There's nothing like a rant about Halloween to get everyone involved in the debate. I love it. If you don't know what I'm talking about, please see the comments with the last post. And no, there were no trick-or-treaters on our street today. That's probably partially because it was so freaking cold.
The best thing, by far, about Halloween is the discount candy sale on November 1st. I'm planning on hitting the stores tomorrow, although the selection in Three Hills is pretty slim, and I have class until 12:00, and then the gym, so I'm not even sure I'll get any. But you know, it's worth a try. Even a little bit of cheap Halloween candy works for me.
You know, I just looked at those two paragraphs and thought to myself, "Yep, that's pretty much all I have to say." Isn't that sad? But really, I'm having a boring type of week. School is actually taking a little bit of a breather right now, which is refreshing. And I just got a one week reprieve from doing my class presentation, which was supposed to happen this Thursday. The class that usually keeps me uber busy with the readings doens't have any this week, so I really don't have much on the ol' plate. That will change, and soon, but it's nice while it lasts. Oh yeah, I have a test on Thursday, but I'm not really concerned about it. Maybe I should be, I don't know.
On the good news front, I finally have all my graduation requirements sorted out, so that's nice. Turns out that even though I'm on-campus, I'm going to be graduating as a distance education student. Turns out I'm the guinea pig here, because apparently nobody has ever done this before. Makes me feel kinda special. Warm fuzzies, and all.
Oh, except for the part where nobody really knows what to do with me. I finally found someone who could give me answers, after going to two others who couldn't. At least someone knows what's happening. And I'm pretty sure she's just making it up as she goes, too. Actually, she freely admits that there's really no precedent, so the rules are just sort of being made up while we're in progress. Fun, but not exactly reassuring. Oh well, as long as I can walk across the platform in a goofy hat and get a piece of paper with my name on it and some letters (preferably the letters "B" and "A" in that order), I'm good. Don't really care how I get there, actually; I only care that I get there in the end.
But this whole prospect of graduating in April now raises a new spectre for us. Actually, it's an old spectre that we've managed to ignore until now, and I want to ignore it more, but I can't. Yes, it's the old "what do you want to be when you grow up" question, and it's coming back at us in full force. April seems a long way away right now, but I know it's not. Heck, Theo was born almost nine months ago, and time has just flown by. In fact, this is now week nine of this semester, which means this semester is almost 2/3 gone. Wow. April suddenly doesn't seem that far away.
What makes the whole thing harder is that I'm not even sure where our goalposts are going to be in April. I've always been somewhat envious of programs that give you a definite idea of what you're going to be doing when you're done. My sister, for example, graduated last April with her nursing degree. For four years, she worked towards one goal--nursing. The outcome was never in doubt, and she knew that after the four years, she'd go and begin her career as a nurse. I'm oversimplifying, but that's the gyst of it.
I almost wish my degree would do that for me. But that's the problem with these arts degrees--you're never really sure what you'll have at the end of it. For example, my degree prepares me for pastoral ministry. My specialization, if you can call it that, isn't in youth or worship or any other niche; it's in being a pastor. That's pretty broad. And the problem is that even though there is a severe shortage of clergy in North America, the standards for getting a job at a church continue to get higher and higher. So really, I have no chance of actually being a lead pastor, or even an associate pastor, without my master's. All in all, it's pretty frustrating to have worked your butt off for four years (okay, it's actually going to be 10 by the time I get it, but who's counting?) and then not have any idea what's at the other end of that tunnel.
But I suppose this is where that whole element of faith comes in. I really wish we knew, for sure, what was going to happen next. But we don't. And we're slowly coming to the place where we're actually okay with that. Am I going straight back into ministry? If I am, it's going to be in youth or worship, one of the two. Am I going to get my master's? Yes. When? Don't know. Is God even calling us back into ministry right now? If you asked me that two months ago, I would've said no without even having to think about it. But we really feel our hearts being softened as we go along here--wounds that we didn't even know we had being healed. And there were a lot of them. But wounds can't be an excuse to not go on. Does that mean ministry for sure? Don't know. Wish I did. God does.
How's that for a few short, declarative sentences? It may seem simple, but that's what it's coming down to. We need to learn to let go. We try to hold on so tightly that it slips out of our grasp. But if we were to just let go, we'd find things so much easier. I find it difficult to learn that lesson, but again, difficulty can't be an excuse not to go on.
So go on we will. And we'll figure it out. More correctly, we'll let God figure it out. We'll just follow along. Pray for us in this decision-making time--we'd really appreciate it.
See, I told you I could come up with something more to write. I know, you never doubted me. I'll likely have more of the same tomorrow, so please come back then. And thanks for stopping by today; I appreciate it.
10.31.2006
10.30.2006
It Just Doesn't Have the Same Ring...
May I suggest a new song to sing in this festive season of Halloween? Here goes; "I'm dreaming of a white Halloween/Just like the ones I used to know." Okay, wait, that's the point--I never seen a white Halloween before. Until now.
Yes, that's right, there was a snowstorm on Sunday. And it meant that I had to shovel. And let me tell you, there's nothing good about shovelling snow. At least it's nice, light snow, not the dense, wet crap we get back home. When it snows. Which, I assure you, isn't IN OCTOBER!!!!
Now it's just cold. Stinking cold. Don't get me wrong, I'm a big fan of the crisp, clear winter day. In theory. In practice, it's a little harder to swallow. Although, I have to admit that today was spectacular. The sun's normally weak rays seemed that much more chipper today, bouncing off the snow and filling the house with light. That's the really great part about it. And, I have to admit, there's something about walking along on a cold day in the sun that really, I don't know, speaks to me, I suppose. It's just the first bit that's hard to get over, when the cold air hits the back of your throat like a brick and your nose hairs freeze instantly. Too graphic? Sorry.
Anyway, it's still going to be cold all week. And then into next week. But no more snow. So they say. It's Alberta, though, so I'm not getting my hopes up.
Other than that, the weekend was quite pleasant. Yes, I did survive the babysitting day on Saturday. I have to admit that it was a little bit touch-and-go at first. Theo woke up in such a bad mood that I almost broke down at the thought of Steph leaving for the whole day. Fortunately, he sometimes has days like that, and he needs to just take a Mulligan and start over. And he did. And it was good. Being Saturday, there were many sporting events on CBC, so we watched some football and some hockey, we went to the store, we played, we napped. Good times were had by all.
You know, just on a little sidebar, I think it's fascinating to have a particular maneuver named after you. For example, most everyone knows what it means to take a Mulligan. Wouldn't it be neat to have something named after you? Okay, here's a good psychological test--if you had a particular thing named after you, what would it be? For me, it's a bit of a toss-up. I'd either lend my name to some competitive eating move ("Oh, and he pulls a Carroll at the last moment and wins!) or maybe a wrestling hold. Not sure which. What about you? Leave a comment.
Went to a new church this weekend, for a couple of reasons. First, I don't really have any desire to drive 20 minutes to another city in the fresh snow on back roads to go to church. There's something about the irony of getting into a car accident on the way to church that just doesn't hold for me. So we went to a church in town. Second, the pastor's wife was on a pastor's wives panel at the womens' conference this weekend, and wife had this real connection with her. So, of course, I just had to meet her.
Good service, really. Reminded me a lot of going to Richmond Baptist in the 90's. That's not bad, either. That was when people actually took church seriously. And they do here, too. For example, not a single person was drinking coffee in the sanctuary. Many of the men were wearing suits. The leader of the singing was a guy up on the platform waving his hands. And it was great.
There's something about this whole "postmodern" church that gets on my nerves, to be honest. Where's that sense of respect, you know? I mean, if I can wear my ripped jeans and Metallica T-shirt to church, and come in and drink coffee throughout the service, why do I go? I have a feeling that this whole casual church thing has really led to a patent disrespect for the fact that we're still getting together to worship God. That's pretty significant, so why don't we treat it like that?
Maybe it's the fact that I'm taking a course on this right now; maybe it's the books I'm reading; maybe it's just me finally being able to give voice to my frustration. Whatever it is, I want to be in a place where the gathering is taken a little bit more seriously. And that's why we're likely staying at this new church. Even though it's not our "style", there's so much more to it than that.
Enough preaching. Man, you'd think I was training to be a pastor or something. Sheesh. Today was good, too. It's fun, and a little scary, learning how to drive correctly on the hard-packed Alberta snow. Tonight, despite the weather, we had to make a trip to good old Red Deer, because we absolutely had to get groceries, and there's no way I'm stocking up at the Marketplace IGA in Three Hills. Hello, can you say, "rip off"? Anyway, the main highway that goes north from Three Hills and eventually winds up in Sherwood Park (just east of Edmonton) was clear, but the road west to Red Deer was terrible. And, since it gets dark at 5:00 now (thanks a lot, standard time. Stupid change anyway), I wasn't exactly thrilled about having to drive back in the pitch black night on a highway that wasn't exactly in top driving condition. Forutately, I took a chance on a different road back, and it paid off. Note to self: take highway 27 next time instead of 42.
Do you remember me telling you last week how we actually had a good restaurant customer service experience in Alberta? I think I told you. If not, there you go--it's the background. Well, tonight, we actually had another good restaurant customer service experience. That's two in a row! It's almost a streak! ABC restaurant on Gaetz Avenue in Red Deer, friends--that's where the good service is. I left a hefty tip for the guy, because let me tell you, I appreciate good service. And I think this guy should get rewarded for working at a place like ABC when he's good enough to get a job at any restaurant. So good on you, man.
Before I go tonight, and I should do that shortly, considering it's 11:20, I have one more thing to rant about. Well, okay, it's not exactly a rant, but it bugs me a little bit. One of the things we have to agree to as students here is a certain code of conduct that governs us. Now, I don't necessarily agree with everything in the code, but I have to abide by it as a student. One of the things that bothers me about it is the fact that we are not allowed to celebrate Halloween because of its "pagan origins."
You know, I understand the argument, I really do. But I just can't accept it. When we were kids, my sister and I were allowed to take part in Halloween on one condition: no dressing up at demons or witches or anything like that which had a clear tie-in to pagan or occult practices. I think that's fair. And as much as I know that things like Halloween are a matter of personal conscience, and it's always best to err on the side of caution, come on! It's Halloween, for the love of puppies. What's so wrong with little kids dressing up at Superman and collecting candy (besides the stomach-ache from overindulgence)? Maybe we're just a little bit too uptight.
You know what, though? Halloween is a matter of personal preference. And as much as I get mad at the school for pushing their views on me, I know that not everyone agrees with my views either. Here's the lesson I've learned from all this, and I hope it shows a little bit of maturity on my part: sometimes I have to sacrifice the little things in order to live as a member of a functioning community. Sometimes, I have to put my own personal rights and privileges on hold for the betterment of the whole.
Maybe that's the root of our problem in churches. We want church to look like we want it. And if that means we wear our ripped jeans and drink coffee, then so be it, and don't you dare tell me what I can and can't do. But once we start forcing "us" on others, we cease to live in unity and start to live as individuals. And that's just not the point. Something to think about, maybe?
Wow, two sermons in one posting. Sweet. And I haven't even written my sermon for my preaching class yet. Maybe I can preach on that stuff.
Alright, I'm done for the night. Thanks for stopping by, and we'll see you tomorrow, and for the rest of the week.
Yes, that's right, there was a snowstorm on Sunday. And it meant that I had to shovel. And let me tell you, there's nothing good about shovelling snow. At least it's nice, light snow, not the dense, wet crap we get back home. When it snows. Which, I assure you, isn't IN OCTOBER!!!!
Now it's just cold. Stinking cold. Don't get me wrong, I'm a big fan of the crisp, clear winter day. In theory. In practice, it's a little harder to swallow. Although, I have to admit that today was spectacular. The sun's normally weak rays seemed that much more chipper today, bouncing off the snow and filling the house with light. That's the really great part about it. And, I have to admit, there's something about walking along on a cold day in the sun that really, I don't know, speaks to me, I suppose. It's just the first bit that's hard to get over, when the cold air hits the back of your throat like a brick and your nose hairs freeze instantly. Too graphic? Sorry.
Anyway, it's still going to be cold all week. And then into next week. But no more snow. So they say. It's Alberta, though, so I'm not getting my hopes up.
Other than that, the weekend was quite pleasant. Yes, I did survive the babysitting day on Saturday. I have to admit that it was a little bit touch-and-go at first. Theo woke up in such a bad mood that I almost broke down at the thought of Steph leaving for the whole day. Fortunately, he sometimes has days like that, and he needs to just take a Mulligan and start over. And he did. And it was good. Being Saturday, there were many sporting events on CBC, so we watched some football and some hockey, we went to the store, we played, we napped. Good times were had by all.
You know, just on a little sidebar, I think it's fascinating to have a particular maneuver named after you. For example, most everyone knows what it means to take a Mulligan. Wouldn't it be neat to have something named after you? Okay, here's a good psychological test--if you had a particular thing named after you, what would it be? For me, it's a bit of a toss-up. I'd either lend my name to some competitive eating move ("Oh, and he pulls a Carroll at the last moment and wins!) or maybe a wrestling hold. Not sure which. What about you? Leave a comment.
Went to a new church this weekend, for a couple of reasons. First, I don't really have any desire to drive 20 minutes to another city in the fresh snow on back roads to go to church. There's something about the irony of getting into a car accident on the way to church that just doesn't hold for me. So we went to a church in town. Second, the pastor's wife was on a pastor's wives panel at the womens' conference this weekend, and wife had this real connection with her. So, of course, I just had to meet her.
Good service, really. Reminded me a lot of going to Richmond Baptist in the 90's. That's not bad, either. That was when people actually took church seriously. And they do here, too. For example, not a single person was drinking coffee in the sanctuary. Many of the men were wearing suits. The leader of the singing was a guy up on the platform waving his hands. And it was great.
There's something about this whole "postmodern" church that gets on my nerves, to be honest. Where's that sense of respect, you know? I mean, if I can wear my ripped jeans and Metallica T-shirt to church, and come in and drink coffee throughout the service, why do I go? I have a feeling that this whole casual church thing has really led to a patent disrespect for the fact that we're still getting together to worship God. That's pretty significant, so why don't we treat it like that?
Maybe it's the fact that I'm taking a course on this right now; maybe it's the books I'm reading; maybe it's just me finally being able to give voice to my frustration. Whatever it is, I want to be in a place where the gathering is taken a little bit more seriously. And that's why we're likely staying at this new church. Even though it's not our "style", there's so much more to it than that.
Enough preaching. Man, you'd think I was training to be a pastor or something. Sheesh. Today was good, too. It's fun, and a little scary, learning how to drive correctly on the hard-packed Alberta snow. Tonight, despite the weather, we had to make a trip to good old Red Deer, because we absolutely had to get groceries, and there's no way I'm stocking up at the Marketplace IGA in Three Hills. Hello, can you say, "rip off"? Anyway, the main highway that goes north from Three Hills and eventually winds up in Sherwood Park (just east of Edmonton) was clear, but the road west to Red Deer was terrible. And, since it gets dark at 5:00 now (thanks a lot, standard time. Stupid change anyway), I wasn't exactly thrilled about having to drive back in the pitch black night on a highway that wasn't exactly in top driving condition. Forutately, I took a chance on a different road back, and it paid off. Note to self: take highway 27 next time instead of 42.
Do you remember me telling you last week how we actually had a good restaurant customer service experience in Alberta? I think I told you. If not, there you go--it's the background. Well, tonight, we actually had another good restaurant customer service experience. That's two in a row! It's almost a streak! ABC restaurant on Gaetz Avenue in Red Deer, friends--that's where the good service is. I left a hefty tip for the guy, because let me tell you, I appreciate good service. And I think this guy should get rewarded for working at a place like ABC when he's good enough to get a job at any restaurant. So good on you, man.
Before I go tonight, and I should do that shortly, considering it's 11:20, I have one more thing to rant about. Well, okay, it's not exactly a rant, but it bugs me a little bit. One of the things we have to agree to as students here is a certain code of conduct that governs us. Now, I don't necessarily agree with everything in the code, but I have to abide by it as a student. One of the things that bothers me about it is the fact that we are not allowed to celebrate Halloween because of its "pagan origins."
You know, I understand the argument, I really do. But I just can't accept it. When we were kids, my sister and I were allowed to take part in Halloween on one condition: no dressing up at demons or witches or anything like that which had a clear tie-in to pagan or occult practices. I think that's fair. And as much as I know that things like Halloween are a matter of personal conscience, and it's always best to err on the side of caution, come on! It's Halloween, for the love of puppies. What's so wrong with little kids dressing up at Superman and collecting candy (besides the stomach-ache from overindulgence)? Maybe we're just a little bit too uptight.
You know what, though? Halloween is a matter of personal preference. And as much as I get mad at the school for pushing their views on me, I know that not everyone agrees with my views either. Here's the lesson I've learned from all this, and I hope it shows a little bit of maturity on my part: sometimes I have to sacrifice the little things in order to live as a member of a functioning community. Sometimes, I have to put my own personal rights and privileges on hold for the betterment of the whole.
