. I found gold!
That same day, on our way back from the Mining Museum, we stumbled across a little park north of Vancouver that ended at the shore. We spent the better part of an hour there, just watching the waves, collecting rocks for our kids, and taking pictures of the boats as they went by. It just so happened that one of those passing boats was a B.C. Ferry, a vessel capable of carrying over 350 cars. My girlfriend was quite surprised to find out the size of the waves a ship like that can generate in its wake! It was just after she frantically scrambled up from the waters edge that we decided it was time to go.
In an ironic twist (if you've been reading this little series from the start), we ended up taking one of those very ferries over to Vancouver Island. we only stayed for one night, but it was relaxing to be away from the hustle and bustle of the Big City, even for so short a time. And it gave us a chance to do a little beachcombing in Parksville, just like the year before. Of course, we happened to pick a "protected" beach, so I had to make many surreptitious trips back to the van to drop off our illegal treasures. Seriously, who's going to miss a few seashells?
Before heading home to Calgary, we took one last stop in Hope, B.C. to visit my parents, and it's a good thing we did! There were so many things to see and do there... I never would have guessed! In our final day, we took in an Art Festival, saw some of the most amazing sand sculptures imaginable, and hiked up to Bridal Veil Falls. My girlfriend's ankle was extremely sore, but nothing could keep her from seeing that waterfall, let me tell you! If there's one thing that girl likes, it's waterfalls...
Now, we did a ton of other things during our 10 days, but it would probably take another 10 days just to write about them. Suffice it to say, we had an awesome holiday and can't wait for the next one!
Why does retirement have to be so far away?
Between my newly acquired Minolta DiMage Z1 and my girlfriend's Fuji Finepix A201, we managed to snap off more than 600 shots over the course of 10 days. Naturally, most of them will never get made into prints or emailed out to family, but that's the beauty of digital photography, isn't it? You just keep shooting until you get what you want!
In true tourist fashion, we filled everyday with as much sight-seeing as we could handle. And, although the Vancouver area is absolutely packed with great attractions, it seemed like the best things for us were either off the beaten path, or simply nature itself. We had already done the Vancouver Aquarium the year before, so we decide to avoid that. I was initially quite excited about walking across the Capilano Suspension Bridge... That is, until I found out that they charge $26 per person for the priviledge of walking across said bridge. That's something I'll never do, on principle alone.
The B.C. Mining Museum, on the other hand, turned out to be quite a pleasant surprise. At first, I didn't think I'd be very interested in going to an abandoned copper mine to learn about... well... copper mining, but it was actually quite cool! The best part came at the end of the tour when we were shown how to pan for gold. Yours truly actually found a piece! I'd probably have to go back 1100 more times before I'd have enough to make a ring, but that's not the point. I found gold!That same day, on our way back from the Mining Museum, we stumbled across a little park north of Vancouver that ended at the shore. We spent the better part of an hour there, just watching the waves, collecting rocks for our kids, and taking pictures of the boats as they went by. It just so happened that one of those passing boats was a B.C. Ferry, a vessel capable of carrying over 350 cars. My girlfriend was quite surprised to find out the size of the waves a ship like that can generate in its wake! It was just after she frantically scrambled up from the waters edge that we decided it was time to go.In an ironic twist (if you've been reading this little series from the start), we ended up taking one of those very ferries over to Vancouver Island. we only stayed for one night, but it was relaxing to be away from the hustle and bustle of the Big City, even for so short a time. And it gave us a chance to do a little beachcombing in Parksville, just like the year before. Of course, we happened to pick a "protected" beach, so I had to make many surreptitious trips back to the van to drop off our illegal treasures. Seriously, who's going to miss a few seashells?Before heading home to Calgary, we took one last stop in Hope, B.C. to visit my parents, and it's a good thing we did! There were so many things to see and do there... I never would have guessed! In our final day, we took in an Art Festival, saw some of the most amazing sand sculptures imaginable, and hiked up to Bridal Veil Falls. My girlfriend's ankle was extremely sore, but nothing could keep her from seeing that waterfall, let me tell you! If there's one thing that girl likes, it's waterfalls...Now, we did a ton of other things during our 10 days, but it would probably take another 10 days just to write about them. Suffice it to say, we had an awesome holiday and can't wait for the next one!
Why does retirement have to be so far away?
Monday, August 1, 2005
Summer Vacation 2005Part III: Thar She Blows... I Think
After doing our "Rudest Tourist" impression at a local pub by insisting we get served as quickly as possible and shovelling some of the best food we've ever almost tasted down our throats, it was back to the boat to see if we could secure a good seat before the rest of the passengers returned. The weather had brightened up a bit, so we decided to risk sitting on the observation deck at the top, the spot everyone would be flocking to once we got to the whales anyway.
As we sat there, waiting for everyone else to board, the pride we felt at having staked out such an envious claim was only slightly marred but the realization we were with, without a doubt, the worst whale watching outfit in the harbor. Everywhere we turned there were beautiful boats filling up with people positively giddy with excitement. Some were decked out in bright orange jumpers, piling into an ultra-fast zodiac, while others took their places and sipped beverages on more spacious yachts with enormous viewing decks and energetic tour guides fanning the flames of anticipation.
Our boat had more an air of, "Crap. Here we go again." It was a mood that only soured further when the captain annouced where the whales had been spotted... near Bellingham. Essentially, this meant, in order to stay within the time constraints of the tour, we might make it to the whales and, if we did, we'd have only a couple minutes to see them before being forced to return.
Great.
To prevent you from feeling as miserable as we did, I'll cut to the chase now... It was absolutely freezing on that upper deck and the time just dragged by. When we finally arrived at the whales, it was obvious that all the other tour boats had been there for quite some time. We, on the other hand, had to turn around almost immediately to head back. We never got closer than about 500 feet to the whales, which was a far cry from the 5 foot proximity of last year. I tried to take photos, but quickly gave up in frustration as all I could get were blurry little black dots on the water. This is the best of the batch, and was only possible thanks to a 10x zoom:
Needless to say, the rest of the way back to Bellingham was grueling, many of our plans for the rest of our holiday were dashed, and our money for the whale watching tour was fully refunded.
Now, whenever I have a brilliant idea that my girlfriend doesn't like, all she has to do is look me in the eye and say one word.
Bellingham.
As we sat there, waiting for everyone else to board, the pride we felt at having staked out such an envious claim was only slightly marred but the realization we were with, without a doubt, the worst whale watching outfit in the harbor. Everywhere we turned there were beautiful boats filling up with people positively giddy with excitement. Some were decked out in bright orange jumpers, piling into an ultra-fast zodiac, while others took their places and sipped beverages on more spacious yachts with enormous viewing decks and energetic tour guides fanning the flames of anticipation.
Our boat had more an air of, "Crap. Here we go again." It was a mood that only soured further when the captain annouced where the whales had been spotted... near Bellingham. Essentially, this meant, in order to stay within the time constraints of the tour, we might make it to the whales and, if we did, we'd have only a couple minutes to see them before being forced to return.
Great.
To prevent you from feeling as miserable as we did, I'll cut to the chase now... It was absolutely freezing on that upper deck and the time just dragged by. When we finally arrived at the whales, it was obvious that all the other tour boats had been there for quite some time. We, on the other hand, had to turn around almost immediately to head back. We never got closer than about 500 feet to the whales, which was a far cry from the 5 foot proximity of last year. I tried to take photos, but quickly gave up in frustration as all I could get were blurry little black dots on the water. This is the best of the batch, and was only possible thanks to a 10x zoom:
Needless to say, the rest of the way back to Bellingham was grueling, many of our plans for the rest of our holiday were dashed, and our money for the whale watching tour was fully refunded.
Now, whenever I have a brilliant idea that my girlfriend doesn't like, all she has to do is look me in the eye and say one word.
Bellingham.
Sunday, July 31, 2005
Summer Vacation 2005Part II: 2 Hours We'll Never Get Back
To say that conditions on the boat were cramped would be an understatement. At one point, I'm pretty sure I saw a school of sardines swim by and laugh at the stupid humans. Not only were we seated should to shoulder, knee to knee, but many of us had luggage as well. Granted, it was mostly of the backpack or purse variety, but there was no place to put any of it, save at our feet or on our laps. This meant finding the one configuration that worked, then sitting in that position for the entire 2 hours.
