Buying Toothpaste, and Other Fun Stuff...

Today's topic: the frustration of buying toothpaste. In brief, why can I not seem to just get a tube of toothpaste, for the love of anything special?!

I was at SuperStore the other day, doing my pre-family-arrival shopping, and I needed some toothpaste. Optimistic, I approached the toothpaste aisle; it's never been a problem before. Little did I know that I was in for quite a surprise.

You see, there's just no such thing as regular toothpaste anymore. Each individual toothpaste selection now comes with three or more inherent qualities (whitening, tartar fighting, lemon ice, with Scope, etc), none of which I want. But I apparently don't have a choice.

So how does one choose an appropriate toothpaste, then? I recommend that first, you choose which quality you're going for in a toothpaste. That was my first mistake. After having used Colgate for quite some time, I decided to branch out into the Crest family. That was my only requirement. I should have been more specific going in. When approaching the toothpaste aisle, determine which quality is more important--is it whitening, flavour, breath-freshening? Choose first, and choose wisely.

This first choice will help you narrow down your search considerably. Now that we've established the first variable, it's time to move on to the more complicated things. If your first option is, say, flavour--mint, for example--you now have many more choices. Is that cool mint, fresh mint, ice mint, or peppermint? Once you've narrowed that down, do you want to add the "plus Scope" option? How about the opportunity for whitening? And would you like fries with that?

Seriously, since when do we assert our individuality through toothpaste? It's just toothpaste, people--deal with it! When I was a kid, there were maybe four flavours, and then the rogue Aqua Fresh (which was like the sugar-coated breakfast cereal--you know your mom's not going to let you have it, but man, would it ever taste good). That was it. We all managed to get along just fine; we even had clean teeth. Now, toothpaste comes in very un-toothpaste flavours like "Cinnamon Rush." Tell you what, it'll be a rush when I can buy my toothpaste and get the heck out of here.

By the way, I ended up with Crest whitening with Scope because it turned out that was the only option for cool mint flavour that I saw, and by the time I saw it, I just wanted out. Gosh.

In other news, many of you will have heard of the Stella Awards. They're the annual stupid lawsuit awards handed out to the, well, stupidest lawsuit of the year. They're named after the lady who spilled McDonald's coffee in her lap and then successfully sued for it. Anyway, every year, someone inevitably posts something to their website saying that they've got this year's winners, but they're always the same cases. Well, have I got a treat for you.

The guy who issues the awards, Randy Cassingham, writes an irregular email newsletter (it's supposed to be weekly--more later) with case write-ups, and at the end of the year, he issues the annual awards. I happen to subscribe to his newsletter, and the annual awards edition hit my inbox tonight. Since I'm actually allowed to share it with you, I figured I'd give him a plug, give you a laugh, and fill some space with something I didn't write. So here they are: the authentic 2006 Stella Awards!

The 2006 True Stella Awards

Issued 31 January 2007

(Click here to
confirm these are legitimate.)

#5: Marcy Meckler. While shopping at
a mall, Meckler stepped outside and was "attacked" by a squirrel that
lived among the trees and bushes. And "while frantically attempting
to escape from the squirrel and detach it from her leg, [Meckler]
fell and suffered severe injuries," her resulting lawsuit says.
That's the mall's fault, the lawsuit claims, demanding in excess of
$50,000, based on the mall's "failure to warn" her that squirrels
live outside.

#4: Ron and Kristie Simmons. The
couple's 4-year-old son, Justin, was killed in a tragic lawnmower
accident in a licensed daycare facility, and the death was clearly
the result of negligence by the daycare providers. The providers were
clearly deserving of being sued, yet when the Simmons's discovered
the daycare only had $100,000 in insurance, they dropped the case
against them and instead sued the manufacturer of the 16-year-old
lawn mower because the mower didn't have a safety device that 1) had
not been invented at the time of the mower's manufacture, and 2) no
safety agency had even suggested needed to be invented. A sympathetic
jury still awarded the family $2 million.

#3: Robert Clymer. An FBI agent
working a high-profile case in Las Vegas, Clymer allegedly created a
disturbance, lost the magazine from his pistol, then crashed his
pickup truck in a drunken stupor -- his blood-alcohol level was 0.306
percent, more than three times the legal limit for driving in Nevada.
He pled guilty to drunk driving because, his lawyer explained, "With
public officials, we expect them to own up to their mistakes and
correct them." Yet Clymer had the gall to sue the manufacturer of his
pickup truck, and the dealer he bought it from, because he "somehow
lost consciousness" and the truck "somehow produced a heavy smoke
that filled the passenger cab." Yep: the drunk-driving accident
wasn't his fault, but the truck's fault. Just the kind of guy you
want carrying a gun in the name of the law.

#2: #2: KinderStart.com. The
specialty search engine says Google should be forced to include the
KinderStart site in its listings, reveal how its "Page Rank" system
works, and pay them lots of money because they're a competitor. They
claim by not being ranked higher in Google, Google is somehow
infringing KinderStart's Constitutional right to free speech. Even if
by some stretch they were a competitor of Google, why in the world
would they think it's Google's responsibility to help them succeed?
And if Google's "review" of their site is negative, wouldn't a
government court order forcing them to change it infringe on Google's
Constitutional right to free speech?

And the winner of the 2006 True Stella
Award: Allen Ray Heckard. Even though Heckard is 3 inches
shorter, 25 pounds lighter, and 8 years older than former basketball
star Michael Jordan, the Portland, Oregon, man says he looks a lot
like Jordan, and is often confused for him -- and thus he deserves
$52 million "for defamation and permanent injury" -- plus $364
million in "punitive damage for emotional pain and suffering", plus
the SAME amount from Nike co-founder Phil Knight, for a grand total
of $832 million. He dropped the suit after Nike's lawyers chatted
with him, where they presumably explained how they'd counter-sue if
he pressed on.

©2007 by Randy Cassingham,
target="new">StellaAwards.com. Reprinted with permission.

Randy also writes a newsletter called "This is True", which contains odd news stories and such. But what I appreciate about his writing is that it's more than just "Look what this idiot did." His column is not only funny, it also highlights a lot of what's wrong with our society, and gives ideas on how to work to fix it (he's especially passionate about "Zero Tolerance", but if you read some of the things going on, you'd be passionate too). His Stella Awards newsletter is directed toward tort reform--a worthy cause--and, although the abuse of the legal system for frivilous lawsuits is mostly an American phenomenon, you'd be surprised how fast it's spreading into other parts of the world, Canada included.

What I mean to say with all this is that if you like reading stories that make you think, subscribe to his free newsletter (either option, or both, if you want to be like me). I guarantee it's worth the time. Check out This is True or the Stella Awards, and check out what other good things Randy's doing with his time (including his spam primer, which is some of the best writing on the problem of email spam I've ever seen).

That's it again for today. Only two more days until I go home and see my wife and son again! Hooray! See you again tomorrow.

The Unexamined Life...

If ever there was a day full of inconsequential things, today was it. It never ceases to amaze me how full 24-hour periods can go by with seemingly so little accomplished. I mean, look how much Jack Bauer squeezes into a day.

Okay, I guess I did accomplish something today. It was the day of prayer here at campus, which, if I had any classes on Tuesdays, would mean that I could skip them. What it really meant was an extra day at school. But, even though I was less-than-enthusiastic about it last night, it turned out to be a pretty good day. Even if it was forced spiritual growth.

It's funny how even things that are good for you become unpalatalbe when they're forced onto you. When you were young and your mom said, "Clean your room," what did you do? Not clean it, that's for sure. "Eat your vegetables" is another popular one. And then there's this one--"Pray all day." Okay, I know that I'm at Bible college, and I know that I'm training to be a pastor, and I know that prayer is important. So why is it that when I have to do it, I resist? There's nothing inherently unappealing about a day of prayer--it's not like veggies that taste bad or cleaning your room that requires manual labour. But today, I would've preferred to be at home bleaching toilets. And the worst part is that I can't quite figure out why.

What am I running away from? Maybe I'm afraid of practicing what I preach. Maybe I'm afraid that in the action of coming close to God, I'll end up finding out some things about myself that I don't like. Or maybe I'm afraid that He's going to ask me to give up the things that I know I shouldn't do, but hold on to just because, well, I don't actually know why. In any case, I feel like a day full of self-examination is going to yield uncomfortable results, and, as any human being does, I tend to avoid discomfort.

But that's the rub, isn't it? Growth only comes through discomfort. I haven't done extensive empirical research on the topic, but I'm inclined to say that nothing has ever grown by staying the same, ever. Pretty safe bet, I think.