Maybe that's the root of our problem in churches. We want church to look like we want it. And if that means we wear our ripped jeans and drink coffee, then so be it, and don't you dare tell me what I can and can't do. But once we start forcing "us" on others, we cease to live in unity and start to live as individuals. And that's just not the point. Something to think about, maybe?
Wow, two sermons in one posting. Sweet. And I haven't even written my sermon for my preaching class yet. Maybe I can preach on that stuff.
Alright, I'm done for the night. Thanks for stopping by, and we'll see you tomorrow, and for the rest of the week.
10.27.2006
This Blog Never Expires...
I knew it. I knew that I'd pay the price for commenting on the weather to start yesterday's entry. Paid in two ways, actually. Both are disturbing, although one is far more so than the other.
First, the easy one. Woke up this morning to snow on the ground, again. Dang it. While wife and I were walking to school this morning with son strapped to chest in a Snugli, I made a comment about how ironic it was that yesterday I extolled the virtues of the wind on a crisp, cold day, and said that it was actually quite refreshing when it wasn't blowing snow in your face. Well, today I had the opportunity to test that theory. I was right.
The second way I paid for the posting was actually quite disturbing. Just after I posted, I realized I had to make some edits to the bugger, so I did that and reposted. Then I read through it once more in its template, just to see, and lo! there was a comment! I checked it out, thinking that one of you might have been coming by at just the right time. Turns out it wasn't any of you. No, it was some random idiot (I had stronger words for him yesterday) who had stopped by and taken the effort to post the most disgustingly lewd comment I have ever seen, and ever hope to see again. It was horrendous. I actually felt dirty afterwards.
It really shook me. I guess in my naivete, I thought that nobody would be interested in this blog besides those who know us. But I suppose that's the inherent danger of living in a broader community such as this one. There's always one bad apple that spoils the bunch. But hey, mystery comment guy (well, he's not a mystery to me--he has a blog. I went to it. It's just as lewd and disgusting as his comments), I'm going to pray for you. And I don't mean that in some "uber-Christian" Bible-thumping way--I mean it sincerely. You are clearly very troubled and in need of something bigger than yourself to hold on to for meaning. I hope you find it.
Moving on. I had typed something in here that was going nowhere, so I took it out. Sometimes it's just best to start again. And although a segue is difficult from that last topic, I'm going to give it a shot.
Man, that guy really added some spice to my night last night. Speaking of spices, I have a story to tell (nice moves, eh?). The landlords have left a few spices in the cupboard for us, which we assume we're allowed to use. I really hope so, at least. If not, well, that sucks. Anyway, we were using one of these spices a couple of nights ago, and I noticed the expiry date on the top of the bottle: September 29, 2008.
Several things disturb me about this. There's the obvious: that's more than two years away. Holy chemically-induced shelf-life, Batman! Why am I putting this stuff in my mouth, anyway? I think that the time has come for me to give some serious thought to exactly what it is I'm ingesting. No, I'm not going to turn into some crazy health nut (although this whole going to the gym thrice a week is really paying off), nor am I going to be a vegan. I just think that maybe we need to reconsider the equation that tells us that the convenience of having something at the ready isn't worth the fact that we're putting several compounds whose names are more than 30 letters and are completely unpronouncable into our mouths. Just a thought. I'll probably forget it by tomorrow, but for now, I'm committed!
The other thing is just the sheer ridiculousness of that expiry date. Who determined, and how did they do so, that the expiry date would be exactly September 29, 2008. What's so magical about that day. On September 28, everything will be hunky-dory; but woe betide you if you sprinkle the Italian seasoning on your pork chops the day after! It's as if the secret chemical ingredients will hold valiantly on until the 28th, but, due to such things as the interaction of the strong and weak nuclear forces, on the 29th they will be torn asunder, never to have their spicy goodness again. However, I am inclined to believe such things, and it only gives ammunition to point number one. After all, scientists know the exact half-life of every elemental compound known to man--I assume that what they did was plug the masses and numbers into the ol' 286 and voila!--the exact date the chemicals will break down and be useless. And perhaps harmful to human consumption. Silly.
Okay, I'm spent. I know, pretty paltry, and not even all that amusing, but it's Friday, and, well, I'm tired. Looking forward to the weekend--I have babysitting duties all day tomorrow as wife will be off hugging and crying. Depending on the weather, the boy and I might end up on some great adventure across the central Alberta countryside--you never know. But one thing you do know is that I'll be here on Monday to report to you all the sordid details. See you then.
First, the easy one. Woke up this morning to snow on the ground, again. Dang it. While wife and I were walking to school this morning with son strapped to chest in a Snugli, I made a comment about how ironic it was that yesterday I extolled the virtues of the wind on a crisp, cold day, and said that it was actually quite refreshing when it wasn't blowing snow in your face. Well, today I had the opportunity to test that theory. I was right.
The second way I paid for the posting was actually quite disturbing. Just after I posted, I realized I had to make some edits to the bugger, so I did that and reposted. Then I read through it once more in its template, just to see, and lo! there was a comment! I checked it out, thinking that one of you might have been coming by at just the right time. Turns out it wasn't any of you. No, it was some random idiot (I had stronger words for him yesterday) who had stopped by and taken the effort to post the most disgustingly lewd comment I have ever seen, and ever hope to see again. It was horrendous. I actually felt dirty afterwards.
It really shook me. I guess in my naivete, I thought that nobody would be interested in this blog besides those who know us. But I suppose that's the inherent danger of living in a broader community such as this one. There's always one bad apple that spoils the bunch. But hey, mystery comment guy (well, he's not a mystery to me--he has a blog. I went to it. It's just as lewd and disgusting as his comments), I'm going to pray for you. And I don't mean that in some "uber-Christian" Bible-thumping way--I mean it sincerely. You are clearly very troubled and in need of something bigger than yourself to hold on to for meaning. I hope you find it.
Moving on. I had typed something in here that was going nowhere, so I took it out. Sometimes it's just best to start again. And although a segue is difficult from that last topic, I'm going to give it a shot.
Man, that guy really added some spice to my night last night. Speaking of spices, I have a story to tell (nice moves, eh?). The landlords have left a few spices in the cupboard for us, which we assume we're allowed to use. I really hope so, at least. If not, well, that sucks. Anyway, we were using one of these spices a couple of nights ago, and I noticed the expiry date on the top of the bottle: September 29, 2008.
Several things disturb me about this. There's the obvious: that's more than two years away. Holy chemically-induced shelf-life, Batman! Why am I putting this stuff in my mouth, anyway? I think that the time has come for me to give some serious thought to exactly what it is I'm ingesting. No, I'm not going to turn into some crazy health nut (although this whole going to the gym thrice a week is really paying off), nor am I going to be a vegan. I just think that maybe we need to reconsider the equation that tells us that the convenience of having something at the ready isn't worth the fact that we're putting several compounds whose names are more than 30 letters and are completely unpronouncable into our mouths. Just a thought. I'll probably forget it by tomorrow, but for now, I'm committed!
The other thing is just the sheer ridiculousness of that expiry date. Who determined, and how did they do so, that the expiry date would be exactly September 29, 2008. What's so magical about that day. On September 28, everything will be hunky-dory; but woe betide you if you sprinkle the Italian seasoning on your pork chops the day after! It's as if the secret chemical ingredients will hold valiantly on until the 28th, but, due to such things as the interaction of the strong and weak nuclear forces, on the 29th they will be torn asunder, never to have their spicy goodness again. However, I am inclined to believe such things, and it only gives ammunition to point number one. After all, scientists know the exact half-life of every elemental compound known to man--I assume that what they did was plug the masses and numbers into the ol' 286 and voila!--the exact date the chemicals will break down and be useless. And perhaps harmful to human consumption. Silly.
Okay, I'm spent. I know, pretty paltry, and not even all that amusing, but it's Friday, and, well, I'm tired. Looking forward to the weekend--I have babysitting duties all day tomorrow as wife will be off hugging and crying. Depending on the weather, the boy and I might end up on some great adventure across the central Alberta countryside--you never know. But one thing you do know is that I'll be here on Monday to report to you all the sordid details. See you then.
10.26.2006
The Real Fall Classic...
It truly is a beautiful spell of weather we're having. Hah! Didn't think I'd start with the weather again, did you? Well, I've had enough of a break from it, that I think I can lead with it and still be in your good books. Hopefully. And hey, it really is noteworthy. The one thing about being in the prairies that you don't get in the Lower Mainland is the endless sky. On a clear day, like today, it's nothing but blue. Truly quite lovely.
Except for the wind--did I mention that? It's another thing I'm just not familiar with, being from the sheltered Lower Mainland. If you can see for miles, imagine how much of a chance the wind gets to really take a run at you. "Here we go, boys, full steam ahead!" At least it's not blowing snow into your face, like it was last week. A crisp, cold wind on a sunny day is quite refreshing, actually. Boy, that sounded a lot like a beer commercial.
I'm currently enjoying a nice, quiet evening. Blogging a little earlier than usual today--it's only 7:10--because the wife is out decorating the ol' PBC campus for the women's conference this weekend. Is it just me, or do the words "Women's Conference" strike fear into the hearts of men everywhere? Sounds like a lot of hugging and crying to me.
Hey, speaking of unfair stereotypes....Okay, I really don't have anywhere to go with that; I just thought I'd insert it so that you'd know that I say that last paragraph tongue-in-cheek. Don't hurt me.
Anyway, got Theo down at 6:50 tonight. Wow. It always scares me when he goes down that early, because I can't help but think, "Uh oh, he's going to be up at 5:30 tomorrow morning." But the strange thing is that bedtime seems to be inversely related to wake time. For example, last night he went to bed later than usual--7:40--and was up this morning at 5:40. Fortunately, he played in his crib for an hour before he just got fed up with that. But then a while ago, he went down at 6:30 and slept until 8:30 the next morning. So odd. But I'll take it, thank you.
For some reason, konwn only to him, my neighbour is inexplicably banging away at something in his backyard, illuminated by the warm glow of a trouble light hanging in his shed. What, you ask, is he doing? Well, it appears, to me at least, that he's fastening some wood together to fashion some sort of strange object. Good enough? I realize that it is only just after 7:00, but why do you have to make so much noise? Why don't you just come up and ring the doorbell a couple of times, too?
Had a lovely little family celebration tonight. Not sure what we were celebrating--let's call it "Orthodox Thanksgiving", shall we? I'm sure if we were on the Julian calendar, it might just be Orthodox Thanksgiving right about now. What we were really looking for was an excuse to cook a turkey. And oh boy, was it good.
Nothing says "fall" like a turkey dinner. Actually, the turkey doesn't say anything at all, which, quite frankly, is the way I prefer it, but you know what I mean. For some reason, it seems just wrong to cook a turkey in any season other than fall. Okay, winter, too--Christmas and all. But Christmas is so close to the equinox that it might as well be fall.
Enjoyed all the trimmings, too, even if they were out of boxes and cans. Had the stuffing (dressing, as I call it), but it came out of a box (Stove Top brand; quite delicious, actually. Doesn't beat homemade, of course, but I personally don't find making stuffing rewarding. For all the work, it seems like a better deal to get the box); had mashed potatoes, but they, too, came from a box (nothing wrong with flaked mashed potatoes--again, see my comment about the difficulties inherent in making stuffing and substitute "mashed potatoes" in there. Of course, the one thing flakes have that homemade doesn't have is all the fargin' chemicals and preservatives. Yummy!); cranberry sauce, although I don't personally partake of it, was also present, again, our of a can; had peas, too, and I'm sure that at one point they came from the ground, but they came out of a plastic bag in our freezer tonight. The one thing that was totally authentic about the meal was the gravy. But I think we missed an important step somewhere along the line, because the gravy didn't turn out the way it's supposed to. Oh, it was great-tasting, it's just that it was oily. I'm sure you have to separate the fat from the drippings somehow, but man, I don't know how. Oh, stop laughing.
I can picture my mom right now, fainting of embarrassment, vainly trying to pick her jaw back up off the floor. "How many times did you watch me make gravy, and you still don't know how?! You're no son of mine!" Okay, I added that last part. But seriously, no matter how many times I helped make the gravy, I was never really schooled in the ways of the gravy by the master gravy-maker (and my mom is a master gravy-maker; she's the Yoda of gravy). So mom, I'm sorry to embarrass you; maybe you can teach me the proper way sometime.
At this moment, I'm experiencing the singular joy of boiling the meat off the bones in preparation for soup-making. This is the part where you realize that not only do you have enough leftover turkey to last two weeks, but you're also going to be eating turkey soup for the next month. Not that I'm complaining. There are worse problems to have than to worry about having too much turkey.
It's funny, isn't it, how every stage of the turkey dinner process has a distinct feeling or memory tied to it. For example, today when I got home from school, I could smell the wonderful aroma of cooking turkey before I even walked in the door. It's so warm and cozy; reminds me of great times with family when I was young (and today, but it's interesting how the memory is so tied to my childhood). Then there's that sacred moment when the turkey is released from the oven and the first carve is made, the meat falling gently off the bone onto the platter, only to be gobbled up by the vultures who lurk around the carving station, ready to pounce upon whatever unsuspecting piece of turkey happens to fall in their proximity. And then there's the getting yelled at for eating before dinner (spoils your appetite, you know). Anyway, this stage always reminds me of crowding together in the kitchen at my parents' house, following the bold example of my Oma as she bravely charted a path toward the platter. I'll tell you, the good thing about cooking a turkey here is that the competition for the morsels is appreciably diminished. In fact, it almost wasn't any fun at all not having anyone to compete with for early turkey. Almost.
Then there's the moment of truth--sitting down to eat. Just looking at your plate and seeing the various components of the meal piled high and ready to be consumed. Delicous. Grace before the meal, always said by dad, always only half-listened-to because the smell of turkey was wafting up to our noses from our plates below--just get to the "Amen" so we can eat! And then, blissful gluttony.
Then there's the post-meal letdown. You look at your plate and realize that all that food is now in your stomach, and you're so full you can't move. The candles on the table are slowly melting away, plates are in various states of disarray, and a blissful, contented silence falls over the crowd. Ahh.
Let's skip past the part about cleaning up, shall we?
The part we usually overlook, and I have until today, is the post-cleanup wind-down. The lights in the kitchen are low, it's dark outside, you're in your PJ's, ready for a nice tryptophan-induced sleep. On the stove, a pot boils lazily, and the delicious smell of turkey still lingers in the house. Much reflecting on the evening that passed is done, with the general consensus being success (of course, how could it not be successful? Turkey was involved). And then, off to bed.
Ah. Now I'm sleepy. Hope you're still with me.
I almost wanted to end right there due to the generally nostalgic fog that I'm in, but all that talk of food made me think of something else even more important. You're likely familiar with "Operation Christmas Child", the annual program run by Samaritan's Purse that aims to send gift boxes to children who are in need. Well, the time has come for this drive to happen again, and I want to take the time here to encourage all of us to get involved. Steph and I are going to do a box this year, even though this is the year we can probably least afford to do it. But even though we're considered "poor" in the eyes of the North American world, we're abundantly rich compared to what others are going through. Many have never had turkey dinners, or had the problem of having too much leftovers. And that makes me sad.
Let me indulge you with a story that our campus OCC coordinator told. When you put together a box, it is sent to Calgary (if you're in western Canada) and then the contents are checked for any illegal or unsafe items. The boxes are then sealed, and not opened again until they are opened by a needy child somewhere far away. One year, during a box distribution, our coordinator, who was an OCC volunteer at the time, was handing out boxes, and the children were understandably excited. Except for one little girl, who was crying tears of sadness over her box. When she was asked why she was crying, she explained that she had a little sister at home who was sick, and she was sad because her little sister wouldn't get a box this year. The workers were sympathetic, but had already given out all the boxes, so there was nothing they could do.
Disheartened, the little girl opened the box to try to figure out how she was going to split it with her sister. In an instant, her tears dried up and a huge smile spread across her face. The box contained two of every item--a complete double set--enough for this little girl and her sister to share. You see, somewhere in Canada, a random volunteer box sorter had thought to put two of everything in this box, and this particular box somehow found its way into the hands of the only little girl in that distribution that needed it. And if God can work a miracle like that, even though it's a small thing, imagine what else He has in store. But it'll take us all making boxes for Him to do it. So get on it, would you?
Wow, this post has really been an emotional roller-coaster, hasn't it? I had more to say, but I think I've likely exhausted your patience by now. So come on back tomorrow and we'll do it then. Hope to see you again.
Except for the wind--did I mention that? It's another thing I'm just not familiar with, being from the sheltered Lower Mainland. If you can see for miles, imagine how much of a chance the wind gets to really take a run at you. "Here we go, boys, full steam ahead!" At least it's not blowing snow into your face, like it was last week. A crisp, cold wind on a sunny day is quite refreshing, actually. Boy, that sounded a lot like a beer commercial.
I'm currently enjoying a nice, quiet evening. Blogging a little earlier than usual today--it's only 7:10--because the wife is out decorating the ol' PBC campus for the women's conference this weekend. Is it just me, or do the words "Women's Conference" strike fear into the hearts of men everywhere? Sounds like a lot of hugging and crying to me.