Even though this wasn't the whale watching portion of the tour, the captain of the boat did his best to point out things along the way. "If you look out the port side of the boat, you'll see Orcas Island, the largest in this archipelago. For those of you having a hard time making it out, it's the dark mass along the horizon, just behind that low-lying cloud cover..." But the poor visibility wasn't that much of a problem, since he'd point out that same island 4 more times before reaching Friday Harbor.
He told other stories of local color and commented on various points of interest, but we missed much of it, thanks to his competition. I'm talking about a couple of German women seated next to us. Of course, I don't speak the language, so I can't say definitively that they were German, but I'm sure I heard the words "David Hasselhoff" more than once, so I have my suspicions. From the time we left Bellingham until we reached Friday Harbor, these two talked incessantly. And loudly. More often than not, they completely drowned out the PA system. My girlfriend and I both tried firing annoyed glances in an effort to turn down the volume, but eventually had to "shush" them like 4-year olds. That did the trick... for about 3 minutes.
Sigh.
Time practically slowed to a crawl as we strained our eyes, hoping to catch any glimpse of civilization that would signal the end of this Torture-Cruise. And then, just as I was beginning to think I was trapped in some cruel Twilight Zone episode, there it was... Friday Harbor. At long last! A chance to stretch our aching legs by wandering through the local shops, museums, and restaurants promised in the pamphlets. An hour and a half of blessed freedom!
And then the announcement from the captain... "Folks, since we are running a bit behind today, we going to have to cut our stay at Friday harbor short. We'll be setting sail to see the whales in about 45 minutes."
Perfect. How did I not see that coming?
Even though this wasn't the whale watching portion of the tour, the captain of the boat did his best to point out things along the way. "If you look out the port side of the boat, you'll see Orcas Island, the largest in this archipelago. For those of you having a hard time making it out, it's the dark mass along the horizon, just behind that low-lying cloud cover..." But the poor visibility wasn't that much of a problem, since he'd point out that same island 4 more times before reaching Friday Harbor.
He told other stories of local color and commented on various points of interest, but we missed much of it, thanks to his competition. I'm talking about a couple of German women seated next to us. Of course, I don't speak the language, so I can't say definitively that they were German, but I'm sure I heard the words "David Hasselhoff" more than once, so I have my suspicions. From the time we left Bellingham until we reached Friday Harbor, these two talked incessantly. And loudly. More often than not, they completely drowned out the PA system. My girlfriend and I both tried firing annoyed glances in an effort to turn down the volume, but eventually had to "shush" them like 4-year olds. That did the trick... for about 3 minutes.
Sigh.
Time practically slowed to a crawl as we strained our eyes, hoping to catch any glimpse of civilization that would signal the end of this Torture-Cruise. And then, just as I was beginning to think I was trapped in some cruel Twilight Zone episode, there it was... Friday Harbor. At long last! A chance to stretch our aching legs by wandering through the local shops, museums, and restaurants promised in the pamphlets. An hour and a half of blessed freedom!
And then the announcement from the captain... "Folks, since we are running a bit behind today, we going to have to cut our stay at Friday harbor short. We'll be setting sail to see the whales in about 45 minutes."
Perfect. How did I not see that coming?
Thursday, July 28, 2005
Summer Vacation 2005Part I: It's All in the Planning
If any of you are masochistic enough to have been reading this blog since last summer, you'll already know what an awesome time my girlfriend and I had when we took our very first whale watching tour out of Victoria, BC. And for all you new readers, my girlfriend and I had an awesome time when we took our very first whale watching tour out of Victoria, BC last year.
How's that for "setting the stage"? Pretty good? Cool.
Well, for this year's trip, we had decided it was time to take a nice, romantic Caribbean cruise. Sadly, those plans got quickly tossed away as soon as we discovered that, "Hey! These things cost money!" So, it was back to the coast for a second round with the Killer Whales... How could we go wrong?
Read on.
In order to save a few bucks, I convinced my girlfriend that it would be much better to slip down to Bellingham, Washington to do our tour, as opposed to going all the way to Vancouver Island and spending a fortune on the ferries. I figured the idea was brilliant, like all my ideas, because we could get some shopping done while we were down there. She wasn't as keen, but eventually gave in after much whining (not hers, mine). I think what won her over in the end was that I had found a company that offered 7 hour guaranteed killer whale watching tours on a luxurious 110 ft boat that would make last year's jaunt on the Zodiac seem like "slumming it".
In hindsight, it probably would have been smart of me to make sure the tour company was operating on the day we went down. Which it wasn't. Nor the next day either.
As it turned out, we were lead to believe that there was only one company offering whale watching excursions on a daily basis, but you had to take a 2 hour cruise on a 45 ft boat out to Friday Harbor first. Not what we had in mind, but what the heck... So we decided to take the lemons that had been handed to us and make lemonade by signing up. At least we'd see whales and spend some nice time out on the water.
Here is a picture that I took from inside the boat:
And the fun was just beginning...
How's that for "setting the stage"? Pretty good? Cool.
Well, for this year's trip, we had decided it was time to take a nice, romantic Caribbean cruise. Sadly, those plans got quickly tossed away as soon as we discovered that, "Hey! These things cost money!" So, it was back to the coast for a second round with the Killer Whales... How could we go wrong?
Read on.
In order to save a few bucks, I convinced my girlfriend that it would be much better to slip down to Bellingham, Washington to do our tour, as opposed to going all the way to Vancouver Island and spending a fortune on the ferries. I figured the idea was brilliant, like all my ideas, because we could get some shopping done while we were down there. She wasn't as keen, but eventually gave in after much whining (not hers, mine). I think what won her over in the end was that I had found a company that offered 7 hour guaranteed killer whale watching tours on a luxurious 110 ft boat that would make last year's jaunt on the Zodiac seem like "slumming it".
In hindsight, it probably would have been smart of me to make sure the tour company was operating on the day we went down. Which it wasn't. Nor the next day either.
As it turned out, we were lead to believe that there was only one company offering whale watching excursions on a daily basis, but you had to take a 2 hour cruise on a 45 ft boat out to Friday Harbor first. Not what we had in mind, but what the heck... So we decided to take the lemons that had been handed to us and make lemonade by signing up. At least we'd see whales and spend some nice time out on the water.
Here is a picture that I took from inside the boat:
And the fun was just beginning...
Tuesday, July 26, 2005
Blog Van Winkle
I'm going to have to assume there's a problem with Blogger's timestamps on my blog... There no way two months have gone by since my last post. Seriously... A dedicated blogger, such as myself, completely ignoring his blog for that length of time? It's unthinkable! Remember how long summer holidays lasted when you were a kid? It was a veritable lifetime between Grade 5 and Grade 6! Well, that's apparently how long this little ol' site of mine has lain dormant.
Perhaps I could tell you that I've been deeply involved with a corporate merger that will soon see me writing about bigger and better scenes from bigger and better forklifts... Or that my recent battle with flesh-eating disease had me at death's door and it was all I could do to hold onto this mortal coil. Maybe you'd believe that I did, indeed, pull a Rip Van Winkle by voluntarily participating in a cryogenics experiment conducted by the University of Calgary and, as far as I'm concerned, not more than a couple of days have passed since I last posted so you can all just get off my back! And somebody get me a blanket... I'm freezing!
Of course, my tendency to blog my inner machinations, coupled with a total lack of ambition when it comes to thinking up believable lies, pretty much eliminates any chance I have of fooling even my most gullible of readers. Oh! Which reminds me... Hi, Jack!
Alright, so there isn't really some great, earth-shattering event that has kept me away from the blog-world, but I suppose there's a fair-sized backlog of stories that I could tell... With my daughter finishing Kindergarten, my recent summer vacation, the Calgary Stampede, the return of the NHL (thanks for the reminder, Catt...), and a whack of so-called blockbuster movies currently showing, I think I can come up with a couple things to say.
Okay, grab yourself a coffee, put the "Do Not Disturb" sign on your office door, and get comfortable... This won't be a short ride.
Just kidding.
I know what it's like to read a blog post that's just way too long. Actually... No I don't, because I usually give up after a couple scrolls unless the thing is really interesting. And, since I can't guarantee that I'll be really interesting, I think I'll cut it off here, for today, and start a 4- or 5-part series that is sure to get you all up to speed on the fascinating life of Cuppojoe without putting you to sleep. There's nothing worse than having your boss find you drooling away on your keyboard... Unless he finds you drooling away on his keyboard, I suppose...