Maybe it's growth I'm afraid of, but I don't think that's true. I'm pretty sure I want to grow, I just don't want to pay the price for that growth. What I'd really like is to take a pill or download a program into my neo-cortex that allows me to have a bunch of maturity and growth without having to go through the uncomfortable stages that get me there. I heard on a radio show a little while back about a certain athlete who takes a cold shower every morning because "it cuts a toughness groove" in his brain. The host said that sounded like a good idea, but he wondered if there was a way to get the toughness groove without having a cold shower.

I really like the idea of being a mature man of God. I really do. I just don't want to take the steps to get there. It's just like how I want to be a really accomplished guitarist, but I'm not willing to put in the practice time necessary to get me there, so I just stay at the same level that I've been at for, oh, five years now. I want to be a leader, someone people follow, but I don't want to go through the process of screwing up that inevitably comes with developing the chops of leadership. I want an intense, tested faith, but I don't want the trials that necessitate that kind of growth.

In my spiritual walk, I'm never sitting still: I'm either growing, or stagnating. When I play guitar, I get calluses on my hand, but if I don't play for a while, the calluses go away, and I have to go through the pain of developing them all over again. It sucks. And I feel like my spiritual growth has followed that same pattern. There are times when I just feel like I'm on top of the world, but then I get undisciplined and fall back into old habits. Soon I have to learn the same lesson again, because I didn't do what it took to keep at the level I was at.

Truth is, I'm tired of that business. It's time for me to actually make a decision about spiritual growth, and grow up enough mentally to maintain the discipline I need to make that growth happen. I'm an adult now; there are no more excuses (even though I'm sure I could find some). It's time to get some discipline.

I really didn't intend for this to turn into a self-examination session, but I went down that road because (1) I like to fill space with words, and (2) I hope that you identify with me somewhere in the midst of all that stuff.

Today wasn't all about self-examination, though. Somewhere in there I managed to edit an essay, which is a really big load off my shoulders. This one is from one of my distance education classes from last semester, so it's nice to have that last piece of the puzzle worked out. I just finished work on my other distance course from last semester, too, so I'm finally free and clear (save the submission of one assignment). Whew.

The closer I get to the goal, the more I find it unbelievable that I'm getting there. Within a short amount of time, I am going to be finished. Done. It's weird because I have the kind of personality that drives a lot of people crazy in that I like to start things, but I'm not so keen on finishing them (see previous paragraphs on lack of discipline and the fact that I'm still finishing courses from last semester for evidence). It's strange to finish something and have that satisfying sense of completion. Even though I have no idea what to do with it. By the time I finish anything, my head is so far into the next project that I don't take time to stop and actually relish the fact that something was completed. I guess it's because I know there's always going to be that next thing on the checklist, so what's the point of celebrating this one when soon there will be something else to complete?

What a cynical view, eh? And so ridiculous. But we all have character flaws, so I guess it just proves I'm human. I'm committing, though, to not letting this one slip away. Yes, there still remains to be decided the issue of what, exactly, is next on the list, but for now, that can wait. Life will move forward, as it always does, and if I don't take time to celebrate this accomplishment now, when am I going to do it? So break out the liquor.

Just kidding. I'm not supposed to drink until April 29. I'll probably have a cigar, too.

Well, looks like this post got to be long enough without me ever getting to the rant I wanted to get to. Oh well, I guess that means you'll have to tune in again tomorrow. It'll be fun--it involves shopping for toothpaste (the most frustrating experience in the world). Until then, enjoy your evening (or morning, or whenever you read this), and I'll see you back here tomorrow.

Two Recaps...

Did what I said and went to the mega-church on Saturday night. Interesting experience. I took a page of notes, too, to help me process the night and work through some of my mega-church issues.

All told, it was about what I expected it to be. The building is, of course, gorgeous, with a huge waterfall and, if you can believe it, a cafeteria. No joke--looks just like a high school one, except cleaner, and the people working there probably aren't as surly and rude as their high school counterparts.

The sanctuary, although massive, was only half-full or less (Saturday night's not a huge draw, I suppose). All the acoutrements were there--plush seats with wooden armrests, three massive television cameras (only two were manned--they record all their events), a softly lit stage, complete with draped fabric and blue lighting, a sound system that was comparable to what most bands take with them on tours; heck, they even had a Bosendorfer (didn't get a close enough look, but I hope it's the one with extra keys). 9 feet long, that one is. I'd love to play one of those one day.

Anyway, the usual conundrum ensued within my brain with the mega-church model. To boil it down: does the mega-church produce consumers of religious entertainment product or can it actually promote the NT ideals of what the Church is supposed to be like? Is it possible in a congregation with four services and close to 5000 weekly attendees to ever have a sense of community? It struck me that one could attend the Saturday night service for years and be involved in one area of church ministry, and work with someone who attends the Sunday night service and is equally as involved in ministry, but never know that person goes to the same church. Is this really what it's about?

Then again, how can you argue with the fruit that church is producing? They have the resources (in people and currency) to run ministries that the average church simply cannot run (a special needs ministry for children with developmental disabilities, for example, that includes a support group for parents of these children). No doubt that is beneficial. But what has been sacrificed to attain that level of ministry prowess?

What bothered me most about it, though, was the fact that it was designed and produced (and I do mean produced--during the singing, the screen showed shots of all the musicians like a music video, with the lyrics projected in the bottom corner) to look and feel like a concert. Even though I was standing and trying to sing (the songs were in keys that made the vocalists sound good, but made it impossible for the average person to sing), I still felt like I had gone to church to get my fill of religion for the week. This isn't what it's about.

Argh. Here's what it comes down to for me: I am not a mega-church kind of guy (could you tell?). I think they do good work, but I also think that they are for the most part promoting a view of the Church that isn't in line with what I see the NT Church being. That's my story, when it comes right down to it, and I'm sticking to it.

Okay, time for the weekly 24 update. I took notes as I was watching; I don't have the time stamps on it (wasn't that coordinated), but if you watched, I hope you know the scenes I'm referring to. If not, well, maybe reading this will make you wish you were watching.

1. Okay, has Graem actually had that bag on his head for the eight minutes it's taken to get to this scene? If so, that guy's got some amazing lung capacity.

2. Seriously, must we lie about the reason that Nadia can't access her computer as fast as everyone else? Okay, people, she's a Muslim, and she's working in a government office. I suppose it's just intended to make us more upset at the inhumane practices of that feindish Tom fellow, but honestly, why not just say, "Because I'm brown, the government's put me behind some extra security" instead of lying about it left, right, and centre? Haven't they been watching their own show? Don't they know that this kind of thing always leads to some sort of tragic misunderstanding in hour 16?

3. Commercial: The Astronaut Farmer, with Billy Bob Thorton playing a small-town midwest farmer. So, he's basically being himself, then? Okay. Here's the next commercial, this one extolling the value of the horseracing industry to Alberta's economic production. I'm not kidding--it's like a PSA.

4. Okay, we're back. Are you serious? The blackmail storyline again? Lame. And already done. This is the part where we develop more and more anger toward the man they are setting up to be the well-intentioned-but-tragically-misguided character this season. Any wagers on how long it'll be before Tom's little plan backfires and we get a scene in which he says something like, "Oh no, what have I done?" No? Okay.

And hey, why doesn't Karen, if she's so smart, talk to the president of the US--arguably the most powerful man in the world--and tell him what's happening? It's like the CTU-Nadia storyline: things could run so much more smoothly if everyone was just level with everyone else. Is that so hard around here?

More to say about this: what kind of leader lets his national security advisor just up and quit in the middle of a national crisis? At the very least, shouldn't he be concerned with her leaving the bunker and getting nuked? Come on now, just because she blows sunshine up your ass, you let her leave? Some leader you are, Mr. President.

5. I love the stone-faced guard who is so concerned with following procedure in not letting Ms. Palmer in that he doesn't notice the prison riot breaking out behind him. Nice work, eagle-eye. And how exactly are these guards trying to break up this fight? Doesn't look like they're making much of an effort at all. Hello, has anyone heard of pepper spray? Rubber bullets? No? Don't tell me you don't have any of those things at mini-Gitmo here.

6. Commercial: Bridge to Terabithia. What's next, The Outsiders?

7. James Cromwell?! Seriously?! Great casting choice, in my opinion. I still think the Donald Sutherland angle was good, but I'll take Cromwell. And you know, it's good that evil spawn there was working without daddy dearest's knowledge. I was beginning to think that the entire Bauer clan was corrupt.

