Rambling Dave

I have an Academy Award

2012-02-29T06:44:00.001-06:00

Apparently, I am on the only person on the earth whothought that the Oscars were OK. I enjoyed the show. And, I thought BillyCrystal was fine. Yes, I have seen the song and dance before and yes I haveseen him insert himself into the hit movies before but, truthfully, if thosebits were not there I would have been disappointed.

In other Academy Awards news:

Fifteen Academy Awards statuettes from the 1930s and'40s, including the Best Screenplay Oscar givento Herman Mankiewicz for "CitizenKane," have been sold at a Los Angeles auction.
Auction house Nate D. Sanderssaid Tuesday that the sales totaled more than $3 million.
Mankiewicz's 1941 award sold for $588,455, more thandouble its auction price from 1999.
The 1941 Best Picture award, for "HowGreen Was My Valley," went for $274,520. It was last sold in2004 for $95,600.
A statuette for"Cavalcade," 1933's Best Picture, brought in $332,165.
Other Oscars on the block were RonaldColman's 1947 Best Actor award for "ADouble Life" and Charles Coburn'sBest Supporting Actor statuette for "The More the Merrier" in 1943.

I wonder what the statuette for “Best short documentary”from 1953 would sell for. That’s the one that I will be bidding on if it evercomes for sale. Then I could say, “I have an Academy Award.”

Most awkward Oscar moment

2012-02-28T06:33:00.001-06:00

Thanks to Anglelina for supplying the two most memorable Oscar moments.

First, the most awkward Oscar moment...

It seems that this pose will be the new "planking" or "Tebowing."

Second, the best Oscar moment (thank you Jim Rash)...

For the ten best pictures of Angelina Jolie's right leg CLICK HERE.

Christopher Plummer and pantyhose

2012-02-27T07:12:00.001-06:00

Congratulations to Captain Von Trapp who finally won anOscar. Christopher Plummer (Canadian) became the oldest person in history towin an Academy Award. Yay.

OK… I know it’s weird. But, when I saw him on the redcarpet with his lovely wife my thought was, “Do they make pantyhose that do not havethe seam on the front?” I am curious. She is a beautiful women with a beautiful dress with... well... unsightly underwear lines.

Avril Lavigne to judge on X-Factor?

2012-02-26T10:57:00.004-06:00

Um… you’re not kidding?

With two judging slots to fill, it seems the folks at"X Factor"might not have to look far to fill one of the spots ... because former L.A. Reidprotégé AvrilLavigne is interested in the gig ... TMZ has learned.

According to our sources, Avril had her people reach out to the folks at"X Factor" to let them know she'd like to be considered for the job.Our sources says Avril feels that since she came up in the biz at such a young age, she can mentor the kids on the show the right way.

We're told talks are already happening between the two sides.

Besides her connection to Reid, Avril performed on the finale of season one of"X Factor" with finalist Chris Rene. (From TMZ)

I have two thoughts:

(1) LoveAvril’s music but I have never thought of her as particularly articulate orinsightful. I have difficulty seeing her as a mentor or teacher.

(2) Somuch for rebel, counter-culture Avril, not that she ever was that much. Can youimagine Pink doing X-Factor. Uh, no. On the other hand, Steven Tyler is onAmerican Idol and it hasn’t really damaged his rock image like I thought itmight.

(For a video of Tyler stripping down on Idol CLICK HERE).

A brief tribute to my friend Bob Williamson

2012-02-25T11:53:00.002-06:00

(Bob is the older one...)

Benjamin,Karla, Beth, Peter, Laakkuluk, Tom, Nora, and Jean

I am sorrythat I am not in Saskatoon today for Bob’s funeral. The best funerals are terrificcelebrations of the deceased and, despite the tears, there is a lot oflaughter. I am sure that today will be a wonderful event. Bob has left atremendous amount to celebrate and a lot to laugh about.

To me,one’s soul is the memory that one leaves behind. It is a collection of memoriesand work and influence that lives on in the tender care of those that remain.Bob has a very, very big soul.

I remember phoning,“Williamson residence, Bob speaking.” The voice boomed. I remember the notethat was beside the phone instructing one in proper phone etiquette. And now,every single time I answer my phone, I think of Bob when I say, “Hello, Davespeaking.” In accordance with the note on the kitchen wall on Temperance, Ialways identify myself. Bob taught me that, even though he didn’t know that hedid. I want to be like Bob.

I remembervisiting Temperance Street with Billy and Kristian, in particular. Whenvisiting I always hoped that Bob was there because he made the visit better –more fun, funny, and enriching – because he took a genuine interest in me. Hecared.

I remembermany meals. The kitchen and the dining table were such a healthy family focusin the Williamson house. And, I was always welcome. And the bread…. Oh, thebread. There is no better bread in the world than a thick slice of Williamsonbread with butter. My kids tell me that their friends rarely eat together as afamily. Dinner is served, everyone reports to the kitchen, gets their food, andgoes back to whatever they were doing. My family eats together. If we are home,we sit at the same table. We rarely have anything as marvelous as a Williamsonsupper but we are together as often as practical. I want to be like Bob.

Of course Iremember Christmas. On at least two years I was up, had breakfast, openedpresents with my family, and then walked over to the William residence only todiscover that nobody was even out of bed?!?! I remember reading the packagesfrom Greenland. I remember Bob roaring with laughter. I suspect that it wasmore to make me feel good than it was because it was that funny.

I rememberBob serving me my first ever cigar and snifter of brandy. This may be the onlything with which I disagree with Bob – I’ve tried, but I am not fond of brandyor cigars. I wish I were there to indulge today, though.

My biggestsingle memory of Bob is how he made me feel. One of my favorite pieces offatherly advice that I often repeat to my kids is, “Make it easy for people tobe around you.” Be polite and respectful. In my life I have known a very shortlist of people who not only are easy to be around but who actually lift othersup. It seems to me that Bob’s greatest pleasure was in making other people feelgood. That is a beautiful way to be. And, I wish I was more like Bob. I wish Icould be with you to celebrate the life of a wonderful man who is a significantformative influence in my life.

Love,

David

Hillbilly dad embarasses teen or not?

2012-02-25T11:42:00.002-06:00

Have you seen this video? Giant YouTube sensation in which dad Tommy bawls out his daughter and then shoots her laptop...

I come down on the side of "bad parent." I was relieved to see his post-video explanation. But, personally, I don't talk to anyone with the tone and method that this dad does, least of all my kids. It's not a disaster, but it's not my style.

Here is a perspective, I never thought of, though:

There, on the pages of Facebook or MySpace or Tumblr, they go about the natural business of being teenagers — gossiping and complaining and saying stupid things in stupid ways. And though they know they are essentially doing this in public, there is something about the forum that also makes it ephemeral. The commentary may never be erased, but for Hannah and company, the instant it rolls off the screen, it doesn't matter. However badly they comport themselves, it's out of sight, out of mind and off the conscience.

That's why I suspect it wasn't Hannah's brattiness or disrespect that drove Tommy to shoot the laptop. It was his perhaps unconscious awareness of an unbridgeable gap between him and his daughter, the gap between knowing what it means to be publicly humiliated and belonging to a cohort for whom humility is an increasingly arcane concept. (For oringial op ed piece from Meghan Daum, Los Angeles Times, CLICK HERE)

To paraphrase,you can't embarass your daughter on YouTube because she doesn't play by the same assumptions that you do. Teenagers are trashing each other on the internet ALL THE TIME and they are immune to it.

I don't quite agree but it certainly is true that the experience of today's teenager is MUCH diffferent than it was for me. And, social media is at the vangaurd of the difference.

Sony (Scrooge) Records

2012-02-13T21:26:00.002-06:00

Talk aboutPublic Relations disasters… There is no way that ~~Sony~~ Scrooge Records can spin this positively.

Sony Music has come under fire after it increased theprice of a Whitney Houston album on Apple's iTunes Store hours after the singerwas found dead.
The music giant is understood to have lifted thewholesale price of Houston's greatest hits album, The Ultimate Collection, atabout 4am California time on Sunday. This meant that the iTunes retail price ofthe album automatically increased from £4.99 to £7.99.

Did anyone at Sony consider doing the opposite? Lower theprice? Even slightly? You might have succeeded in both (1) looking like goodguys and (2) selling more.

Or… at the very, least, doing nothing at all.

Whitney...

2012-02-12T20:35:00.002-06:00

From TMZ:

Whitney Houston was found in the bathtub of a Beverly Hillshotel yesterday ... with her face underwater ... people close to Whitney tellTMZ.
According to our sources, her stylist, hairdresser and two bodyguards wereamong the people in the room at the time. We're told they became worried aboutWhitney because she had been in the bathroom for over an hour and it was timeto start getting ready for the Clive Davis party.
Our sources say they began to knock on the door and there was no answer. We'retold the hairdresser, who is female, went in to check on Whitney. Sheimmediately screamed and, according to our sources, one of the bodyguards camerunning in and pulled her out of the tub.
We're told Whitney's face was below the water and her legs were up ... like shehad slid down the back of the tub.
According to our sources, her body was very cold and the bodyguard attemptedCPR. That's when hotel security was called.
Paramedics arrived shortly thereafter, but Whitney was pronounced dead at 3:55PM.

I am struck, as I was with Amy’s death, that drug addictiondoesn’t play favourites. Consider an anonymous Vancouver junkie. Yes, there arepeople who are trying to help – trying to get that addict safely off the drugs.But, mostly this addiction is invisible and we don’t care. Often the addictnever sees these people. Never understands that there are people who care. And, there are those whoactually prefer to keep the junkie hooked because they continue to pay or turntricks or whatever.

Compare this anonymous junkie to Amy or Whitney. There arelots of people trying to help – lots and lots of people – many more than aretrying to help the anonymous junkie. If Whitney or Amy can stay clean and makegreat recordings there are lots of people who benefit. It seems impossible thatWhitney doesn’t know there are lots of people cheering for her. It seems impossible that she does not understand that there are people who care -- fans, producers, record companies, and on ans on it goes. And, yes, thereare lots of people who want to keep the celebrity hooked – the pushers and thepartiers – those who are making a buck and those who are enjoying the ride.

Because they are celebs we joke about them, “Oh Whitney wasbusted again…” This stuff is the gristmill of radio morning shows and stand-upcomedians. Funny at the time. Tinged with guilt after the fact.

In the end, something has to cause the addict – celeb oranonymous Vancouver street person – to want to help themselves.

A short tribute to my friend, John Lipscomb

2012-01-22T13:03:00.005-06:00

(John at age 18 with his Big Brother/Little Brother Terry)

I can precisely remember the very moment that I met John Lipscomb (and his brother David). From the front yard of my house I could see the moving truck. There was a new family moving into the house at the top of the hill, one short block away. Near the end of that afternoon my father convinced me that I should walk over and see if there were any new kids moving in. I have never been shy so I did. I was five years old.

John and David were standing in the driveway. I said hello and introduced myself. They returned the introduction. And, I went home. This was, though, the beginning of one of the most important formative relationships of my life.

I just learned that John died a week ago from “complications following heart surgery.” I had not seen him or talked to him in twenty years. My last meeting with him was on the patio of my childhood home where John met my lovely wife Heather. It was the summer that Heather and I got married. I did not see him or hear from him again. I did, though, know he was in Vancouver. And, although I often looked for him online – Google and Facebook in particular – I never found him.

Outside of my parents, I don’t believe there is anyone who influenced my childhood as much – influenced me as much. John lead. I followed. A whole bunch of us followed.

The Lipscomb house was the epicenter of childhood creativity and play. There was not a single game or idea that John did not challenge and make better starting from the moment I met him when he was just six years old.

I remember building snow forts alongside the retaining wall. I remember playing hours of Kick the Can and Ball Tag. I remember playing hours of “Take Off” which was John’s own invention -- the playing field was the entire block his mom’s house was one. I remember playing hours of “Everyone Against the Pitcher” which was another of John’s inventions and often had the sorry pitcher running all the way to my house to retrieve the ball. I remember hours of G.I. Joe, Lego, Smash-up-Derby, Scrub, Fisher Price, and Hot Wheels – every single game played with an elaborate set of rules John’s rules which were not rules to favor John, but rather to make the games fascinating. Our G.I. Joe games were very, very different than the other kid’s games.

