Old and opinionated

A week and a bit ago I had another birthday. I knew it was my birthday because my facebook told me so.

I recieved many nice gifts that day, but one of the best was when I was carded buying spirits to celebrate with.

Clerk: Will that be all?
Me: Yup.
Clerk: Can I see some I.D.?
Me: REALLY? OH WOW! Thank you thank you thank you thank you. Here it is.

I can't imagine I have many more opportunities like that left.

Anyway, I know I'm getting older because of opinions. Inso that I hate them. I like to read the public broadcasters internet news feed. I find it better than the drivel placed on MSN/Yahoo News. I'm sure that celebrity celluite religious freakouts are important compared to natural disasters aggrivated by dictatorial regimes. After all, everyone needs a break, especially if it's been a tough day breaking Nevada tickets and finding out who is Victor's latest wife on Y&R.

I take some solace in the fact that people reputably smarter than I am are reporting the world's events in a professional, objective manner.

And then Web 2.0 came along.

For those of you unfamiliar with Web 2.0, it's the same as the internet, but now everyone works together to make crap instead of people putting their dumb ideas out on their own.

Take a well thought out document: An article, essay, opinion column; and then you let everyone comment on it, and then comment on the comments. It is the intellectual equivalent of the two ugliest people in town getting married and moving to a compound, and then inbreeding. I'm not exagerationg.

In the "old" days you only had such lively discussions on bulletin boards, chat rooms, and mailing lists. I learned to avoid these places like abbatoires. I may appreciate the end result of all their work, but I'm sickened by the process.

Now this joy is brought to public broadcasting. And it draws 2 types of people:
1. The ones I agree with but who are ineloquent in their presentation like a dyslexic squirrel who has lost it's nuts.
2. The idiots who I disagree with for the very good reason that they are utter boneheads.

After the first two opinions it resorts to the hallmark moments reserved only for union rallies, religious debates, political campaigning and lynchings.

I'm trying to avoid even looking at these mental trainwrecks. I'm afraid I'll be tempted to join them, and I'm afraid that's all that's separating me from them.

So please, no more opinions, except on my blog, and then it's ok. If I don't like it, I'll just delete it.

Favourite Job Experiences - part 3

As you might know by now, I love jokes, practical and impractical. One dear friend and co-worker has been the brunt of my favourite jokes.

One fateful April fools day I set his computer to fail only on his favourite websites and search engines. This caused him a morning of frustration and as he asked other techs for ideas, who already being in the know, were really not very helpful.

The time before that the office changed keypad codes while he was off on vacation, and I arranged for all the staff to pretend that the codes were the same and not tell him. He spent a frustrated morning trying to discover if he was really loosing his mind.

I tend to give him a year off in between suffering. We worked together in close proximity and I didn't feel like the gentle caress of an office chair across back of my head. I like to let the pain of embarrassment fade over time, at least to the point where his creativity and motivation dip below his laziness and forgetfulness.

We had some rules: no messing with food (that can escalate to poison too quickly), no messing with sleep (we both had a hard enough time napping at work as it was). I also have the self imposed rule that whatever I did had to be barely noticeable, so as to carry on the pain over the maximum time before the victim decides to take action. I'm not sure if Dante had a level of hell for people like me, but I imagine it will include sulfur filled whoopee-cushions and 240v joy-buzzers.

SO, I wanted to get him good. Being a geek I knew his greatest pride, and hence his greatest target, was his computer. I learned a neat trick that would have his computer boot up in "safe-graphics" mode. This makes the picture really big and lacking in colour. It can be overridden, but this takes a few changes and would not remain after a reboot.

April Fools was on a Saturday, so I made the change on a Friday afternoon, knowing his next reboot would be on the weekend. I figured he would expect to be safe with April Fool's being on a Saturday.

He came in on Monday frustrated. He had spent the weekend trying to remove whatever virus had infected his machine to cause the graphics to fail on each reboot. I offered almost helpful suggestions, as did our other co-worker. Nothing seemed to work, and he didn't clue in to accuse me. He was almost ready to format his computer and start again, but I dissuaded him for a few minutes while we "researched".

I then arranged one of the temp data entry clerks to drop in, having told her how to fix it. She played the part perfectly, walking in, fixing the computer, and then saying that she had the same problem at home and a techie friend had fixed it for her. Then she left.

When I recovered my composure I broke the news that it was me. Amazingly he and I are still friends, although I'm sure that he is plotting something terrible for me some time in the future. I guess I deserve it, and I'm glad I can still sleep safely.