8. Some CTU agents those guys turned out to be. Aren't you supposed to, I don't know, NOT GET SHOT sitting in your car? What kind of training are they giving their agents over there, besides high-level immersion in witty retorts and lying to peers?

Tick, tick, tick, tick...

See you tomorrow.

Winter, Comics, and Mega-Churches...

After a brief, blissful respite, winter again has us firmly ensconsed in the grip of her icy tendrils, breathing down our necks like a malicious stalker. "I never left," she says, "I was just giving you the old head-fake." A vicious north wind blows as well, again seemingly reminding us that, yes, it is still January, and yes, it is the prairies. Bah. Yesterday, it was 12 degrees on the happy side of freezing; today, it's back down to -16.

All the warm temperatures over the past few days have led to a massive melt of the usual ground cover. In fact, the other night I was lulled to sleep by the comforting sound of water dripping off the roof directly onto the window sill right by my head. Drip, drip, drip. It's a good thing I'm so tired at night, or that would have become very annoying, very quickly.

Of course, the vast thaw had its advantages. The aforementioned snow cover dissipated surprisingly quickly, leaving patches of--you'll never believe it--grass. Spring was taunting us, calling us to its warm embrace like the proverbial Siren. But, like an abusive lover, it pulled its affection as quickly as it gave it, ceding all its gains to the cold artic air. Not much of a strategy, if you ask me.

The warm weather was lovely, but it has its own unique challenges associated with it as well. For example, knowing that the reprieve was temporary, I had to come up with solutions for keeping the rapidly-expanding pool of water away from the foundation of the house, lest it heave and crack the foundation when it inevitably froze again. And it froze quickly.

As it melted, the snow took on that appearance that is so indicative of the passing of the seasons--that dirty, grimy look that indicates its untimely demise. As beautiful as a fresh blanket of snow is (even on the prairies), it sure doesn't die with dignity, instead spending its last futile days fading into a shell of its former self.

And then there's the ice. Because the snow took on the consistency of a Slurpee (without the delicious taste and pound-and-a-half of sugar, mind), when it froze, it became rock solid. As a result, everything is coated with a deadly layer of ice, and the snow lost its familiar give that makes walking through it in boots so satisfying. The soft crunch is now an icy crack wherever one steps, and the remaining pools of water on the sidewalk have become skating rinks. After my unfortunate incident with ice last semester, however, I've learned to just avoid the ice. No need to test the theory of gravity yet again. I'll just operate under the assumption that it's still there, and still pulling objects toward the centre of the earth at 9.8 m/s. How I remember that particular value, I'm not sure--it certainly isn't very theological. Just goes to show the amount of trivial information one can retain.

Speaking of trivial information, try this on for size. I have a daily Far Side calendar this year (the first time in five years the calendar has been issued), which for some unknown reason states every conceivible holiday in the target markets, which cover all of the English-speaking world. Today is Australia Day. And you have now learned something you didn't know before. Unless, of course, you are from Australia. But, judging by the stats spewed forth by my handy site meter, I know you're all reading from Canada. In fact, 90% of you are reading from the Pacific time zone. Big Brother, man, he's watching you.

Ah, the Far Side. Where would we be without it? Well, for one thing, I would not personally be responsible for the destruction of so many trees in the purchase of daily calendars. It has that timelessness about it, a humour that transcends the interstitial years and still makes me laugh today, even though Larson's been out of the business for close to 10 years now.

Like many comics, that one will continue to live on. It somehow had that serendipitous mixture of nonsensical humour and funny illustrations. Oh yeah, and anthropomorphic animals. For me, it also has strong ties to my teenage years. Although I don't look back on them fondly (which is one reason I will be avoiding my high school reunion this summer at all costs), the Far Side was one of the points of joy in my life. How is it that one man drawing silly illustrations can reach out to so many and make a meaningful contribution? I don't know.

There are few other comics that meet this level of quality. Calvin and Hobbes is the other. And, for some unknown reason, Peanuts also falls in that category for some. In fact, the Vancouver Sun continues to run Peanuts comics, even though the man behind the comic died seven years ago. Why? I can't possibly explain it.

Maybe the universal appeal of Peanuts has to do with the personalities of the characters. Who, at some point in their lives, has not identified with Charlie Brown, the poster boy for losers everywhere? There was Lucy, the snobby one, although I'm sure that in today's school environment, she'd likely get a good pounding for that football stunt. There was Linus, the Peanuts equivalent of "nobody-knows-exactly-what-you-do guy." And, of course, Schroeder, the ambivalent musician, always immune to the feminine wiles of Lucy. And let's not forget Snoopy, who had a more active imagination than the average toddler. Seriously, toddlers can't make a Sopwith Camel out of their doghouses. Nor can they imagine bullet holes being punched in the side by the evil Red Baron. Can you tell what era those comics were from? I'm sure if Peanuts was created today, the enemy in Snoopy's fantasies would be an Al Quaeda suicide bomber, but that's beside the point.

Even though it doesn't do anything for me, my postmodern ethos tells me that if it works for you, then it's fine. Just don't mock my Far Side obsession, and we can happily co-exist.

After all that, I'm not sure I have anything else to say. Today was the usual; wake up early and be at school all day. My teachers run the gamut from the guy that hands out the fill-in-the-blanks notes to the guy who puts forth so much good information in 75 minutes that your hand cramps from all the note-taking. A good mix, though. And I'm really starting to get a grasp on the whole area of feminist theology, which is entirely interesting to me, but likely not to you, so I won't bore you with the details.

This weekend promises to be action-packed. One of the consequences of small-town prairie living, as I've commented on previously, is the inherent lack of any business of any use within a 100-km radius. For example, I have run out of ink for my printer. No problem, right? I'll just head over to Staples. Except that the nearest one is in Red Deer. Sigh. I have, however, come up with a great solution. I've been meaning to check out Centre Street Church in Calgary for some time now, and, since I need ink and groceries, I'm going to head in for the Saturday evening service tomorrow, and fold in a shopping trip with the adventure. Small-town living isn't bad, it just requires some creativity at times. Mind you, gas is only 80 cents/litre, so I'm ahead of the game in that respect.

I've wanted to go to Centre Street the whole time I've been here because I'm fascinated with the mega-church model. Huge churches have never held much appeal to me as options for regular attendance, but it's interesting to get the full range of experience. From its website, this church reminds me a lot of the Brooklyn Tabernacle, which we visited on our New York City jaunt a couple of years ago. That was a great experience, and I'm expecting more of the same here. Like I said, the inherent amount of professionalism, polish, and performance (I must be an evangelical with alliteration like that) both fascinate and repel me, which is why I think it'll be fun to check out. And who knows, maybe my attitude will change. Full report Monday.

With that, another week concludes. I've enjoyed my time with you this week, and I hope you feel the same. See you again on Monday.

An Thoroughly Uninspired Effort...

Yet again, I face the prospect of a terribly uninteresting blog posting if I stick only to my daily activities. Chapel in the morning, followed by a meeting with my project group, and then solitary busy-work back at the house. Not much there, I'm afraid. I know, I know--you wish you had my life. Well, if you ever feel like writing an essay for me, just let me know.

Of course, a boring day leads to a complete dearth of blog material. In fact, I was just lamenting to my wife on the phone that I really didn't have anything to blog about tonight. Oh sure, there are vast social injustices being perpetrated that I could come out against. I'm sure there's some fine point of biblical interpretation that I could go on ad nauseum about. There are even several pop culture things that have caught my eye in the recent days that could be excellent blog material.

But you know what? My heart's just not in it tonight. In fact, I've been sitting here for 20 minutes now typing away randomly, but it's just one of those days when nothing seems to be coming out in a coherent fashion. On days like this blogging becomes a chore, like editing an essay. So I cut all that stuff out, and stuck it in a Word document for future bloggage. It will make its inevitable return, just not tonight.

I think I know the root of my problem: I overthought it. My blog postings are very stream-of-consciousness (which is basically an excuse for them being unedited). The process is as follows: sit down at computer and start typing. When the scroll bar on the side of the page gets too small, blog has exceeded its limit and must be ended. That's it. Tonight, however, I sat down with an objective in mind. And wouldn't you know it, I couldn't make it work.

I wonder why that is. Maybe my inherent frustration with having to produce well thought-out pieces of writing on a regular basis prevents me from doing it here. Maybe my subconscious is secretly blocking any attempt at premeditated blogging as a reaction against having to do it as part of my "job" right now, which is school. Maybe. It could be that I'm just uninspired.