Perhaps I could tell you that I've been deeply involved with a corporate merger that will soon see me writing about bigger and better scenes from bigger and better forklifts... Or that my recent battle with flesh-eating disease had me at death's door and it was all I could do to hold onto this mortal coil. Maybe you'd believe that I did, indeed, pull a Rip Van Winkle by voluntarily participating in a cryogenics experiment conducted by the University of Calgary and, as far as I'm concerned, not more than a couple of days have passed since I last posted so you can all just get off my back! And somebody get me a blanket... I'm freezing!
Of course, my tendency to blog my inner machinations, coupled with a total lack of ambition when it comes to thinking up believable lies, pretty much eliminates any chance I have of fooling even my most gullible of readers. Oh! Which reminds me... Hi, Jack!
Alright, so there isn't really some great, earth-shattering event that has kept me away from the blog-world, but I suppose there's a fair-sized backlog of stories that I could tell... With my daughter finishing Kindergarten, my recent summer vacation, the Calgary Stampede, the return of the NHL (thanks for the reminder, Catt...), and a whack of so-called blockbuster movies currently showing, I think I can come up with a couple things to say.
Okay, grab yourself a coffee, put the "Do Not Disturb" sign on your office door, and get comfortable... This won't be a short ride.
Just kidding.
I know what it's like to read a blog post that's just way too long. Actually... No I don't, because I usually give up after a couple scrolls unless the thing is really interesting. And, since I can't guarantee that I'll be really interesting, I think I'll cut it off here, for today, and start a 4- or 5-part series that is sure to get you all up to speed on the fascinating life of Cuppojoe without putting you to sleep. There's nothing worse than having your boss find you drooling away on your keyboard... Unless he finds you drooling away on his keyboard, I suppose...
Wednesday, May 25, 2005
Tuesday, May 24, 2005
Sunday, April 24, 2005
Saturday, April 23, 2005
Telegram
Cuppojoe still alive [STOP]
Has nothing interesting to say [STOP]
Will update again soon [STOP]
Has nothing interesting to say [STOP]
Will update again soon [STOP]
Thursday, March 31, 2005
Truly, A Crying Shame
Today is a dark day. It will be remembered as the day a tragedy turned travesty, a day that one man's pride robbed a family of their daughter and sister.
Terri Schiavo died today.
She passed away nearly two weeks after her feeding tube was removed, at the request of her husband. It was 13 days that were undoubtedly brutal on her physically, brought unbearable anguish to her family, and divided a nation. She has gone on to a much better place now, shedding the pain of her final hours, only to have that suffering become the burden of those she has left behind.
And, for many, there is another strong emotion to be dealt with... Outrage.
From the start of this case over a decade ago, it has always been about more than simply whether Terri would want to be kept alive artificially or not, despite what her husband may say. As events have been allowed to unfold through media coverage, the world has been given a glimpse of evil in the form of Michael Schiavo. Her 1990 heart attack certainly crippled her, left her in a supposed "permanent vegetative state", but, in the end, it was the man she pledged to love "until death do us part" that killed her.
Michael Schiavo murdered Terri.
Almost from the very moment that Terri became incapacitated, Michael has done everything in his power to ensure that she would die. Over the course of more than a decade, he has systematically denied her access to therapy, rehabilitation, social interaction, and, ultimately, food and water. He claims he has only been abiding by Terri's wishes, that she would not want to be kept alive in her current state. And how does he know? Because she told him, apparently. Of course, since she hasn't been allowed speech therapy, this communication can only have occurred prior to her heart attack. And was she speaking of a condition such as the one she found herself in,
or is it more likely that, like the rest of us when we speak of such things, she was referring to a coma or brain-death?
Terri was neither in a coma nor brain dead. On the contrary, she was likened to a "6 to 11 month old baby". Does a mental state such as that warrant letting her die? Would a man be allowed to let his 8 month old baby starve to death and walk away?
That is a load of crap.
My girlfriend asked me just last night why Michael Schiavo, once he realized he was in love with another woman, didn't simply turn custody of Terri over to her parents. I obviously don't know the man, so I can't say for sure what was going through his head, but here's what I suspect...
Chances are that he truly was in love with his wife and, at the time of her tragedy, truly wanted to do what he felt was best for her. At that time, he took a stand... A stand that was contrary to the wishes of Terri's family, but one that he believed in, none the less. However, as time went by, Michael's connection to his wife, both mentally and emotionally, waned. He began to feel the need for companionship, as any of us would, and found it with Jodi Centonze. Now, here was his first chance to turn Terri over to her parents. He could have done so with very little face lost (who can blame a young man for not being strong enough to endure the ordeal before him?), leaving Mary and Bob Schindler to care for their daughter, a task that they would have been overjoyed to take on.
But Michael found himself in a bit of a predicament... Being a Catholic, he couldn't divorce Terri and marry Jodi. His only hope was for Terri to die, leaving him a widower that would be allowed a second marriage in the Catholic church.
Poor man.
You'll notice that his religion didn't stop him from living in open adultery with Jodi. Must be nice to only follow the aspects of your faith that appeal to you...
Anyway, the more time that passed, the less able Michael Schiavo was able to turn custody of his wife over to her family without looking like a complete loser. But here's the funny thing: He still ended up looking not only stupid, but cruel as well. He created his very own no-win situation. Too bad it was Terri that had to pay the ultimate price for his mistake.
There is a silver lining here, though, as there usually is if you look hard enough. A couple of them, in fact. First, this case has brought to everyone's attention the fundamental flaws in the judiciary system that allowed a woman to be starved to death, and we aren't likely to let it happen again. Terri lost her life but, because she did, countless others might not need to. But the biggest solace has to come from knowing that, no matter how Michael Schiavo was able to use U.S. law to his benefit, no matter how eloquently he talks his way out of responsibility for his wife's death, there will come a day when he stands before the One Judge that sees to the very core of his existence and will demand atonement for this horrible sin.
The day will come.
Terri Schiavo died today.
She passed away nearly two weeks after her feeding tube was removed, at the request of her husband. It was 13 days that were undoubtedly brutal on her physically, brought unbearable anguish to her family, and divided a nation. She has gone on to a much better place now, shedding the pain of her final hours, only to have that suffering become the burden of those she has left behind.
And, for many, there is another strong emotion to be dealt with... Outrage.
From the start of this case over a decade ago, it has always been about more than simply whether Terri would want to be kept alive artificially or not, despite what her husband may say. As events have been allowed to unfold through media coverage, the world has been given a glimpse of evil in the form of Michael Schiavo. Her 1990 heart attack certainly crippled her, left her in a supposed "permanent vegetative state", but, in the end, it was the man she pledged to love "until death do us part" that killed her.
Michael Schiavo murdered Terri.
Almost from the very moment that Terri became incapacitated, Michael has done everything in his power to ensure that she would die. Over the course of more than a decade, he has systematically denied her access to therapy, rehabilitation, social interaction, and, ultimately, food and water. He claims he has only been abiding by Terri's wishes, that she would not want to be kept alive in her current state. And how does he know? Because she told him, apparently. Of course, since she hasn't been allowed speech therapy, this communication can only have occurred prior to her heart attack. And was she speaking of a condition such as the one she found herself in,
or is it more likely that, like the rest of us when we speak of such things, she was referring to a coma or brain-death?
Terri was neither in a coma nor brain dead. On the contrary, she was likened to a "6 to 11 month old baby". Does a mental state such as that warrant letting her die? Would a man be allowed to let his 8 month old baby starve to death and walk away?
That is a load of crap.
My girlfriend asked me just last night why Michael Schiavo, once he realized he was in love with another woman, didn't simply turn custody of Terri over to her parents. I obviously don't know the man, so I can't say for sure what was going through his head, but here's what I suspect...
Chances are that he truly was in love with his wife and, at the time of her tragedy, truly wanted to do what he felt was best for her. At that time, he took a stand... A stand that was contrary to the wishes of Terri's family, but one that he believed in, none the less. However, as time went by, Michael's connection to his wife, both mentally and emotionally, waned. He began to feel the need for companionship, as any of us would, and found it with Jodi Centonze. Now, here was his first chance to turn Terri over to her parents. He could have done so with very little face lost (who can blame a young man for not being strong enough to endure the ordeal before him?), leaving Mary and Bob Schindler to care for their daughter, a task that they would have been overjoyed to take on.