Favourite Job Experiences - part 2

A few years ago I was part of a team building/training exercise with my employer. I have since left that job, but I will let them remain nameless to protect the criminally incompetent.

The activity was a canoe trip. A canoe trip in a beautiful provincial park, renowned for its beautiful scenery and tranquil series of waterways. At the time I couldn't see a better way to make a week of pay.

The first problem occurred that we left for this trip at this time of year. Early May in my neck of the woods is not a great time for open water, especially on smaller lakes and rivers back in the bush. The fact it had been a cold, long winter added to that. When we arrived, it was a shock to my bosses that the rivers were, indeed, still frozen.

They now had a quandary. They had traveled 4 hours with all their equipment and preparation, and about 20 employees, only to be confronted with their ineptitude to anticipate that critical piece of information. In order to save face, they bravely announced that they saw a clear river about 10 minutes back.

We all jumped back in the trucks and drove back down the road to said river. First to arrive was the 2 tonne cube truck that parked in a dirt turnaround/parking lot, conveniently beside this river. A short journey down a path that led, providentially, to the river's edge, showed that it was indeed clear of ice, and quite full of the spring runoff. We unloaded the canoes, split into groups, and bravely set off.

I decided to enjoy the spring sunshine by sitting comfortably on my lifejacket. It was a relatively small river (about 4 meters across), and I was a comfortable canoeist.
A few strokes downstream led us to a brisk pace.
The brisk pace became a fast rush.
Nervous because I had a rookie canoeist in the bow, I decided to pull ashore. This was when I realized the river had skipped right past frantic paced and had leapt to terrifying speed.

I managed to bring us close to shore where we eventually jammed under a tree that had fallen into the water. That stopped our forward movement. Then the yaw began, as the port(left side you plebeians) side of the canoe slowly saluted the sky. This submerged us into the freshly thawed water.

Now I will take a safety moment for the kids out there. Always wear your lifejacket when on the water. It may not be cool. You might be too warm with it on. But being dorky is nothing compared to the utter terror of descending to the bottom of a rushing river wearing heavy boots and having nothing to float you but sheer panic.

When I returned to the surface I desperately grabbed another canoe (they don't teach you that lifesaving move in swimming lessons). The occupants felt compelled from their deep humanitarian conviction of saving their own skin to beat me away with their paddles before I capsized them as well.

I eventually made it to shore. I was freezing. I was really frakin cold. Still, I stopped to pull a co-worker out who had floated to the side of the river and was jammed in some branches. I figured I should try to get an idea of what was ahead of us. I ran up to the top of a cropping of rock, and looked out on what normally would have been a magnificent sight: A valley lay before me, buds on the trees, the sun streaming through the sky, the roaring waterfall casting mist from it's cascades...

I have said those words many times since, but I doubt they were ever so warranted as that moment. I ran back to warn the others that it was in their best interest to get out of their canoes and onto shore.

Miraculously no one was killed. Just a few cases of minor hypothermia. We were only maybe 10 minutes down the trail from where the vehicles had dropped us off. This was when true leadership showed its colours, and its colours were set to "moron". It was decided that we would set up camp here and wait a few days before calling for help.

We grudgingly set up camp, and a few younger, healthier individuals were selected to go and recover what gear could be done from the half dozen canoes that had, in fact, gone over, albeit without the passengers they had ejected.

Of course I was voluntold. To help you imagine how this felt, fill your bathtub with only cold water. Then get in there and try to lift weights. After about 15 minutes chest deep in this water I recognized that I was becoming hypothermic (they teach you THAT in swimming lessons). I then returned to "camp" where I spent the next hour being a gofer for the other bosses. By gofer, I mean digging. A latrine. Deeper than it already was. It didn't take too long for things to devolve into scenes from “Lord of the Flies”. I joined another camp of co-workers who had their OWN fire and didn't order me to dig through other people's waste.

After a horrible overnight it was decided we should vacate. I was voluntold to run (in the same heavy boots) the 5 kilometers to the nearest phone, call for the trucks, and then run back. That created some blisters. After a few hours the trucks returned, we loaded our wet, cold gear and our grouchy selves on the trucks. Right after seeing the sign that had been obscured by the 2 tonne truck earlier: "Waterfall Lookout Trail ->"

A few days later I was called in to the head boss's office to be formally written up for collaborating with the breakout group of fire makers. No apology or retribution for nearly killing me twice was ever made.

So the moral of this story is: Team building sucks.