But it's funny how life works, isn't it? When I cut out all that stuff I wrote, I felt a sense of frustration, and thought that I'd only get a couple of paragraphs out tonight, because I really have nothing to write about. But what's happened? I've managed to write several paragraphs on not being able to write. Ironic, no?

I'm sure there's some clever life lesson to be drawn out of this fog somewhere, but I'm not sharp enough to grab it tonight. With that, I will conclude, and sinerely apologize for the uninspired offering this evening. Seriously, it's like looking at dog food on a golden plate.

At least my analogy processor is working. See you tomorrow.

Ain't No Party Like a Mario Party...

I was right about one thing--the alarm did go off way too early this morning. As much as I am a morning person (which drove my co-workers crazy on the 5:30 shift at Starbucks), it still stinks to have to haul oneself out of a comfy, warm bed when dawn hasn't yet broken the skyline with the sole purpose of plodding off through the (quickly disappearing) snow to the hallowed halls of academia, set to fill one's head with all the knowledge and naivete of youth.

To qualify the above: being a "morning person" to me simply means that it doesn't take me two hours to gradually rise to a coherent state of conscious thought. No, once I am out of bed, the gears start to turn. In fact, once I'm up, there's no going back to sleep, no matter how little sleep I've had. In order to nap effectively, I must get up, go about my business, and then return to the confines of my bed at a later hour, usually in the afternoon (although I have been known to take a nap in the morning). The processor doesn't run at full capacity, and the physical manifestations of a bad night abound (red eyes, blank stares into space, etc), but at least I'm alert.

All this to say that, although I was tired, I was at least alert for class at 8:00, which is more than I can say for the good majority of my peers. It's a funny class because the prof isn't very engaging, and it's early in the morning: recipe for disaster. There are several awkward silences each session. I'm looking forward to next week, though, because we start class presentations then. It'll be interesting to see if those doing the presenting manage to remain coherent.

The remainder of the day was mostly uneventful. Watched an interesting video in my second class about casting vision and making it stick as a leader. Good stuff, and something that I've struggled with in my brief career as a leader. The bottom line is this: as leaders, we tend to blame those who follow when they don't "catch the vision" and respond appropriately. However, their failure to grasp the vision always, without exception, stems from our inability as leaders to make it stick. Although it's easier to blame the sheep for being stupid, our qualification as shepherds rest on our ability to muster the sheep and keep their attention.

It goes along with what I've learned being involved in ministry: as much as we can expect and look for the ideal, the ideal will never happen. How many pastors' problems would be solved if only everyone who came to church unquestioningly gave of their monetary resources without having to be poked in the eye with a burning stick? The ideal is that people would do that; the reality is that they just don't do it unless they see something tangible to give to.

The guy on the video today was talking about how we need to leverage our opportunities for promotion of the vision and give people something concrete to hold on to in order to win their loyalty, their time, and yes, their money. I know many who look at a concept like that and shy away in horror because of its inherent "un-spirituality", but it's simply a fact of human nature. If we are to lead well, we must understand something of the human psyche and work to get inside it. It is not manipulation, which is always done for our own gain; it is simply harnessing the tendencies already present for the greater good of the Kingdom.

That's where you get into this whole thing of oversight and how you know there's a Kingdom purpose behind actions, but that's a different ball of wax for a different day.

As if that wasn't controversial enough, in my next class, the prof, taking an example from the life of Jeremiah, told us that it was appropriate to pray for God's vengeance on our enemies. Doesn't sound very "Christian" does it? What about turning the other cheek, loving your enemies, and praying for those who persecute you? Again, nice sentiment, but how often has that worked in the past? Not very often for me.

A series of points can be made: first, vengeance is God's to take anyway, and Scripture teaches that we will receive just reward for our actions, whether good or bad. Not that our salvation is in jeopardy (sorry, Calvin), but our reward is dependent on action in this life. Second, if we know God will take vengeance on the person, when we pray for that vengeance to take place, are we not praying in line with His will? Is that ever wrong? Third, how can we possibly learn to turn the other cheek to others and not take our revenge on them ourselves if we have not first come to God and turned that right of vengeance over to Him? I'm not saying it's inappropriate to seek justice in this life (Robert Pickton, I'm looking at you), but it's also not possible to really and truly come to a point of forgiveness, and, as a result, restoration, without knowing that God will in His time punish and reward according to His scales, not ours.

An interesting arguement, anyway, even if you don't agree with it. At the very least, it challenged me to rethink the way I look at passages of Scripture such as Jeremiah 17:18b ("Bring on them a day of disaster, and crush them with twofold destruction!") and many of the imprecatory Psalms. Whether we like it or not, these passages are in Scripture and must be dealt with.

To coin Monty Python, "And now for something completely different." On the topic of the title of this posting, I had a great evening getting together with a few guys and playing Mario Party on N64. Good times. Took me back a little bit, too, to when I used to hang out with my buddies and play video games until all hours of the night. As responsible (*cough*) men now, however, we must be more choosy about the amount of time we spend playing. But it was good to hang out with them.

Turns out that I'm pretty useless at Mario Party; however, I maintain that I am quite useless at all video games when introduced to them cold turkey and expected to perform at a high level. The pressure's on becuase two of the guys had played this particular game before, and the other had played two of its later variants (and, in fact, owned the games). As a relative newbie to the Mario Party pheomenon, it was tough to just jump in and play. Lucky for me, I've been classically trained in the ancient art of controller manipulation, and my video game skills, honed for hours on end in front of the TV with my NES, transcend platform and game and are generally applicable to most video game situations. Translation: I held my own in a respectable fashion; I wasn't beaten too badly, but I was gracious enough to let the host win. See, people skills. Good times.

I also had the chance to watch some of the most boring hockey of the whole season, the NHL All-Star Game. Yawn. No need to waste more words on that sad-sack excuse for the best game in the world.

Well, as much as I tried to avoid it, looks like a midnight bedtime looms large again. D'oh! Tomorrow isn't so early, but I am meeting up with one of my project groups, so I suppose I need to be fully engaged. With that, I'll sign off for the evening. See you again tomorrow.

Monotony (in my life, not my writing)...

Today's the day when the monotony of school work finally got to me. I think I spent three hours today reading books, and not nice little works of fiction, either. Ah well, only 12 more weeks until grad. Not that anyone's counting.

By the way, I know it's not actually 12 weeks until April 28, just in case someone was quick enough on the math skills to catch that. It's just that there are 12 more weeks of school, then a week of exams (of which I have one, which brings my total final exam count to, well, one, in two semesters). I don't count exam week, though--it's sort of like the encore at a rock show. Not sure where that analogy's going, so let's just halt there, shall we?

Took in the NHL skills competition tonight as well. As a true Canadian hockey fan, I tuned in for the whole thing, from fastest skater to hardest shot. And yes, I enjoyed it immensely. I guess it's the kid in me; that, or it's the guy who still secretly harbours a dream, as any kid who's ever played hockey at any level, to one day play in the NHL. It's sad when most of the guys at the game are younger than you; that's when you really start to feel like maybe it's time to put that dream on the shelf. Ah, who am I kidding? As long as there is hockey, I will dream of playing it.

I can tell you one thing about pro hockey players, though: they are stinking talented. Around the rink in 14 seconds? Not bad. Shooting a puck at 100 miles/hour. Pretty good. Yes, they're paid too much; yes, they're mostly just big fat whiners. But man, for anyone who's ever played the game (and several of those who haven't), it's a pleasure to watch.

Anyway. I also downloaded and watched the second episode of what is becoming my new favourite TV show, Little Mosque on the Prairie. I know, I know--a CBC show that ranks up there in my favourites. What is the world coming to? Are you telling me that Canadian entertainment can actually be, well, entertaining? Perish the thought! Next you're going to tell me that a Canadian won an Oscar for best screenplay last year and is nominated again this year. Pish posh!

There is one jarring thing about the series, though: the guy who plays Morris (Chloe's significant other) on 24 is the main character of this one. Talk about two very different roles. But hey, it makes you appreciate his range as an actor, no?

Back to the show--it's really funny. And it's not funny simply because I happen to live in a small prairie town at this moment in time, but because it's genuinely well-written. It's an interesting tale of Muslim-Christian co-existence as well. There are so many things about the show that I want to talk about, but I'll have to save them for some other time.

That said, it's late, and, as I've mentioned before, the alarm rings at an inhumane time on Wednesday mornings, so I will sign off. Thanks, as always, for reading. See you tomorrow.

Sweet Delay...