I remember playing real life Melee in the Lipscomb backyard. Each of us was allowed two weapons (not including the mandatory helmet because John was ahead of his time). Hit your opponent twice and you win. I had a sword and shield. John invented his own weapon which consisted of a fireplace log swung around his head at high velocity on the end of a ten foot rope. It was impossible to get close enough to hit him with my sword without first being drilled by log. This, by the way, led me to construct my first bow and arrow.

I loved playing John’s games. John won a lot more than he lost. A lot more. But, I just kept coming back because the whole experience was so completely original. John made so much of my childhood magical.

I remember many, many sleepovers in “the third dungeon” which was really just the backroom but it would never do for John to have a simple basement – his was a dungeon. I remember Mrs. Lipscomb’s cooking – the best cook, I think, I have ever known. I remember birthday parties with cakes in the shape of English castles (complete with knights) and Ski Mountains (complete with skiers). The ski mountain cake was at least three feet high. I remember playing Chess (which I would occasionally beat him at) and Go (which I never beat him at). I remember whole days spent exploring the abandoned U of S campus during the summer months – stealing sugar cubes from the fifth floor of the Arts building. I remember long bike rides – John always wanted to ride further. Once he wanted to ride all the way to Kristian Marken’s acreage. I turned back. It seemed an impossible distance. John didn’t. He phoned me from Kristian’s house. He made it.

I remember the strategy games mentioned in his obituary: Diplomacy, Risk, Third Reich, and the whole canon of Avalon Hill and S.P.I. games. By age thirteen John was one of the best known Play-by-mail Diplomacy players in the world. Years later I wrote an article, “How to play Russia in online Diplomacy.” John was my inspiration to do so. I wonder if he would have approved of my thoughts?

I remember hours spent looking at Atlases. John’s knowledge of geography was astounding. I remember seeing Roman Polanski’s Macbeth with John and his father Colin. I think I was eight.

I remember long, hard fought conversations about religion – specifically one that began at noon on the boulevard beside my house and ended when my mother came out to find John because he had to go home for supper. We were in grade six.

I am sure that I could keep calling up memories for as long as I wanted to keep typing. Many, many of my memorable childhood events involved John. He was an absolutely unique friend.

I find myself terribly sad today. How can someone who I have not seen for twenty years have such an effect?

First, there is sadness for John. It seems that genius so often walks hand-in-hand with troubled mental health. It did for John. As a youth he was the smartest, most creative person that I have ever known. Of this I am certain. And, he seemed so strong. Neighbourhood kids would tease him about his speach. If it bothered him he didn't show it. I always marvelled at his strength. Though, I never saw him during his later, troubled years.

Second, there is a deep sadness that all of these beautiful, magical moments are all unequivocally in the past. These sorts of things will never happen to me again. John will never lead me again; I will never get a chance to follow. Having lost contact with John twenty years ago it seems bizarre to grieve our future together, but that’s how it feels. Some very happy part of my life is, now, forever in the past.

My condolences to his family – father Colin, sister Margaret (who I last saw at their mother’s funeral), and brother David (who I also have lost contact with). I have often thought of John. Every time I see a picture of Prince William I think of him – they look a lot alike. He got frequent mentions on my radio show on C95 because he, so often, was an integral part of some formative experience that I had occasion to recount for my listeners.

Thank you John. You made me a better, richer person. I have often missed you these past twenty years.

For John's Star Phoenix obit CLICK HERE.

The Italian Cruise Ship grounding and Nuclear Power

2012-01-16T08:35:00.000-06:00

As of this morning, the captain of the grounded Italian cruise ship, Francesco Schettino, maintains that the rock he struck “is not on any nautical chart.”

Um… I doubt it.

He went aground just off the coast of Italy. You are probably familiar with it. It’s the country that’s in the middle of the Mediterranean Sea. It’s shaped like a boot. These would be the most travelled, surveyed, and charted waters in the world. There is a tiny, tiny possibility that he is right. Teeny-tiny. This was a submerged reef big and strong enough to put a 50 meter hole in the side of a cruise ship. That’s not a tiny submerged stalagmite; It’s a big freaking reef. It’ possible the human navigators and local fisherman have missed finding this reef in the busiest seaway in the world for the past 2,000 years. Possible. Just not too likely. Like, really, really unlikely. Like, buy a lottery ticket unlikely.

My guess is that he commanded a change in passage plan (something that he has apparently done before). His officers then erred and sailed too close to land and put the ship aground. The captain’s first instinct was, “This is not possible.” He will find, however, that it is not only possible but, due to the frailty of human kind, inevitable.

This relates to a recent change in my perspective on Nuclear Power. At the core of human endeavour is the human mind which will, ultimately, err. It may be an error based on a lack of knowledge or foresight (“Despite my best efforts I did not foresee all the possibilities.”). Or it may be an error in judgement (“I was badly hung-over and I dozed off and didn’t notice the alarm when it went off.”). Whatever the case, human beings will eventually screw it up. Take all the precautions that you want but you should consider and be prepared for the worst case scenario because the worst case will happen. Maybe not in my lifetime or yours. But eventually it will. I am a proponent of Nuclear Power. And I accept that Chernobyl and Fukishima are inevitable outcomes of human endeavour.

When you err, though, have the decency to take responsibility.

Criminal masterminds loose in England

2012-01-14T20:49:00.000-06:00

If I ever go to prison I hope I have a great story to tell – one that will impress my fellow cons but will not upset them. I figure the ideal crime would be something like stealing a pile of money from the Canadian Revenue Agency (Canada’s version of the I.R.S.). In a cast like that the judge would be forced to imprison me but everyone – cons and those on the outside – would think well of me. For the rest of my life I would be the man who stole money from the man. Cool. If I can’t perp a really cool crime, I hope I at least avoid a really embarrassing one. Like these guys: CLICK HERE FOR FULL STORY.

Long story made short, some criminal masterminds dig a tunnel that is 100 ft. long and 4 ft. high (complete with supports and lighting) finally hacking through 15 inches of reinforced concrete all to make off with an Automated-Teller with just over $9,000 dollars in it.

Let’s assume that the ATM-Gang had four members. And, let’s assume that the tunnel was five months to dig (detectives estimate six months). 20 weeks x 160 hours per week = 3200 hour of labor. Let’s also assume that the total expense was about $500 (shovels, electricity, etc.). That’s $2.65 per hour of pure profit. Muuwahahaha.

These Manchester Lex Luthors would have been better off working at the Blockbuster Video store than robbing it – more money and less chance of romantic fling in Cell Block 12.

As a final affront to dignity, if they are caught and imprisoned they will be forced to answer the question, “What are you in for?” I suspect that any reasonably truthful answer will result in a lot of teasing in the yard during exercise hour. Probably a cool prison nickname like "Blockbuster Bill" or "Tommy the Tunnel."

Today begins a new chapter

2012-01-13T18:44:00.000-06:00

Although I have been off the air for only eight months, I have been looking for a radio position in Ottawa for a full year. I do have ongoing freelance work with CBC Ottawa Morning and with 580 CFRA Experts on Call. I enjoy both. And, I will continue to look for freelance broadcasting opportunities. But, I feel I have exhausted my search for a desirable full-time position.

Yes, I am frustrated and disappointed. I would really love a shot at another morning show. The C95 morning show was number one for all eighteen of my years on the air in Saskatoon. I burn with some passion to apply everything that I learned there to a new station in a new market. I burn with some passion to find out if I could be part of building a show as good as I think I could. But, after a year I have to come to terms with the fact that I am not likely to get that chance. And, I need to get on with it.

The big struggle is deciding what “it” is.

I have spent a lot of time over the past eight months reflecting on what else I would like to do? I am lucky. I am debt free and I have a supportive spouse – emotionally and financially. My internal search has not lit any fires. I have often dreamed of writing fiction. I have even occasionally written some.

Today, I went back to school. I am taking the three core classes in Algonquin College’s Creative Writing program. I once needed a personal trainer to start and maintain regular exercise, I look on this course as my literary trainer. Yes, I need to better understand writing. Perhaps more importantly, I need an external force to help me get on with it.

Gotta go. I’ve got homework.

Motivated to stand on my own two feet

2011-10-28T09:14:00.000-05:00

I had my left hip resurfaced on Tuesday. One wakes up after the surgery in the Recovery Room. You lie there waiting for your legs to thaw. That’s what it feels like – a slow thaw. At some point you realize that you can heel your hips and then your knees and then your feet. It feels like thawing out. It takes a couple of hours.

Before leaving the Recovery Room the nurses like you to pee, I guess as reassurance that all your insides are still working. I didn’t really feel much of an urge but at Nurse Ann’s request, I attempted it. I rolled onto my good side and tried to make good use of the plastic bottle – a lot like a milk jug actually. Nope. No way. No go. Stage fright. It reminded me of Triathlon. Some athletes can pee on the bike, other can’t. I am entrenched in the “can’t do it” school. If I stop the bike, stand on solid ground, and get the flow started that works. But, I cannot get the pump to prime while I am peddling.

At 11:30 pm I was moved to my room. I got settled into my bed, still no urge. Nurse Joe asked if I had peed. Nope. “OK,” he said, “if you haven’t peed by 4 am I have to put a tube up.” I dozed fitfully, heavily medicated with the Magic Morphine Button. Finally about 2 am I woke with the urge. I gotta go. Good. I will pee and avoid Joe and the tube. I tried the role-on-my-side technique again. Nope. Still no good. Feeling a little like the Frankenstein Monster (“It’s Alive!”) – all bandages and robes and a definite lurching motion – I rose from the bed. I stood up. From there I did not go to the bathroom a mere three feet away. I used the jug. The same jug, but in the standing position, no problem. The pump drew water from the well in a flash. All that was required was the standing position.

Fear of Joe and the tube. How can I apply that in other areas of my life? Fear of having a tube run up one’s unit is very motivating.

Bait the psychic

2011-09-13T20:08:00.000-05:00

I could not resist. How could I resist? Actually, I did resist.

I am a skeptic. I don't think there is a single shred -- not one iota -- of reasonable evidence to support paranormal events. With that bias stated up front, how could I resist?

Facebook friend who is a working psychic comments: "Of course my iPhone went dead at the highlight of the movie."

I wanted to comment. I really, really wanted to comment. I really, really, really wanted to say, "You didn't see that coming?"

I mean, even those of us wh are not psychics can usually figure out the little battery icon at the upper right.

Cowboys v. Aliens was OK. Not great but OK.

2011-09-11T11:05:00.000-05:00

I saw Cowboys v Aliens last night with Arthur and Oliver. It was OK. Not great but OK. One a scale of 10, I will give it a 6.

Quick notes – Daniel Craig doesn’t smile a lot. Very little Not as Bond and not as a cowboy. He does “serious fellow with a chip on his shoulder” very well. I do not think he will do “happy fellow who likes to clown around” very well. Not well at all.

The trailer does not give everything away. It looked to me like everything was in then trailer. Nope. There are enough twists along the way that the trailer was acceptable.

Bad news – Why do moviemakers think we are stupid? I would have given the movie a higher rating if it were not for some of the silly clichés. Why can’t the aliens shoot? Why do cowboys hit every shot they take while an advanced alien race capable of interstellar travel can’t hit anything with their advanced plasma guns? Why do old cowboys who wear floppy hats with the front brim turned up always talk all silly like? Why is killing a dog absolutely gruesome while mowing down hundreds of banditos is comical?

I love giant blockbuster. I love action movies. The good ones, though, give the audience credit for having a brain.

The fifth happiest day of my life

2011-09-09T17:49:00.001-05:00

I got retweeted by Penn Jillette! Here is how it went down.