Favourite Job Experiences #2

A few years ago I was part of a team building/training exercise with my employer. I have since left that job, but I will let them remain nameless to protect the criminally incompetent.

The activity was a canoe trip. A canoe trip in a beautiful provincial park, renowned for its beautiful scenery and tranquil series of waterways. At the time I couldn't see a better way to make a week of pay.

The first problem occurred that we left for this trip at this time of year. Early May in my neck of the woods is not a great time for open water, especially on smaller lakes and rivers back in the bush. The fact it had been a cold, long winter added to that. When we arrived, it was a shock to my bosses that the rivers were, indeed, still frozen.

They now had a quandary. They had traveled 4 hours with all their equipment and preparation, and about 20 employees, only to be confronted with their ineptitude to anticipate that critical piece of information. In order to save face, they bravely announced that they saw a clear river about 10 minutes back.

We all jumped back in the trucks and drove back down the road to said river. First to arrive was the 2 tonne cube truck that parked in a dirt turnaround/parking lot, conveniently beside this river. A short journey down a path that led, providentially, to the river's edge, showed that it was indeed clear of ice, and quite full of the spring runoff. We unloaded the canoes, split into groups, and bravely set off.

I decided to enjoy the spring sunshine by sitting comfortably on my lifejacket. It was a relatively small river (about 4 meters across), and I was a comfortable canoeist.
A few strokes downstream led us to a brisk pace.
The brisk pace became a fast rush.
Nervous because I had a rookie canoeist in the bow, I decided to pull ashore. This was when I realized the river had skipped right past frantic paced and had leapt to terrifying speed.

I managed to bring us close to shore where we eventually jammed under a tree that had fallen into the water. That stopped our forward movement. Then the yaw began, as the port(left side you plebeians) side of the canoe slowly saluted the sky. This submerged us into the freshly thawed water.

Now I will take a safety moment for the kids out there. Always wear your lifejacket when on the water. It may not be cool. You might be too warm with it on. But being dorky is nothing compared to the utter terror of descending to the bottom of a rushing river wearing heavy boots and having nothing to float you but sheer panic.

When I returned to the surface I desperately grabbed another canoe (they don't teach you that lifesaving move in swimming lessons). The occupants felt compelled from their deep humanitarian conviction of saving their own skin to beat me away with their paddles before I capsized them as well.

I eventually made it to shore. I was freezing. I was really frakin cold. Still, I stopped to pull a co-worker out who had floated to the side of the river and was jammed in some branches. I figured I should try to get an idea of what was ahead of us. I ran up to the top of a cropping of rock, and looked out on what normally would have been a magnificent sight: A valley lay before me, buds on the trees, the sun streaming through the sky, the roaring waterfall casting mist from it's cascades...

I have said those words many times since, but I doubt they were ever so warranted as that moment. I ran back to warn the others that it was in their best interest to get out of their canoes and onto shore.

Miraculously no one was killed. Just a few cases of minor hypothermia. We were only maybe 10 minutes down the trail from where the vehicles had dropped us off. This was when true leadership showed its colours, and its colours were set to "moron". It was decided that we would set up camp here and wait a few days before calling for help.

We grudgingly set up camp, and a few younger, healthier individuals were selected to go and recover what gear could be done from the half dozen canoes that had, in fact, gone over, albeit without the passengers they had ejected.

Of course I was voluntold. To help you imagine how this felt, fill your bathtub with only cold water. Then get in there and try to lift weights. After about 15 minutes chest deep in this water I recognized that I was becoming hypothermic (they teach you THAT in swimming lessons). I then returned to "camp" where I spent the next hour being a gofer for the other bosses. By gofer, I mean digging. A latrine. Deeper than it already was. It didn't take too long for things to devolve into scenes from “Lord of the Flies”. I joined another camp of co-workers who had their OWN fire and didn't order me to dig through other people's waste.

After a horrible overnight it was decided we should vacate. I was voluntold to run (in the same heavy boots) the 5 kilometers to the nearest phone, call for the trucks, and then run back. That created some blisters. After a few hours the trucks returned, we loaded our wet, cold gear and our grouchy selves on the trucks. Right after seeing the sign that had been obscured by the 2 tonne truck earlier: "Waterfall Lookout Trail ->"

A few days later I was called in to the head boss's office to be formally written up for collaborating with the breakout group of fire makers. No apology or retribution for nearly killing me twice was ever made.

So the moral of this story is: Team building sucks.