Hey, speaking of unfair stereotypes....Okay, I really don't have anywhere to go with that; I just thought I'd insert it so that you'd know that I say that last paragraph tongue-in-cheek. Don't hurt me.
Anyway, got Theo down at 6:50 tonight. Wow. It always scares me when he goes down that early, because I can't help but think, "Uh oh, he's going to be up at 5:30 tomorrow morning." But the strange thing is that bedtime seems to be inversely related to wake time. For example, last night he went to bed later than usual--7:40--and was up this morning at 5:40. Fortunately, he played in his crib for an hour before he just got fed up with that. But then a while ago, he went down at 6:30 and slept until 8:30 the next morning. So odd. But I'll take it, thank you.
For some reason, konwn only to him, my neighbour is inexplicably banging away at something in his backyard, illuminated by the warm glow of a trouble light hanging in his shed. What, you ask, is he doing? Well, it appears, to me at least, that he's fastening some wood together to fashion some sort of strange object. Good enough? I realize that it is only just after 7:00, but why do you have to make so much noise? Why don't you just come up and ring the doorbell a couple of times, too?
Had a lovely little family celebration tonight. Not sure what we were celebrating--let's call it "Orthodox Thanksgiving", shall we? I'm sure if we were on the Julian calendar, it might just be Orthodox Thanksgiving right about now. What we were really looking for was an excuse to cook a turkey. And oh boy, was it good.
Nothing says "fall" like a turkey dinner. Actually, the turkey doesn't say anything at all, which, quite frankly, is the way I prefer it, but you know what I mean. For some reason, it seems just wrong to cook a turkey in any season other than fall. Okay, winter, too--Christmas and all. But Christmas is so close to the equinox that it might as well be fall.
Enjoyed all the trimmings, too, even if they were out of boxes and cans. Had the stuffing (dressing, as I call it), but it came out of a box (Stove Top brand; quite delicious, actually. Doesn't beat homemade, of course, but I personally don't find making stuffing rewarding. For all the work, it seems like a better deal to get the box); had mashed potatoes, but they, too, came from a box (nothing wrong with flaked mashed potatoes--again, see my comment about the difficulties inherent in making stuffing and substitute "mashed potatoes" in there. Of course, the one thing flakes have that homemade doesn't have is all the fargin' chemicals and preservatives. Yummy!); cranberry sauce, although I don't personally partake of it, was also present, again, our of a can; had peas, too, and I'm sure that at one point they came from the ground, but they came out of a plastic bag in our freezer tonight. The one thing that was totally authentic about the meal was the gravy. But I think we missed an important step somewhere along the line, because the gravy didn't turn out the way it's supposed to. Oh, it was great-tasting, it's just that it was oily. I'm sure you have to separate the fat from the drippings somehow, but man, I don't know how. Oh, stop laughing.
I can picture my mom right now, fainting of embarrassment, vainly trying to pick her jaw back up off the floor. "How many times did you watch me make gravy, and you still don't know how?! You're no son of mine!" Okay, I added that last part. But seriously, no matter how many times I helped make the gravy, I was never really schooled in the ways of the gravy by the master gravy-maker (and my mom is a master gravy-maker; she's the Yoda of gravy). So mom, I'm sorry to embarrass you; maybe you can teach me the proper way sometime.
At this moment, I'm experiencing the singular joy of boiling the meat off the bones in preparation for soup-making. This is the part where you realize that not only do you have enough leftover turkey to last two weeks, but you're also going to be eating turkey soup for the next month. Not that I'm complaining. There are worse problems to have than to worry about having too much turkey.
It's funny, isn't it, how every stage of the turkey dinner process has a distinct feeling or memory tied to it. For example, today when I got home from school, I could smell the wonderful aroma of cooking turkey before I even walked in the door. It's so warm and cozy; reminds me of great times with family when I was young (and today, but it's interesting how the memory is so tied to my childhood). Then there's that sacred moment when the turkey is released from the oven and the first carve is made, the meat falling gently off the bone onto the platter, only to be gobbled up by the vultures who lurk around the carving station, ready to pounce upon whatever unsuspecting piece of turkey happens to fall in their proximity. And then there's the getting yelled at for eating before dinner (spoils your appetite, you know). Anyway, this stage always reminds me of crowding together in the kitchen at my parents' house, following the bold example of my Oma as she bravely charted a path toward the platter. I'll tell you, the good thing about cooking a turkey here is that the competition for the morsels is appreciably diminished. In fact, it almost wasn't any fun at all not having anyone to compete with for early turkey. Almost.
Then there's the moment of truth--sitting down to eat. Just looking at your plate and seeing the various components of the meal piled high and ready to be consumed. Delicous. Grace before the meal, always said by dad, always only half-listened-to because the smell of turkey was wafting up to our noses from our plates below--just get to the "Amen" so we can eat! And then, blissful gluttony.
Then there's the post-meal letdown. You look at your plate and realize that all that food is now in your stomach, and you're so full you can't move. The candles on the table are slowly melting away, plates are in various states of disarray, and a blissful, contented silence falls over the crowd. Ahh.
Let's skip past the part about cleaning up, shall we?
The part we usually overlook, and I have until today, is the post-cleanup wind-down. The lights in the kitchen are low, it's dark outside, you're in your PJ's, ready for a nice tryptophan-induced sleep. On the stove, a pot boils lazily, and the delicious smell of turkey still lingers in the house. Much reflecting on the evening that passed is done, with the general consensus being success (of course, how could it not be successful? Turkey was involved). And then, off to bed.
Ah. Now I'm sleepy. Hope you're still with me.
I almost wanted to end right there due to the generally nostalgic fog that I'm in, but all that talk of food made me think of something else even more important. You're likely familiar with "Operation Christmas Child", the annual program run by Samaritan's Purse that aims to send gift boxes to children who are in need. Well, the time has come for this drive to happen again, and I want to take the time here to encourage all of us to get involved. Steph and I are going to do a box this year, even though this is the year we can probably least afford to do it. But even though we're considered "poor" in the eyes of the North American world, we're abundantly rich compared to what others are going through. Many have never had turkey dinners, or had the problem of having too much leftovers. And that makes me sad.
Let me indulge you with a story that our campus OCC coordinator told. When you put together a box, it is sent to Calgary (if you're in western Canada) and then the contents are checked for any illegal or unsafe items. The boxes are then sealed, and not opened again until they are opened by a needy child somewhere far away. One year, during a box distribution, our coordinator, who was an OCC volunteer at the time, was handing out boxes, and the children were understandably excited. Except for one little girl, who was crying tears of sadness over her box. When she was asked why she was crying, she explained that she had a little sister at home who was sick, and she was sad because her little sister wouldn't get a box this year. The workers were sympathetic, but had already given out all the boxes, so there was nothing they could do.
Disheartened, the little girl opened the box to try to figure out how she was going to split it with her sister. In an instant, her tears dried up and a huge smile spread across her face. The box contained two of every item--a complete double set--enough for this little girl and her sister to share. You see, somewhere in Canada, a random volunteer box sorter had thought to put two of everything in this box, and this particular box somehow found its way into the hands of the only little girl in that distribution that needed it. And if God can work a miracle like that, even though it's a small thing, imagine what else He has in store. But it'll take us all making boxes for Him to do it. So get on it, would you?
Wow, this post has really been an emotional roller-coaster, hasn't it? I had more to say, but I think I've likely exhausted your patience by now. So come on back tomorrow and we'll do it then. Hope to see you again.
10.24.2006
And Here We Are...
Here we are again, and we're even in all the old, familiar places. Hmm. Maybe we should change our routine, add a little spice, no? Maybe not. Spice, after all, is different and foreign and exotic. I dont' really like exotic. I like my routine. Sure, I'm a little anal. I'll freely admit it.
Speaking of spices, Steph's trying to slowly convert me to liking curry. It's tough going, let me tell you. My palatte, although broad, isn't necessarily deep. I like a great variety of things, but only if they taste pretty much the same. That's why curry doesn't even register on my spice chart. It's not even in my spice galaxy. It's, well, different.
But you'll be happy to know that I am gradually developing a taste for, maybe even an appreciation of, curry. I'll actually eat it now, which is a far cry from how I used to react to it. Baby steps, friends; baby steps.
Not sure how I got on that topic. Oh yeah, a good segue. Hey, speaking of topics, you'll be happy to know that I don't have any sort of rant to give tonight. Oh, I have my opinions, there's no doubt about that. But I feel as though I'll stick to the less-controversial topics this evening, like curry and such. There's never been a curry war, as far as I'm aware. Nope, there isn't--I just googled it. And, as we all know, if Google doesn't have it, it must not be true. It used to be that we'd say, "Look it up on the internet." Now we've replaced that with, "Google it." It's far more catchy, I admit.
What brilliant marketing genius came up with that, anyway? How does one company become such a part of life that it becomes common vernacular? I don't know very many people (besides my mom, who is Pepsi's biggest fan) who go into a restaurant and order a "cola" or a "Pepsi"; no, you order a Coke. Even if the restaurant serves Pepsi. "Coke" has become synonymous with "Cola." And everyone understands what you're asking for. And years ago, you didn't go photocopy something, you "Xerox'd" it. I remember when I found out that Xerox was actually a company name--I was stunned. I had become so ingrained in calling the process by its trade name that I couldn't distinguish between the two. I tell you, brilliant.
I sometimes wish that I was a marketing guru. Then maybe companies would come to me with their stupid commercials before they put them on TV and wasted all of our valuable time. No, I won't go into anything specific (although my Timmy Ho's rant a few days ago got some good feedback), but man, is it just me, or are commercials getting dumber and dumber. Or maybe even dumb and dumberer. "Dumb." That's sure a fun word to type and look at. No, I'm not on drugs.
Okay, okay, I'll tell you which commercials I'm thinking of--car commercials!!!! "There's fast; there's scary-fast; and then there's remember-this-moment-as-long-as-you-live fast." Okay, let's think about what we're saying here. "Hey kids, want to drive a fast car? Don't worry about being responsible! Just go out and speed! Go faster than scary-fast! In fact, go as darned fast as you'd like! Nobody's going to get hurt." But here's the thing: people are getting hurt because we're sending irresponsible messages to our children (The Fast and the Furious--and all your useless, un-asked-for sequels--I'm looking at you). And as much as I'm a big proponent of taking responsibility for your own actions, I think that car companies can't advertise like that and then claim complete innocence when someone drives one of their cars fast and someone gets hurt or dies. Talk about ducking the blame.
The other one that really gets me is this one now that Suzuki has put on about the wolfboys. Okay, what? At least with the other ones I could decipher the message. These ones are just downright weird. Note to self: don't come up with marketing campaigns when using hallucinogenic drugs. Right. Strange.
You might rightly wonder, do I come into these blog postings with a plan on what to write? Nope. I just sit down and hope something hits me. Don't really proof-read them, either, which explains my occasional spelling mistakes. So far, so good. I didn't plan to go on this long tonight, because I'm tired and I want to hit the sack. But alas, here it is 11:00 again, and I'm still here. One day I'll learn my lesson.
But hey, I appreciate the business, even if it's not really a "business" by any traditional definition of the word. But thanks for coming by, anyway. And I'll see you back here again tomorrow.
Speaking of spices, Steph's trying to slowly convert me to liking curry. It's tough going, let me tell you. My palatte, although broad, isn't necessarily deep. I like a great variety of things, but only if they taste pretty much the same. That's why curry doesn't even register on my spice chart. It's not even in my spice galaxy. It's, well, different.
But you'll be happy to know that I am gradually developing a taste for, maybe even an appreciation of, curry. I'll actually eat it now, which is a far cry from how I used to react to it. Baby steps, friends; baby steps.
Not sure how I got on that topic. Oh yeah, a good segue. Hey, speaking of topics, you'll be happy to know that I don't have any sort of rant to give tonight. Oh, I have my opinions, there's no doubt about that. But I feel as though I'll stick to the less-controversial topics this evening, like curry and such. There's never been a curry war, as far as I'm aware. Nope, there isn't--I just googled it. And, as we all know, if Google doesn't have it, it must not be true. It used to be that we'd say, "Look it up on the internet." Now we've replaced that with, "Google it." It's far more catchy, I admit.
What brilliant marketing genius came up with that, anyway? How does one company become such a part of life that it becomes common vernacular? I don't know very many people (besides my mom, who is Pepsi's biggest fan) who go into a restaurant and order a "cola" or a "Pepsi"; no, you order a Coke. Even if the restaurant serves Pepsi. "Coke" has become synonymous with "Cola." And everyone understands what you're asking for. And years ago, you didn't go photocopy something, you "Xerox'd" it. I remember when I found out that Xerox was actually a company name--I was stunned. I had become so ingrained in calling the process by its trade name that I couldn't distinguish between the two. I tell you, brilliant.
I sometimes wish that I was a marketing guru. Then maybe companies would come to me with their stupid commercials before they put them on TV and wasted all of our valuable time. No, I won't go into anything specific (although my Timmy Ho's rant a few days ago got some good feedback), but man, is it just me, or are commercials getting dumber and dumber. Or maybe even dumb and dumberer. "Dumb." That's sure a fun word to type and look at. No, I'm not on drugs.
Okay, okay, I'll tell you which commercials I'm thinking of--car commercials!!!! "There's fast; there's scary-fast; and then there's remember-this-moment-as-long-as-you-live fast." Okay, let's think about what we're saying here. "Hey kids, want to drive a fast car? Don't worry about being responsible! Just go out and speed! Go faster than scary-fast! In fact, go as darned fast as you'd like! Nobody's going to get hurt." But here's the thing: people are getting hurt because we're sending irresponsible messages to our children (The Fast and the Furious--and all your useless, un-asked-for sequels--I'm looking at you). And as much as I'm a big proponent of taking responsibility for your own actions, I think that car companies can't advertise like that and then claim complete innocence when someone drives one of their cars fast and someone gets hurt or dies. Talk about ducking the blame.
The other one that really gets me is this one now that Suzuki has put on about the wolfboys. Okay, what? At least with the other ones I could decipher the message. These ones are just downright weird. Note to self: don't come up with marketing campaigns when using hallucinogenic drugs. Right. Strange.
You might rightly wonder, do I come into these blog postings with a plan on what to write? Nope. I just sit down and hope something hits me. Don't really proof-read them, either, which explains my occasional spelling mistakes. So far, so good. I didn't plan to go on this long tonight, because I'm tired and I want to hit the sack. But alas, here it is 11:00 again, and I'm still here. One day I'll learn my lesson.
But hey, I appreciate the business, even if it's not really a "business" by any traditional definition of the word. But thanks for coming by, anyway. And I'll see you back here again tomorrow.
10.23.2006
Can't See the Forest for the Pine Beetles
I hate it when TV shows are so good that you just have to watch more. Maybe that's the one and only argument against TV shows on DVD--at least when they're on TV you're forced to stop watching. It might not have been wise, but yes, we watched a second episode of Grey's Anatomy this evening (season 2, so no plot spoilers for season 3, please). Just can't turn it off.
In light of the fact that's it's just after 11, I'm going to try to keep it brief. Had a good day today. Monday's my day without classes or other obligations, so it's always nice and relaxing. Except for the fact that I have homework out the ying-yang. So the day can be summarized as follows: wake up and eat, reading and assignments, gym, lunch, more reading and two essay outlines, walk with the boy, dinner, bedtime for the boy, blog posting for the boy (check it out--it's a gooder), Grey's Anatomy, here, soon to bed. That's about it.
One thing that I just have to comment on, though, is this whole mess with the Mountain Pine Beetle. A word of caution: stinging social commentary to follow--it might be worth the read, but if you're not interested, I won't hold it against you.
Moving on. All it takes is one drive through the BC interior to know that we've got a massive problem with the Pine Beetle. Thousands upon thousands of trees have been destroyed by this little guy, and it doesn't look like it's going to stop anytime soon. Just tonight, Global Edmonton had a story about how the Pine Beetle has now found its way over the Rockies and into Alberta. But instead of just sitting back and playing the victim, the government of Alberta is actually doing something. Yes, that's right--they have a plan.
The plan is aggressive, it's time-consuming, it's going to be difficult--mark and cut down every tree affected by the Pine Beetle. Then, when they're down, burn them. A collective gasp just went up from the entire province of BC. We're such a bunch of weak-kneed tree-huggers that the thought of burning trees on purpose is so foreign that we might actually pass out. But what's the alternative? Sit idly back and watch helplessly while your entire economy goes up in smoke? Figuratively, I mean.
The government of BC, quite simply, is dropping the ball on this crucial issue. All the excuses have run their course. Three years ago was the time to say, "Oh, just wait, a cold winter is all we need." We haven't had that cold winter in how long? Now isn't the time to sit back and wait for nature to kill this thing off--it's time to act.
Speaking theologically (hey, I am a Bible college student, after all), I think there's a clear mandate to step in and take some measures. Mankind is given authority as vice-regents over creation to work to sustain it. Sustaining it means protecting it against things like pollution, litter, and yes, the Pine Beetle. When things get a little bit out of control, we must step in and do whatever we can to bring things back into balance. We must be good stewards, and fulfilling that role means taking action.
Why am I so upset about a little bug, anyway? Check out these projections. It's pretty grim.