The only thing worse than anticipating something unpleasant is when that thing gets cancelled at the last minute, and now you have to anticipate its inevetable rescheduling. Sigh. The thing I'm speaking of in this case is grad photos, which I was supposed to have done today. Unfortunately, our photographer had to go in for last-minute emergency gall bladder surgery, so he was apparently unable to come and take photos. Slacker.

So now I'm stuck with knowing that at some point I'm going to have to get these stupid photos taken, but I don't know when. It could be next week; it could be next month. All I know is that at some fuzzy point in the not-so-distant future, I will have to put my gown and mortarboard on (misleadingly named, if you ask me, since the hat consists of no mortar. Perhaps years ago when the phrase was coined, graduates had to don a concrete hat to give one further example of the toils of getting a college education. Now they just charge you a graduation fee), and sit down full of contrived smiles and vim, pretending to enjoy my time in the spotlight.

Nothing, I assure you, makes me more uncomfortable than a one-on-one photo shoot. Put some other subjects in the picture (attractive wife or cute baby, for example), and I'm at least a little more at ease. With these ones, there's no decoys--I am on my own. How I loathe it.

Uneventful weekend, when it all shook out. Saturday consisted of much homework, which was productive, and allowed me to feel more confident of taking most of Sunday to watch football. Yes, some homework was done during the games (I'm serious--reading. Not a tough book, and the ball games were turned down low). I came out with one of my teams winning, so not bad. Not that I had any money on it or anything. I have better ways to lose my money (like putting gas in my car) than wagering on events over which I have no control.

Seriously, that's the whole thing, right there. That's pathetic. One measly paragraph describes the entirety of two days worth of living and breathing. Next week I'm going to have to steal a car or something, just to add some drama.

Moving on. Took some of the day today (with cancelled photos and all) to get started on a show that I've been hearing a lot about recently, but have never ventured to watch: Battlestar Galactica. Two reasons for not watching it: (1) my wife hates sci-fi, and I already test her patience enough with my incessant love of Star Wars and all the Star Trek series (yes, even Enterprise, which I thought was actually quite brilliant, but ill-timed); (2) we don't get the channel it airs on. But, thanks to the wonder of this thing they call the interweb, I can download the shows at my leisure and burn them to DVD to watch them in the comfort of my living room with no commercial interruptions (which, I realize, is contributing to the very high amount of advertising elsewhere that I was lamenting last week, and that my dad had an insightful comment on). Anyway, I'm only two years behind on Galactica (it's in season 3 right now), so I'm in the process of downloading all of seasons 1 and 2. Apparently, the whole series started with a four-hour miniseries, which is what I watched today (it was only three hours without commercials, and I had some time--give me a break).

What a truly brilliant show. If the rest of it is anything like the first four hours, I can see why it's widely regarded as the best show on TV. Compelling performances from the actors, gut-wrenching storylines, faced-paced direction, the likes of which I haven't seen since the first season of "The West Wing" (and even then, BG does a better job of it), and, to top it all off, it's not a sci-fi series. I know, I know, it takes place in space and they battle aliens. But it's not sci-fi. Can't explain it. The sets are incredible, too--so intricate and mostly defiant of the sci-fi stereotypes (beeps and boings and futuristic-looking flashing lights, for example, are absent). I'm looking forward to the first and second seasons, if only they would download a wee bit faster than I'm getting them now. No matter--I'll have them eventually, and then they'll be sorry.

In other TV-related news, had a boo at 24 tonight, too. *Spoiler alert* If you haven't watched this week's episode, skip the next two paragraphs. I think this is the season of the backstory--we learn about Jack's evil brother, and I'm just waiting for there to be another Palmer sibling jump out of the woodwork (he has a sister, too? What, was she suddenly adopted during the off-season, considering we haven't heard anything about her for the past five seasons?). I'm also waiting for Donald Sutherland to do a guest appearance as Jack's father (just like Jon Voight did to his real-life daughter in Tomb Raider), but IMDB doesn't credit him for an appearance. Too bad.

The appearance of Jack's brother also helps me patch a hole in my heart (or maybe just in the storyline) left after last season's boring end--who is Mr. Bluetooth? Now we know--he's Jack's brother. Have to admit, I didn't see that one coming. It just goes to show that the writers are a lot more wily than I gave them credit for. When we were all thinking, "Hey, what about that shady group of men controlling the president?" they were setting us up for this season. Nice move. Although I do hope that Jack pulls the bag off sometime before next week because (a) I like the brother's character, and (b) a week is a long time to have a plastic bag over your face. Or so I hear.

Well, I think that'll about do it for now. Have you looked at the lastest posting on Theo's blog? I posted it last weekend, so check it out. And I'll see you back here tomorrow.

One Good Rant Deserves Another...

First off, happy birthday to my dad, who turns, well, I won't say in case I'm written out of the will. He's not an old guy though, so don't get that idea in your head. Anyway, happy birthday, dad.

I decided that since I was on such a roll (?) yesterday with my rant about advertising that I'd give 'er another go tonight. If you're not in the ranting mood, then I'll say my hearty goodnight at this juncture, and we'll see you next week.

For those of you still with me, I have two words: American Idol. I have to preface by saying that my comments herein are derived entirely from anecdotal evidence given to me over the phone by my wife this evening, and subsequently checked in Google (the fountain of all information; the veritable Oracle at Delphi of the internet). I do not watch American Idol, nor do I plan to, especially this season. I'll admit to periodic interest over the past few years--hey, I'm a musician, I appreciate musical talent, and some of these kids can actually sing, which is quite pleasant--but I no longer want to be tormented by that demon. Especially after how this season kicked off.

Don't tell me you've never watched the first few episodes--the auditions. These preliminary shows are supposedly given to show us the run-up to the top-100 auditions in Hollywood, giving us an idea of the talent and lack thereof in the audition process. However, as the seasons have progressed, these episodes have become increasingly spiteful. It's gotten so bad that this year, one journalist characterized it as, "taking train-wreck TV viewing to a whole new level." Evidently, one of the high points was Simon Cowell making fun of the physical shortcomings of one potential contestant, and the entire panel of judges insinuating to another that her boss--who paid for her and her sister to be flown out because he really thought she was talented--was supporting her career for an entirely different reason, if you catch my drift. After they were done with her, they called in her boss (who also flew in and was sitting outside with his wife) to make the same accusations to him. All on national TV with millions watching.

And that's just the problem. Millions watching, all knowing that this is the episode where they make fun of all the stupid people, and tuning in with expectancy. Is this reprehensible to anyone but me?

Apparently not. I have an unlikely ally in the form of Rosie O'Donnell, who, besides being a militant lesbian, is an outspoken critic of, well, everything, it seems. And although I could care less what Trump and Ms. America were doing, I have to agree with her take on this one (you can read her comments here). Is this what America considers entertainment? Yes, and they're lining up for more.

It's a sad commentary on the state of our society. When millions queue up to watch their fellow humans get verbally abused and take satisfaction from it, that's sad. It's too bad that in order to be viable, our entertainment has to have a victim. The people who watch this garbage and enjoy it are no better than the schoolyard bully, who is so insecure about his own shortcomings that he has to point out the folly of others to make himself feel better. And we're breeding a whole generation of young people who think this is normal. It's bullying writ large, and because we can't see the immediate effect it has on the real-life people involved, we just don't care. It's the same thing that's happening with all the suffering in the Sudan; because we don't see inhabitants of third-world nations as people on the same level as us, we can easily ignore it and put it away in a separate compartment.

Getting back specifically to Idol, some say that if the people didn't want to be made fun of, they shouldn't have gone for an audition. I don't buy it. That argument sounds a lot like the famous "She was asking for it by dressing that way" argument. The problem is that the makers of Idol have sold the American public on a dream, and that dream is stardom. "You'll be rich and famous," they tell the wide-eyed starlets who don't have any talent. The problem is that even no-talents (I'm looking at you, Paris Hilton) can have careers nowadays, and so everyone has an inflated sense of self-worth. And then, having been baited by the call of the American Dream, they come and get publicly sacrificed on the idol of entertainment. What's a few destroyed dreams and ruined lives? After all, nobody was holding a gun to their heads and telling them that they had to come out and audition--they asked for it, didn't they?

No. No they didn't. And it's deplorable for us to think that we can excuse this kind of "entertainment" with this attitude.

We've come to the point where the age of the individual has meshed with the age of anonymity in a startling way. Just find your way into any chat room on the internet, and you'll find insults being traded that wouldn't be acceptable anywhere else, but are okay because (a) you hide behind your virtual identity, and (b) you don't actually have to think of your fellow combatant as a human being, but rather a number. In fact, some of the worst places to find such insults are, and I'm sad and ashamed to say it, Christian chat forums.