Favourite Job Experiences - part 1

A few months ago I had the opportunity to host "take our kids to work day" at my place of employment. By opportunity I mean no one else wanted to. I enjoy a captive audience, and I hoped to give them wisdom that I never had at their age. "Take our kids to work day" is when first year high school students go to their parents place of employment to feel awkward, embarrassed and out of place somewhere other than school and the mall.

The first thing I did was give them a tour of my cubicle, which I affectionately referred to as my "cloth-walled room". That excitement drained the dwarfed enthusiasm of the teenagers to microscopic levels, especially when I gave them a play-by-play of what I do with my day and started introducing them to my "family" of office supplies and their personal problems(here's daddy stapler, and mommy tape, who are fighting right now because mommy tape thinks daddy stapler should spend less time with his friends, but daddy stapler thinks she's jealous).

After that the kids were taken away from me and given to a responsible adult until later when I had them for an hour to teach them "something about computers". Normally one could show off their handiwork, what they have done with their job and are proud of. I work for a very tightly controlled organization though, so I was given a password cracker, and MS word to create web-pages with. For an hour. With 12 teens.

I guess this would have been easier if I didn't care. THAT is a running theme in my life. I took the opportunity (there's THAT word again) to tell them about why higher education is important, saying things like "If you get one more year of schooling, you can be my boss in 5 years", and then feeling not so happy about my job. At the end of the day everyone said I did a great job, which is code for "thanks for not breaking".

I honestly loved it, but not enough to be a teacher. It takes a special person to try to communicate, educate and impassion teens without being allowed to make them do push-ups as a group for someone falling asleep in class, or scream at them as if their failure to do my bidding is causing my intestines to invert.

Irrational fears

I find irrational fears fascinating.

Let me work out the definition for you: irrational fears are being afraid of anything that the odds of happening, or the odds of there being of any damage, are astronomically low.

What is interesting is how they drive our everyday lives. Phobias are our own mental kryptonite, and here are a few that I know of:

Mine: Fish. Yes, fish. Dead ones are ok, the longer dead and more disassembled the better. There is a story in my history where I was in a canoe and a fresh caught pickerel was placed behind me. I contemplated trading spots, letting it have my seat and I would go back in the lake, before cringing and wailing like Gollum being hugged by an elf.

I had to face this fear several times in my life, most notably while working for Fisheries and Oceans. That truly helped me focus my irrational fear of fish to a paralyzing terror of LingCod. Lingcod are the only animal in nature whose natural head and mouth size is at a 3:1 ratio to it's body. EWWWWW!

Ok, now on to my family. My wife's fear is of snakes. Any snake. She is getting better, but knowing this makes it easy to hide anything I want from her. I'll just cover the item to be hidden in a box covered with pictures of snakes and leave it on the coffee table. Even better, now that she's read that, I can leave the box empty and really play with her head.

So far my children haven't shown too much specific irrational fear. My older daughter won't touch anything living, which makes a petting zoo into an avoiding zoo. My younger daughter has finally overcome her fear of train whistles. Her fear has now progressed into being afraid of sitting still on a chair.

I know of people afraid of spiders. This is funny to me. Anything that is smaller than my thumb doesn't warrant my fear or respect, unless it's the ebola virus.

I like to laugh quietly at all the scenarios I can bake up to cause people embarrassing emotional trauma by practically joking them with their worst fears. The problem is knowing which ones to use on someone, so to cover all my bases I guess I'll just have to resort to hiding around corners dressed as a fish wielding, snake wearing gorilla-clown.

I don't know where I get this interest (DAD). Nothing says positive parenting like waiting for your kids on the path to the outhouse in a provincial park at night, and then growling like a bear just as they pass on their way back. Ahhh, the cripplingly frightful fun of childhood...

So forget I said all that and tell me what you're irrational fear is. I promise not to use it, soon.

Superpowers

To carry on from yesterday, there are a lot of super powers that I wouldn't want.

This post pays hommage to 3 friends who spent a night watching "Blade Runner, the latest Final release" and drinking something that burned my throat. For what I recall of it, we had a great discussion.

Super powers that are right out:
Bullet proof: A skin that could deflect bullets is no good unless the nerves are already insensitive, and then that takes away all the fun touching things can be.
Super speed: Imagine hitting anything heavier than a raindrop at highway speeds. Oh, and tripping, turning, and knee problems.
Flying: Cold, suffocation at upper atmosphere, lightning, air intakes.
Time/space travel: This may come as news, but the planet and solar system are NOT stationary. Only a NASA engineer with a week of computing time could even hope to land on the planet, never mind > 6 inches above the ground (or so help them, BELOW).
X-Ray vision: Too many ugly people. See yesterday's post.
Mind reading: Ummm, no thanks. My thoughts scare me deeply at least once a week. I don't need confirmation everyone is a psychopath.