It's time for everyone to put aside their petty grievances and pet causes and work together against this thing. It's time for the environmentalists to put down their swords, for the natives to embrace unity, and for the government to show some real, authentic leadership and take the drastic steps necessary. In fact, that time was long ago.
Have you ever written something and then looked back on it and realized that it wasn't anywhere near as eloquent on paper (or the screen) as it was in your mind? Yeah, that just happened to me just now. I debated removing that whole tirade, but I need something to show for my efforts. Especially since I've now been sitting here for 15 minutes. If I go to bed and have nothing done, I'm dead meat.
By the way, I promised Steph I'd say this publically--she was right. No, not about when to do a class presentation. We had, if you can believe it, a debate about proper grammar terminology. Seriously. Our marriage is exciting--honestly, it is. It's just that we get really stuck on certain points, and correct grammar is one of them. Mind you, I figure that if grammar is the only thing we have to argue about, we're doing pretty well. Anyway, the bottom line is that she was right about the difference between gerunds and participles. So now I've admitted it. I was wrong. About gerunds. Which would make an awesome record title.
I think that about does it for tonight. See you all tomorrow at the same time. And hey, check out Theo's blog--it's been updated today with all sorts of new pictures and awesome stories.
In light of the fact that's it's just after 11, I'm going to try to keep it brief. Had a good day today. Monday's my day without classes or other obligations, so it's always nice and relaxing. Except for the fact that I have homework out the ying-yang. So the day can be summarized as follows: wake up and eat, reading and assignments, gym, lunch, more reading and two essay outlines, walk with the boy, dinner, bedtime for the boy, blog posting for the boy (check it out--it's a gooder), Grey's Anatomy, here, soon to bed. That's about it.
One thing that I just have to comment on, though, is this whole mess with the Mountain Pine Beetle. A word of caution: stinging social commentary to follow--it might be worth the read, but if you're not interested, I won't hold it against you.
Moving on. All it takes is one drive through the BC interior to know that we've got a massive problem with the Pine Beetle. Thousands upon thousands of trees have been destroyed by this little guy, and it doesn't look like it's going to stop anytime soon. Just tonight, Global Edmonton had a story about how the Pine Beetle has now found its way over the Rockies and into Alberta. But instead of just sitting back and playing the victim, the government of Alberta is actually doing something. Yes, that's right--they have a plan.
The plan is aggressive, it's time-consuming, it's going to be difficult--mark and cut down every tree affected by the Pine Beetle. Then, when they're down, burn them. A collective gasp just went up from the entire province of BC. We're such a bunch of weak-kneed tree-huggers that the thought of burning trees on purpose is so foreign that we might actually pass out. But what's the alternative? Sit idly back and watch helplessly while your entire economy goes up in smoke? Figuratively, I mean.
The government of BC, quite simply, is dropping the ball on this crucial issue. All the excuses have run their course. Three years ago was the time to say, "Oh, just wait, a cold winter is all we need." We haven't had that cold winter in how long? Now isn't the time to sit back and wait for nature to kill this thing off--it's time to act.
Speaking theologically (hey, I am a Bible college student, after all), I think there's a clear mandate to step in and take some measures. Mankind is given authority as vice-regents over creation to work to sustain it. Sustaining it means protecting it against things like pollution, litter, and yes, the Pine Beetle. When things get a little bit out of control, we must step in and do whatever we can to bring things back into balance. We must be good stewards, and fulfilling that role means taking action.
Why am I so upset about a little bug, anyway? Check out these projections. It's pretty grim.
It's time for everyone to put aside their petty grievances and pet causes and work together against this thing. It's time for the environmentalists to put down their swords, for the natives to embrace unity, and for the government to show some real, authentic leadership and take the drastic steps necessary. In fact, that time was long ago.
Have you ever written something and then looked back on it and realized that it wasn't anywhere near as eloquent on paper (or the screen) as it was in your mind? Yeah, that just happened to me just now. I debated removing that whole tirade, but I need something to show for my efforts. Especially since I've now been sitting here for 15 minutes. If I go to bed and have nothing done, I'm dead meat.
By the way, I promised Steph I'd say this publically--she was right. No, not about when to do a class presentation. We had, if you can believe it, a debate about proper grammar terminology. Seriously. Our marriage is exciting--honestly, it is. It's just that we get really stuck on certain points, and correct grammar is one of them. Mind you, I figure that if grammar is the only thing we have to argue about, we're doing pretty well. Anyway, the bottom line is that she was right about the difference between gerunds and participles. So now I've admitted it. I was wrong. About gerunds. Which would make an awesome record title.
I think that about does it for tonight. See you all tomorrow at the same time. And hey, check out Theo's blog--it's been updated today with all sorts of new pictures and awesome stories.
10.20.2006
Don't Forget to Refresh...
I've noticed that there's a bit of a problem at times with Blogger and your web browser--it seems that cached versions of this site come up quite frequently, which means you're usually a day behind (or more). So in response, I have a public service announcement to make: please hit the refresh button on your browser whenever you come to this blog. I do post on a daily basis (weekdays, at least), so there will usually be something new.
Here's another announcement: no, my wife and I are not fighting. Even though she takes the opposite position of me on the whole early or late presentations debate, we're still speaking to each other. And I didn't have to sleep on the couch, either. All is well in the Carroll household. And I promise that's the last time we'll air our dirty laundry on the web. Or not. No guarantees.
Old man winter is starting to really flex his muscles now. This morning I thought it was raining, but it turned out it was snowing. What confused me was the fact that it was so fargin' windy. Nothing like the icy-cold wind cutting you to the bones, while at the same time having snow blown in your face. Lovely. Got a little bit better as the day went on, though. Except that wind. I could really do without that.
One good thing about the wind, though, is that it completely cleared out the clouds and gave us a spectacular view of the night sky this evening. When we first got here, we were really shocked at how few stars we could see, because we thought that coming to a small town meant lots of stars. But alas, we were disappointed. I guess we just didn't get a good night (and haven't bothered to look up since then) because man, you can really see the stars in this town. Lots of them. It's really quite breathtaking.
Had a little Friday night adventure. Well, okay, it wasn't exactly an "adventure" in that we just went to Olds for dinner, but hey, come one, we're hicks now. The big city of Olds impresses us. It's a nice little place, if you like mid-sized prairie towns. Got a good restaurant selection, though, so this time we hit the Boston Pizza that's attached to the Best Western. And you know what? For the first time since coming to Alberta, we actually got decent service at a restaurant. It was a total shocker. In fact, we almost felt like we were back home again. Good times.
Had a bit of a scare on the way there, though (and my apologies for the unintentional rhyme). As we were driving along, we see a large truck coming our way (note: in Alberta, trucks are allowed to pull two full trailers in behind them, which is illegal in BC, and makes for some very large rigs on the road), slowing down to turn down a side road. As we approached to pass, I noticed that the pickup in behind the large truck had blue smoke coming out from under its tires. I realized, albeit belatedly, that the pickup was in a panic stop. Sure enough, just as we passed, he slammed right into the back of the big truck. Needless to say, no damage to the rig, but quite a bit to the pickup. Fortunately, he had slowed down enough by the time he hit that the impact wasn't all that severe (everyone was fine afterwards), but man, that sure was scary. I mean, he hit the truck literally as we passed. It's strange to hear the sound of a jarring collision so close to you. Almost surreal. We were both kind of shaken up, actually. Not Theo, though. He was sound asleep.
So yeah, life on the roads of Alberta, I suppose. On the way home, as we were approaching an intersection in the lovely town of Torrington (it was a highway intersection, where the main highway we were on bisected a secondary route--drivers on the secondary route had to stop), a truck was waiting to cross the road laterally, and, even though he could see us, did this weird thing of almost diving out right in front of us. He did the whole hesitation thing, which to me is worse than if he'd just gone through, because then at least I'd know what he was doing. Strange.
Besides that, not much in the way of eventful things happened today. Theo was in quite the mood this morning--if it hadn't been snowing, I'm sure he would've been out on the porch when I got home. He's so funny; sometimes he just wakes up in a terrible mood, and there's nothing you can do to get him out of it. It's almost like he has to take a mulligan on the day and start all over again. Sure enough, he had a nice nap in the early afternoon and woke up in a better mood, just in time for me to get home. And see that familiar expression on my wife's face. The one that says, "I am ready to strangle someone, but since I can't do it to the baby, you'd better watch out." Yikes.
After I did some homework, Steph managed to get a nap in, and I took Theo down to the end of the street to walk around in the fallen leaves. Quite fun. That kid is quite a walker. In fact, he's figured out how to pull himself to his feet from a sitting position, which is really scary, especially since he has no idea what to do when he gets there. Except try to walk and end up falling over. In fact, just the other day, he pitched himself right off the bed in the spare room. Fortunately, it's not very high and the landing area is soft carpet, but it sure gave us a scare. You have to watch him like a hawk, you do, and at all times. Turn your back for an instant, and he's right into something that will likely lead to severe injury. Not sure why, but it always happens that way. Such is life having an inquisitive child with absolutely no idea of the things that could hurt him.
It's funny, but I thought that as soon as his colic ended, he'd be less of a handful. But he's still a handful, it's just a handful of different things (you decide what things--I'm not going to go there). Oh well, keeps us on our toes, and makes us appreciate our parents and the free babysitting they provide, especially since we haven't had a night to ourselves since we got here. It's long overdue, let me tell you. Fortunately, the visitors start streaming to our door in a matter of weeks, so we're looking forward to that.
That, I think, is all I have for this evening. Okay, I know some of that could have been saved for Theo's blog, but hey, I wanted to get it out before I forgot it, so too bad. Speaking of Theo's blog, I'm going to do another update on the weekend, so check that out if you get a chance. Other than that, I'm done here until Monday. Another exciting weekend ahead, full of reading and writing essays. Ooh! I'll bet you wish you had my life! Anyway, see you back here next week.
Here's another announcement: no, my wife and I are not fighting. Even though she takes the opposite position of me on the whole early or late presentations debate, we're still speaking to each other. And I didn't have to sleep on the couch, either. All is well in the Carroll household. And I promise that's the last time we'll air our dirty laundry on the web. Or not. No guarantees.
Old man winter is starting to really flex his muscles now. This morning I thought it was raining, but it turned out it was snowing. What confused me was the fact that it was so fargin' windy. Nothing like the icy-cold wind cutting you to the bones, while at the same time having snow blown in your face. Lovely. Got a little bit better as the day went on, though. Except that wind. I could really do without that.
One good thing about the wind, though, is that it completely cleared out the clouds and gave us a spectacular view of the night sky this evening. When we first got here, we were really shocked at how few stars we could see, because we thought that coming to a small town meant lots of stars. But alas, we were disappointed. I guess we just didn't get a good night (and haven't bothered to look up since then) because man, you can really see the stars in this town. Lots of them. It's really quite breathtaking.
Had a little Friday night adventure. Well, okay, it wasn't exactly an "adventure" in that we just went to Olds for dinner, but hey, come one, we're hicks now. The big city of Olds impresses us. It's a nice little place, if you like mid-sized prairie towns. Got a good restaurant selection, though, so this time we hit the Boston Pizza that's attached to the Best Western. And you know what? For the first time since coming to Alberta, we actually got decent service at a restaurant. It was a total shocker. In fact, we almost felt like we were back home again. Good times.
Had a bit of a scare on the way there, though (and my apologies for the unintentional rhyme). As we were driving along, we see a large truck coming our way (note: in Alberta, trucks are allowed to pull two full trailers in behind them, which is illegal in BC, and makes for some very large rigs on the road), slowing down to turn down a side road. As we approached to pass, I noticed that the pickup in behind the large truck had blue smoke coming out from under its tires. I realized, albeit belatedly, that the pickup was in a panic stop. Sure enough, just as we passed, he slammed right into the back of the big truck. Needless to say, no damage to the rig, but quite a bit to the pickup. Fortunately, he had slowed down enough by the time he hit that the impact wasn't all that severe (everyone was fine afterwards), but man, that sure was scary. I mean, he hit the truck literally as we passed. It's strange to hear the sound of a jarring collision so close to you. Almost surreal. We were both kind of shaken up, actually. Not Theo, though. He was sound asleep.
So yeah, life on the roads of Alberta, I suppose. On the way home, as we were approaching an intersection in the lovely town of Torrington (it was a highway intersection, where the main highway we were on bisected a secondary route--drivers on the secondary route had to stop), a truck was waiting to cross the road laterally, and, even though he could see us, did this weird thing of almost diving out right in front of us. He did the whole hesitation thing, which to me is worse than if he'd just gone through, because then at least I'd know what he was doing. Strange.
Besides that, not much in the way of eventful things happened today. Theo was in quite the mood this morning--if it hadn't been snowing, I'm sure he would've been out on the porch when I got home. He's so funny; sometimes he just wakes up in a terrible mood, and there's nothing you can do to get him out of it. It's almost like he has to take a mulligan on the day and start all over again. Sure enough, he had a nice nap in the early afternoon and woke up in a better mood, just in time for me to get home. And see that familiar expression on my wife's face. The one that says, "I am ready to strangle someone, but since I can't do it to the baby, you'd better watch out." Yikes.
After I did some homework, Steph managed to get a nap in, and I took Theo down to the end of the street to walk around in the fallen leaves. Quite fun. That kid is quite a walker. In fact, he's figured out how to pull himself to his feet from a sitting position, which is really scary, especially since he has no idea what to do when he gets there. Except try to walk and end up falling over. In fact, just the other day, he pitched himself right off the bed in the spare room. Fortunately, it's not very high and the landing area is soft carpet, but it sure gave us a scare. You have to watch him like a hawk, you do, and at all times. Turn your back for an instant, and he's right into something that will likely lead to severe injury. Not sure why, but it always happens that way. Such is life having an inquisitive child with absolutely no idea of the things that could hurt him.
It's funny, but I thought that as soon as his colic ended, he'd be less of a handful. But he's still a handful, it's just a handful of different things (you decide what things--I'm not going to go there). Oh well, keeps us on our toes, and makes us appreciate our parents and the free babysitting they provide, especially since we haven't had a night to ourselves since we got here. It's long overdue, let me tell you. Fortunately, the visitors start streaming to our door in a matter of weeks, so we're looking forward to that.
That, I think, is all I have for this evening. Okay, I know some of that could have been saved for Theo's blog, but hey, I wanted to get it out before I forgot it, so too bad. Speaking of Theo's blog, I'm going to do another update on the weekend, so check that out if you get a chance. Other than that, I'm done here until Monday. Another exciting weekend ahead, full of reading and writing essays. Ooh! I'll bet you wish you had my life! Anyway, see you back here next week.
10.19.2006
In Which I Get Nostalgic...
In the final analysis, I'm awfully glad it's over. My sermon, that is. There's something to be said for going first. I think that everyone on earth is divided into two cateogries: those who go first, and those who go last. Each category reflects a deep philosophical conviction.
Those who want to go first, like myself, tend to live and die by the following ethos: get it the heck over with! There's no point in waiting until everyone else has gone; if you go first, you get to set that bar. And then no matter who comes after you, you have no opportunity to over-analyze or re-think your presentation because it's already done. The weight comes off your shoulders early. The only downside is that others can see what you've done and adjust their presentation accordingly, learning from your mistakes and doing it better than you.
Those who like to go last, like many of my classmates (on sign-up day, you have to almost get into a physical altercation to get the last slots; I just wait until the bodies have settled and then calmly move in and secure that first-day spot), live and die by this ethos: let someone else chart the course--I'm just a follower. Okay, there's my bias coming through. But seriously, I don't think this is a good place to live. Come on, be a leader! Set the trends! Make them all follow you!
Anyway, I had a "best of both worlds" kind of situation today--I was the last one to preach on the first day of preaching. I didn't leave thinking that I'd have to match my upcoming sermon to the level of today's presenters, but I also had time to see what I liked and disliked about the first three presenters, and hear what the class (and the prof) had to say, and could make subtle changes to my delivery as needed. Content didn't change, but style did, if only slightly.
What was the end result? Success. At least I hope so. People seemed to react positively to it, at least, which is always a good sign, especially when your peers are evaluating you. If their initial reactions were strong, that's likely what they put on their evaluation sheets. I won't know for sure until I get my grade back next class, but I'm cautiously optimistic.
One down, two to go. Plus another class presentation for another class. Things are moving along this semester at a startling pace, actually. Just yesterday, I had a sudden realization of exactly how far behind I've gotten in my reading for my distance education courses (three of my courses are on-campus, two are distance). Yikes. It's led to two days of intensive reading, with two more planned. One thing about reading all day, though, is the high degree of strain on your eyes when the day is done. My neck feels like it's made of rebar, and my head feels like I've been hitting myself with the books instead of reading them. The price you pay to be a student, I guess. I'm not complaining--I'm here for a purpose, and that purpose is being fulfilled.
In other news, I checked my graduation requirements today, just to make sure I'm on track with where I'm supposed to be. You have to fill out an application to graduate, and, at Prairie, you have to be interviewed by a candidature committee to see if you meet the graduation criteria (mainly they're looking for spiritual readiness). I wonder if that committee has ever turned anyone down before? It's an interesting thought--you can fulfill all the academic requirements for graduation, and yet not be allowed to graduate. Only at a Christian college could they get away with that.