But Michael found himself in a bit of a predicament... Being a Catholic, he couldn't divorce Terri and marry Jodi. His only hope was for Terri to die, leaving him a widower that would be allowed a second marriage in the Catholic church.
Poor man.
You'll notice that his religion didn't stop him from living in open adultery with Jodi. Must be nice to only follow the aspects of your faith that appeal to you...
Anyway, the more time that passed, the less able Michael Schiavo was able to turn custody of his wife over to her family without looking like a complete loser. But here's the funny thing: He still ended up looking not only stupid, but cruel as well. He created his very own no-win situation. Too bad it was Terri that had to pay the ultimate price for his mistake.
There is a silver lining here, though, as there usually is if you look hard enough. A couple of them, in fact. First, this case has brought to everyone's attention the fundamental flaws in the judiciary system that allowed a woman to be starved to death, and we aren't likely to let it happen again. Terri lost her life but, because she did, countless others might not need to. But the biggest solace has to come from knowing that, no matter how Michael Schiavo was able to use U.S. law to his benefit, no matter how eloquently he talks his way out of responsibility for his wife's death, there will come a day when he stands before the One Judge that sees to the very core of his existence and will demand atonement for this horrible sin.
The day will come.
Sunday, March 13, 2005
Photo of the Week: Reason to be Awake
In case you're wondering what a Spring-time sunrise looks like in my little corner of the world...
Posted by Hello
Friday, March 11, 2005
Saturday, March 5, 2005
Friday, March 4, 2005
I Didn't Do It
My apologies to anyone who visited Musings of a Caffeinated Mind yesterday, only to find that the template was all screwed up. As the title says, I didn't do it.
The "Brain Trust" over at BlogSnob took the liberty of altering the script that (supposedly) generates traffic to my blog. No notice, no warning, no nothing. The result being that anyone with a screen width of 1026 or less saw my sidebar pushed all the way to the bottom of the page.
Nice.
You know, I wouldn't have been as ticked off about this if BlogSnob was actually worth the trouble. But, sadly, it's not. In the year and a bit that I've been a member, I don't think I've ever received a hit via the service. That's pathetic.
Anyway, the problem (as you can see) is fixed. It was a simple tweak, really... I just removed the garbage altogether!
I love it when a plan comes together...
The "Brain Trust" over at BlogSnob took the liberty of altering the script that (supposedly) generates traffic to my blog. No notice, no warning, no nothing. The result being that anyone with a screen width of 1026 or less saw my sidebar pushed all the way to the bottom of the page.
Nice.
You know, I wouldn't have been as ticked off about this if BlogSnob was actually worth the trouble. But, sadly, it's not. In the year and a bit that I've been a member, I don't think I've ever received a hit via the service. That's pathetic.
Anyway, the problem (as you can see) is fixed. It was a simple tweak, really... I just removed the garbage altogether!
I love it when a plan comes together...
Thursday, March 3, 2005
Hello? Is this thing on?
If a blogger doesn't blog for a really long time, how do you know if they're still alive? Seriously... What if they slipped this mortal coil in some tragic accident and you continue to leave comments on the blog like, "Hey slacker! Get back to writing, will ya?"
Net-anonymity is good, but there should be a way to check each other's pulse from time to time...
Net-anonymity is good, but there should be a way to check each other's pulse from time to time...
Tuesday, March 1, 2005
Corrosion of My Conformity
I like "Ice, Ice Baby".
Got your attention now? Good. Well, it's true... I really do like that tune. I think Vanilla Ice is a huge joke, but that song has a great beat and an awesome melody (this from a guy who fell in love with Queen's "Under Pressure" years before). It may not actually make me want to run out and get a flat-top with racing stripes carved in the sides... Nor does it inspire me to match parachute dress pants with a tight-waisted, short-cut American flag sport coat... But I does get my foot a-tappin' and my head a-bobbin'.
Why am I letting this particular skeleton out of my closet, you ask? Good question. Allow me to enlighten you...
I'm 33 years old, and I've spent the better part of my life trying to live up to one "image" or another. In the early 80's, it was all about the Jordache jeans with the little horse's head and white stitching... Listening to Duran Duran, playing Pac Man, and getting my homework done like a good little boy. But, in the sanctity of my own bedroom, I secretly enjoyed the head-banging sounds of Quiet Riot's "Cum On Feel the Noize".
Later on, it was the Levi's 501 phase, complete with Polo shirt, matching yellow sweater, and Converse runners (which my lower-middle class family could never afford, so I made do with "reasonable facsimiles"). At least I looked the part, and that was the point. Musically, I stood behind artists like Corey Hart, Tears for Fears, and Dire Straits. But, again, there was always my private passion for "Pour Some Sugar On Me" by Def Leppard.
The trend continued after High School and well into my College years...
I have 2 younger brothers who were into Rap and Hip Hop. Well, me with my squeaky-clean image and devotion to bands like The Barenaked Ladies, U2, and The Crash Test Dummies could never, ever condone the kind of music that required Parental Warning labels on the CDs. Nor could I lower myself the level of the mindless masses who over-played all the club dance tracks... No way. Except that I kinda liked the rhythms and beats of Snap! and C&C Music Factory, not to mention the edginess of Body Count and Cypress Hill...
Don't get me wrong. I really did like all the bands I professed to like... I just also happened to liked some of the stuff I wasn't supposed to like. But it was as if there was some unwritten rule that, in order to listen to Iron Maiden, you had to light a smoke, don a tight concert T-Shirt, and huddle around the big silver ghetto blaster on the front lawn of the school with the rest of the headbangers. Not your cup of tea? Then you better just stick to Rick Astley. You had to choose a side and stick with it. Stupid, I know. And I knew it then, too... But what 17 year old wants to risk becoming an outcast that neither side will accept?
Things are different now.
Like I said, I'm 33 years old... And I've finally reached a point in my life where it's okay to just be me. Maybe I could have arrived here sooner, or maybe I just had to let things happen in their own time... I don't know. What I do know is that the only "image" I'm concerned with keeping these days is my own, whatever that may turn out to be. Be it the latest bone-jarring track from Disturbed, a classic like "Bust a Move", or maybe even a little Garth Brooks, I'm gonna play it loud and proud!
P.S.: You down wit' OPP?
Got your attention now? Good. Well, it's true... I really do like that tune. I think Vanilla Ice is a huge joke, but that song has a great beat and an awesome melody (this from a guy who fell in love with Queen's "Under Pressure" years before). It may not actually make me want to run out and get a flat-top with racing stripes carved in the sides... Nor does it inspire me to match parachute dress pants with a tight-waisted, short-cut American flag sport coat... But I does get my foot a-tappin' and my head a-bobbin'.
Why am I letting this particular skeleton out of my closet, you ask? Good question. Allow me to enlighten you...
I'm 33 years old, and I've spent the better part of my life trying to live up to one "image" or another. In the early 80's, it was all about the Jordache jeans with the little horse's head and white stitching... Listening to Duran Duran, playing Pac Man, and getting my homework done like a good little boy. But, in the sanctity of my own bedroom, I secretly enjoyed the head-banging sounds of Quiet Riot's "Cum On Feel the Noize".
Later on, it was the Levi's 501 phase, complete with Polo shirt, matching yellow sweater, and Converse runners (which my lower-middle class family could never afford, so I made do with "reasonable facsimiles"). At least I looked the part, and that was the point. Musically, I stood behind artists like Corey Hart, Tears for Fears, and Dire Straits. But, again, there was always my private passion for "Pour Some Sugar On Me" by Def Leppard.
The trend continued after High School and well into my College years...
I have 2 younger brothers who were into Rap and Hip Hop. Well, me with my squeaky-clean image and devotion to bands like The Barenaked Ladies, U2, and The Crash Test Dummies could never, ever condone the kind of music that required Parental Warning labels on the CDs. Nor could I lower myself the level of the mindless masses who over-played all the club dance tracks... No way. Except that I kinda liked the rhythms and beats of Snap! and C&C Music Factory, not to mention the edginess of Body Count and Cypress Hill...
Don't get me wrong. I really did like all the bands I professed to like... I just also happened to liked some of the stuff I wasn't supposed to like. But it was as if there was some unwritten rule that, in order to listen to Iron Maiden, you had to light a smoke, don a tight concert T-Shirt, and huddle around the big silver ghetto blaster on the front lawn of the school with the rest of the headbangers. Not your cup of tea? Then you better just stick to Rick Astley. You had to choose a side and stick with it. Stupid, I know. And I knew it then, too... But what 17 year old wants to risk becoming an outcast that neither side will accept?