So what WOULD I want? These powers:

Tremendous reflexes: I'd be safe driving, in gunfights, and better at sports.
Killing people with my mind: See Mind Reading.
Resistance to the "Map" song on Dora: nuff said.
Impervious in the need for sleep: I want to be awake, but I sleep out of necessity. How much could I get done without tiring out at midnight.

So tell me what powers you want so I may mock you with the power of sarcasm!

Writer's block

Ok, I admit it. I have writer's block. With a blog. That's almost as pathetic as blessing a pet when it sneezes.

I've been really busy lately balancing work, work, directing, parenting, being a husband and other related duties. Maybe balancing is the wrong word. Capsizing, floundering, flailing, you get the idea.

Anyway, I'm busy. And so trying to be witty and funny, both heroic achievements for me at the best of times, are more like a cross-eyed maladroit trying brain surgery with a spatula. If you have any flapping idea what that means let me know. And when I try to be funny I tend to be insulting. So I just avoid loosing respect that way. I want to use the way I dress to achieve that.

And yes, today my shirt was set to "Stun". I love Hawaiian shirt day.

So here I am posting about how busy I am. The fact is, this week has been like a dream. Not a good dream, like secretly developing the ability to fly and see through clothing of only good looking people of the opposite sex, but the sort of dream you have where you suspect it's real, but you know it's not. Only since the week was LIKE a dream, it's the other way around.

Maybe I should just focus on the x-ray vision.

X-ray vision has to be the worst super power ever. If it only worked on dead material, you would be forced to deal with the percent of the world's population that is not appealing naked. Let me break that down for you:
~50% Not the gender you want
~18% Illegally young
~20% Disturbingly old
~20% Just out and out better with clothes ON.
---
That leaves... no one. Imagine having a conversation with the 5 people you see every day. Now imagine that conversation with you being the only one clothed. Eww. Now imagine it on a bus, or a boat, or in a stiff breeze, or the air conditioning is on, or a hot day, or, ok I'll stop.

So my thesis is this: Clothes are good for society. Thank you.

Why can't guys have showers with their friends?

My wife went to a wedding shower tonight. Fascinating events the showers. Little to no water involved, no one gets married, you just "shower" someone with gifts. And play cute games that make each other blush. And have a lot of good food. It's like a "pampered chef" party that you've already pre-ordered for.

At least that is what I'm TOLD what happens. It gets me wondering why guys are so much farther behind on this. Do we like to party less? No. But when we get together it tends to include a magic mix of:

Unhealthy food/drink.
Violence.
Pretending we were somewhere else.

The gifts we give aren't helpful, they are traps or mean jokes. Some idiot thinks it funny to miswire an electric shaver. We do something awful to the food and make the prospective groom eat it. Someone vomits. The police show up, only to find the groom tied to a pig wearing a tiara and smoking a joint (the pig, not the groom).

We only do this once though. We go all out with our parties so we can only have one without raising the suspicions of the neighbours. In a way I'm glad, I would never want my friends buying me "unmentionables".

Women, I salute you. You can embarrass each other in ways that let you disclose what you did to each other without having to plead the fifth amendment. You can have more than one party, tripling the gift count in your favour. You can have parties that don't require the use of emergency equipment or services.

That is why after nine years of marriage we are replacing our dishes, towels, and cookware while I still am saving up for a new electric shaver.

Friends don't let friends wear dresses without sleeves.

On Friday my wife and I were part of a "murder mystery" at a friend's birthday house. For those who have never had the pleasure, it's LARP'ing without the swords. (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/LARP) All the geekiness, none of the potential for bent glasses frames.

Being a guy's birthday, he invited his buddies out. This was interesting as half of the roles were for women.

This is where I learned something weird. It's alright for a man to go around without his shirt on, or in a tank top in the summer. But put him in a sleeveless dress and there is something reactionary to armpit hair.

These events are fun because it degrades (quickly) into accusations of each other's characters. Depending on the crowd (and amount of bubbly there) this can get way past the PG rating. And the best part is that usually the most reserved, modest amongst you will have the most scathing, off colour insult.

If you ever want to get to know your best friends way better, have them over for drinks, have them dress in costumes (and cross dress if needed), and spend the night accusing each other of killing someone and having loose morals. It's more fun than it sounds. Or you COULD just watch the hockey game.