Are we really that pent-up? Does it honestly make us feel somehow vindicated to take out the rage that we feel inside on some other anonymous person? We feel that just because someone's on TV, they somehow cease to be a thinking, feeling human being with friends, parents, husbands and wives, and kids, all of whom regard this particular person in high esteem. When did we lose the whole ethos of not saying something about someone we wouldn't say to their face? Put another way, would we accept someone saying something like that about our own kid? Then why is it okay for us to do it to them? What's wrong with us?

Although I'm not trying to solve all the world's problems (and I'm probably preaching to the proverbial choir), I do have to say that there is a root to all this, and I think it lies in a lack of effective catharsis that our society is enduring presently. We are unequipped with the tools necessary to deal with stress and frustration, and so instead we bottle it up. Becuase our society is now of the opinion that we can do whatever the heck we want to do and it's nobody's business but ours, we lack the vulnerability to be open about things, even with our closest friends or our spouse. In fact, we're of the opinion that our problem is our problem alone, and nobody has the same problem so nobody will be able to help me deal with it. This problem is seen in adolescence, but I dare say it's infecting the adult world as well.

Simply put, we need places to turn to when we hurt so that we can in turn administer that healing to those around us who need it. Not to be utopian, but what would the world be like if we took heed of hurt and tried to heal it instead of revelling in the fact that that person's hurt is greater than ours? This is why we need Jesus, and a caring community of a church, but one that's manifested in the way it was meant to be--caring, loving, supportive. Maybe the solution starts with recognizing that and holding on to it.

Since I'm beginning to speak with strokes that are soon to be too broad for me to paint with, I will stop there. However, I will share with you what I'm doing to be a part of the solution. This semester, as part of my courses, I have to submit a series of growth goals and be accountable for the progress of those goals throughout the course of the semester. One of my goals this semester (and for the entire year) is to be more optimistic in every situation; I think that's one of the ways I can start being part of a solution. Maybe it's as simple as a bunch of people making a commitment to not taking joy out of the misfortune of others. In any case, that's my commitment this year, and I hope you'll take up some of it as well.

On that, it's time to stop. Hope I haven't exhausted your tolerance for rants. At the very least, I hope this one makes sense. Have a pleasant weekend, everyone, and I'll see you back here on Monday.

Finally, a Good Rant...

Not to start with wailing and lament, but man, am I ever tired. Not sure it's because I'm feeling a bit under-the-weather, or if it's simply a result of having a crappy bed, but it sure is nauseating. Maybe it's just because I thought I was used to sleeping on my own, but really I just need my wife beside me to actually sleep well.

That said, I don't really have much to report. Did a little day trip today, just to get out of the house--went to Drumheller, home of the world famous Royal Tyrell Museum. Didn't actually go into the museum without my family, but I checked it out. Let me tell you, if I was a resident of Drumheller, I'd likely go crazy with the amount of dinosaurs in that town. Every street corner in the downtown area has at least one dinosaur statue on it, and one of the main structures in town (couldn't figure out what it was) has a dino sculpture that is at least four storeys tall. Which is probably why I couldn't figure out what the structure was--there was a T. Rex blocking my view.

Nice enough town. Has its own water tower (which, of course, I couldn't photograph) and small cemetary on the outskirts. It must really hit its stride in the summer, though, because man, there sure are a lot of empty parking stalls and closed tourist attractions in the winter.

That actually wouldn't be a bad living, if you could make it work. I mean, your store is only open six months of the year, yet you make enough money in those six months to subsist for the remaining six, at least, that's what I assume. Maybe they drive a truck in the winter or something. It makes you wonder somewhat about their markup, but hey, a guy's gotta make a buck, right?

Overall, it was a pretty good trip. I must admit that driving is getting a little tedious without someone to talk to, but it's all good. Fifteen more days.

One other thing that I wanted to talk about in this space tonight that is really starting to bother me, and, well, I think it probably bothers you too. That issue is the ridiculous amount of corporate sponsorship that's going on in sports nowadays. Have you noticed? For example, I was listening to my Seahawks play on Sunday (the local sports radio station was carrying the feed), and now it's not just the red zone (the 20-yard-line to the goal line, for those who are unfamiliar), it's the "Heinz Red Zone." Same thing with Lions games last year--"And that pass gives the Lions another Toyota Trucks first down." It is as if the imputation of a company name suddenly lends a certain validity to the sport. Or maybe the sport lends validity to the company.

Now granted, this has been happening for quite some time, so why the mention today? Well, I was listening to my Canucks beat yet another Eastern Conference opponent, and the PA announcer in the Corel Centre or whatever it's called now (and don't get me started on corporate sponsorship of arenas and other sporting venues), when he was announcing a goal, had the following script: "Vancouver goal, his ninth of the season, scored by number 9, Taylor Pyatt. Assist to number 19 Markus Naslund. So-and-so Jewelers Rolex time of the goal, 13:00." Are you joking? Someone even sponsors the time the goal was scored? Where does it end?

In all honesty, who thinks, "Oh, it's the Heinz Red Zone, eh? You know, I was going to purchase a less-expensive-yet-equally-tasty generic product this week, but because I now know that the inflated price I pay for condiments goes to the very radio station I hear my football games on, I now choose to purchase Heinz"? What possible benefit do these companies derive from this? Yes, yes, I understand the branding that brings your company's name into the common vernacular of the day (for example, I have an mp3 player, but I often call it an iPod, even though it's not, and I will never buy one. Ah yes, iPod; another product that I would pay an inflated price for simply to pad U2's already-hefty pockets to hock on TV, which is why I bought a less-expensive-yet-equally-good player made by Sandisk), and I know why said branding is valuable. However, a company like Heinz or Toyota are far beyond the "feathered upstart" category and well into the mainstream.

And why must everything become a forum for advertisement? For example, back in Vancouver, taxis now have hubcaps that advertise for Denny's. I'm not joking. This is getting ridiculous.

What the heck is going on? Isn't there something that should be done about this? At what point do we draw the line and say, "That's enough"? Or are we already too far past that point? It's like the story of the frog--if you put a live frog in boiling water, it'll jump out, but if you put a live frog in cold water and slowly bring it to a boil, it'll stay in. These companies and broadcasters have brought this upon us so insidiously, that we honestly don't remember a time when the rink was called the Pacific Coliseum not because it was sponsored by a company called "Pacific Coliseums, Inc." but simply because it was a good name. When they fix the roof at BC Place, how long is it going to be before some company says, "You know, we'll replace the whole roof, but only if you stop calling it BC Place and start calling it, 'King of Floors Stadium'"?

Advertising has become such an innate part of our lives that we can't even recognize when we're being unfairly bombarded by it. I'm not a communist; I understand that ad revenue makes the world go 'round and allows me to listen to my hockey games on the radio. There was a time, however, when putting ads on every square inch of the boards, the zambonis, the section entrances, the concourse, and the stairwells wasn't necessary. Why did it work then?

There you go. Something to ponder as you go about your day. Of course, I'm always interested to hear what you think via the comments section, so feel free, just as Theo did for yesterday's post. He did that by himself, by the way. No idea how he opened up the comment window, but he did, and he typed. Mommy had to type his name for him and actually post the thing, but he's participating in the discussion.

See you tomorrow.

The 50th Posting...

Looks like I've reached some sort of milestone, no matter how dubious. That's right, this is the 50th posting to this blog since I began it lo, these many moons ago. I personally find it hard to believe that I've been here for 50 days, and yet time marches inexorably forward, I suppose. So thanks to you for reading, and for sticking it out even through the lean times of no blogging. I appreciate your patronage, and it helps to know that I'm not just typing into empty space. Not that it'd stop me.

The only problem with reaching such an illustrious milestone on a day like today is that I really have nothing to blog about at all. As I mentioned yesterday, Wednesday and Friday are my crazy days at school (8:00-4:35, with a break for lunch), and today I had a meeting at 5:30 as well. Thus the recap of the day's events will be lame, and I just don't want to go there.

Instead, I'll briefly hit back on the whole topic of annoying ads. It's funny how we're such a subjective bunch. It struck me when I read Uncle Dale's comment about the Ikea ad (which I find really funny) that maybe half of you agree, and half disagree with me. How is it that when that ad comes on, I actually want to throw objects at the TV, and yet, others are unaffected? It's so fascinating to me that we're all so different. I'm not even sure why this is something I'm fascinated by, to be honest, because it seems so elementary. And yet, I am. I suppose it's discovering the wonder in even the most inane things that keeps us somehow moving forward as a society, and keeps us from being affected by that general malaise that gets us stuck in the most stubborn ruts of selfishness and indifference to the world around us.