Anyway, I submitted said application some time ago, but hadn't heard anything since, so I looked in my academic guide to see if I should be concerned. Sure enough, the application deadline isn't until November, and candidature interviews don't have to be completed until March, so I'm good. Oh, wait, what's this? Graduation applications must be received by November 15 of your third year? Uh oh. Um, I have every intention of graduating this year, so I hope we can come to some kind of understanding. Stay tuned.
Other than all that, it was another stunningly normal day. Had a nice late-afternoon rain storm, by which I mean that (a) I wasn't out in it, and (b) it wasn't snow. One thing about living in a mobile home is that the roof is that much closer to the ceiling (i.e. it has no attic), and so the sound of the rain on the roof is magnified. That's a great sound, in my opinion. Somehow, the rhythmic drum of rain against the roof has an almost hypnotic effect. It seems that no matter what kind of day you're having, that sound always brings you back to when your life was simpler. When a rainy day meant that instead of going outdoors to play with your friends, you stayed in and read a book. Or dozed in a chair. Or had hot chocolate.
For me, the sound of rain always conjures up images of driving around town with my dad in his old blue Toyota Corolla. The sound of the rain on the roof of the car is something I'll never forget, and neither will I forget the sound of the wipers keeping up their steady assault against reduced visibility. Those wipers had a very distinct mechanical sound, characteristic of the 80's when cars were built for function rather than style. The fact that you could hear the wiper motor wasn't disturbing, because, unlike today's cars, we were accustomed to a little bit of noise when we drove. Especially when you were on the highway. Then the car got so loud that you had to crank your radio all the way to be heard, or you had to yell at each other to have a conversation. And you could actually diagnose and fix problems with your car without having to have a degree in computer science.
Sweet nostalgia. Where would my life be without you? It'd be pretty boring, that's what. Time for bed, methinks. Thanks for stopping by and mulling over my philosophical rantings. I appreciate the hit on my counter and the boost to my ego. See you again tomorrow for the exciting Friday edition.
Those who want to go first, like myself, tend to live and die by the following ethos: get it the heck over with! There's no point in waiting until everyone else has gone; if you go first, you get to set that bar. And then no matter who comes after you, you have no opportunity to over-analyze or re-think your presentation because it's already done. The weight comes off your shoulders early. The only downside is that others can see what you've done and adjust their presentation accordingly, learning from your mistakes and doing it better than you.
Those who like to go last, like many of my classmates (on sign-up day, you have to almost get into a physical altercation to get the last slots; I just wait until the bodies have settled and then calmly move in and secure that first-day spot), live and die by this ethos: let someone else chart the course--I'm just a follower. Okay, there's my bias coming through. But seriously, I don't think this is a good place to live. Come on, be a leader! Set the trends! Make them all follow you!
Anyway, I had a "best of both worlds" kind of situation today--I was the last one to preach on the first day of preaching. I didn't leave thinking that I'd have to match my upcoming sermon to the level of today's presenters, but I also had time to see what I liked and disliked about the first three presenters, and hear what the class (and the prof) had to say, and could make subtle changes to my delivery as needed. Content didn't change, but style did, if only slightly.
What was the end result? Success. At least I hope so. People seemed to react positively to it, at least, which is always a good sign, especially when your peers are evaluating you. If their initial reactions were strong, that's likely what they put on their evaluation sheets. I won't know for sure until I get my grade back next class, but I'm cautiously optimistic.
One down, two to go. Plus another class presentation for another class. Things are moving along this semester at a startling pace, actually. Just yesterday, I had a sudden realization of exactly how far behind I've gotten in my reading for my distance education courses (three of my courses are on-campus, two are distance). Yikes. It's led to two days of intensive reading, with two more planned. One thing about reading all day, though, is the high degree of strain on your eyes when the day is done. My neck feels like it's made of rebar, and my head feels like I've been hitting myself with the books instead of reading them. The price you pay to be a student, I guess. I'm not complaining--I'm here for a purpose, and that purpose is being fulfilled.
In other news, I checked my graduation requirements today, just to make sure I'm on track with where I'm supposed to be. You have to fill out an application to graduate, and, at Prairie, you have to be interviewed by a candidature committee to see if you meet the graduation criteria (mainly they're looking for spiritual readiness). I wonder if that committee has ever turned anyone down before? It's an interesting thought--you can fulfill all the academic requirements for graduation, and yet not be allowed to graduate. Only at a Christian college could they get away with that.
Anyway, I submitted said application some time ago, but hadn't heard anything since, so I looked in my academic guide to see if I should be concerned. Sure enough, the application deadline isn't until November, and candidature interviews don't have to be completed until March, so I'm good. Oh, wait, what's this? Graduation applications must be received by November 15 of your third year? Uh oh. Um, I have every intention of graduating this year, so I hope we can come to some kind of understanding. Stay tuned.
Other than all that, it was another stunningly normal day. Had a nice late-afternoon rain storm, by which I mean that (a) I wasn't out in it, and (b) it wasn't snow. One thing about living in a mobile home is that the roof is that much closer to the ceiling (i.e. it has no attic), and so the sound of the rain on the roof is magnified. That's a great sound, in my opinion. Somehow, the rhythmic drum of rain against the roof has an almost hypnotic effect. It seems that no matter what kind of day you're having, that sound always brings you back to when your life was simpler. When a rainy day meant that instead of going outdoors to play with your friends, you stayed in and read a book. Or dozed in a chair. Or had hot chocolate.
For me, the sound of rain always conjures up images of driving around town with my dad in his old blue Toyota Corolla. The sound of the rain on the roof of the car is something I'll never forget, and neither will I forget the sound of the wipers keeping up their steady assault against reduced visibility. Those wipers had a very distinct mechanical sound, characteristic of the 80's when cars were built for function rather than style. The fact that you could hear the wiper motor wasn't disturbing, because, unlike today's cars, we were accustomed to a little bit of noise when we drove. Especially when you were on the highway. Then the car got so loud that you had to crank your radio all the way to be heard, or you had to yell at each other to have a conversation. And you could actually diagnose and fix problems with your car without having to have a degree in computer science.
Sweet nostalgia. Where would my life be without you? It'd be pretty boring, that's what. Time for bed, methinks. Thanks for stopping by and mulling over my philosophical rantings. I appreciate the hit on my counter and the boost to my ego. See you again tomorrow for the exciting Friday edition.
10.18.2006
I Was Thinking of a Different Adjective...
This blog posting is going to be steeped. And, well, possibly short. And perhaps several other adjectives, none of which would ever be heard in a sentence describing something of immense beauty. More like those associated with walking into the 4-H barn at the PNE.
I have something to gripe about, though, so that should be good for a couple hundred words. First off, I'm sorry, because I'm going to bash Tim Horton's. Yes, I know, the venerated institution of Canadiana; that stalwart of our society; the only restaurant started by and named after a hockey player. Actually, that's not true. I know that approaching this topic is sacred ground, and I don't tread it lightly. But dang it, those commercials are just so stupid. It was bad enough that I had to endure them the first time around, but to resurrect them the next year--that's torture. It's like the Bride of Chucky or some other strangely twisted horror movie icon, who, no matter how many times you kill him, always comes back for the sequel. But these commercials kill not with blade, chainsaw, meat hook, or whatever else they're using in the genre nowadays--they kill by breaking your spirit. Slowly. Painfully.
You know which commercials I'm talking about, don't you? "Hey mom, got you some tea." "Mmm, it's good." "Yeah, it's steeped." Much hilarity ensues. An asian woman is stereotyped and mocked (how they got away with that one, I'm not sure). The catch line is that Tim Horton's tea is steeped.
STEEPED?!?! Did you say steeped?!?! It's a revolution in tea-making! This will change the world as we know it! Now instead of holding the teabag over our mouths and pouring hot water directly into our pie holes, we can actually place the teabag in a recepticle (we'll call it a "teapot") and pour the hot water into it, letting it naturally infuse the water with its tea-leafy goodness! We're brilliant!
Of course it's steeped; it's tea, moron. I suppose next you'll be putting on an ad campaign extolling the virtues of your new "brewed" coffee. Please, make me a doughnut; don't insult my intelligence.
Just as I suspected: 314 words. Now, if only I could write my papers about things that bother me about Tim Horton's commercials, I'd be set.
While I was writing that, I was looking for the Tim's commercials on the web somewhere, but I couldn't find them in my cursory search. You know, if there's one thing the internet has taught us, it's that if you can't find something in 30 seconds, it's probably not worth it. Whereas five years ago I might have searched high and low, now I just do one Google search, and if it's not on the first page of results, I give up. I did have an interesting look around YouTube, though. Wow. I'll admit I use YouTube's services. I upload video of Theo to share with you, the blog-consuming public. I like to think these videos have purpose. At least some sort of purpose. But hey, if you want the definition of inane, go check out YouTube.
For example, I did a search for "Tim Horton's" (for some reason, my fingers always want to type "Time") and came up with all sorts of silly things. Including one where, as far as I can tell, some illicit drugs were involved. Or maybe it was just a bunch of teenage girls who hadn't slept in a long time. Anyway, the whole video was about how they were sitting in Tim Horton's and Steve Darling walked in. That's it. They laugh. It's a minute long. How? I don't know. I only got through the first 20 seconds before I had to stop.
It's interesting what the internet has enabled us to do. No, I'm not going to go off on a rant about the internet. I just wonder why a site where people upload random, silly videos is worth over $1 billion to Google. And why haven't I thought of something like that yet?
Normal, boring day today. No more snow, just to get the daily meteorological update in there. Cold, though. Actually, it's not so much the cold as the wind. Brr. But I promised myself I wouldn't talk about the weather today, so that's all you get. Let's see, got up too early after too little sleep and finished my homework, went off to chapel, went to my class, went to the gym, preached a practice sermon, came home and did homework, ate dinner, put the boy to bed, watched some TV, and here I am. You know what's sad? The fact that I could go on for 300 words about a Tim Horton's commercial, but the story of my day took all of 47 words.
Actually, I can elaborate. As I mentioned, I preached a practice sermon today to one of my classmates. Man, that's a strange experience. As if preaching to a handful of them tomorrow (there are 13 in my class) won't be weird enough--preaching to one was downright unnerving. And yes, it confirmed everything I said yesterday: I have no idea what to do with myself when I preach. I think maybe I'll bring a rope and tie myself down. I'll say it's an illustration, but I won't explain it. That'll get people to think, "Wow, he's really deep. That rope thing was awesome." Hmm. The wheels are turning.
I try to think of what other preachers do when I watch them, and I can't think of anything they do. Which is probably the point, I guess. Their movement doesn't get in the way of their delivery. Well hey, one thing at a time, right? I'll get there eventually. Don't worry--I'll be sure to let you know how it went tomorrow.
Well, I'm done. It's not as late as it was yesterday, but I'm tired, and I can feel the quality of my writing slipping steadily away. Come back tomorrow, you know, for fun and all that. See you then.
I have something to gripe about, though, so that should be good for a couple hundred words. First off, I'm sorry, because I'm going to bash Tim Horton's. Yes, I know, the venerated institution of Canadiana; that stalwart of our society; the only restaurant started by and named after a hockey player. Actually, that's not true. I know that approaching this topic is sacred ground, and I don't tread it lightly. But dang it, those commercials are just so stupid. It was bad enough that I had to endure them the first time around, but to resurrect them the next year--that's torture. It's like the Bride of Chucky or some other strangely twisted horror movie icon, who, no matter how many times you kill him, always comes back for the sequel. But these commercials kill not with blade, chainsaw, meat hook, or whatever else they're using in the genre nowadays--they kill by breaking your spirit. Slowly. Painfully.
You know which commercials I'm talking about, don't you? "Hey mom, got you some tea." "Mmm, it's good." "Yeah, it's steeped." Much hilarity ensues. An asian woman is stereotyped and mocked (how they got away with that one, I'm not sure). The catch line is that Tim Horton's tea is steeped.
STEEPED?!?! Did you say steeped?!?! It's a revolution in tea-making! This will change the world as we know it! Now instead of holding the teabag over our mouths and pouring hot water directly into our pie holes, we can actually place the teabag in a recepticle (we'll call it a "teapot") and pour the hot water into it, letting it naturally infuse the water with its tea-leafy goodness! We're brilliant!
Of course it's steeped; it's tea, moron. I suppose next you'll be putting on an ad campaign extolling the virtues of your new "brewed" coffee. Please, make me a doughnut; don't insult my intelligence.
Just as I suspected: 314 words. Now, if only I could write my papers about things that bother me about Tim Horton's commercials, I'd be set.
While I was writing that, I was looking for the Tim's commercials on the web somewhere, but I couldn't find them in my cursory search. You know, if there's one thing the internet has taught us, it's that if you can't find something in 30 seconds, it's probably not worth it. Whereas five years ago I might have searched high and low, now I just do one Google search, and if it's not on the first page of results, I give up. I did have an interesting look around YouTube, though. Wow. I'll admit I use YouTube's services. I upload video of Theo to share with you, the blog-consuming public. I like to think these videos have purpose. At least some sort of purpose. But hey, if you want the definition of inane, go check out YouTube.
For example, I did a search for "Tim Horton's" (for some reason, my fingers always want to type "Time") and came up with all sorts of silly things. Including one where, as far as I can tell, some illicit drugs were involved. Or maybe it was just a bunch of teenage girls who hadn't slept in a long time. Anyway, the whole video was about how they were sitting in Tim Horton's and Steve Darling walked in. That's it. They laugh. It's a minute long. How? I don't know. I only got through the first 20 seconds before I had to stop.
It's interesting what the internet has enabled us to do. No, I'm not going to go off on a rant about the internet. I just wonder why a site where people upload random, silly videos is worth over $1 billion to Google. And why haven't I thought of something like that yet?
Normal, boring day today. No more snow, just to get the daily meteorological update in there. Cold, though. Actually, it's not so much the cold as the wind. Brr. But I promised myself I wouldn't talk about the weather today, so that's all you get. Let's see, got up too early after too little sleep and finished my homework, went off to chapel, went to my class, went to the gym, preached a practice sermon, came home and did homework, ate dinner, put the boy to bed, watched some TV, and here I am. You know what's sad? The fact that I could go on for 300 words about a Tim Horton's commercial, but the story of my day took all of 47 words.
Actually, I can elaborate. As I mentioned, I preached a practice sermon today to one of my classmates. Man, that's a strange experience. As if preaching to a handful of them tomorrow (there are 13 in my class) won't be weird enough--preaching to one was downright unnerving. And yes, it confirmed everything I said yesterday: I have no idea what to do with myself when I preach. I think maybe I'll bring a rope and tie myself down. I'll say it's an illustration, but I won't explain it. That'll get people to think, "Wow, he's really deep. That rope thing was awesome." Hmm. The wheels are turning.
I try to think of what other preachers do when I watch them, and I can't think of anything they do. Which is probably the point, I guess. Their movement doesn't get in the way of their delivery. Well hey, one thing at a time, right? I'll get there eventually. Don't worry--I'll be sure to let you know how it went tomorrow.
Well, I'm done. It's not as late as it was yesterday, but I'm tired, and I can feel the quality of my writing slipping steadily away. Come back tomorrow, you know, for fun and all that. See you then.
10.17.2006
It's Never Too Late for Blogging...
I'll admit it, tonight I was very much considering heading straight to bed without doing a blog posting, but I have a reputation to maintain, so here I am. It's 12:15 and I just finished my school work. Okay, I haven't actually finished all the work I should do, but that's what mornings are for, right? I'm just far too tired to read any more tonight, so too bad. If I don't get it done, then so be it.
Ooh, look at me, I'm a rebellious college student.
One good thing about blogging this late at night is that I have something to open with other than the weather. In fact, as Steph pointed out, I think I've opened with a weather-related anecdote every day for the past two weeks. Not that it's not worth blogging about (more snow today, by the way), but it's just, well, it's the weather, and that's so totally not cool to talk about. But it really is quite fascinating for me; I think I could do an entire blog based on a BC native's response to Alberta's crazy weather. Good reading. If you're an insomniac, that is.
Still with me? Even after the weather talk? Wow, you guys are dedicated. Not much in the way of excitement today, unless you count way too much time spent on one assignment as "excitement" (I don't, in case you're keeping score). I'm taking homeletics (a fancy word for "learning how to preach") this semester, and that means I have three sermons to do. My first one comes up on Thursday. The hard part for me isn't preparing it or even delivering it; the hard part is cutting it down to the six minutes I've been alotted. Yikes. You all know me, and you know that there is no way that I can say anything in less than 10 minutes. It's been a real challenge for me, but I think I've got it down pat.
One of the things this course has made me do is self-evaluation. Oh, how I hate it so! Tonight I was practicing (which sounds remarkably like talking to yourself) and I realized how much I move and fidget while I speak. How on earth am I going to be able to be relatively still while I preach? How can I only gesture when appropriate? Oy. This is going to be more difficult than I thought. The worst part is that we're videotaped, and we have to watch our video afterward. In fact, the prof wants us to watch it on fast-forward, just so that we get a good idea of how much we move during our sermons. Then we have to watch it at regular speed and actually listen to what it is we were saying. I dread that. Oh how I dread it. Please, can we do something else, like, oh, I don't know, pour hot wax on my eyeballs?