What's your "best-kept secret" ;)

On occasion I find myself reading the headlines and subtexts of magazine covers. Most times they are disgusting from their overt gossip or obsessive stories. I normally quit after 4 pages (double side) or when the cashier asks if I want to pay $7 for the filth.

What amazes me is how often the "best-kept secrets" are let out to national publications. Now pardon me for being literal, but aren't the "best-kept beauty secrets of Cleopatra" still in fact, secret? Wouldn't a better, albeit less catchy, title be "better-kept secrets than the last batch"?

This rant was inspired by a magazine that arrived at our house. It is apparently postured for Women. I know this because it has over sized text in hot pink and white with the catch phrases and words: "Fresh", "Sexy", "Makeup" "His bad habits" and "Perfect pedi pointers"

I say apparently because it's hard to say who the ads (and some articles) are meant for. Most ads are discreet, but noticeable with women having nothing covering their shoulders and a look that says I'm made of chocolate éclairs or else Fabio is standing right behind me. I would expect that to be better aimed at say, men. This is funny because the ads in Sports Illustrated (normal editions) are mostly for BIG TRUCKS!

Gee, it's like some of these publishers and advertisers are run by groups of cigar smoking fat men in pinstripe suits saying: "You know what make women buy makeup? Other women with makeup on and nothing else. Works for me. That and big trucks. Now pass the Powerpuff Pink Mascara, mine's running."

If I ever start a magazine, I'll be truthful. Judging from what I've gleaned so far, I think I can encapsulate their messages in this title: "You're not good enough as you are" tm

Catchy, eh?

Gotta go, my wife just found my Sea Salt & Lime Nachos...

How do you raise your father

I have read that taking care of your parents in their advancing years is like having them as children. If that is the case I am frightened by foreshadowing.

Natalie, my 4 year old wonder, is a stunningly sensitive child. Her little heart bleeds for others, unless they have the "Lego" piece she wants or are on the computer when she could be using it for "Webkinz". She is so sensitive even her skin has reactions.

I'm used to rubbing things all over little squirming bodies. I've been doing that for 7 years now. For those without kids: Applying any topical ointment to a child is like oil wrestling an octopus on anabolic steroids. And imagine having to clean up the ink.

Early in parenting we had a "change table". This was in fact effectively a padded bookshelf for $70. We learned that this wasn't going to work because it wouldn't fit in our room, we didn't want to hike upstairs to change the kid and then down with the present to dispose of it, so we sold it for $10 (or gave it away) and put a change pad on our bed.

There are 2 flaws in this design. One is back pain. Gently lowering a hyperactive 20 pound weight to mid thigh height is not good for your back. Kneeling only puts your face in the line of fire. The other is that I like to sleep in my bed, and knowing that the top layer is smeared in child slime is unsettling. Smelling barrier cream messes up the dreams.

So now my darling Nat walks into the kitchen as I'm trying to clean up from supper. She's in her pj's, and says "I'm itchy", and then vigorously scratches the offending area. This would be fine if it weren't her crotch.

Now this is what I expect to deal with in many years with my Dad.

Seeing my face take the grimace of suppressed laughter, her little eyes twinkled, and she assumed an expression reserved for Calculus exams and telekinesis. This broke me, which now has reinforced her little brain that scratching crotch + funny face = people laughing.

Tucking her in tonight (after a wrestling match with barrier cream) she informed me that tomorrow is show and tell.

At least he's a nice boy...

Stupid: 1 a: slow of mind : obtuse b: given to unintelligent decisions or acts : acting in an unintelligent or careless manner c: lacking intelligence or reason : brutish
source: http://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/stupid

Yep. We're all stupid. This isn't projection, it's careful observation. It comes from cognitive dissonance, which is to continue believing a lie when the truth has been made clear or is obvious. This can be funny:

"Oh look, the kid's are trying to dress the cat up as Superman and trying to make her fly."

"Ha ha, he actually believed he could play football with teenagers even though he's 40. Look at him cry and hold his back!"

"Windows Vista is still good."

"I can't believe he thinks she'll go out with him, she's so out of his league he's making a public fool of himself. What is Ken thinking?"

"Is Aunt Mabel wearing her daughter's tube top outdoors in daylight?"

It's most obvious with our bodies. We can all agree some things are good for us: Good food in appropriate portions, enough sleep, exercise fit to our body type, moderation of unhealthy habits, keeping our priorities to avoid stress. And yet I don't know anyone who doesn't break at least one of those rules. Daily. In fact, the "smarter" people are, the more they break. Hmmmm.