Bachelorhood, day 7 (I'm not counting my travel days in this, by the way). Things continue to click along rather smoothly here. It was garbage day today (aren't you happy you stop by to read such incisive and interesting material?), and I only had one bag of garbage. It wasn't even full. It's not that I long for bags overflowing with diapers; it's just a statement on my current situation. I had nachos for dinner. Oh, but they had cheese on them, which qualifies as a diary item for the day. Plus, I had a fruit and veggie juice that claims to have two servings of said items per glass, so I'm ahead of the game, methinks. Don't worry--the other day I made myself roasted potatoes and real vegetables (although they were the frozen kind). Remember, I actually enjoy cooking, just not on days like today.

The one thing that's driving me the most crazy about being here alone isn't the fact that I go to sleep in an empty bed every night; no, it's the fact that I have no compelling reason to leave the house without wife and child. I do my walks to school, and that's about it. When the fam was here, we'd go walking or out to the happening town of Red Deer, or whatever, but it's just not the same when you're all by yourself and have no further reason to do so.

To remedy this situation, I've decided to take a drive tomorrow. Not sure where I'm going to end up (except that I'm heading in the general direction of Drumheller), so that should be fun. And wouldn't you know it, the time that I can actually take time to stop and smell the roses and take all sorts of photos of random things, I don't have the camera (it stayed in Langley to document Theo, which, I admit, is more important).

You know what I'd really like to document? The small-town cemetary. Seriously, I've driven by several of them (including the large-ish one here in town, and one small one on the outskirts of town that seems to belong entirely to one family), and I'm always fascinated by them. But it's tough to say to the wife, "Hey honey, just wait here in the car with the boy while I head out into the snow to take some random pictures of this cemetary." No, don't think that's a good idea, really. So now I have time, but not the means; the motive, but not the opportunity (or something like that). Oh well. I'm also thinking about documenting the small-town water tower.

Truth is, I'm just fascinated with small town life. It's such a change for me that I almost feel like a tourist in a foreign country. I'm sure all the locals think I'm a nerd with my camera (all I need is the Hawaiian shirt and money pouch, and I'm good), but it's so interesting. I guess that, as a "big city" boy (who actually grew up in a rather small suburb, albeit one that was close to a big city), I always wondered what could possibly compel someone to live in a place like this. But now that I've lived here for a while and found that it's not as bad as I thought, I'm interested in the way of life. It's all about broadening your horizons and learning as much as you can from everyone you meet (and assuming that everyone you meet has something to teach). If you're too interested in what comes next, you miss the moment, and I'm tired of living my life trying to catch tomorrow's moment.

I honestly didn't intend to philosophize tonight, but there you go. With that, it's time to sign off for the night and hit the hay. Thanks for stopping by, have a super day, and I'll see you here again tomorrow.

A Smallish Offering

Well, it's late, and the alarm goes off way too early on Wednesday mornings to provide much in the way of incisive and witty writing. However, since I went long yesterday, I feel relieved of my responsibility to write volumes, and thus I will share with you one small pop culture observation, and leave it at that.

I think I've finally discovered the worst commercial ever. I know, it's a bit of a subjective topic, but I'm sure we can all agree that the new Tim Horton's Yogurt and Berries commercial is the worst ever made. In the history of TV ad campaigns. That's two dishonourable mentions for Canada's favourite donut/coffee shop on this blog. For shame, Mr. Horton! For shame!

You all know the one I'm talking about, right? First of all, didn't her mother tell her that if she's going to bring something for one person, she has to bring enough for everyone? And what's she trying to do exactly, show the other ladies up by bringing a treat for her teacher? Suck up. Furthermore, if I were the other people in the yoga class, my first thought wouldn't be to complete the metaphor for my obviously-distracted-by-her-yogurt-and-berries instructor; no, it would be to find a way to inflict some sort of yoga-related torture on the stupid chick who brought the stupid yogurt in the first place. Stupid.

And do you think they could've found more annoying actors for the roles? I can see the casting call now: "Wanted for new commercial--fit-looking middle-age women with very annoying voices and pedantic mannerisms." If that was my yoga class (and let's be serious about the chances of me attending a yoga class), I would leave feeling less relaxed than when I arrived.

The problem with this commercial, as with many commercials seen on TV, is the frequency at which we are subjected to them. For example, I think that Tim Horton's commercial comes on at least four times an hour, if not more, and I only get two stations. On the bright side, at least Subway fired John Lovitz. I guess that did, in fact, happen to him once.

With that, the night concludes. Thanks for stopping by, and I'll see you tomorrow.

Bachelorhood; Day 5

If there's one thing that tempers the lonliness of being by yourself at night when you're used to the company of others, it's a new season of 24. There's nothing like a few car chases and explosions to make you feel better. More on that later.

By the way, I must note that I have kept my earlier promise to get back to regular blogging. It's fun being back into the swing of things. The problem (for you, I'm afraid), is that since I don't really have anyone to talk to during the day, I'll be forced to spew forth more meaningless drivel here on a nightly basis. Ah, who am I kidding? It was long-winded before. It's just that now I have an excuse.

Turns out that I was a bit bored last night, so I decided to take a late-night walk (it was about 11:30) to nowhere in particular. It's funny, but being in a small town actually makes me nervous about doing things like that. In the urban environment, there are always people about; they're driving to the late shift, walking home from the local pub, or just being ne'er-do-wells. But in this small town, there's no reason to be out at night, so one who does so risks being one who sticks out like the proverbial sore thumb.

Actually, come to think of it, I'm pretty accustomed to walking places. I guess it's my west coast upbringing, but it's really out of place here. In fact, there doesn't really seem to be anyone out at any time of day, unless they're safely shrouded behind glass and metal, and with hot air blowing through the vents. But being out here in the crisp, cold air reminds me (of a beer commercial) of being up on a ski hill getting ready to glide (read: fall) down with effervescence and grace. Or with swearing. Either way, it's fun to watch.

That whole feeling of drinking in the air and feeling the tingle of your extremities as the feeling slowly leaves them doesn't jive in the utilitarian province of Alberta, however. Why would you go out and just walk for the sake of walking? Especially in winter? What are ya, crazy? Probably. But I still like it.

The walk was good; I ended up going to the end of the street and standing in the field looking up at the stars. Sounds like a personal ad. Really, I'm not that lonely. It was good to clear the ol' head, even if it was late. And hey, nobody called the cops, so I'm ahead on all fronts.

Had some contact with other humans today, though. Two of this semester's classes are heavy on the group work, so I met up with one of the groups this afternoon. For some unknown reason, our prof sees it fit to make a group project due the second class of the semester. Nice. Worth 10% of the final grade, too. Awesome.

You know, no two words struck fear into my heart as a high school student like "group project." I knew that, as one of the keeners, I was a target. It was funny, because when academics weren't concerned, the bullies would eat me for lunch, but when the time came for them to get a little undeserved boost in their grades, who did they come to first? And, of course, being a "turn the other cheek" kind of guy (actually, my motivation was more self-preservation than nobility), I would always oblige. Off we'd go to work on our "group project", when it was actually me doing the majority of the work while the other guy slacked. And, because I cared about my grades, my partner always knew that I'd do the work, even if he didn't. It was a brilliant scheme, really.

I haven't done a group project since high school, and, to be honest, I've always steered clear of them. I'm funny that way, because when it comes to matters of academics or work, I prefer to be alone. Despite my extroverted exterior, I actually prefer being by myself for good stretches of time (a theory that will be tested in these coming weeks) because it makes me feel energized. And I really do find it difficult to work with people on anything more than a surface level. Again, despite the extroverted, I'll-talk-to-anyone exterior, if the conversation moves any farther than "How's the weather," I tend to not know how to proceed. In a lot of ways, my sometimes-overwhelming personality is covering for a lot of insecurity. But before this turns into a tell-all book and you all start to psychoanalyze me, let's get to the point.

Point is that it seems that in college, "group work" takes on a different meaning. Now, everyone's a keener. If they weren't, they likely wouldn't be spending the money and living in Three Hills to be here. They'd be enjoying the benefits of Alberta's robust economy instead of being recipients of government handouts (speaking of which, Steph's EI officially ends this week, which means our total combined annual income is now $0). It was really refreshing to see the members of my group come to our group meeting prepared and actually having something interesting and meaningful to contribute to the discussion.