First, I see this Tweet from Penn:

RT @RioVegas: Spotted at @PennJillette & @MrTeller's show last Saturday: John Mayer! http://twitpic.com/6idpwi"

I then retweet:

Wonder if he slept with either of them? RT @RioVegas: Spotted at @PennJillette & @MrTeller's show last Saturday: John Mayer! http://twitpic.com/6idpwi"

And then Penn replied:

@RamblingDave Not yet, but we're trying.

This the fifth happiest day of my life behind marrying Heather, the birth of Arthur, the birth of Oliver, and last Saturday at Loblaws when I ordered a box of 20 chicken wings in three flavours but the nice guy at the deli gave me 21 wings so that I would have seven of each flavour. Booyah. One free chicken wing.

Long time fan, first time retweeter. I have seen Penn and Teller at the Rio. Great show. Love those guys.

Man fashion v woman fashion

2011-09-08T06:10:00.000-05:00

Man fashion v woman fashion

Women stay more attuned to fashion because they are able to wear fashionable clothes for many, many years. My lovely wife is extremely fashionable. She can wear the same clothes as a woman who is twenty. No problem. Women can stay fashionable and hip until about age 70 when they are forced to convert to elegant and demure.

Men, on the other hand, do not have such fashion longevity. At a certain age men who share the same fashion as younger men start to look ridiculous. People say things like, “Look at the poor bastard trying to look younger.” At some point men are reduced to simply, basic stuff. Jeans and t-shirt. Suit. Sports jacket. At some point we all get chicken legs and have to give up shorts. That’s all we are allowed. Stay with those though, men, as it’s much worse to convert to Tommy Bahama and golf slacks. A man can dress to look like an old dude. This for a man, it’s important in those middle years – from ago 25 to 75 – to stay with simple, basic stuff.

Women have a huge advantage on us in this area. Of course, their clothing is also marked up 7000% so it’s a trade off.

The problem with contemporary, private, morning radio

2011-09-07T08:28:00.000-05:00

The problem with contemporary, private, morning radio

I am spending a lot of time listening to radio. Every morning I record one hour of a morning show – usually an Ottawa station but sometimes I cast further afield. Then as I sit at my computer working on other stuff I listen and make notes about what I am hearing. After a couple of months of this I have noticed a worrisome trend.

A lot of morning shows appear to be putting “category of content” ahead of “quality of content.” In other words, management is keen to hear content that is from a category that they perceive as interesting to the target demographic of the station. If your target 18-35 year old female? Content should be limited to shoes, shopping, boys, fashion, and celebrity. Is your target 18-35 year old male? Content should be limited to chicks, boobs, tech, cars, and motorcycles. What I am hearing is a lot of breaks that are about something but not very interesting or entertaining.

I think this is limiting. I think this is a discredit to the audience. And, I think this is a dangerous trend as it plays to the stereotype of private radio morning shows – all sound effects, smoke, and mirrors with no real depth or interest. Some of the shows I have listened to are, indeed, exactly this.

Why is this trend going on? I think it’s that as private radio has gone more and more “big box” then focus has been more and more on “reduce costs and increase revenues.” In the short term this is working. People are habitual and have a lot of loyalty to their habits – one of which is listening to radio. But, long term, I am worried. People have talked about the end of radio for years. I have always said, “No. Radio is fine. We are here to stay.” More recently, though, I too have started to worry. If we reduce ourselves to nothing more than contests, laugh tracks, and music I think listeners will gradually figure this out and migrate to somewhere else.

To be sure, there are lots of great shows out there. But I am hearing a lot of shows that appear to have given absolutely no thought to what makes the content interesting, funny, compelling, or entertaining. Rather, they are interested in content that meet some minimum criterion of being about something that might be interesting to the demo.

Shouldn’t the first goal be compelling and entertaining content? Of course it should also fall into a category of content that is interesting to the core demographic but if you define the categories too narrowly you handcuff the talent and leave too much great, compelling content off the table.

I am protesting Tomato Juice

2011-06-01T10:27:00.000-05:00

Why doesn’t Tomato Juice come in plastic bottles? Here is the Tomato Juice supply at Co-op.

Tomato Juice on the bottom shelves. Above that you will notice the plastic bottled V8 – convenient screw top without the need to puncture the lid with an old school opener that will eventually leave a rusty, crusty opening through which one must pour the Tomato Juice.

Why does everyone hate Tomato Juice? Why must Tomato Juice be relegated to 1920s style packaging? Why can’t it get V8 packaging?

I am refusing to drink Tomato Juice until the international conglomerate of Tomato Juice conspirators gives me better packaging. This is a de facto continuation of a protest that I have been taking part in since 1972 when I started to refuse the tiny glass of Tomato Juice that was served at Sunday supper for consumption prior to eating mom’s overcooked roast beef.

I'm an activist.

Some times I can be a real son-of-a-b****

2011-05-25T09:17:00.002-05:00

Some days I am just in a bad mood – short tempered and overly sensitive to small irritations. It was just such a day last week when I encountered this poor little fellow in the nursery. I couldn’t resist it. I felt an overwhelming need to lash out at him. I just wanted to hurt someone. Sad, I know. But, cathartic too.

I spoke sternly, “You’re pale. You’re too pale. Nobody is going to ever love you. You should be rich deep green but you’re not. You’re pale and stupid. And skinny. You’re too skinny. Look beside you. Your friends are all lush and bushy. Not you. Your skinny and stupid.”

He didn’t even react. This made me feel really awful. How could I be so mean and get no reaction. It made me feel petty and small. After I was done looking at Begonias I went back and apologized but was just so stoic that, again, he did not react.

I felt so disappointed in myself that I could hardly sleep that night.

I will be a better person tomorrow.

(If you click the picture you will note that it's a "Sensitive Fern")

Quote of the day: "Read, every day, something no one else is reading. Think, every day, something no one else is thinking. Do, every day, something no one else would be silly enough to do. It is bad for the mind to be always part of unanimity." - Christopher Morley (U.S. Novelist).

I am the new Red Baron

2011-05-24T09:18:00.000-05:00

I have had to go to war with mice on two occasions. A year ago in Saskatoon we had a mouse invasion. In the fall they took up residence in my messy garage and then migrated into to the floor/ceiling between my office and master bedroom. I tried a few things – humane traps for instance, at the insistence of my children. Nothing was having any success. I never once humanely caught a mouse. Frustrated, I eventually deployed old fashioned snap traps. Gently, oh so gently, I would slide them up into the ceiling through the hole left by removing the light fixtures in my office ceiling.

The first mouse death made me sad. We had a small ceremony. By the fifth mouse death I had become desensitized. By the tenth mouth death I considered myself to be Baron Mousefred Von Richtofen – the Red Baron of mouse killing. In the end, thirty-seven mice met their end in the ceiling. Now that they know who they are dealing with, they have not attempted to return.

In my new home in Ottawa I found evidence of mice in February. I deployed a series of traps and mouse poison. Upon my return in May, not one trap had snapped. But lots of poison had been consumed and there is no evidence of mice anymore. Putting out food – whole bricks of delicious Stilton in the basement – does not seem to attract any mice. Good. I have won again.

Thus it is with some surprise that I found this item in Canadian Tire.

This is a good example of marketing to humans, not mice.

As the Red Baron of Mouse Mayhem I can assure you that mice do not care about the flavour of the poison. You could make it taste like bum and they would eat it up and die. Besides, there is no way to verify that it tastes like bacon and cheese because nobody is going to sample it. Thus they can make whatever flavour claim they want.

In China does mouse poison taste like Bacon and Cheese or does it taste like Egg Foo Yong?

The lizard brain is hardwired

2011-05-14T08:00:00.001-05:00

I nap a lot of days. I always set an alarm. Usually I set the time function on my iPhone for 45 minutes. Also usually I wake up before the time expires. When I don’t, the gentle sounds of the iPhone Marimba wake me up. I don’t like harsh alarms. I prefer to be gently stirred into wakefulness by the sweet, organic sounds of the Marimba.

Yesterday, waiting to get my Ontario Driver’s License I was seated, reading my RSS News subscriptions when I began to bristle. It was as though someone was digging their fingernail into the small of my back. It lasted for only a moment when I realized what the problem was. A guy seated four seats over from me had “Marimba” set as his iPhone’s ring tone.

My lizard brain comprehended the noise before my conscious brain. My lizard brain was becoming angry and rebellious – like the teenager who does not want to get out of bed. I lizard brain was crying out, in its best whiny voice, “But moooommmm. I don’t want to wake up yet!”

After a moment my conscious brain (which I now call “mom”) realized that I was awake already at this was not my alarm and I returned to a calm equilibrium.

Maybe Freud was on to something.

68 years, same mistake

2011-05-13T17:12:00.002-05:00

Picking up my father from the airport I fell into an easy conversation with Henry and Rosie who were also waiting to pick up a relative. Henry and Rosie have been married for 68 years. Henry came to Ottawa during WWII for flight training, met Rosie, married her, and returned after the war. He still glowed with a love for her.

(not Henry and Rosie)

Funny part of the conversation. We talked a lot about Ottawa which caused Rosie, at least ten times, to mention that, “He is from Nova Scotia.” Every time she said it, he corrected her and she carried on without missing a beat.

Rosie: “I love living in Ottawa. Henry moved here for me. He’s form Nova Scotia…”

Henry: “...Cape Breton...”

Rosie: “…where I went once but I was not as fond of it. I have always been grateful that he moved here from Nova Scotia…”

Henry: “...Cape Breton...”

Rosie: “…because I do love this city so much.”

It was like a script they had. He never even looked over; he would just interject “Cape Breton” every time she said Nova Scotia. I eventually asked, “She has been making this same mistake for a long time?”

Henry replied, “For 68 years. But, I pounce on it every time. I don't let her get away with it.”

My valet wound up in handcuffs

2011-05-10T20:04:00.000-05:00

I am not sure what the point of this story is. But, it troubled me.

I parked downtown at the Byward Market today on York Street where it’s nose-in parking. Between the two sides of the street (where cars are parked nose-to-nose) there is a wide sidewalk. It’s wide enough for pedestrian traffic, pay-meters, etc. It’s more like a wide sidewalk down the middle of the street. As I pulled in I was helped by a guy standing on the sidewalk in front of me. He waved me in: Closer, closer, closer, and … stop.

I commented to my passenger, “We are about to be asked for money.

“I don’t think so,” he replied.

I won.

As soon as I hit the curb he asked me for spare change. He was not obnoxious. He was not threatening. In fact, he hardly could be threatening as he was only about 5 foot 1 inch tall, neatly attired with perfectly acceptable personal hygiene. In other words, if you passed him on the street you would not think he was unusual – other than being in the bottom five percentile for height.

I gave him a dollar. He noted that I had another $1.75 and asked for more. This, I confess, slightly troubled me. I told him, “No. I’m sorry brother but thank you.” It felt ungrateful on his part.

I headed for the parking meter which is a central stand in which you insert your money and key in how much time you want. He followed me and explained how to operate the machine (something that I am not very familiar with). Fair enough, he was working hard to provide a service, however modest, in the hope that I would feel indebted. I respected the effort. I gave him the other $1.75. This was, for me, the end of the story.

Dad and I walked around Byward Market for an hour. I drank coffee. He took pictures. When we got back to the car I noted that there were two police officers talking to my valet. I watched one of the officers put him in handcuffs. This troubled me. Presumably there is a law against panhandling. And, I understand that police officers need to ensure that they have control over the situation. It just struck me as extreme to put this poor troubled soul into handcuffs.

Galen Weston hates Norwegians

2011-05-06T08:49:00.001-05:00

Galen Weston of Loblaws. Mr President's Choice.

Loblaws. Exotic foods. Cultural foods. Pad Thai. Curry. All manner of remarkable food from around the world. Loblaws is a “big tent” grocery store. Sort of like the Liberals use to be a “big tent” political party before they became a “no tent” party.

But… Loblaws hates Norwegians.

They do not have Kavli. Norwegian flatbread.

I do not know if they have Lutefisk, I didn’t look. Plus, I don’t like Lutefisk. But I love Kavli.

Dear Galen, please emancipate the Norwegians.