Things are different now.
Like I said, I'm 33 years old... And I've finally reached a point in my life where it's okay to just be me. Maybe I could have arrived here sooner, or maybe I just had to let things happen in their own time... I don't know. What I do know is that the only "image" I'm concerned with keeping these days is my own, whatever that may turn out to be. Be it the latest bone-jarring track from Disturbed, a classic like "Bust a Move", or maybe even a little Garth Brooks, I'm gonna play it loud and proud!
P.S.: You down wit' OPP?
Monday, February 21, 2005
It Was Never Meant To Be Like This
When I started this blog, things were so very different. It was just a way for me to get some thoughts out, release a little pent up creativity, and perhaps kill some time every couple of days. I'm pretty sure that my girlfriend was the only person reading it back then, and I was okay with that.
Then I discovered comments.
It was such a rush when I first read a comment on my blog from someone I didn't know. Someone, somewhere had found my little page with it's plain "pea soup" template and actually took the time to say something about it! It made me want to write more, to put words out there for people and have them tell me how clever, witty, or insightful I was... Sad, I know, but true. The lure of recognition was strong.
And so I began to look for things that I thought people would want me to write about, instead of things that mattered to me. I became obsessed with finding humor in even the most insignificant occurrences, usually to no avail. But, I kept looking and hoping that the "next great blog post" was just around they corner.
My writing became rushed and sloppy. I'd have one teeny, tiny idea in mind and try to write this grand, eloquent post, but I'd run out of steam halfway through and it would just fall flat. But I wouldn't delete it... Oh no! It would go out there for everyone to see and (hopefully... Oh please, oh please, oh please!) comment on.
The craving was growing.
Enter BlogExplosion and BlogClicker. These evil beasts changed everything... Suddenly, there were hundreds of people reading my blog and the comments were pouring in! Of course, it isn't because the writing or content had improved any... It was simply the law of averages at work. But who cares? I was getting comments! My spare time began to consist of checking my comments, checking my web stats, clicking the fish image, elephant image, number 43, and commenting on blogs that I thought would get me reciprocal hits.
Pathetic.
I knew I had hit rock bottom when I began to feel guilty that I hadn't posted in a few days... Oh no! What will my adoring fans think? How can they get through a day without my wit to make things a little brighter? How can I let them down like this? I had to write something! So, I scrambled around and found yet another half-decent picture from my summer vacation and posted an infamous "Picture of the Week", also known as "Cop Out of the Week"...
Then I actually began to check for comments on my picture... My picture! Can you believe it?!? It's truly sad, is what it is. It reminds my of High School and the need to either "fit in" or "stand out"... Everyone trying so hard to be something they're not. Do I really need to do this all over again? Is the small amount of "recognition" (and, yes, I really meant to use those quotes) worth sarcrificing my pride? Should I continue to follow this developing "Blog Trend" along with the thousands of others who are also just going through the motions?
Ultimately, no.
So, I've decided that it's time to lose the illusion that I'm some great writer of the 21st Century with a gift to share with the world. I'm going back to writing about the things that mean something to me and, no offense, the rest of you and your comments be damned.
They really need to bring back hockey now...
Then I discovered comments.
It was such a rush when I first read a comment on my blog from someone I didn't know. Someone, somewhere had found my little page with it's plain "pea soup" template and actually took the time to say something about it! It made me want to write more, to put words out there for people and have them tell me how clever, witty, or insightful I was... Sad, I know, but true. The lure of recognition was strong.
And so I began to look for things that I thought people would want me to write about, instead of things that mattered to me. I became obsessed with finding humor in even the most insignificant occurrences, usually to no avail. But, I kept looking and hoping that the "next great blog post" was just around they corner.
My writing became rushed and sloppy. I'd have one teeny, tiny idea in mind and try to write this grand, eloquent post, but I'd run out of steam halfway through and it would just fall flat. But I wouldn't delete it... Oh no! It would go out there for everyone to see and (hopefully... Oh please, oh please, oh please!) comment on.
The craving was growing.
Enter BlogExplosion and BlogClicker. These evil beasts changed everything... Suddenly, there were hundreds of people reading my blog and the comments were pouring in! Of course, it isn't because the writing or content had improved any... It was simply the law of averages at work. But who cares? I was getting comments! My spare time began to consist of checking my comments, checking my web stats, clicking the fish image, elephant image, number 43, and commenting on blogs that I thought would get me reciprocal hits.
Pathetic.
I knew I had hit rock bottom when I began to feel guilty that I hadn't posted in a few days... Oh no! What will my adoring fans think? How can they get through a day without my wit to make things a little brighter? How can I let them down like this? I had to write something! So, I scrambled around and found yet another half-decent picture from my summer vacation and posted an infamous "Picture of the Week", also known as "Cop Out of the Week"...
Then I actually began to check for comments on my picture... My picture! Can you believe it?!? It's truly sad, is what it is. It reminds my of High School and the need to either "fit in" or "stand out"... Everyone trying so hard to be something they're not. Do I really need to do this all over again? Is the small amount of "recognition" (and, yes, I really meant to use those quotes) worth sarcrificing my pride? Should I continue to follow this developing "Blog Trend" along with the thousands of others who are also just going through the motions?
Ultimately, no.
So, I've decided that it's time to lose the illusion that I'm some great writer of the 21st Century with a gift to share with the world. I'm going back to writing about the things that mean something to me and, no offense, the rest of you and your comments be damned.
They really need to bring back hockey now...
Saturday, February 12, 2005
Monday, February 7, 2005
Bloggin' In The Boys Room
I had a friend in college who told me that the key to writing a good paper was a good quote. All you had to do, he claimed, was find one good line, then write your paper around it. Well, I tried it a couple of times in a pinch, and got fairly good grades, so I figured it would probably work on this blog too. The problem is, I've had, "You got your chocolate in my peanut butter!" running around in my head for over an hour now, and... nothing. Seriously.
Ah well... Next time.
Let me take this chance to do a little bragging instead. I know, I know... I'm obviously not the type of guy to rub my good fortune in anyone's face... Not the type to find personal joy in knowing that I have something that someone else doesn't... Not one to spend an entire Saturday in my boxers eating Corn Flakes and watching Nickleodeon... Okay, well 2 out of 3 ain't bad. But let me go on record as having said,
"Na na n-na na! I get to see Motley Crue!"
Never mind that Vince Neil looks like he's wearing an XL body suit of himself... Or that Mick Mars' degenerative disease and recent hip replacement have him looking like one of Speilberg's worst animatronic nightmares... Sure, it may be almost 20 years since girls screamed over these guys (and any internet appearances by Mr. Tommy Lee don't count), but you just know they're gonna rip it up and get crazy come April! I can hardly wait!
Now, I guess it's only fair to give thanks to Rockstar, without whom this little journey into the past wouldn't even be happening. He may be a straight-laced, sales-driven, metrosexual man today, but there's a lot of long hair and hardrock guitar still lingering in his blood! He had his finger on the pulse of this concert announcement from the start and managed to get us all advance tickets! You rock, Rockstar!
I have to go now... I've have to get my girlfriend ready for this event. That means tons of hairspray, about a thousand bangles, and huge hoop earrings...
Look, honey! I'm buying you jewelry!
Ah well... Next time.
Let me take this chance to do a little bragging instead. I know, I know... I'm obviously not the type of guy to rub my good fortune in anyone's face... Not the type to find personal joy in knowing that I have something that someone else doesn't... Not one to spend an entire Saturday in my boxers eating Corn Flakes and watching Nickleodeon... Okay, well 2 out of 3 ain't bad. But let me go on record as having said,
"Na na n-na na! I get to see Motley Crue!"
Never mind that Vince Neil looks like he's wearing an XL body suit of himself... Or that Mick Mars' degenerative disease and recent hip replacement have him looking like one of Speilberg's worst animatronic nightmares... Sure, it may be almost 20 years since girls screamed over these guys (and any internet appearances by Mr. Tommy Lee don't count), but you just know they're gonna rip it up and get crazy come April! I can hardly wait!
Now, I guess it's only fair to give thanks to Rockstar, without whom this little journey into the past wouldn't even be happening. He may be a straight-laced, sales-driven, metrosexual man today, but there's a lot of long hair and hardrock guitar still lingering in his blood! He had his finger on the pulse of this concert announcement from the start and managed to get us all advance tickets! You rock, Rockstar!