I know, I've got some weird quirks. But that's why you all keep coming by and subjecting yourself to my interminable rantings, right? Okay, don't answer.
Before I get even more self-deprecating, I think it's time to hit the hay. My apologies for the relative lack of content in this here post, although I'm sure it's not something you'll send me flaming emails over. Although if you were to send something, how about a Starbucks card? Or even just a piece of paper with your name on it. Come on, it's fun to get mail! And we don't get very much of it! And we're lonely!
Yikes. It's seriously time to stop. See you all tomorrow.
Ooh, look at me, I'm a rebellious college student.
One good thing about blogging this late at night is that I have something to open with other than the weather. In fact, as Steph pointed out, I think I've opened with a weather-related anecdote every day for the past two weeks. Not that it's not worth blogging about (more snow today, by the way), but it's just, well, it's the weather, and that's so totally not cool to talk about. But it really is quite fascinating for me; I think I could do an entire blog based on a BC native's response to Alberta's crazy weather. Good reading. If you're an insomniac, that is.
Still with me? Even after the weather talk? Wow, you guys are dedicated. Not much in the way of excitement today, unless you count way too much time spent on one assignment as "excitement" (I don't, in case you're keeping score). I'm taking homeletics (a fancy word for "learning how to preach") this semester, and that means I have three sermons to do. My first one comes up on Thursday. The hard part for me isn't preparing it or even delivering it; the hard part is cutting it down to the six minutes I've been alotted. Yikes. You all know me, and you know that there is no way that I can say anything in less than 10 minutes. It's been a real challenge for me, but I think I've got it down pat.
One of the things this course has made me do is self-evaluation. Oh, how I hate it so! Tonight I was practicing (which sounds remarkably like talking to yourself) and I realized how much I move and fidget while I speak. How on earth am I going to be able to be relatively still while I preach? How can I only gesture when appropriate? Oy. This is going to be more difficult than I thought. The worst part is that we're videotaped, and we have to watch our video afterward. In fact, the prof wants us to watch it on fast-forward, just so that we get a good idea of how much we move during our sermons. Then we have to watch it at regular speed and actually listen to what it is we were saying. I dread that. Oh how I dread it. Please, can we do something else, like, oh, I don't know, pour hot wax on my eyeballs?
I know, I've got some weird quirks. But that's why you all keep coming by and subjecting yourself to my interminable rantings, right? Okay, don't answer.
Before I get even more self-deprecating, I think it's time to hit the hay. My apologies for the relative lack of content in this here post, although I'm sure it's not something you'll send me flaming emails over. Although if you were to send something, how about a Starbucks card? Or even just a piece of paper with your name on it. Come on, it's fun to get mail! And we don't get very much of it! And we're lonely!
Yikes. It's seriously time to stop. See you all tomorrow.
10.16.2006
In Case You Were in Doubt...
When the meteorologists in Calgary say that it's going to be a strange weather day, I've learned that it's best to just take cover. You know that they're operating out of a completely different frame of reference; if even they say it's going to be a bad day, oh boy, you're in trouble. Especially if you're a yellow-bellied hippie temperate-rainforest west-coast-of-BC kind of person like myself. Even though it wasn't as bad as some had predicted, it was blah. Today's low temperature: 0 degrees. Today's high temperature: 1 degree. Ooh.
Needless to say, winter has most definitely asserted itself here in central Alberta. We woke up this morning to snow yet again, and it just kept falling all bloomin' day. You know, if we were back home, the scene we woke to this morning would have bordered on magical; here it's just annoying. But I'll admit, it did take me by surprise to throw the drapes open this morning to find a light blanket of the white stuff waiting to greet me. For just a brief moment, I was a kid again, getting terribly excited by the prospect of snow, and thinking about making snow angels and building the meanest, baddest snowfort on the block. But then adulthood kicked in, and I realized that even though I have a kid, he's a little too young to claim he built the massive snowfort, and, for some reason, we adults have lost our capacity to just get back to the simple pleasures in life, like pegging your neighbour in the head with a snowball.
It also emphasized that, in the words of Dorothy, we're not in Kansas anymore. In BC, today's snowfall would have caused chaos; schools would be closed, traffic would be gridlocked for hours, and general productivity would have plummeted. Thankfully, it only snows once a year in the Lower Mainland. The GDP couldn't stand more than that. Out here, nobody even bats an eye. In fact, the street sweeper was out today. No, he wasn't sanding, salting, or plowing; he was cleaning the street. Just another day at the office. Fortunately, the snow that fell throughout the day didn't stick (which also reminded me of home), and by the end of the day it was mostly all melted. And now it's started up again. We'll see what's in store for the rest of the week.
At the risk of sounding like a broken record, we took another trip into the fabulous town of Red Deer this evening. We might as well move there. But it's easier to navigate than Calgary, and much more interesting than Airdrie. Besides, the only Starbucks in Airdrie is the one in the Safeway, which just won't do. We have our standards, you know.
Anyway, had to go to Home Depot and pick up a plastic spacer for our blinds. Our landlords didn't quite finish up all the renos on the house before they left, so we haven't actually had a blind in the bathroom window since we got here. And the window isn't frosted. And it looks right out onto the street if you're standing in the shower. Hmm. This is a problem. So instead of becoming known in the neighbourhood as "those crazy nudists from BC", we decided that it would be a good idea to put the blind up. But alas, there's a frame around the window, which means that we can't just screw the blind into the wall as it wouldn't open and close properly. And so, for the sake of 50 cents worth of plastic (which HD charges four bucks for), we took a 45-minute drive. And in our economy, that works, because if nothing else, there's a Starbucks at the end of the road (did I mention we enjoy Starbucks?).
Of course, once one is in the Home Depot parking lot, one might as well head over to Wal-Mart and pick up a couple things as well. And hey, while one is there, one should probably also head over to Payless to find some shoes. Oy. Fortunately, I've nagged and whined enough that my wife knows of my inherent dislike for both Wal-Mart and shoe shopping, and she keeps the trips mercifully short. Mostly it's self-preservation, I'm sure (I can squeeze a lot of whining into a 45-minute drive home), but hey, whatever works, right?
After all the shopping, it was dinner at Tim Horton's, hit the Starbucks, and back home again. Only this time it had started snowing in earnest. No more of this mamby-pamby light flakage; this was all-out. In fact, as we were driving home, looking out the windshield was like looking through the cockpit of the Millennium Falcon as it jumped into hyperspace (it ain't like dusting crops, kid). Or, for those of you who are considerably less nerdy than me and can't locate a Star Wars analogy for every life situation, it was like sitting in front of your computer and watching the "flying through space" sceensaver turned up to the highest number of stars at the highest speed. Or maybe I was the only person to do that, too. Dang it!
Since I promised you some exciting details of our weekend, here it is: I vacuumed. That was probably the highlight. Oh yes, some sports were watched. But Saturday was mostly just a massive cleaning day around here. It feels good to clean up every once in a while, even though the getting there stinks. It's actually a lot like going to the gym--the hardest part is just getting out of the house. I'd much rather never clean house, but I feel good once it's done, so I suppose that's something.
Of course, the early Hockey Night game was, well, the Leafs, AS USUAL!!! Stupid Toronto. But I'll take whatever hockey I can get, so I'll even watch the Leafs play. Worse yet, I'll actually cheer for the Flames because, well, I can't cheer for the Leafs now, can I? Sadly, the worst part of the early Hockey Night game is still there--Bob Cole. Okay, I understand the man is a legend. I understand that he's been a part of the national conciousness for (too) many years. But seriously, it's time to pack 'er in there, buddy. Listening to him call a game is like watching the Jamaican bobsled team--the effort is there, but no matter what, they just can't keep up. Give me Jim Hughson any day.
One bright spot, though, was CBC's brave move of hiring Cassie Campbell to do colour with Bob. I'm not sure what's happened to Harry Neale, but I'm sure glad that at least one of the "dynamic" duo wasn't there. Okay, I just looked it up; turns out Harry was snowed in at his home in Buffalo. Too bad that doesn't happen every week.
Anyway, what I meant to say was kudos to CBC for stepping out and bravely charting a new course, even if it was only a one-off. As someone who loves the game of hockey, I really admire the contribution Cassie Campbell has made to the sport. She's someone that we in Canada should be proud of, and I'm continually impressed by her poise and knowledge both on and off the ice. I'll admit, it was a little bit strange to hear a woman's voice doing colour, and she was a bit off (first day jitters, I'm sure), but I thought it was fantastic to hear her, and I hope this is the beginning of something bigger. Are Canadians ready for a female hockey commentator? I think that if you really do love the game, you'll realize Cassie's head for it and appreciate it regardless of her gender.
That was Saturday. Sunday was also fun. Our church put on a potluck, and for once in my life, I had no idea there was a potluck, and I certainly didn't bring anything, but I stayed anyway. Ha! When I was a kid and we had potlucks out at Richmond Baptist, I always heard the pastor say "If you're visiting with us this morning and didn't know there was a potluck, you're welcome to stay anyway" but we were always that family that brought more than their share of food to compensate for those who wouldn't bring theirs. But this time, the tables were turned, baby! Unmerited participation in food-related events--what could be better?
The afternoon was great, too. The boy was being pretty fussy and we couldn't get him down for a nap, even though he was tired. So I decided to kill two birds with one stone and have a nap with him. That did the trick. We were both totally zonked for about 90 refreshing minutes. I woke up then, but he slept for another half hour, which gave me a chance to catch up on some reading that I had to do. A wonderful day, all in all.
And that brings us to today, if a little bit out of order. Now, it's time to head to bed. I'm trying to get into a practice of self-discipline, wherein I boldly set my alarm for some crazy hour and wake up before being woken up by a hungry baby. I realized today that I really need that time in the morning to get centred and focused on what's to come. I've really been getting off on the wrong foot recently, and that needs to change. If I'm really ambitious, I'm going to start running in the mornings. Stay tuned to see how that goes. So for now, goodnight. Thanks for coming by, and I'll see you in the same place tomorrow.
Needless to say, winter has most definitely asserted itself here in central Alberta. We woke up this morning to snow yet again, and it just kept falling all bloomin' day. You know, if we were back home, the scene we woke to this morning would have bordered on magical; here it's just annoying. But I'll admit, it did take me by surprise to throw the drapes open this morning to find a light blanket of the white stuff waiting to greet me. For just a brief moment, I was a kid again, getting terribly excited by the prospect of snow, and thinking about making snow angels and building the meanest, baddest snowfort on the block. But then adulthood kicked in, and I realized that even though I have a kid, he's a little too young to claim he built the massive snowfort, and, for some reason, we adults have lost our capacity to just get back to the simple pleasures in life, like pegging your neighbour in the head with a snowball.
It also emphasized that, in the words of Dorothy, we're not in Kansas anymore. In BC, today's snowfall would have caused chaos; schools would be closed, traffic would be gridlocked for hours, and general productivity would have plummeted. Thankfully, it only snows once a year in the Lower Mainland. The GDP couldn't stand more than that. Out here, nobody even bats an eye. In fact, the street sweeper was out today. No, he wasn't sanding, salting, or plowing; he was cleaning the street. Just another day at the office. Fortunately, the snow that fell throughout the day didn't stick (which also reminded me of home), and by the end of the day it was mostly all melted. And now it's started up again. We'll see what's in store for the rest of the week.
At the risk of sounding like a broken record, we took another trip into the fabulous town of Red Deer this evening. We might as well move there. But it's easier to navigate than Calgary, and much more interesting than Airdrie. Besides, the only Starbucks in Airdrie is the one in the Safeway, which just won't do. We have our standards, you know.
Anyway, had to go to Home Depot and pick up a plastic spacer for our blinds. Our landlords didn't quite finish up all the renos on the house before they left, so we haven't actually had a blind in the bathroom window since we got here. And the window isn't frosted. And it looks right out onto the street if you're standing in the shower. Hmm. This is a problem. So instead of becoming known in the neighbourhood as "those crazy nudists from BC", we decided that it would be a good idea to put the blind up. But alas, there's a frame around the window, which means that we can't just screw the blind into the wall as it wouldn't open and close properly. And so, for the sake of 50 cents worth of plastic (which HD charges four bucks for), we took a 45-minute drive. And in our economy, that works, because if nothing else, there's a Starbucks at the end of the road (did I mention we enjoy Starbucks?).
Of course, once one is in the Home Depot parking lot, one might as well head over to Wal-Mart and pick up a couple things as well. And hey, while one is there, one should probably also head over to Payless to find some shoes. Oy. Fortunately, I've nagged and whined enough that my wife knows of my inherent dislike for both Wal-Mart and shoe shopping, and she keeps the trips mercifully short. Mostly it's self-preservation, I'm sure (I can squeeze a lot of whining into a 45-minute drive home), but hey, whatever works, right?
After all the shopping, it was dinner at Tim Horton's, hit the Starbucks, and back home again. Only this time it had started snowing in earnest. No more of this mamby-pamby light flakage; this was all-out. In fact, as we were driving home, looking out the windshield was like looking through the cockpit of the Millennium Falcon as it jumped into hyperspace (it ain't like dusting crops, kid). Or, for those of you who are considerably less nerdy than me and can't locate a Star Wars analogy for every life situation, it was like sitting in front of your computer and watching the "flying through space" sceensaver turned up to the highest number of stars at the highest speed. Or maybe I was the only person to do that, too. Dang it!
Since I promised you some exciting details of our weekend, here it is: I vacuumed. That was probably the highlight. Oh yes, some sports were watched. But Saturday was mostly just a massive cleaning day around here. It feels good to clean up every once in a while, even though the getting there stinks. It's actually a lot like going to the gym--the hardest part is just getting out of the house. I'd much rather never clean house, but I feel good once it's done, so I suppose that's something.
Of course, the early Hockey Night game was, well, the Leafs, AS USUAL!!! Stupid Toronto. But I'll take whatever hockey I can get, so I'll even watch the Leafs play. Worse yet, I'll actually cheer for the Flames because, well, I can't cheer for the Leafs now, can I? Sadly, the worst part of the early Hockey Night game is still there--Bob Cole. Okay, I understand the man is a legend. I understand that he's been a part of the national conciousness for (too) many years. But seriously, it's time to pack 'er in there, buddy. Listening to him call a game is like watching the Jamaican bobsled team--the effort is there, but no matter what, they just can't keep up. Give me Jim Hughson any day.
One bright spot, though, was CBC's brave move of hiring Cassie Campbell to do colour with Bob. I'm not sure what's happened to Harry Neale, but I'm sure glad that at least one of the "dynamic" duo wasn't there. Okay, I just looked it up; turns out Harry was snowed in at his home in Buffalo. Too bad that doesn't happen every week.
Anyway, what I meant to say was kudos to CBC for stepping out and bravely charting a new course, even if it was only a one-off. As someone who loves the game of hockey, I really admire the contribution Cassie Campbell has made to the sport. She's someone that we in Canada should be proud of, and I'm continually impressed by her poise and knowledge both on and off the ice. I'll admit, it was a little bit strange to hear a woman's voice doing colour, and she was a bit off (first day jitters, I'm sure), but I thought it was fantastic to hear her, and I hope this is the beginning of something bigger. Are Canadians ready for a female hockey commentator? I think that if you really do love the game, you'll realize Cassie's head for it and appreciate it regardless of her gender.
That was Saturday. Sunday was also fun. Our church put on a potluck, and for once in my life, I had no idea there was a potluck, and I certainly didn't bring anything, but I stayed anyway. Ha! When I was a kid and we had potlucks out at Richmond Baptist, I always heard the pastor say "If you're visiting with us this morning and didn't know there was a potluck, you're welcome to stay anyway" but we were always that family that brought more than their share of food to compensate for those who wouldn't bring theirs. But this time, the tables were turned, baby! Unmerited participation in food-related events--what could be better?
The afternoon was great, too. The boy was being pretty fussy and we couldn't get him down for a nap, even though he was tired. So I decided to kill two birds with one stone and have a nap with him. That did the trick. We were both totally zonked for about 90 refreshing minutes. I woke up then, but he slept for another half hour, which gave me a chance to catch up on some reading that I had to do. A wonderful day, all in all.
And that brings us to today, if a little bit out of order. Now, it's time to head to bed. I'm trying to get into a practice of self-discipline, wherein I boldly set my alarm for some crazy hour and wake up before being woken up by a hungry baby. I realized today that I really need that time in the morning to get centred and focused on what's to come. I've really been getting off on the wrong foot recently, and that needs to change. If I'm really ambitious, I'm going to start running in the mornings. Stay tuned to see how that goes. So for now, goodnight. Thanks for coming by, and I'll see you in the same place tomorrow.
10.13.2006
At Least It's Not Snowing
Winter is most definitely upon us. Which, of course, begs the question, "What happened to fall?" I'm not exactly sure. I think we had about two weeks of it, but I must have missed it completely. The snow all melted after the first day, but there's more slated for this weekend. Super. It can fall and melt as much as it wants--it's the accumulating in drifts part that really gets me. I'm sure there'll be plenty of that to look forward to this winter.