I am still just a humble man from the prairies

2011-05-05T07:53:00.000-05:00

Tell a Westerner (where I have just moved from) that you are moving to Ottawa and you will hear a familiar refrain: “You aren’t going to become one of those elitist Easterners who bitches about everything and doesn’t even know the West exists are you?”

I don’t think I am. I think that, like most good prairie folk, I will just get on with it and never complain.

But then I had my first “East is better than the West” experience and I became worried that I would, indeed, become an Eastern elitist. I was worried. But, upon more careful examination of the facts I realize that I am still a humble Westerner.

Fact: Tim Horton’s lids in Ontario are superior to Tim Horton’s lids in Saskatchewan.

As everyone in Saskatchewan who has ever tried to clip open the tab of a Timmies can attest, they do not work. I always wind up ripping off the tab in entirety, sometimes screwing up so badly that I tear the lid right in half. They are a bad design; they do not work.

I pull into Ontario and the lids are different.

You will note that the tab is shorter with an extra set of ridges. In a sample size of three – Sault Ste Marie, Sudbury, and North Bay – my Timmies lid has worked beautifully every time. Fold it back, click it in place and voila – a perfect drinking hole.

Then, when Googling for pictures Timmies lids I discover a movement in Ontario to “Fix the Tim Horton’s lid.” What?!?! You crybaby Easterners! Your lids work! They work really well. Suck it up. Sheesh, find something to complain about. The poor bastards in the West, like everything else, are well behind in Tim’s technology. I suspect your complaining resulted in all the crappy lids begins shipped to the West because market research shows that those simple prairie folk will not complain, unless the coffee is cold.

Turns out I am still a simple, humble Westerner who is willing to make due. Whether it’s clearing the land to live in a sod hut and eke out a modest living or it’s spilling Timmies on my lap on Highway 11 because my lid doesn’t work I just shut my mouth and get on with it.

Compete for dad's attention. Is this right Dr. Phil?

2011-04-15T08:34:00.000-05:00

Heather is out of town at a conference. This means, of course, that my and my sons are living without adult supervision. We have not had a vegetable in 72 hours.

Last night for supper, Pizza Hut Supreme Stuffed Crust plus 10 bone out Parmesan Wings. Brilliant parenting. I ordered enough pizza so that there is left over so that I do not have to pack. But, there is a huge problem. Do you see it? Three people, ten wings. Uh-oh. Who gets the extra wing?

Pitting my children against each other in contest for their father’s attention seems a good plan. I made each of my children write a poem about me and how awesome I am. Best poem gets the extra wing.

Poem #1
David, my dad.
Some might call him bad.
But even so, I’m really glad.
That he is still my dad.

Poem #2
Ah. Dad is so great.
He doesn’t let us go to bed late.
He gives us his good luck.
And he is nothing like a duck.
Dad is so great.
He is so good when it comes to debate.

Which one do you think got the chicken wing? OK… confession. I only ate two wings so each son got an extra wing.

My friend, Sam the Dog.

2011-04-13T10:08:00.002-05:00

(reprinted by request - originally posted on the C95 site March 12, 2009)

One Autumn Saturday afternoon fourteen years ago I was at the SPCA for a fundraiser. I didn’t intend to adopt a pet but I did. I wandered into the cat room and there, in a small pen on the floor, was a puppy. What was a puppy doing in the cat room? I was smitten. Without consulting my lovely wife, I took the puppy home. Heather, luckily, agreed to keep Sammy.

This week I put down my beloved dog, my friend, Sam.

It has been a hard few days. And, I have spent a lot of time reflecting on Sam in particular and pet ownership in general.

They say dogs love unconditionally. Well, good dog owners love unconditionally too. Sam wasn’t a perfect dog – far from it. In fact, she could be downright annoying. I remember our first day at puppy school. Leah the trainer met Sam and had a staring contest with her. Sam won. Leah’s comment was, “You have your hands full. Sam is a very smart, defiant, dominant dog.” Her prediction was spectacularly correct. Sam learned instantly but obeyed intermittently. She only listened when it suited her.

Yard escapes were frequent. My neighbours, I’m sure, had more than a few laughs watching me sprint down the crescent chasing Sam the escapee. Confrontations at the dog park were common, an expression of her dominance and protectiveness. When Arthur was born I would carry him in a backpack at the dog park; Sam would not permit any dogs to come near me if I was carrying Arthur. She knew that this newcomer was an important and treasured member of our wolf pack. Bathroom doors always remained closed or Sam would eat whole rolls of toilet paper (I think she preferred Kleenex and toilet paper to dog biscuits). I couldn’t be near the windows in winter because accidentally catching a glimpse of Sam gleefully chowing down poopsicles was enough to put me off my dinner. This is not to mention her proclivity to consume Oliver’s diapers… full diapers.

On the other hand, when I first got Sam I took her everywhere. We really bonded. I remember teaching Sam to swim at Sutherland Beach. At our cottage, first out of bed, I would walk Sam down to the lake for a morning swim. I remember Sam sharing her rawhide chew rings with Arthur. I think that she pre-chewed them to make them softer for the baby. I remember Sam going missing for three days at the cottage and returning to us with 200 embedded ticks. And, I remember many, many walks with Sam. I would peacefully reflect on life while Sam trotted along in the snow or tall grass.

Sam’s passing also seems to define an era in my life. I think of my time on the morning show at C95. I remember bringing Sam to work as a puppy and introducing her to my then co-host Pat O’Brien. For almost as long as I have been on this show, Sam has always been at home to greet me. Second, Sam is the dog that has always been part of my children's lives. We got Sam in 1995 and my older son Arthur was born in 1996. She will always be the dog that my kids grew up with. Hannah, our four-year-old remaining dog, will be the dog that sees my boys into adulthood.

As any decent pet owner will tell you, putting down a pet is terribly hard but there comes a time when you know it’s the right thing to do. Sam’s hips had been getting very stiff and sore for the past three years. Finally she had a significant bladder problem that would have required major surgery. It was time.

On Tuesday I took Sam for a last long, cold, sunny walk at Sutherland Beach. She met a couple of other puppies and played as best as she could. I cried a lot. I took all of the pictures you see here. I went home and picked up my kids. I didn’t offer but they both wanted to come and be with me and Sam at the end.

Upon getting back home we had a talk about grief. Moments like a pet’s passing stand as powerful reminders of our humanity. Happiness and sadness are intimately related. Only in being sad from time to time are we able to appreciate happiness. As I said to my kids, “You are sad today but you will find that soon when you think of Sam you will smile and be happy.” At least this is my experience with loss – one day, suddenly, grief is replaced by joy and happy memories.

And, as I said in my final words to her, “Thank you Sam.”

My wife Heather, sons Arthur and Oliver, and I loved you unconditionally. You made our lives richer.

The Facebook photo game crushes my ego

2011-04-08T11:16:00.001-05:00

Every time I get Facebook email about a photo comment, before opening the link I try to guess what photo in my Facebook albums that the comment applies to.

My Facebook account indicates 108 photos, hardly the 1000+ that some of my Facebook friends have. So I have a legit shot at getting it right. Usually, of course, any comment one gets corresponds to the most recent photo one has posted. That’s almost always the best guess.

Most recently I got this, “Beth has commented on your photo: ‘Cute. So cute.’”

My most recent photo was of Fencing in the Delisle Curling Rink, so her comment could not apply to it.

What then, was Beth commenting on? Beth is the big sister of my lifelong friend Benjamin. I had a crush on her from age 8 to age 15. Could it be that she was creeping my Facebook photos and finally admitting, after all these years, that she had a crush on me? Hope springs eternal… I clicked the link.

Damn. Benjamin (her brother) is on the left, Fritz in the middle, and I am on the right. Beth wasn’t creeping me at all. She was looking at family photos and stumbled on this picture because Benjamin was tagged. Sigh. Unrequited love.

I am leaving C95 for an exciting new adventure

2011-04-04T08:11:00.000-05:00

After 20 years with Rawlco Radio, I have decided to leave C95. My last day with Rob and Shauna will be in three weeks on Thursday, April 21st. I will be moving to Ottawa in early May. My lovely wife and two marvellous sons will be moving to Ottawa in July.

First, I genuinely appreciate the career I have had here. Rawlco Radio has a great passion for radio and for community. I am proud of my contribution to Rawlco and grateful for the chance that Rawlco gave me 20 years ago. Personally, the C95 Radio Marathon for Breast Cancer Research will reign over my life as the pinnacle of my career – thank you Lisa Rendall and thank you Sask Cancer Agency for letting me be part of what you do.

Why leave? And, why Ottawa?
-    Heather and I have been feeling the need for a new challenge, a new adventure.
-    We explored a lot of different local options. We talked endlessly through all kinds of possibilities. In the end, though, we felt that moving to a new city was, for us, the right thing to do.
-    Why Ottawa? Basically, we like the city. Heather, a family physician, has secured a position at two clinics near our new home. Ottawa simply feels like the place we need to be. We like it there.

Was this a hard decision?
-    Yes. Of course.
-    Heather is leaving Lakeside Medical Clinic and her patients. This weighs really heavily upon her but she is relieved to have found an excellent doctor to take over her practice.
-    I am leaving the city which has been my home for my whole life. My family came to Saskatoon in the 1930s. My father Alan, in fact, still lives in the house which has been the Scharf family home since 1943.
-    The sadness of leaving is lessened by the fact that my father, with whom I am very close, is moving to Ottawa with us and will be living with us.
-    I am leaving a great job at a great, number-one radio station which I am very proud of. And, a great city that has, to date, played host to my whole life – virtually every street corner holds a memory for me.
-    Still, weighing all those emotions. Moving on to new adventures still feels very much like the right thing to do for me and for my family.

How are your kids handling it?
-    Great. I think both of my sons have some reluctance. This is to be expected. But we are a very close family. Most important to me is that I am on this marvellous adventure of life with the enduring love of my life Heather, our sons Arthur and Oliver, and my father Alan. Really, they are all that matter to me.

And lastly…
-    I want to thank everyone who has ever listened. I have not had a single negative experience in this job. You have been very kind to me and my family, thank you.
-    I’m lucky. Radio is fun. I get the fun of sharing life you – music, laughter, tears, and everything else. For me, sharing life makes it fun. So, thank you for sharing the marvellous experience of life with me for these past twenty years.

So long and thanks for all the fish.

If I have too many books my dad has too many times one thousand million

2011-03-29T07:34:00.001-05:00

I once read a quote about books that I like. Unfortunately, I do not remember who said it: “Of course you are out of bookshelf space. If you are not out of bookshelf space you are not worth knowing.”
I am worried, though, that I am taking this too literally. I have, and keep, a lot of books. It’s not my fault. I get it from my father. If I have too many books, he has too many books time one thousand million.

If I think of something or read about something, I order the book – non-fiction in particular. Usually I order one book and then I look at “people who enjoyed ‘In Search of Victory’ also ordered XYZ.” Based on the cover picture, I order one of XYZ. I have books about Shakespeare, Guerrilla Warfare, WWII Espionage, Knot Work, Sailing, Hiking, Quantum Physics, Wine, Investing, Evolution, Darwin, Marketing, Customer Service, Strength Training, Robot Construction, Mandolin construction, and model boat building. This is only a partial list of books that I have not read

My problem is that I am like a dog. Whatever I am doing right now is fascinating. I think, “I would like to learn more about this” and, thus, I order the book. Sadly, once the book arrives I am no longer interested in the life cycle of long-haired Chinese mini-goats.
Between my father, me, and Heather we started the month of March with 32 bookshelves filled with books. I don’t mean individual shelves – I mean the equivalent of 32 of the basic, cheap bookshelf units (about 2.5 feet wide x 6 feet tall with four shelves). This means that we have 128 shelves of books. That’s about 320 feet of books. If the average book is 1.5 inches then we have something like 2560 books.

Here’s the crazy part. Of those 32 bookshelves, Heather and I have six. My dad has 26 full bookshelves. Of my six bookshelves I have read about 50% of the books. Of his 26 bookshelves only one shelf is his “to be read” shelf. He has ready all the others. He has read 96% of his books. This means that he has read about 1990 books. And, this does not include the books that he had read but not kept.