I have to go now... I've have to get my girlfriend ready for this event. That means tons of hairspray, about a thousand bangles, and huge hoop earrings...
Look, honey! I'm buying you jewelry!
Monday, January 24, 2005
Sibling Rivalry
So, I was pretty surprised and taken aback when I viewed this little piece from Fox TV today (thanks to my good buddy Clint over at clint.ca for the link):
http://www.goyk.com/flash.asp?path=1213
Now, I'm hoping that these views are just the extremes... So, since most of you visiting via BE and BC are American, I'd like to hear what you think. Don't let the fact that I'm Canadian soften the blow... Be as brutally honest as you need to be. I'd really like to know what the average American thinks of their little brother.
Speak up now... Don't be shy!
Sunday, January 23, 2005
Late Night Will Never Be The Same...
The Answer: Every single one of us...
The Question: Who will miss Johnny Carson?
If you are anywhere near my age, one of your earliest memories of "staying up late" is the Tonight Show with Johnny Carson. Like me, you probably didn't understand most of the jokes, thought all the sitting around and talking was boring, and couldn't figure out why that other guys was always saying, "Hey-O!", but it was a thrill to be watching TV after midnight none the less.
As I got older, I grew to appreciate Johnny's opening monologues and the tongue-in-cheek shots he'd take at the newsmakers of the time. I especially got a kick out of the countless crazy guests that would be inflicted upon Johnny... From monkeys that pulled his hair, to borderline-psychotic inventors whose contraptions had more of a chance of maiming Johnny that doing what they were built for. The best times were when Carson would turn to the camera with his patented, "Get me outta here!" look in his eyes.
I think that's probably the biggest reason that we loved him so much... He wasn't just doing his show for the people in the studio audience... He was connecting with each and every faceless viewer around the globe, letting them be a part of the experience. He was a true master of his trade.
Johnny Carson kept us entertained for a phenomenal 30 years before practically disappearing into retirement in 1992. And, though the show goes on with Jay Leno at the helm, I still occasionally pine for the days of Carson, Doc, and Ed MacMahon. But, I guess he's makin' 'em laugh in a better place now... If you listen closely, I bet you can here St. Peter opening the pearly gates with a hearty,
"Heeeeeeeeeeere's Johnny!"
Friday, January 21, 2005
Thursday, January 20, 2005
Down with the Sickness
Whew! It's been a rough couple of days on ol' Cuppojoe, let me tell you! I don't know what I've managed to catch, but it's a doozy! Of course, having a small child in Kindergarten and daycare pretty much ensures that I get every illness known to man, so I shouldn't be too surprised.
I took the day off from work yesterday, just knowing that I wouldn't be able to make it through a whole day in the warehouse. So, I walked in this morning to the usual barrage of sarcastic remarks... "How was your day off?"... "Little bit of the 24 ounce flu?"... "Hey! Look who decided to show up today!" Of course, the ribbing wouldn't have been complete without Rockstar doing the "I think I've got the black lung" cough from Zoolander...
Yeah. Let's hear it for my friends, folks.
Well, it didn't take too long for the tune to change, seeing as I wasn't exactly ready to be back at work. I don't think I've had my appearance compared to feces so many times in one day! I'm flattered... really. In all honesty, though, there were times through the day when I contemplated which would be quicker: To make my way to the washrooms, or just open up the big bay doors and vomit on the loading dock. How's that for a mental image?
Luckily (I think), I didn't actually lose my lunch. Hmmm... Now that I think of it, I didn't even have lunch (which, if you know me at all, is very out of the ordinary), so I would have had to lose some other meal. Anyway, the point is, I made it through the day. Barely.
Now I'm home and taking care of my little girl who's first words to me when I picked her up at the daycare were, "My tummy hurts". I think it's going to be a long night...
I took the day off from work yesterday, just knowing that I wouldn't be able to make it through a whole day in the warehouse. So, I walked in this morning to the usual barrage of sarcastic remarks... "How was your day off?"... "Little bit of the 24 ounce flu?"... "Hey! Look who decided to show up today!" Of course, the ribbing wouldn't have been complete without Rockstar doing the "I think I've got the black lung" cough from Zoolander...
Yeah. Let's hear it for my friends, folks.
Well, it didn't take too long for the tune to change, seeing as I wasn't exactly ready to be back at work. I don't think I've had my appearance compared to feces so many times in one day! I'm flattered... really. In all honesty, though, there were times through the day when I contemplated which would be quicker: To make my way to the washrooms, or just open up the big bay doors and vomit on the loading dock. How's that for a mental image?
Luckily (I think), I didn't actually lose my lunch. Hmmm... Now that I think of it, I didn't even have lunch (which, if you know me at all, is very out of the ordinary), so I would have had to lose some other meal. Anyway, the point is, I made it through the day. Barely.
Now I'm home and taking care of my little girl who's first words to me when I picked her up at the daycare were, "My tummy hurts". I think it's going to be a long night...
Monday, January 17, 2005
Boring Childhood Stories: Foot in Mouth, Flat on Back
In my teen years I attended a little church on the other side of town. For the most part, I went to the Youth Group meetings on Friday nights, where I hung out with a pretty cool group of kids. In fact, it was in this group that I met my "best friend".
One wintry Sunday morning, after a night of movies and talking about a million trivial things, this friend and I were running to catch a bus to be in time for the Morning Service. As we raced down the street, I looked down and noticed that, unlike myself in my ratty running shoes, he was wearing a very nice pair of dress shoes.
"Better watch out in those shoes," I warned. "It's pretty icy and those things have no grip!"
He scoffed, "I'm a wrestler... I have perfect balance."
This would be a good time to pause and point out that he was, indeed, a wrestler, and a good one at that. However, no sooner had these fateful words left his mouth than he stepped on a patch of ice.
It all happened in super slow-motion... I saw his feet go out from under him and his body seemed to drift upwards, almost gracefully. But then gravity kicked in and wrapped its unrelenting fingers around his now near horizontal form. Down, down, down, he went... finally slamming into the ground with a massive thud. I reacted as any true friend would have in that situation.
I laughed my ass off! It was the funniest thing I had ever seen! The timing was just so perfect! To be honest, I can't even remember if we made the bus after that or not... all I remember is laughing and saying the words "perfect balance" over and over again.
So, back to the present. During this Christmas shopping season, I happened to find myself in one of those stores that sells all sorts of knick-knacks and home-made do-dads. One little basket was filled with all sorts of polished stones adorned with what I can only assume was Chinese writing. Each one had an Oriental character on one side, and the English translation on the other. I'm sure you've seen them. Anyway, although it came 16 years too late, I managed to find the perfect one for my friend:
I guess it was meant to be!
One wintry Sunday morning, after a night of movies and talking about a million trivial things, this friend and I were running to catch a bus to be in time for the Morning Service. As we raced down the street, I looked down and noticed that, unlike myself in my ratty running shoes, he was wearing a very nice pair of dress shoes.
"Better watch out in those shoes," I warned. "It's pretty icy and those things have no grip!"
He scoffed, "I'm a wrestler... I have perfect balance."
This would be a good time to pause and point out that he was, indeed, a wrestler, and a good one at that. However, no sooner had these fateful words left his mouth than he stepped on a patch of ice.
It all happened in super slow-motion... I saw his feet go out from under him and his body seemed to drift upwards, almost gracefully. But then gravity kicked in and wrapped its unrelenting fingers around his now near horizontal form. Down, down, down, he went... finally slamming into the ground with a massive thud. I reacted as any true friend would have in that situation.
I laughed my ass off! It was the funniest thing I had ever seen! The timing was just so perfect! To be honest, I can't even remember if we made the bus after that or not... all I remember is laughing and saying the words "perfect balance" over and over again.
So, back to the present. During this Christmas shopping season, I happened to find myself in one of those stores that sells all sorts of knick-knacks and home-made do-dads. One little basket was filled with all sorts of polished stones adorned with what I can only assume was Chinese writing. Each one had an Oriental character on one side, and the English translation on the other. I'm sure you've seen them. Anyway, although it came 16 years too late, I managed to find the perfect one for my friend:
I guess it was meant to be!
Saturday, January 15, 2005
Photo of the Week: Together in Blue
Couple takes a little "down time", waiting for the whales in the underwater viewing area of the Vancouver Aquarium.