That said, it was a rather pleasant day today. The sun was doing its best, but its best wasn't quite enough to get the temperatures up into the double-digits. We've been treated to some really stunning sunsets over the past couple days, though, which almost makes the cold worthwhile. Um, almost.
Just a second--something's happening on "Deal or No Deal." I'll be back.
Okay, it wasn't actually "Deal or No Deal." It's a brand new show from the makers of Deal or No Deal (which I will hereonin refer to as "DOND"). As soon as you hear those fabled words, "From the makers of..." you know you're screwed. There's a reason they're known as "the makers of..." (which I will hereonin refer to as "TMO")--they want you to associate that show with this one. This new show here is no different. It's called "One Versus One-Hundred" and it's hosted by none other than...wait for it...Bob Saget. Ouch. And not just that--it's Bob Saget doing his best Howie Mandel impression (complete with fist bump in place of handshake). It seems, at the outset, that the rules are a cross between "Who Wants to be a Millionaire" and DOND.
Want to hear the premise? Okay, so there's the "mob" made up of 100 smart and not-so-smart people. Some samples of people involved in said mob: three of the models from DOND; nine school teachers; Ken Jennings (you remember him, don't you--the Jeopardy! ultimate champ); three Mensa members. So there's a question that the contestant (the "one") gets asked, and he answers--but so does the mob. Questions have dollar values from $100 all the way up to $1000000; each time a member of the mob gets a question wrong, they're eliminated from the mob (so I guess it's a combination of Millionaire, DOND, and Survivor) and the amount gets added to the contestant's bank (i.e. if three members of the mob get the $100 question wrong, the contestant gets $300 in his "bank"). The contestant can choose to leave with the cash at any time, but if they get a question wrong, they walk away with nothing.
Got it? Ironically, the DOND models are living up to the stereotype--in a question about who the UN secretary-general is, 2 of the 3 models got eliminated. Hmm.
Can you tell we're hooked on TV again? How does that happen? We only get two channels, and one of them is CBC! There's nothing on CBC. Oh, except that new show from the makers of "DaVinci's Inquest" and "DaVinci's City Hall" called, um, "DaVinci's Bowel Movement" (tune in next week for the exciting conclusion). No, wait, it's called "Intelligence", which, ironically, is the only time you'll hear that adjective attached to the show. It features that other cop guy from Inquest in the same role he played in that show, including the same hairdo. I'm so confused. Hey, you want to add some cachet to your new show? Why not just dust off some washed-up 80's TV icon, like, oh I don't know, Bob Saget? Oh wait, he's got a gig.
The problem is that we're (meant in the sense of my family, but I suppose it could be an indictment of society as well, although I'm not sure I want to go there tonight) hopeless consumers of entertainment. In fact, today when I was at the gym, I was consuming the latest Podcast and watching the baseball game, all the while working out. Just add talking on the cell phone, and you've got the trifecta of distracting activities. That must be good for some sort of prize, eh? Personally, I think that shows like DOND and this new from from TMO are interesting, but I'm drawn to them in the same way I'm drawn to a horrible car wreck--I really want to turn away, but I can't.
Speaking of the gym, I had the funniest experience in there today. To preface, many might assume that as a guy who goes to the gym, and as someone who likes his rock and roll on the heavy to extremely heavy side, you'd think that I'd have my MP3 player (no, I do not own an iPod) blasting out some crazy loud music, right? But the thing is that I take the time in the gym to listen to PodCasts, as I mentioned above, all of which are quite subdued. Thus, even though I have my headphones in, I'm still able to hear things going on around me. This is an important piece of background info.
So anyway, there I am, working the cardio (elliptical machine--a total killer) and just as I finish, another dude walks in (which doubled the number of people using the gym). Buddy barely gets his jacket off, and he's over at the bench press machine, loading that thing up with some seriously heavy weight. Down he goes onto the bench, and I got this sickening feeling that nothing good could come of this--come on, lots of weight and no spotter, not to mention the complete lack of warm-up? Oh boy, we're in for trouble. Sure enough, he starts just cranking out the reps (using gym lingo like that makes me seem tough--allow me my fantasies, will you?) with this crazy amount of weight on there. The best part is that I think he thought I couldn't hear him, because he was doing that whole weightlifter grunt thing. You know what I'm talking about--the cross between startled elephant and constipated grizzly bear, with a little bit of pro tennis player thrown in for good measure. At the end of his set, he drops the bar back into it's cradle, allowing it to hit with a resounding metallic thud that is the unmistakable sound of weightroom testosterone. Then he goes to the chin-up bar and grunts some more. This is repeated three times, and he's gone. Wow. It was like, well, the best analogy I can come up with is watching surveillance video at high speed. Not sure I even understand that one.
What else is going on? Okay, not much. It's good to be back in school (says he with clenched jaw and bitten fingernails). There's one thing about the on-campus experience that the distance ed one can't give, and that's the deadlines. Oh sure, there are deadlines in distance ed, but they're more self-imposed. And you know what that means, don't you? They're totally random and completely flexible! Woo-hoo! Can't finish your project today? Oh well, there's always next week. But not on-campus, my friends. Here, late assignments are met with sturdy talking-tos and the threat of a grade deduction. Why ever turn anything in on time if there are no consequences? Good question. Why do I hand things in on time? Well, I guess because I know that in the "real world" where there are "real" deadlines that actually mean something, you can't just say, "Oh, dude, I had lots of work to do this week, man, and my dorm was holding this party that I had to go to, and so I couldn't get my work done." You're fired. It's all about internal motivation. And, even though my "vetran" status means that I know a lot of college short-cuts, it also means that I want to do well just because I know I can.
Well, I hope I made up for my startling lack of post yesterday with this long and inane bit of prose. Seems like this week's been all about getting the motor going again, and now that I've finally found the right gear, it's time for the weekend. Ain't that always the way? Oh well, come back on Monday for more incredibly exciting stories, including what we did with our weekend (I'll give you a hint: it involves me pushing a vacuum). See you then.
That said, it was a rather pleasant day today. The sun was doing its best, but its best wasn't quite enough to get the temperatures up into the double-digits. We've been treated to some really stunning sunsets over the past couple days, though, which almost makes the cold worthwhile. Um, almost.
Just a second--something's happening on "Deal or No Deal." I'll be back.
Okay, it wasn't actually "Deal or No Deal." It's a brand new show from the makers of Deal or No Deal (which I will hereonin refer to as "DOND"). As soon as you hear those fabled words, "From the makers of..." you know you're screwed. There's a reason they're known as "the makers of..." (which I will hereonin refer to as "TMO")--they want you to associate that show with this one. This new show here is no different. It's called "One Versus One-Hundred" and it's hosted by none other than...wait for it...Bob Saget. Ouch. And not just that--it's Bob Saget doing his best Howie Mandel impression (complete with fist bump in place of handshake). It seems, at the outset, that the rules are a cross between "Who Wants to be a Millionaire" and DOND.
Want to hear the premise? Okay, so there's the "mob" made up of 100 smart and not-so-smart people. Some samples of people involved in said mob: three of the models from DOND; nine school teachers; Ken Jennings (you remember him, don't you--the Jeopardy! ultimate champ); three Mensa members. So there's a question that the contestant (the "one") gets asked, and he answers--but so does the mob. Questions have dollar values from $100 all the way up to $1000000; each time a member of the mob gets a question wrong, they're eliminated from the mob (so I guess it's a combination of Millionaire, DOND, and Survivor) and the amount gets added to the contestant's bank (i.e. if three members of the mob get the $100 question wrong, the contestant gets $300 in his "bank"). The contestant can choose to leave with the cash at any time, but if they get a question wrong, they walk away with nothing.
Got it? Ironically, the DOND models are living up to the stereotype--in a question about who the UN secretary-general is, 2 of the 3 models got eliminated. Hmm.
Can you tell we're hooked on TV again? How does that happen? We only get two channels, and one of them is CBC! There's nothing on CBC. Oh, except that new show from the makers of "DaVinci's Inquest" and "DaVinci's City Hall" called, um, "DaVinci's Bowel Movement" (tune in next week for the exciting conclusion). No, wait, it's called "Intelligence", which, ironically, is the only time you'll hear that adjective attached to the show. It features that other cop guy from Inquest in the same role he played in that show, including the same hairdo. I'm so confused. Hey, you want to add some cachet to your new show? Why not just dust off some washed-up 80's TV icon, like, oh I don't know, Bob Saget? Oh wait, he's got a gig.
The problem is that we're (meant in the sense of my family, but I suppose it could be an indictment of society as well, although I'm not sure I want to go there tonight) hopeless consumers of entertainment. In fact, today when I was at the gym, I was consuming the latest Podcast and watching the baseball game, all the while working out. Just add talking on the cell phone, and you've got the trifecta of distracting activities. That must be good for some sort of prize, eh? Personally, I think that shows like DOND and this new from from TMO are interesting, but I'm drawn to them in the same way I'm drawn to a horrible car wreck--I really want to turn away, but I can't.
Speaking of the gym, I had the funniest experience in there today. To preface, many might assume that as a guy who goes to the gym, and as someone who likes his rock and roll on the heavy to extremely heavy side, you'd think that I'd have my MP3 player (no, I do not own an iPod) blasting out some crazy loud music, right? But the thing is that I take the time in the gym to listen to PodCasts, as I mentioned above, all of which are quite subdued. Thus, even though I have my headphones in, I'm still able to hear things going on around me. This is an important piece of background info.
So anyway, there I am, working the cardio (elliptical machine--a total killer) and just as I finish, another dude walks in (which doubled the number of people using the gym). Buddy barely gets his jacket off, and he's over at the bench press machine, loading that thing up with some seriously heavy weight. Down he goes onto the bench, and I got this sickening feeling that nothing good could come of this--come on, lots of weight and no spotter, not to mention the complete lack of warm-up? Oh boy, we're in for trouble. Sure enough, he starts just cranking out the reps (using gym lingo like that makes me seem tough--allow me my fantasies, will you?) with this crazy amount of weight on there. The best part is that I think he thought I couldn't hear him, because he was doing that whole weightlifter grunt thing. You know what I'm talking about--the cross between startled elephant and constipated grizzly bear, with a little bit of pro tennis player thrown in for good measure. At the end of his set, he drops the bar back into it's cradle, allowing it to hit with a resounding metallic thud that is the unmistakable sound of weightroom testosterone. Then he goes to the chin-up bar and grunts some more. This is repeated three times, and he's gone. Wow. It was like, well, the best analogy I can come up with is watching surveillance video at high speed. Not sure I even understand that one.
What else is going on? Okay, not much. It's good to be back in school (says he with clenched jaw and bitten fingernails). There's one thing about the on-campus experience that the distance ed one can't give, and that's the deadlines. Oh sure, there are deadlines in distance ed, but they're more self-imposed. And you know what that means, don't you? They're totally random and completely flexible! Woo-hoo! Can't finish your project today? Oh well, there's always next week. But not on-campus, my friends. Here, late assignments are met with sturdy talking-tos and the threat of a grade deduction. Why ever turn anything in on time if there are no consequences? Good question. Why do I hand things in on time? Well, I guess because I know that in the "real world" where there are "real" deadlines that actually mean something, you can't just say, "Oh, dude, I had lots of work to do this week, man, and my dorm was holding this party that I had to go to, and so I couldn't get my work done." You're fired. It's all about internal motivation. And, even though my "vetran" status means that I know a lot of college short-cuts, it also means that I want to do well just because I know I can.
Well, I hope I made up for my startling lack of post yesterday with this long and inane bit of prose. Seems like this week's been all about getting the motor going again, and now that I've finally found the right gear, it's time for the weekend. Ain't that always the way? Oh well, come back on Monday for more incredibly exciting stories, including what we did with our weekend (I'll give you a hint: it involves me pushing a vacuum). See you then.
10.11.2006
Parting is Such Sweet Sorrow...
Winter sent a warning shot across our bow last night and into today: snow. Just had to assert itself and remind us who was in charge from here on in. It's almost like it was saying, "Remember, I could do this at any time, so you'd best be grateful when I give you a reprieve." It makes our weekend on the coast all the more memorable, I suppose. Beautiful, sunny weather; highs comfortably in the 20-degree range. And now snow. It even stuck to the ground, if only for half the day. Don't believe me? Okay, you asked for it (apologies for the photo quality--I was too busy freezing my tail off)...
So yes, we are back. Safe and sound. Had a cracking good time, we did, even if it was the busiest five days we've had in years, I think. It was really weird going on vacation back to your own house that you own, and then returning to your regular life in the house that you're renting. A strange role reversal occurred, and tricks were played on my mind. However, all is in order now.
In a way, it's good to be "home", even though home is only temporary. Even with the snow, I'm glad we're back. Leaving everyone behind again was tough, but getting here and knowing that there's a purpose to our being here is a good thing. I instantly missed the humidity the second I stepped off the plane. Sigh, back to moisturizing every hour, I suppose.
Picked up a new high-tech device for the house this evening--an answering machine (Mel, this one's for you). Now, in order to make it worth our while, you all have to call and leave messages. PG please. Don't know our phone number? Email me and I'll tell you.
When we got back on Monday, we realized that we had timed things up grocery-wise a little too perfectly before we went--the cupboards were completely bare when we returned. This, of course, necessitated a trip into a city of some description to shop at a large grocery store where we could buy enough food to last us through the harsh winter. Seriously, the amount of canned food we bought probably made it look like we were stockpiling just in case Three Hills is on North Korea's nuclear hit list (or, as W likes to say, their "nucular" hit list). So off we went to Red Deer.
Now, Red Deer may be a small-ish city (population in the low- to mid-80000's) but it's got plenty of big-city things, including not one, but two Wal-Marts. Of course, this meant that we just had to experience the one we hadn't yet gone to. There's a general ground rule in the Carroll household, and perhaps it's the same with you--you can't go to Wal-Mart and spend less than $100. It's just not possible. No matter how well-intentioned you are, there is no avoiding that $100 level. We've sometimes skirted the $80 range, but we're always up there. Even if we just go in to buy cat food, we end up coming out with so much more. Initially, I thought that a good way to nip this problem in the bud would be to only get a hand basket upon entry. Then, when Steph wanted to get more things, I'd just say, "Sorry honey, no more room; I only have a hand basket, after all." Alas, this plan, although brilliant, backfired on me pretty much instantly, and I would end up carrying a full basket, plus balancing other things in various other nooks and crannies (under the arms, etc), and looking plain old ridiculous in the process. I'm sure that people walked by and thought to themselves, "Hey, why doesn't that chump just get a cart."
Fine. Now whenever I go to Wal-Mart, I go to the cart section and just get one. There's less of a stigma attached to pushing a less-than-full cart than there is attached to carrying an over-laden hand basket.
After the Wal-Mart trip, we needed to eat, and I'm sad to say that we fell victim to clever marketing and ate at the McDonald's within Wal-Mart. That's great--two things that are bad for you in one place: shopping and greasy food. Sweet. We did, however, redeem our McDonald's experience with the obligatory Starbucks visit. Good times. They're clearing out a bunch of their fall stuff--you can get some pretty good coffee for really cheap. All I'm saying is that Christmas is coming, and, well, I like coffee.
Then onto the groceries. Yuck. If Wal-Mart is an automatic $100, hitting Superstore is an automatic $300. Today's bill was higher, simply because we were stocking up on expensive baby needs (diapers, formula, etc), all of which cost exorbitant amounts of money. Baby stuff alone was almost half our total bill. Oy. Who needs diapers, anyway? Nudism is really making a comeback (especially in Three Hills in the winter. Hmm, I may need to re-think that).
As the famous sidekick would say, "Holy abrupt endings, Batman!" Time to go. Theo's just started to throw the biggest fit of his life. Did I mention he's teething? Gross. I'll tell you more about it on his blog, and probably in here, but that's for later (read: no new posting on Theo's blog tonight). See you all then.
So yes, we are back. Safe and sound. Had a cracking good time, we did, even if it was the busiest five days we've had in years, I think. It was really weird going on vacation back to your own house that you own, and then returning to your regular life in the house that you're renting. A strange role reversal occurred, and tricks were played on my mind. However, all is in order now.In a way, it's good to be "home", even though home is only temporary. Even with the snow, I'm glad we're back. Leaving everyone behind again was tough, but getting here and knowing that there's a purpose to our being here is a good thing. I instantly missed the humidity the second I stepped off the plane. Sigh, back to moisturizing every hour, I suppose.
Picked up a new high-tech device for the house this evening--an answering machine (Mel, this one's for you). Now, in order to make it worth our while, you all have to call and leave messages. PG please. Don't know our phone number? Email me and I'll tell you.
When we got back on Monday, we realized that we had timed things up grocery-wise a little too perfectly before we went--the cupboards were completely bare when we returned. This, of course, necessitated a trip into a city of some description to shop at a large grocery store where we could buy enough food to last us through the harsh winter. Seriously, the amount of canned food we bought probably made it look like we were stockpiling just in case Three Hills is on North Korea's nuclear hit list (or, as W likes to say, their "nucular" hit list). So off we went to Red Deer.