Here we are at the end of March – between us we have donated about half of our books to the fundraising sale for the Saskatoon Symphony. We still have about 100 times more books that we will ever need or look at again.

But, books are like children. We can’t just cast them out into the cold.

The King's F****** Speech

2011-03-28T08:07:00.000-05:00

Bias disclosure: I am more liberal than most parents, I think. I disclose this only because it clearly colours the opinion that follows.

This week one of life’s beautiful movies gets re-released. This Friday, in the U.S., an alternate version of The King’s Speech gets released. In this alternate version, some of the profanities are muted out of the soundtrack. According to various bloggers, in the R version – the original version – Geoffrey Rush encourages the King to shout profanities to relieve stress. Well, sort of. He also encourages the King to swear because, as a matter of fact, people who suffer with a stutter frequently do not stutter when swearing. It’s one of those weird phenomenon that’s difficult to explain. Stutterers don’t stutter when they sing, either. Weird.

That’s not what bugs me, though. What bugs me is how prudish we have become. I don’t like taking my kids to movies laced with pointless profanity. But the profanity in this movie is real, heartfelt, and genuine. It’s not gratuitous. I am sure that it will be a fine movie even after the edits but what is the standard by which we rate movies?

I took my eleven year old to The King’s Speech. It never crossed my mind that there was anything offensive in the movie. Yes there is profanity but, sheesh, this is a beautiful, humanizing movie that has something to teach kids about friendship, loyalty, and decency.

I am reminded of a story often told by my friend Murray. A young person would come in and want to rent a movie that was PG. In accordance with policy, the staff would phone mom and dad for their permission. The conversation would typically go this way:

Mom: “Tell me what’s in the movie?”
Staff: “It’s rated 14-A. There is some graphic violence.”
Mom: “That doesn’t really bother me.”
Staff: “Profanity.”
Mom: “I don’t give a crap about profanity.”
Staff: “And two sex scenes.”
Mom: “Oh my god! They can’t rent that. Jesus, what are you people thinking? Christ!”

Sigh. Swearing OK. Violence OK. Loving not OK. Can’t we judge the movie by its overall merit? Can’t we rate movies based on the integrity of the art? Yes it it’s littered with pointless profanity then we should restrict who sees it. But, in cases like The King’s Speech can’t we admit an exception.

When did Spicoli move to Regina?

2011-03-25T11:16:00.002-05:00

A local(ish) news story that totally cracked me up.

First the details:

In Regina, a group of outdoor workers were pruning trees when Matt Kaip is shot in the leg with a paintball. He notices someone holding a paintball gun in the second-storey window of a nearby home. He rings the doorbell. There is no answer. He calls the police. Officers went into the home and two men, both 19, were arrested. Police were in the home for a while, then came out with three large plastic bags containing what appeared to be a number of marijuana plants. The two were then charged with mischief, assault, possession of marijuana for the purpose of trafficking, and weapons charges.

Some stories really need very little embellishing. This is one of those. I keep imaging two stoners having a pleasant morning until it all goes bad…

FADE IN: Two 19 year-olds males are high, seated on bed in second-storey bedroom. They are glazed over and staring listlessly out the window. They sit, unblinking for two minutes. The silence is broken.

DUDE ONE

I bet you can’t shoot that dude in the tree with my paintball gun.

DUDE TWO

I so can.

DUDE ONE

Can't

DUDE TWO

Can

DUDE ONE

Can't

DUDE TWO

Can

(etc)

DUDE ONE

Here take my gun and try it.

DUDE TWO

Yah-huh.

Dude two takes gun, belly crawls across floor, peeks out second-story window, and carefully takes aim. After aiming for about three seconds the conversation continues...

DUDE ONE

Dude! You have been aiming for, like, an hour.

DUDE TWO

I gotta get my breathing right.

After another three seconds that seems like another hour, Dude Two squeezes off a shot which, amazingly, hits the victim in the leg. Both now collapse into fits of giggling.

...

And all of the sudden a really pleasant Thursday morning in spring becomes way less comical than it started.

Today’s thought: Researchers have discovered that chocolate produced some of the same reactions in the brain as marijuana. The researchers also discovered other similarities between the two, but can't remember what they are. ~Author Unknown

What to say to a woman - speak softly to the Portugese

2011-03-24T09:04:00.003-05:00

Another online survey. Want to win a woman’s favour, the compliment you should pay varies by country. Here are your most successful lines.

   USA: You dress beautifully
   Canada: You have beautiful skin
   UK: You have beautiful legs
   South America: You have beautiful hair
   Spain: You have beautiful hair
   Germany: You have beautiful skin
   France: You dress beautifully
   Italy: You dress beautifully
   Portugal: You have beautiful ears
   Sweden: You have a beautiful figure
   Netherlands: You have beautiful ears
   Belgium: You dress beautifully
   Russia: You have a beautiful nose
   Poland: You have beautiful arms

Do these compliments relate to something in that particular region or national heritage?

The UK s partial to legs. I understand this. It's rarely swimsuit weather in the UK. Consequently, legs are almost always covered. Two words: Pale and hairy. To encourage better maintenance, UK men have learned to encourage women with the occasional, "Nice legs."

The USA, France, Italy, and Belgium all skew towards fashion. I didn’t know this about Belgium but I can see the other three. I see American, French, and Italian women as very fashion conscious. Although, American women tend towards sweatpants and moomoos.

Canadian women like to be complimented about their skin? Makes sense. Our harsh, dry winters are tough. My calves are so dry that I am scratching myself to sleep at night.

Do women in Poland still pull ploughs?

I admit that it’s the Portugese and the Dutch that I don’t get. Ears? What in your national psyche attaches to ears? Both once great seafaring nations. Maybe it’s considered beautiful to have huge satellite dish ears to better hear the breakers on the rocks and thus keep your ship from going aground? Is this why they don’t sell many Mickey Mouse hats in Portugal? They already have big saucer ears?

Today’s thought: “We have two ears and one mouth so that we can listen twice as much as we speak.” – Epictetus

Cosmetic procedures - What is a forehead lift?

2011-03-23T09:30:00.001-05:00

This is an American list of the most common cosmetic procedures.

1.    Liposuction
2.    Rhinoplasty
3.    Breast augmentation
4.    Eyelid surgery
5.    Tummy tuck
6.    Face-lift
7.    Breast lift
8.    Dermabrasion
9.    Forehead lift
10.    Hair transplantation
11.    Ear surgery
12.    Lip augmentation
13.    Breast implant removal
14.    Breast reduction (men)
15.    Chin augmentation
16.    Upper arm lift
17.    Thigh lift
18.    Cheek implant
19.    Lower body lift (corrects sagging areas of the hips, thighs, and buttocks)
20.    Buttock lift

The first thing I note is that although not number one, breasts are on the top twenty list three times. Go breasts!

I would be interested to know how much overlap there is. For instance, I was surprised to see “Forehead Lift.” Until looking at this list, I had never heard of a Forehead Lift. I am guessing, though, that nobody has a Forehead Lift as their first cosmetic procedure. Nobody stands naked in front of a full length mirror and says to themselves, “Sheesh. My Forehead needs a little work.” I am certain that everyone can find something that needs improvement before they get to their forehead.

Seven of the top twenty procedures are lifts. Gravity is our enemy.

Today's thought of the day -- with a Federal Election sure to be in our future -- "Laws are like sausages, it is better not to see them being made." Otto von Bismark.

Top-ten things that turn men on.

2011-03-22T07:58:00.000-05:00

Online survey reveals the top-ten turn-ons for women:

1.    Candlelight dinners
2.    Picnics
3.    Watching a sunset together
4.    Romantic movies
5.    Soaking in a hot tub
6.    Dancing
7.    Putting on perfume
8.    Wearing silk to bed
9.    Reading a romance novel
10.    Exercising

Being a man, I can’t speak for women. I will attempt, however, to speak for men. Here I present the top-ten turn-ons for men:

1.    Dinner. It can be candlelight dinner, McDonalds dinner, frozen dinner, TV dinner, or the dog’s dinner. Dinner is very erotic.
2.    Picnics. Blankets spread on the grass make it comfortable to lie down.
3.    Sunsets. This means that its almost night. Night means dark. Dark means romance.
4.    Movies. Action movies, thrillers, comedies, suspense, horrors, and Schwarzenegger movies. Art films and romantic novels are OK if she’s into them. Otherwise, not so much. Men do not generally sit along, watching “Dirty Dancing” and getting filled with romantic feelings.
5.    Hot tubs. What else needs to be said? Bubbles disturb the surface and nobody knows who’s foot is who’s.
6.    Dancing. Done on a stage. Usually with a pole.
7.    Perfume. The aroma. Watching her put it on. Watching her wash it off.
8.    Bed. Silk, cotton, flannel, air mattress. Doesn’t matter. We like bed.
9.    Reading. And by reading I mean looking at funny videos on the internet.
10.    Exercising. Lulu Lemon.

Really I only exclude romance novels. I have tried. I know men who have tried. Romance novels are not part of our DNA.

Today’s thought: “Never judge a book by its cover, unless the cover features a shirtless man in a kilt with long hair holding a beautiful woman in a bodice in his arms. In that case, you have a pretty good idea where the book is going.” – Anon.

I try my whole life, nothing. My kids learn and one minute later they are masters.

2011-03-16T10:06:00.000-05:00

Adventures at home: Cleaning REALLY smelly tupperware

2011-03-09T07:30:00.002-06:00

Why do old men insist on combing their hair?

2011-03-08T07:05:00.002-06:00

Spent the weekend watching the Saskatchewan Fencing Tournament in Regina, held in the Fieldhouse. If there were a big event, one would gain access to the stands through a main set of doors. But, the Fencing tournament is small and the Field House is still open for business – the track, badminton courts, tennis courts, fitness equipment, and weights were all in use. This meant that access to the facility was only through the change rooms.

There was no way to get to the Fencing Championships without weaving through the gauntlet of old, naked men in the change room. At least three times through the change room I noticed an older gentleman standing within inches of the mirror, in his underpants (always tighty-whiteys), and combing his hair. Not long hair. Nope. A typical, short, conservative men’s barber cut. In short, there was no need for the comb. The hair was too short to get out of place.

When did hair combing fall out of vogue? When did men stop carrying combs and meticulously coiffing their hair?

I do not have a comb in my travel kit. I cannot remember the last time I combed my hair. My hair is not long but it’s a lot longer than the hair I saw being combed in Regina.

Here is what I think. Men over the age of 60 are hair combers. They were raised in an era of meticulous hair care. Their mothers combed vigorously. They were required to carry combs. They were always grooming. Men under the age of 45 are not combers. This is because although we were there through the disco era when grooming hit its zenith, we started high school at a time when grooming fell out of style. And, high school defines your look for the rest of your life as this is when you develop “your thing.” In between is the cross over are – some groomers, some not -- depending on how deeply ensconced in the hippie are you were.

Nonetheless, if I owned shares in any black nylon hair comb companies I would be selling. The customer base is about to start dying off. In twenty years instead of reporting the passing of the last WW1 veteran we will be reporting on the last of the hair combers.

My dad's pampered cat

2011-03-07T07:40:00.000-06:00

(Not a happy cat. And, not my father's cat but funny nonetheless)

My father is a cat guy. He has had cats his whole life. Historically, he has had some really smart and interesting cats. I grew up with Tim and Joe. Joe was no cat Einstein but Tim was. Smartest most creative pet I have ever known. Dad’s current cat is Tiger whose personality is more akin to a dog. Tiger is rough and tumble and has to be in the centre of action. One of his favourite activities is to extract “rubbies” (our family term) from passers-by. Tiger sits on the corner of the fence in front of dad’s house. It’s not long before someone stops to scratch him behind the ears. He plays it up for all it’s worth. Once this random pedestrian stops scratching him Tiger runs to the far end of the fence so that this same pedestrian encounters Tiger again, sitting on the fence like this is the first time they have met. He invariably gets a second rub down.