Posted by Hello
Friday, January 14, 2005
I Am Such a Sheep
No, that wasn't a proposition to my Scottish readers... In fact, I'm part Scottish myself. Notice how much money I've invested in this blog? None! Exactly my point!
Anyway, what I'm getting at is BlogClicker. I just couldn't help myself, and I followed the crowd. But I'm glad I did... It has generated a ton of hits for me so far.
I may have to declare blogging as my second vice...
"Click the tree image!" "Click the dog image!" "Click the shoe image!" Did someone ring a bell? I'm starting to salivate...
Anyway, what I'm getting at is BlogClicker. I just couldn't help myself, and I followed the crowd. But I'm glad I did... It has generated a ton of hits for me so far.
I may have to declare blogging as my second vice...
"Click the tree image!" "Click the dog image!" "Click the shoe image!" Did someone ring a bell? I'm starting to salivate...
Thursday, January 13, 2005
Speaking of Originality...
True, in the Big Wide World of Blogs, "Musings..." may not be the most unique title for this page, but I still think it sounds better than "Desperately Searching for an Interesting Topic..."
And, with that, I'll get back to, uh, "musing"...
And, with that, I'll get back to, uh, "musing"...
Monday, January 10, 2005
Scenes from the Forklift: Lift No More
It finally happened.
In the past, we've had our ups and downs with the forklift at MSA One (good play on words, eh?). It's not uncommon to find that someone forgot to plug it in over the weekend and it needs a little "nap" part way through the day... Nor is it out of the ordinary for the motor to continue running once you step off the Dead Man brake... For those unfamiliar with forklifts, this is akin to having your car stay running and in gear after you've put it in park and removed the key... In layman's terms: Bad. Lately, though, the sounds and smells of impending doom have had us wondering when the end would arrive.
It arrived today.
It seems that it only takes 5 years of utter neglect to kill a forklift. Right in the middle of picking an order from the second shelf, the steering gave an unusually loud CLUNK! and promptly seized. The forks remained operational, but we seldom have the need to raise and lower a skid in one specific spot of the warehouse, so I'm having a difficult time finding a silver lining in this cloud.
Fortunately, this happened to be one of the best days for this to happen. The fact that I caught Spanky, one of our Product Transfer Technicians, attempting to build a sub box out of cardboard, packing tape, and a pair of trashed computer speakers attests to the lack of "real work" that was going on. Not to mention that Doogie, the Shipper Boy Genius wasn't around to blow a gasket over the occurrence. Hmmm... Maybe that qualifies for "silver lining" after all...
(On a related note, Doogie is now 2005's first recipient of an Academy Award nomination for his part in "Man Calling in Sick"... Kudos!)
So, until we get the old girl back on her feet (I'm talking about the forklift again, not Doogie), I'd like to announce a sale on All Things on Ground Level...
Hurry! Supplies are limited!
In the past, we've had our ups and downs with the forklift at MSA One (good play on words, eh?). It's not uncommon to find that someone forgot to plug it in over the weekend and it needs a little "nap" part way through the day... Nor is it out of the ordinary for the motor to continue running once you step off the Dead Man brake... For those unfamiliar with forklifts, this is akin to having your car stay running and in gear after you've put it in park and removed the key... In layman's terms: Bad. Lately, though, the sounds and smells of impending doom have had us wondering when the end would arrive.
It arrived today.
It seems that it only takes 5 years of utter neglect to kill a forklift. Right in the middle of picking an order from the second shelf, the steering gave an unusually loud CLUNK! and promptly seized. The forks remained operational, but we seldom have the need to raise and lower a skid in one specific spot of the warehouse, so I'm having a difficult time finding a silver lining in this cloud.
Fortunately, this happened to be one of the best days for this to happen. The fact that I caught Spanky, one of our Product Transfer Technicians, attempting to build a sub box out of cardboard, packing tape, and a pair of trashed computer speakers attests to the lack of "real work" that was going on. Not to mention that Doogie, the Shipper Boy Genius wasn't around to blow a gasket over the occurrence. Hmmm... Maybe that qualifies for "silver lining" after all...
(On a related note, Doogie is now 2005's first recipient of an Academy Award nomination for his part in "Man Calling in Sick"... Kudos!)
So, until we get the old girl back on her feet (I'm talking about the forklift again, not Doogie), I'd like to announce a sale on All Things on Ground Level...
Hurry! Supplies are limited!
Sunday, January 9, 2005
If You Can Dodge Originality...
I finally saw Dodgeball, after much encouragement to do so by co-workers and friends. And, while I'm a pretty big Ben Stiller fan, this one just didn't quite do it for me.
I loved a lot of the slapstick... Is there anything funnier than seeing a grown man laid out by a ball? Something is keeping America's Funniest Home Videos on the air, after all! But I was truly disappointed by Mr. Stiller's performance.
Before you get on my case and point out that I was supposed to hate Stiller's White Goodman... Duh! I got that. What I didn't get, however, was why Ben had to re-hash a bunch of old roles instead of coming up with something original.
White was nothing more than Derek Zoolander, with a dash of the mean retirement home orderly from Happy Gilmore, and a bit of Tony Perkis (Heavyweights), psycho fitness instructor, thrown in for good measure. I mean, seriously... You know that a movie with the game of dodgeball at the core of its plot is going to need a little substance, but I was just never there.
I'll admit that I laughed quite a few times, especially at the end when Stiller was a grossly overweight failure, armchair dancing after the credits, but the rest of the movie didn't leave a mentionable impression on me.
I can only hope that this was one of Ben's "contractual obligation" movies, and that he has more fun and festivities in store for later in 2005. With that said, I think it's time I went to Meet the Fockers...
I loved a lot of the slapstick... Is there anything funnier than seeing a grown man laid out by a ball? Something is keeping America's Funniest Home Videos on the air, after all! But I was truly disappointed by Mr. Stiller's performance.
Before you get on my case and point out that I was supposed to hate Stiller's White Goodman... Duh! I got that. What I didn't get, however, was why Ben had to re-hash a bunch of old roles instead of coming up with something original.
White was nothing more than Derek Zoolander, with a dash of the mean retirement home orderly from Happy Gilmore, and a bit of Tony Perkis (Heavyweights), psycho fitness instructor, thrown in for good measure. I mean, seriously... You know that a movie with the game of dodgeball at the core of its plot is going to need a little substance, but I was just never there.
I'll admit that I laughed quite a few times, especially at the end when Stiller was a grossly overweight failure, armchair dancing after the credits, but the rest of the movie didn't leave a mentionable impression on me.
I can only hope that this was one of Ben's "contractual obligation" movies, and that he has more fun and festivities in store for later in 2005. With that said, I think it's time I went to Meet the Fockers...
Thursday, January 6, 2005
Cut The Red Wire... While You Still Can
Okay, unless you've been living in a cave for the last few weeks (apologies to all my cave-dwelling readers), you've become painfully aware of the current phenomenon called BlogExplosion.
While I'm not really one for blog promotion (especially since it's been difficult lately to make time for writing), I must humbly admit that I signed up for "the experience". I'll tell you, I'm a bit of a skeptic, so I didn't really expect much from it... Anybody else still using BlogSnob with the faint hope of getting a hit from it? No? I guess I'm the only sucker left! Anyway, like I was saying, I didn't expect much.
Boy was I surprised!
The all-knowing "They" claim that using BlogExplosion could bring hundreds, even thousands, of people to your site every month. Well, I got 100 hits on my very first day! Unbelievable! Of course, not a single person left a comment, viewed my profile, or even checked out the archives, but I'm not going to take that personally... I suspect they were all blog surfing from work and couldn't risk getting caught laughing out loud. What would the other cubicle jockeys think, after all?
As I'm sure you know, these hits didn't come without a price, though. I had to do a fair amount of blog surfing myself in order to earn "credits", numbers that determine how many times my little blog will be shown to some unsuspecting, lucky person. I had to let random blogs pop onto my screen and wait at least 30 seconds before requesting the next one. Over and over and over and over again. And again. Blog after blog. Racking up the points and waiting with baited breath for the elusive "Mystery Credits" (really just a consolation prize for having too much time on your hands). Still, it was actually a pretty educational experience, in the end. I learned a lot about bloggers and their lives. I learned that I am by no means the most boring person on the Internet!