I stumbled on this when I lost a few pounds in short order. My secret: Healthy, moderate portions and exercise. Duh.

Then I've had a big improvement on my parenting, attitude, and how I feel. My secret: Time spent with God at night. Duh.

So these little things that I tell my children to do I can't manage myself. It's like I believe my higher thinking and capabilities (stop sniggering) allow me an out. What's you're excuse?

Why I've missed a week

I try to blog every other day. A nice waste of 15 minutes of my day. I won't try to make up for the hour I've missed this past week. I have 2 very good reasons for that:

The first was I had my older sister and her family visiting. This was great, short enough that we didn't fight, which I'm sure we could pick up on after (augh!) 15 years living in different municipalities. Her daughters/my neices are precious and precocious. I had great talks (and drinks) with my near genius older brother in law. So yeah, no time for blogging then.

The second is I'm sick. Too healthy to miss work, sick enough to feel miserable. Borderline fever, my shoulders feel like they've been caned, my head hurts, my throat is raw, and my sinuses are clogged. But that isn't bad compared to the fact I can smell my own snot.

That isn't as cool or appealing as it sounds. The effervescence of mucus, embedded in my olfactory sense like a frikkin organic glade plugin, is awful. My only escape is very hot food. The kind that calls for a chaser of chloroform. The requirement is the liquefying of everything in my eyes, ears, nose and mouth. A fine dinner of cayenne, garnished with a box of kleenex. Mmmmm.

By the way, I'm not feeling any better. I just wanted to make you suffer through those descriptions.

Goodbye's aren't easy.

Our culture has some odd nuances. One is the telephone goodbye.

Now how many times do you say goodbye on a phone? As a computer geek I would expect the linear answer, once.

This isn't the case in real life:

1-> Alright.

2-> Ok.

3-> Sure.

4-> Thanks.

5-> No problem.

6-> See ya.

7-> For sure.

8-> Bye.

9-> Bye.

[end]

This is hilarious to listen to. We actually have cultural expectations not to end a phone call quickly, lest we sound rude. If we're in a rush, we start off the phone call with the goodbye. Have you ever started a call with "I have to go quickly but..."?

The friend of mine who pointed this out had a solution: "I'm hanging up now." The first time I heard this I thought "You a[click]". But I was left feeling free, ending a phone call a full 30 seconds quicker than I ever had before. I called him right back to thank him.

So try to keep track of how many times you say goodbye on your next phone call. I bet it's more than 3.

Helping you understand the siblings you never had.

I get flashes of wisdom, or thought-flashes, from time to time. Today I tried to explain what it was like having sisters, and I summed it up like this:

It's not really a deeper experience in understanding women. Due to the nature and nurture being the same, they are basically unstable, emotionally immature copies of one's mother.

I LOVE my sisters. They are amazing women (read that: amazING, not amazON). They are both better educated than I am and not afraid to correct my punctuation or ignorance of crop rotation. That said, I think I've stumbled onto something, and for once a neighbour's dog didn't leave it in my yard.

It does raise the issue that I am a more unstable, emotionally immature copy of my father, but he keeps telling me the police brought me (and consequently would be imminent to return on my misbehaviour), so that would make me my hometown's version of Ralph Wiggum.

I should just quit while I'm ahead, but I'm sure I'm quite a behind now.

So there you have it, if you want to imagine what siblings would have been like, get your parent of that gender inebriated with alcohol, power, anger, or whathaveyou, and then go camping. Oh, and have someone removed from the situation take pictures and make vague threats whenever you fight. Enjoy!

Clothing so loud you can't hear yourself think.

Today was Hawaiian shirt day for me. It made sense because it's the first day of spring and because I had a videoconference. I like to dress up for those. I've worn a suit, Halloween costumes, and this shirt.

I bought this shirt from a second hand store for $5. It is now in my regular rotation after 2 years. That is because it has the power to divide opinions. It is blue, with pink flowers and yellow thatched huts on it. It's loud enough to be an air-raid siren. I'm a combination lighthouse and foghorn with it on. Foghorn effects depending on diet.

There are 2 general reactions to my shirt:

1. I LOVE your shirt!
2. You are so brave to wear that outside. You are hideous. Hellen Keller would feel the heat of that shirt and be sick. That should be a controlled substance.

So to make matters worse, I'm wearing make-up now.