Since that's getting a little bit on the heavy side, it's time to change topics. I have to say, despite its obvious flaws, I'm really enjoying 24 so far. My dad just called after watching the second half of the season opener, and we had a good ol' many time talking about explosions and the like. Tonight's episodes had everything that I would consider to be "classic" 24. For example...

Working in the most dimly-lit office in LA...check.

Chloe going behind management's back to do some secret satellite surveillance...check. I swear, one day when they're not short on manpower, she's going to have a serious conversation with HR about her order obedience to order disobedience ratio. I'm sure when the cameras aren't rolling, she's reliable, otherwise she'd be out of a job.

Threats to arrest/fire/shoot various crucial members of the CTU team...check.

Killing off a main character in the first four hours...check. Although how many of you thought it was going to be Bill? I tell you, that's guy's a target (as one of my favourite bloggers put it, "tenure, but no backstory").

Playing up all sorts of flag-waving American stereotypes...check. "Does the constitution mean anything to you?" Love it.

Everyone in power ("the man") ignoring the advice of Jack Bauer, despite his experience and obvious credibility, but finding out just a little too late that he was right all along...check. I swear, next season is going to be all about Jack going crazy and finally giving those suits what they deserve.

Jack Bauer, despite being just released from Chinese custody (which really means that when the writers fleshed out that particular story line for the year, they didn't like it and changed direction, a la the foiled assasination attempt on the other President Palmer at the end of season 2/beginning of season 3) managing to find the strength to not only kill a man by biting him in the jugular vein, but also not needing to get something to eat (not even a protien bar? Come on) or use a toilet...check.

The only thing missing, and I truly do hope they come back to it at some point this season, is a mole in CTU. But it looks like they're wanting us to believe that it's Chloe's boyfriend. Speaking of him, not only is he Canadian, but he's also in Little Mosque on the Prairie, which, although it seems like an oxymoron, might actually be a decent comedic show on the CBC.

And is it just me, or are there a really inordinate amount of Canadians on the show that's supposed to be all about the US of A? Tonight even had one of our best Newfie comics playing a terrorist. What, are there no terrorist-looking, Arabic-speaking, slightly Islamic-looking actors in the States? But we're down one Canadian now with the untimely death of that main character.

Anyway, I'm looking forward to another season of implausible-yet-exciting action. But in the more immediate future, I'm looking foward to bed. Good night, and see you back here tomorrow.

Out of Practice, I'm Afraid...

It occurs to me that I'm a little bit rusty in my use of an alarm clock.

Okay, I seriously considered just starting up a new posting and pretending that I haven't been away for almost six weeks, but I feel as though an explanation is in order.

First off, Merry belated Christmas (is that even appropriate?) and happy belated new year. The one thing we can say for sure looking back on 2006 is that it's gone. Is that for better or worse? I'm not sure. It sure brought a whole lot of challenges (being without a paycheque for the entire year being one, dealing with a premature, colicky infant another), but it also brought some pretty amazing moments (Feb. 5 strikes me as one, and there are multitudinous others too numerous to count in parenthetical form). On the balance, a good year on the family front, a lame-duck year on the career/making any money at all front.

On new year's eve, Steph and I were sitting on the couch drinking our wine and reflecting on the year. We decided (actually, I decided, but it lends the whole thing a bit more credence if I say that we decided it together--more genteel, if less accurate) that 2006 could have been dubbed "The Year of Waiting." And if that's the case, then we have hereby dubbed 2007 "The Year that Something Finally Happens." I'm sure we could've come up with something more catchy, but there you go.

In this time of sober reflection, I'd like to say that I've personally felt in the doledrums over the past year, and I'm only starting to realize the depth of it just now. I think that my lack of excitement about life in general really hampered my ability to fully enjoy things that did go well. It seems that when one is in a slump, even the high points don't seem as high as they should. And then the guilt sets in: why am I not as happy about this as I should be? I suppose the opposite is also entirely true: when one is on a roll, even the bad things don't get one down.

I have to admit, I've lived my life with plenty of time in both areas. Maybe it's an inevitable dance--back and forth from highs to lows. But then again, maybe it's something that we have control over (I'm using the collective noun to obscure the fact that I'm really talking about myself, although I suspect that most have some degree of empathy for my position). I've decided that in 2007, I'm going to do all I can to live a life that is focused on the positive, not the negative. I have so many good things going for me that the lack of any kind of paycheque for the past 18 months shouldn't be what I define myself by. I'm accomplishing good things out here, and, as one of my profs said last semester, if you fail to appreciate the moment you're in for the sake of looking to the future, you miss all the opportunity you have to actually accomplish something while you're there.

Whew. Now that I've gotten several paragraphs out on something I had no intention of writing about, time to move on with what I wanted to write about. Yes, it's been a while. And not only am I rusty at setting an alarm clock (more on that in a bit), I'm also rusty at this whole blogging thing. I guess I just need to "find my voice" as they say; it'll come. Why have I been away so long? Glad you asked.

Where do I begin? When we last left our heroes, they were just overcoming the vicious Noro Virus and preparing to drive back to BC. I'll pick it up there (sort of) and give you the Reader's Digest condensed version of events.

We did get back safely, after a horrible car ride (child in teething pain in a car for 10 hours--you figure it out). Shortly thereafter, both Steph and Theo came down with a cold that just went on and on; Theo eventually developed a secondary bacterial infection (probably bronchiolitis), which meant two trips to the doctor, a terrible set of X-rays and blood work, and a visit to the local pediatrician (twice). If he's not scared of doctors yet, we've still got a little time. Crazy. Have you ever tried to take an infant for X-rays? Not pretty. They use a device that's (I'm not kidding) called a "Pigg-O-Matic." It's terrible, and reminiscent of Silence of the Lambs. For some reason, I couldn't find any pictures of it on the 'net.

Somewhere in the midst of all that, I led worship three times in two weeks, we hosted the most disatrous Christmas dinner in the history of said get-togethers (I'll explain some other time), had a quiet new year's (after cleaning up baby puke from the car--always the last thing you want to do before a new year begins), and had an insane amount of social visits with friends and family. So not only was I less than energetic about blogging, we also had to put Theo's crib in what is normally our office, as Steph's mom (who is living at our place while we're here) has occupied what used to be his room. Instead of kicking her out (which is very uncouth), we moved him, but it meant that his bed was in the same room as the computer, and, since my prime blogging time is just before bed, it was not possible for me to have access to the machine at the appointed time. Satisfied with that excuse? Too bad.

Eventually, all the hoopla ended, and it was time to stagger out of town, which I did. Yes, "I", not "we." We decided that it would be best for all of us if Steph and Theo stayed behind in Langley while I came out here. Thus they will be remaining there for just over three weeks until his birthday, at which point I'll fly back and bring them back here.

What all this means is that I'm living the bachelor lifestyle for a bit. It's fine by me (except the part about not having my family here and being lonely); unlike many bachelors, I can actually cook (and quite enjoy it, truth be told) and clean to an acceptable level of sanitation (and find it important). But re-discovering bachelorhood five years into marriage has been interesting. Okay, I'm only on day two (if you don't include the two travel days), but so far it's been exciting. I can do all the things that are verboten around my house, like sitting here and blogging to my heart's content, or eating a whole box of cookies in a single sitting. Okay, haven't done that last one yet, but maybe I will soon.

In addition, being by myself has led me back to that terrible device we've all come to hate: the alarm clock. You see, with Theo around, there has been no need for an alarm for close to a year (and even before that, because Steph was so uncomfortable when she was pregnant that sleeping in never happened). This semester, however, I have an 8:00 class on Wednesday and Friday mornings, which is unpleasant. With no Theo around, this means that I must set an alarm if I am to be awake in time. I could rely on my internal clock getting me out of bed, but that particular device is set to wake me between 7:30 and 8:00, which is too late.

Last night when I went to bed, I carefully set my alarm for the designated time, and promptly fell asleep. I woke with a start at 7:45 this morning, cursing the foul thing and realizing that I was going to start off the semester by being late for my first class. And then, I realized something: in order for an alarm to actually go off, one must, in addition to setting it to the desired time, turn the device on. Ah. Well, crap. Next time, I guess.

I think this is where I'm going to end it for the evening. Perhaps a little unceremonious, but I've coaxed about all the blood from this stone as I'm going to get--the quality of the narrative is quickly decreasing, and I'm not going to wait around for it to get worse. I'm going to leave this post up for the weekend, and hope that some of you happen to check for a new posting in that time. I'll be back with the regular daily updates starting on Monday. See you then. For real.