Have you seen some of these blogs? Granted, the owners have invested the time (or, in some cases, money) to create a flashy banner, a kick-ass title graphic, and an eye-catching color theme, something I have never been able to get around to myself. So, as each page pops up, you are teased with the unspoken promise of greatness. But what do you get?
Drivel.
I'm sorry, but it is what it is. Hey, I'm not saying what I do is any better, but I'd like to hope it is! I mean, I have completely mundane, boring, uninspired thoughts all day long too... I just don't feel the need to share them. Do you really care what I had for lunch? Or what I'm having for supper? If you do, email me, I'm happy to share... but not on my blog. Nor do I feel the need to preach, indoctrinate, or otherwise brainwash complete strangers into following my own particular brand of narrow-minded religion or politics. The election is over, folks, and there are plenty of churches in the real world. Why not step outside and visit one sometime? Or try cracking open that Bible Grandma gave you for your tenth birthday before you start expounding upon the deeper meanings of Leviticus.
Breathe, Cuppojoe, breathe... Go to your Happy Place...
Now, don't get me wrong, there are a lot of great blogs to read out there. But the thing is, you're not likely to find them by random... You're going to find them because everybody else is talking about them. Chances are, most of you have already been to Jay's Party or Does This Mean I'm a Grown Up? (hi, Catt!), right? In fact, I'm willing to bet that you've been more than once. They're good, plain and simple. And I've never stumbled across either one as I viewed thousands of pages through SnoreExplosion... er... BlogExplosion.
On the flipside, if you really want to promote your own blog, here's my advice: Read other people's blogs and post comments. Interact with others in a positive way, make a few friends, and leave your URL in your signature. I know for a fact that is how I established my modest "reader base". Stop thinking of your blog as an essay that no one will read and as more of a "conversation in type". Bring you readers into your world, instead of just telling them about it.
Sheesh! It gets tiring standing on this soapbox! I better get down before I hurt myself...
While I'm not really one for blog promotion (especially since it's been difficult lately to make time for writing), I must humbly admit that I signed up for "the experience". I'll tell you, I'm a bit of a skeptic, so I didn't really expect much from it... Anybody else still using BlogSnob with the faint hope of getting a hit from it? No? I guess I'm the only sucker left! Anyway, like I was saying, I didn't expect much.
Boy was I surprised!
The all-knowing "They" claim that using BlogExplosion could bring hundreds, even thousands, of people to your site every month. Well, I got 100 hits on my very first day! Unbelievable! Of course, not a single person left a comment, viewed my profile, or even checked out the archives, but I'm not going to take that personally... I suspect they were all blog surfing from work and couldn't risk getting caught laughing out loud. What would the other cubicle jockeys think, after all?
As I'm sure you know, these hits didn't come without a price, though. I had to do a fair amount of blog surfing myself in order to earn "credits", numbers that determine how many times my little blog will be shown to some unsuspecting, lucky person. I had to let random blogs pop onto my screen and wait at least 30 seconds before requesting the next one. Over and over and over and over again. And again. Blog after blog. Racking up the points and waiting with baited breath for the elusive "Mystery Credits" (really just a consolation prize for having too much time on your hands). Still, it was actually a pretty educational experience, in the end. I learned a lot about bloggers and their lives. I learned that I am by no means the most boring person on the Internet!
Have you seen some of these blogs? Granted, the owners have invested the time (or, in some cases, money) to create a flashy banner, a kick-ass title graphic, and an eye-catching color theme, something I have never been able to get around to myself. So, as each page pops up, you are teased with the unspoken promise of greatness. But what do you get?
Drivel.
I'm sorry, but it is what it is. Hey, I'm not saying what I do is any better, but I'd like to hope it is! I mean, I have completely mundane, boring, uninspired thoughts all day long too... I just don't feel the need to share them. Do you really care what I had for lunch? Or what I'm having for supper? If you do, email me, I'm happy to share... but not on my blog. Nor do I feel the need to preach, indoctrinate, or otherwise brainwash complete strangers into following my own particular brand of narrow-minded religion or politics. The election is over, folks, and there are plenty of churches in the real world. Why not step outside and visit one sometime? Or try cracking open that Bible Grandma gave you for your tenth birthday before you start expounding upon the deeper meanings of Leviticus.Breathe, Cuppojoe, breathe... Go to your Happy Place...
Now, don't get me wrong, there are a lot of great blogs to read out there. But the thing is, you're not likely to find them by random... You're going to find them because everybody else is talking about them. Chances are, most of you have already been to Jay's Party or Does This Mean I'm a Grown Up? (hi, Catt!), right? In fact, I'm willing to bet that you've been more than once. They're good, plain and simple. And I've never stumbled across either one as I viewed thousands of pages through SnoreExplosion... er... BlogExplosion.
On the flipside, if you really want to promote your own blog, here's my advice: Read other people's blogs and post comments. Interact with others in a positive way, make a few friends, and leave your URL in your signature. I know for a fact that is how I established my modest "reader base". Stop thinking of your blog as an essay that no one will read and as more of a "conversation in type". Bring you readers into your world, instead of just telling them about it.
Sheesh! It gets tiring standing on this soapbox! I better get down before I hurt myself...
Saturday, January 1, 2005
The Last Drop
Another year done.
The grounds of 2004 brewed up quite nicely and gave us many a great cup...
Calgary Flames come alive and make a valiant run for the Stanley Cup... My little girl's First Day of School... "The Great Decaffeination" (ironically enough)... SpaceShipOne claims the coveted X Prize... Mel Gibson's "Passion of the Christ"... Killer Whale-watching off the coast of Vancouver Island... The Mars rovers (not to be confused with the Irish Rovers)... Boston Red Sox finally lay the "curse" to rest... Olympic Games return to their birthplace in Athens, Rome... Cuppojoe.com goes online (although, still "Under Construction" *sigh*)... Google introduces Gmail and ups the ante in the world of webmail... Our Sunday Drive to Didsbury...
Of course, there were a few bitter cups, as well...
War continues in Iraq... NHL Lockout ends hope for a 2004-2005 hockey season... Hostage crisis in Russian school claims over 200 lives... Train bombing rocks Spain... More beheadings at the hands of terrorists... Celebrities die (Pierre Burton, Yassar Arafat, Christopher Reeve, Rodney Dangerfield, Janet Leigh, Julia Child, Fay Wray, Rick James, Isabel "Louise Jefferson" Sanford, Marlon Brando, Ray Charles, Ronald Reagan, Tony Randall, Estee Lauder, Alistair Cooke, Peter Ustinov, Jack Paar, Bob "Captain Kangaroo" Keeshan)... Asian Tsunamis bring widespead death and destruction...
And so, we come to the point where we must throw away the soggy filter of damp, used grounds that was 2004, and begin brewing the new pot that will become 2005. May the exhilarating aroma fill your lives and each cup bring a smile to your face.
Happy New Year!
The grounds of 2004 brewed up quite nicely and gave us many a great cup...
Calgary Flames come alive and make a valiant run for the Stanley Cup... My little girl's First Day of School... "The Great Decaffeination" (ironically enough)... SpaceShipOne claims the coveted X Prize... Mel Gibson's "Passion of the Christ"... Killer Whale-watching off the coast of Vancouver Island... The Mars rovers (not to be confused with the Irish Rovers)... Boston Red Sox finally lay the "curse" to rest... Olympic Games return to their birthplace in Athens, Rome... Cuppojoe.com goes online (although, still "Under Construction" *sigh*)... Google introduces Gmail and ups the ante in the world of webmail... Our Sunday Drive to Didsbury...
Of course, there were a few bitter cups, as well...
War continues in Iraq... NHL Lockout ends hope for a 2004-2005 hockey season... Hostage crisis in Russian school claims over 200 lives... Train bombing rocks Spain... More beheadings at the hands of terrorists... Celebrities die (Pierre Burton, Yassar Arafat, Christopher Reeve, Rodney Dangerfield, Janet Leigh, Julia Child, Fay Wray, Rick James, Isabel "Louise Jefferson" Sanford, Marlon Brando, Ray Charles, Ronald Reagan, Tony Randall, Estee Lauder, Alistair Cooke, Peter Ustinov, Jack Paar, Bob "Captain Kangaroo" Keeshan)... Asian Tsunamis bring widespead death and destruction...
And so, we come to the point where we must throw away the soggy filter of damp, used grounds that was 2004, and begin brewing the new pot that will become 2005. May the exhilarating aroma fill your lives and each cup bring a smile to your face.
Happy New Year!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)