It's ok, 13 other guys were wearing make-up tonight as well. It was part of a Church drama, so there were 13 grown men, wearing period costume, with make-up on, with their props, misbehaving. Yeah, I could try to recreate the scene, but I'm at a loss for words. And I'd hate people to find out that Church can be fun.

When we were on stage it was all business. It was a powerful, moving, visual feast. An antithesis for my shirt, which is a visual feast moving powerfully.

So this is what I do on my long weekends. Anyone have a topper to that?

I hate all music but the stuff I like

There was a great music service, Pandora, which allowed you to sample music based on the components of other music you liked. It only helped me find one song I actually liked, but it is a really neat idea. Then they turned it off for international use because of the Recording Industry.

So I will use that method to describe music I hate, and the exceptions thereof.

1. There are no good uses for harp, except as a projectile that has a really cool Doppler effect.

2. I don't care who you are, no one can make the steel guitar sound good. Unless you're playing it with the business end of a shotgun.

3. Banjo is heaven. An all harp and steel guitar ensemble can be redeemed by one banjo.

4. The recorder is 2 degrees away from being declared illegal by the Geneva humanitarian council on torture prevention. "Burn them!" I have been tempted with lining them with Asbestos to prevent children from playing them.

5. If it needs to be played slow, it should stop. Slow tempo is fast on the road to total trash.

6. Folk music should be played for other folks.

7. The time between 1949 and 1969 is known as the black hole of music.

8. Indie == crapie.

9. Pop == poop.

10. Rap is just missing a C.

11. Anything I like that contradicts any of the above rules weighs in my favour.

So there you go. I'm the Archie Bunker of music, but at least I know what I like. And generally it's not what you like, so suck it up.

Happy Birthday Dad!

Happy Birthday Dad! Love you!

Weird Musical Tastes

I hinted the other day at my odd musical tastes. I will try to obscufate them further today.

I have eclectic taste in music. By eclectic I mean tantricly eccentric. It's a fine case of reality being weirder than fiction. Here is a menu of Ken's musical tastes:

Rammstein
Mix 'Metallica' with 'the Prodigy and fold in '2 live crew''s lyrics in German. All with the fun of minor key music and a bass lyricist that frightens anything with a high eye to head size ratio.

David Crowder Band*
Progressive rock with poetic Christian lyrics from Texas. Lead singer has a goatee, an affro, and is white. Did someone say "Banjo"?

Bach's Brandenburg Concerto's
Genius melodic work with an ensemble. Totally acoustic, with a nutty flavour. The world's favourite ecclesiastical composer in his secular contract masterpiece.

The Prodigy
Electronic Industrial music with thick guitar. A must for any workout or fragfest. If you're not killing to this, you better be running.

Gordon Lightfoot
Folk music with a beautiful baritone. Simplicity is bliss. I'd cry to his music if I weren't afraid of interrupting it.

ABBA
Fun Fun Fun, two Swedish couples make 70's pop transcendent between generations. More fun than running through Ikea with only an Allen key on.

Hillsong United
No they're not a soccer team. Teenage rock band from Australia's favourite church group, Hillsong. Powerful chords, powerful lyrics, full sound.

Alma Cogan
The voice with a smile. If you're depressed, take 2 cd's and sing until morning. Pop from the 60's with an elegantly fun flair. Like a happy Stepford wife singing.

Dream Theater
Advanced progressive industrial rock. Bleeding edge to the intensive care level. If you make it through the 14 minute songs, you'll have entered a higher consciousness whether or not you lived.

Five Iron Frenzy
Ska music from a rebel band. Play your guitar backwards, toot some horns, yell about Church injustice, and have some laughs while you're at it!

Matrix Soundracks
Electronica, Industrial, Dance, Trance, Ants in your pants. It makes you want to jack in in the worst possible way.

Eric Satie
Idiosyncratic French musician who wrote simple melodies with sublime skill, and then gave them names like "Songs for an automatic dog" and "Dances for Naked Boys". Post-impressionist's Ozzy!

Delirious?
England's Christian 'Beatles'. Hoppin lyrics and music. It'll rock you, move you, and then return you with some peace and a hint of conviction.

So there you go, my musical influences. Maybe that explains more about me than I'd care to admit. Begin your psychoanalysis, but prepare to be afraid. VERY afraid. Tomorrow for your pleasure, and further confusion, I'll list and explain all the music I can't stand. It will be a longer list for sure.

And yes, I'm listening to Rammstein right now. The song is called "Alter Mann". Look it up on www.herzeleid.com, if you dare...