Now, Red Deer may be a small-ish city (population in the low- to mid-80000's) but it's got plenty of big-city things, including not one, but two Wal-Marts. Of course, this meant that we just had to experience the one we hadn't yet gone to. There's a general ground rule in the Carroll household, and perhaps it's the same with you--you can't go to Wal-Mart and spend less than $100. It's just not possible. No matter how well-intentioned you are, there is no avoiding that $100 level. We've sometimes skirted the $80 range, but we're always up there. Even if we just go in to buy cat food, we end up coming out with so much more. Initially, I thought that a good way to nip this problem in the bud would be to only get a hand basket upon entry. Then, when Steph wanted to get more things, I'd just say, "Sorry honey, no more room; I only have a hand basket, after all." Alas, this plan, although brilliant, backfired on me pretty much instantly, and I would end up carrying a full basket, plus balancing other things in various other nooks and crannies (under the arms, etc), and looking plain old ridiculous in the process. I'm sure that people walked by and thought to themselves, "Hey, why doesn't that chump just get a cart."
Fine. Now whenever I go to Wal-Mart, I go to the cart section and just get one. There's less of a stigma attached to pushing a less-than-full cart than there is attached to carrying an over-laden hand basket.
After the Wal-Mart trip, we needed to eat, and I'm sad to say that we fell victim to clever marketing and ate at the McDonald's within Wal-Mart. That's great--two things that are bad for you in one place: shopping and greasy food. Sweet. We did, however, redeem our McDonald's experience with the obligatory Starbucks visit. Good times. They're clearing out a bunch of their fall stuff--you can get some pretty good coffee for really cheap. All I'm saying is that Christmas is coming, and, well, I like coffee.
Then onto the groceries. Yuck. If Wal-Mart is an automatic $100, hitting Superstore is an automatic $300. Today's bill was higher, simply because we were stocking up on expensive baby needs (diapers, formula, etc), all of which cost exorbitant amounts of money. Baby stuff alone was almost half our total bill. Oy. Who needs diapers, anyway? Nudism is really making a comeback (especially in Three Hills in the winter. Hmm, I may need to re-think that).
As the famous sidekick would say, "Holy abrupt endings, Batman!" Time to go. Theo's just started to throw the biggest fit of his life. Did I mention he's teething? Gross. I'll tell you more about it on his blog, and probably in here, but that's for later (read: no new posting on Theo's blog tonight). See you all then.
10.03.2006
The End of Birthday Week
I'll be mercifully short this evening. It's 11:20, and I'm only typing this because I had an email I just had to get out, or I wouldn't sleep all night. You know the feeling, right? There's that one thing nagging at you as you drift off, and no matter how many times you tell yourself you'll do it tomorrow, you know that if you just get up and do it now, you'll be able to sleep. Or so you tell yourself. Plus, I forgot that I had removed the battery from the smoke detector earlier in the day (it has a bad habit of going off whenever the shower is on and the door is open--so I guess it's not so much a "smoke detector" as a "steam detector", which makes sense, since they're both equally as deadly) so I had to put it back.
Does anyone have a carbon monoxide detector in their house (or as we ex-chem majors like to call it, a CO detector)? We have one here, and man, that thing just goes through batteries like a mofo. Got a new battery last week--it lasted a day. That's why I took the battery out of my smoke detector--I wanted to see if it would power the CO detector. It doesn't. Does this thing have an ego problem, or what? Just has to be the one with the full battery all the time. Always whining about its battery being low. Don't you work with someone like that?
The reason I wasn't going to post at all today was because I was busy throwing my wife a birthday party. Okay, it wasn't necessarily a "party" in that we were the only guests, but it was fun nonetheless. Creme Caramel was involved, as was the first season of Grey's Anatomy. Seriously, great show. We're only two seasons behind.
I'm totally digging this "get the TV show on DVD" thing. No commercials, no set time to watch, and, if people keep calling and wishing your wife a happy birthday, no having to find a way to get off the phone without telling friends and family that a TV show is more important than them. Promotes harmony, and all. Good times.
You've probably guessed by the blog postings that our birthdays are six days apart, which makes for a good week in our house. There are some advantages and some disadvantages to being first, though. On the up side, being first means that I already know what Steph's done for me and can plan my one-upmanship accordingly. On the down side, she quite often puts me to shame with her meticulous preparation and planning, and there's nothing I can do better. Oh well, it's not about getting an advantage, right?
So in conclusion, happy birthday to my wife. This is the fifth birthday we've celebrated together as a couple (holy cow!), and things just keep getting better. What a lucky guy I am.
As for blogging, as mentioned we're heading back home tomorrow, so since there will be no (mis)adventures here in Three Hills, I guess you're going to have to learn to live without my rapier wit for a couple days. Don't worry, I'll be back a week from today. See you all then, and happy Thanksgiving!
Does anyone have a carbon monoxide detector in their house (or as we ex-chem majors like to call it, a CO detector)? We have one here, and man, that thing just goes through batteries like a mofo. Got a new battery last week--it lasted a day. That's why I took the battery out of my smoke detector--I wanted to see if it would power the CO detector. It doesn't. Does this thing have an ego problem, or what? Just has to be the one with the full battery all the time. Always whining about its battery being low. Don't you work with someone like that?
The reason I wasn't going to post at all today was because I was busy throwing my wife a birthday party. Okay, it wasn't necessarily a "party" in that we were the only guests, but it was fun nonetheless. Creme Caramel was involved, as was the first season of Grey's Anatomy. Seriously, great show. We're only two seasons behind.
I'm totally digging this "get the TV show on DVD" thing. No commercials, no set time to watch, and, if people keep calling and wishing your wife a happy birthday, no having to find a way to get off the phone without telling friends and family that a TV show is more important than them. Promotes harmony, and all. Good times.
You've probably guessed by the blog postings that our birthdays are six days apart, which makes for a good week in our house. There are some advantages and some disadvantages to being first, though. On the up side, being first means that I already know what Steph's done for me and can plan my one-upmanship accordingly. On the down side, she quite often puts me to shame with her meticulous preparation and planning, and there's nothing I can do better. Oh well, it's not about getting an advantage, right?
So in conclusion, happy birthday to my wife. This is the fifth birthday we've celebrated together as a couple (holy cow!), and things just keep getting better. What a lucky guy I am.
As for blogging, as mentioned we're heading back home tomorrow, so since there will be no (mis)adventures here in Three Hills, I guess you're going to have to learn to live without my rapier wit for a couple days. Don't worry, I'll be back a week from today. See you all then, and happy Thanksgiving!
10.02.2006
What a Way to Cap a Weekend...
Ah, the crazy weather. I'm not sure I'll ever really get used to it. On Saturday, it was 27 degrees; sunny, hot, beautiful. On Sunday it got up to 15. Today it got up to 5. That's 22 degrees in two days. From shorts to woolies. Crazy.
Of course, one of the things that accompanies a change in weather that drastic is a corresponding drastic drop in barometric pressure. Some, like my wife, are susceptible to this change, and as a result are dropped by a massive headache on days like Sunday. Like I said in the title, what a way to cap a weekend.
Otherwise, things went well. Had a fun trip into the big city (Calgary) to visit with my cousin Melissa and her husband Dan, as well as my cousin Scott, his wife Nancy, and their newborn, Brady. Good times were had by all. Babies stories a-plenty were swapped. We all had a fantastic time, including Theo, who was totally enamoured with the fact that we picked him up some new toys on the way there, ostensibly for the plane ride home, but we couldn't resist giving him a sneak preview.
Yes, you heard right, the plane ride home. We're going back on Wednesday evening for the Thanksgiving weekend, returning Monday (of course, this means that regular postings will take a hiatus until Tuesday--I have a test on Tuesday that I'll need to study for on Monday). The only thing I'm nervous about is Theo on a plane (that's sort of like Snakes on a Plane, but with less carnage and more drool), but I'm sure he'll be fine. What are the dangers? (1) Pressure change--no problem; that's why he has a soother; (2) crushing boredom; hmm, this is a bit of a bigger concern, especially if there's someone in the seat beside us (what stupid aircraft designer decided that three across would be the standard in the airline industry, anyway?). That's why we bought him the new toys, though, and we figure it's only an hour (1:20 gate-to-gate, so it's actually less in the air) so if nothing else, the person beside us won't have to be there for long.
Speaking of carnage, we had a little "incident" tonight. Oy vey. First off, you have to know that Theo isn't the kind of kid who just falls asleep--he needs very specific conditions to be met before he will sleep. He'll put his head down and rest, but heaven forbid he just closes his eyes and nods off. Plus, if you happen to miss what we call his "optimal sleeping window", you're equally screwed, because when he gets overtired, he's a bear. That's what we were dealing with tonight. But it was bear to the extreme.
We figured we'd put him down a little bit early because he was so tired, and hope that he just ended up sleeping until the same time in the morning. Good plan. Except he didn't necessarily want to go to bed. It's like when kids are a little bit older and they insist that they aren't really tired. Except that his insisting involves screaming. And he's found a way to hit a new pitch that just rattles your skull. So there he is, playing quietly in his crib, just about to fall asleep, and Steph figures this would be a good time to, oh, eat dinner. So she leaves his room. Oops. Full cry mode is instantly engaged, and now we're hooped because we've left and we have to stick to our guns. So the guns were stuck to.
However, since he hadn't yet had his final bottle for the evening, the plan was to let him exhaust himself a bit first, and then go in and give him his bottle when he was a bit more calm. Yeah, he never did calm down. Finally, I went in to try to give him his bottle anyway. I picked him up and he was just heaving with sobs--he had worked himself up into such a state that he was actually not in control of his sobs. It was so pathetic, but so heartwrenching. It's just absolutely crushing as a parent to have to leave your baby to cry, knowing that they're really upset, but knowing that letting them cry is sometimes the very best thing you can do. Needless to say, I felt like dirt.
Anyway, as I was consoling myself with thoughts of a well-behaved child later on in life when the behavioural training paid off, he was calming down on my shoulder. All of a sudden, puke. And I'm not talking a little bit. I'm talking full-on Linda Blair action. All over the place. All over me. Gross. But it's amazing how becoming a parent and dealing with all this baby-related stuff has made me accept all this as a part of life. Normally when you see (or hear) someone puke, your first reaction is to want to puke. But not now.
Yuck. I think that's the most disgusting paragraph I've ever written. So now not only is he still upset at being left alone, but now he's also upset about having expelled his dinner in such an abrupt fashion. So as I'm standing there dripping, Steph, in her own words (and she's a professional writer, so she should know) "whirred around like a spit-up fireman, trying to wipe up all the ickiness from inanimate and animate things alike. Fun times."
Yes, indeed. I think that's probably enough on that topic. What a night. Before I go, I just have to get something off my chest that's been bugging me for a while now, and it's about TV. Okay, have you ever seen one of those commercials that just bugs you so much that every time it comes on you feel like poking yourself in the eye with hot needles? I have one of those right now--the "Just for Men" commercial about facial hair colouring. Okay, so it's an ad for a product that dyes your mustache and beard so that you can look more "natural." Their theme song? Marvin Gaye's "Ain't Nothing Like the Real Thing." Is anyone else struck by the irony of that? What are they trying to say, exactly? That there ain't nothing like the real colour, and, gee, too bad you lost yours? If so, they're cheeky buggers, aren't they? Or maybe they're trying to say, "Ain't nothing like fooling them into thinking it's the real thing, baby." That'd be good. But seriously, which brilliant marketing guy thought that one up? "Okay, I've got it--we have a montage [there's your first mistake] of middle-aged guys with facial hair who are happy because they don't have a fleck of grey visible, and we're playing a song about how there's nothign like the real thing." You're fired.
Note to self: when creating a commercial for a product that artificially changes your look, do not use a song promoting the value of authenticity.
That was cathartic, thanks. Happy to have gotten it off my chest. So, yeah, that's all I've got for today. Tune in again tomorrow, though. Big things happening in the Carroll household tomorrow, so come back for an in-depth report. Until then, so long.
Of course, one of the things that accompanies a change in weather that drastic is a corresponding drastic drop in barometric pressure. Some, like my wife, are susceptible to this change, and as a result are dropped by a massive headache on days like Sunday. Like I said in the title, what a way to cap a weekend.
Otherwise, things went well. Had a fun trip into the big city (Calgary) to visit with my cousin Melissa and her husband Dan, as well as my cousin Scott, his wife Nancy, and their newborn, Brady. Good times were had by all. Babies stories a-plenty were swapped. We all had a fantastic time, including Theo, who was totally enamoured with the fact that we picked him up some new toys on the way there, ostensibly for the plane ride home, but we couldn't resist giving him a sneak preview.
Yes, you heard right, the plane ride home. We're going back on Wednesday evening for the Thanksgiving weekend, returning Monday (of course, this means that regular postings will take a hiatus until Tuesday--I have a test on Tuesday that I'll need to study for on Monday). The only thing I'm nervous about is Theo on a plane (that's sort of like Snakes on a Plane, but with less carnage and more drool), but I'm sure he'll be fine. What are the dangers? (1) Pressure change--no problem; that's why he has a soother; (2) crushing boredom; hmm, this is a bit of a bigger concern, especially if there's someone in the seat beside us (what stupid aircraft designer decided that three across would be the standard in the airline industry, anyway?). That's why we bought him the new toys, though, and we figure it's only an hour (1:20 gate-to-gate, so it's actually less in the air) so if nothing else, the person beside us won't have to be there for long.
Speaking of carnage, we had a little "incident" tonight. Oy vey. First off, you have to know that Theo isn't the kind of kid who just falls asleep--he needs very specific conditions to be met before he will sleep. He'll put his head down and rest, but heaven forbid he just closes his eyes and nods off. Plus, if you happen to miss what we call his "optimal sleeping window", you're equally screwed, because when he gets overtired, he's a bear. That's what we were dealing with tonight. But it was bear to the extreme.
We figured we'd put him down a little bit early because he was so tired, and hope that he just ended up sleeping until the same time in the morning. Good plan. Except he didn't necessarily want to go to bed. It's like when kids are a little bit older and they insist that they aren't really tired. Except that his insisting involves screaming. And he's found a way to hit a new pitch that just rattles your skull. So there he is, playing quietly in his crib, just about to fall asleep, and Steph figures this would be a good time to, oh, eat dinner. So she leaves his room. Oops. Full cry mode is instantly engaged, and now we're hooped because we've left and we have to stick to our guns. So the guns were stuck to.
However, since he hadn't yet had his final bottle for the evening, the plan was to let him exhaust himself a bit first, and then go in and give him his bottle when he was a bit more calm. Yeah, he never did calm down. Finally, I went in to try to give him his bottle anyway. I picked him up and he was just heaving with sobs--he had worked himself up into such a state that he was actually not in control of his sobs. It was so pathetic, but so heartwrenching. It's just absolutely crushing as a parent to have to leave your baby to cry, knowing that they're really upset, but knowing that letting them cry is sometimes the very best thing you can do. Needless to say, I felt like dirt.
Anyway, as I was consoling myself with thoughts of a well-behaved child later on in life when the behavioural training paid off, he was calming down on my shoulder. All of a sudden, puke. And I'm not talking a little bit. I'm talking full-on Linda Blair action. All over the place. All over me. Gross. But it's amazing how becoming a parent and dealing with all this baby-related stuff has made me accept all this as a part of life. Normally when you see (or hear) someone puke, your first reaction is to want to puke. But not now.
Yuck. I think that's the most disgusting paragraph I've ever written. So now not only is he still upset at being left alone, but now he's also upset about having expelled his dinner in such an abrupt fashion. So as I'm standing there dripping, Steph, in her own words (and she's a professional writer, so she should know) "whirred around like a spit-up fireman, trying to wipe up all the ickiness from inanimate and animate things alike. Fun times."
Yes, indeed. I think that's probably enough on that topic. What a night. Before I go, I just have to get something off my chest that's been bugging me for a while now, and it's about TV. Okay, have you ever seen one of those commercials that just bugs you so much that every time it comes on you feel like poking yourself in the eye with hot needles? I have one of those right now--the "Just for Men" commercial about facial hair colouring. Okay, so it's an ad for a product that dyes your mustache and beard so that you can look more "natural." Their theme song? Marvin Gaye's "Ain't Nothing Like the Real Thing." Is anyone else struck by the irony of that? What are they trying to say, exactly? That there ain't nothing like the real colour, and, gee, too bad you lost yours? If so, they're cheeky buggers, aren't they? Or maybe they're trying to say, "Ain't nothing like fooling them into thinking it's the real thing, baby." That'd be good. But seriously, which brilliant marketing guy thought that one up? "Okay, I've got it--we have a montage [there's your first mistake] of middle-aged guys with facial hair who are happy because they don't have a fleck of grey visible, and we're playing a song about how there's nothign like the real thing." You're fired.
Note to self: when creating a commercial for a product that artificially changes your look, do not use a song promoting the value of authenticity.
That was cathartic, thanks. Happy to have gotten it off my chest. So, yeah, that's all I've got for today. Tune in again tomorrow, though. Big things happening in the Carroll household tomorrow, so come back for an in-depth report. Until then, so long.
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