Anyway, my father has to take Tiger on a plane soon. He is really nervous about this. He is really concerned for Tiger’s comfort and safety. To put his mind at ease, I did some legwork. There are some specific measurements for a cat-carrier that will fit under and airline seat. Dad went a looked at these bags and declared the prescribed bag size to be much too small for Tiger. He decided that a big German Shepherd sized hard sided carrier was the way to go.

Sceptical that the under-the-seat carriers are that small I went and bought one. I took it to dad. I presented it to him. We decided that the only way to know for sure what to put Tiger in it and see what he thought of it. No problem. I stuffed tiger in the top of the bag. He hunkered down and seemed happy enough.
Dad was still worried, “But he can’t turn around. It’s too small.”

I opened up the end opposite to Tiger’s direction. He turned around immediately. No problem. The bag is easily big enough. Tiger, in fact, refused to come out of the bag for at least 30 minutes. He really likes being hunkered down, peering out at the world.

You would think that would be enough. You would think that dad could stop worrying about his much pampered cat. Nope. Last night I find myself overhearing one end of a phone conversation. My lovely physician wife is talking to my nervous father about what dosage of Gravol one might consider giving to an 18 pound cat. Apparently, meds are required in addition to the travel bag.

My deeply personal thoughts on Charlie Sheen

2011-03-02T20:06:00.001-06:00

Reflecting on Charlie... here are my deeply personal thoughts.

First, it's OK to be curious. It's OK to want to know what's going on. It's a distant relationship, to be sure, but Charlie is someone that I know. Being a celebrity puts you into a personal relationship – however distance – with all your fans. We are allowed to care. And, thus, we are allowed to bring your plight to the airwaves, internet, and newspapers. We owe it to you to be respectful but we do not owe it to you to ignore your problems. It's natural to be curious about one’s friends – no matter how distant.

Second, I can no longer find anything funny in it. My mother, who passed away 20 years ago, was severely bipolar. I have experience in life with another bipolar individual - significant enough that there was an attempted suicide. It is long in my past but my mother’s illness represents some of the lowest points in my life. Watching Charlie is bringing a lot of those feelings back. The sorts of things that he is saying are almost exactly like the things that my mother used to say when manic. And, indeed, what all manic individuals say. It’s hard for me to watch and I just can’t find it funny.

Makes it hard in my world of “pop culture commentator” because I have to talk about Charlie. I wonder, though, if my personal experience with bipolar disorder is giving me a much different perspective than most of my fellow commentators have. I find most of the media to be too glib. I assume this is because they underestimate the severity or the significance of his mental illness.

Idol top twelve guys -- comments, rating, and links.

2011-03-02T13:10:00.002-06:00

Clint Jun Gamboa sings Superstition

http://www.youtube.com/watch?feature=player_embedded&v=ycsC_azQfb8#at=19

Hard to judge because he’s first. I give him 65% as the baseline. -- we will compare the rest to him. He has some chops but the band can carry a pretty average singer with this song.

Jovany Barreto sings I’ll Be

http://www.youtube.com/watch?feature=player_embedded&v=aaE8hskVcCk

Oof. He’s awful. 30%. If we have Clint setting the average then Jovany sets the low bar. Go lower than this and, well, you are REALLY awful. By awful I mean could get work on a cruise ship.

Jordan Dorsey sings OMG by Usher

http://www.youtube.com/watch?feature=player_embedded&v=P7q-2zUHYZw

Also awful. But with more sex appeal that Jovany. 35%.

Tim Halperin sings Streetcorner Symphony (Come on Over) by Rob Thomas

http://www.youtube.com/watch?feature=player_embedded&v=JB7bRkMcfoY

Well well well… Clint is looking better and better. Tim manages to neuter this song and annihilate what little personality it might have had. 34%.

Brett Loewenstern sings Light My Fire

http://www.youtube.com/watch?feature=player_embedded&v=uER6_uLPzds

OK… I really cheering for Brett. He at least has his own sound. He’s not a pure copycat. He’s definitely the most original of the evening so far. Still, I think Clint has him beat. 60%. Different enough to be marketable. Needs to own the stage, though.

James Durbin sings You’ve Got Another Thing Comin’ by Judas Priest

http://www.youtube.com/watch?feature=player_embedded&v=QYFBQf_NbN4

Another of my early favourites. Go James! Definitely didn’t deploy the whole screaming thing as much which is good. But, not his best work. I also liked lame Cline better. 59%.

Robbie Rosen sings Arms Of An Angel

http://www.youtube.com/watch?feature=player_embedded&v=2mp17iMy87s

OK. I know I’m biased because he’s goofy looking. Picked a song that REALLY hard to beat the original. Tried to be different but was mostly gross. Better than the worst but not among the best. 45%.

Scotty McCreery sings Letters From Home by John Michael Montgomery

http://www.youtube.com/watch?feature=player_embedded&v=s-ZtqKyMIUc

I kinda like Mr Country. I heard some mandolin in his which wins points with me. He could easily succeed in country except he doesn’t look like a country artist – needs some facial hair or something. Hard to judge him because he is not anything like the rest and has no chance in this thing. I will give him a 47%.

Stefano Langone sings Just The Way You Are by Bruno Mars

http://www.youtube.com/watch?feature=player_embedded&v=whIBmyg7n0s

Judges liked him. I hated him. I was going to keep him out of the basement until his high note near the end. I nose barfed my wine. 29%.

Jacob Lusk sings House Is Not A Home

http://www.youtube.com/watch?feature=player_embedded&v=tlQriDmriC8

Nice presentation with the suit. I would love to hear him do more of the Atlantic Records R&B catalogue. Definate chops. Mostly not my thing, though. Perhaps has the most potential of the bunch. Interesting to see him in the coming weeks. 64%

Casey Abrams sings I Put A Spell On You

http://www.youtube.com/watch?feature=player_embedded&v=WlQxUIJMcR4

Shutup! Screaming Jay Hawkins! This is why I really like Casey, his tastes are very similar to mine. Loved him. My favourite of the night. And, with a lead. 85%. Very nice Screamin’ Jay salute near the end.

Here is a pretty hilarious video of the original hit by Screamin’ Jay
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7kGPhpvqtOc

I love Screamin’ Jay. His other big hit, by the way, is “Constipation Blues” warning: it’s a little bit on the gross side.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ic3g8Xnf7LI

Paul McDonald sings Maggie Mae

http://www.youtube.com/watch?feature=player_embedded&v=rihgc0J5dpg

He’s all right. But, why is everyone trying to look and sound like Barry Manilow? More mandolin but I just couldn’t get into it. Right behind Mr Country. 46%.

A hospital robe that preserves one's dignity. Thank you Ottawa.

2011-02-28T21:39:00.000-06:00

Ever been to the hospital – even just for an x-ray – and been given one of the completely useless gowns? These multiple tie gowns are the fodder of sitcoms and stand-ups. Well my comedy writer friends, the Ottawa General Hospital has outwitted you.

(although hard to tell, I left my shirt on but removed my pants)

The last time I needed an x-ray of my hips (seems to be an annual event) I put the robe at the Royal University Hospital on backwards – I had the ties in the front. Actually, I did not know it was backwards until the x-ray tech informed me such. I am not sure how one is supposed to wear it; I have never been able to figure it out. Nonetheless, by having the opening in the front I was able to hold it closed. This made the most sense to me. The technician, though, informed me that I had it on wrong. I refused to switch it and we simply carried on.

The Ottawa General, though, has the most ingenious robes I have ever encountered. Basically it’s a long flat sheet with three holes – on at each end and one in the middle of the top edge. You start by putting your left arm through a hold at the end. You pass the robe (sheet) around your back and put your right arm through the centre hole. Then you pass the robe across your chest and put your left arm through the other arm hole. You are wrapped. There is no risk of a costume malfunction. There are no buttons, ties, or snaps. And, the instructions on the wall were easy to follow.

My dignity stayed intact without having to keep a fistful of robe in one hand to keep it from falling open.

The descent of Charlie.

2011-02-24T21:28:00.002-06:00

I am reeling after today's Charlie Sheen events. There are so many things wrong with this whole situation…

Charlie Sheen did an 18 minutes segment on the Alex Jones Radio show on Thursday. I had to look up Alex Jones. Ah… I know the type. He is a Libertarian whack job. He makes Glenn Beck and Rush Limbaugh look like Tommy Douglas. Most importantly, he is willing to play fast and loose with the truth for the sake of ratings and controversy. I hope every sponsor he has quits his show over his usurious abuse of Charlie Sheen. He claims to be Charlie's friend. I hope none of my friends ever entice me to do an 18 minute interview while i am completely out of my mind.

The appalling part of the interview is that Alex Jones continually supports and encourages Charlie. He represents Charlie, over and over, to be clean, sober, and of a sane mind. This is the really hurtful part. Charlie is not right. He is practically incoherent. It is abundantly clear that Charlie is either high (really, really high) or mentally ill. This is clear. Listen to the interview if you have any doubts.

CLICK HERE FOR INTERVIEW

I am disgusted that someone in the media – even someone as purposely outrageous as Alex Jones – would stoop to putting the ramblings of a mentally-ill junkie on the air just because he is famous and then have the audacity to pretend that he has no idea that Charlie is anything other than clean and sane. Wow.

A much less egregious sin is the two porn starts – Bree Olson and Natalie Kelly – who are with Charlie. There’s two people preying on an addict – a rich addict. Whatever gets you through the night.

And why aren’t there people who can help? Britney, Lindsay, Amy, Charlie (hmmm… there is a rhyming element here) all seem destined to suffer the same fate. Their wealth and fame, somehow, isolates them from the people who care and can help and empowers them to keep those people away. Or, they are so self-absorbed and accustomed to everything being easy that they simply can’t see help for what it is. Rather, they see help – when it is offered – as just another person using them.

Or, it’s not different for the poor and anonymous addict except that there are not millions watching the self-destruction occur.

Charlie is due back to work on Tuesday. It’s hard to imagine what the stress of that work place will be.

UPDATE: CBS as suspended production of Two and a Half Men.

Shopping at Winners: The Man Rules.

2011-02-23T21:10:00.000-06:00

I was at Winners. Wait! Before you drum me out of the man club, I can explain. I was returning some things for my wife. Really. It’s true.

Actually, I like Winners. I like shopping. I admit it. There, I said it. But, I do have limits.

I was standing at the Customer Service Desk and I saw my friend Blaine. He was at the till making his purchase. We made brief, fleeting eye contact. Then, get this, he waves and shouts, “Hi Dave.” I ignored him, of course, but he shouted louder, “Hi Dave!”

To shut him up and scuffled over to bring him up to speed on Winners Man Rules:

(1)    It’s OK to shop at Winners.
(2)    It’s OK to like shopping at Winners.
(3)    It is not OK to speak publically about liking the Winners experience.
(4)    It is acceptable to share your excitement with your close friends – in private.
(5)    It is definitely not OK to make recognition of another man while actually in Winners or within a 25 meter radius of the door. Never. In particular, it’s extra unacceptable to squeal like a 13-year-old girl, jump up and down, waving and shouting.

Blaine didn’t go that far but he was close.

They did not have what I wanted. I was looking for a replacement for my favourite but badly worn Roots sweatshirt. Roots did not have a single sweatshirt today and neither did Winners. Weird. But, it is emotionally impossible to leave Winners empty handed (same rule at IKEA by the way) so I bought a retracting iPod cord for $3.99.

American Idol viewing - the difference between men and women.

2011-02-22T22:11:00.001-06:00

Watching American Idol last week with friends. It became really apparent to me that men and women watch Idol very differently.

The quirky Ashley Sullivan sang to her boyfriend. It was a total flop. She completely stank the joint out – off key, couldn’t remember the lyrics, etc. I mean really bad.

How men watch as defined by my comment: “Aaaaaahhhhhh bye-bye, Ashley! Buh-bye!”

How women watch as defined by my friend Milka’s comment: “Awe. I feel so bad for her.”

I felt bad later on. Really awful when the judges put Ashley into the top 50!?!?!

Adventures in IKEA assembly

2011-02-21T21:40:00.000-06:00

I just bought a Hemnes TV stand at IKEA. I was staying with my uncle, he complained how difficult and long the IKEA assembly process can be.

“Not for me,” I boasted. “I was in the 98^th percentile for spacial analysis in the Canadian General Aptitude Test Battery. I hardly need to look at the instructions. I am like Robo-IKEA assembly guy.”

I am sure that you know where this is headed.

I followed the instructions meticulously. This careful attention to detail coupled with my near superhuman ability to imagine what three-dimensional shape will be created by folding flat objects along the dotted lines would surely make quick work of this e Hemnes television unit.

Nearing the time that I needed to be back to my uncle’s for supper I was almost done the assembly. All that remained was to put on the top, pop in the drawers, and take the photos. Sadly, the moment that I had the top on I knew that all was not well.

Observe…

What you note is the there are some edges that are finished and other edges that are unfinished. The second photo was to be the front of the unit. Oops. None of those unfinished edges should be showing.

I dropped everything and went for supper.

I returned the next day to finish. As it turned out, no two pieces were put together correctly. None. Except the drawers. I did manage to have the drawers correct.

I note that I did pretty well assembling that Poang chair and the Dave computer table (yes that really is its name). And, I got the Franklin stool right, although I did slice my thumb open with my new IKEA Slitbar Chef’s knife whilst removing the Franklin packaging. The bleeding stopped after about an hour and a half-box of Kleenex.

I almost gave a photo of my man area to a stranger

2011-02-20T11:55:00.001-06:00

Well now THAT was embarrassing. Well, almost embarrassing.

I was just in Ottawa for six days. One of the reasons for my journey was to meet with the surgeon who will be fixing my hips. I have had wonky hips since birth. I was the only kid in all of Brunskill school who could not sit cross-legged on the gym floor. I used to really hate sitting through the grade 6 production of Grease. Even more than most of the kids.

Sitting in the exam room at the Ottawa General my x-ray was on the computer. Armed with a new iPhone and thinking that my lovely wife would be interested in seeing my x-ray I snapped a picture. Later, while self-tutoring on iPhone usage, I made my x-ray my wallpaper. Here is where the problem comes in…

On my way home on the plane I am I toying with my iPhone. My seatmate, a young woman from Calgary, asks if that is the new iPhone and could she take a look.

“No problem,” I say, but as I am handing it over I finally notice a small problem with my x-ray wallpaper picture. Although meant to show bones and joints, soft tissue shows up. Thus, Area 51 is in plain view (I have blacked out the offending area in the photo that follows – made larger for reasons of ego). I don’t think she noticed as the very moment her hand touched my iPhone I said, “Oh I am sorry,” and snatched it back. I changed the wallpaper and deleted the photo and returned the iPhone to her with apologies but no explanation. Phew. That was close.

Best Superbowl moment ever (subtitle: the power of commas)

2011-02-07T06:28:00.000-06:00

Best Superbowl moment ever…

Oliver the eleven-year-old: Who’s playing?

Me: The Pittsburgh Steelers and the Green Bay Packers.

(long pause)

Oliver: Are the babes green or are the hackers green?

(another long pause)

Me: I’m sorry. I don’t understand the question.

Oliver: If the team is the Green Babe Hackers, who is green? Are they green hackers who hack regular babes. Or, are they regular hackers who hack green babes.

(long pause)

Me: Good point. They ought to put a comma in there somewhere.

It's like living in the dark ages. You know, the 1990s

2011-01-25T07:54:00.000-06:00

I was walking to the boss’s office yesterday. The office beside his is not occupied right now. The door was open, though, and here is the setup that the next occupant has to look forward to. Look at the photo and measure your first reaction.

What was your first thought?

Mine was something like, “Ha ha. Poor bastard. Whoever is getting that office is living in the middle ages. Look at the size of the monitor! Whoa. That must have been made in the 1960s.”

Upon reflection I realized that, no, it’s probably only two years old. OK, maybe five years old. Phew. Man, if I ever forget my smartphone at home it’s like living way back in the 20th century.

Every take a good look at the Bateman Jewellers building?

2011-01-20T07:01:00.000-06:00

Love Bateman Jewellers. I don't know that I have every really looked at the building from across the street, though. Nice job. Looks great and celebrates Canada.

I had a serious decision to make today

2011-01-17T17:05:00.000-06:00

After school my older son Arthur phoned me for a ride. "No problem," I said. "I will be right there." And, I dashed out of the house.

Problem is that having been at the gym earlier in the day and I was still wearing my Lulu shorts, now accompanied by my cozy winter slippers. "Well," I thought, "I will not be getting out of the car. There is no problem."

Dressed in this magnificent outfit I waited in the car in the parking lot at Walter Murray Collegiate for my son. Lots of cars. Lots of people waiting. I note that there is a teacher driving through the parking lot trailing her extension cord. At that moment she runs over it and it pull free. Now the cord is lying in the parking lot and she is slowly driving away. My first instinct was to jump out and run after her. I was quite certain that I would be able to catch her. My second thought was, "I will look like a goober in short pants and slippers."

I checked to see if my son Arthur was there, fearing life ending embarrassment for him. He was not. So, I jumped out and dashed through the parking lot in my slippers. Since the underlying motivation of all human behaviour is to avoid looking like a schmo, I think that subjecting myself to public ridicule in this way should count as two days worth of a Scout's good deeds. Tomorrow I don't have to do anything nice for anybody.

When there's nothing you can say

2011-01-10T06:40:00.001-06:00

I spent the weekend in Moose jaw with my younger son at a Speed Skating meet. Oliver is on the cusp of joining the more competitive skaters. Some meets he is put with the fast group – in which case he is among the slower – and in other meets he skates with the up and comers – in which case he is the fastest. In Moose Jaw he was with the “Learn to Train” group and was likely to do well.

He did.

He had races of 100, 200, 300, and 400 meters. Heading into the 400 meter final he had won every single one of his heats and all three finals. One race away from a perfect meet.

There I was at the finish line cheering Oliver as he came screaming down the home stretch with a narrow lead of two metres on another skater (who had been the second place finisher in all of the other races). Then, tragedy. With 10 metres to the finish Oliver caught and edge and fell.

Nothing a parent can do there. Keep silent. Walk to the dressing room. Help the boy get his skates off. Walk to the truck. Start the drive home.

He perked up after an hour on the road, a half bag of beef jerky, and a Pepsi.

I learned long ago to not bother with trite comments like, “You did your best.” With 10 meters to the finish line, falling doesn’t feel like doing your best. It wouldn’t console me and it doesn’t console my kids.
Time and a Pepsi. That’s the only thing that works.

The four hour erection

2011-01-04T08:26:00.001-06:00

At the gym yesterday I was on the treadmill. The TV was on with the subtitles as it could not be heard over the din of the machines. I am watching a Viagra commercial. It’s near the end of the ad and I note the following: “If your erection lasts longer than four hours, contact your doctor.”

My immediate thought was, “If my erection lasts longer than four hours I am contacting everyone in my address book to brag about it.”

School choirs concerts renamed: "Spot the ADHD kid."

2010-12-17T08:20:00.000-06:00

If you have children, you have likely been subject to the school choir concert. Please, don’t misunderstand me – I love school choirs. I love that my children are taking part. I love that there is a sense of team and a sense of accomplishment. I even like the songs, for the most part, despite that fact that the quality is slightly below the Vienna Boys Choir. What follows is a little game I call, “Spot the ADHD kid.” It’s not a condemnation of school choirs. It’s just one of many bits of fun that can be had at the school’s holiday concert.

Put thirty kids, grade one to six, on a stage and you will almost certainly have a few iconic types. The game is played scoring one point for each iconic sighting. Here is what you are looking for:

ADHD Kid – Cannot hold still. This type is all about upstaging, albeit not on purpose. While the other kids are totally focused on singing, that’s not enough activity for this child. He sings. But, while singing is also stomping ants, making funny faces, and seeing if he can pull his belt so tight that he will pass out.

No lyrics kid – Does not sing one word. This child may well know all the lyrics, he just isn’t singing them on this day. Probably, the lights, microphones, and audience have so stunned him that singing is far from his mind on this day. Likely to just stand with mouth open looking out at the crowd.

Dancing kid – Born to boogie. Likes to sing but loves to dance. She’s got the boogie in her and it’s gotta come out.

Underwear in bum kid – Squirming and pulling on underpants. Something about the stage and the audience remind this child that her underwear is bunching up in the back. One hand is constantly required to manage the situation.

I have to pee kid – Squirming and gripping. Similar to underwear in bum kid but that hand that is required to manage the situation is not in the back, it’s in the front. And, it’s just holding on.

Constantly waving at mom kid – Has spotted mom and can’t stop waving. Generally will wave at the close of every number but sometimes will wave at the end of every chorus and verse or every time that ADHD kid stomps an ant.

There are other types I am sure. And, there is often overlap. Sometimes, for instance, ADHD kid also has to pee in which case you are in for a really awesome show.

The Scottish are a funny bunch

2010-12-14T07:13:00.000-06:00

I am not unfamiliar with the wiles of alcohol. I enjoy the odd martini, maybe even two or three. I like red wine, although I am not overly picky. I am OK with white wine in pinch. And, given my navy past, I consider myself to have a certain expertise when it comes to rum. But, I do not like Scotch. It makes me want to throw up.

My lovely wife has the Scotch Affliction. She likes Scotch – the drink not the broth. And, she likes talking about it. She loves the coincidence of bumping into another Scotch drinker. Their eyes light up as they wistfully talk about what kind of Scotch they each like. If their taste in Scotch agrees, the conversation comes to a happy end. But, if they disagree, the conversation turns into a heated, albeit loving, debate. There are passionate, raised voices arguing in favor of this Scotch or that Scotch. But, there is an insane problem with this debate. The argument has two sides: topsoil v. peat moss.

This is the basic argument. What kinds of Scotch do you like? Do you like your Scotch to taste like top soil? No? Oh, you must like the Scotch that tastes like peat moss. My kids describe Scotch as “liquid wood.” There are the three Scotch options: wood, dirt, or peat moss.

Peat, by the way, is an accumulation of partially decayed vegetation matter. In any other circumstance, people prefer to eat their vegetables before they decay. Not Scotch drinkers.

I suspect that Scotch was invented when a Scot, during a particularly wicked medieval economic downturn, actually tried drinking dirt. He thought to himself, “When I ferment it, it tastes slightly better than raw dirt.” Even since it’s been a joke foisted off on a gullible world by the hilarious Scots.

Actually, the Scots gave us something awesome. The Scotch Egg. A hard boiled egg, wrapped in meat, wrapped in deep fried peat moss.

Rank structure and management line diagrams are redundant

2010-12-03T06:16:00.001-06:00

Reflecting the other day on job titles, rank structures, and relationships and concluded that military rank structure, for instance, is simply an attempt to create a relationship. If everything functioned as it should, then no rank structure would be required. The same can be said of civilian organizations, families, etc. An example from my navy career…

I was trained as a Maritime Surface Officer. Thus, my basic job was to stand as Officer of the Watch – which is to say the officer who has charge of the vessel and whose job it is to ensure that the ship remains safe from hazards of the sea and violence of the enemy. I was trained to navigate the ship (avoid land), obey the Rules for Prevention of Collision at Sea (avoid other ships), and various other sundry things. With this job came the rank of Lieutenant.

Compare my job to the role of the Petty Officer of the Watch. His job was to ensure the efficient deployment of the watch-on-deck – the men and women at key positions like helmsman, lookout, lifebuoy sentry, etc. His training was in all the basic skills of seamanship – knots, steering, and various naval evolutions. With his job came the rank of Master Seaman, a lower rank than Lieutenant.

Are the ranks required?

Not really. If relationships function properly and if everyone is pulling towards the same goal then ranks are not required. The Officer of the Watch has the skills required to do that job. The Petty Officer of the Watch has the skills to do his. Neither could to the other’s job. And, as a matter of fact, the Officer of the Watch will be “in charge” because his job includes a solid understanding of the overall situation – where the ship is relative to land, shipping, and the enemy. If everyone understands this then there is no actual need for rank insignias.

The same can be said of relationships in businesses – a highly functioning radio station operates the same way. I do not attempt to do the General Managers job and he doesn’t attempt to do mine. Parenting? Same thing. My children’s job is to be a child – play, dream, and learn. My job is to be a parent – teach, support, nurture. If I have to resort to, “Because I am you dad” then there is something wrong in the relationship.

All of this is, of course, not black and white. There is huge overlap and each of us needs to be open minded to suggestions from others – subordinate, superior, child, or co-worker. Everyone can learn to do their job better. Keep your mind open. And, be respectful of others and there isn’t really need for the artificialness of ranks – military or civilian.

It all goes back to this simple rule (Monty Python, I think): Don’t go around bugging people and don’t be so easily bugged.

One Californian, twenty-seven mojitos, and a three thousand pound anchor

2010-11-30T19:51:00.000-06:00

Today in the news...

In the high seas equivalent of trying to open an airplane door mid-flight, an intoxicated California man early Saturday released the anchor on a Holland America cruise ship while the vessel was traveling in international waters en route to Florida. The deployment of the stern anchor on the MS Ryndam could have caused significant damage, though the 719-foot ship was unharmed. Federal agents reported that the "free release of a cruise ship anchor" could have damaged the ship’s propeller or rudder, which "could disable the ship’s ability to maneuver" or puncture the vessel, resulting in "sinking or severe flooding."

Does it not see strange that a drunk guy can get access to the stern anchor deck? Does it not seem strange that, once there, he is actually able to release the anchor while the ship is underway? Sure, drunk guy is to blame, but there must have been some errors made by the crew. If one Californian full of mojitos can let go the anchor, then it was not properly secured for see. Trust me. I'm a navy man. Well... I was up until 14 years ago.

Heads are going to roll.

When you decide to change your life will it actually change?

2010-11-29T15:02:00.000-06:00

This story from the Associated Press has been playing in my mind for a few days since it broke last week:

Three teenage boys who spent 50 days adrift in a tiny boat in the South Pacific walked ashore on shaky legs Friday after their chance rescue — celebrated on their home island hundreds of miles (kilometers) away as a miracle that brought them back from the dead.
The trio — Samuel Pelesa and Filo Filo, both 15, and Edward Nasau, 14 — told rescuers they survived on rainwater they collected, a handful of coconuts, raw fish and a seagull that landed on their 12-foot- (3.5-meter-) long aluminum boat.
The boys set off Oct. 5 from their home island to one nearby. It's not known how they went missing, but the outboard motor may have broken down at sea.
Worried family members reported them missing and the New Zealand air force launched a sea search. No sign of the tiny boat was found, and the village of 500 people held memorial services, expecting never to see the boys again.
They were picked up Wednesday by a fishing trawler, undernourished, severely dehydrated and badly sunburned, but otherwise well. The ship's first mate said the area they were in is way off any normal commercial shipping routes.

If I was adrift at sea and my life depended upon it, could I eat one or two of my best friends? I do not think I could. I think I would quietly starve to death before cutting off a chunk of one of my dead pals and eating him. This isn't part of the story but I am thinking that they three teens in that boat must have, eventually, been asking themselves

More practically, I was wondering if “life changing events” are actually life changing. Anytime you see stories with people having serious brushes with death you will hear things like, “It changed my life. Now I don’t take anything for granted. Now I treat each day as if it is my last.” But, do they really?

My experience is that big events are influential but not life changing. Having said that, I have never faced a brush with death. I can, though, think of some big life experiences. This summer I completed an Ironman race. I heard several people I know say things like, “I am going to use all that focus and drive to get through Ironman in other areas of my life.” I have even thought things like that myself. I do not, however, see much of a difference so far. I certainly have not drastically changed my life or my self-discipline. In fact, I am writing this blog entry instead of going to the gym which is what I was supposed to do today.

I think real change probably requires some massive external change – a new job or a new home, for instance. Something that is external and irrevocable. If, for instance, you narrowly survive a car crash and swear that your life s going to be different but you return to everything being the same – job, friends, family, hobbies – then I can’t see how your attitude is likely to change. On the other hand, if you narrowly survive a car crash and then actually change your physical life – quitting your job and hitchhiking through Africa, for instance – then I think you can really affect some actual, enduring change.

My son is completely confused and I'm just so damn proud

2010-11-25T06:47:00.000-06:00

Driving home from swimming listening to As it Happens. They are doing a piece about a John Lennon memorabilia auction – a legal letter, written on the back is the first draft of “I’m only sleeping” from Revolver.

They talk about the auction at some length. My 11-year-old son listens with rapt attention. After the bit they play the song. Oliver listens. Half way through the song he has a questions...

Oliver: “This is Lennon?”
Me: “Yes. When he was with the Beatles.”
(long pause)

Oliver: “This is the real Lennon? Or is it a new Lennon?”
Me: “This is a recording of Lennon singing. It’s a song he wrote. Paul, George, and Ringo are the other members of The Beatles.”
(long pause)

Oliver: “When was John Lennon?”
Me: “The Beatles were a phenomenon pretty much through all of the 1960s. In the 1970s John Lennon made a lot of great music as a solo artist. He was assassinated in 1980.”
(another really long pause – I can practically hear him thinking)

Oliver: “And he was in the Russian revolution?”
Me: “Bwahahahahaha. No. That was a different Lenin. That was Vladimir Lenin.”

Once I got home my lovely wife explained that she and Oliver had been watching some TV show that talked about Lenin and the Russian Revolution. Funny misunderstanding but still a super proud dad. I may go and get him a Lenin t-shirt. The two Lennon/Lenins shared some politics.

Saskatoon Spamalot Review

2010-11-24T06:27:00.000-06:00

If you have any inkling to go, then go. If you have any feelings for Monty Python then go.

(note - David Hyde Pierce is not in the Saskatoon cast)

I hate to be the guy who says, “It was better in Las Vegas” but, well, it was better when I saw it in Las Vegas. The cast was not quite as strong (with the exception of the Lady of the Lake) and the production was much weaker. One had to stay very focused to hear the words with clarity – spoken or sung. This is a big problem for comedy as you want to simply immerse yourself in the fun. Being made to work for it diminishes the experience. This is probably a byproduct of being a road production. Too bad.

Having said that, if you like Python, then go. You will get a big kick out of it. The songs and sight gags are in the finest tradition of Python. You will know some of the bits almost word for word. It’s fairly closely based on The Holy Grail but is littered with reference to other Python skits and movies. And, there are some original bits that are completely unique to this production. It is also a general send up of many of the traditions and stereotypes of musical theatre.

On a sire note, one of my Facebook friends commented that the cast had some uncomplimentary things to say about Canada and Saskatoon on the way here from Denver. Bad on you! Save your negative comments for your way home. After all, you are here to give us a show.

Men can't explain everything. Don't ask us. It's embarassing.

2010-11-21T21:50:00.000-06:00

I rented and watched Bladerunner with my older son last night. It was Rated R. I have seen the movie at least three times (it came out in 1985). There is a brief bit of on-sexual nudity. There are a few deaths, only one of which is really gross. In any event, we were discussing if this was appropriate for a 14-year-old (I have no problem with it). It did jar my memory, though, of a great movie moment with Arthur from the past.

When he was seven we took him to a drive-in theatre at our lake. The movie was Charlie’s Angels: Full Throttle. It was the only choice we had.

At some point around the middle of the movie the angles go undercover as strippers. This results in them, at some point, ripping their shirts open revealing their lingerie clad boobs. My seven year old son has been sitting quietly beside me up until this point. Suddenly, I am sitting with a drunken sailor. He hauls off with some serious shouting, “Woohoo! Yeah! Yeah! Wooohooo!”

First I must note that he has not learned this behavior from me. No. Really. I’m not kidding.

Moments later the movie pauses for intermission (small town drive-ins still do this). We are walking to get popcorn and I nonchalantly bring it up, “You really seemed to like that last part of the movie.”

“Oh yeah. Ooohhhh yeah.”

“What is it that you liked in particular,” I ask?

A very philosophical Arthur cocks his head and considers this for a moment and answers, “You know, I can’t really explain it but I just really, really like seeing women in their underwear.”

Hard to fault the kid. If I am being honest, at the age of 45, my answer is very much the same.

Do dogs increase world happiness?

2010-11-20T14:41:00.000-06:00

I love science. I am a philosophy/law grad so I love science more than I am good at science. My double-blind prospective science friends from the Saskatchewan Science Agency will probably be critical of the design of this experiment.

Dogs are a hassle -- cleaning up after them, destroying things, shedding, barking, etc. There are a lot of reasons to not have a dog.

Thesis: If, despite all the hassle, it can be shown dogs increase world happiness then dog ownership will be shown to be a good thing.

A bit culturally biased, I admit, but good enough for me.

The five greatest words a dad can say

2010-11-19T08:10:00.000-06:00

Yesterday, Oliver and I went grocery shopping together. I do at least half of the family grocery shopping, almost always on my own. Occasionally Heather and I go together. Rarely, though, do I go with just one of my sons. We left my lovely wife Heather at home. Oliver and I agreed that this was an ideal grocery shopping situation – a bank card, full bank account, and no adult supervision.

We were not father and son; we were college roommates. We’re giggling and buying all sorts of contraband – Dunkaroos, Sugar Cookies, Wonderbread, Bulk Malt Balls, Pepsi Max (instead of Diet/Caffeine Free). Then we turned the corner into the cereal aisle. Oh yeah, baby! The freaking cereal aisle! I looked at my son and said the greatest words that a father can say to an eleven year old boy: “Pick any cereal you want.”

He looked at me with love and admiration. After three trips up and down the aisle Oliver made his choice:

French Toast Crunch! I was proud of the boy. I can’t really imagine a more obscure, awful cereal. Sugar pressed into the shape of little French Toasts. Well done, Oliver. Bravo Zulu.

I slightly regretted it this morning at 5:00 AM when I realized that I had neglected to buy any Dad Cereal. I am not a Bran nut or anything but having now tried it once I can safely say that I am not a fan of French Toast Crunch.

I owe an apology to Romania

2010-11-18T23:06:00.000-06:00

Leaving the U of S campus today, I was waiting for the walk light to cross College Drive at Wiggins. The wind was blowing. I was under dressed. I was getting cold, my ears in particular.

Crossing Wiggins towards me was a young couple. They were both leaning into the wind and covering their faces with their hands. Like me, they too did not have enough on. They looedk like students. He had a backpack; she had a messenger bag. They stepped up onto the curb behind me. He was motioning towards the Dentistry Building, "Excuse me. Is this hospital?" He had a thick, Balkan accent. I guess that it was Romanian only because there is a strong Romanian community in Saskatoon.

Probably because of the setting -- wind, cold, and accent -- my A.D.D. brain was suddenly swept away and I suddenly regarded this pleasant young couple as poor, immigrant peasants huddling against the cold in this strange new land.

I begin shaking my head with real vigor and waiving my hand to indicate that they had to go back the way they came. And, in brilliantly butchered pigeon English, spoken in a less than perfect Romanian accent, I told them, "Hey. Hey. No. No. No. You go back. Back to fence then right. Big stone building.You will see it."

The couple thanked me and headed off in the direction indicated. I turned back to two strangers waiting with me for the walk light and said, "I have absolutely no idea why I spoke to them with an accent."

Am I the only one who does this? I pick up accent almost immediately. If I moved to England I would lose all evidence of being Canadian within a week. Ten days tops.

Dear Romania,

I apologize. I didn't mean to mock. I didn't mean anything actually. It just happened. Let me assure you that Canada is really quite pleasant.

Best regards,
Dave

P.S. If the accent was Hungarian then I have to extend this apology to Hungary as well as now I have insulted Hungarians by utterly failing to understand their accent. Sorry.